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avengershumanresources · 3 years

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blood 9 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 8 - part 10

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

WARNING: Mention of violence/attempted assault from prior chapter

9 - a king’s arrival

Thank the gods Loki crossed Stephen’s path first, because things were happening far more quickly than the sorcerer had anticipated. He had heard a particularly chilling rumor upon his return to the castle from surveying the magical barriers with Amora and was in route to your quarters to check on you.

Loki intercepted him and caught him up to what had happened.

Loki had told Peter the details of what he’d stumbled upon between you and Brock. Immediately inflamed, Peter started in motion the rebellion he’d been planning with Nat and the guard. With the Asgardian army’s support, Peter could easily usurp the throne from Obadiah by the end of the night.

Especially now that the alliance between him and Brock was in question with the betrothal in a murky area.

Less than twelve hours, Stephen calculated while Loki kept pace with him toward your room. That’s all it took for the plans to go into motion and the next steps to proceed.

“He didn’t-,” Stephen asked after they’d arrived, his anger simmering and threatening to boil based off of his companions response. He needed to keep control. He needed to kept his head or risk you falling into harm.

“No,” Loki stated clearly. “It was stopped before he finished his task. Her seidr did well to protect her. You acted in good judgment by not fully sealing it.”

“Amora?” he pressed and Loki smirked back at him.

“She’s been tending to Brock the last hour, but I’m certain they won’t have time to rally a guard to their cause,” he explained quickly. “My men outnumber theirs two to one, and from what Natalia has told me, the majority of the guard will support Peter.” He paused and glanced around, lowering his voice.

“Besides, even if they mobilize troops, after you finish your part, Brock will have nothing else to gain from an alliance with Obadiah.”

“And the queen and younger princess?” Stephen’s hand rested on the knob of your door. Eyes shut while he listened to Loki’s report.

“James is with them now,” Loki nodded. “They’ll be moved once Peter makes the first move. I’m meeting with Thor before dinner to confirm some of the entry points to the castle in case Obadiah tries to deter us once things get.. chaotic.”

Perfect. Everything was falling into place, and you were none the wiser, which meant neither were your enemies.

Loki disappeared once Stephen summoned a tray of stew and started through the door, unsure how he’d find you on the other side.

Personally, Stephen wanted to rip Brock to shreds. He wanted to cut the skin off of him and sprinkle salts and other acids over open wounds and watch him scream. He wanted to gauge his eyes out, fling him from the tallest balcony, and listen to his cries for mercy.

It wasn’t a pride thing. Stephen wasn’t the least bit upset that you’d been sullied or marked by another man, no, he was upset because he’d hurt you.

And seeing the aftershocks for himself only further fueled Stephen’s rage.

You were in a sleeping gown, hair pulled loose, legs curled into yourself, fully submerged in your bedding. When he set the tray of food down on a nearby table and stirred you, his heart broke at your swollen eyelids and red, glossy eyes.

He should have been there sooner.

“Stephen?” you asked sleepily. You clearly cried yourself into exhaustion, your cheeks still puffy from the ordeal.

“My love,” he sat on the edge of the bed and fully enveloped you in his arms. You were a bit tense at first, but immediately sank into him when he started rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s not your fault-,” you murmured with a small hiccup and a sigh. Pulling away, you looked up miserably toward him. “He’s a monster... we knew that. I shouldn’t have sent Steve to find you.”

Stephen stopped, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your palm, cradling the shaking digits tenderly.

“You did nothing wrong,” he stated firmly. “A lady shouldn’t have to fear her company- her betrothed- would... dishonor her in such a horrendous manner. You were brave and defended yourself. I’m proud of you for being so strong.”

Your eyes watered again, your bottom lip trembling. A few tears snuck down your face and before you could wipe at them angrily, Stephen caught them with his thumb, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks.

“Loki... he said he would fix it... is everything...?” you asked meekly and despite the gnawing feeling that lying to left him, he nodded.

“All is under control,” he assured you softly. “Why don’t you have some stew and continue resting?”

“Will you stay?” you asked, gripe tightening around his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead and helping you settle into bed, before handing off the tray.

He sat next to you while you picked at your food, listening while you told him about what had transpired in the garden earlier and how your seidr had reacted when you’d fought Brock off.

“Loki was right,” he noted, passing you a slice of bread from the tray. “It was lucky Amora was off the grounds when that happened. She would have noticed and retaliated immediately.”

You hummed to yourself, dipping the corner of the bread into the stew and taking a small nibble.

He could tell you were still out of sorts, the fresh exchange with Brock having come so unexpectedly and traumatically. More than anything, he wished he didn’t have to do what happened next.

“Here,” he finally relented when you barely touched your meal, pulling the tray aside and out of the way. “You should sleep.”

“I’ve rested plenty,” you protested, but after a pause, gave in and snuggled deeper into your blankets.

“I’ve got something that should help,” he pulled out the small glass vial, holding it between his fingers for you to examine. The liquid inside shimmered an almost stunning cobalt blue against the light from your fireplace.

“A sleeping draught?” you guessed, reaching for the vial and examining it for yourself.

“Not quite a sleeping draught,” he explained, plucking the cork free and letting you give the scentless liquid a sniff. “It’ll relax you enough to let you ease into a full and restful sleep.”

“So, a sleeping draught?” you teased with a small grin, swirling the liquid in the bottle with a tilt of your hand..

“Call it what you’d like, but it’ll help. You just drink the whole vial,” he instructed, watching you consider it briefly.

“Am I going to fall into an eternal enchanted sleep?” you asked, joking, but unaware of how close to the truth you were. “Like the old stories?”

“It won’t be eternal,” he assured you with a forced chuckle, settling his hands at his side so you wouldn’t see him shaking. This was it. The most crucial part of the plan. “You’ll wake with a full night’s rest. It’ll help you feel a little better.”

“At least that’ll help me face him tomorrow,” you murmured, swallowing the contents of the vial in a single gulp. You let out a yawn. “Don’t leave until... sleep..?”

Your eyes were already fluttering shut and he plucked the bottle out of your hand before it broke on the ground.

“Stephen?” you asked again, voice laced with sleepiness. “I love you.”

“And I you, princess,” he choked out, standing and pressing a final kiss to your head. “Please know I do this all out of love.”

You mumbled something incoherent before your body fell unnaturally still, the potions effects quickly taking over.

He had to work fast. Waving his hands over your body, he changed your night dress to the outfit you’d worn earlier with Brock.

The image made him sick. Your skirt was covered in blood, the corset nearly ripped off your frame- fortunately, your recent tears had swollen your face and reddened it more.

He positioned you delicately above the blankets, draping your hand over the edge of the bed and wrapping the vial carefully in your slack fingers.

He dug through your nearby desk for some parchment and enchanted a quill to mimic your handwriting. A final goodbye, as far as anyone was concerned.

After all, the events had been so traumatic to you, you’d raided Stephen’s observatory and crafted a deadly poison to kill yourself.

And aside from him, Tony, Loki, and Wanda- everyone would think it was effective, in turn, removing you from harms way while the castle was reclaimed.

Not even Peter nor Natalia was privy to what he and his fellow magic users had planned.

Once the coast was clear and your body was taken to the family tomb, Wanda would bring you back to his ancestral home, now occupied by your father’s rebel army.

Stephen couldn’t imagine you were going to be pleased with his dishonesty, particularly after drugging you and keeping your father’s survival to himself, but at least you’d be safe.

And in the end, that’s all that mattered.

Satisfied with the scene he’d crafted, Stephen removed the dining tray with a wave of his hand and portaled outside of the kitchens where he intercepted your personal maid, Violet.

“The princess is unwell,” he explained, letting the princess expression of solemn sympathy flash across her features. “Could you bring her a tray for dinner?”

No one would know he’d crossed your path, and Amora would be too focused on healing Brock to notice any non-seidr magical ongoings around the castle.

Excusing himself to his own quarters, Stephen cleaned himself up for dinner... and a show.

(—)

“The princess-!” he heard Clint call into the dining room that evening. Pepper had excused herself from the meal to tend to the suddenly ill with pox, Princess Morgan.

Brock had the audacity to actually join the group, with Amora smiling dutifully at his side while he and Obadiah discussed trade routes.

Loki and Thor had graciously accepted the kings invitation, and as usual, Stephen was in his place next to Peter.

“What is it?” Obadiah demanded sharply.

“She’s-,” he paused looking to Brock with unease. “Your majesty, the princess has killed herself.”

Stephen waited until someone else reacted first, putting on the most confused and dismayed expression he could manage.

“Take me to her,” he demanded with Peter hot on his footsteps.

Sure enough, you were still laying in bed. Someone (probably Violet) had folded your hands over your chest delicately, and placed the empty vial next to your note.

Stephen made a show of checking you for signs of life, even offering Amora a chance to give a second opinion.

Fortunately, he was that good at what he did.

The potion mimicked the effects of death so well, even the enchantress was shocked by the sudden turn of events. He could tell she was trying to feel out any signs of your seidr, but after a brief pause, turned to confirm the truth to her king.

Loki hissed a curse under his breath and turned on Brock, knife in hand, pressing the cowering king against the wall, demanding justice for the premature death of his bride.

Peter, for his part remained composed. He ordered that he be the one to inform the queen, and parted with his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes filled with fire.

“This is... a tragedy,” Obadiah knelt by your bedside, nudging Stephen aside and taking your hand into his. “So young and just before her wedding. A cruel circumstance of the fates!”

Stephen could have sworn he heard Loki snort at the dramatic scene the king was putting forth.

Thor had managed to pry the prince and king apart, demanding Amora “remove the villain from his sight before he changed his mind”, leaving the two Asgardian princes, Stephen, and Obadiah alone in the chamber.

“Is there no saving her?” the king asked quietly, looking up to Stephen with a desperate frown. “I know what she was to you. Tell me, is there truly no hope?”

Stephen cleared his throat, letting a slight break in his voice crackle as he spoke.

“My grace, I’m familiar with the poison, and Enchantress Amora will confirm my words,” he looked down at you with a heartbroken sigh. “The princess was well aware of the potion she was consuming. There is no return. My most sincere apologies for your loss, your highness.”

Obadiah nodded to himself, standing back up.

“Then the kingdom goes into mourning,” he stated decidedly. “Alert the priests, and have the maids prepare her for viewing.”

He looked at the Odinson brothers, a small sneer tugging at his expression.

“Perhaps we can renegotiate our trade deal,” he suggested, earning a snarl of insults from Thor.

The room now empty and the door closed while maids and servants scurried about with the news outside, the two sorcerers exchanged a look.

“You did well, the effects are convincing,” Loki lifted your arm and let it drop to the bed. “You’ve accounted for rigor mortis?”

“Brother?” Thor stepped forward, lips pressed together tightly as he took in the exchange. “Surely this isn’t another of your tricks?”

“Of course not,” Stephen waved a glowing hand over your body, a small spell that would mimic the effects of rigor mortis, and eventually wear off as the natural sensation would in time. “This trick is mine.”

He repositioned your hand delicately over your chest.

“Is the princess... asleep?” Thor lowered his voice.

“In a sense,” Loki patted his brothers arm. “Keep it to yourself, brother. We need Peter’s fury if this is to go as planned.”

“But she’ll be moved to the crypt-,” Thor started and paused, a knowing smile on his face. “I see. Let me know if I can be of assistance.”

The door swung open and Pepper swept inside with a quiet, red haired, maid behind her.

“The loss is truly a tragedy of our time,” Thor continued, putting on a better performance than Loki and Stephen combined. “The beast that pushed this beautiful maid to an early grave must face justice!”

He slammed a fist against your armoire, meeting Peter’s gaze with a passionate nod when the prince reappeared to comfort his mother.

“Morgan can’t know until the morning,” Pepper stated, her eyes were wide in horro, her voice wavering. “I want that man out of my home.”

She looked between Thor, Loki, and Peter, the men nodding curtly and excusing themselves from the space.

“Stephen, dear Stephen,” Pepper took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

It was a genuine reaction that, admittedly, startled the sorcerer. He’d had suspicions that the queen had known about the two of you- and you’d as much confirmed them earlier in the evening- but the way she looked to him with such earnest sympathy made him realize something.

The queen had stood in his very place not even a few months prior.

She too, had lost the love of her life to senseless violence at the hands of King Brock Rumlow.

It was no wonder she wanted the king out of her sight.

“If it’s comfort to know, it was painless and peaceful,” he mumbled with a nod toward the vial. “She fell asleep and felt nothing.”

“That will bring me some peace,” Pepper murmured, eyes returning to your still form. “Thank you.”

She reached for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze before asking that she be left alone with you for a few moments to mourn.

“Take the time you need,” he stated softly, managing to blink back tears in his own eyes.

Leaving the room, the countdown began.

You’d be awake in four days, and he needed to ensure you were out in the family crypt and removed to safety in that time.

Loki would prod Peter to remove Brock by force, and depending on how the king responded, would likely expedite any funeral plans for you.

Who would have time to mourn when the castle descended into chaos?

The queen and younger princess would be removed for their safety and then the real challenge began.

Getting Peter onto the throne.

“Did you know she would do this?” Natalia asked, pulling Stephen aside after leaving the queen. She caught tugged on his arm furiously. “Stephen, look at me!”

Natalia would be the most difficult to convince. He knew it from the beginning. She was your oldest friend and most trusted confidant.

“I... she assured me she was going to be fine,” he kept his eyes low, guilty even, if she looked at him too carefully. “We spoke briefly after Loki had informed me... I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight. She’s said she’d wanted to rest.”

“And then you asked Violet to bring her a meal?” Natalia questioned, eyes narrowing. “It’s not like you to leave the princess behind when she’s distressed.”

“I don’t think she was particularly pleased with my gender at the time,” he shot back. “Please excuse me, I’d like some time alone with my thoughts.”

He parted abruptly, praying to himself that Natalia wouldn’t dig around too deeply and ruin this whole charade.

(—)

Across the kingdom, just outside of the House Strange keep, Wanda lightly touched Tony’s shoulder, eyes glowing bright crimson.

“It’s happened,” she informed him. “The dawn truly brings a new day.”

“And a new king,” Tony grunted. “I just hope Peter is ready.”

(--)

10 - a trick

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

@ayamenimthiriel @ladynothing @im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

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senacal · 4 years

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Dr. Charles Xavier (Part 3)

Request: Continuation of @saltysebastianstan request.

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Fem Reader

Prompt: Charles and (Y/N) go out for coffee and (Y/N) has some realizations.

Part 1 , Part 2

Warnings: Fluff

Author’s Note: I honestly don’t know how long I want this series to be so bare with me 😬 and Sorry this took so long to get out, I had a little bit of writers block and of course my dear friend, no motivation.

Requests Are Open!

(Not my gif)

It had been a while since Charles had felt any type of stress, sure he had been anxious recently. Who wouldn’t be anxious talking to a large group of college kids? College students could be blunt, cynical, judgmental, and assholes. Thankfully he hadn’t met many of them, the majority of the college kids who did attend his lectures either kept to themselves or ignored him altogether, it was the best possible scenario. That is until he met (Y/N). When he had stepped onto the stage that afternoon, he hadn’t thought he’d meet someone so invested in his work. While he was trying to place whose voice he was hearing, Charles made sure to answer the questions and fit it into his lecture at the same time. After all, he didn’t want to get caught. Although no one would suspect that he was a telepath, they ha no reason to.

Somehow he knew the person behind the voice didn’t have any ill intent involving his work. How could they? Their questions were precise and specific to a field of study that couldn’t lead to a point of danger, or Charles had convinced himself that no one would use his knowledge for evil, but that was a fear he liked to ignore. Charles preferred to have a more optimistic outlook towards others because it was much more easing to think the best of someone than constantly worry about getting screwed over. But Charles could have never imagined someone as magnificent as (Y/N).

(Y/N) was pure in mind and spirit. The benefit of Charles’s gift (other than the obvious) was his ability to sense a person’s intent. (Y/N) had raised good points when she asked why he would trust her, she didn’t know how his powers worked. How could she? She wasn’t a mutant, but that was why Charles wanted to help her. She was actively trying to understand mutants so that she could help them. Her sincerity was one of the reasons he was drawn to her, the others, well, she had an interest in his work. Most girls he spoke with were merely attracted to him because of his looks and accent, he didn’t hold it against them. He might have used those traits to pick up women before, but this time it was different. Not only was (Y/N) persistent that she didn’t like him in any other aspect than a professional relationship, she had an interest in his studies. No one had taken an interest in his work before, at least no one he was interested in dating.

Of course, that was a moot point in the end because as he reminded himself before, their relationship was purely professional. (Y/N) wasn’t interested in him… But for a moment he could have sworn she was interested. He wished he could peek inside her mind to figure out what she thought of him, but he promised no to invade her privacy and he would keep that promise damn it. He just wished it wasn’t so frustrating. Charles was used to reading people’s minds without hesitation. It was a part of him so it was rather hard to suppress. He made a point to keep out of his friend’s minds, but he didn’t have many friends so it wasn’t too hard to remind himself. Perhaps somewhere down the line (Y/N) could become his friend if not, girlfriend.

“Professional, Charles. Stay professional,” He muttered to himself for what seemed like the hundredth time. He didn’t know what it was about her that made his thoughts keep drifting towards wanting a relationship with her, but she managed to enrapture him. It was quite frustrating, and if he was honest, stressful. That’s why he was standing in front of his full-length mirror trying to tame his hair that refused to cooperate with him. Of all days, it chose now not to stay in position. For fucks sake, he wasn’t asking for much, all he wanted was to groom it like the way he had it last night when (Y/N) seemed to take interest in his hair. That wasn’t too much to ask right?

Charles huffed when a strand kept popping up. He had hoped not to add too much product because then his hair wouldn’t be as soft, but it looked like he’d have to.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve seen you fuss over your hair as much as you are now. And that’s saying something,” Raven commented. She had her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe of Charles’s bedroom.

“Very funny, Raven,” Charles grumbled. He dragged his comb through his hair one more time. He narrowed his eyes at the offending strand of hair.

“Why don’t you just reapply that hair product thing you use? What is it, Vitals?” Raven shrugged.

“I’m trying not to overdo it,” Charles flattened the strand with his hand, which worked for a second until it sprung back up. “Maybe I’ll just start all over. Nothing is working.” He tossed his comb onto his dresser with a sigh of defeat.

“Here,” Raven approached him. She licked her hand and slid it over the strand.

“Raven!” Charles pushed her hand away, “Don’t be gross!”

“Don’t be such a baby, it worked!” She defended.

Charles checked himself in the mirror once more and frowned. It did work, but at the cost of having Raven’s saliva smeared on his hair. “What time is it? I think I’ll just shower again.” He checked his watch.

“That’s why I came up here, it’s 11:30, doesn’t your date start at noon?” Raven sat on Charles’s bed, bouncing in her seat, “Why is your mattress more comfortable than mine?”

“Shit. It’s not a date, but yes. I’ve got to get going, uh,” Charles patted his pockets for his keys.

“They’re on your dresser, genius. How you survive without me, I’ll never know,” Raven stood from her seat and pat Charles cheek as she passed him by, “Don’t forget your notes.”

Charles grabbed his keys before he grabbed his briefcase. He thankfully had the brain to pack what he needed the night before. Raven might have told him to do it, but that’s not the point.

Charles rushed to grab his coat, “Okay, Raven. I’ll be back, don’t wait up!” He yelled as he rushed out the door. He checked his watch once more and cursed. If traffic was as horrible as it was the day before, then he’d be a little late. If he could expand his mind and communicate that to (Y/N) he would. He didn’t want to disappoint her so early in their relationship. Professional relationship.

_______________________________________

(Y/N) sat in a booth at the coffee shop she and Charles had agreed to meet at. She glanced at the clock on the wall and tapped the pads of her fingers against the table. He still had another five minutes before he was late, why was she stressing? (Y/N) sighed and picked up her cup of coffee. Maybe it was the caffeine. She shrugged and took another drink anyway. It helped her headache, believe it or not, if only it didn’t worsen her anxiety.

“Would you like anything else?” A waitress asked once again.

Since (Y/N) had been there, which was only ten minutes now, the same waitress kept checking on her. Maybe she thought she was being stood up.

“I’m okay, maybe once my friend gets here. Thank you,” She paused to look at her name-tag, “Mindy,” (Y/N) dismissed with a kind smile.

“Alright, sugar, just let me know,” Mindy smiled kindly and left her once more.

Maybe this was all crazy. Charles didn’t have to show up. He was a busy man and possibly had other people vying for his help and attention. Why should he show up to help (Y/N)? She was just some college kid he met because some girl wouldn’t leave him alone. They weren’t even supposed to meet. (Y/N) looked up at the clock again. Another three minutes till he’d be late.

Yeah, who was she kidding? (Y/N) drank the last of her coffee. This was crazy. It was ridiculous. Why would she think anything he said was serious. He had so much better things to do than teach her about mutants and mutations.

“Sorry, I’m late, love. Traffic was horrendous,” Charles panted. He plopped down in the seat across from her with an apologetic smile.

“You came,” (Y/N) smiled despite herself.

“Of curse I came,” Charles smiled back, he decided then that he’d do all he could to see her smile more often.

“Right, uh, did you want anything? I was just about to order another cup of coffee,” (Y/N) waved her hand hoping to catch Mindy’s attention.

“Uh sure,” Charles set his briefcase next to him.

Once Mindy came to their table, (Y/N) ordered her new cup of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin.

“And for you handsome?” Mindy asked.

“I’ll have the same thing, thank you,” Charles smiled.

“Coming right up,” Mindy winked at (Y/N).

Charles laughed and tapped the table, “In case you’re wondering, she was thinking how lucky you were for having such a handsome date,” He teased.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Don’t know if I should trust your word or not.”

“You can trust me,” Charles chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, “I’m a very trustworthy person.”

“Everyone thinks they’re trustworthy,” (Y/N) quipped.

“That’s true I suppose, but I know you know that you can trust me.” Charles shrugged.

“What happened to not reading my mind?” (Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t have to read your mind to know that,” Charles grabbed his briefcase and set it on the table, “Now, I brought the notes I thought would interest you more, though I do need to know more about your thesis or the thoughts you had.” Charles opened his case and took out his stacks of notes.

“Okay, where should I begin?” (Y/N) relaxed in her seat. She could talk business; it was easier for her, and her mind would be on her thesis and not how handsome Charles truly was. Mindy had been right because Charles was dressed nicely, but he might dress like that regularly. Plus his hair was combed to perfection, and he wasn’t hard on the eyes either.

“First, why have you taken an interest in my work? Maybe from there, we can figure out your intent.”

“Okay, When I was seven or eight years old, my parents wanted to go to the Fourth of July parade. When we were there, there was this man, I never learned his name. At first, I thought maybe he was drunk or something, but then I noticed he was injured. When I looked away for a second and then looked back at him, it was like he was magically healed. I could have been seeing things, but then someone bumped into him and he had these claws extend from his knuckles,” (Y/N) looked down at the table in thought, “At first it scared me, but then they retracted almost instantly and it was as if they weren’t there anymore. I think someone was looking for him because a group of soldiers came running in. Everyone thought they were a part of the parade, but I could tell there was something different about them. Anyway, the man tried his best to get away unseen. I don’t know what happened to him after that though. I never saw him again,” (Y/N) looked back up at Charles, “I just remember feeling sad because if anyone else had seen him, I knew something bad would have happened to him. Since then, I’ve wanted to find out anything I could so I could help any mutants who need it.”

Charles nodded, “You’ve come to the right person then,” He shuffled through his notes, “You said you’re majoring in medicine too, correct?”

Mindy came by with their order, placing napkins down in front of them.

“Thank you, Mindy,” (Y/N) smiled gratefully, “Yeah, my family wasn’t too happy that I wanted to study mutations. They said I was wasting my time,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“Sadly, most people will think studying mutations is a waste. I’ve had the same comments when I was in graduate school,” Charles sipped his coffee and hummed appreciatively. “In a way, the second major you have can benefit you.”

“Yeah, I was actually thinking of maybe becoming an obstetrician if the whole mutation study didn’t pan out? I might have a soft spot for babies,” She picked a piece of muffin off and popped it into her mouth.

“You could still do that,” Charles smiled, “I have some great notes on mutant pregnancy, and I’m sure mutants will feel safer with an obstetrician who is accepting of them versus a doctor who won’t understand them.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, “I hadn’t thought of that,” She grabbed the notebook she brought with her and flipped it open, “Okay, so now I know where I’m headed. Time to teach me some new things, professor,” She grinned. She couldn’t remember feeling this excited before. Okay, that was an obvious lie, but still. It was always a great feeling to have.

Charles hadn’t realized how much time had gone by while he was discussing his teachings with (Y/N). Whenever she was confused or had a comment she would speak up so she could get clarification. She was engaged in their discussion which was refreshing especially since no one has ever been this intrigued in what he had to say when it came to Charles’s work. Raven usually spaced out or pressed his nose and said “snooze.” It got annoying really fast, but he supposed Raven thought the same when he talked about his work.

“Okay, so the potentiality of a human-human couple is slim, but not impossible? What would that mean for me? If we can’t identify that the baby is a mutant, would they be examined by a regular obstetrician?”

“In that case, yes. Unless you were assigned them as your patient there wouldn’t be much for you to do. As you said, there are no tests that will let us know if their child will have the X-gene. It’s best to play it safe in that instance. You can always assist if need be, but for this purpose, we’ll have your thesis focus on identified mutant mothers or fathers. We’ll leave the human couples alone unless specified.” Charles shuffled his papers around so he could continue to keep them in order, but still have access to the next page of notes.

“I hope I’m not being rude by asking, but… your parents, did they have the X-gene?” (Y/N) asked curiously.

“I suppose my father might have, though I couldn’t ask him to verify,” Charles looked up to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, “he passed when I was ten. He didn’t give any indication to him being a mutant though.” He shrugged.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” (Y/N) spoke softly.

“It’s quite alright, it happened a long time ago,” He ran his hand through his hair, “I do know for sure that my mother didn’t have the X-gene. Perhaps I was just special,” He teased to deflect from the topic of his family. That was something he wasn’t too keen on sharing. Only Raven knew about his family and that was only because she had come into his life while they were both still so young.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “keep telling yourself that Charles,” She smiled slightly but hid it behind her coffee cup. Throughout their talk, Charles would crack jokes as often as he could. It was refreshing and welcomed considering they were working.

“What about you?” Charles asked.

“Not so special,” (Y/N) shrugged, “Human parents, human friends, human me.”

“That doesn’t mean that you aren’t special,” Charles tenderly said. He knew for a fact that she was special. She presented it in the way she spoke about her interests and how she spoke to others even if she didn’t find them very charming. She tried her best to treat everyone she met with kindness and that in and of itself was the most special thing about her. She didn’t talk down to people and she knew what she wanted. Charles knew that he wanted her but because of her strong morals, that wouldn’t happen.

“You’re very charming, I bet that comes in handy,” (Y/N) deflected his compliment

“Oh it has its benefits,” Charles agreed.

Instead of doing more work for (Y/N)‘ s work, she and Charles spoke casually about their lives. It was kind of comforting talking to Charles because things seemed to come easy. They talked about their childhoods and their families. (Y/N) found out how long Raven and Charles had known each other, and Charles found out how long (Y/N) had known her best friend. It was almost surprising how comfortable she felt with Charles. Just the other day she was hesitant to even be his friend, but now that she got to know him and some of his quirks, (Y/N) couldn’t be happier. Charles was funny in a witty way, he was beyond intelligent, he was a gentleman, and there was never a dull conversation with him. It helped that (Y/N) took an interest in his work.

“It’s gotten quite late,” Charles glanced at his watch, “I hope I didn’t keep you from anything?”

“Nah, (F/N) probably would have just dragged me to another party by now,” (Y/N) gathered her things together, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“It’s no problem, really. Perhaps we can meet at my home next time? I’m sure Raven would like to get to know you better. Also, it’d probably be cozier.”

(Y/N) bit her lip in thought. What could be the harm, right? She liked Charles, and after a while, her butt did start to hurt sitting in the booth. “Yeah, that’d be nice actually.”

“Wonderful, I’ll uh- did you need a lift?” He offered, hesitant to leave her alone.

“It’s okay, I don’t live too far, remember?” (Y/N) tried to brush him off. She didn’t want to burden him with anything else. After all, he was helping her with her work.

“You’d get home faster if I gave you a ride,” Charles insisted.

“Alright, I’ll let you drive me home then,” (Y/N) agreed.

Together they walked out of the coffee shop to Charles’s car. Once again Charles proved to be a gentleman when he opened both the store and car doors for (Y/N). She thanked him when he was in the car. (Y/N) should have known better than to doubt Charles’s sense of direction and memory. She’d have to remember that he was powerful in his mind. Rather than being afraid of him, it only made him that much more interesting to her. (Y/N) glanced at Charles while he drove. He looked comfortable and confident in his position. (Y/N)’s heart nearly skipped a beat watching him do an everyday activity.

‘I told myself I wouldn’t get wrapped up in his charms,’ She scolded herself.

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @dankpogue @theatreandtessa @peachykeen3502 @food-cures-all @commissioner23 @nerdcc-1701 @bittersweetsarcastocsworld

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#Charles Xavier #charles xavier x reader #professor x #professor x x reader #x-men #x-men x reader #charles xavier x fem reader #x-men x fem reader #professor x x fem reader #james mcavoy

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henry-cavill-baby · 4 years

Text

Mark of the Witcher ┃2

Chapter 2: Djinnefer

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Original Female Character

Length: 3k

Warnings: Some smut

Taglist: @lowkeyofsassguard (it’s not letting me tag you, sorry!)

Summary: Bottled Appetites and Carnal Desires

Sleep, it seemed, was an unattainable star in the vast night sky.

And this assumption was proved by one Geralt of Rivia; a Witcher who hadn’t been blessed with a good nights rest in… how long had it been? Two weeks now?

And this wasn’t to go without saying that Geralt had tried hours of peaceful meditation aside Roach, honing in on the wafting breeze through the loose fall leaves ready to fall to the forest floor. The birds in the nearby bushes tittering to one another did nothing but irritate Geralt.

It seemed everything annoyed the Witcher these days.

Monsters seemed to be far and few as of late and the lack of villagers screaming for help and tossing him their coin left him nearly penniless. The utter silence and animal chatter of the forest was no good for Geralt, it took his mind to the memories of his youth in Kaer Morhen—ones he could live without reliving.

Huffs from under the large wicker tree had Geralt turning to Roach, golden eyes squinting with sleep at the companion. “Can’t sleep either.” His voice is gruff and caked with drowsiness, his legs nearly weary as he hefts to stand.

The sun had cleared the misty sky and it burned his eyes.

The ground is muddy near the water bank as Geralt tries to plant his steps and stalk by the river, golden net tight in his fists. Creatures and Demons—the occasional horde of Drowners pried on livestock, and killing a one of them was more work than worth the coin. There were no sounds that would give way to a hiding spot for a scrounging demon to try to take him by surprise.

“Lovely ladies from Nilfgaard… and their ladies can kiss my—Geralt?”

Geralt almost stumbled in his step as a voice known all to well permeated through the air, a frowned expression overcoming his tired face. Of all the things he did not need, this would be the second.

Geralt turns and sees Jaskier—the bard is dressed in a blue and white tunic better fit for a court bard, with that cursed lute still cradled in his arms, pants puffy around the thighs in an obnoxiously fashionable manner—and turns back to the river with a low growl.

“What’s it been? Years? Months?” Jaskier pondered aloud, smiling at the sight of his friend, Geralt. “Does time even matter anymore, really.”

Geralt grunts as Jaskier goes on, still following like an overgrown pup. “I heard you were in town, you know, and while I have missed you dearly—I do think it’s time you got a hobby. You know, get out and see the world.” A thought popped into the Bards head. “Speaking of seeing the world, have you stopped by Cintra?”

The name Cintra nearly chills Geralt’s bones, but he just grunts out a hard, “No.” Continuing on the path along the riverbank, Geralt listens as Jaskier talks to himself.

“How am I, I hear you ask; I’m good, thanks for asking.” Jaskier huffed as his shoes sank slid on a patch of dry mud. “You see, I recently bedded the sweetest Countess and then, right after our fifth round of passionate love making, she sends me away. Can you believe that, Geralt?”

Geralt ignored him in favor of throwing his net in the water… and pulling it back empty. Fuck, he thought, and continued.

“Still a man of few words,” Jaskier hums, taking a swig of watered down ale that seemed a to be on the hotter side. The taste nearly turned his tongue.

“What are you doing, Geralt?” Jaskier nods to the empty net, finally deciding give in to his curiosity.

“Fishing?” He speculated with a frown. “You may be good at many things but I doubt that fishing is your forte. That is unless you catch one and are willing to share with an old friend?”

Geralt grunts and continues along the water line, next in hand as mud cakes everything up to his ankles. Shaking his head, Geralt throws the net again.

“You are still a Witcher right?” Jaskier hums. “I see you haven’t changed your outfit… or hair… or anything really. Why—What are you fishing for, exactly?”

“Is it carp? Is that your favorite?”

No answer.

“Or trout, do you like trout?”

No answer.

“Pike?”

Still no answer.

“Zander? I’m just listing fish now—is that a fish?”

Geralt sighs deeply in his chest, turning to Jaskier with the empty net in hand. “I’m not fishing.” The net is tossed back into the river. “I can’t sleep.”

“Ah.” Jaskier mutters. “That makes complete sense in the sense that it… makes none.” Jaskier stepped as close to the Witcher as was comfortable. “Geralt, talk to me.” Finally, a hint of concern etches into the Bards voice. “What’s happened? Is it about…you know.”

“No.” Geralt snaps. “She has nothing to do with this.” He spits with venom, eyes blazing with unadulterated rage. “I’m looking for a djinn and it’s somewhere in this lake, and I can’t fucking sleep!” He spits before stomping farther down and throws the net, trying to relax his shoulders.

“A djinn—a floating djinn—like a genie?” Jaskier questioned while ignoring the outburst.

“The bad tempered fellas who trick you with the three wish nonsense.” Jaskier nodded to himself, “And pray tell, how will this djinn help with your little problem?”

Jaskier answered himself: “And I’m not one to tell you how to live your life, Geralt, believe me, I don’t want to know what you get up to in your free time. But have you even considered that maybe this has to do with what you’ve been avoiding since last I saw you, currently still are?”

The words were unspoken between them: Child Surprise—Law of Surprise; destiny and what have you.

“No,” Geralt grunts. “It’s not about that. Not everything has to do with her, Jaskier.”

It was a lie he’d been telling himself for all these years now. The dreams never stopped, the cravings never quelled, and the urge to run to Cintra and take what was his boiled beneath the surface, like a pot of stew on the brink of spillage.

“Well, you could be right.” Jaskier hummed, leaning against a shady oak, watching Geralt hock the net back into the murky waters. “But you could be wrong. How old is she now, ten? Twelve?” Jaskier took a sour tone, “Do you even care, Geralt?”

“You know, a lovely Countess told me that Destiny only works harder when those enthralled by it resist its call. And that the harder you run away, the more desperate you become.”

Geralt moves closer to the water and throws in the net again, bending down to see if he’d caught anything and turning to raise a judgmental eyebrow at Jaskier. “Did you sing to her before she sent you away?” He grunted, glaring at the empty net.

“Yes I did.” Jaskier proudly answered then paused, stomping to his friend and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me something, Geralt?”

Chucking the next into the water once more, Geralt turned to Jaskier, raising one white brow with lips in a thin line. The voice of the bard is only making his agitation worse, and he prays for Roach to chase him away.

“No, really—Geralt, be honest with me,” Jaskier bellows into the empty forest. “How is my singing?”

The trees are silent and the bird flutter in anticipation, watching with beady eyes as the Witcher stands tall with a wet empty net, throwing it back into the watery depths once more.

“It’s like eating a pie and finding it has no filling.”

Jaskier stumbles back in shock at his friend’s horrendous insult, sputtering, “You—need a nap!”

Hands planted firmly on his hips and a scowl deeply etched on his soft face, Jaskier waited for his lug of a friend to turn and apologize for being rude. Instead—

“Hm.” Geralt hummed as he pulled the net from the waters, finally having caught his treasure. It was the size of a jug of ale, corked tightly with the symbol of the wizard who’d sealed it away. There was no certainty as to how long it had been down there, and djinns tended to veer towards to malevolent side the longer they were trapped.

Jaskier had been right in that they tended to play tricks when tempted by the faults of men, but Geralt was no man.

“What is—is that it? You found it?” Jaskier asked whilst coming to stand before Geralt. “Can I just—“

“Jaskier—“

They were in a standoff; Jaskier grasping the handle as Geralt refused his hold on the seal, staring at the bard with his deadly gaze. Neither was willing to let go.

Geralt’s attempts at tugging were moot, “Let go.”

But Jaskier was adamant in his grip, “Take back that bit about my filling less pie, and then you can have your sleepy little djinn.”

The urge to simply rip it from Jaskier was more tempting as the seconds passed. But at least the djinn was finally found and he could wish for a batch of well needed rest, though as long as Jaskier was around it wouldn’t be a peaceful sleep.

The Wizards seal popped off the top of the djinn’s previously captive state, and with that, all hell broke loose.

Aleira huffed from her windowsill, looking down at the children playing down below in the streets. None of them had nice clothes, clean faces or fussed up hair. They had no cares in the world outside of games and survival within the protected walls of Cintra. It was such an easy life to live. Guards stand posted by any door leading into the castle making it nearly impossible for anyone to sneak in or out.

The sky was cloudy above the looming Castle, and she prayed for the rains to fall.

“Princess?” the druid Mousesack calls from outside the door, his head poking in to see the eldest child in the line of the throne.

Everything in the young girls room is beyond cleanliness, aside from the stacks of parchment on the wooden desk, a dried up ink quill abandoned. Frown lines mar his face as she turns, showing off her defeated face. “And pray tell, what is the cause of your unhappiness?”

Aleira sighed, palm holding her cheek as she gazed out the window once more. “Nothing, Mousesack.”

He hmm’s and steps into the room, shutting the door behind and falling to his knees before the small princess. “I can’t fix what you won’t tell me.” Baby blue eyes watered before him, and he reached up to cup her cheek, “Please, Aleira.”

Her voice trembled, “Why can’t I go outside like Cirilla?” One finger pointed outside the window, smashing against the glass. “I hate being inside these walls everyday. I despise the lessons at every hour and having dinner with Grandmother every single night. I want to be out there with everyone else, Mousesack. I want…”

I want to be like everyone else

Mousesack let forth a deflated sigh, patting the silk clothed knee of the princess. “Believe me when I say that I want nothing more than for you to be happy, Aleira.” Unspoken words lay lodged in his throat, as he stands tall looking down upon her.

“Grandmother wants to keep me locked away.” Aleira let the words flow. “And I’m beginning to think you would have it that way as well. “

Mousesack shakes his head, grey hairs flying. “That isn’t true and you know it. Every choice the Queen makes is to protect you—“

“Protect me from what?” Aleira demands, standing up and glaring up at the Castle Druid. Her eyes are ablaze with fury and her hands clench at her sides, nails digging into soft skin.

“Our Kingdom is well protected and there hasn’t been an attempt on any of us in years. There’s no reason that a child like Cirilla can prance around with the other children but I’m locked away in here like a monster!” Her voice is trembling with anger, staring up at the man who raised her more than her parents.

Yes, they’d died two years ago, but even then, Mousesack was the closest she had to a father; Calanthe was no mother.

“You’ll understand one day, I swear to it.” Mousesack tries to reasons, moving to leave the girl to her juvenile rage.

“Is it about Geralt?” The name slipped through her lips like a curse. “Is he the cause of all this? Is he to blame for my suffering?”

Aleira wrenched back as Mousesack darted forwards, pulling her close and staring with pursed lips and dark eyes, “Who told you that name?”

His reaction is enough to cause a tendril of fear to flutter up her spine. “No one.” She mutters, trying to move away.

“Aleira,” Mousesack murmurs, trying to calm his racing heart. “This is a matter of your safety, as well as this Kingdom.” She can feel the Druid’s magic haphazardly swirling in the air.” I need you to tell me who told you that name.”

Regret boils in her veins; she should’ve kept it to herself.

That name had sounded like a curse on the tongue of Calanthe, and truly, Aleira had no clue whom this Geralt even was. She’d tried to hear more of the conversation from the hallway, but it had taken a turn to plans concerning the invasion of a foreign forest, and those plans were of no importance to her. The memory of lying in bed and wondering why the name Geralt sparked something deep in her was still a mystery.

“Grandmother.” She muttered while meeting Mousesack’s eyes. “I was eavesdropping and I heard it, I swear.”

That seemed to be enough for the Druid to pull back whilst nodding to himself, hands wringing and eyes darting about the room. Uncertainty whirled around his mussed hair, and she barely had a moment to watch him flee the room.

Subconsciously, she reached back and rubbed the tender skim on the back of her left shoulder, eyeing the salve gifted to her by Mousesack. It was cold on her skin but the aching fled easily, and Aleira collapsed on her bed, listening to the sounds of the children below.

Sunlight poured in through the cracked windows lining the near decimated castle walls. The floors were scattered with crumbled pieces of granite walls and mountains of pillows littered the floor.

The grunts and moans of Yennefer of Vengerberg—one of the strongest witches known to come from Aretuza with a proclivity for chaos and self mischief—echoed around the room as Geralt hefted her hips up higher in his grasp, bottoming out in her wet cunt.

He hadn’t come in to help her expecting a fuck, hadn’t intended for her to try and be a host for the djinn like a madwoman, and the strange desire to not see her die had cost him a wish. This third wish had nearly involved the Witch. Kindness was not a Witcher’s strength. But she had saved Jaskier—even if for her own preposterous reasons—and though kindness was not his forte, paying back favors was.

A life for a life, something along those lines.

Wet slaps of skin echoed as Geralt shut his eyes, nails digging into the soft flesh of her tanned thigh. His pace grew erratic and punishing as the walls of her cunt deliciously drew him in, his own moans joining hers. Ecstasy flooded his veins—carnal desire rising to the surface of his warm flesh.

It had too long since he’d felt a woman’s flesh. It was all too intoxicating for him to bear. When Geralt opened his eyes, expecting to gaze into the lilacs of Yennefer, he saw the ocean blue of his child Surprise.

The girl from his dreams was bare under his naked body; her full round tits bounced with each thrust and he could not resist the eager desire to take one into his mouth and suck like a newborn babe, biting the sensitive flesh. She still smelled of peaches, ones fresh enough to kill a man for, and he would—kill a man for her, that is.

Geralt would burn worlds for this girl, and he didn’t even know her name.

His curls fanned out on the surroundings pillows, and he longed to kiss the full lips that begged for his attention. His thrusts grew erratic and his hold grew tight, wishing this were real.

The mirage of her was gone all too fast and Yennefer screamed to the high heavens and flopped back onto the pillows, cunt walls fluttering around the cock buried deep inside. She was limp as he pulled his soft wet cock slowly out, collapsing next to her. There was no sound but the chattering outside from Jaskier, who’d definitely gotten an eyeful.

“If I’d known Witchers fucked like that, I would have gotten one myself a long time ago.” Yennefer turned and smirked, reaching forward to pin a piece of his white hair behind his ear.

“I’m sure my brothers would make a fine harem.” He grunted, keeping his hands to himself. It felt wrong to want to caress her, so he didn’t.

“Do you have a lover, Geralt of Rivia?” She asked with a raised brow. “I won’t be jealous, promise.”

He grunted but shook his head, “Having a lover would take time away from hunting monsters.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She hummed while twirling a piece of white hair. “I will admit that you are not as scary as you think.”

“Really?” A chuckled rumbled in Geralt’s chest. “You would be surprised how many people throw me out of their town once I’ve done their bidding.”

“Humans are dull, Geralt. Never get entangled with one, they will only disappoint you.” She laughed, “Or die, or get sick.”

“None of us are immune to death, Yennefer.”

Chuckling, Yennefer sat up and stretched. “You would be surprised what tricks a mage like myself can do.” A look of curiosity overcame her beautiful face, “Who were you thinking of? When you were rutting into me like a dog, Geralt?”

There’s no chance to deny it, “I know you saw someone else.”

Telling her about his Child Surprise feels… wrong, so he doesn’t.

“A woman I knew in Blaviken who didn’t see me as a monster.” He recalled, turning to look into her wide lilac orbs. “She was kinder than any man I’ve ever know.”

The two of them laid back and basked in the days sun, not touching but not far apart. They both knew they would need to rise soon and face whatever was to come, but this moment of peace was too good to pass up. And Jaskier singing much to loud outside would be best avoided.

“Aleira.” Yennefer declared, not looking away from the sun. “You called me Aleira; was that her name?”

Chapter 3... eventually, don’t rush me plz

Hope you enjoyed!

#the witcher fanfic #the witcher #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x oc #geralt imagines #geralt of rivia x oc #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagines

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angstmongertina · 4 years

Text

hidden meanings

Mishka answered an ask about what A meant when they said that they aren’t “good at this sort of thing” and it fucking destroyed me so here we are, like a week and some 2.6k words later. (I’m sorry I’m a slow writer lol.)

Guys, I love Adam so goddamn much.

Most of the dialogue is Mishka’s. I’m just expanding out the scene with more introspection than is entirely healthy lol.

AO3 Link

Adam is not, by nature, a man of change.

Of course, living through nine centuries has done something to temper his obstinacy, and he knows that he is at least less technology-adverse than Nate, but he is also fully aware of the fact that that comparison means hardly anything. Even so, in his long life, he has also found it far easier to simply focus on the present and his duties to the Agency, the organization that, despite its own changes, has remained one of the closest things to a constant in the rapidly evolving world around him.

This world that he does not truly belong in, but that he also cannot leave, that he has simply been existing in for nearly a millennium.

Still, he has long since learned that it is easier, that it is better, to concentrate on the task at hand, to do his job without unnecessary frills and complications. He only has need of himself, his assignment, and his team, those very select few he has come to work with and trust. Those others who have proven themselves, who are also frozen in time, permanently caught in the eddies of the steady stream of life. Who, like him, have secrets and memories that lay guarded, shrouded in the past, out of sight and out of mind.

At least, that has all been the case until Unit Bravo found themselves assigned to Wayhaven and to her.

If anyone had told him, a scant few months earlier, that a human woman, still so young and inexperienced, the daughter of his unit’s handler, would have brought so much change to all of their lives, he would have called them crazy. And yet…

He glances down to his side.

It is a strange thing. At a first pass, the figure walking beside him, taking at least two steps for every one of his, is not one he would have expected to make such an impact. While he has to admit that Agent Langford herself is not of any impressive physical stature, she has an elegance, a commanding presence, that has always served her well, both on the field and behind a desk. Her daughter, on the other hand, manages to be of even smaller frame, not even reaching his shoulder in height, and so slender that she looks as though a strong wind might be able to knock her off her feet. Despite the potential dangers of their mission, her dark hair hangs in messy waves down her back, long and unbound and utterly impractical for combat. All in all, she is, at least at first glance, utterly ordinary, looking for all the world like another resident of Wayhaven that has shown up to this accursed carnival. Except…

Except, in spite of the crowds, the noise and the sights and the chaos, of everything that he loathes, everything that should be overwhelming to his senses, even in the best of times, all of it pales in comparison to her.

As if sensing his thoughts, or at least his attention, she tilts her head up, raising an eyebrow, and his chest tightens at the inquisitive look in the stormy grey eyes that lift to meet his, at the way his traitorous hand twitches in its attempt to reach out for her. Her lips part, all soft curves compared to the bright sharpness of her gaze, and he only realizes when she presses them together, a heaviness resting in their corners, that she has asked him a question.

One that he cannot for the life of him even begin to recall.

Instead, he gives his usual noncommittal grunt, at once a deflection and a response, one that has always served him well. Except this time, his typical antagonism does not appear to hide his preoccupation; for a split second, something flashes across her face, disappearing so quickly that even he, with his supernatural speed, cannot identify it. Its swift departure does not, however, prevent it from settling poorly in his stomach, a sudden storm of unease that has him looking down, unable to meet her eyes and the depths of what he might find there.

He cannot help but be thankful that it is only a few steps further to the carousel, a bright, swirling mixture of colors and music that seems to draw the attention of everyone in range. Almost as if it has been expecting them, the ride slows as they approach, and he does not fail to notice the way Surina’s face brightens as she sets foot onto the steps, the first hint of true enthusiasm he has seen from her since their disagreement in the car.

The animation in her features, highlighted by the twinkling lights of the ride, is nearly enough to make him stumble as he follows her. Climbing up with more difficulty than he cares to admit, he stiffens, clearing his throat before crossing his arms over his chest.

Given her preoccupation, he is almost surprised when it cuts through her reverie, but somehow, it does and in spite of the bustle of others climbing on around them and the general din of the park, her quiet intake of breath echoes in his mind. She turns from inspecting one of the fiberglass creatures to give him another questioning look, but this time, he is prepared for her keen gaze and instead, he glances about them, eyes narrowed. “I don’t think both of us should be seated for this ride. One of us should stay standing to cover us in case of issues.”

The words come out stilted, heavy against her excitement, and part of him finds himself regretting them when they seem to settle over her shoulders, pressing down against the cheer that had lifted them only moments earlier. For a second, he wonders if she will argue, contemplates apologizing, but she only exhales in a long breath before giving a nod, though a hint of a smirk replaces the faint frown on her face, one that is usually enough to put him on his guard, except…

Except, this time, those grey eyes lighten to a softer blue, once again dancing with her amusement, and he can feel his chest tighten in response, enough so that he almost, almost, misses her next statement.

“All right. You sit and I’ll stand.”

It is a challenge and he knows it. Her face is alight with the force of her energy, her eyebrow quirked teasingly with a hand braced on her hip. Despite his best efforts, his breath catches in his throat as the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk, and he has to actively force himself to look away, running a hand through his hair to resist the urge to wipe that cocky smile off of her face, to taste the insolence on her lips…

“Fine.”

Blindly, he reaches for the nearest creature, climbing into the fiberglass saddle before the form of his chosen steed registers to him. It isn’t until she steps closer, her grin growing wider, that the curved neck and pale white wings filter into his consciousness, and he finds himself resisting the urge to growl.

“Seems appropriate.” She chuckles, apparently too preoccupied with running a hand over the bright orange beak to notice the way he stiffens at her words, his heart pounding so loudly that it’s a small wonder everyone on the ride doesn’t notice, but, oddly, instead of mocking, her gaze is playful, a soft invitation. “You know, the whole bad-tempered part?”

She takes another step closer and he says nothing, cannot begin to form a coherent sentence in lieu of gritting his teeth as her arm brushes against his, a warmth that he can feel even through his coat, and he resists the urge to flinch.

Judging from the way she glances away, her expression falling yet again, he is not as subtle as he hopes.

He is not sure if it is perfect or horrendous timing that the ride begins then and she rocks onto her heels, her hand wrapping around the pole just under his, so close that he can feel the heat from it, can almost feel the fluttering of her heartbeat, soft and rhythmical under the cheerfully chiming music, interwoven with laughter and conversation from the other patrons. Steady and intoxicating.

He swallows once, hard, and looks away.

“Maybe we should talk… or something?” Her voice is quiet, enough so that he is certain that anyone without supernatural hearing would not have been able to hear it, and his eyebrows climb at the show of hesitance from his normally combative companion. “Help blend in with everyone else.”

In spite of his better judgment, he lets his eyes drift back over the crowds to where she stands at his side, her face tilted slightly to meet his gaze, and finds his thoughts scattering under the weight of that soft grey. “Talk?” The word comes out slightly strangled and he hastily clears his throat. “Talk of what?”

A slim shoulder rises in a shrug. “Anything, I suppose. We just stand out because we’re so silent.”

“We’re on a job. Chatting isn’t a priority.”

The reply falls out of his mouth without thinking, with the reflexes born from centuries of sidestepping and ignoring attempts at unnecessary conversations and sentiments, of focusing on his missions for the Agency, of maintaining his distance from this world that he does not quite belong in. It is the simple truth, the best, safest approach for everyone involved. And yet…

And yet the flicker of emotion in her eyes before her face smooths out stings, a keen ache in his chest that somehow hurts far more than any amount of anger would have, particularly when she only looks around before leaning closer, her voice dropping to scarcely more than a breath on the evening breeze.

“That was a little loud, Adam. People might overhear.”

The mild censure manages to filter into his consciousness, and he only barely manages to stop himself from flinching at the warning. Their investigation, their mission for the Agency… They are paramount, are the only reason why she is here with him now, playing out this little charade. They must be. Which means…

He turns to meet her gaze once more, taking a deep breath as he catches her eye, now dark and swirling with a myriad of emotions, just out of reach, that he does not dare to try and recognize, that he will not, that he cannot, lose himself in.

Not again. Never again.

Even so, his traitorous heart clenches in his chest, sharp and almost stifling, each pounding heartbeat sending a fresh pang through his entire being. Each breath is constricted, straining against the tightness that binds him, wrapping around his chest until he is drowning in the fierce ocean of his own intense reaction. In wild desperation, he arches his back, focusing on the way his muscles stretch and tighten, on the weight of his coat shifting over his shoulders, on the breath that escapes his lips, warm in the cool evening air. On the space his movement adds between them, the distance that he needs to maintain.

On anything but her.

And still, he can feel those stormy eyes watching him, unwavering, waiting. He can feel his walls cracking under that heavy gaze, feel as it seems to draw the truth from the depths of his soul, and as much as he wants to hold it all back, he cannot. Not to her.

“I’m not good at…” At maintaining appearances around her, at opening up to other people, or even himself. At vulnerability… “At this kind of thing.”

For a moment, her expression softens, and he stiffens ever so slightly at the gentleness in her gaze, at the way she leans even closer, apprehension and hope waging war in equal measure in his mind. “You don’t have to be,” she says, her voice so soft that he can scarcely hear it over the thundering of his heart. “You just have to try.”

Her words echo in his mind, quiet and patient and somehow they shake him more than anything she has said to him before, threatening to peel back each of his painstakingly constructed layers until he is exposed, raw and bare and…

Crimson flowing in thick rivulets from the gashes in her neck, staining the concrete floor. Soft grey eyes fluttering closed over a shaky smile. Fear and desperation drowning out every rational thought, every ounce of sense in his mind—

He swallows hard.

…And dangerous.

This world is, he is, a threat to her, one he cannot let himself expose her to, no matter how desperately part of him wants to. Not if he brings naught but pain and destruction to her, as he inevitably will.

He has learned that much, at least.

His free hand clenched in an effort to not break the bar he still holds, he takes a deep breath against that persistent tightness in his chest, letting it out in a long sigh. “You are…” The ride separates them gradually, irrevocably, and he cannot be sure if it is relief or disappointment that floods his system, that has the corners of his mouth relaxing. Just as he cannot be sure whether it is fear or anticipation that quickens his heart as he returns once more to meet her gaze, still with that strange, unfathomable patience. As he bites his tongue, holding back the words he longs to say, the truths he cannot tell. “Difficult to talk to,” he finishes quietly but the words feel hollow in his mouth and he cannot hide from the way she lets out the breath she was holding, from the disappointment that streaks across her face, that finds the cracks in his already weakened defenses and cuts, deep and piercing.

“Why?”

The ride has shifted until he is level with her once more and, this close, he can feel the puff of her breath against his skin in the cool evening air, the gentle caress drawing his gaze until all he can see is the soft curve of her lips, parted and frozen, waiting. He can feel the heat of her hand curled around the pole, just below his, skin fluttering with the rapid beating of her heart, so exposed and fragile. He can feel the shape of her name in his mouth, his lips forming around each syllable, the sounds hanging heavy in the space between them, careful and hesitant and yet, somehow, right…

A small jerk throws him off balance, sending Surina stumbling a few steps to the side, and he reacts on instinct, sitting upright as she catches her balance, his muscles tensing when he realizes that he has begun to reach out a steadying hand. Her gaze is still on him, dark and inscrutable, slowly, inexorably drawing him into that pool of something deep and overwhelming and he can’t.

With an effort, he wrenches his gaze away, his hand once again tightening into a fist. Their surroundings filter back into his consciousness, the other riders dismounting, the din of their laughter and conversations crashing back over him in waves of noise and sensation. Cold. Shocking.

A reminder.

Clearing his throat, he slides off the swan, the simple action less fluid than he would like to admit, and finds himself tugging at the collar of his coat. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest, sturdy and resolute. Shielding. “We should move on.”

It is nothing more than a simple statement of truth. He knows this. And yet, he cannot quite suppress the disappointment that wells in his chest when she nods, her reply a quiet whisper, and follows him back into the crowd.

#the wayhaven chronicles #Adam du Mortain #Angst du Mortain #Adam du Mortain/MC #Adam du Mortain/Detective #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays TWC.#commanding agent of my heart #otp: tu omnia

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mackinmacki · 4 years

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Those in Glass Houses (White Rose Week #1)

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: White Rose

Word Count: 5197

Rating: G

Synopsis: Weiss has a tough time dealing with her past actions, wondering if the girl she loves can ever forgive her for how she acted.

Prompt: Mirror

Links: FFN | AO3

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'Tell me: what do you see?' She stared blankly at the wall, every inch covered in mirrors. They were all shiny and clean, as if someone had just taken an entire bottle of Windex to them. All she could see in them was herself, her piercing blue eyes empty as they looked back at her. It felt like she could see through herself, right into the depths of her very soul. Every day, she loathed the person she saw staring back.

"I see a weak-willed girl," she whispered, stepping forward. She pressed her fingertips against the mirrored wall, watching her reflection duplicate her actions. It felt like she could feel a cool touch against her fingers, like her reflection was trying to break free of its confines. "I see..." She swallowed thickly, feeling a couple errant tears start to trickle down her cheek. "I see someone who doesn't know who she is."

'Curious...' She turned around, surrounded by the sad, judgmental looks of her reflections. They were everywhere. The mirrors covered every wall, as well as the floor beneath her and the ceiling above her. There was no escaping the bitter truth that she was forced to swallow every day. 'You know who you are, Weiss. It's who you have been ever since you were born. Some would call it destiny.'

"I don't believe you." Truthfully, she didn't want to believe it. However, she couldn't help but feel some sort of truth within those words. She had grown up to become exactly like everyone expected her to be: a haughty, judgmental brat who couldn't get anywhere without the wealth and privilege that her family name brought. If she had been born the exact same person, but without the Schnee name dragging behind her like a ball and chain, she would be nothing.

'Think about all the terrible things you've said. All the things you've done.' She felt a cold breeze tickling her skin, making her instinctively hug herself to try and find some semblance of warmth. 'Do you really think Blake respects you when you hate her kind?' Without thinking about it, she lifted up a hand and touched the scar on her face, blinking back tears. 'Do you think Ruby cares for you when you've shown her nothing but disdain every step of the way?'

"She does," but her words held no conviction. In the mirrors, she watched a memory play out: the first time she and Ruby met at Beacon. She cringed when she watched her reaction to Ruby running into her and knocking over her luggage. While it had been an annoying occurrence, her response was beyond the pale. She had treated a stranger the same way everyone believed she would: like they were an annoyance that needed to be eliminated from her life. If she could just close her eyes, she could pretend that her actions in the past were all fictitious.

Unfortunately, she couldn't close her eyes, so she was forced to watch every terrible thing she had said and done be recreated by her reflection. She struggled as she heard the horrendous things she said about faunus, all right to Blake's face. For the first time, she could see Ruby's face throughout that scene. There was clear confusion and disappointment written all over it. She felt like she was being stabbed in the heart.

Each time she watched herself say something unnecessarily rude to Ruby, she felt the girl she loved slipping farther away. It hadn't hit her that she had such strong feelings for Ruby until it was too late, which was poetic justice if she had ever heard of it. Only she could be so rude to a person she'd end up loving. It was just who she was, after all. That was the kind of attitude everyone expected from a Schnee, and she did nothing to buck those trends.

'You see? How could anyone want to be near you when you act like that?' She wanted to say that it wasn't true: that she was a changed person, and she would never act that way anymore. What did that matter, though? Even if she was changed, she had still acted that way. Nothing there was false: she had been that rude, that horrible to be around. All of her friends abandoning her was proper penance for the way she had treated them. Tears fell nonstop now, blurring her vision as she watched her reflection swim around the glass.

'Your eye isn't the only place you hold scars.' Through the tears, she watched her reflection point all over her body before letting her finger hover over her heart. 'You are scarred everywhere. You are nothing but a miserable pile of scars, stitched together to become a semblance of a human being.' Each time she attempted to deny the truth that was ringing in her ears, she was forced to choke back a sob, and the words would die on her throat again and again.

She wiped away her tears, only to see something more horrific than anything she had done in the past. Her reflection started transforming right in front of her. She was growing taller, her hair shortening as her pristine white dress tightened up into an immaculate suit. With a rapidly-drying throat, she could only watch in horror as she transformed into her father.

"No..." Her voice was merely a whisper as she stared into the dark, uncaring eyes of her father. 'This is who you were always meant to become.' She shook her head fervently, not wanting to believe it. "I will never become him." If she said it enough times, maybe she could truly believe it herself. "I won't be him, I won't be him, I won't-" 'You're the heir to the Schnee Dust Company, are you not? Is it not your destiny to take his mantle someday? To run the company just as he has.'

"No! I would never!" She shouted at the voice, trying to sound more convincing than she felt. There was no way she would run the SDC like her father. She wasn't the same girl she had been when she first went to Beacon. Her feelings on faunus in particular had changed: she wouldn't abuse them like the horror stories she had heard concerning their labor underneath the SDC's corporate thumb. "I won't become my father!" She waited for a response, but the room was silent. It was just her and her reflection, staring at her angrily. "I won't! I won't I won't I won't!" Still nothing.

"Stop ignoring me!" Pulling Myrtenaster out of its holster, she spun the chamber around until it landed on ice. Then she started firing, shooting wave after wave of ice at the walls. Everywhere she aimed, the mirrors shattered, shards of glass tumbling to the ground. She spun around, her mind gone as she screamed out her frustrations. The walls became black voids as every mirror broke apart, leaving their reflections scattered across the floor.

"Please..." She dropped to her knees, crawling towards the broken mirrors. The shadow of her father followed beneath her, gliding like a ghost on the floor-length mirror. "I'm not... I'm not him..." She reached out and gathered up a handful of the shards, pulling them close to her. They laid across each other in an ugly, haphazard pile. In each one, she could see a part of her reflection, and she looked so angry: so ugly. "I promise..."

'You don't need to worry. You've already lost everything. Your friends, your inheritance, your dignity. There's nothing left for you to lose.' She wrapped her arms around her chest, sobbing openly. The tears that fell were greeted by her reflection's, who was crying along with her. Why? Why couldn't she have just been a better person? Why did her mother have to give up on her? Why did her sister have to abandon her? Why did she have to grow up to become her father? Why why why why whywhywhywhywhy-

"Don't listen, Weiss!" Her head shot up as she heard a different voice: a familiar voice. She started looking everywhere, peering deep into the void that had become her walls, but she couldn't see anyone. Slowly she stood up, her legs shaking as she started to move towards the center of her room. "It's not true!" There was the voice again, louder and clearer this time. It sounded much stronger than the previous voice had been.

"R-Ruby?" She stood in the center of the room, unsure of what to do. That had definitely sounded like Ruby's voice, but she couldn't tell where it had come from. 'She isn't real.' The other voice spoke in her head again, making her heart sink. 'Ruby would never forgive you for how terrible a person you are' She slapped her hands against her ears, trying in vain to block the negative words out. "N-No, it's not true! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Weiss!" There it was again. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere within the void. With slow, tentative steps, she walked forward, looking down at the shards of glass that now covered the floor. To her surprise, she saw a flash of red rush past a cluster of the broken mirror pieces. Then, on another little pile, she saw what looked like a red cloak whisk by. Could it be...?

On a whim, she started to try and piece together part of the mirrored wall that she had destroyed. She pulled pieces towards her, trying to place them together in order to build a full picture. Sometimes the glass would slice through her skin, droplets of blood dripping onto the floor, but she kept going. She didn't even let out so much as a whimper of pain. Her concentration was too great to be disturbed by such trivial matters.

'All you do is waste your time. You're trying to fix your past through your sad, pitiful reflection.' She saw her pale, pathetic face reflected in the makeshift mirror, and it almost cost her her nerve. However, this time she was able to push the voice aside. Remembering what Ruby had told her, she gritted her teeth and kept going. Piece by piece pressed together at odd angles, her eyes scanning desperately for more signs of red, but all she could see were the odd droplets of blood. 'She doesn't love you.'

"I don't need her to love me," she muttered, reaching out to grab more pieces. "I just need to tell her I'm sorry." She bit down on her lip as more cuts appeared on her hands, shaky touches smearing it across the glass. "She doesn't need to forgive me." As the mirror got bigger, she swore that she saw that familiar fluttering cloak on the edge of her vision. "I just want her to hear the truth from me."

"weISS!" Ruby's voice was quiet, but it became louder the more pieces Weiss shoved together. Looking down at the mirror, her eyes widened at the sight of Ruby running across her reflection. There was no doubt it was her, and she instinctively looked up to see if she was on the ceiling. All that was there was her reflection looking down at her, warped from the angle. Ruby was there, though. Somewhere...

Within the makeshift mirror, she saw Ruby running towards her. She seemed so far away in her reflection, her body split apart due to her inability to find every piece's perfect spot. Still, it was clearly Ruby: her teammate, her partner, her friend. She was there, and she was coming for her. Her heart was beating fast as she reached out towards the ground, desperately wanting to reach into the mirror and pull Ruby out.

The closer Ruby got, the faster her heart beat, until she swore that their hands touched. Her fingers, still dripping blood down her digits, touched the glass, and she saw Ruby's do the same. It felt like there was a sudden warmth on her fingertips, as if Ruby was actually there in the room. Then the mirror that she had so painstakingly attempted to put back together blew apart.

She let out a scream and her hands shot up to cover her face. The pieces shot every which way, destroying the work she'd so desperately done. When she looked down and saw that all she could see was her reflection, tears started to prick at her eyes again. She had been so close: Ruby had been right there. They had touched hands, and then... and now... she was gone again...

Then she felt something tapping her leg. She looked down in confusion, but didn't see anything. Her hand went down to absently rub her leg, and the tapping was now felt there. Shocked, she jumped to her feet and stumbled backwards, looking down again. This time, to her utter disbelief, Ruby was there again. She was in the floor mirror, standing underneath her with a familiar grin on her face. Weiss had never felt her heart swoon more seeing that smile before.

"It's going to be okay, Weiss." Ruby's reflection stood in front of hers, upside down and as lovable as ever. "Take my hand." She stuck out her hand, letting it hover inches away from the reflection of Weiss's hand. Frowning, she looked down at her hands, then at the reflections beneath her. How could she reach the girl she had to apologize to if she was stuck in the hell of her room's reflections. "Do you trust me, Weiss?"

"I do." There was no more hesitation on her part. She stuck her hand out, grasping at air. However, beneath her, her reflection was holding onto Ruby's hand, and she swore that she felt warmth pooling around her skin. It really did feel as if she was holding someone's hand, even though there was no one there. She squeezed down on the air tightly, closing her eyes and wishing that she could change everything she had ever said or done. "Please don't let go, Ruby."

"I'll never let go." The floor beneath her started to shake. With wide eyes, she looked down and saw the glass beneath her beginning to crack. The shards of the walls were bouncing and skating around the room. A long crack went down the floor, cutting right between herself and Ruby. Crying out, she jumped backwards, losing her footing and falling onto her butt. The entire room was shaking at this point, all of her furniture threatening to fall apart at a moment's notice. A shiver of fear ran down her back.

"Ruby!" She cried out, trying to find her reflection in the floor as it all began to crack and fall apart. "Help me! Please!" When she tried to stand, another ferocious tremor sent her flat down onto her back. The voice in her head was echoing again, telling her how terrible of a person she was, and how this destruction was what she deserved. Without Ruby's voice there to drag her back to sanity, she found herself slipping into that negativity again.

"Ruby..." She sniffled, trying to stand back up through her tears and her trembling frame. It was too difficult: she kept falling down, and her head was spinning with how much rumbling was going on around her. She could feel a piercing headache coming on, like someone was stabbing her right through the middle of her forehead with Myrtenaster. "Please, make it stop!" She cried out, begging as her shouts only made her headache worse. "Ruby, help me! Save me, Ruby!" In another time, she would have been horrified to hear such begging words leave her lips, but that was an old version of herself. Now she just wanted the girl who had become more important than she could have ever imagined to save her from this torment: to save her from herself.

Finally, she found her footing, wobbling along the shaking ground to try and get to her bed. 'There's nowhere for you to go.' She could see that her headboard had collapsed onto the sheets, and it looked as if the entire bed was threatening to fall out into the void. 'Just an endless plain of sorrow that you know you deserve to live in.' She kept moving, as if reaching this random destination could save her.

"I... won't give up," she gasped out, seeing a blur of red moving through the cracks in the floor. "Not... until I tell Ruby... what she means to me!" She fell to her knees, a few feet short of the bed. Tears were falling down her face, and her head was pounding relentlessly. Blood kept trickling from her fingers, but she couldn't quit. She wouldn't quit. Then she found something on the floor in front of her.

"What the..." She scooped up a few red petals, cradling them in her hands. They weren't reflections: they were the real thing. The texture on her skin was so familiar, and it made her feel a surge of energy. She knew that she could keep going. "Ruby! I know you're here!" She shouted to the ceiling, where the full-length mirror was also falling apart. "I'm sorry for how terrible of a teammate I was, Ruby! And how horrible of a friend I was! I was selfish and short-sighted, and I was wrong! Everything I said was wrong! Please forgive me, Ruby!"

Suddenly, the petals in her hand started to float out of her hands. She watched them rise into the air, then start blowing around her. Soon, a huge wind had kicked up around the room, picking up the shards of the mirrors and whipping them around in a circle. She was trapped within it, but she didn't have the strength to move anyway. All she could do was watch as the shards went faster, transforming into red petals.

She watched in silent amazement as the wind became red, circling around her until she couldn't see anything else. The entirety of her room was gone behind the blur of the breeze. She could still feel the room shaking, but the only reminder that anything was happening was the mirror she was sitting on. However, that specific spot wasn't cracked: it was as flawless as it could be. She could see the petals' reflection, along with her own self, and it was making her dizzy. It took a lot of willpower to avoid throwing up.

Then the red vortex stopped. For a moment, all of the petals held together as a wall, none of them so much as fluttering in the dying breeze. Then they all fell to the ground, smashing around her in a pool of red. Everything was back to normal. All of her furniture was where they were supposed to be, without any noticeable damage to anything. The walls that had cracked and crumbled were back up, as sturdy as ever. It was all made of normal materials as well: no more mirrors surrounding her from every angle. Standing right in front of her, looking down at her with a face full of concern, was Ruby.

"Weiss?" She stared up at her, mouth agape as she tried to take everything in. All of the destruction was gone, and the voice in her head had dissipated. Now she could just hear Ruby's voice, and the way her breathing sounded so uneven in her ears. "Weiss, are you oka- Oof!"

"Oh Ruby, I'm so sorry!" She had jumped to her feet and tackled Ruby in a big hug. "I'm sorry for all the terrible things I ever said about you, and all the times I was a terrible teammate. To you, and to Blake and Yang. I've been so ungrateful while you've been nothing but patient, and I don't deserve having someone so amazing in my life. I don't, but you're here. I can't believe you're here." She pulled back to look in Ruby's eyes, noticing that she was slack-jawed and utterly flabbergasted.

"Weiss, what's going on? I saw you freaking out on the floor, and-"

"I love you, Ruby." That shut her up instantly. "I've loved you for longer than I ever cared to admit. Maybe I was scared, or I was just too full of myself to believe the truth, but I can't hide it any longer. You might never forgive me for how terrible I was to all of you for so long, and I completely understand. I just had to tell you the truth: about how sorry I am, and how much you've come to mean to me over all this time."

"Uh, wow, uh... That's a lot to take in." Ruby laughed awkwardly, patting her shoulders. "Uh, well, first off, it's okay, Weiss. I know that we didn't exactly get off on the right foot when we first met, but that's all water under the bridge. We've moved way past that, right? Besides, we've become great partners! I trust you with my life!" She smiled such a warm, truthful smile that Weiss just couldn't help but believe her.

"Still, I just had to apologize. I was quite the burden on all of you." She clasped her hands together, looking down at her feet. "I let the way I was raised blind me to certain truths of the world, and I couldn't figure out why what I was doing was wrong until it was too late." She wiped at her eyes, feeling another wave of tears coming on. Then her hand was pushed aside, replaced by another. "Ruby?"

"Please don't cry, Weiss." There was sadness in Ruby's eyes, her hand surprisingly gentle as it wiped away her tears. "I promise you, everything is okay. You made some mistakes in the past, but that doesn't make you a bad person. The fact that you can admit to those mistakes means you're learning, and I think that's something to be celebrated. I'm proud of you for being able to admit those things." She smiled brightly, then a hint of red started to flood into her cheeks. "And, uh, speaking about admitting things... You said that you, uh, you know..." She tugged on her skirt, trying to find something to do with her hands. "... that you love me?"

"Oh, well... yes, yes I did say that." Wiping away a couple more stray tears, she forced herself to speak past her embarrassment. She had just gone through way too much chaos to let something so trivial like that bother her. "I do love you, Ruby. I've felt that way for a very long time. You're just... someone that I never thought I would meet in life. You're distracted and chaotic, but everything you are that I'm not somehow drives me closer to you. It makes me feel like I have to protect you from hurtling off a cliff, while at the same time I feel safe whenever I'm around you."

"I should have said something awhile ago, but I was too embarrassed, and too afraid. Emotions have... never been my strong suit." She frowned at the noticeable smirk on Ruby's face, though she quickly tried to hide it behind a hand. "I learned that showing emotions would cause me... certain issues." She didn't elaborate, but from the way Ruby's smile vanished, it was clear she had at least some inkling of understanding. "So I hid them, and after all these years, I never learned to confront them properly. In the end, I only hurt myself by not doing so." She looked down at her hands, at where the cuts from the mirror shards had been. There was nothing there anymore.

"Well, you're telling me now, right?" Ruby took hold of her hands, gently massaging them. "Sometimes it just takes time to get to know your feelings. Even I'm not always in tune with them as much as you might think." She stared at Ruby skeptically, which made her laugh. "I'm being serious! Sometimes I don't understand how I feel about certain things, and the emotions that hit me are like being thrown across the forest by a Beowulf. But, there is one emotion I've never questioned." She squeezed Weiss's hands tighter, blushing and smiling. "And that's my feelings for you."

"Really?" She felt lightheaded and warm, unable to control her rapidly-beating heart. "You have feelings for me too?"

"I'm pretty sure I've had them longer than you." Ruby laughed, and she found herself becoming lost in her partner's eyes. "Yang has been teasing me about them for the longest time, telling me I should tell you, but... I wasn't sure you liked me back." She swallowed thickly, knowing that Ruby had a point. Her attitude had never engendered herself to others, so it was unlikely that Ruby would have ever realized that there was a mutual reciprocation. "I didn't want to ruin what we had, since we had become so close as friends."

"I had no idea..." She had been aware of how touchy-feely Ruby was towards her, but she had just thought that was how she was as a person. It wasn't as if she didn't show affection towards others, so she hadn't thought that she was anything special. That had been a big reason for not saying anything when she realized the truth about her own feelings, though her embarrassment and social awkwardness were what truly won the day. "I've wasted all this time... I've been the worst partner you could have ever had..."

"No, don't say that!" For some reason, Ruby's voice sounded distant. Then it sounded worried on top of that. "Weiss? Weiss, what's wrong?!" The room was spinning, and she felt as if she was floating. She blinked once, twice, then her eyes didn't open. Everything was dark, as if she was swimming around in the void that had been hidden behind her walls. She thought that she could feel something or someone shaking her body, but it just made her coast along the darkness.

When she was able to open her eyes, and the world again appeared before her, she found herself flat on her back. By the softness she could feel beneath her, she knew she was lying on her bed. Hovering above her, with worried tear-tinged eyes, was Ruby. For a moment, she forgot what had happened or why Ruby was there in the first place, but then everything clicked and she made a surprisingly impulsive decision. She would probably never truly understand what made her do what she did, but she just wanted to wipe that worried look off of Ruby's face. So she reached up, pulled Ruby down to her, and kissed her.

It must have been surprising for Ruby to be suddenly kissed by the girl she had feelings for for so long, but to her credit, she didn't hesitate for a second. She immediately kissed her back, and the two of them got lost in each other's lips. They kissed until they had to pull away for a breath, both of them gasping as they stared at each other. Then they started to laugh. Neither of them knew why, but the entire situation just felt funny for whatever reason.

"I, uh, I didn't expect that to be our first kiss." Ruby wiped at her eyes, repeatedly pressing her lips together. "Wow, you taste good." That made Weiss blush, but she had to admit that Ruby also tasted pretty good.

"You do too," she whispered, wanting more than anything to get a second taste. However, she refrained from another kiss, because her head was swimming while trying to understand everything that was going on. "Do you love me, Ruby?"

"What gave it away?" She giggled and leaned down again, this time to plant a kiss on Weiss's forehead. "Yes, I do. I love you, Weiss Schnee. I've loved you for a long time, and I'm so relieved I was able to get it off my chest. So then..." She tapped her fingers together, smiling hopefully. "Do you love me?" Chuckling, she pulled Ruby down for another kiss. It was slower, longer, and full of all the words that she had never been able to say before.

"What gave it away?" She smiled at the laugh that drew out of Ruby: it made her heart soar like nothing else ever could. Just hearing those sounds made her feel that life was worth living, and everything in the world would be alright. "I may have never said it when I should have, but I do. I love you, Ruby Rose. More than anything or anyone in the entire world. I didn't know it at first, but having you in my life makes me feel like I should become a better person. I don't believe I would have realized how wrong I was living my life if I never met you."

"Does that mean I get to call you my girlfriend?" As much as she was trying to keep herself contained, Ruby was practically vibrating with excitement. It looked like she was about to dash out of the room, leaving nothing but rose petals in her wake.

"I suppose so." She acted like she was being burdened by Ruby's enthusiasm, but really she was just as excited. It was just harder for her to express it properly. "But, only on one condition." Ruby's eyes widened, having not expected there to be any conditions to their potential relationship.

"What condition?"

"That I get to call you my girlfriend." Ruby just stared at her for a moment, eyes wide and mouth agape. Then she started to laugh, her body quickly being overcome by it. She fell onto the floor, rocking back and forth as Weiss watched her, amused. "Is it that funny that I want you to be my girlfriend?"

"N-No, no no!" Unfortunately for Ruby, she couldn't stop laughing. "I just... didn't..." Her words struggled under her laughter, her body shaking with her movements. "Didn't expect..." It became such an issue that she ended up rolling right into the bed. "Waah! Oww..." She rubbed her side, whining when she saw Weiss barely holding back her laughter while she peered over the bed. "That's not funny."

"You're right: it's hilarious." Smirking, she reached down and offered her hand, which Ruby took to help herself back onto her knees. "So, are you willing to accept my condition?" She watched as Ruby's laughter faded away, and her expression softened into the most wonderful smile she had ever seen.

"Absolutely I am!" She got up and clambered onto the bed, then wrapped Weiss up in a tight hug. "I love you, Weiss!" Chuckling quietly, Weiss hugged Ruby back, embracing the warmth her new girlfriend gave her. Looking over towards her vanity, she could see the last remaining mirror in her room. Staring back at her was her reflection, but it was no longer the sad, pallid ghoul she had been seeing before. Instead, she was smiling, looking warm and alive with Ruby in her arms. That voice in her head had been wrong: Ruby did care for her. She wasn't beyond redemption.

"I love you too, Ruby."

#White Rose Week #RWBY #White Rose #Weiss Schnee #Ruby Rose #My Writing

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dibleopard-writes · 4 years

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Training Montage

Ao3 (recommended)

Description: Anakin was the Chosen One and therefore the best padawan anyone could ask for, especially Master Obi-Wan. He was so good, in fact, that he had plenty of time for shenanigans or, as he privately referred to them, Shenanakins. Force, he was clever. Several snippets from the training of Anakin Skywalker. Author’s Note: Fanfiction, in 2020? It's more likely than you think. I'm working on several Star Wars projects right now, and here's one that is far less structured with far less need for in depth planning. Original Upload Date: 2020-08-27 Fandom: Star Wars Prequels (post TPM, pre AotC) Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, various side characters Rating: Gen (or T for language) Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical Violence Word Count: 6490

Chapter 1 of ??

Chapter 1: Moles? In My Mine? It's More Likely Than You Think.

At the age of five, Anakin resolved to never be the kind of moody teenager spacers complained about. At the age of twelve, he decided that not only was that naive of him, but that he would get a head start and be moody right that second.

This change of heart was mostly due to Obi-Wan, who was refusing to take any missions offworld with him even though Anakin got his own lightsaber a whole three weeks ago and was therefore completely qualified.

“Having a lightsaber doesn’t help diplomacy, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan, completely missing the point.

“So don’t choose diplomatic missions! I bet there are hundreds of pirates hanging around… I don’t know, Batuu.”

“Batuu has smugglers, not pirates, Anakin–”

“– And?! We can arrest smugglers–”

“– And anyway, it would be irresponsible of me to take a padawan as young as yourself into a confrontation like that.”

“I’m not nine anymore! I’m not some dumb initiate, I can handle pirates.” If he was the first in his classes to fight pirates, he’d be able to hold it over them for ages. Even Iepa would have to respect him, smug son of a–

“I was still an initiate when I was your age.”

“Well I’m sorry you sucked, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go on missions.”

By this point, Master Obi-Wan had his head in his hands, almost hiding the beard he was trying to grow in order to look more authoritative. Anakin didn’t think he’d respect him any more with a beard than without, but it did make him look less like a clueless teenager so maybe he could fool the senior padawans.

“Look, if I took you offworld, not only could you get hurt or cause a diplomatic incident, but Master Windu would be on my back about it.”

Anakin muttered, “I could take him.”

“What was that?”

“I said you wouldn’t be able to shake him.” Anakin believed both statements emphatically. Sure, Mace Windu was the Master of the Order and invented an entire lightsaber form, but Anakin was the Chosen One, which basically made him the best. That being said, if Master Windu put his mind to it, he could be annoyingly stubborn in his pursuit of wrong-doers.

“My point exactly, and if he decided I was irresponsible – which I would be – we’d both be Temple-bound for months.”

“Oh, so you get to leave and I don’t?”

“Yes, but I’m sure you noticed I haven’t left because I’ve been too busy looking after you.”

“And what an amazing job you’ve been doing.”

“Watch your tone, young one.”

“Tell me, Master, do you remember any of my allergies?”

“Allergies?” Obi-Wan stopped for a second, with a look of genuine concern and guilt working its way over his face as he failed to recall information that Anakin had never given him.

“Yeah, I’m allergic to you and your banthashit!”

“Language, Padawan!” There was something resembling anger in Obi-Wan’s glare, but to acknowledge that would be sacrilege and also a suggestion that Anakin cared, which he didn’t. To prove this, he stormed into his room and used the Force to slam the pneumatic door as pneumatic doors rarely do.

Force, Obi-Wan could be insufferable sometimes.

...

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Anakin came to the decision that the only real resolution to this conflict was running away and being a Jedi without Obi-Wan to bring him down.

Fortunately, he had spent the last two years building his very own ship and had already put it through an entire test run without anything breaking. Between his technical expertise and thorough testing, the ship was probably the best in the entire Temple hangar.

First though, putting his stealth skills through their paces in order to get there. One doesn’t survive nine years of slavery without knowing how to move silently. The swoosh of the door may have been a bad start, but his slow navigation of the common room more than made up for it. Sure, Obi-Wan was in his own room, probably, like, crying over getting owned so hard, but if Anakin had made even the slightest mistake, he would have come running and demanded a ridiculous amount of meditation on respecting others. The stakes could not have been higher.

He crept out of their rooms and into the corridor, shushing the mouse droid that seemed to regard him judgmentally despite its lack of eyes. From there, it was a simple matter of carrying himself with unquestionable confidence along a convoluted path to the hangar. He passed a few senior padawans with dead eyes and piles of holopads in their arms without raising suspicion. Man, was he good at this.

The hangar was probably the best place in the Temple. Warm Temple stone met flame retarding durasteel in a way that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. Several decade-old speeders lined up against one wall next to a small fleet of cargo ships and fighters. All of them were horrendously out of date and well worn in the way that a lot of the Temple’s technology was. When Anakin asked why the Jedi insisted on having such terrible tech, Obi-Wan had said something vague about budget and not being materialistic. It was unconvincing at best and Anakin had really shown the whole Order up with his latest project.

After his no-doubt legendary podracer was left on Tatooine, Anakin had taken all of six months to set his sights on building a starfighter that could take him to every system in the galaxy. Obi-Wan, relieved to find a hobby that would promote focus, had pulled some strings and Anakin had aimed akk-dog eyes at the Temple mechanics that he had been tailing for months until they let him at the skeleton of an old Delta-7. Aethersprites never came with their own hyperspace engines, but he could work with that. Annoyingly, the sublight engines in the hangar were nothing like the ones on a podracer so he had to spend a humiliating few weeks with an old mechanic to get them installed and working. On the positive side, there was an astromech droid fitted directly into the ship that could give him diagnostics and occasionally a mechanically-themed joke. The jokes were hit-or-miss but the droid was good.

Two years of sterling work had made the Delta the best ship in the Temple, and it could far outpace any of the speeders in Coruscant’s skylanes. Now, as he made his way ever-so-innocently towards it, he couldn’t help but admire the way the smooth paint looked among the chipped facades of the rest.

R4-P3 chirped a greeting as he hopped in and prepped the starter engines.

“Hi, P3, fancy going on a trip?”

“THERE WERE TWENTY-SEVEN TRAFFIC CODE VIOLATIONS DURING THE PREVIOUS FLIGHT.”

“Me too, buddy. See if you can find one of those hyperspace rings lying around here.” Ignition was smooth. Vertical repulsors engaged. Landing gear retracted. So far, his plan was flawless. A blip appeared on his screen, indicating the nearest hyperspace ring. Latching onto the ring was not something he had ever practiced before, so he assumed the strange rattling noise was normal.

As he ascended, chatter buzzed into the comm system.

“What’s that P3?”

The chatter cleared into actual sentences as P3 adjusted the frequency.

“-ing is not fitted properly. Repeat, Aethersprite Delta-7 please identify yourself-” Anakin flicked it off. Trust traffic control to kill his flow.

“PLEASE KEEP TO DESIGNATED SKYLANES,” bleated P3, taking up the burden instead. Anakin dodged a passing CorSec speeder.

“Will do,” he lied, “While I find one, you wanna do the hyperspace calculations?”

“DESTINATION?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t thought that far. Tatooine was probably weeks away, Naboo had way too much water just lying about– Where else had he been? Oh, that’s right: nowhere, because Obi-Wan didn’t care about him. “Batuu?” He could probably beat up a few smugglers in the name of justice before the Jedi caught wind of it. Talk about selfless heroism.

He hit the upper flight levels and powered through into the mesosphere. Considering the thin air at this altitude, there was a lot of turbulence. The shaking was beginning to make his arm buzz and it became a disproportionate effort to keep the control-stick level.

“LIGHTSPEED CALCULATIONS COMPLETE,” announced P3.

“Great, just in time,” replied Anakin, flicking some switches, at least three of which were relevant, “I’ll just make the jump now.”

As he pulled the jump ignition, P3 began screaming and the rattling grew louder. The pinprick stars became needle-thin lines became the whirl of blue and white he hadn’t seen since the last journey from Naboo. On that trip, the pilots hadn’t let him in the cockpit during the initial jump, so this would probably have been way better if not for the awful clatter of the hyperdrive and the eventual tear of engines sputtering out of commission. Maybe that was why he had never seen anyone make jumps in-atmosphere. Or perhaps the issue was related to the ring’s latching mechanism. Really, it was anyone’s guess.

P3’s wails had become spluttering, staticky sobs, which was honestly a poor display in a droid with no fear subprogram. The ring flew off the Aethersprite, plunging it back into normal space with a roar.

“Well that sucked,” Anakin said indignantly. His flying had been flawless, too!

P3, between choked bleeps, lit up the speedometer – the hyperspace ring was no longer pushing them beyond the light limit but neither had any reverse-thrusters been engaged, leaving them at a healthy constant speed of only-just-slower-than-light, which was probably fine – and the scanner – there was a planet about thirty light-seconds in front of them, which was probably less fine at their current speed.

“Okay, so it still sucks,” Anakin amended.

He slammed on the brakes and almost blacked out as G-force slammed on him in return. Rude. His old pod-racer never had this issue. He tried easing their deceleration more slowly, which involved less blacking out but also made slowing to pedestrian speeds before hitting the planet somewhat less feasible.

No matter; Anakin was an expert pilot and even more skilled at having incredible luck. This would be easy.

Within twenty seconds, they hit nature’s drag chute: the atmosphere. P3 tried to draw Anakin’s attention to their steep angle and high speed as if these weren’t things that Anakin already knew. They did seem more relevant when the entire ship’s hull flew alight, however, so he attempted to shallow out their descent.

The control-stick was uncooperative and everything began to shake as he tugged it as far back as he could. How was he supposed to pilot if the ship refused to do what he wanted it to do?

After five long seconds, the heat died and they plunged into a cloud bank. Everything past the tips of the Aethersprite’s wings was obscured by a white thicker than Obi-Wan’s skull, which was impressive if disorienting. He felt the control-stick hit full lock and a few of the many warning indicators seemed appeased.

Another five seconds, and P3 stopped screaming about their speed and started screaming about their altitude. The clouds remained steadfast.

“I’ve made an executive decision,” declared Anakin, “As captain of this ship, I say we attempt what we in the industry call a ‘terrain-assisted braking maneuver’.”

P3 did not respond particularly coherently, which Anakin chose to interpret as a vote of confidence. It did wonders for his self-esteem.

In a blink, the clouds vanished and a deep green forest appeared. P3 squeaked. Anakin grimaced. His hand was losing all sensation from gripping the control-stick so tightly, still in full lock, but their downwards momentum still overpowered the thrusters even as the Delta’s nose finally rose above the horizon. He gunned the accelerator away from the surface and his body felt heavier than the ship itself.

The ship jolted as it made contact with the treetops. Anakin switched to reverse-thrusters as the nose once again pitched downwards. Slugshot snaps crackled around them as trees snapped against the ship. He scrunched his eyes closed and braced.

Soil and splinters erupted as they collided with the ground. Anakin lurched painfully into his safety straps. P3’s voice cut off. The grinding of earth against hull slowed them to a stop and Anakin fell back against his seat.

Smoldering wiring filled the cockpit with an awful acidic smell so he tugged his straps off and pushed his way out after only a second of shaky breathing. Anakin was nothing if not practical.

“Do you think it’s gonna blow up?” he asked P3 from a safe distance. P3 seemed not to appreciate the thought but ran cursory diagnostics anyway.

As he waited, Anakin looked behind the ship and saw the gaping furrow they had left in the ground. Further away, a clumsy cut ran through the trees and a couple of wisps of smoke trailed lazily into the milk-blue sky.

All in all, an impeccable landing. The forest had looked well dull before anyway, and now it had a sick scar. You’re welcome, forest.

P3 decided that nothing was about to explode, but that the ship was fully inoperational, even if Anakin just wanted to take it on a spin to the nearest mountain range. He acquiesced that the assessment seemed about right, but also loudly proclaimed that P3 was a killjoy and a coward. P3 didn’t seem to care. Anakin kicked a clod of earth in defiance.

The ground was covered in small, stiff leaves from the pointy-looking trees around them. They were waxy little spits that more resembled star stripes than anything useful for photosynthesis. As he knelt to pick some up, he realised that the entire forest smelt like them – a fresh, emerald sort of smell. They were pretty incredible, for leaves; Anakin had certainly never seen anything like them. He shoved some in a belt pouch.

Now that he was looking at the ground, he noticed wooden, grenade-like things peppered amongst the leaf litter. This forest kept on getting more and more curious. Unfortunately, none of them would fit in his pouches. Jedi really needed some good pockets that could fit any important scientific discoveries in them. It was a severe oversight, in Anakin’s humble opinion.

Something rustled abruptly, snapping Anakin out of his Jedi-like contemplations, seed-pod still in hand. He scanned the surrounding thickets. Plants, plants, leaves, plants, thorny plants…

Claws!

A blur of red flew at his face and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a bush. Batting the wild beast away from his face, he felt himself fall further than anticipated through the undergrowth into empty air. For a suspended moment, all he could see was blue sky and grey rockface. Then his back collided with something that promptly gave way and let him fall onto solid stone.

Perfect.

...

Obi-Wan Kenobi was walking at an unpanicked pace through the halls of the Jedi Temple and casually inspecting child-sized nooks and crannies in a manner completely befitting of a master who knew exactly where his padawan was. He had been doing this for half an hour and wasn’t shaking in the slightest.

He was just doing a routine inspection of the gap between a bronzium statue and a wall when Master Windu walked past, stopped, watched Obi-Wan innocently test the screws on a ventilation covering, and said, “Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sprang upright. “Master Windu.”

“Have you lost your padawan?” Was he really that obvious? No, that couldn’t be it; Master Windu was just unusually perceptive. Perhaps shatter-points were giving him away – nowhere was it written that they didn’t highlight underperforming masters. Even so, it was probably wise not to confirm anything. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was a council member judging his guardianship skills.

“Oh no, not at all. I know exactly where he is.”

Master Windu’s expression was as flat as Anakin’s heart rate would be once this was over. Shatter-points were dirty snitches.

“Thank you for your concern, Master,” added Obi-Wan, respectfully.

Master Windu looked at him dead in the eye for a solid five seconds. Obi-Wan had seen him level a similar look at Qui-Gon several times in the past, and found it unnerving to now be the target. However, Qui-Gon’s experiences taught him that it was best to ride these looks out like a bad spice trip, i.e. with as little motion as possible. How either of them knew what a bad spice trip felt like was irrelevant.

The five seconds were up, only having been slightly uncomfortably stretched, and Master Windu blinked.

“Well,” he said, dryly, “Good luck with your endeavours, Knight Kenobi, whatever they may be.” With one spare glance to the ventilation covering, he continued down the corridor.

Obi-Wan was not naive enough to think himself completely free of suspicion but he was hopeful that nothing would come of it until he could thrust Anakin by the shoulders into Master Windu’s personal space and say ‘See? I have him right here!’ in a serene and Jedi-like manner as if he had nothing to prove. Of course, he would like to prove his capabilities anyway. Just as soon as Anakin was present…

He closed his eyes and fumbled for the Master-Padawan bond that connected him to Anakin. It wasn’t usually strong enough to get much other than vague impressions from, but now it seemed to be stretched thinner than usual, only telling him that Anakin was alive. That was a relief to know, to an extent, but also concerning since there was so little to point him in the right direction. He poked the bond and felt nothing.

Why had he taken on a padawan? Padawans get into fights and then run off and make you worry and then the Council finds out and then you have to try and justify it all and –

Obi-Wan sighed. Running a hand over his beard, he peered down the hallway that Master Windu had taken. Empty. He could probably make it to the comms centre without any more councilmembers calling him out.

Probably. He was hopeful.

...

“Hilari? Is that you?”

Anakin looked up from what appeared to be a now-dismantled porch tarp and saw an old man opening the door to its attached house, carved into rock. A tooka was watching him from behind the man’s legs. It meowed indignantly.

“I’ve told you, the awning isn’t designed for tookas.”

“Myaeeh,” complained Hilari.

Anakin, frazzled from both of his unplanned descents and shocked out of his irritation, opened his mouth to apologise because yes, Obi-Wan he is capable of apologising when a middle-aged twi’lek woman materialised.

“Wohrin, what– Oh! Who’s your young friend?”

“You’ve met Hilari before, Mahj–”

“No, the young man covered in your porch. Blond?”

The man, Wohrin, gave Mahj’s left lek an exasperated look. His eyes were pale the same way Blind Man Mikah’s had been in the bookmaker’s in Mos Espa.

“Mahj,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what colour your hair is, let alone that of whoever it is you’re referring to.”

Mahj shook her head. “I don’t have hair, Wohrin.”

“What?!”

Another twi’lek, who could have been anywhere between fifteen and thirty years old by Anakin’s poor judgement, appeared in order to chip in:

“Yeah, she lost all of her hair when the sky turned red!”

Anakin squinted at the sky… no, it was definitely still blue. Wohrin looked equally confused, which was somewhat reassuring. Somewhat.

“Keht!” snapped Mahj, “Stop lying to people! And no, Wohrin, you know I’m twi’lek; of course I don’t have hair.”

“Twi’leks don’t… Why am I only just learning this? Was no one going to tell me–”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Anakin effectively drew the growing crowd’s attention back to himself. That felt better. Wohrin blinked, only now registering that the crash hadn’t been his tooka after all. “I was in the woods and something jumped out at me and I fell through your… thing.”

“Oh, well,” huffed Wohrin, “Easily done I suppose.”

Anakin clambered to his feet and hopped away from the mess, feeling only slightly guilty.

“Hey what’s with the weird rat-tail, kid?” came a voice from the crowd.

Anakin fixed the human who had asked with a patronising look. He found such looks were incredibly effective when used by children – especially those younglings he was stuck in aurebesh lessons with three years ago. Kriffing infuriating.

“It’s not a rat-tail, it’s a braid. And it shows that I’m a padawan.”

“A what-a-wan?”

“Oh, I know what they are,” chimed another bystander, “One of them beat up my cousin on Alsakan. They’re like really small Jedi.”

“You mean an apprentice?”

“Yeah, only I don’t think they do carving work.”

“Not all apprentices learn stonemasonry, genius.”

Another crowd member interrupted: “Hey, cadaban, have you come to help with the beast?”

That triggered a fervour in the onlookers, all snapping their attention back to him with loud expectation.

“... The what?” Anakin wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was going.

“The beast!” exclaimed the crowd.

“It’s massive–”

“–Taller than me–”

“–Big claws–”

“–In the quarry–”

“–The mine–”

“–Tentacles–”

“–Blue–”

“–Hang on, I thought it was red–”

“–It’s invisible–!”

“–No, it’s not, it’s–”

“–Firebreathing!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” shouted Anakin over the clamour, “Has anyone here actually seen it?” Everyone turned to a tall ovissian, who flinched. “What does it look like?”

“Uh, I didn’t see much of it, just– um, mostly heard crashes and saw– saw rocks falling from the ceiling in the mines. But when I caught a glimpse, it sort of looked all–” He made a vague and thoroughly unhelpful gesture which may have indicated size. Or maybe temperament. “–Y’know?”

Anakin definitely did not know, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the congregation. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said instead. The ovissian sighed with relief. “And what exactly do you need me to do about it?”

One exasperated person shouted from the back. “Kill it of course!”

“Or at least move it out of the mines,” offered Mahj.

“Yeah, we need the mines or our economy will go to chisk!”

“The entire economy?” Anakin couldn’t imagine mines being quite that important when there was a massive forest right… Huh, it was higher up than he remembered. Right up a stone cliff, the one Wohrin’s home was carved out of.

“The entire economy! We’re a mining town, stone-masons and blacksmiths. Why else would build our houses in a quarry?”

This was the first Anakin had heard of ‘quarries’. Really, the whole trip so far had been quite the broadening of his horizons. He didn’t know why Obi-Wan didn’t take him off-world sooner, he was always promoting this kind of thing. Peculiar.

That being said, this whole beast business was not what he had been anticipating and the idea of facing an invisible, firebreathing, tentacled monster on his own was suddenly way more terrifying than the plan of facing a horde of smugglers had been. What if it was like the krayt dragons of Tatooine, wild with impersonal ferocity and an appetite for small humans? That would be an incredibly anticlimactic end for the Chosen One; he was fully anticipating his death to be in a great ball of flame, Obi-Wan watching heartbroken as his awesome and flawless apprentice fulfils his destiny. That would be cool. Dying alone in a mine in the middle of nowhere would not be.

“Um… You know, beasts aren’t really my department. And… I don’t have my beast-removal equipment with me right now.” Airtight excuse. Foolproof.

“You’re just scared!” exclaimed someone who nobody asked.

“He’s not even a proper Jedi yet,” added someone else, “There’s no way he could take that thing on by himself, I bet he doesn’t even have a laser-sword!”

“Now, hold on–” All thoughts of avoiding the beast flew out of the metaphorical window. “I never said I wouldn’t do it! I have my lightsaber right here:”

The crowd stepped back as it ignited in his hand. Yeah, that’s right, he wasn’t some dumb initiate and this was his chance to prove it.

...

The comms centre had several private rooms for important calls and conferences. It also had better hardware than the commlinks Jedi took into the field.

Obi-Wan had plugged his own commlink into a rarely-used port in the console and tried to call Anakin. As he had expected, there was no answer. With the right tinkering of the console’s receiver, however, the target signal had been traced to a sparsely populated planet barely a minute up the Corellian Run. Kaidestal.

He fought the urge to slam his head against the console. If there was a licence for padawan ownership, his would be revoked any time now. Truly, he was having a fantastic day.

He wondered how Anakin had even got offplanet and then wondered why he was wondering. At this point, it was suffice to say, ‘Shit’s fucked’ and move on.

After a few moments of meditative breathing, he straightened up, unplugged his commlink, and whisked out of the comms centre. Knowing Anakin, there was little time before something disproportionately drastic happened. Force, what did he do to end up in this position?

Master Plo Koon was easy enough to locate, happening to be beside the bronzium statue Obi-Wan had been inspecting earlier. He watched as Obi-Wan covered the awkwardly long stretch of corridor in order to get within civil conversation range.

“Master Koon, I am taking a short trip to Kaidestal. I shall be back by nightfall.” He gave no reasons, the man of mystery that he was, and Plo didn’t seem to mind. Plo was one of the gentlest councilmembers and therefore the best one to inform of unannounced, unauthorised trips to obscure planets. Perhaps that was exploitative of him. Perhaps his padawan shouldn’t run away.

(Plo was one of the first to hear Mace’s gossip regarding Skywalker’s potential disappearance and therefore knew damn well what Obi-Wan was doing. Plo was not, however, a snitch. Besides, he liked Kenobi – the man had an excellent taste in drinks.)

Master Koon nodded slowly, “That seems reasonable. I’ve heard they do good stone carvings there.”

“Quite,” said Obi-Wan, impatiently – no, Jedi weren’t impatient. He was merely preoccupied.

“There’s a G8 light freighter in the hangar that you can use.” Plo shifted as if to move, but it was really more of an invitation to leave.

“Thank you, Master Koon.” Not at all in the headspace to overstay his welcome, Obi-Wan began to head towards the hangar.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, young one!” Plo called after him.

“Me too,” muttered Obi-Wan under his breath. He wasn’t that young; he was twenty-eight. He was, however, too young to be dealing with feral padawans that made him feel twice his age. Why did he ever pick up Anakin, anyway?

...

The mouth of the mine was carved into the wall at the bottom of the quarry. It was darker than a Tatooinian night and he was being pushed into it by a gaggle of villagers who didn’t seem to notice his apprehension. While this was ideal for the maintenance of his reputation, it also made things move far more quickly than he had wanted.

No matter. He was a Jedi and Jedi faced terrifying monsters head on.

“This beast is gonna wish he never saw me,” he said, bravely, “Coward. Absolute… kriffin’… clown.”

“What are you doing?”

“Old Jedi trick, it’s called psychological warfare. That beast is no match for Anakin kriffing Skywalker.”

“Is the swearing necessary for psychological warfare?” asked one of the group. “It’s just I brought my daughter along…”

A roar emanated from the mine ahead, echoing terribly. The tall ovissian, now wearing his head miner’s helmet, was shaking more than the nine-year-old behind him. She was delighted by the mine monster and had spent much of the walk loudly exclaiming that she wanted it to eat the entire goddamn quarry. No one else appeared to share her enthusiasm.

“Well,” said the head miner, sounding awfully authoritative, “I think you’ll be able to find your way from here. We need to go. For… health and safety reasons. Yeah, this crowd, in this passageway? Major fire hazard. Need to clear it. I’ll take care of that, you take care of–” Another roar erupted, punctuated by a thud and the sound of rocks falling. “– That.”

Anakin was unimpressed. “Ugh, do you have to have such an aversion to being cool?” He turned to see the group’s response but found the passageway empty. He rolled his eyes. Teenagehood would suit him well, he decided.

Slowly, he took his new lightsaber off his belt. It kind of sucked that his excellent craftsmanship was impossible to see in the gloom. Alone, in the dark, with no eyes on him, he could admit that quite a few things were looking decidedly uncool right now, but Force if he didn’t want to prove Obi-Wan wrong.

He tracked the sporadic tremors to their source, which was conveniently down the single, unbranching passageway in this section of mine. Still, it required a great amount of skill and a lesser man would have walked into five support beams, which was way more than Anakin’s three. He was a credit to the Jedi Order, really, even if they couldn’t see it.

Speaking of, the mine had grown far darker the further he walked until he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. The Force was being unhelpful, merely suggesting ‘forward’, which was a no-brainer. His issue was all of the obstacles involved with ‘forwards’. If only he had packed a light.

Hang on.

Oh, Anakin Skywalker was a genius. Lateral thinking and creative problem-solving had always been his strong point, as currently being demonstrated.

His lightsaber ignited with a kzhhh. Its electric-blue glow lit his maniacal grin in harsh clarity. It also revealed the glinting eyes of something big. The grin dropped from his face as he took five steps backwards.

The passageway had opened into a small cavern without him noticing and the beast barely fit into it. Colours were difficult to make out in eerie saber-light, but its fur appeared as black as the mines, matte with dust. Large tentacles stretched out from its nose, blindly groping the walls and ceiling of the cavern as if trying to judge the environment. Massive, shovelling paws held claws almost as long as Anakin was tall. In short, it resembled a mole.

This meant that, theoretically, Anakin was at an advantage since he was decidedly not blind and had only been known to resemble a mole some of the time.

The beast was also more clumsy than Anakin, knocking support beams left and right. Luckily, none had completely shattered but, judging by their splintering fractures, it was only a matter of time. Time limits were very dramatic; this would be a worthy first mission.

Anakin waved his lightsaber in the vague direction of the mole. It was unbothered. He frowned, put out, and then poked one of its claws. Suddenly, the beast was very bothered. Its nose went from snuffling around to being thrust in Anakin’s face. Apparently it had his scent. Obi-Wan would have blamed it on Anakin’s infrequent use of the shower. Anakin would have responded that he grew up in the desert and then accused him of not caring about wasting water on trivial matters. This would put a glint of annoyance in Obi-Wan’s eyes and Anakin would count it as a victory.

The mole exploited his distraction, dishonourable as it was, yanking him off the ground with a thick face-tentacle and shaking him irritably. He tried hitting the disgustingly writhing mass with the hilt of his lightsaber – ineffective. Then he slashed it with the blade and got catapulted into a wall. His vision failed and the back of his head killed, but he was quickly grabbed by the ankle and dragged across the floor. Massive, sharp claws came swinging at him. This was not good.

Quick, what would Obi-Wan do?

“Hey, you suck!” he shouted, voice wobbling as he dove out of the way of another slash, “No one likes you! You should just stop and go away!”

The mole monster may also have been deaf since it only continued its previous level of violence despite the scathing insults. He dodged a claw, jumping into a swinging tentacle which smashed him into a support beam. Splinters pierced his robes, digging into his right arm as it collided with the beam. His lightsaber flew from his hand and he fell to the ground, spinning to narrowly avoid landing on the hurt arm. All light in the cavern vanished as his saber-blade extinguished.

All of a sudden, the lightsaber argument from that morning felt like a moot point. A lot of things were looking very moot now, in the dark.

He could hear the shuffle of tentacles searching the floor and the scratching of claws against stone. The mole was snuffling loudly around for him. His arm hurt.

Fighting the urge to curl up by the wall, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked the monster dead where he thought its eye could be. Warm air huffed in his face, blowing his braid back. Everything was still for a moment and then a tentacle whipped around his knees and flipped him upside down into the air. He definitely did not yelp.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting came from the tunnel, then pounding footsteps and then Obi-Wan ran in, illuminating the cavern walls around him. Something intangible yanked Anakin out of the mole’s grasp and into Obi-Wan’s arms.

Anakin struggled to escape the strong left arm that wrapped across his torso, efficiently immobilising him. “Hey, I had it under control, you know.” He gave up, reaching his good hand out and calling his lightsaber back to it. “Still do, actually.”

“Sure,” replied Obi-Wan, not letting go even as a tentacle lunged at him. He jumped backwards, slashing the support beam that Anakin had dented. They dove into the tunnel as the cavern rumbled. The mole roared back. There was a terrible creaking of splintering wood and then the cavern ceiling fell in. Dust and rock made the air thick.

Quiet.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan from where he was pressed against his chest and saw a strangled sort of sorrow.

“Poor thing,” croaked Obi-Wan. Then he looked at Anakin with a clenched jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those. I could have studied it.”

It was almost enough to make Anakin apologise.

...

Obi-Wan dragged his padawan by his collar until they reached the mine’s entrance. The villagers who had pointed him inside were crowded around and erupted into cheers as soon as they stepped into the light.

One elbowed the head miner playfully. “Told you he was the madawan’s Jedi.”

“Shut up,” said the ovissian, who then raised his voice above the chattering. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your assistance. Uh, what exactly is the status of the, uh…”

“It’s dead,” Obi-Wan replied, bluntly, “And I’m afraid you may also need to reinforce the tunnel’s structural integrity. I apologise on behalf of my padawan –”

“Hey!”

“Of course, he will also apologise himself.”

Their eyes met in a match of wills. Anakin sighed, just loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear, and acquiesced.

“My sincere apologies,” he muttered, bowing shallowly. Obi-Wan had definitely taught him better manners than this; the child was just showing him up. Ungrateful womp-rat.

Fortunately, the villagers weren’t versed in bows and didn’t seem invested in apologies. Most were preoccupied by the mine and the new lack of angry mole. Small blessings, perhaps.

...

After manhandling the still-hot wreck of Anakin’s Aethersprite into the freighter Obi-Wan had brought and flying the brief trip back to the Temple, Obi-Wan was reaching the end of his patience. He left the ships with the hangar’s mechanics and dragged Anakin away from any chance of helping them. Their trip to the Halls of Healing were brief – the healers were efficient in removing the splinters and wrapping Anakin’s arm in bacta-soaked bandages. He only complained about half as much as he usually did.

They marched double-time to their rooms and Obi-Wan locked the door behind him; he could not cope with Anakin sneaking out at night.

“Master?” The voice was small. Obi-Wan tried not to let his ire show in his look. Perhaps if Anakin was squinting it would work. He was not. Instead he was holding out a hand full of pine needles and another with several small pinecones. “While I was on that planet, I found these for you to study. I’ve never seen them before; they could be revolutionary.”

Obi-Wan sighed, not having the heart to tell him that pine trees were fairly common throughout the galaxy. Anakin dropped his revolutionary finds into his hands, having to scrape off some of the pine needles that stuck.

“Thank you, Padawan. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“There were some bigger ones of these,” he added, pointing to the pinecones, “but I couldn’t fit them in my belt and some of the wildlife tried to fight me for them.”

“A squirrel?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see it very well. It was kinda fast. Reminded me of you, a bit.”

“How so?”

“Red,” said Anakin, nodding to Obi-Wan’s head, “And it didn’t like me picking up things off the floor.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “As long as you weren’t trying to eat pinecones.”

“Is that what they’re called?”

“Yes. Although I suppose I’d have to… study them. To make sure.”

Anakin’s face lit up. “Wizard.”

Obi-Wan’s annoyance was almost forgotten. Not quite. He was still a responsible Jedi master, no matter what the Council speculated.

There was a knock on the door. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, who grimaced back. He opened it with very little hesitation.

“Knight Kenobi.” Speak of a Sith…

“Master Windu,” said Obi-Wan, far more brightly than he was feeling.

“Have you located your padawan?”

“Of course; he’s right here, Master.” He pulled Anakin out from behind his legs. Anakin attempted a winning smile, but nerves appeared to crumple it slightly. He had always been intimidated by Master Windu – first impressions were a force to be reckoned with. “I knew exactly where he was.” It was technically true, if you were selective about your timeframe.

Master Windu gave Anakin one of his signature piercing gazes, the kind that seems to expose one’s every weakness and warn against them. Anakin seemed to get the message. Hopefully he would keep it for at least a week before he inevitably threw it out.

“If that’s the case, I won’t need to launch a search party. Good night, Kenobi.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Windu.”

After Master Windu had left and Anakin had gone to bed still shaken from the encounter, Obi-Wan contemplated ditching the Temple and his wayward padawan for Bail Organa’s whiskey collection. Alderaan always made the best whiskey…

...

Art by me, @dib-leo-pard

#star wars fanfiction #star wars prequels #ao3 fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years

Text

So close feels so afar

Inspired by this post by @draw-your-perfect-world

Word Count: 2,777

Taglist: @ragingdumpsterfiremess

Characters: Roman, Deceit, Remus, Patton (briefly), Logan (briefly), Thomas (briefly) and Virgil

Pairing(s): Let’s say if you squint in one way it could be Roceit, if you squint in another way it could be Prinxiety, but it can all be interpreted as platonic

Warning(s): (Characters are all sympathetic), negative thinking, self-deprecation, self-doubt, swearing (once)

Summary: Thomas is having trouble with his content, it’s gone on for so long that the sides themselves are starting to overwork so much they get overly stressed. Roman has a thought. A bad myriad of thoughts.

A/N: Before you read, let me warn you that this is written in second person from Roman’s point of view. Soooo, two angsty Roman fics in a row huh? I feel the need to write one in which he only gets all the cuddles and gets appreciated aah pardon me for breaking your hearts, but the opportunity was too good to be passed up. Hope you enjoy!

✾

❝ My heart is twisted, heavy, wrong.It's like it knows I don't belong.

The world is big, lovely to be.And yet, there is no place for me. ❞

It wasn't the first time for you, was it?

« I don't know, guys ... I think we should just discard this whole video. »

The heavy feeling on your chest as you realized that, in the long run, your contribution didn't matter anyway, that your motivation was starting to fade away, letting the hopelessness take its place instead.

That everything you did or tried to do didn't matter or was useless, in any case.

You tried to speak, and god all those eyes on you, the attention you once sought now felt like the unbearable weight of a thousand people's judgment. You felt uneasy in front of the four people you knew and that knew you best.

When Thomas sighed and looked away, no longer paying attention to your words, you began to stagger as you tried to rescue the pieces of your confidence that had started to inevitably break and fall into the pit of your chest, pushing and pulling you towards the heavy void.

Your voice died down and your argument lost its meaning along with its importance.

« Great. This was a complete and utter failure. » Logan sank down faster than any other day. You wondered what had happened to his problem-solving nature and his constant willingness to help in critic situations.

You believed he was ... better at this than you. In fact, you had no idea why you even bothered to give your own input on the topic.

Well, there was always this urge to prove yourself in the eyes of Thomas you'd been having for quite a while, maybe even too long, so much that you grew accustomed to it.

Maybe the problem with that was that, unlike Logan, you felt. You thought that was what was wrong with you all along.

Sure, Patton felt too, but he had dealt with that for such a long time that he knew how to handle it and how to still be reasonable through his thinking process.

Virgil, despite having to manage some of the worst feelings, was also cautious thanks to them, analyzing every possible outcome.

And you? You had your passion. Sure, that was a big part for Thomas's interests, but beyond that?

You felt.

You felt ... like something wasn't right.

Because when Logan disappeared, leaving a somewhat irritated expression as the last image of him, you blamed yourself.

When Virgil shrank in his hoodie and shook his head before sinking down, you blamed yourself.

And when Patton excused himself with a pained look on his face, you blamed yourself yet again.

You grimaced and ignored the knot forming in your throat.

« I'm sorry. » an apology that felt as useful as your ability to solve the situation that same day.

The blaming didn't stop when you sank down before you could hear Thomas's response.

Did you even want to hear it?

You traced the little drawings you had carved on your door years earlier, refusing to get into a room that seemed so foreign; did "Creativity" even fit you anymore? You couldn't remember the last time someone didn't shoot down one of your unreachable ideas.

Like a thunder in the middle of a quiet evening, a memory appeared on your mind and flashed before your eyes: it had happened little after Virgil had fully joined your part of the mindscape. You had agreed that, in any circumstance and for any issue, you would've been there for each other. Always.

You went to Logan first: as we already mentioned before, problem-solving, right? Wrong. Or, at least, in that particular moment.

You were met with a terribly stressed logical side, that you were pretty sure was trying very hard to keep the "logical" part as he paced around his room almost literally shaking with nervousness.

« Not a good time, Roman. » was all you heard when you opened his door with caution. Before you could justify your visit, he excused himself and went back to look like the same messy state his room was in.

Patton was your second choice, but how much of an appropriate idea could it possibly be, when you saw him lying on his bed feeling even worse than you? Your selfless nature rushed over your body and you ended up comforting him instead of trying to open up on your own feelings.

Why did it always have to end up like this? Why couldn't you just talk for once? Patton would have returned all the favors you gave him, you were sure, then why was it so difficult to admit you felt sick of yourself?

You closed the door of his room behind yourself, your heartbeat increasing. You were almost there. But you just couldn't find it in yourself to worsen Patton's already precarious condition with useless musings that would have only broken his heart.

No, you were completely wrong. There was nothing to be concerned about, the only problem was Thomas's enormous lack of content and you had to shove away whatever problem you had.

Now didn't that feel absolutely horrible to think that, Roman? There was no escaping it.

While trying to understand why you were doing this to yourself, you came across Virgil's door.

Your hand hovered over the handle. One twist and it would've been it.

You backed away and decided against it. If Logan and Patton were already feeling horrendous, who knows what you might have encountered.

You looked to your left and your eyes met the dark sides' rooms.

And you wondered, just for a split second, you reflected on that thing. Something you were so afraid to name but that came into your mind so often you almost believed it.

It had started in the imagination, when Remus playfully once insulted you and you hadn't found the will to deny anything.

Then, while by yourself, you started being more critical of your own ideas and works, you sat for hours with a blank stare coming up with nothing but blatant banalities.

Eventually, you slipped up. That one game night, when you agreed when someone called you an idiot. You knew they didn't mean it, but you still felt like you needed to point out that yes, you thought that too, deeply and every single painful moment of your existence.

It was the way Virgil called that.

Self-deprecating.

He said it was his job and Patton insisted both of you should have stopped saying terrible things about yourselves.

Neither of you did.

That term stuck with you and you weren't able not to wonder if perhaps there was a possibility you could identify with it.

And when the other came, right then, with you staring at the dark sides aisle, that feeling of wrongness increased to the point you couldn't bear staying in the "light" sides corridor anymore.

In a matter of seconds you rushed over to the door of their common room.

When he opened up, expression neutral but just that slight bit surprised, Deceit raised his eyebrows. « Well? »

« Self-doubt. » there it was.

« What? »

« There's been a mistake. » you tried again, you couldn't follow your breathing pace anymore. « We need to switch places. »

« Switch- I'm not following you. »

« I am self-doubt.»

« Huh? »

« You're self preservance. »

« I'm flattered and all by this enchanting game of words, but I really think you should get some rest. Did Remus hit your head again? I told him to refrain from that. »

You shook your head visibly and a heavy sensation rose in your chest. Your shaky hands gently pushed him back and you let yourself into the room. « You don't understand. »

Your eyes searched for one thing only. One person only.

Remus had propped himself up on his elbows, previously lying on the couch in the, you believed, most normal position you had ever seen him.

You approached him, all the eyes were on you just like moments before, and you were sure you were also metaphorically reconnecting with his dark nature. Or was it really dark? Didn't you make that up?

While Remus's face showed veiled concern, you sat on the floor in front of the armrest. He sat up and looked down on your bleak self, an eyebrow slightly raised.

With your chin buried in your crossed arms on the armrest, you felt the urge to break down to anyone that would just finally, finally and simply listen.

And you didn't even know where to start.

« You were right. » Deceit cautiously came close as you spoke. You noticed him, with the corner of your eye, take a seat on a chair next to you, leaning toward the scene. « I'm just like you. Not worlds apart, nowhere on opposite spectrums. »

Remus shook his head. « What are you talking about? » he whispered, more like a reprimand than a question.

You couldn't help but insist, your eyes started to burn and you realized you were blinking back tears. « You know what I mean. »

Oh, but when did anyone, actually? So gone and lost, so miserable you refrained from ever believing in the others' understanding.

« It just took me longer to come to terms with it. Too long. And now I've messed it up because it's too late to fix this, to fix me. »

« Ro- »

« No! » you buried your face in your arms, nose pressing on soft material. Deep inside, you knew you did that only to suppress the fact that you were on the verge of crying, of showing yourself weak and incapable to get back up on your own. « I am not Creativity! » but you knew hiding it didn't have a meaning anymore.

Your head shot back up and you stared at your brother with a tear-stained face. « You are. More than me. »

« You're saying I should replace you? » Remus's voice sounded offended. No, almost ... hurt.

You nodded, holding your breath to refrain the flood of seemingly nonsensical words from flowing out of your mouth. Or, at least, you tried to do that.

« It's that- » you shuddered. « I haven't been productive in forever, and you're always here having different ideas every single day. »

« My ideas are- »

« It's obvious you're better at this than I am. » you looked down and allowed one terrible thought in your mind. You believed, clouded by your own insecurities, that maybe he should have taken your place. « I should just stay here with you. »

« Don't say that. » Remus got up, his voice a mixture of mortification and annoyance. As he made his way to his room, you couldn't have known how the thought actually completed his sentence. Don't get my hopes up.

You slumped back from the armrest and lowered your head so that you couldn't notice Deceit finally standing in front of you and offering you a hand to get back on your feet.

You looked up.

« I know everyone tells you to be wary of me, but can you trust me this once at least? »

You took his hand.

In a matter of seconds, both of you were sitting on the couch, trying to sort out the thoughts that were piling up in your head.

« I don't think I belong with them. » Deceit had asked you to give voice to your troubles. « I've been the least useful and now Thomas is barely creating content or having ideas. I should be the confident one, I should be comforting him while all I do is ditch everything that comes to my mind. »

« And how does that make you feel? »

« Worthless. » you immediately blurted out. « Futile. Stupid. A waste of space. » the words kept coming in an overflowing self-deprecating chaos. « And the others see it, too. »

Deceit gave you a questioning look and you immediately felt like you said something wrong. « You haven't confronted them about this? »

« It's unimportant. It's simply a fact. They're all too stressed over the issue Thomas is having. »

« They're? You're not including yourself, why? »

« How can I be stressed over something when I'm doing nothing for it? »

The look came again, but this time you felt like he was trying to scan your soul by solely staring in your eyes. You didn't know how much time had passed before he spoke again, but you could have sworn that, for a moment, nothing else around you existed.

« Roman, have you ever thought that you feeling this way might be the cause of Thomas not being productive? »

This time, the confused expression landed on your face. How could that be? No, definitely not. That was not the case. He probably meant that they should get rid of him since he was causing so much trouble, he-

« You've already seen how our behaviour can affect him drastically. If you feel like that, you might be preventing yourself from using your powers fully, thinking it's useless to even try, and thus you're limiting yourself. »

« ... And in doing so I'm limiting Thomas. »

Deceit nodded with the same energy of a person that finally got their point across, the relief and satisfaction of someone that was able to make their interlocutor understand an important topic after hundreds of tries at explaining.

« You are a terrible liar, and I can't believe they haven't realized this yet, but I can't also change the fact that you're an astounding actor. » he sighed, but that line left a sad smile on your lips.

« I'm a man of multiple talents. »

« Also, you don't have to belong anywhere, Roman. Having you here, on a rough time for Thomas, though, I don't believe it would be ideal. » his gaze had fallen to the floor before his voice turned lower. « We're all trying to look out for him, you know. »

That was when your look turned softer and you understood. You started wondering things that weren't meant to be brought up just yet, but that might have been troubling him for a while.

As you were looking for the right thing to say, Deceit gestured for you to follow him to the door he then opened as soon as he was close enough. Out of it, the corridor to the others' and your own rooms.

« Go and tell them. You might spare us some more agonizing days before they figure it out on their own. »

One step out of the room, and you didn't even get the chance to thank him. The door closed behind yourself so quickly you almost believed you had dreamt the entire conversation.

With no time to process it all at once, another figure poke out of a door and pulled you into yet another dialogue.

« Ro? » Virgil rubbed at his eyes sleepily. « What are you doing over there? » there was no accusing undertone, just genuine curiosity. Then again, it might have been the sleepiness, you told yourself.

You approached him. « Just venting. »

« To Deceit? » still no complaining.

« He seemed to be the only one available. »

Virgil nodded, then you could have sworn you had seen a faint nostalgic smile curve his lips. « Good choice. »

« Huh- »

« Why didn't you come to me, again? »

« You were sleeping. »

His mouth, this time, twisted into something more somber. « Roman,» he called, lifting up his gaze. « When I said you could come to me when you needed it, I meant I could make an exception on executing you if you were to wake me up. »

And you didn't know if it was for Deceit's comfort earlier, for Virgil's softer voice or for the general hopefulness you finally regained after seeing a flicker of light coming from the end of the tunnel of your insecurities, but you found yourself with your arms wrapped around his chest.

« Oof- alright. » he patted your shoulders a couple of times. « Come on, big guy, let's get the others. I woke up from a three-hour nap and apparently all my problems haven't been solved by some kind of deity yet, so I think we deserve a fucking break. »

You allowed yourself to smile and, this time, you meant it.

« We truly do. »

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years

Note

Let's talk about music! Music headcanons with Valtor×Griffin and Oritel×Marion, please.

Umm… Okay. Music genres are not something I’m fluent in (I just listen to whatever falls into my lap tbh and it’s just a mess of different styles and genres) but let's do this.

Griffin x Valtor:

- Valtor has mixed feelings on classical music. His mothers had him listening to quite a lot of that when he was young since it is supposed to stimulate the brain and that was the effect they were after. He kind of likes it still. But then again he kind of doesn’t. They didn’t allow him to listen to anything else and he is dedicated to exploring new genres but still a bit reserved towards that as well. He only wants “tasteful” music. Go figure what that means.

- Griffin was a dramatic ass bitch during her teens and totally listened to edgy heavy metal songs. She doesn’t even want to remember that since her own taste was horrendous according to her. Basically the logic there went “The edgier, the better”. She’s more into relaxing and spiritual music now with few lyrics and gentle melodies. It is a big leap, yeah, and Valtor teases her about it (since she had the bad judgment to admit her musical sins to him and he hasn’t given her a break ever since). She also likes slow and sensual songs and the occasional faster and emotion charged ones.

- Valtor can dance, of course. Doesn’t mean that he wants to. But that is only because all the dancing he’s been doing has been complicated court dances. Griffin had trouble getting him to dance with her in their room the first time but he’s loved it ever since. It is very different from what he’s used to and it makes him feel alive. They end up slowdancing around the room, sometimes barely swaying to the soft tunes of the music and it’s like the whole world stops when she’s in his arms and he can enjoy the feeling of her body and soul so close to his and breathe in her scent, feel her chest move against his as she breathes slowly and deeply as if she’s full of so much love she can barely take it. Nothing quite like those moments, quite like that closeness. It was a different plane of existence and he loved all of it.

- Griffin totally made him into a fan of love songs. He most definitely wasn’t since they only reminded him that he would never be loved but she totally transformed him. It started out with him singing them to her to annoy her but pretty soon he found himself actually feeling the lyrics and the smile on Griffin’s face was not a thinly veiled threat for him to stop as the emotions he was putting into it were now real and pure. And it was magical. He’d never believed he’d be singing a love song but when she was with him it was harder to stop than it was to start. And Griffin sang too. They did duets together, too, and their voices partnered each other just like their powers did. (They also might have sometimes ended in other forms of vocalness ;))

- Valtor can actually play the piano (his mothers insisted he had to be able to read notes and even play them so… piano lessons). He doesn’t really play it anymore but he did for Griffin. She was in absolute awe and the gentleness and emotion of the melody brought her to tears. It was a very heartfelt moment that ended with them wrapped in each other’s embrace for the rest of the night and just holding on to each other.

- Griffin would sometimes sing a lullaby to him when he woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares to calm him down. It was a song her mother had sang to her when she’d been little. It was about the stars and had been her favorite (Valtor, of course, commented on it but it was with respect and perhaps even joy over her passion). It was the sound of her breathing and her heart that lulled him back to sleep, though. He felt safe when she was with him, keeping the nightmares away, both those in reality and in his head.

(Just gonna lay these two out bc they came to me but there is no time for me to think more thoroughly about them and tbh that would be a bad idea anyway since I would just spiral down a rabbit hole of ideas)

(- In an AU when they got to have a child, they would both sing to the baby to help it fall asleep. Griffin would have to teach Valtor some lullabies since he doesn’t know any but he learns them and they make sure to sing to the baby so that it can feel safe and loved.)

(- In canon, when Griffin ran away, Valtor destroyed all the music they’d picked together. He came to despise love songs and felt like a fool every time he heard one. Griffin on the other hand, missed singing with him and always got nostalgic at songs that were particularly feelsy for the two of them.)

Marion x Oritel:

- Marion also grew up with classical music and court dances. She always did like the faster ones, though, with quick steps and lots of twirling and moving around. She also loves R&B (it was just a gut instinct so I have no idea where this came from).

- Oritel is no stranger to the classical music himself but he isn’t all that great at dancing. He is a bit clumsy and sometimes finds it very hard to keep up with Marion. He does his best, though, and she doesn’t complain. Even if he did end up stepping on her toes once or twice.

- Oritel might have picked up a bit of Hagen’s musical taste so… rock. Marion actually likes it. (He was kinda surprised when she did even if he’d learned by now that she usually went against what was expected of her.) There might have been a few songs playing in their bedroom, both rock and R&B. It made for a different atmosphere and might have become a thing, more or less.

- Marion had never felt comfortable singing when there was anyone else present but as she gets used to Oritel’s presence, she starts humming tunes when she feels like it or when a certain song is stuck in her head until she makes her way to outright singing. It took her a while to realize that Oritel had frozen in place and was just listening in awe. She did have a great voice and she’d gotten singing lessons when she’d been younger so the results are… enchanting. Oritel would call her “his fiery siren” after that. But just when it was the two of them. (He may have been very pleased that he was one of the very few people who’d gotten to hear her sing and certainly the only one that she’d truly put her heart into it with.)

- Marion would also sing to Daphne and later to Bloom and both girls would immediately quiet down (it took Bloom a little longer but she’d stop crying pretty soon to listen to her mother’s voice) and look at Marion with big eyes as if trying to take in more of the magical sound. Oritel felt quite mesmerized himself when he watched her rock the babies in her arms as she sang. She was like a breathtaking vision and he couldn’t believe she was his. It was unreal and too good to be true but somehow was. He had not only her but also two daughters and they were a family. It was all he could ask for.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #marion x oritel #winx marion #winx oritel #winx headcanons #ask #darcyinstilettoes

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fancymuffinparty · 6 years

Text

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Rating: T; for language and suggestive themes

Pairing: Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover, Porco Galliard/Pieck

Summary: Embarrassing things always happen at Christmas parties. They just do. (Canonverse. Pokopiku. Reibert. Setting takes place after the Clash of the Titans arc and before the Return to Shiganshina arc.)

Word Count: 2457

A/N: I’m so Christmas AF right now. I’ve had the strong urge to write more pokopiku so I sat down and cranked out this holiday fluff! :) This is also my first time writing Reibert, as I’ve been wanting to do so for a realllllyyyyy long time! I just love the warriors and I’m worried about them so I wrote this to cope with my anxiety :’)

Snk 100 better not kill me, but oops, it might! :)

Side note, I’m not really sure how the peeps in the Snk universe celebrate holidays, but I’d like to think their celebrations at least somewhat resemble ours, i.e, the festival in chapter 98. This is just for funsies anywayyyy.

“You have that look on your face… What are you scheming about now, Reiner?”

Bertolt’s voice is barely above a murmur, unsure how to feel in anticipation for a response. The burly blond at his side sports an all-too familiar smirk, his arms folded across his chest.

He’s wary of the expression Reiner wears rather shamelessly, utterly certain his companion is up to no good. Against his better judgment, Bertolt directs his own sight to follow Reiner’s line of vision and instantly pieces it all together.

He’s looking back and forth between Porco and Pieck.

“It’s not a scheme,” Reiner finally replies, shaking his head. “Just an idea.”

Donning a sly grin, he turns to face Bertolt, marveling at how his visage has completely morphed from the anxiety-ridden ‘Reiner, what are you doing’ to that of the disdainful ‘I’m getting real tired of your shit, Reiner’.

He’s grown to love both looks equally.

“I have this theory…” Reiner begins.

Bertolt suppresses the urge to groan. “Go on.”

“Porco has a thing for Pieck.”

“Uh huh.” Wasn’t that obvious?

“And Pieck has a crush on Porco.”

What a groundbreaking theory, Reiner, Bertolt thinks. Marley ought to give you an award for your deduction skills.

“…okay?” he says instead.

“You see that up there?” Reiner asks, pointing out an obscure object that hangs from the ceiling. Bertolt squints a bit, rolling his eyes upon recognizing the tacky holiday ornament.

“The mistletoe?” Bertolt knows exactly where this is going now, but he keeps up with Reiner’s little guessing game so as not to dishearten the big guy.

Reiner gives a single nod, smiling wide in pure satisfaction. “Curious to see what would happen if they somehow got caught underneath it?”

“Not really,” Bertolt says with a shrug.

Reiner scoffs at Bertolt’s lack of enthusiasm. “Well I am,” he asserts, rubbing his hands together. “So let’s set this plan in motion.”

“What plan?”

“It’s simple,” Reiner insists, stepping aside to allow for clear instruction. “Get Pieck to meet you at the center table. That’ll be close enough to where the mistletoe is hanging. I’ll distract Porco as best I can, but that’ll probably piss him off so he’ll most likely try to walk away- and when he does… it’ll be too late.”

Bertolt cocks a brow, unimpressed. “What exactly are you trying to prove?”

Reiner lets out a deep breath. “How much do you wanna bet that when it comes down to it, Porco won’t be able to go through with kissing her in a room full of people?”

Bertolt huffs, believing the whole conversation to be beneath him; utterly juvenile. “So you’re theorizing that Porco won’t be able to handle the pressure?”

Reiner nods again. “Affirmative.”

One thing’s for sure. The holidays have some sort of fucked up effect on Reiner. It’s obvious his behavior has undergone drastic alterations with the latest news that they’ll be returning to Paradis for the second time after the new year.

Hell, it’s the little things they should enjoy while it lasts. Small moments to cherish in place of all the horrors and torment they’ve been exposed to.

They’re not guaranteed tomorrow, especially not when they’re warriors.

With that in mind, Bertolt realizes he could learn to live a little…

Fine.

For Reiner. He’ll put up with this for Reiner.

“I’ll take you up on that bet,” Bertolt says, dispelling a wistful sigh. I guess.

Reiner’s entire face lights up, his eyes practically as luminous as the decorated Christmas tree hoisted up in the corner of the mess hall.

Before he can brood over his decision, Bertolt articulates a concern. “What are the terms?”

Translation: “What kind of weird stuff are you gonna make me do if I lose?”

Much to his disapproval, Reiner opts to remain evasive. “We can figure that out later, Bert.” His gaze returns to the task at hand, determined to time everything out just right.

The window of opportunity is fast-approaching.

Sights momentarily fixed on Porco’s movements and Pieck’s carefree wandering, Reiner finally nods and gives Bertolt the go-ahead.

“Move out,” he commands in a subdued voice, using a half-assed salute as an unconventional signal of sorts.

At ease, Reiner, Bertolt thinks sarcastically.

He doesn’t quite remember signing up for this when he enlisted in the military. Unless it was written somewhere in fine print on ‘page whatever-billion’ of his records. You know, the thick pile of documents that no one wastes any time to actually read.

Either way, he’s determined to uphold his end of the bargain.

Taking long, slow strides toward Pieck, Bertolt quickly makes up something to say before reaching her.

“Hey, Pieck.” Bertolt pauses to look over his shoulder, instantly pinpointing Reiner’s location. There’s no yelling or cursing yet. That’s a good sign. Anyway… “How’s it going?”

Pieck greets his arrival with a warm smile. “Bertolt! Have you had the chance to try my fruit cake yet?”

Bertolt shudders at the mere thought, turning away to hide the grimace seared onto his face. He’s heard horror stories about her many attempts at baking; an adversity he swore to himself he would not fall victim to.

“Actually, no,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. It’s in that moment that he hatches an idea. He spots the horrendous-looking fruit cake at the center table- almost exactly where Reiner instructed him to lead her.

Welp, here goes nothing.

Bertolt forces a smile. “But maybe I can try a piece now?” If worse comes to worst, he can spit it out when she’s not looking.

Pieck beams upon hearing his request, overtaken by a sudden wave of exhilaration. Perky as ever, she links her arm into his and tows him along. “Oh you’re going to love it! Zeke helped me out this time, but I did most of the work.”

Bertolt gulps. Zeke is just as useless in the kitchen. If not worse.

Wiping the single bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face, he briefly looks for the mastermind behind this whole charade while still at the mercy of Pieck’s behest. Even with the limited field of vision, he somehow manages to get a feel for the status of the situation on the other side of the room. Reiner is keeping Porco surprisingly calm, devoid of the boisterous theatrics that usually dominate their interactions.

Bertolt wonders what they’re talking about, though it’s evident that Reiner is the one doing most of the talking.

But even so… he knows how this will all play out. He’s seen it happen too many times.

Oh boy, he thinks, cringing to himself. It’s only ‘the calm before the storm’.

Any second now, Reiner’s going to hit a nerve and say something that’s bound to set the young Galliard off. (Sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all and his mere existence is enough to set Porco off. Those are the really bad days…)

Pieck, meanwhile, acquires a small utensil and cuts into the fruit cake, preparing a small sample for the giant in her midst. “I don’t mean to brag or anything,” she says in mid-slice, “but this might be the best fruit cake I’ve ever made. I guess this sort of thing just comes naturally to me.”

Bertolt blinks a few times, falling short of any audible response. Her enlivened demeanor almost reminds him of her panzer unit fanboys; unfathomably cheerful and lovelorn.

Oh, Pieck…

He certainly won’t be the one to criticize her cooking. He simply doesn’t have the heart to.

Finished slicing into the crusty dessert, Pieck lifts her gaze and extends her arm toward him, entreating him to accept the sample.

“Here,” she offers, so sweet and endearing. “Let me know what you think!”

Bertolt inwardly prays for the protection of his sensitive palate. Bringing the questionable holiday treat to his nose, he inhales deeply and closes his eyes in despair.

Help…!

In spite of his circumstances, he tries to be polite. “It looks… so good…” he musters out, desperately stalling for time.

Pieck’s still waiting for him to take the quintessential first bite, eyes glowing with intrigue.

Bertolt’s hand trembles slightly, the fruit cake hovering over his mouth.

Right before he’s about to lower his jaw and force the ominously disfigured excuse-for-food into his mouth, some miraculous form of divine intervention saves his appetite from forever being ruined.

“Fuck you, Braun!”

Porco’s finally snapped.

And Bertolt couldn’t be any more grateful!

Pieck heaves a sigh, turning to address the rattled blond. “Pokko, there’s no cursing allowed at the Christmas party,” she chastises, though her voice is tonelessly nonchalant. The endeavor is a futile one.

Porco always ends up cursing at their Christmas parties. It never fails.

Bertolt sees the moment as his cue- and his way out. Leaning down a bit, he whispers into Pieck’s ear. “Maybe this will cheer him up.” He hurriedly presents the dessert nestled in his palm, plotting his escape.

Pieck nods in agreement, only disappointed she hadn’t thought of that herself.

“Pokko!” she calls out. “Come hither and try my fruit cake!”

In mid-storm across the room, Porco comes to a halt, weighing his options. If it were anyone else he’d tell them to fuck off, but Pieck has always been there to calm him down when the going gets tough- or when Reiner grates on his nerves.

The girl is practically half of his impulse control, and he’s in desperate need of her soothing abilities. Grunting indignantly at the look Reiner subsequently shoots him, Porco makes his way over to his petite comrade and sits down.

Bertolt sneakily sets the piece of fruit cake behind an array of candles, ensuring it’s hidden from view. As Pieck begins preparing a sample for Porco, he cautiously slips away and heads over to where Reiner has stationed himself for the next course of action.

Which is to wait…

Soon enough, the others are quick to take notice of the staggering sight before them. A round of giggles and whispers encircle the duo at the center table, prompting Porco to realize he and Pieck are under scrutiny- for amusement.

Reiner struggles to suppress his laughter, while Bertolt contemplates the very real possibility of a heart attack as the result of the erratic thumping against his chest.

If this ends badly, no doubt Porco will kick his ass too.

Having had enough of the idiocy surrounding him, Porco stands to his feet and glares about the room. “What the hell’s so funny?” he spits out.

A smirk plastered on his face, Reiner points up, the gesture providing him with an answer.

An answer in the form of a small green bough with marble-white berries dangling directly above him and Pieck, red ribbon attached to the top.

Porco freezes, in both awe and disbelief.

Pieck on the other hand is rather oblivious. Daintily so, she finishes cutting yet another slice of her prized fruit cake and holds it up for Porco. “Here,” she insists. “You’re probably just hangry.”

When she looks back at him, she’s confused as to why his attention is fixated toward the ceiling, his face appearing as though he’s seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking up as well.

Bingo.

“Oh!” Pieck smiles even wider. “Mistletoe!”

Too stunned to speak, Porco slowly tilts his head back down, watching over Pieck as crimson coats his entire face.

The room is silent now, with every attendee waiting on the couple to uphold the holiday tradition and commence the obligatory smooching.

Reiner leans against Bertolt, convinced he has won the bet. “Any moment now, Porco’s going to bolt for the barracks,” he whispers a little too loudly, finding it a challenge to contain his excitement. He’s enjoying this a little too much, and that makes Bertolt a tad uncomfortable.

But Bertolt holds out purely for his optimistic side…

After all, Porco hasn’t budged. Not one bit.

Meanwhile, Pieck has seemingly tuned everyone else out, focused solely on the now bashful boy before her.

“There’s no need to be shy, Pokko,” she teases delicately. “We do this in your room all the time.”

That particular revelation leaves no one in shock.

Still, Porco can’t help but tense up, the red deepening along his cheeks.

Fuck it, he thinks, willing to take a loss on this one. Might as well.

As Pieck leans forward, he reaches for her hands and meets her halfway, enveloping her soft lips with his own. The kiss is an innocent one, vastly different from the makeout sessions they frequently indulge in under more private settings.

But it’s definitely earned the approval of their amassed audience.

The entire room erupts in cheers, a few whistles echoing throughout the crowded space.

They… actually did it!

All but one continue to pour out their love and support for the duo… and that one is none other than a stupefied Reiner Braun.

Bertolt quickly singles him out, nudging the brawny blond on the shoulder.

“Soooooo,” he begins, feigning a cough to jolt him from his trance. “Looks like you lost the bet.”

Reiner avoids eye-contact, exasperated by all the lovey-dovey chants and coos aimed at honoring the darling couple, Porco and Pieck. He’s also reluctant to admit defeat, convinced that Bertolt will take advantage of this victory to the fullest extent.

Alas, he gives in when he remembers that he was the one who started the whole thing.

Fair is fair.

Damnit.

Putting aside his pride, Reiner gives Bertolt his undivided attention.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod, grimacing. “I lost the bet.”

Bertolt can’t help the half-smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth, admiring how adorable Reiner is in this light, his lips forming an irresistible pout.

The fact that the blond is hopelessly unaware of it only drives Bertolt even crazier than he thought possible.

And he’s seen Reiner shirtless for fuck sake.

A few beats pass before Reiner speaks up again, oblivious to the enamored gaze Bertolt is still holding.

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” Reiner chuckles. “Two birthday presents? Three…? Are you gonna make me do something embarrassing? Just let me know so I can prepare myself for the humiliation…”

Bertolt stops him from droning on and on, wordlessly grabbing him by the hand. He leads them both toward the center table, aiming his sights on the ornament hanging above.

Must be the sudden surge of holiday spirit.

“Bert,” Reiner mumbles, “where- what are we doing?”

Bertolt looks back and offers a firm response. “I’m making good on this bet.” And rightfully so.

It’s not long before Porco and Pieck make way for Bertolt and his plus one.

It’s not long before he and Reiner find themselves underneath the same mistletoe.

It’s not long before Bertolt finally claims victory- and Reiner’s lips with his own.

#mywriting #reibert #pokopiku #snk #snk fanfic #holiday fluff #enjoyed writing this one #mistletoe shenanigans are cheesy #but i couldnt resist #i really dont wanna get destroyed by the possible bloodshed in snk 100 :)#idk what im gonna do #i just want annie back #but i digress #my first time writing reibert was so therapeutic #pokopiku is a pleasure as well ;)#and the holiday season is going well for me so #i felt good enough to get back into writing again:)#listened to nothing but Nat King Cole christmas music while working on this

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duxhess-kryzewan · 3 years

Note

Obi-Wan helps Satine to fall asleep

- Unsteady -

Days had passed since the siege of Mandalore, yet her head hadn't stopped spinning since. Breathing was hard. Sleeping was hard. Thinking was hard. Everything was just too hard.

Bail Organa had been gracious enough to secure her a temporary apartment just above the Senate building. Refuge, he had told her. A safe place she could reside until Maul was overthrown.

But she didn't feel safe. The safest place there ever was had been torn away from her so quickly she barely has had time to comprehend its destruction and the only thing left amid the rubble was raw, unimaginable fear.

She looks at the now cold cup of tea that resided on the side table. It had been made as an attempt to calm her nerves, but she couldn't bring herself to take more than a sip. Everything tasted sour and nothing helped the anxiety that bubbled inside her over the state of her planet and it's citizens.

"You really should get some sleep, Satine."

She jumps; a fresh jolt of panic coursing through her veins and for a moment she overtaken by the all consuming fear of being locked in a force choke again. She waits for it, prepares herself for the air to rush out of her lungs, but it never comes.

Hesitantly she turns, only to find Obi-Wan, eyes apologetic for the obvious scare he caused her. How long had he been there? She had always been able to sense his presence. Perhaps her mind was worse off than she thought.

"I'm fine." She tells him, but the defeat in her voice betrays her.

"You're exhausted."

He comes to join her on the couch. She knows how pitiful she must look; with her bloodshot eyes and shaking hands. She can't think of the last time she's slept properly. Days, maybe? She couldn't be sure. Everything had been moving so fast while she waited for word from her sister.

"Burning yourself out worrying about everything won't do anyone any good, least of all you." He says gently, smoothing her hair back lovingly as he does so.

She flinches at his touch and is instantly wracked with guilt when she sees the dejection in his eyes and its only when she leans gently into the palm of his hand does he continue his motions.

"There's not much else I can do here, I'm afraid."

Her voice is wobbly, a perfect compliment to her blurry vision. The longer she stayed awake the fuzzier everything had became. Sleep had only came to her in short intervals; mere minutes of rest before her anxiety ripped her away from grasp of slumber.

"Padme and Bail are trying to spearhead the republic invasion. If all goes well we can drive out Maul and his forces." He tells her gently.

Satine's gaze falls to the floor, "And then what will be left of the world I tried so hard to build?"

She knows there's not much he can say. Truthfully she wasn't even looking for an answer. There were no words to describe the things going through her head. Not yet.

"We'll see to it that you are returned to your rightful place on the throne."

It's a promise she knows he may not be able to keep, but she believes in him enough to know he would try everything possible to uphold his word.

"I hope so."

She closes her eyes and leans back against the couch. She was so very tired.

But then the flashbacks start; the prison that Maul had locked her in, the sight of him sitting on the throne that once belonged to her, death watch fighting with everything they had to hold him off, the last glimpse of her sister, the acceptance that she was going to die at the hands of that monster. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the same things.

She sits up abruptly, shaking her head as if that would expel the memories from her mind.

His hand comes to grab her shaking one, "You need to sleep."

She shakes her head again, "I can't."

"You'll collapse from exhaustion soon enough," He tells her, gently stroking the backs of her knuckles with his thumb, "And you won't be much use to Mandalore if you're dead on your feet."

She wants to tell him that she wasn't a use to anyone anymore. That now she was merely another faceless victim thrust into a war torn universe. No longer a Duchess, no longer a leader of the people. She was simply Satine now, alone in a bitter world.

Well, almost alone.

"I can't."

She can't bare to look at him, the pity she's afraid she'll see on his face too much for her to handle. So she stares blankly at their conjoined hands.

"Nightmares?" He asks, no trace of judgment to be found in his voice.

Satine nods. What else was there to say? Every time she closes her eyes another memory knocks her clean off her feet.

An arm drapes around her shoulders as he moves closer to her. His touch is warm and familiar and it makes her shudder. He had always been so gentle with her; so loving.

"After I returned from my enslavement at the Kadavo camps they plagued my sleep too," He admits softly, "I had trouble sleeping for months. I had to bare witness to horrendous things; it felt like every time I closed my eyes it was happening all over again."

She chances a glance at him, finding only the raw look of understanding instead of the pity she feared would be there.

If possible, her heart breaks all the more thinking of the horrors he too had been forced to see. There they were, two people who have tirelessly tried to do good only to be faced with a heartbreaking reality.

It’s not fair.

She leans closer and kisses him lightly, an attempt to make both him and herself feel better.

"The galaxy is plagued by so many atrocities." She whispers, pressing her forehead against his.

He sighs, just as defeated as she was, and brings a hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear, "And yet you remain such a beacon of light in such dark times."

Her vision runs blurry again, from either the exhaustion or the threat of tears. She doesn't quite know; everything was too much right now and none of it made any sense. He made her dizzy on a good day and downright delirious on her bad ones.

"I'll stay with you," He tells her gently, pulling away from her just enough to look into her eyes, "If you would like, perhaps some company will help you sleep."

All she can bring herself to do is nod. There weren't enough words to explain that its him that calms her, that not just anyone would be able to make her feel less alone like he does. He was perhaps the only thing in the galaxy keeping her from falling apart entirely.

He rises from the couch, wordlessly pulling her to her feet with him and guiding her towards the bedroom. It had been bordering on a year since the last time they had slept in the same place. Maybe more. She couldn't quite be sure. The days away from her planet felt like weeks to her. Time was a mess and the exhaustion she felt didn't help matters much.

She all collapses on the bed, the aching tension slowly dulling out as she relaxes into the soft material surrounding her. She can feel it though; the anxiety slowly circling in her head, ready to hold her hostage once more.

But then she feels him slide into bed beside her, his chest coming into contact with her back, his knees tucking themselves behind hers, arms wrapping around her tiny frame. His arms are strong and secure and its the first time since everything fell to pieces that she feels safe.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles into her hair, "You don't deserve any of this."

She closes her eyes, "No one ever does."

He nuzzles the back of her head with his nose, "Go to sleep Satine."

Her eyes flutter close, hand finding his and weaving their fingers together. The anxiety disappears; the flashbacks retreating with every breath she feels him take and for the first time in days sleep finally comes for her.

She would always feel safe with her Jedi Knight.

#obitine #collections of obitine #Satine has nightmares #obi wan x satine #sad! satine #obitine fanfic #obitine fanfiction #obitine prompt #obitine fluff #obitine fic

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mandelene · 6 years

Text

Rereading my old fics and reviewing them so I can make my former self cry: Part 1

It’s the middle of the night and I should be sleeping, but I’ve decided to torture myself by reading some of my old fics that I haven’t looked at in years, and when I say old, I mean old. I want to do this for three reasons. Reason 1: To remind myself that even though it feels like I haven’t made any progress in my writing, I have. Reason 2: I like finding new ways to make myself cringe and stay grounded. Keeping it humble over here. Reason 3: To prove that no one becomes a good writer overnight. It takes practice. We’re all mediocre at first, and that’s okay. It’s part of the learning process.

So without further ado, let’s get into it. I dug up my very first Hetalia fanfic ever: “America and the Tale of the Banished Ice Cream.” I believe I had just turned 15 when I wrote this.

Strap yourselves in. This is gonna be a messy one. Okay, here goes.

AN: WARNING! Beware of extreme fluff and the melodramatic hysterias of a young teen.

Ugh, I’m so pretentious. I’m sorry, guys

Everyone had their fears. For some it was spiders, public speaking, or death, and for Alfred F. Jones, it was ghosts.

But if there was one thing in the entire universe that was almost as bad as ghosts, it was dentists.

Going to the dentist was as bad as being told that you could never eat jellybeans again. It was simply heartbreaking. A fat old man would stand before you and scold you for indulging in the world's sweet riches of chocolate, lollipops, cookies, and soda. It was enough to make anyone distraught, let alone Alfred Jones; the soon to be hero of the world.

Honestly, I’ll take a spoopy ghost over a dentist any day. Also, I don’t know why I wrote that first part in the past tense, as it suggests that people no longer have fears. “Everyone has their fears. For some, it’s spiders, public speaking, or death. For Alfred F. Jones, it was ghosts.” Makes more sense.

"Alfred!" Arthur called from the downstairs kitchen. "You have five minutes to come downstairs willfully and with gentlemanly dignity before I come up there and force you to comply."

Alfred grumbled some unfavorable words under his breath that would most certainly not be considered "gentlemanly".

Arthur, great parenting. Everyone knows threats always work when someone’s scared. 10/10

Of course, Alfred was a firm believer in the fact that this was all Arthur's fault. He was sure the man had hired these people to walk around and torture young teens like Alfred's innocent self. No one in their right mind would consider becoming a dentist voluntarily. Only sick people would choose to torture people for a living. No doubt they were all sadistic communists and-

"ALFRED," Arthur bellowed warningly, obviously becoming annoyed at the lack of movement taking place upstairs. "Time to go, young man!"

Alfred sighed in a very put-out way. There was still the small chance that he would be capable of guilt tripping Arthur into bringing him back home, or at least into taking him for some ice cream.

I’ve met a lot of communist dentists in my time, haven’t you? The adverb “warningly” is unnecessary as “bellowed” already gets that point across. Also, “bellowed” is kind of a cringey dialogue tag to use here, but okay. I can live with it.

Ah, ice cream. It was yet another wonderful indulgence that Alfred had been denied of lately after his last appointment to the dentist. Oh, pistachio, chocolate, strawberry, cookies and cream, rocky road, and even just plain vanilla. He missed them all so much. They had been very close friends indeed.

Needless to say, his last appointment hadn't gone too well, which was why he was making a return visit to the office today in order to get a cavity filled. Arthur had blown a fuse at the announcement of Alfred's lack of oral hygiene and tossed out all the foods in the house that could be remotely considered junk food. No more chocolate covered biscuits, barbeque chips, gummy bears, cotton candy, popcorn, and not even those "Jaffa Cakes" that Arthur had been rather fond of at one point. They were pretty gross, but still. The thought that he couldn't even have those was jarring news.

The pretentious tone here is killing me, but I like how I added a little background to Alfred’s last encounter with the dentist. That’s a sign I was thinking about putting things into context, which is great. Also, what are you talking about, 15-year-old Mandelene? Jaffa Cakes are god damned delicious.

He had protested, begged, and gotten down on his knees one day to plead his defense, but Arthur was having none of it, not until Alfred would learn to take better care of his teeth.

So, Alfred had set out on a mission after that. He made sure to floss after almost every meal, and brushed his teeth each morning and night, hoping against all odds that he would be granted the privilege of merely seeing his ice cream again along with its glorious icy bursts of flavors.

And thus, today became known as Alfred's Judgment Day. After getting this one, bastardly cavity filled, he might finally be set free into the beautiful world of candy once more.

However, he most definitely didn't enjoy the idea of some stranger prodding and poking at his teeth today, but he would do it for the sake of his ice cream. His blessed ice cream deserved it. He was more than determined to grit his teeth and pull through this horrible day with a proud sense of triumph. After all, he was the hero, and no damn dentist would strip that title away from him.

The diction in this whole section is over the top and tries too hard to have flair. There are also some problems with tense here, which is very common in writers who are just starting out.

"Alfred," Arthur growled, now standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. "Downstairs. Now. I've had enough of this ridiculousness."

Alfred tried not to whine, he really did, but Arthur had no idea how painful this entire experience had been as of late. He simply couldn't help releasing a small whimper of discontent upon his older brother's ears.

"I won't be falling for your sorry little pouts today, Alfred," Arthur stated resolutely. He gave his little colony a nudge to keep him moving down the stairs and out the front door.

I say “colony” in that last sentence, but this is supposed to be a human AU, so I’ve just mixed up my worlds.

Alfred dragged his feet to the car with no evidence of a smile plastered across his usually carefree and joyful demeanor. He grumpily plopped himself into the backseat, determined to remain discontent with Arthur's presence. He refused to sit up front next to the "git". What a jerk, and his ice cream had to be the one to suffer his wrath.

Arthur sighed exasperatedly as he drove down the road. "You know, I only want the best for you. I know your still upset that you can't have any candy, but your health is more important to me than that gunk you used to consume on a daily basis."

"It's not gunk! It's the savior of horrible tasting English food," Alfred countered, furious.

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ENGLISH FOOD!" Arthur shouted, slamming his fist on the steering wheel. His cooking skills (or lack of) were an extremely sensitive topic.

Okay, there are lots of problems here. First, the diction is over the top and unnecessarily flowery. “Demeanor” doesn’t really make sense at the end of the first sentence and should be replaced with “face.” My use of “git” here is just a blatant attempt to insert some stereotypical British slang to sound cool. “I know your still upset” should be “I know you’re still upset.” Also, “It’s the savior of horrible tasting English food” is a poorly written sentence, and a boy of Alfred’s age in this story would never say something like that, realistically speaking. The capital letters as Arthur gets frustrated are unnecessary. And Arthur, calm the hell down. You’re in the car with a child. Stomach the insult and be a responsible driver. It’s not that big of a deal.

"You wouldn't even let me have a scone, and you know how bad they are. You shoulda been happy that I even offered to try one!"

Arthur refused to respond to that comment. He swore under his breath and continued to drive, refusing to give in to the youngster's attempt at pity play.

"We're here," Arthur announced, pulling the car to a stop after a grueling amount of silence.

Alfred moodily stepped out of the vehicle and slammed the door closed, lagging behind his brother as they neared the dentist's office.

"Sit," Arthur ordered when they had entered the office. He walked up to the receptionist's desk to sign in while Alfred found a seat in the back, slumping down over his knees. This was so not cool. He didn't deserve this kind of endless punishment.

Arthur couldn't help, but feel a little sorry for the young colony as he approached his slouched form. The boy had been keeping up a grudge toward him ever since he had tossed out those horrendous snacks, and England missed the bright smile usually present on Alfred's face.

I’m mixing up my worlds again.

"Don't fret, lad," he soothed as he sat down next to the distressed teen. Alfred's leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation, frightened at the type of torture the dentist would come up with this time.

"I don't wanna do this, Iggy," Alfred admitted sadly, a horribly adorable pout working its way onto the boy's face. His blue eyes retained the same puppy dog look ever since he had been told he was no longer allowed to eat his ice cream. The jellybeans and gummy bears were just the frosting on the cake. His ice cream had been the breaking point.

Arthur sighed once again and patted Alfred's shoulder, "I know, lad. It'll be alright though. Would you like me to come in with you?"

Alfred gave a pathetic nod.

Arthur couldn't help but smile, and ruffled the teen's hair affectionately. "Very well, then."

I can sympathize, Alfred. Dentists suck. Also, awww. This is where my descent into shameless fluff began, haha.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, and Alfred watched as various children entered the office and began playing with toy trucks.

"I'm the policeman!" the youngest boy of the group exclaimed, smashing his patrol car into the leg of an adjacent chair.

"Fine, I get to be the firefighter!" another boy called out, but just as he was about to pick up the truck, the first boy accidentally smashed his car into the other's finger. The effect was instantaneous, and the boy playing the firefighter burst into tears.

"I'm sorry!" the other cried out in apology.

Then, Alfred stood from his chair and put his hand on the crying boy's back. "Hey, firefighters don't cry. You're the hero! You have to get back up and keep fightin' the bad things that get in the way. You can't let anyone stop you!" Alfred encouraged, flashing the boy a cordial smile.

Arthur smirked at Alfred's need to implant his ideal values of courage and heroism at every possible opportunity.

A little preachy and unnecessary, but okay.

The boy stopped crying as hastily as he had started, and turned back to his game, renewed with a sense of strength and invincibility.

"Alfred Jones?" a nurse called.

Alfred groaned, but Arthur stood up beside him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What happened to being the hero? I thought heroes didn't get scared," Arthur teased.

"Pft, who said I was scared?" Alfred said with feigned confidence. "Heroes aren't supposed to get cavities either," he mumbled as an after thought.

Arthur chuckled and guided Alfred down the hallway and into the empty room as directed by the nurse. There, Alfred took a seat in the rather comfortable looking torture chair, and watched helplessly as the nurse tied the paper bib around his neck. When she was finished, she smiled and said, "The doctor will be back in a moment," before walking out.

Afterthought is one word. Also, those torture chairs definitely aren’t comfortable. 15-year-old Mandelene hasn’t had her wisdom teeth yanked out yet, so her view of dentists is still idealistic. She’ll learn, don’t worry.

As she shut the wooden door behind her, Alfred got the sudden urge to jump up and run out.

"Not so fast," Arthur admonished, sensing Alfred's urgency to escape the scene. He stood in front of the door and tried to look as menacing as possible.

"Be a good patient, Alfred. Sit back and relax. Everything will be just fine."

"Iggy, can we come back another day? I'm really not feelin' so good right now," Alfred feigned a pained look.

"You look perfectly healthy to me," Arthur said firmly, but palmed Alfred's forehead anyway just to be on the safe side. "No fever. Now, sit down."

I’m gonna be nitpicky here, but I have a huge pet peeve about “Iggy” being a nickname for England. But first, let me address that I’ve mixed up my worlds yet again because England shouldn’t be England here, he should be Arthur, and when he’s Arthur, he can’t be Iggy. Second, “Iggy” only makes sense in the context of England’s Japanese name, so in a fic that’s been written in English, it seems very out of place.

Alfred grumbled unhappily again, hesitantly sitting back down on the edge of the chair. Arthur walked over and pushed gently on his chest to get him to lie down properly and took a peek at the instruments laid out on the adjacent tray resting on the table.

Arthur picked up the small drill and pointed it at Alfred. "Be a good boy, Alfred, or I just might have to drill all your teeth. MWAH HA HA HA!"

Alfred glared at his brother seriously. "That's not funny, Iggy."

"Stop calling me that."

Alfred ignored him, but couldn't stop his leg from bouncing even harder than before.

I actually like this little part here. It’s what distinguishes Arthur as being Alfred’s elder brother rather than his father, which is apparently what I was going for. The brotherly teasing develops their relationship.

Arthur frowned and walked around the chair, observing the various stickers and cartoons plastered on the walls in order to calm the children who came in here. After all, it was a pediatrician's office. He doubted Alfred could be comforted by the smiling dragon opposite him.

"Stop shaking, lad. I told you it would be alright. I was just joking before," Arthur tried to soothe, but he had never been an expert on this whole parenting ordeal. He stood behind the chair and rubbed the boy's head, then tickled his neck.

"Iggy, stop! Y'know I'm ticklish," Alfred fumed, but let out an involuntary giggle.

Abruptly, the dentist entered the room and shut the door behind him. Alfred just about jumped out of his boots, startled by the sudden intrusion. He shook Arthur's hand off of his head and gripped onto the armrests surrounding him for dear life.

I should have said pediatric dentistry office. Pediatrician suggests it’s a primary care doctor. 15-year-old Mandelene hasn’t gotten around to practicing her medical AU skills yet. Forgive her. Also, A+ to Arthur for trying.

"Ah, Alfred. How are you feeling today?" the dentist greeted.

"I'd feel better if I could have my ice cream," Alfred pouted, and Arthur shot him a look that plainly said "behave".

The dentist laughed, "You don't say? Well, then, let's see what's going with those sparkly whites of yours, hmm?"

He took a seat on the rolling stool next to Alfred and lowered the torture chair.

"Now, open wide," the dentist said gently.

Alfred thought he might literally be sick this time.

"Nnhmhm" he protested, shutting his mouth tightly.

"Alfred," Arthur scolded, "Don't cause the doctor any trouble."

The teen sighed a very long sigh, and parted his lips just a fraction.

"I know you can do better than that," Arthur urged.

Idk, Alfred. You should get out of there. This dentist seems like a creep.

"But Iggy-" he whined.

"No buts."

Alfred would do this. He would do it for his ice cream. Anything for ice cream. So, he accepted his fate and wore it proudly. He shrunk back and let out a small yelp when the sick tooth had first been picked at, but managed to squeeze his eyes shut and distract himself as the dentist performed the necessary evil.

He would never admit it, but he felt much better when Arthur grasped his hand midway through the procedure, giving him some encouragement to keep fighting for that ice cream.

Oh ho ho, he could almost taste it.

Cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, and butter pecan. Just a few more minutes of prodding. He could do this. He would do this.

No novocaine? Oh, god, Alfred. This dude doesn’t know how to put in a filling. How are you not screaming?

It felt like centuries, but at last the beloved words registered and resounded in his ears.

"All done!"

Alfred hopped out of his seat, released Iggy's hand and fought to remove the paper bib from his neck. In the end, Arthur had to help him eradicate the atrocious thing, but as soon as he was free, he stormed out the door and nearly skipped into the waiting room.

The receptionist smiled and asked, "Would you like a lollipop?"

Alfred turned around and was relieved to see that Arthur had stayed behind to talk with the dentist.

"Hell yeah!" Alfred practically cheered, tearing the cherry lollipop's wrapper away and sticking the candy into his mouth before Arthur would come barreling down the hall to take it from him.

What could Arthur possibly be talking about with the dentist anyway? Hopefully, it’s about the fact that Alfred got a filling without an anesthetic and now he’s gonna sue for malpractice.

He sighed contentedly as the sugary flavor dissolved from the heavenly stick of salvation.

"Alfred? You've just had your teeth fixed and cleaned, and you're already sucking on that monstrosity?" Arthur shook his head in disappointment.

Still, the elder was happy to see that his brother was smiling gleefully again, his tongue now red from the artificial coloring of the lollipop.

"Maybe we could go out for ice cream. Just this once," Arthur surrendered, regretting the statement as soon as he had uttered it.

"YES!" Alfred whooped in excitement. "Let's go, bro!"

The taste of victory in all its splendor was apparent when Alfred took his first bite of double chocolate fudge ice cream with oreo cookie crumb toppings. It had been almost too good to be true.

Arthur watched in disgust. "I wouldn't be too happy if I were you. You have another check up scheduled in six months, and if I see that you've obtained more cavities in that span of time, I won't be pleased."

Man, I made Arthur into such a party pooper in this story. He’s so extra. Also, the diction is still killing me.

Alfred groaned inwardly.

He wouldn't be able to survive the agony again. So he would enjoy this cone of ice cream while it lasted.

"Don't worry," Alfred assured his ice cream, "I won't let the mean jerk take you away from me again."

And thus, Alfred and his ice cream lived happily ever after.

For now.

“Happily ever after,” did I seriously use that cliche? *vomits*

All in all, that was only half as cringey as I thought it would be. The word choice was sloppy, there were some grammatical errors, and I kept messing up my setting, but for a first attempt at a Hetalia fic, it could have been worse. I’ll give it a 5.5/10, 15-year-old Mandelene. You tried.

I’ll be looking at some of my other fics soon (once my nausea from this one dissipates). I think I’ve tortured myself enough for tonight.

#old fic #review #hetalia #writer #fanfic

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hey-kids-want-some-avengers · 7 years

Note

Anything Stucky! Pretty please?

Love Again.

A/N: alrighty, here you go! how about some after-hydra care? Kinda angsty but also pretty sweet, because Steve’s a sap for his buck. (Holy shiet this wasn’t supposed to be so long???)_____________________________________

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Warnings: anxiety, PTSD, crying, minor panic attacks, hurt/comfort, guilt, self hate

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.

He wakes up, roles over slowly in bed, hair tangled, stubble along his jaw, and his limbs tired and sleepy, his metal arm aching just a little more than he’s used to and he sits up because it’s bright out for how early it is, and lord knows Bucky doesn’t sleep in. Can’t sleep in.

He forces himself out of bed, letting out a tired sigh as he makes it sluggishly to the window, limbs sleepy and slow, and he looks out the window and the world is white. It’s piling high and it’s blinding and he can practically feel the familiar bite of frost on his numb limbs. He can feel his back hitting rocks as he’s drug limply through the ice and snow, delirious with cold and pain. He can smell iron, taste it too, he can see streaks of red in the soft looking snow and he closes the curtains quickly.

His heart is thundering in his ears from that alone, pounding in his chest until it practically hurts. He closes his eyes, runs a hand through his hair, working out the knots, tries to focus on where he is now. Tries to think about now and not then, but he’s avoided this weather as long as he could and as stupid as it is, because fuck, he knows it’s stupid, he can’t help it. Cold and Bucky Barnes do not get along.

He knows, because he’s been here a million times before, and Steve put a name to this state of adrenaline and panic he falls into continuously, but he can’t seem to calm himself down as he works himself into another panic attack. He used to deal with nearly five a day, triggered randomly, Steve had tried, and failed to convince him to see someone, a professional someone, but he’d been better until now so they’d let it go. His legs feel a little like jelly, and his head is hot and swimming with too many thoughts while his heart actually tries to escape his rib cage and he just sort of falls back into his bed.

His back hits the mattress first and in a blur of movement he’s enclosing himself in a ball again.

He curls into himself, knees to his chest, blankets tangled around his feet and his hands over his ears. It muffles the sounds around him, what little of it there was, but then he’s left with the thundering of his heart and it’s not very helpful. He breathes in, holds it for as long as he can manage because that’s what Steve would tell him to do. Then, slowly, he lets it out again, shoulders slumping as he squeezes his eyes shut until he’s seeing black and white splotches dance across his vision.

He repeats the process, in and out, in and out, imagining Steve’s hand spread over the back of his shoulder, fingers working at his taut muscles. He’s not here of course and there’s no way Bucky could consciously go get Steve without feeling like he just took a million steps back, but it’s a nice thought.

He used to end up screaming, thrashing from nightmares until the sheets were soaked with sweat and the nightstand was tipped over, glass and porcelain from the lamp scattered across the floor. Steve would run in after that. He’d come rushing into the room with his eyes wide, hair a mess and only wearing whatever he’d gone to bed in. He would stay with Bucky as long as he needed, comforting any way he could. Then, after those mostly passed, he would get up himself, creep across the wooden floors without too much trouble and knock shakily on Steve’s door until either Steve had him come in, or Steve went back to bed with Bucky.

He couldn’t count how many times Steve had to reassure him that it was okay, that Steve didn’t mind. Now that he was supposedly better, and that was a loose term he really only used to make himself feel like he wasn’t drowning, there was no way in hell he could get himself to ask for Steve, not after everything he’s done for Bucky, because he’s done everything for him.

He can feel stinging in his throat, in his eyes, but he doesn’t want to cry, he’s not sure he can cry, because he’s still tense all over, shaking through stiff muscles.

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky practically peels himself from his own skin. He’s not completely sure some high pitched noise didn’t just escape his throat either. Once he’s less shaken, or at least calm enough to try and use the vocal chords that have a tendency to turn to cement whenever he’s like this, he does try. He stays in the ball he’s curled himself into though.

“Yeah,” he forces out and it’s a little raspy, like he’s lost his voice recently-which he hasn’t, but it’s there.

The door opens swiftly, but gently. There’s a difference and Bucky knows it because he’s lost his temper before or panicked and swung the door just a little harder than he meant and the doorknob has busted holes in the plaster. Steve steps in smiling all sleepily and holding two mugs and he looks so ridiculously domestic that it would be making Bucky giddy right now if he could just stop shaking. He hates himself for it.

He sees Steve’s face fall when his eyes really settle on Bucky and he finds that after all this time, there’s still room to hate himself more and for more reasons. “Buck?”

Bucky mumbles something he guesses is supposed to be some form of answer but he’s not surprised that Steve doesn’t take it as one.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks carefully, and he’s by his side in a second, setting the mugs on the nightstand and crouching down in front of him. He looks at Bucky worriedly and Bucky feels sick. He hates having to look at him right now, acting like a complete idiot, helpless and scared.

“Nothing, I’m okay,” but Bucky doesn’t believe his own mouth when the words slip out in a practiced manner Steve clearly doesn’t believe anymore.

“What happened?” Steve frowns and he’s still got those massive, ridiculous puppy eyes, even after all these years.

“I don’t know,” Bucky mutters and at least that’s not a complete lie. He’s not entirely sure what did happen, he just knows it was enough to send him into a spiraling cloud of fear and flashing memories.

“Talk to me,” Steve says softly, like he’s some kind of therapist and he guesses, really, Steve is kind of his therapist.

Bucky edges himself back a little so Steve can maybe sit on the bed instead of the floor, if he wants. Bucky wants him to, really, but he wouldn’t say it for a number of reasons. “Just snow, I guess,” he says quietly, he’s surprised Steve can even hear him but doesn’t wanna say anything any louder and he knows Steve wouldn’t ever make him.

Steve raises an eyebrow but it’s just inquisitive without the judgment. He looks both concerned and curious.

“I just remembered stuff,” Bucky clarifies and judging by the nod and change in his expression, Steve gets it now.

“Because of the snow?” Steve asks and he knows he’s only asking to make sure he’s not wrong. He always worries about misunderstanding him in these situations.

Bucky nods and Steve stands up slowly, sits on the edge of the bed by Bucky’s feet and holds out his arms like an awkward side hug. Bucky sighs softly and makes himself sit up. Steve smiles softly when he does and that alone makes it worth it. Bucky sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed like Steve and faces the wall, even though Steve’s looking at him.

Bucky doesn’t do anything and Steve doesn’t say a word, just closes his arms around Bucky’s middle, pulls him close into his side and Bucky buries his face into the crook of his neck and looses his restraint. His body goes slack against him and tears start streaming down his cheeks, falling onto Steve’s shoulder and Bucky’s chest and he hates himself for this too, but they won’t stop and he’s making small, hiccuping noises as he tries to breathe between what are turning into sobs.

Steve rubs his hand up and down Bucky’s back, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he stays to the right side. He can’t tell if he likes that or not.

“It’s okay, I understand,” Steve comforts and Bucky figures he probably does understand.

“I kinda thought I was over this,” Bucky hiccups, face buried in Steve’s shoulder. He’s radiating heat and Bucky’s clinging to it like a cat. He feels Steve laugh a little.

“It’s okay, here,” Steve moves, almost peeling himself from Bucky’s grasp but not quite. He doesn’t quite convince himself to look up until he can see steam and smell warm, dark chocolate in front of his nose. “Cocoa?”

Bucky nods, biting his lip but he’s smiling a little now, even though he doesn’t mean to. Steve has that affect on him. Bucky accepts the mug Steve’s holding out, it’s filled nearly to the brim with creamy hot chocolate, there are a few melting marshmallows on top too and he appreciates the action more than he can explain. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve smiles widely and grabs his own mug, the contents sloshing around but not spilling over. “Of course, do you feel a little better?”

Bucky nods a little, he’s staring at his Cocoa for lack of somewhere better to look. He’s not quite ready to look at Steve after that, even though Steve doesn’t think any less of him, he knows he doesn’t, but that doesn’t change anything, really. Blame his dignity, whatever he has left of it.

“Do you want to talk?” Steve asks after a minute of quiet. Bucky sighs softly, metal finger clinking against the mug anxiously. He needs to talk, because Mr. therapist Rogers over here had taught him keeping it in, as horrendously corny as it sounds, was just about the worst thing you could do. So far he hasn’t been proven wrong, but he hates having to face these things, but it’s how he gets past them, so he gives in.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says quietly, in that nonchalant way that makes it seem like less of a big deal than it is.

Steve nods and rests his chin on his hand. Bucky tries not to stare when he glances over, but Steve’s staring at him with doe eyes and a tiny bit of cocoa at the corner of his mouth that makes him look so unbelievably innocent he has to try not to laugh.

Bucky takes a sip of his cocoa, it’s warm but not too hot, which he’s thankful for. “I just, I don’t do cold anymore, I guess,” he mumbles, because he feels stupid. “After all of it, you know?”

Steve probably doesn’t know but he nods anyways.

“I knew it was coming, it’s been cold and it’s-it was okay, I just stayed inside more, wore more layers,” he continued, staring down as he spoke. He knows if he looks at Steve, he’ll see nothing but sympathy and support but he’s not ready to see that.

“I thought you normally just wore five sweaters at once,” Steve teases and it’s on a light enough note that Bucky huffs out a laugh, flashing him a fake-annoyed look while he’s at it.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugs and finds himself smiling like an idiot. “I dunno, just waking up to it, and everything just sorta came rushing back before I could take it in, the train, after,” Bucky stops because he sees Steve frown.

“It’s okay,” Steve says honestly, waving his fingers slightly while still holding his cup. His drink is already half way gone.

Bucky waits a second before sighing and nodding. “I just freaked out, is all.”

“Why didn’t you get me?”

Bucky doesn’t miss the hurt in his voice, because he never misses things with Steve. It’s a curse and a blessing. “I don’t know,” he says quietly.

“Yes you do,” Steve says simply.

“I didn’t want to bother you anymore.”

“You don’t bother me, Buck,” Steve smiles and he scoots over a little, closer to Bucky.

Bucky’s thought about them. Just the two of them, what they were before, what they are now. He’s spent too much time thinking about it, more than likely, but he can’t seem to help it. Steve makes his stomach flutter up to his chest and it’s vague and familiar and he can almost, almost place it. He’s caught himself staring at Steve while he talks, not even just listening intently, but actually trying to memorize every inch of Steve’s face. It’s different, even since war, there’s a million things, tiny scars and bumps and he missed every one appear, so he doesn’t want to miss another bit of his life. It’s almost scary, just how much he cares about Steve, but he knows for a fact Steve feels the same way, he’s proven it time and time again.

It makes it a little less scary, knowing Steve’s more or less on the same page, but it’s still not something he thinks about if he can help it.

Maybe it’s a little more than it used to be, but that gets complicated, and it’s not that he hasn’t seen the way Steve looks at him, because he’s looked at pretty girls with that same look countless times before, but he doesn’t want to risk getting it wrong. He can’t, and he doesn’t.

“Got it?” Steve pulls him back to reality and he’s been staring at Steve the whole time. Again. He’s smiling at Bucky, kind of a half, lopsided smile, and it’s kind.

“Okay,” Bucky agrees carefully. He doesn’t want to, but Steve won’t rest until he agrees, so he decides to go without a fight. “You have some, uh,” Bucky gestures to his face, mouth more roughly because he’s not sure he can keep staring at his lips. There’s something wrong with him.

“Hm?” Steve actually tilts his head to the side like he’s a puppy and Bucky dies a little.

“Cocoa, on your mouth,” Bucky forces out and Steve grins in realization.

“Oh, oops,” he laughs, wipes it off easily and licks it off his hand. Steve looks back up at Bucky, and they both pause, staring at each other and Bucky’s vaguely aware that his mouth his hanging open a little.

They stay like that, only maybe a foot between them and Bucky can feel his heart beating fast. He’s not sure when this became a thing, because they aren’t and certainly never were a thing, like that. Like this. But this, it’s something, and he has no idea how to feel except scared. He remembers two guys, he went to camp with them at some point, they’d been caught with a dick in the others mouth and their Sargent had beat the living shit out of them until their skin was black and blue, cut up bad enough they needed stitches. It wasn’t just that either, but he knew these people–people like that weren’t in a good place with the law, and Bucky had more than enough of that.

Bottom line, he’d never caught himself thinking about another guy’s dick, or kissing a man, he’d only ever thought of pretty dames and soft curves and long, pretty hair. He’d made sure that was the only thing he thought about too. Until now, he hadn’t anyways. There had always been something between them, he guessed, he could see it, but he’d never thought about it to the point it had become obvious.

“It’s okay,” Steve says under his breath for what feels like the twelfth time today, but he leans forwards this time, closing the space between them slowly enough Bucky could move if he wanted, but he doesn’t move because he has no idea what he wants and he knows exactly what Steve’s doing, but no clue why and he doesn’t really care enough to move away, so he doesn’t.

Every thought fluttering through Bucky’s head like untamed animals was instantly put to rest the second Steve’s lips touch Bucky’s. They’re soft, and even though he doesn’t really remember the girls he’s kissed after all this time specifically, he’s pretty sure Steve’s are softer. He can taste chocolate on his lips and on the hint of his tongue that flicks over Bucky’s lips. He’s kissing back, he’s more than aware, but he tries to block it out this time and just accept the fact that this is them. Whatever this is.

The kiss ends after an eternity. Bucky’s face feels warm all over and he looks at Steve and laughs under his breath at just how flushed Steve’s face is. They’re a few inches apart, sharing each others breath and Steve’s hand is on Bucky’s thigh, rubbing it gently like he does sometimes. It’s calming.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, figures it’s probably better that he doesn’t, just incase he says something stupid, and with the way his chest his pounding and his tongue feels like it weighs a ton, it’s likely to happen.

Steve is the one who says something, after a long pause, looking at each other carefully. Bucky’s not sure how to feel, Steve looks just as unsure and confused. “I’ve been waiting to do that,” he says softly, smiling shyly at Bucky. Bucky’s face is stone.

“You have?” Bucky says dumbly and Steve grins.

“It wasn’t until I got you back that I realized when I was a kid, it wasn’t just admiration I felt for you. I’ve lost you too many times, Buck, it makes people wise up a little,” Steve shrugs and he’s blushing even more than he was before, he looks like he’s about ready to explode. It’s comical and endearing.

Bucky just clears his throat, doesn’t have any idea what to say. He can hardly imagine Steve wanting him like this, especially after the hell he’s put him through. He’s saying it to his face though, and even though his head lies to him some times-more times than he’d care to admit-he knows this is real.

Steve looks at him for a long time, he still doesn’t say anything and so, as usual Steve seems to read his mind. “It’s okay now,” Steve starts, and Bucky looks at him. “To be like us, I mean.”

“Gay,” Bucky clarifies and Steve rubs the back of his neck awkwardly with a little laugh.

“Yeah, its legal now, no big thing really,” Steve assures, every word making Bucky feel a little safer, Steve’s words just have that affect on him for some reason.

“When did that happen?” He asks because he’s actually curious, and he hates how much he’s missed. He feels like when he’s not locked up in his room or with Steve, that he’s living in some alien world. It is kind of alien, really, because it’s certainly not the Great Depression, and it’s not Hydra, it’s completely new and it’s hard to adjust to. Steve does a better job than Bucky does with this, but he helps when he can, which he appreciates fully.

“Few years ago,” Steve nods, leaning back on his arms so he’s reclined on the bed. He looks relaxed and Bucky wishes he felt like that, but this is all still alarming and yet so right that it’s hard to grasp. He wants Steve too, but he’s not even sure he can have him, or should. “The president legalized it, rainbows all over and everything,”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and Steve grins at the ceiling. “They’re getting married and everything. Guys, girls, you name it.”

“That sounds nice,” Bucky says honestly and Steve looks at him with a soft grin.

“Yeah?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.”

“I think so too, it makes things easier, with us, right?” Steve asks a little hesitantly.

Bucky stops because he actually does need to think, but the two of them have been through hell and back together and he felt at rest when Steve kissed him, and that was all that mattered, right? Nothing was wrong anymore, not illegal, he wouldn’t be in trouble, instead he could feel safe, maybe more at peace, it sounded kind of simple. “Yeah, I guess it does,” Bucky agrees finally, taking another long drink of his Cocoa that was now cooling rapidly.

“It’ll be okay, you know that right?” Steve sounds concerned, probably because Bucky’s been worrying his lip between his teeth for the majority of the conversation and he can’t seem to stop bouncing his leg, but he can’t help it, he feels giddy and kind of terrified, but in the best way.

“I think so,” Bucky mumbles, nodding slightly as he does. It feels right, and even though he’s not sure when the last time he listened to his gut was, he’s going to now.

“Good,” Steve smiles, leaning over and pecking a quick kiss on Bucky’s cheek. It makes his heart flutter strangely and his cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and it’s so unbelievably foreign he wants to laugh, but maybe after all this time and after all this hurt, he’s ready to accept love again.

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pretty-rage-machine · 7 years

Text

The Young Wolves in Springtime: director’s commentary

Good friend @transversely requested I do a commentary on my Blade of the Immortal fic “The Young Wolves in Springtime” a long time ago. I’m FINALLY around to it! You can read the original fic here.

Before all the fights. Before years so steeped in blood. Before all that killing, so many people. They were just skinny kids. Magatsu had the muscle, Kagehisa the grace. Magatsu's first night. He felt homesick. Anotsu had watched him with fish-flat eyes all night and barely said a word. Grandpa Anotsu slept the next room over. The thin door was pulled closed, with a little gap left open. Kagehisa still watched with the same deadpan stare, sitting up with his sleeping robe fallen open to show his shoulders. There was little light except for the silver fall of moonshine. Kagehisa's eyes bored flatly into Magatsu. “Well, let's see,” his voice hardly a breath coming in the still air. “What?” “They think you're good. Let's see.” What a weirdo. Magatsu sat up. He didn't feel like getting pushed around for however long by this kid whose ass he could probably kick with one hand tied behind his back.

Who the fuck makes friends like this? Only Kagehisa, that’s who. Let’s all be honest: he’s kind of a hyper-focused weirdo (I say this with love) even as an adult; as an awkward tween, he would have been far worse. I also imagine that Grandpa Anotsu is so horrendous to live with himself, and so unconcerned about Kagehisa having friends his own age, that Kagehisa’s social skills are bottom-tier no matter how good at fighting he is.

Magatsu, on the other hand, had a relatively normal upbringing. He seems to have cared a lot for his sister, so I presume his family loved both of them. He probably has friends. Now the only person around in his age bracket is Kagehisa, who is a complete freak, but the only peer Magatsu has.

Yikes.

Magatsu pulled his robe open, his right arm out of its sleeve, held it in front of him. He clenched his hand into a fist, curled up his hand to tense. It wasn't bad, he thought – he'd won fights. His growing muscle stood up like a burl from a tree. His skin prickled in the cold of night air. Kagehisa looked right back into his eyes. Did the same with his robe, his sleeve, his hand cocked up the same. The same muscle stood up. He was leaner than Magatsu, built different. The muscle the same, not the same, distributed different. Magatsu had been chopping wood for a good part of his life. He had some of the bulk for it, not all of it yet. But this kid was supposed to be good. Magatsu glared at him. Kagehisa smiled a weird smile. It looked like it kind of had a hard time on his face. Magatsu would bet for sure that he'd never got beat on by the big-kid coalition in town, when his dad took him in to help keep an eye on what they were selling. “Not bad.” Kagehisa put his arm back and Magatsu did too, glad of it. It felt like he'd had a long life. He wanted to snuggle under the covers and crash into sleep. But Kagehisa watched with a curious face like a cat's. That was why it was so unnerving. “Welcome to the Itto-ryu. You'll get to try.”

Kagehisa is sincerely trying to be friendly here, which I think makes it all the worse/much more awkward/much funnier.

I’m a huge sucker for characters who don’t really understand how to be nice trying very hard to be nice, and kind of missing the mark.

“What the hell,” Magatsu said. This kid was his sempai now. What the hell. “I'm supposed to lead it.” Kagehisa didn't sound too sure at all. “Congratulations. You'll be part of an effort to revolutionize the country.” “What the hell.” No one Magatsu had met talked like that, ever. “We're going to reawaken the true spirit of swordsmanship in Nippon. It's fallen into decadent worship of techniques that are practically speaking useless.” The kid watched him. The words were fervent, the tone went over them sort of by rote. Still, Kagehisa head was tilted, keen and curious. “If they didn't tell you that, why are you here?”

Imagine, if you will, that this is said in a perfect robot voice. You’ll-be-part-of-an-effort-to-revolutionize-the-country-bleep-bloop-I-am-a-human.

“I just really hate samurai.” It came out in a quiet rush. Magatsu didn't know what he expected, but Kagehisa's face went still with thought. “Oh,” the kid said after a moment, without judgment in his tone. “I hate them too.”

They are off to an awkward start, but here’s the first moment of actual connection and having something in common. Kagehisa’s miserable life is sort of a byproduct of the system that makes and breaks samurai, so he doesn’t have quite the direct experience with samurai Magatsu has - Magatsu has lost someone he loved to samurai - but it doesn’t matter so much when the end results are the same.

Scene change!

There wasn't much money around the place, which Magatsu was used to. There were a lot of creepy guys that stayed around and about, which he wasn't. “Allies,” Grandpa Anotsu said, when asked. “Aren't you supposed to be chopping wood, you little brat?” There was no mellowness to his tone nor gentleness to his hands to soften the words.

I think it was probably healthy for Kagehisa to have Magatsu around. I feel like Anotsu probably never knew what it was like to have a warm and loving family who thought of him as if he were a child in need of protection. He was expected to perform like an adult from a very early age. Magatsu can’t change their living situation, but he is like a breath of normalcy who at least gives Kagehisa some hints that all is not well with his home life.

Kagehisa joined Magatsu as acting woodcutter. It was apparently not a chore he'd had before. He was intense, the kind of kid who's chop til his hands bled and then chop a little more. Lucky he already had plenty of calluses. Magatsu got the clear idea without ever being told that Kagehisa didn't spend a lot of time with kids. But they talked, between beating up on each other and the old codger beating up on Kagehisa.

I recall Manji (or maybe Shira?) telling Rin that one way to build practical muscle (which you obviously need for sword work) was by chopping wood, and in general doing hard labor like that. Grandpa Anotsu is apparently a follower of the same philosophy. I imagine Kagehisa and Magatsu do plenty of other drills and exercises, but a lot of their spare time is spent doing backbreaking chores for the cause and FOR THE MUSCLE.

One day they'd just got done splitting wood. It was early fall, and they'd chopped a lot of kindling. Enough Magatsu felt like they were sitting pretty for an entire winter, just like he'd felt when they chopped every other day. “We're selling it, of course,” Kagehisa said when he asked. The ax dropped to the ground. The handle was stained dark from the oils of their hands and Kagehisa's old blood. He'd had calluses but the handle of an ax was different than the handle of a sword. The pressures different. “I figured. Man, it's shit that we get landed with the whole damn job.” “Don't let grandfather hear you saying that.” Kagehisa turned his way with the same smile as usual, glib and dry as a lizard. “Let's let him know we're done.” “Let's not,” Magatsu suggested, on impulse. Then went on with haste when Kagehisa stared at him. “He's had us at this shit all day. He's just gonna give us another job. Let's do something else?” “What stunning diversion would you suggest?” Kagehisa said, by which Magatsu knew he had him. “Let's walk. Hey, let's explore. We can take our swords. We'll tell him we decided to practice together.” “That's hardly a diversion at all. I expected better from you.” “Yeah, well,” Magatsu said, deadpan back, “I'll work with what I've got.”

Another incidence of Magatsu being the breath of normalcy in the situation. By himself, Kagehisa wouldn’t rebel against his grandfather even in this small way. I’m sure he kind of hated Grandpa Anotsu, but he wouldn’t have risked getting beaten up or otherwise abused just to skive off work for a couple hours.

Magatsu puts them both at risk, but he also opens Kagehisa’s eyes to a different way of doing things, also occasionally doing things “just for fun” and not to serve some ultimate purpose.

Again, it’s Magatsu’s ‘normal’ background showing up again. He did plenty of work with his peasant family but also had time to relax, play, and enjoy himself. Kagehisa might not take the lead with such things and its influence might be hard to see, but it’s good for him to have someone so different from his grandfather and his minions.

They got their swords. It wasn't that hard. It wasn't hard to sneak off either, gramps off somewhere, probably ruminating bitterly about all he'd lost and how he could make their lives harder to make up for it or something. Besides his being a good swordsman Magatsu was not impressed with him as a sensei.

Ok I know Kagehisa is a revolutionary who wants to burn the system to the ground BUT I think especially as a kid he would buy into authority and be inclined to follow the rules, and if he broke rules he’d probably try to rules lawyer his way out of trouble. Magatsu, on the other hand, has a healthy distrust of anyone who aspires to be in charge of him. If I were writing a high school au he totally would have been a baby anarchist.

“I've explored everything already,” Kagehisa told him, once they were out of earshot of their little house. “There's not a whole lot around here, anyway. We might as well fight and then go back.” “Dude, I've never been. Don't make me sorry I invited you.” “Sorry to put a damper on your little outing.” Kagehisa shrugged, his sword resting on his shoulder bobbing with the motion. They were climbing up a gentle hill now, precursor to a larger mountain. Magatsu didn't feel like a hike, so he led them left and Kagehisa at least didn't complain about that part, just went on: “There's nothing exciting or dangerous to do. Tell me, do you even like being a swordsman?” “I like it but this training is shitty. No bandits or dogs or anything?” “Well, there were dogs.” Kagehisa's face still like the surface of a morning pond. “But not anymore.”

/IMPLIED MAKIE

I really love fics that are not just… about a duo. I like fics where characters have more than their ship partner or just one friend, even if it’s just implied. Makie does not appear in this story, but she’s very much on Kagehisa’s mind, just as she will be 10 years later.

Also again, Magatsu, the earnest anarchist, who just wants to explore and maybe chill a little and possibly have a normal friend moment or two with his weird lizard of a peer. Magatsu tries so hard.

Kagehisa and Magatsu aren’t naturally friends in this fic. If they weren’t sorta forced together by circumstance, they probably wouldn’t have become close. As it is, they don’t really have a choice.

It could have been a pretty walk. What leaves were left colored in red and yellow, branches scratched like ink strokes against the blue sky. The chill in the air even enlivened his skin like the scrape of a blade but Magatsu felt more aware of a hard winter to come and shivered with premonition. Besides that he kept an eye on Kagehisa. A furtive one. The kid walked with this weird look of still remove. He was always coming across glazed over, or several hundred ri away; a little slow sometimes, maybe. Except with a sword, where he was guaranteed on the ball. “I guess you know around here, huh?” Magatsu said it out a weird impulse to break the silence. “When did the dogs get lost?” “You talk so much,” Kagehisa said. Then, at a glimpse of Magatsu's offended place. “Not like that. Calm yourself.” “I do not,” Magatsu said, and sealed his lips up in preparation to maintain a manly silence for the rest of their jaunt. Kagehisa sighed. “Be an adult. If you have a question, why don't you ask it?” “I am an adult, and you are a real asshole.”

THEY’RE TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS

I’m still proud of this little exchange at the end, and Magatsu’s determination to keep his ‘manly silence.’ I imagine before his sister died, he was a sweet, chatty, affectionate kid; I can’t see him as a comedian type (he’d love to do silly things but get flustered when people actually laughed. I have had students like this and I know the type) but he probably would have been quite open and pure in a way.

Unfortunately, circumstances nipped a lot of that inherent sweetness in the bud. It’s similar to what happened to Rin, who had to become a harder, more calculating person over the course of the series, just so she’d survive. Still, Magatsu has empathy for others, some sweetness, and an inherent interest in people, and it peeks out now and again, even when the audience is Kagehisa.

“Speaking as an adult,” Kagehisa said with a smirk, “A kindly demeanor doesn't get you far in the real world.” “Shut up.” “Why are you angry?” Kagehisa's tone tended steadily more clipped. “When you're fighting seriously a temper is a liability.” Magatsu knew that. The assumption that he didn't stung. He uncinched his lips to mutter. “We're not fighting seriously.” “You're taking it seriously.” Kagehisa shrugged and glanced away. Magatsu thought he'd get ignored until Kagehisa spoke again. “The dogs got killed years ago.” “Some kinda training rite from the old man?” “Well, he tried.” Magatsu could always recognize now when Kagehisa's smiles weren't real ones. “It didn't go so well.” They walked over hill upon hill. Zigzag branches diced up the sky. Up close, black bark shone rich brown or gleamed with blue highlights in the autumn sun. “It's nearby,” Kagehisa said eventually, “If you want to see the place.” It was a plateau that opened out into a clearing. “The dogs scavenged from town and came here to bed down at night,” Kagehisa said. “But they never found enough. They were always hungry. Sometimes they tried to steal from us. Grandfather finally got tired of it.” “So he helped you fight him.” Already, Magatsu could guess that wasn't how it had gone. “No, he sent me...” There was one tree in the middle of the clearing. Kagehisa went to it and touched it. The touch of an old man, Magatsu thought, or someone blind, reaching to understand... “There was a girl,” Kagehisa said. “Oh.” “Not like that, would you stop,” but Kagehisa's smile lost some of its lines of unfortunate strain there.

Tbh it’s a travesty we never saw Makie and Magatsu interact more in the series itself. I like to imagine they’re friends; they’re very different people, but have a lot of interests in common. I think they’d have compassion for each other. Someday maybe I’ll try and write a friendship fic with them.

Also, Kagehisa and Anotsu are definitely at the age where they’d notice girls, if there were girls around to notice.

A moment came. A precipice. Teetered on, and then fallen past. Two old men fought and then only one of them had his blood decorating the ground. That was how it was, that was how it had to be. Magatsu went to help Abayama. It seemed to have taken it out of the guy, killing Grandpa Anotsu. Magatsu helped him sit. Abayama didn't let go of his sword. Anotsu was still looking at the wreckage of his grandfather with his back to them both. His black ponytail fell limply over his tightly squared shoulders. Magatsu wondered if Abayama would have to kill him next. Kagehisa turned and his face was wet, white and staring. Tight and confused, horrible with its tears. He stared at both Magatsu and Abayama as if surprised to find them there looking back at him. “I hated him,” Kagehisa said. “Take it easy, now,” Abayama said. “Family's family.” Men got crazy over less, Magatsu thought. Kagehisa stepped towards them. His eyes were still raw and staring, never having quite let out their tears. That was the moment that turned them both out into a new life.

Abayama definitely gave Kagehisa a hug after this scene change, Magatsu probably did too even though he was super embarrassed.

This series is haunted by Grandpa Anotsu’s ghost. He’s the one who was thrown out of the Asano dojo, and in a big way he’s responsible for setting Anotsu on his path. And he was a horrendously abusive guardian. Kagehisa is justified in hating him.

From that day they came a long way. It seemed like they were charmed with an easy work, or it was pleasant, as smooth as anyone could have wished. School after school, budding kenshi who’d never have blossomed anyway stamped out, the potentates gathered up. It became a blood-steeped story with more exposed entrails in it than Magatsu really thought there would be. The dead never went away. Not the new crowd, not his old tail. His sister was always at his heels, the flutter of her pink robes grabbing his eye from time to time. He could go a while without thinking of her and then circle back around and contemplate her existence for hours. Back around to her and Kagehisa and O-ren. Winter nights with their horrendous bite, summer nights slowing the world to a trickle, lulled in deep heat. Or the bitch-slap wind of spring. It came to a spring night with a nervous feel to it like a young horse taming to the saddle. A night at another brothel, one more upon an immeasurable number of flophouses and cheap inns. And nicer places. But the one night in particular: a brothel with a muddy yard, with a budding plum tree at the corner. A little sake for both of them. Half a bowl each. Magatsu had seen Kagehisa imbibe but they were past things like that. At least now was not the opportune moment for an alcoholic blowout. He who holds earth can conquer heaven but he who is too drunk to stand can’t even aim his dick to piss right. Magatsu would hesitate to say life was good, but it wasn’t horrible. And Kagehisa was filled with nervous, fever-bright energy.

I wish we’d learned Magatsu’s sister’s name in canon.

I like the imagery in these first paragraphs! Balancing dialogue, action and imagery is still a challenge for me. I can navel gaze with poetic images for paragraph upon paragraph, and it bothers me in my old work, but I don’t think I overdid it here.

Anyway, something that always bothers me in fiction is when characters so easily forget their dead. Magatsu is not perpetually sad about his sister, but I wanted to indicate that he never forgot her either, and always felt a bit haunted by her. He wants justice for her, not something that’s easy to find in the world of BotI.

He’s also not exactly a soft guy, but he is kind of sensitive to the awful things the Itto-ryu is doing.

It was hard to tell with him but they’d known each other for a long time. Kagehisa could always be controlled but his excitement gleamed in his eyes, the movement of his fingers on the ax-handle, his fixed smile. A warm spring night wouldn’t sway him. They drank together squatting in the yard. “Man, would you cool it?” Magatsu asked him finally. “You’re wigging me out.” “You talk so much.” “Yeah, well, try it sometime, maybe you’d scare off fewer women.” That made Kagehisa laugh. He could’ve pounded his hand bloody on a pulpit somewhere if he’d been raised to talk. Magatsu knew that much. Kagehisa had just been raised for something else. That was their high-water mark if Magatsu only knew it at the time. Kagehisa gazing up over the wall as the first stars wiped off their faces, Magatsu checking the Turk over, making sure it all fit quick, smooth and easy. They were on a trajectory towards greatness. They had so much to lose but it felt like anything lost would mean nothing. Would only be a move or two away from being won back. It wasn’t the first time Magatsu had heard the name Asano but it was the first time it stuck.

I imagine that Magatsu is one of the few Itto-ryu who’ll ever zing Anotsu, and probably one of the only ones (minus Makie) who could be called Kagehisa’s friend. They were kids together. Magatsu is one of the few people who remembers Kagehisa ever being vulnerable.

“They’re not a remarkable school,” Kagehisa told him, blasé and easy as always. “You know, it’s the one that threw grandfather out. The master has expressed some disrespect towards us now and, well…” His smile ironic: “You could say I’m putting grandfather’s soul to rest at last.” “Don’t go there, man. He was fucked in the head in the first place.” “Take care how you talk about the dead,” Kagehisa said with remarkable mildness, “They always might hear you. The master has a lovely wife and a young daughter, I believe. Almost fourteen. Somewhere thereabouts.” Magatsu thinks about that and then doesn’t. Almost fourteen, not much like his own sister at all. She’d be old enough to be wed by now, even. Maybe. Maybe with a child. “That shit’s not important. If they stand in front of us, roll ‘em over. But don’t do it because of your old man’s old man.” “I’ll do it for the Itto-ryu and the future of the country, not for him.” Kagehisa could do a cool snap withdrawal when it suited him. Like now. Magatsu looked sideways at him and Kagehisa looked back, steady. Family was always family. And, well – it was Magatsu’s ugly story too, there. But not all his. Magatsu likes little girls. In the healthy way, thanks, and he’s got the wherewithal to slice anyone who intimated anything nasty about his liking for them in half. He doesn’t show it much. It doesn’t have much place in the business. Just, he likes little girls, and bigger ones, watching them in the dusty streets, watching them shout at their brothers imperiously. Even the big girls. What his sister could’ve been. “That family must be put down,” Kagehisa says. He has a good capacity for casual cruelty. More than Magatsu’s got, enough like a leader needs. “Dude, kill who you want. I’m not attached.”

Of course this is a prelude to the incident with Rin. I would say the first cracks in Magatsu’s allegiance to the Itto-ryu showed there.

Gramps is dead, but Anotsu is still damaged by him. Honestly I don’t think he ever got over that damage. BotI was not a series that went easy on its characters, and frankly the Anotsu family line was not wrong that there was plenty wrong with the world they were living in. Magatsu is right to be uncomfortable with this though. Even as a kid he was always the more objective one regarding Grandpa Anotsu and his dream. Anotsu is going to do some terrible things in the name of avenging his grandfather and Magatsu can feel it even if he doesn’t know the exact details.

Abayama killed Grandpa when it became necessary but as they say you can’t kill an idea. Anotsu has carried the idea forward himself.

“We could spare the girl, if you like.” Kagehisa watches him. The offer sounds like it’s given without a care. His eyes have got no shine in them sometimes. He’s not paranoid but he’s always watching, and sometimes – Magatsu hasn’t got a hard-on for him. But sometimes it’s a look that’s vulnerable. “It doesn’t matter,” Magatsu returns, keeping the eye contact up, breaking it casually to turn back to the Turk. He would follow Kagehisa anyway. It was still the high-water mark. Before he watched his comrades rape a woman and walked away from it. Still there was no telling the future. What came ahead could be as important as anything that came behind. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Kagehisa says. If Magatsu knew what was all to come. If Magatsu knew his life, and the tempestuous years ahead. The whole business, when he stopped doing it to mend sandals or work fields he remembered why he hated it, and then remembered again why he didn’t have a taste for the simple life. There was no place for a good man to rest easy. Thinking like that he’d been on the run for all the part of his life that mattered. On the run, and putting his feet in Kagehisa’s footsteps. As terrible as the things they did were, as awkward and bizarre as Kagehisa was, it was just so familiar to be at his back. Magatsu felt sometimes at parting the squeeze of a bitter, fire-forged affection that would never rest easy between them. It had been more fair than he liked to say it didn’t matter what Kagehisa chose to do to the woman, to the girl. What Kagehisa chose to let others do to those women. Magatsu’d come much too far with him to cut it off easy right there, or not to go on with him for longer. They were brothers-in-arms by now.

I made myself emotional with my own fic, help

Anyway. The feeling at the end should definitely be that it’s maybe not a GOOD thing that these two are as close as they are. I would say Magatsu loves Kagehisa, I don’t make any distinction tbh if it’s friendship or a romantic ship; Kagehisa in all his weirdness and intensity is simply the most important person in Magatsu’s life at this time. And yet, he won’t be able to follow Kagehisa everywhere; he doesn’t always agree with Kagehisa.

The thing about Magatsu that makes him interesting is he basically is… too sensitive to comfortably live in the world of BotI as it is (which is why his ending of happily working in the fields was pretty terrible).

Kagehisa was never WRONG that the system he lived within was massively unjust and kind of broken and in need of huge restructuring. But the things he did to achieve that were absolutely wrong, and terrible. I believe he grew a lot over the course of the series (imagine end-series Anotsu redoing the scene with Rin’s parents; I think he might still have killed her dad, but things with her mom would NOT have gone the same way)... but no matter how much he grew I think he couldn’t do what would have been necessary to “escape” the system. At least, by the time he wanted to escape the system in that way, so much had happened and so many bridges were burned that it was impossible.

Honestly, as I say that, I’m not even sure what “escaping” the system would have looked like, other than leaving for China, which in the canon’s case was not an escape but a sign of just how broken and defeated Kagehisa was in those moments.

Anyway, I think the fact that Kagehisa had genuine desires to create a better system, but he didn’t think through what worst-case scenario consequences would be for people like Rin. And Magatsu, in the meantime, couldn’t escape what worst-case scenario consequences would be for people like Rin. He was too empathetic to ignore those things, and too sensitive to injustice to be as ruthless as Kagehisa when it came to changing things.

What it meant was that even though Magatsu loved Kagehisa, their friendship would eventually break apart, as it does on and off in canon until the very end where Magatsu doesn’t meet up with Anotsu to go to China. And I think even when they’re not friends, they still love each other; that’s what’s tragic about them. They’ll always be unique people to each other, and irreplaceable. But… the cost of one of them following the other would always be too high.

#blade of the immortal #boti #anotsu kagehisa #anotsu #magatsu taito #magatsu #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #commentary

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foodoliplife · 5 years

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How can you begin drafting the review?

Utilizing a duplicate associated with the manuscript that I first marked up with any concerns that I’d, we write a short summary of exactly what the paper is approximately and the things I experience its solidity. However tell you the particular points we raised during my summary much more information, within the purchase they starred in the paper, supplying web page and paragraph numbers for many. Finally comes a summary of actually stuff that is minor that we attempt to stick to a minimum. We then https://essaypro.ws typically proceed through my very first draft taking a look at the marked-up manuscript again to ensure I didn’t omit such a thing crucial. If personally i think there is certainly some really good material into the paper nonetheless it requires plenty of work, i am going to write a pretty very long and specific review pointing down exactly what the authors should do. In the event that paper has horrendous problems or even a concept that is confused i shall specify that but will likely not do lots of strive to you will need to recommend repairs for almost any flaw.

We avoid using value judgments or adjectives that are value-laden. There’s nothing that is“lousy “stupid,” and nobody is “incompetent.” Nonetheless, as a writer your computer data could be incomplete, or perhaps you might have over looked a contradiction that is huge your outcomes, or perhaps you may have made major mistakes within the research design. That’s exactly exactly what we communicate, having a real means to correct it in case a feasible one pops into the mind. Hopefully, this is utilized to help make the manuscript better rather rather than shame anybody. Overall, I would like to attain an assessment for the research this is certainly reasonable, objective, and complete adequate to persuade both the editor in addition to writers that I’m sure one thing in what I’m speaing frankly about. In addition make an effort to cite a certain factual explanation or some proof for just about any major criticisms or recommendations that We make. Most likely, also you had been chosen as a specialist, for every review the editor has to determine how much they have confidence in your evaluation. – Callaham

I take advantage of annotations while reading the paper that I made in the PDF to start writing my review; that way I never forget to mention something that occurred to me. Unless the log utilizes a structured review structure, we often start my review with a broad declaration of my comprehension of the paper and just just what it claims, accompanied by a paragraph providing a general evaluation. However make certain reviews for each area, detailing the major concerns or issues. According to exactly just exactly how enough time I have actually, we often additionally end by having a portion of small responses. I might, as an example, highlight an evident typo or grammatical mistake, as it is the authors’ and copyeditors’ responsibility to ensure clear writing though I don’t pay a lot of attention to these.

We play the role of as constructive as you can. An assessment is mainly for the benefit of the editor, to assist them to achieve a determination about whether to publish or perhaps not, but we you will need to make my reviews ideal for the writers too. I usually compose my reviews as if I am conversing with the boffins in individual. We decide to try difficult to avoid rude or remarks that are disparaging. The review procedure is brutal enough scientifically without reviewers which makes it worse.

Since acquiring tenure, we constantly signal my reviews. I really believe it improves the transparency of this review process, and in addition it assists me police the standard of my assessments that are own making us accountable. – Chambers

I wish to assist the writers enhance their manuscript and also to help the editor when you look at the decision procedure by giving a basic and balanced report about the manuscript’s talents and weaknesses and just how to possibly enhance it. Once I have actually finished reading the manuscript, we allow it to sink set for every single day approximately after which we attempt to decide which aspects actually matter. This can help me personally to differentiate between major and small problems and and to cluster them thematically when I draft my review.

#food #recipe #How will you begin drafting the review? Do you sign it?

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