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pwblogarchive · 2 months

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January 2005

January 2, 2005

the dog update. so alot of people seemed concerned about marley and that made me feel better. he puked every five minutes for a day or so and then went to the emergency vet. there they injected him with saline solution that made his back feel all bumpy when you petted him. now he's doing better. thank god i don't have to punch anyone cause i'm pretty little and don't like to get punched back. marley is doing pretty good now too. he's not bumpy anymore so he's back to his handsome self. all the chick dogs think he's super hot, trust me. my other dog pandora tries to hump him all the time. it's pretty gross you know. but you can't fault them for being in love. like that one disney movie lady and the tramp.

i got a new years wish about you.

- petey

January 6, 2005

chicago to los angeles survival guide: uncrustables, XOskeletons, capri suns, seinfeld seasons 1 and 2, the weakerthans, etc.

how about how the transformers was supposed to take place in 2005.

now it's here. where are all the fucking autobots.

love peter

- petey

January 7, 2005

“you are the tiny in my heart”

i haven't "blogged" anything in here in quite some time. i guess first off i must adress that i had loads of fun on our last five day stint with the midtowners, acadameisters and the gym class-o-sauruses. seeing all the people there at the shows caring about us and being totally rad and cool and awesome makes me smile from the left to right. no half smiles here. it was an awesome time for sure. anyways, im home now. it snowed tons the past few days here. i had to shovel at least a foot of snow off my car yesterday just so i could get groceries. i framed a star wars poster for my room the other day. im really happy with how it turned out. nothing else really going on. just been spending time with some friends and seeing my family. ive seen my dog a little. he's big. quite large in fact. im sorry this is a short and crappy entry but i have to go to the bathroom so bad. ill make a better one later. i promise.

January 9, 2005

“wake the dead”

i promised a more well written journal entry, and one shall be written, right now. first off, ive been home since decemeber 29th and i must say i'm lovin' it, much like the people who gorge themselves with the royal with cheese while shooting hoops. but in all seriousness, ive been hanging with my friends, seeing my family, watching my dog pee on the carpet, and it's all good. so i ate a lot today. sue me. that's right, i said sue me. just like you used to in 5th grade. and you know what? i'm still freakin hungry. i'm sitting here at my apartment, it's quarter after 5 am, theres a scary looking corpse-like women on tv telling me how to discover free money, and i have to be up in less than 6 hours for a fun filled trip with some of my friends to the field museum, or as it should be called, the natural history museum. i'm going to touch dino bones. i cleaned out my car a few days ago to find nothing of interest except i guess i spilled some coke everywhere and forgot to clean it up and my car was very syrupy. ew. funny thing happened today, i was leaving to go to my friend's place to play some card games and enjoy spicey chinese food that made my tounge cry, when this awesome homeless couple was hanging out by the garbage can in back of my place. they were really cool. they gave me one of their beers which i think i left in my friends fridge, and we talked about my car for a while because they were suprised someone had a black toyota rather than a white or red one. they assumed i had a black car because i wore dark clothes. they also thought i was a "computer whiz". i just nodded. they were really nice. i felt bad i didn't have money to give them. i also felt bad taking a beer, but i wouldve felt just as bad turning it down. it was kind of awkward. but none the less very pleasent folks. so im putting some cds on my computer to put on my ipod. im gonna continue on that path and then head to the resting place. nights.

currently enjoying:

music:

m83-dead cities, red seas and lost ghosts

the dears-no cities left

nick drake-pink moon

darkest hour-hidden hands of a saddist nation

(sorry, nothing new)

dvd:

the micheal gondry. chris cunningham, spike jonze dvd set

south park season 3

garden state

books:

none my friend

other:

-cooking steak

-putting up my empire strikes back poster after i framed it

-playing apple to apple

-having ipod parties with my one friend who would hit me in the goods if i said his/her name, so we'll just call this person 'sanders'

January 10, 2005

“its funny the way people only say stuff like "you could never be replaced" right before they replace you”

the sky is out again. i let myself get drawn into airing the dirty laundry in this funny place we call the internet again. and as much as i say "never again"- i am sure it will happen. once again proof that i am just as flawed, if not more, than anyone else. that being said. i feel happy right now- okay, like sunny and 75 degrees. thanks for that. we've got all kinds of plans that no one knows about. go listen to the new academy is song over at www.purevolume.com/theacademyis

what it looks like from the valley: Its been pouring rain here for four days straight- this isn’t a metaphor for a thing, It’s just how it goes. Even the sewers are sick of it- they’re spitting water back out. the city’s in a suspicious green light not quite haunted but definitely considering it. The boarded up windows aren’t for keeping anything out, they’re for keeping secrets like treasures inside. The basement window is cracked like a spiders web only without the queen in the middle. I pull it up and slip inside. Breathe in a hundred years of disappointment in the form of dust and water stained paper. These places are never quite like in dreams or movies but they are gold none the less. What the fuck could a kid like me ever know about LOnelyS ANGELES. I just want you to know the only reason I ever had double standards is because I cant stand the thought of just one of anything, it just feels so lonely. Pull the chain on a light that doesn’t work- pretty much that sums it up. Climb creaking stairs to rooms that used to be alive. The sunlight cuts in green-white between boards on the windows. We’re not getting out of this one. Its times like this that feel safe to be all alone. Because its my choice. I am the boarded up windows. I am the old man asleep on the porch across the street, dreaming in black and white. take a screwdriver out to fix all the bad habits that I had foolishly broken in anger- There is a chest in the corner. I crack it open and it breathes deep like it has come back to life. i read "There are two sides to digging up the past- pros: you remember things you had forgotten about, cons: you remember things you had forgotten about". Sit here on the floor barely breathing in all the dust hanging in the air like gray and brown stars. Think about the way none of these stories are finished ever because that’s how I am. I cant close the door on a thing. I just sit back in the cut and wait to be called out. never putting down the last period. Never signing off.

you feel like a new sweater on the first day of school- perfect but nervous-and tonight is just off of rocket sHIPS.

January 11, 2005

so we heard that the fob xmas cards from the tour are being sold on ebay. we think that is bullshit. they were always meant to be free for our fans and friends. we have some left so if you send a self addressed stamped envelope to korean tom cruise he will send you one. head over to his livejournal for that. www.livejournal.com/~asiandan

do not pay for them online!

p.s. today i told patrick he needed to turn down the patitude.

- petey

January 12, 2005

ive got my stitches stitched, ive got my fixes fixed

so an actual update. so pretty much our dates consist of: i dream. i wake up at around 10 and watch lifetime movies for an hour. then i yell into patrick's room cause i am pretty much his mom out here. we then get into the car, not talking because we're both kind of grumpy in the morning. luckily the oldies station is badass out here and we become best buds again when we sing along to UB40's "i can't help falling in love..." and tony bennet's "it's not unusual" or whatever it's called. the car pretty much becomes this sweet vegas lounge. when we get to the studio, i go right to computer and pretend to work on lyrics but pretty much just play this game called runescape where i get to kill goblins and barbarian women. patrick goes and works on guitar. we eat deltaco which is like taco bell only better (if thats even possible). we then go and work on vocals whcih mostly just consists of me and patrick making fun of eachother and doing imitations of eachotherback and forth. we have some cool guests on the record, some suprises. one is flying in from chicago tommorrow, we are pretty excited. we finished a song today called "my name is david ruffin and these are the temptations"- you either get it or you don't. the record is gonna be called: from under the cork tree. again, it refers to something we think is pretty amazing. i need to get back to eating burritos and killing goblins.

peter

January 13, 2005

“bass boost”

my friend drew and i are sitting here on seperate computers. im typing a lot and drew is messing with his ipod. i got the newest mos def cd finally and i love it. i also got the todd barry cd which comes with a dvd. its extremely hilarious. on top of that, i rewarded myself with season one of x-files. not much else to report. all i have is jibberish. we both know it. im sure you feel the same way, but unfortunatly you are hungry for more words and i have the ability to feed them to you spoonful by spoonful. im worried im getting lazy. ive been sitting around and thinking about it, i recently finished doing my part of the record, and we did our 5 day tour, and that was all amazing. by the way, someone asked on our messageboard (yes i read it), what me and andy are doing in the studio. we finished tracking our stuff and are at home playing eachother in nhl 2005. anyway,now i have nothing to do, and thats cool for a while, but now im extra lazy. i mean, ive been sleeping until 5pm soley because i wouldnt know what to do if i woke up any earlier than that, so i stay up extra late so i sleep extra late. thats gonna fuck me over soon. i am excited to go out to la again, even if its for a few days. that should be nice. at least the weather will be a redeeming quality compared to the current downpour chicago is enduring. i dunno, im not bored, just worried im getting into a habit of laziness. i hope not. im gonna go to bed in 4 hours. bye!

January 14, 2005

i cant stop/stand myself

new photos and love

January 16, 2005

“in a world of sluts i keep the wet dream alive”

sorry the lj is over for now. i read everything you liked/disliked about yourselves so i feel like it went out really well. thank you for sharing that with me. though towards the end there was too much fighting and ridiculous stuff being said- including calling my friends sluts and all. i can'[t control anonymous posters except by deleting the entire thing- and you've heard it before you can say whatever you want about me but as soon as it involves my friends, i wont deal with it. it's just not what i want to read- instead i am going to read: the stranger by Camus- i'd recommend it to you. on our messageboard recommend one to me and then go outside and play in the sun or the snow depending on where you live.

cause you aint got nobody and i aint got nobody either- so lets be alone together.

January 17, 2005

“namedropper namefucker”

on my daily quest to find idiocy in human nature, i have come to a final conclusion: that many people out there are just vegetables and do not take the time to think or learn, but rather to repeat hackneyed concepts and thoughts that they have heard from a much wiser being. and usually these versions of what they have heard are botched and have been through the telephone game so many times that by the time they repeat them themselves, they come out usually as fart noises. i guess im just in a bad mood. but the only things in life i find to be genious are george lucas, jrr tolkien, morrissey and david cross. and if you think the new star wars movies suck, why don't you try and come up with different worlds, a complete history, and array of creatures and characters, and everything else it takes to make such an elaborate world that star wars is. im sick of people hating on phantom menace and attack of the clones. i cant wait until revenge of the sith comes out so everyone watches and just gets the shit knocked out of them. seriously, if the force and lightsabers arent good enough for you, then you seriously need to re-evaluate your life. anyways, i love you all and this is has nothing to do with you. it just has to do with the haters and the half-glass empty assholes who want to make the world a bummer.

January 19, 2005

“your lack of faith is disturbing”

if anyone is complaing about the "corny" level of star wars episode 1 and 2, watch episode 4,5 and 6 and try to tell me mark hamill wasn't pretty much the cheesiest dude on earth. plus, let me relay this harrison ford/carey fischer conversation at the end of empire strikes back that even though it's cool, harkens back to the essence of cheese: leia "i love you", han, "i know". i rest my case friends. cgi's aside. and no one is arguing that jar jar was awesome, but no one ever brings up the gay droid marriage between c3p0 and r2d2. im not trying to compare jar jar, but just think about it. take care!

January 20, 2005

“more…”

im quite bored and im going to continue with this. this is in response to our beloved message board. first off, someone mentioned that the original star wars weren't corny at the time of their release. just because something is corny doesn't mean it isn't good. original trilogy was delightfully corny by past and present standards. talk to my parents, they saw all three in the theaters and will tell you the same. second, qui-gon jinn was totally undeveloped and one of my least favorite jedi to grace the films. hayden as anakin rules cause he's super pissed off and he's totally gonna flip out in episode three. look at his huge flip out in episode two: when he went on a tusken raider massacre. that was excellent. anyways, i cant wait for lightsaber technology. sign me up for the testing. cut my arms off, i just want to see that thing in action. am i a big enough nerd to sit down and figure out the star wars theme? yes. well, most of it. i could probably play it with my vader mask but that thing is a bit to small for my head and makes my face sweaty. my big nose makes it hard to wear. oh, and thank you liz for the info on darth tater. im gonna have to pick that guy up as soon as it hits. its darling. i do lots of bad lightsaber and spaceship noises when im bored or when i space out (no pun intended). i have a list of star wars things that ive been compiling in my head for everyone who likes star wars, minus the obvious ones like watching the trilogy:

-check out imdb.com and search under the star wars movies and check out the trivia, really interesting stuff about people they were going to originally cast, original versions of charcaters and such

-if you're into video games, most of the star wars games out there are really lackluster but there are a few that i love. both knights of the old republic and knights of the old republic II: the sith lords are totally amazing. they are sort of prequels to everything that happens in the first three episodes of star wars and there are no familiar characters whatsoever. those are probably some of the most addicting games ive ever played. also, star wars battlefront is awesome. it has sort of a halo aspect to it and takes place both during the clone wars and during the rebel/empire wars and you can play on both sides. i also sort of liked the jedi academy games but the controls suck and action games get really boring.

-the clone wars comics are totally awesome and tell you whats going on between episode 2 and 3.

-theres also lots of star wars books, but a lot of them aren't great.

-the clone wars animated series vol 1 is being released on dvd in march. i liked it a lot. also, episode 3 comes out in may and the episode 3 game, which looks cool as hell, comes out in may as well, about 4 days before the movie.

im a nerd for real. most of my opinions are really biased. dont be like me. go outside and go sledding or learn to knit or start working out. bye!

January 24, 2005

“isn't it messed up, how i'm just dying to be him”

sometimes i look back at the things i write and just want to throw it away. its like when it gets kind of bad the words just fall off my tongue and fingertips. but when it's at it's worst- its just contrite and cliche. not that any of this matters. but when posts are disappearing it's just me realizing i am being overdramatic. we're looking in mirrors and laughing cause we're in on it (princes of the scene, makeout queens).

you're making it okay: uncrustables (strawberry only), tiny hoodies from the little boys section of thrift stores, new bright eyes, this movie windy city heat- i swear to god it is the funniest movie i have ever seen, elliot smith "from a basement...", chocolate cake milkshakes, full moons, 80 degree weather in january, catcher in the rye (almost as cliche as me, but its the best there is, its safe), stealing clothes from photoshoots instead of doing laundry (never should have let us try on the clothes hahaha), the san diego zoo, bob for buying me an electic scooter-FBR tour is gonna be radical, new panic at the disco song, patrick laughing at me trying to squeeze into hilarious jeans- i promise you it's gonna happen, champaign for my real friends- real pain for my sham friends.

i think you're gonna like the new record, it's like a day away from being finished- at least the recording part....

as for the internet drama. its over. we're all friends- and fob fans are way cooler than any other bands. you are the only thing that makes it worthwhile.

"it feels like the first day of my life, glad i didn't die before i met you".

peterabbit

January 25, 2005

“technology doesnt work”

so i just wrote a really really long entry on this thing using my sidekick. hell, i even referenced sanders. yea thats right sanders, whatcha gonna do about it? nothing cause your hands are too small to punch a hole through my gut. so anyway, my sidekick took a crap on it. so now i have to write a WHOLE new one. ugh. the things im compelled to do. first off, what the hell is with celebrity weddings and e! thining we give a fuck about them? seriously, i dont care what slutty dress barbara walters is wearing to trumps wedding and i dont care about trump and his lackluster combover. he spent 35 million on his wedding. what a moron. seriously dude, spend 100 bucks on a vegas wedding, put the rest on black, double your money, buy some of those sick wrap around oakleys and do a bachleor walk down the street telling everybody that you're hot and these babys aren't even close to street legal, and refer to your awesome thighs when you say that because you know youll be wearing bike shorts. So I want to own a bear that rides a motorcyle with a shark on his back. Seriously, that dude would be like "I'm sort of in your face, I don't mean to be, but I'm a little in timidating. Please, stop making fun of us because we do two on one cycle here. Its how we like to ride. Its comfortable that way." And then he'd be like spear spear spear spear victory ride! so im excited to get home, see the folks, see the friends, see the woodsman, study on some boron, just get all the things done i need to. allright, this is my entry substitute. the other one was better but i forget most of what i wrote.

January 27, 2005

holy fuck.

please be my date to this [link to corpse bride trailer]

Oh yeah and "the boy with thorn in his side" is now available in all hottopics. Thanks to you guys for bugging em to get it in... Now pick up a copy there!

Peterpan

January 29, 2005

we have finished recording our new record and have a couple of weeks of mixing before we head home to chicago. just to let you know this was one of the hardest and most important things i have done in my life. i spent hours and hours trying to think what words would mean the most, what we had to say.

i am listening to the rough versions of the songs.

i hope that when it's finally said and done it means as much to you as it does to me.

- petey

#fall out boy #pete wentz #livejournal #pete wentz livejournal

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crumbledcastle28 · 3 years

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Javier Peña: To Me

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javier never realized how important you were to him until you were gone.

Warnings: KIDNAPPING! Javier is super mad, angst, crying, anxiety, injuries, acceptance of death, major swearing, gunshots, blood, description of an IV, description of sex, all that fun stuff. Please do not read if you feel you can’t!

A/N: here we have some Javierrrr. This is a new character for me so I really hope you all enjoy! Your kind words make my hard days so much better :)

If Javier knew what the rest of this day was going to entail, he would have actually enjoyed his 8 AM meeting.

He hated when the Ambassador would do this. She would schedule these meetings, drone on and on about things that need to change, barely provide any solutions, then dismiss the meeting as if she didn’t just waste over an hour of time when they could have been working. It was incredibly frustrating, to say the very least.

So yeah, Javier wasn’t in the best mood. At all. And the fact that you hadn’t shown up to work this morning really didn’t help.

He just couldn’t out of his head how unlike you it was. You were the type of person who showed up 8 AM meetings at 7:55 with a coffee cup already made. Javier would walk in at 8:01 and you would shake you head disappointingly with a smirk on your face. Your eyes would glimmer a bit when he would grin back at you, and he liked to complain with you about the meetings once they were over. He started daydreaming about one specific time the both of you left the meeting room and made your way back to your desks together.

“Well that was pointless.”

“I wouldn’t say pointless, Javi.”

“Does the Ambassador know that we can grasp the fact that we are behind on our own? She doesn’t need to announce it to everyone as if it’s some sort of secret,” he said with a scoff. You giggled a bit at his annoyance.

“It’s a pretty horribly kept secret then.”

He laughed at that, harder than he thought he would, but cleared his throat to try and hide it.

“Yeah. Yeah I guess it is.”

He remembered you looking at his side profile for a second or two after his reply. He could see your small eye crinkles and high cheeks from your smile even in his peripheral vision, and for some reason, that moment just burned into his skull. The way he was the reason he made you smile. Not Steve, not Connie, him.

He didn’t even have the energy to wonder why you were popping up in his head during a meeting he definitely should have been paying attention to. He was too exhausted denying it.

He really, really liked you, and having your presence be absent in this meeting made him miss you more than it made him worry about his job. The job that had been killing him slowly for years and that he could never get out of his head no matter how many different coping mechanisms he tried. You were there now, and he liked it.

Is that fucked up? That’s definitely fucked up. He’s so fucked—

“Peña,” he heard and jumped a bit in his chair. “We are kind of in a meeting here.”

He was met with the face of a very, very annoyed and stressed Ambassador. Her under eyes were a darker purple than normal and the death glare in her eyes was enough to make him sit up a bit straighter.

“Sorry ma’am,” he said, and swallowed grimly. He didn’t even know how long he had been out for.

“Anyways…” she continued as she rolled her eyes, and Javier looked to the seat across from him to give you his classic grin. He wanted to see you trying to hold back your laugh at him, and he looked forward to hearing you tease him afterwards about how he’s “such an old man” who is “losing his mind.”

But you weren’t there. Fuck you weren’t there.

Get it together Peña, he thought to himself. She isn’t here so just fucking relax. She probably overslept or got sick or something stupid. Just chill the fuck out.

He took a breath and looked towards where the Ambassador was standing. He tried his best to breathe and not let his mind spiral. He relaxed his shoulders, unclenched his jaw, and cracked his neck.

Breathe Peña, he thought. Just breathe.

That was the last full breath of oxygen that would fill his lungs for the rest of that day, and the days that followed.

~~*~~

You had never attempted to accept death before. You never really thought you would ever have to.

But now here you were.

You had to be the biggest fucking idiot on the planet. No sane person would follow a group of drunk Narcos out of a night club, especially with as little field training as you had.

But you fucking had to. You had to be the one to put your life on the line, and you were so fucked for it.

You had been trying to steady your breathing for hours and hours, but your heart continued pounding in your ears and sweat never stopped pouring down your back. You could feel it all over your face and your hair as well. The restraints around your wrists and ankles were soaked at this point and you were surprised the sweat around your mouth did not finally peel off the tape.

This was definitely not how you planned to see the sunrise this morning. You planned to have a nice dinner with your close friend after a really stressful week at work and make it back to your apartment in plenty of time for work the next morning. That was until you saw the exact Narcos Steve and Javier had been tracking down for weeks. So you followed them, got yourself cornered, and pulled in for “questioning.” This “questioning” was actually getting screamed at and smacked until you revealed information.

You didn’t reveal anything, of course, but that wasn’t good for your face. You had a black eye forming on your right and a massive bruise on your left cheek. Your face was swelling by the minute, and it hurt like hell.

Not only was your face, head, and entire body pounding, but you had never been more scared in your life.

Every second you were waiting for one of them to come in with a gun to your head. Every crack and drip and groan of the building around you was a set of footsteps coming back to hurt you. To kill you, or use you.

You had known what kind of danger you were walking into when you started at the DEA. You knew something like this would happen at some point or a another. But you hadn’t prepared enough. How could anyone prepare enough for something like this?

After the shock finally started to wear off and the pain of your bruises started to sink in, you accepted the fact that you were completely and utterly fucked and there was no way out of this one. You accepted that you would never going see your family or friends again, and either Steve or Javier were guaranteed to find you dead.

Javier was going to find you dead.

He had started to drift around your mind the past couple of hours. The way his dark brown eyes showed all the emotions he tried to hide, and how he was probably sitting in one of the Ambassador’s 8 AM meetings. He was most likely spaced out for most of it, and he was definitely grumbling about how stupid and pointless it was.

His deep, rich voice played in your head, and the the smallest seeds of hope started to plant in your chest.

Maybe, just maybe, Javier would figure this out. Maybe he would come running through the doors and scoop you up in his arms, carrying you away from your pain and fear and Colombia and all this shit.

He knew that you were not the type of person to ditch work randomly, not only because of the importance and severity of your job, but because of your high expectations for yourself.

You hoped and prayed that even the tiniest drops of doubt and worry were starting to drip into his gorgeous eyes, and the dots would start to connect.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear dripped down your cheek and burned your wounds. It rolled down to your taped mouth, and you closed your eyes in silent prayer.

Please Javier, you begged. I need you. Just this once, I need you.

~~*~~

“Why the fuck was I not told this?”

“We just found out Javi.”

“I don’t give a fuck. You should have pulled me out of the meeting as soon as you knew,” Javier replied.

He was walking down the hallway with Steve, who somehow got out of the meeting with the Ambassador.

“All we know is that she didn’t make it to her apartment last night and her friend called us 10 minutes ago,” Steve said. “Her friend tried calling her three times after she left the bar and has been calling her all morning, but she’s gotten nothing.”

“Did her friend see where she went?”

“No. No she didn’t. She said they were all pretty drunk.”

Javier combed his hands through his hair for the millionth time and kept flicking his wrist nervously.

She was taken. Y/N was taken, and I wasn’t there. How did they even know who she was? How can nobody know where she fucking went?

His headache from this morning was only getting worse and his blood was pumping harder than it should be. He should have been trying to calm down and think clearly, but he couldn’t even think.

She can’t be dead already. She can’t be.

“Just sit and calm the fuck down,” Steve said to him. “We are gonna find her.”

“You don’t know that Steve.”

“Well, we have to try.”

Steve could see the worry in Javier’s features, and it cracked his heart completely in two. No matter how much he teased and joked, Steve cared about Javier like a brother. They had been through hell and back together, and he could only imagine what he was going through.

If Connie was the one who was taken, he would be reacting ten times worse than Javi was, and Steve knew you were Javi’s Connie. Javi was just too much of a coward to admit it.

He had to get you back. Not for himself, but for his brother.

“So are we in contact with the bar or what?” Javier asked him.

“Yes, two agents are there right now.”

Javier nodded and rubbed his eyes with his palms. Why was his heartbeat so fucking loud.

“Until then we have to stay here. If they are targeting us, we can’t lose anyone else.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to just sit here when Y/N is missing.”

“I’m gonna have to make you, Javi.”

The two men stared at each other for a second or two, before Javier scoffed and looked away.

“This is all my fault.”

“How?”

“I’m the one who told her to let loose and go do something fun. She’s just so fucking uptight all the time. I don’t like it when she’s like that.”

In any other circumstance, Steve would tease Javier about how much he had to look at Y/N to catch any of that, but now was not the time.

“Javier listen. You did the right thing by helping her. I’m sure she appreciates how much you care.”

Javier closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, letting his nostrils flare in the process.

“I’m not gonna let you blame yourself for this Javi,” Steve said.

“Too late.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two between them before the two agents who were sent to the bar returned.

“We’ve got something,” the one said, and Javier stood up instantly.

“The owner said he heard some ‘rough-housing’ at the back at around 10 PM. That’s exactly when Y/N’s friend said she left the bar. He said he didn’t hear any screaming, but he saw a woman who fits Y/N’s description enter a car with this license plate,” the agent said, and set the license plate number on Javi’s desk.

The number matched exactly to the car the Narcos owned, and Javi’s stomach fell so fast he was surprised he didn’t vomit.

They had you, Javi thought to himself. These fucking Narcos had you.

They would be lucky if they kept breathing once he got to you.

“We have an idea on where they may have taken her,” the agent said.

Javier met the agent’s eyes with his own, and the black tint of revenge coated his irises.

“Take me there. Now.”

~~*~~

Your mind and body had begun to go numb with exhaustion. You hadn’t even realized your eyes were beginning to close. You had been up all night strapped to this goddamn chair, and your body was starting to give out on you.

You heard the shouts in Spanish first, and your chest caved in in fear. Once the first few gunshots went off you closed your eyes and your body started shaking again.

Here it comes Y/N, you thought. You’re ready.

The doors burst open and you turned your head away, ready for the pain to come.

But it never did.

Instead, a soft, calloused hand grazed your cheek, and you recoiled away from it.

“Shhh Y/N. It’s just me. It’s ok, open your eyes,” you heard, and the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen met yours.

Javier made it.

You started sobbing instantly and you felt the tape covering your mouth gently peel away.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry Y/N,” Javi mumbled, and removed the rest of your restraints.

Your cries only got louder when he released you from your cage, and you fell into his arms.

“I know. I know it hurts,” Javi mumbled into your probably disgusting hair. “But you’re safe now.”

“You’re safe with me.”

~~*~~

That’s all you remember from your escape. The next thing you knew, your eyes were fluttering open only to be met with a bright yellow light.

You looked around without moving your head, but even moving your eyeballs made the splitting headache you had 10x worse. You attempted to sit up, but your back and arms felt sore.

You eventually sat up enough to see an IV in your arm, but all you could make sense of was the pain in every inch of your body. You could barely open your eyes from how swollen you felt, but they did feel better than earlier.

Earlier. What the fuck happened earlier?

And that’s when the memories of everything that happened came crashing down on you. Everything from the bar to the beating to actually accepting your death.

But most of all, you remembered how Javier had been the one to get you back. That he actually made it to you.

Tears of gratitude and shame and fear and anger and every emotion under the sun started to prickle in your eyes, and you let out a small whimper.

The hospital room was dark besides the light shining down on your bed, and you saw the frame of a man rushing towards your bed all of a sudden. Your eyes widened, and the worst case scenario popped back into your head.

They’re back. They found me again.

You pressed your back against the bed and your breaths became shaky. You prepared to be hit again, but the pain just didn’t come.

“Y/N, oh thank god,” you heard, in that stupid adorable deep voice that would not leave your fucking head when you were kidnapped, and that brought you to tears when you were finally saved.

Javier

He stepped into the light and you exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Oh, Javi,” you said and he knelt beside your bed.

“You’re awake. Thank fuck you’re awake, Jesus Christ,” he said and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I have to get the doctor. I’ll be right back—”

“No, no please Javi no,” you said. “Don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave.”

He stared into your eyes as deeply as you stated into his, and you both looked at each other. You really looked at each other.

Javi got a good look at your bruised face and cut up lip in the light, and you got a good look at his dark circles and unruly hair. It looked like he had been sleeping and had just been woken up.

Was he….sleeping in your room?

“Alright. Alright I’ll stay. Please don’t cry I promise I’ll stay,” he said. He pulled up a chair to remain seated beside you, and your empty heart filled up a bit at the sight.

“It’s alright Y/N, just breathe,” he said, and you both inhaled and exhaled a few times together. Javi had dealt with many panic attacks before, mostly his own, so he knew how to calm you down.

“There you go. That’s it,” he said. “It’s alright. It’s all over.”

You looked into his eyes and tried your best to smile, but all you could muster was a lift of your lips.

He still thought you were drop dead gorgeous.

“Is there anything you want to tell me? While it’s fresh?

Being in your line of work, you knew why he was asking. It was best to get the victim’s story as soon as possible to prevent any issues with PTSD or specific moments being forgotten.

It still hurt to talk about.

“Yeah, I can tell you what happened,” you replied, and you told him everything.

Everything you could remember at least, and in the most detail as you could describe. You told him everything from the moment you entered the bar to the moment he came to catch you, and Javier’s features just kept getting sadder and sadder as you did.

Once you finished your story, Javier couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He looked down at the bedsheets, trying to let the information sink in.

He was….angry. So fucking angry. But for some reason, that wasn’t the primary emotion that he was feeling.

His heart was just cracked in half so bad that all he could feel in that moment was grief and sorrow. He was so fucking sorry for you. He didn’t pity you, it wasn’t that kind of sadness, but he was grieving the loss of the Y/N that wasn’t tainted by this horrible experience.

He knew how much this would hurt you in the long run and how much healing you would have to do. He was just sad you had to do it at all.

And that he couldn’t protect you from it.

After a few seconds, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked: “Why did you follow the Narcos? You knew you could have gotten hurt?”

And you honestly….didn’t really have an answer to that.

“I…I don’t know. I assumed I could find out something worthwhile, or maybe follow them to wherever they were going. Just, find something,” you said. “And plus, me getting hurt is worth putting all these assholes in—”

“Do you know how important you are to the DEA?” Javier asked sternly, and it caught you very off guard.

“How important you are to your friends? Your family? To me?” he said, and put his hand over yours on the bed.

Your eyes refused to leave his gaze, and you saw raw emotion in his eyes yet again.

Truth.

“Nothing is worth you going through that Y/N. Nothing,” he said and squeezed your hand a little tighter. “Don’t do that ever again. Do you hear me?”

You nodded slowly, and you swore you saw tiny tears forming in the insides of his eyes.

“Good,” he said. “Now get some rest. Seriously,” he said, and let go of your hand.

You were quick to stop his hand from pulling away, and you wrapped your fingers around his own. You rubbed your thumb across his knuckles, and kept your hands connected when you laid back down.

“Thank you, Javi,” you said, and pulled his hand that was grasped inside your own closer to your chest.

You were laying on your side, facing him, and Javi watched your breathing for a while.

Of all the things Javier felt from women, this kind of softness was not one of them. Normally, he had a mutual agreement with them to just fuck and leave immediately.

But with you, you just wanted his body and hand near you. Not inside you, not pleasuring you, just near you. Like all you wanted was just him, and not his body. His body was just an aspect of him, not truly him.

He let his silent tears fall for a few minutes, finally allowing himself to feel everything he had been bottling up for months and months now. He just felt everything all at once and watched your calm face as he did it. He used that image of you to pull him back out of the darkness when he was done, then laid his head down on the bed, keeping your face as close to his as possible.

“I think you’re the one,” he mumbled, and let himself drift off into the best sleep he had in years.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #narcos #pedro pascal fanfiction #netflix #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #javier peña oneshot

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chaotic-tired-bastard · 2 years

Note

Hello! So, I am not entirely sure about this ask, but here we go! I was wondering if it would be possible to see some Ravaxis Starburner X commander Cosmo? They are honestly my main focused ship right now lmao. I love reading your fics, and I can't wait for more.

OH MY GODS I AM SOOOOOOO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE!! You've been waiting abt 2-3 weeks!! Finding the right thing to go with this was difficult, but it's here! No tws other than referenced alcohol so read and enjoy!!

“Just pretend to be my date for one night and then Bam! We’re scott free!” Ravaxis Starburner exclaimed, crookedly grinning at Commander Cosmo as he searched through his closet for a suit.

Commander Cosmo felt the nebulas on his face darken from purple to more of a plum colour as he gaped at the space cowboy. “I’m sorry? Your solution for you being an outlaw on three different worlds is to go to one of their fancy parties with me as your date?” He growled, frustration and flusteredness bubbling up in his chest and curling around his throat.

Ravaxis nodded, humming a tune as he continued searching through his closet. “I gotta pick something up for a trade I gotta make and it’s only found on those three worlds, so I have ta go back. If I show up alone, they’ll either kick me out or behead me. If I show up with you, however, they’ll let me be. Ooh, do ya think they’d grovel if you got upset?” Ravaxis explained, a devious grin growing on his face as he started to go off on a tangent.

Commander Cosmo repressed a shiver. He quite liked where Rav’s head was at the time, having it cut off would be… not preferable. Commander Cosmo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok, ok. I’ll do it,” He said, his frustration bleeding into his voice.

Rav popped his head up, a look of shock crossing over his face before one of mischief quickly replaced it. Cosmo quickly found himself regretting his decision.

>───⇌••⇋───<

“Do I really have to do this?” Cosmo asked, sitting in the cockpit of The Alexander as Rav was trying to tame his unruly wolfcut.

“Uh, yeah! You agreed, and now you must face the consequences,” Rav sang, peering into his small, handheld mirror as he brushed his hair.

Cosmo sighed, straightening his suit and checking his watch for the umpteenth time. Why he had agreed to go with Rav to this party, he didn’t know. He had agreed, and now here he was, halfway to Solas IV, dressed in a formal suit and trying his best to keep the nebulas on his face from bursting into bright pink.

The planet came into sight just as Rav finished messing with his hair. “Alright! Let’s go!” He said, buttoning his coat and turning around.

Cosmo almost had a heart attack. “What did you do to your hair?!” He cried.

Rav’s hair was puffed up every this way and that, making him look like a very disturbed bird or a ball of hair. “Whaat? I did my best!” Rav groaned, shooting the spaceman a look.

The blue matter in Cosmo’s chest swirled around, making the galaxies on his face shift from purple to blue and red. “Come on, let me fix this,” He said, trying his best to keep the nebulas on his face from darkening or turning pink.

Rav pouted but let Cosmo manipulate his hair, fluffing it this way and that, smoothing and combing ten different ways at once. When Cosmo was done, Rav held up his little handheld mirror and gasped. His hair looked less like a bird of paradise and more like actual hair, styled amazingly. “Wow… Cosmo, where did you learn this?” Rav asked, inspecting himself in three different ways.

Cosmo felt the nebulas on his face pinken, despite his best efforts. “We-Well, uh, when nobody wants to cut your hair, you gotta do it yourself and know how to make it look good,” He explained, wincing internally at his stutter.

“Mhm… Anyways, we’re beaming straight into the party, so prepare for that!” Rav said, grinning and pressing a button, putting his mirror back into his pocket.

Cosmo frowned, feeling the familiar feeling of the transporter start to take effect. “Wha-”

The next thing he knew, he was standing in a ballroom, Rav at his side. It was open air, the marble roof held high over their heads by pillars of a matching make. Two sides were closed off, meeting at a ninety degree angle. “I told you to give me a warning before you do that,” Cosmo growled, the nebulas around his pale eyes darkening as he tried to control the nausea that always came with using the transporter.

“I did! What’re you talking about?” Rav teased, straightening his tie and shooting Cosmo a grin.

Cosmo sighed but let it go; arguing with Rav would get him nowhere. “I’ll go to my guy and get the thing- you can either come with me or just wander,” Rav said, fluffing his hair as his dark eyes scanned the ballroom.

Cosmo found himself staring at Rav, inspecting the dark colouration around the spaceman’s eyes that mimicked eye shadow and admiring the look it gave him. “-osmo? Cosmo?” Rav’s voice snapped him back to attention, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, I’ll just wander until you need me,” Cosmo said, trying to preserve whatever courtesy he had left.

Rav shrugged and wandered off into the crowd, his green skin quickly swallowed up by the light blues and yellows of the world’s inhabitants. Cosmo quickly found the bar and snagged a glass, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. If anyone saw him and knew who he was, they would probably throw a big fit and get everyone focused on him.

He wandered to an open area near a wall. It was draped with beautiful blue and purple coloured cloths, some diamonds sprinkled in here and there to reflect stars. Cosmo held back a smirk; it was like a little corner designed to hide him.

He stepped into its shade and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been hiding, the tense cerulean and orchid purple swirling off of his skin and deep blues and indigos emerging, small stars twinkling in the void. His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes, revelling in the peaceful corner. Cosmo liked space, he always had, but having space on his skin had been a bit too much at first. Now… now he was grateful for it. It reminded him of Rav a bit and of his love for adventure. However, this wasn’t the adventure he had in mind.

“Did we invite the invisible man to this party or are you just hiding?” A sultry voice crooned somewhere to Cosmo’s left.

Cosmo frowned, disappointed that his peace had been broken so soon. He opened his pale, empty eyes. They glowed in the low light of the ballroom, some orangish clouds floating onto his skin. “Can I help you?” He asked politely, trying to maintain his professionalism.

The lady gasped, her black eyes going wide and her face blushing a rich blue. “I-I apologise, I didn’t realise I was interrupting,” She said, smiling regretfully.

Cosmo saw right through her. She knew what she was doing, and this was just part of the plan. Still, it would be rude to snap. “No, you weren’t interrupting anything. Still, can I help you?” He said politely.

“Well, my friends and I were wondering if you would like to dance? You seemed so lonely over here,” She crooned, gesturing to a group of high-status looking women by one of the massive poles holding the roof up.

Cosmo internally groaned. High-status people wanted to dance, and refusing would be especially rude. Thankfully, he had an excuse. “I already have a date, thank you,” He said, doing his best to keep the raspberry coloured nebulas from emerging onto his face.

The woman giggled. “Nonsense! Come on, you must dance with us!” She insisted, grabbing Comso’s hand and tugging it.

Cosmo reluctantly let her pull him over, dead sinking into his stomach. What would Rav think? Those raspberry nebulas finally emerged onto his face as he desperately tried to reason with his thoughts. He was just very motivated! That was it!

He failed to convince himself it wasn’t because of his gigantic crush on the cowboy, because that was it. He was brought back to reality when someone tried to drag him out onto the dance floor. “No thank you, I’d rather not,” He said, trying to keep his growing temper in check.

“Come on, live a little!” She laughed, tugging at his arm yet again.

Cosmo felt his anger begin to sizzle beneath the surface of his skin, angry red clouds beginning to bloom on his hands and the clouds around his eyes darkening. “I said I’d rather not,” He said, his voice hard.

“Bu-” “Peter! There you are!” Rav’s voice came, cutting off the lady.

Cosmo felt his anger dissipate and his cheeks turn bright pink. That was the first time Rav had called him by his first name. Oh no, he's hopeless. “‘Scuse me ladies, just gotta get to my man. Are you having fun?” Rav said, sauntering over and squeezing between the women to snuggle up to Cosmo’s chest.

Cosmo felt like his heart was going to explode. “I-I, uhm, y-yes? Ye-yes, I think so,” He stuttered, frantically looking away from Rav’s dark eyes.

“You’re his date?” One of the women asked, her scepticism dripping from her voice like water out of a leaky faucet.

Rav grinned, snaking his arm around Cosmo’s waist. “Yep, I’m his date,” He said casually. Cosmo felt like he was going to die.

“Prove it!” One of the ladies cried.

“All right,” Rav said, and then the next thing Comso knew, Rav was kissing him.

Ravaxis Starburner was kissing him. Cosmo’s eyes widened and he froze, his heart beating fast and a meteor shower shooting across his cheeks. Rav pulled away, a grin on his face but a dazed look in his eyes. “There, that enough proof for you?” Rav asked, turning back to the group.

They grumbled, but the ladies dispersed back into the crowd. “I’ll meet you back at The Alexander,” Rav said before there was the transporter’s usual flash of blue and then he was gone.

Cosmo shot out of the side of the building, provoking a few screams from its inhabitants, but he didn’t care. Rav had kissed him. Willingly. He broke through the stratosphere and let out a whoop of joy into space, grinning like he was a teen again. His crush had kissed him.

#Peter Walter IV #Commander Cosmo #Commander Comso SPG #SPG Commander Cosmo #Ravaxis Starburner #Starburner #Starburner SPG #SPG Starburner #Ravaxis Starburner x Peter Walter IV #Starburner x Commander Cosmo #Steam Powered Giraffe #SPG #SPG Fanart #Fluff

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purple-heart-x · 2 years

Text

A Trade- Chapter 9 Part 2

Trigger warning for this chapter: meds/pills mention, insomnia mention, and unspecified disorder mention (it would be similar to ADHD but no name is given)

I am going to be plain honest- I don’t have experience with ADHD or anything similar. I have known several people who have it, but I can’t know what it’s like even from their experiences. That being said, I felt that this was where I wanted Hero3′s character to go. Please feel free to correct me if I’m not writing this right- I’d love to learn in some small ways.

Maybe I’m just nervous to write something I don’t know very well, but I wanted to put it out there. Anyways, enjoy!

---

Tags: @shydragonrider, @stuck-in-this-mortal-form, @equestrianwritingsstuff

again i am terrible with tags and this is my current list. ive searched for “tagged” and “tag” on my blog but this is all that comes up. please be patient joy is learning what it’s like to have actual humans interacting with her stories. ;-;

---

Medic didn’t respond. So Hero3 sighed. “I can look after the kid some nights. You’re going to get yourself some sleep in the meantime, and no more of this caffeine sludge. You’re gonna kill yourself like this, you know that?”

Medic looked up at Hero3 for the first time. “Really? But, what about your sleep? I- I could probably–”

Hero3 had sighed. “It’s not like I have much better to do. You know how active I can get during the day, right?”

Medic did know; Hero3 had several prescriptions transferred to help with it.

Hero3 shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve gotten used to the stuff they’ve got me on, but it still kicks in at night. Before I switched over here, my doctor said the only solution was some other thing, another pill. I told her hell no, and she dropped it. I don’t want to be on so much of this crap, so I just deal with it at night.”

Medic raised his eyebrows, making mental note of this. Though it sounded like Hero3 was alright, it was definitely shocking. Hero3 must have noticed, for he continued. “I feel like my body doesn’t need that much. No matter how long I plan to sleep, I’m up after a few hours, maybe six. Sometimes I can’t sleep at all, so I just hang out somewhere until morning and get a few more hours the next night.”

Hero3’s lips jerked up into a smile. “I probably should’ve told you that. We’ve been working together for a long while now, it just–” he broke off suddenly, “You know how I feel about doctors and appointments and all that.”

And Medic did know. Hero3 had been extremely nervous to meet him, and one of the first things he’d told Medic was that he was extremely avoidant of doctors, their offices, and the appointments within them, unless he was dying. Over the course of several years (and a few notable room structure changes), he’d managed to make Hero3 feel a little more comfortable around the medbay, though he was still noticeably tense at his yearly checkups.

Medic nodded. “I understand, Hero3, don’t worry. I do know it must have been difficult to find the time to bring it up without prolonging anything overall. Thank you for telling me, though.”

Hero3’s forced smile relaxed into something more genuine at those words.

“As for your suggestion, if you truly don’t mind, I would very much appreciate your help,” Medic said. He tried not to let the relief flood his voice, not wanting Hero3 to feel obligated. “If you want, could you cover for me tonight? I can show you what to do.”

And so, Medic had walked Hero3 through how the nights usually went. At the end, Hero3 was frowning. “I don’t mind being up, but… I’m not going to be sitting around in your chair all night. You understand, right?”

Medic could have slapped himself. Of course not. Being absolutely silent and still was definitely not going to happen, at least not all night. Maybe I do need that sleep, he admitted to himself.

So, he’d given Hero3 some basic night tasks, mostly shelving medication bottles and some organizing that would keep his body and mind occupied throughout the night.

Hero3 had latched onto those jobs. Eventually, Medic would catch him coming in at all hours of the night and morning, even on days where Medic was watching over Villain, just to shelve or organize and clear his mind. Eventually, he had shelved and organized and cleaned almost everything, so Medic had slowly introduced him to some other tasks, open to Hero3 whenever he needed to calm down. Pulling outdates. Searching for damaged pills, though only in one or two sections at a time. Counting the medications. Flagging anything that needed reordering.

They’d worked themselves into a rhythm, working together in silence, medbay slippers hush-hushing over the floor.

After three weeks of Medic and Hero3 watching over Villain, the nightmares stopped, or at least enough that all of them were able to sleep peacefully.

Eventually, the tradition had fizzled out, with Hero3 only coming in on bad days. Seeing him return to it now, Medic felt a guilty sense of relief. Now he knew what Hero3 was feeling.

“Yeah, you can do something. Outdates sound good?”

He held out the basket.

Hero3 took it.

They shuffled through the medbay in silence.

#poor dude #anons the mans will wake up and cry dont worry #yes im working on chapter 10 #i needed some nostalgia though #also yes you did catch that #hero3 views villain as the kid #like kid brother #a trade #whump #whump writing #part 9 #chapter 9 #tw meds mention #flashback scene #i know this is short #supervillain whumpee #villain whumpee #hero caretaker #medic

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cherryjuicegf · 3 years

Text

a little favour

Five things Jaskier asks from Geralt and one thing Geralt asks from Jaskier.

3.2k, fluff/mild angst (ao3)

Geralt feels a pair of eyes fixed on him and he tenses. The whetstone in his hand stops its metallic sound and he’s pretty sure the sword is sharpened by now, yet he can’t bring himself to leave it aside and raise his head. He inspects the blade, or pretends to do so. His always stable hands, obligingly fit for a witcher, are now slightly shaking. He chooses to ignore it. He clenches his fists, unclenches. Sweaty. The night is warm.

Slowly, he raises his look, meeting two blue eyes piercing him from across the fire. Jaskier has a pensive smirk on his lips that makes him look stupid but Geralt would be lying if he said he could take his stare away from it. The heat, he thinks. It’s the heat.

He squints. “What?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond immediately, yet he appreciates that he’s acknowledged with a small huff. His eyes continue to peer at Geralt, up and down, like the eyes of a werewolf ready to devour its prey. Softer, though. So softer. Geralt feels bare under his gaze, swallows. Finally, Jaskier speaks. “Tell me a story.”

He can’t be asking for a story, Geralt thinks. It’s not what he wants. Before he even manages to get angry at himself, he kicks the thought out of his mind. Of course it’s not what he wants. So he raises his eyebrows, a bit grudgingly, and tilts his head. “I thought you are the storyteller here.”

Jaskier laughs and he knows he can hear this sound forever. “You know what I mean,” he says and gestures wildly with his hand. “I need inspiration and where else will I find it if not in a story with monsters of the ones you oh-so-minutely narrate?”

A small smile curves Geralt’s lips and he chuckles lowly. He never shares details of the creatures he has to kill. Jaskier knows that, thus the cunning glint in his eyes. He shrugs. “You really want to sing to people about themselves?”

“Geralt,” Jaskier huffs a silent laugh and throws a pebble at the witcher’s feet. “You know what I mean.”

How can I not know, Geralt thinks, how can I not know the reason you’re still here? He scolds himself, then. A friend. His friend. Jaskier is his friend and he never fails to say how Geralt is a friend of his. Still, it makes him afraid, afraid that the more his love grows for that man, the more desperate he will be if he leaves. And he’s not one to get attached.

He indulges him though. With a small sigh and a look in his shining eyes, he does. Do it for me, they whisper. How can he not?

“Have I told you about that bruxa in Kaedwen?”

ii.

“Can’t you just not go?”

Jaskier fiddles with the edges of his shirt and looks up at Geralt. If he listens closely, he can hear his heart thumping against his chest. Already. Geralt hasn’t even left yet. He’d be more than grateful if he doesn’t ever, in fact. By the glare he receives from the witcher, he concludes that’s not going to happen. And his heart beats faster.

“But you said it yourself!” He stands up and approaches Geralt, who’s too focused on his armors buckles to look at him. “The hunt is nearly deadly!”

Geralt snorts impatiently and glances up at him, shaking his head. “It’s deadly for you. Which is why you’re staying here.” He finishes fixing his armor and grabs his gloves, his eyes now fixed on Jaskier. “For me, it’s just dangerous.”

The way he looks at him makes Jaskier shiver. Really, he’s never met anyone before who can be so cold and reassuring at the same time. Geralt’s stare is sharp and imposing, yet he can feel warmth inside his chest as he discerns the gentleness beneath, the one the witcher is so good at hiding. He doesn’t hide it from him, not anymore. That’s what he hopes anyway. As Geralt’s lips twitch in the faintest smile, he prays he’s not wrong. Still, the force of habit.

Eleven people have been killed by a thing whose name he finds himself unable to remember. The dread that suddenly overwhelms him makes his fingers go numb. They could be twelve. They can be twelve. Today. Before Geralt turns away, he shakes his head. “Geralt, please.”

Geralt frowns at him, tilts his head, his voice gruff. “Jaskier.”

Some silver strands fall in front of his eyes and Jaskier’s hand twitches in its place in an attempt to hold from brushing them away. Instead, Jaskier bites his lips and clenches his fists. A lump is choking him mercilessly. Afraid to let him go, afraid to look away from his eyes, afraid he’s not seeing them again. He takes a breath he doesn’t release. “Please come back whole.” Do it for me.

Geralt chuckles and Jaskier cherishes the sound like the most precious stone. The witcher nods before heading out the door. “That I will.”

With a last smile, he closes the door.

In the morning there are heavy steps on the stairs and Jaskier feels his heart returning to its place.

iii.

Geralt reaches the door and stops right before he goes in. For a second, he listens. Smells. Heavy puffs of breath are heard inside the room, the faint scent of tears. He frowns and opens the door. Jaskier is standing beside the window, looking outside silent, as silent as one crying can be. Geralt feels his heart ache.

“Jaskier?”

The bard jumps and turns at Geralt. With a bright smile that doesn’t suit his flushed face, he wipes his eyes. “Geralt! You scared me, you bastard, don’t you ever knock?” He returns Geralt’s gaze and the witcher feels like he’s reading him but that’s good, it gives him the chance to read Jaskier too. He tilts his head and waits for the bard to speak, yet he just turns away again and looks outside at the night sky. Geralt lowers his look for a moment, fumbles with his words. Swallows.

He has no chance to fuck up now. “It was a good performance.”

“Yes,” Jaskier chuckles bitterly and lowers his head, still not looking at him. “Thank you, Geralt, really. It’s not that.” He takes a shaky breath. “It’s just…”

He doesn’t continue. Geralt knows he won’t, because it’s one of those silences that don’t break. He knows Jaskier’s silences well by now, even those few. Still, he can’t take it, he can’t stand watching him cry. He can’t stand watching his bright eyes hollow and his smile distant and not actually there. And he can’t stand not being able to help. So he rests a heavy hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and steps closer. “You don’t have to tell me.” He hears his breath hitching for a second, then a sigh, as if relieved. But he still doesn’t look at him. Geralt tries again. “Can I help?”

A hand creeps up and rests on his. A faint smile, now a real one. Finally, finally, Jaskier meets his eyes. His expression is dark for a moment, as if being unable to find a way Geralt could help. But then his eyes light up, just a bit, and Geralt feels his heart fluttering. “Can you…” He pauses, reconsiders. A reassuring squeeze on his shoulder takes away the hesitation. “Can you hug me, for a bit?”

For me, Geralt echoes in his head and the way his voice is now low and small, so different from what it was an hour ago in the tavern, almost brings him to his knees. And now this. A hug. As if he could say no. As if.

So he smiles warmly and pulls Jaskier into a hug, tight, and presses him to his chest as if to shoulder the worries weighing his. He feels Jaskier hiding is face in his shoulder and breathing deeply, lashes fluttering close. Geralt nuzzles in his hair, resists the urge to press a kiss on his head. Like that, just by having him in his arms, he knows he can do anything. Anything for him.

iv.

“Did you try the honey cakes?”

Geralt looks at Jaskier as he gets off his armor and frowns. “You got honey cakes?”

With a laugh Jaskier raises his head from his notebook and shakes his head. “What are you, dear, blind? I spent half an hour in that bakery today.” He sighs dramatically and stares longingly at the distance. “I crave the day when you’ll appreciate how good care I take of you.”

“Because you bought honey cakes?” Geralt chuckles and walks up to Jaskier’s bag, searching inside. Jaskier can smell the honey cakes before he gets them out but he decides to play hurt a moment longer, for the fun of it. Geralt doesn’t play along. “You’re the one who begged to go into the bakery after all, I asked for nothing.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and tries to hide a smile behind a smug expression. He outstretches his hand. “Yes, alright mister Mighty-Witcher-I-need-nothing, now bring those cakes here and finally, have something for pleasure, it won’t hurt you know.” He pouts as Geralt throws the paper bag on the table with a scoff and turns away. He knows, Geralt would prefer to fight a hundred griffins than admit he deserves small luxuries. But that’s where he comes in. He never had a thrifty life after all and travelling with a witcher isn't a reason not to indulge oneself, especially when coin is spare. So he reaches to grab a honey cake. And pauses.

“Um.” Geralt turns his head, hearing his hesitant tone, and raises an eyebrow. Jaskier squints, takes a look at the cakes, then at his hands which are painted with black ink all over. There is a solution, he thinks. He can quite simply wash his hands and eat. Still, he would need to write more afterwards. And wash again. And it really wasn’t that complex but as another thought flashes in his mind and he sees Geralt’s waiting look, he smiles to himself. Clears his throat. “Could you give me one, please? There are some,” he huffs, showing his hands, “technical problems.”

He is sure Geralt doesn’t actually think about it when he takes a honey cake between his fingers. He is sure Geralt realizes what he’s doing the moment his fingers touch his lips and Jaskier opens his mouth and secures the cake between his teeth. And his tongue brushes Geralt’s fingertips and they’re sweeter, oh, so sweeter than the actual honey. He looks up at him, feels Geralt’s fingers shake, shivers. Closes his mouth, his lips brushing once more against cold skin, slowly, daringly. Or savouring, if he’s being honest.

Geralt stares and he feels like he’s melting. The witcher’s hand hovers for a moment before he lowers it and Jaskier can still sense its tingling on his lips, their looks still locked on each other, intense. Jaskier swallows. “They’re good. You should try one.”

Try. For me. He doesn’t know what he wants Geralt to try. Only that, as Geralt’s lips brush against his fingers, exactly where his own were moments ago, he feels like burning and, breathless, he lowers his look.

The doublet is uncomfortable. The trousers are uncomfortable. The shoes are uncomfortable. His whole presence is uncomfortable and Geralt wishes he didn’t have to wear a damned doublet in the middle of July. He can’t complain though. He hears Jaskier’s voice in his head. Don’t worry, it’s thin and exactly the shape of your glorious muscles, it will fit just fine. Aside from stubbornly ignoring the bard’s comment about his muscles, he has to admit that it really isn’t that intolerable as an outfit itself. He just feels small inside it, choking. Still, he doesn’t complain.

He glances up at Jaskier, realizing he’s been talking to him all that time, but the bard doesn’t really seem to bother if anyone hears as he rambles in front of the mirror. “Gods, Geralt, the food. The food is just heavenly, as is the wine, trust me, you won’t regret a moment being at this banquet.” I won’t, Geralt thinks, if it’s to gaze at you. Jaskier turns at him beaming. “Even you, my friend, who asks for nothing, will find yourself craving for another gathering similar to that.”

“I ask for nothing indeed,” Geralt laughs at the way the bard repeats his words back at him, “and I doubt I will ever crave for something such as a gathering. Don’t be so hopeful that I’ll keep coming with you.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes with a dismissive huff and fumbles with the buttons of his sleeve. “You’re no fun. Ah, fuck.” He tugs at the sleeve and barely saves its button from falling away. With a sigh, he outstretches his hand and looks at the witcher. “Geralt, can you?”

Of all things, Geralt definitely has no fingers fit to carefully button a shirt. He has however, patience, something the bard hugely lacks of. So he moves to take Jaskier hand in his. And as their fingers slip together, he freezes. Momentarily, yes, since he continues to push the button in its hole. Still, the way their hands touch, the way Jaskier’s skin is warm against his, the way his fingers wrap his delicate yet trained wrist, make his knees weak. He brings Jaskier’s hand closer to have a better look at the button. Dangerously closer. He flips the button inside the hole and hears Jaskier’s triumphant huff, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, his eyes remain focused on the inside of his wrist, veins marking tanned skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he leans and places a kiss. He hears Jaskier’s breath hitch. Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, he realizes what he’s done, and immediately looks at the bard. Blue eyes wide, lips parted. Jaskier whimpers.

“Geralt.”

Stay. For me.

No.

Geralt lets go of his hand and storms outside the room, his heart beating faster that a human’s. Before he closes the door, he smells the salty scent of tears behind him. He doesn’t look back.

vi.

The bandits lay on the ground, three of them, the ones that refused to run when they had the chance. Their blood is forming puddles on the dirt. Geralt stares, panting. He can hear as the heartbeat of the last one vanishes in the wind, so at odds with the birds that are returning to their branches singing.

The birds. Singing. A heartbeat so familiar is now weak as he listens, the smell of blood so terrifying, and his heart skips a beat. He spins around. “Jaskier!”

Time is nonsensical as he runs to the bard’s side and kneels and what he sees makes him want to puke. Not because he hasn’t seen so much blood before, gods forbid, he’s a Witcher. But because the blood is too much. And it’s Jaskier’s. The bard looks up at him, still lost, panting, then lowers his eyes at his stomach, a pool of blood forming slowly. He whimpers. “Fuck.” The way his eyes fill with despair as his look returns on the witcher makes Geralt’s eyes burn. “Do something, Geralt, plea--” his voice is choked in a pained cry.

Geralt shakes his head as if to return to reality. He peers at Jaskier’s wound. It was a sword. It was a damn sword. And it’s deep. Gods, it’s too deep. He looks Jaskier in the eyes and brings a hand on his face firmly. “Listen. Everything is alright. Just stay awake.” Tears flood blue eyes and he feels his heart aching. He can’t let him close his eyes, he’s too afraid it will be the last time he sees them. So he asks, he who asks for nothing, he who needs nothing. “Can you do this for me?”

Jaskier nods frantically, his lips tight as if to suppress another cry. With one last touch, Geralt stands up and runs to Roach standing near, searching inside the saddlebags. If his hands are trembling, he ignores them. Maybe the tremble will go away like that. He returns with bandages and hears Jaskier sob at their sight. He looks at him, helpless but he doesn’t show it. “Awake,” he repeats and proceeds to tear the bard’s shirt open and clean the bleeding dark wound with a wet cloth. Bleeding. It’s bleeding and he sees his nightmares becoming real and he knows, he knows that he should stay calm, that only like that he’s not going to be late. But oh, his hands are still trembling, and his breathing’s short and every time another scream escapes Jaskier’s lips he dies a little more inside. Still, he looks up at him as Jaskier clings on his shirt, his arms, everywhere, desperate. Still, he holds him, cradles him like he’s going to break. He is. “Jaskier. Jaskier, you’re alright.” He snorts, wipes the tears off the bard’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, please. I’m taking you to a healer.”

He raises him on the saddle, climbs behind him, and reins Roach, holding him close. Jaskier is shaking whole, staring at him as if afraid that he’s the last thing he sees. “Geralt,” he gasps and Geralt lowers his look, almost cries when he sees his beautiful face contorted in a pained wince. Blood is staining his lips and Jaskier clings, shakes his head. “Geralt, if I-- I love you, I don’t want to die, please, I don’t--”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not dying,” Geralt says, more for himself to believe it, and then pauses. And looks at the bard again, at the faint but still-there smile on his lips. “What…” Oh, he can’t do this now. He can’t let himself rejoice, he’s too afraid his joy will be taken away too quickly. Jaskier’s head lolls on his shoulder and his eyes roll on the back of his head and he flinches, terrified, shakes him. “Jaskier! Stay awake!” Jaskier whimpers and opens his eyes. He hurts. He hurts and Geralt hurts even more with him. But he takes a deep breath. “Can you say it again? For me?”

Jaskier huffs a wet, weak laugh. “For you, I can say it forever.” His voice is barely a breath. “I love you, Geralt.”

Geralt is trembling. “Again.” Stay awake.

A cry. “I love you.”

“Again.” Awake.

Roach runs like thunder. It’s close, it’s close.

“I love you.”

Closer, he holds him closer, and Roach runs, and Geralt bites his lips. “One last time. Say it one last time, please. For me.” Stay awake. For me.

“Geralt,” a sob, heart-wrenching, and oh, he knows Jaskier can’t take it, he knows. Only one last time. But Jaskier swallows blood and tears, and with a tired smile, he breathes, “Every time, Geralt. I love you forever.”

The trees fall aside and the town’s gates are open and Geralt lets out a triumphant laugh and finally, finally looks down at Jaskier and promises to himself to never tear his gaze from him again. So he leans down and presses his lips to Jaskier’s, bloody and quivering, and kisses him, and then as he meets his wide eyes, he knows every favour granted was for them. “I love you too, Jaskier. I love you too.” Another kiss, on his forehead, and now he’s warm. “Now hush. Hush, love.”

With a sigh, relieved, exhausted, Jaskier lets his head fall limp on the witcher’s shoulder and finally, closes his eyes. His hand, trembling, reaches to hold a firm one on the reins and if he hears a thank you, whispered like a prayer beside him, he says nothing.

For Geralt, he will have more time, more to give, more and anything, he knows. Anything for him.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #chrysa writes #>1k #fluff #hurt/comfort #yes writing is a coping mechanism so what #i had this wip since last june #fic recs

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collisiondiscourse · 4 years

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on the wonder duo (part 1)

(BNHA Analysis Post Ahead! This isn’t explicitly romantic, but it is an analysis of the relationship between the two most popular characters in BNHA--Katsuki Bakugou and Izuku Midoriya. Split into two posts because I realized that this was gonna be long as HELL)

yall ever think about the fact that the wonder duo is perfectly set up in so that bakugou and deku together are the better version of all might?

bc like. ive been thinking.

everyone knows the win to save and save to win parallel. How they are supposedly two halves of a whole perfect hero (which, previously, was defined as all might)

but ever since bakugou and deku started working as one—growing together to win AND save and continuously reminding each other that they shouldnt try to do things alone, ive realized that its BECAUSE theres two of them that they surpass all might. its not a case of deku and bakugou both being 50% of an ideal hero, but rather i think that they are 100% of what all might SHOULD HAVE BEEN from the very beginning.

as early as the AM v AFO battle in kamino, we see the effects of all mights flawed existence. the fact that he, the greatest and supposedly infallible symbol of peace, was destroyed—society had begun to collapse. there was suddenly no pillar to hold people together and the impacts were so severe that even in the latest chapters of mha it keeps on getting worse. the truth is, all mights biggest mistake was the burden he placed on his own shoulders

with bakugou and deku... its different.

its different for them because down to their attributions, they seem like two halves of a whole person.

i think that the wonder duo are going to surpass all might because of the fact that they work together.

@bakugoukatsuki-rising @svpercraigus @tybee @isaustraliaathing

(batshit crazy and conspiratorial essay under the cut !)

1. Complementary Colors

I’d like to first preface literally everything I say by the fact that I am not an expert analyzer or literary major in any way. I am literally just some random fan on the internet who has wayyy too much time and looks wayyy too deep into things, but here we go!

A common thing we see when we talk about bakugou and deku is the way they are... sort of an inverse of one another.

Down to the design of their features and the way they move, Deku is the obviously softer of the two. There’s an intentional contrast between the two of them, in the way that Deku’s drawn with round shapes and curvy hair and the way Bakugou is literally all spikes and half-mast eyes and rough muscles. Bakugou’s movements too are languid and showy, with the way he leans when he walks and splays his legs and kicks open doors. Katsuki, in a casual sense, is loud and dramatic.

Deku on the other hand s finicky. He jitters when he walks and he’s often fidgeting and mumbling. Comparatively, the aura he radiates is energetic and frenzied, even self-conscious to a point unlike Bakugou’s calm and confident movements.

the point is, there’s a clear difference in how either of them are designed and what exactly they are supposed to represent. They utterly complement each other down to the way they behave and even their main colors (red-orange and blue-green) being literal complementary colors.

Now, moving to my more ungrounded points, this is quite a bit of a stretch so I’ll try as much as possible to make sense of these with hyperlinked sources because. yeah.

Down to their names, I think Deku and Bakugou both symbolize something deeper. I think that the way Hori expresses characters and what they’re meant to do is something that we have to pay close attention to when we talk about the Wonder Duo’s rise to success.

Izuku Midoriya (緑谷出久), as some of us may know, does have an interesting meaning when broken up. According to a lovely fan translation of his name, ‘Izuku’--while not an actual name used commonly in real life--means to ‘Come out’ or ‘Long time’. ‘Midoriya’ on the other hand means (Midori) ‘Green’ and (ya) ‘valley’. The translator further pointed out that his first name ‘Izuku’ could be a reference to him being the first legendary hero to come out of the long-running All Might Era. (or, if you’ve been reading @/bakugoukatsuki-rising’s posts, the first significant anime protag in a long while to come out as queer, ppfft)

but that isn’t my focus right now.

We know that Hori LOVES telling stories with names, and more often than not in the BNHA universe, names alone tell us a lot of things about the characters. When referring to Izuku’s last name, Midoriya, it’s important I think to step back and realize that hey, maybe there’s something more to Green Valley than just the fact that his motif is all green.

After searching for a lil on the specifics of green valley, I’ve found out that across many cultures, the colour green and valleys in general tend to represent life. From dream analysts, to Christianity, and even old Taoist teachings, valleys are seen as areas of fertility and escape. They are seen as safe havens and often escapes for people to come to after running away from bad circumstances.

(Sound familiar?)

Deku, in essence represents life and peace. He represents being the “salvation” that the world in BNHA needed. To me, it sounds like Horikoshi is trying to say that he is the long-awaited hero in the sense. The one that people can feel will create a society that feels safe for everyone after years of All Might just saving people from themselves as a band-aid solution.

On the other hand, we have Katsuki Bakugou (爆豪勝己), who’s name we commonly know means (Katsuki) Winner and (Bakugou) Explosion Master. He is essentially, the champion. The power. His name means success and power and all the things that make up winning.

When putting them side by side, it then becomes increasingly... interesting to me how their names almost perfectly slot into All Might’s save to win and win to save mantra, and how they are both quintessential parts to what made All Might as a hero.

2. Hero Too!

Now, I’m not even gonna really TOUCH much of what happens in canon. If you want me to do a step by step breakdown of their arcs in regards to the plot of manga and anime, feel free to send me a gratuitous ko-fi tip so I can pay for the headache I get after trying to organize my thoughts into word vomit.

What I WILL talk about on the other hand, is the subtle shift both of them slowly have in regards to how they look. Bakugou and Deku, while growing up, seem to have MANY many parallels--but before I elaborate on all of that, I wanna talk about something else.

Detour: Deku’s Red Shoes

We all know the iconic symbol being Deku’s red shoes. For all his life, save for some outfits like his hero one, we see Deku more often than not wearing his signature red sneakers which have become a running joke in fandom.

But the funny thing is, in Japan, red shoes seem to have an interesting connotation.

In 1922, a popular Japanese nursery rhyme was written, called “Red Shoes”. The interesting part to me about this song was the symbolism that, in my tiny pea-sized brain, I could connect to the story of BNHA.

The story goes that there was a little girl with red shoes named ‘Kimi’. She was from Shizuoka prefecture (which, if you didn’t know, is most likely where Musutafu supposedly is) and was raised by a single mother. When she was young, her mother had to entrust her with a foreigner under the impression that they would give her a better life in America. The stranger is a man named Charles Hewitt (who was described to have blue eyes) and supposedly took her away.

The singer of the song (supposedly the mother, but some argue it was written from the perspective of a childhood friend) believes that Kimi is happy and living a better life away from them, when the reality of the situation was much worse. The young girl with red shoes in actuality had Tuberculosis, and thus the foreigner whom she was entrusted to had left her to fend for herself and eventually left her to go to America while she died alone and orphaned.

“When I see red shoes, I think of her.”

A very interesting story with very interesting implications indeed.

Anyway, moving on to the more... “nuanced” and connected parts of this section, I have every reason to believe that Bakugou and Deku were simply MEANT to be working together down to how they dress. Now, I’d like to discuss their hero costumes.

At the start of their series, using these godawful pics for reference, it’s clear to see that neither of them seem alike in any way--reflecting the dissonance in their relationship at that point in canon.

ough. deku why. (yes we know why its because you love your mom you stupid little bunny <3)

Anyway, we see an immediate gap in how the two of them are. Deku’s first costume is one that reflects how he treated his dream of being a hero. He was still in that childlike idolization phase, the one where his dreams and aspirations were hinged on pure feelings and inspiration from All Might. Katsuki on the other hand was a lot more tactical--professional to an extent. The gap between their respective development with their quirks is something that is clearly felt in every fashion decision they’d made.

(Notice how Deku’s green is a lot brighter and less like the green accents Katsuki has all over his costume.)

As time progressed however... their costumes changed. The colors, the silhouettes, the practical functions, most things.

(Deku’s Gamma Costume and Bakugou’s Winter Costume used respectively)

we begin to notice a few similarities.

As the show goes on and we see more evolutions of their costumes, it almost seems like they begin to look like a matching pair. Deku’s green grows darker and almost teal in nature, while Bakugou’s orange is veering towards red territory. This is important to note because red-orange and blue-green as I said earlier were complementary colors as compared to simply orange and green. The minute shift is something I really wasn’t quite sure was intentional, but something I find interesting to pick up nonetheless as the colors they used to accent their costumes begin to match up.

Secondly, I think and important thing to note is silhouettes. The way that both Bakugou and Deku’s costumes are designed follow a lot of parallels that typically we don’t see with the rest of 1-A. For one, they both have a combination of tight long-sleeved tops with a bulkier set of bottoms. They also share the use of utility belts and metal pieces typically worn around their necks. Deku has his bunny-eared hood that mimics All Might’s hair, while Bakugou has his orange and black explosion ear-pieces that mimic his own quirk.

i don’t think any other people in class 1-A match each other as subtly yet strongly as these two. Uraraka and Deku and Bakugou and Kirishima do come close however.

“But Codi, you fucking knob!” I hear you plea. “This is such a reach and tells us practically NOTHING!” And yes, I’m inclined to agree with you! You’d be sort of right in the idea that this is a reach. Maybe I am looking too much into this, and maybe it really isn’t that deep--but I do think that them subconsciously matching outfits means something quite brilliant.

In the way that their costumes are designed, each aspect of either outfits have a very logical explanation. The changes were strategic and made with their fighting styles vividly in mind, so what that tells me is that BECAUSE these costumes are so complementary or similar in nature (Bakugou’s reinforcing his arms while Deku reinforces his legs), these two are implicitly showing the audience that their combat styles are complementary as well.

The evolution of their design choices and similarities tell us that even unknowingly, their minds line up in strategy on the battlefield--a clear exhibit for why they would be INCREDIBLY POWERFUL as a Hero Duo to begin with.

When I look at their hero costumes side by side, I see a mirror. I see the way that these two are reflections of each other and are strong where the other isn’t. The point I see in BNHA repeatedly is that EVERYONE HAS A WEAKNESS. Nothing is infallible, regardless of how hard you train or how powerful your quirk is. Everyone will always have a weakness, but the significant difference I see when fandom discusses the future of Pro-Hero Society is that the new generation is finally raising itself to be RELIANT on each other.

Observing their fighting styles and the simple use of their quirks, its obvious that they are indeed two parts of a whole hero. Bakugou, who’s quirk emphasized his arms and hands and the power that comes from it, while Deku who’s quirk now emphasizes his legs and lower body and the way he’s always running to save people.

IN CONCLUSION:

As they become heroes, it is easy to assume that if nothing else, Bakugou and Deku will cover each other’s weak spots (especially when you consider the way Deku probably won’t be able to keep using his arms with the way both the anime and manga are going...) (also chapter 285, anyone?)

Part Two: Interactions, OfA

kofi || commission details

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

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No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

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loveisnotadagger · 3 years

Text

Love is Healing - Chapter Three

Chapter 3/?

Warning: There are brief descriptions of Loki's wounds in this chapter. I don't think it's too graphic, but it is there.

After all the Avengers left the room Loki relaxed only slightly. His mother showing up on Midgard to reveal his punishment had thrown him a bit – if one could actually call this a punishment after all he'd been through with Thanos.

Loki had expected to be taken back to Asgard. He'd expected to have to face Odin. He'd expected to be locked up like a criminal. What he hadn't expected was to receive the same punishment as Thor had received when he'd gone to Jotunheim and almost caused all-out war with the Frost Giants.

"You've always wanted to be treated equally to Thor. I convinced Odin to do it this once," Frigga said. "Things could be worse."

Loki looked at his mother and glared faintly. "Define worse."

From what his mother had said earlier in response to Arianna's words about him having a reason for bringing war to Midgard, Loki assumed Frigga knew at least part of what he'd been through. She would know that physical punishment was all relative to him now. Maybe that was why Odin had agreed to this insane solution.

"You realize this punishment is meant to be for your own good," Frigga said. "Maybe you will find your humanity here? A light to fend off the darkness."

"And there is darkness."

Thor, who had been almost completely silent, said, "This will help, brother. I learned much when I was mortal here."

Loki outwardly ignored Thor and continued looking at his mother. He really did love his mother and he knew she loved him.

"You would leave me here defenseless against this world? This world that has been through much destruction in my name?"

Without his powers how would he protect himself?

The Man of Iron and Arianna didn't seem too violent, and the patriotic one wouldn't hurt a defenseless person. But Agents' Barton and Romanoff had every reason to want him dead, and the green beast was downright frightening. And what of the Chitauri and Thanos?

Loki had to suppress a shudder that wanted to take over his body. He couldn't take anymore torture. He just couldn't.

"Befriend Arianna," Frigga said. "She has a good heart." ----------

Arianna and the other Avengers – Dr. Banner included - had been out of the penthouse and downstairs for about thirty minutes. During that time Tony had been on the phone with his contractors. They would start rebuilding the penthouse first thing in the morning.

Arianna knew Tony wouldn't only help rebuild Stark Tower. He would also help pay for the damage that had been done to Manhattan earlier. Tony could help heal too, in a way, by making things appear as if they'd never been destroyed.

"I should be out there," Arianna said, pacing back and forth.

"And risk exposing yourself?" Natasha asked. "You know you have to wait."

Yes, she knew she had to wait. She knew she couldn't just go out and heal people on the streets even though she wanted to. She had to wait until the streets had been cleared a little and the wounded had been taken to the hospital

She'd made the mistake before by going public with her abilities and it had gotten her under government surveillance. That was how SHIELD had gotten hold of her. The reason she wasn't actually a field agent was because only Natasha and Clint knew Arianna could do more than heal the wounded.

"Are we going to ignore the fact that Mama Bear put our littlest Avenger in charge of her crazy son?" Tony asked, off the phone now.

"Was planning on it," Arianna said, rolling her eyes. "And I'm hardly the littlest Avenger. I'm taller than Natasha.

"Arianna!" a thunderous voice boomed from the staircase to their left. "Healer, come quickly!"

Arianna was already on her way to the stairs. She'd started moving as soon as she'd heard her name.

"What? What is it?"

"My brother is in need of assistance."

At the mention of Loki Natasha began following Arianna. Of course she wasn't going to let Arianna face him alone.

"Is he . . . powerless now?"

"It's much worse," was Thor's response. ---------- At the doorway of the penthouse, Loki's and Thor's mother was pacing back and forth. She seemed agitated and overwhelmed. She quickly broke her stride when Arianna reached her.

Frigga grabbed her hand and began leading Arianna into the room. Loki wasn't where he had been. In fact, Arianna didn't see Loki at all at first, and she didn't feel him either.

One of the things she hated about being able to invade minds was the leftover vibes she would get from the people whose minds she'd invaded. She could usually tell when said people were nearby.

Right now all she could feel was the worry coming from Frigga. She was thankful that there weren't any images to go with it.

"Where's Loki?"

Had they been tricked? Had Thor actually let Loki go after all the trouble they'd gone through to capture him?

"He's resting. It seems . . ." Frigga began, and Arianna noticed how the woman's eyes glistened. "Loki is a master of illusions. Without his magic . . ."

Frigga stiffened and looked behind Arianna. Arianna looked over her shoulder and was shocked to see everyone from downstairs there in the doorway.

"They won't hurt him," she said, hoping to get rid of whatever fear the woman may have had.

"It's not that. I just don't wish for them to see Loki this way. He wouldn't want him to see him this way."

"Oh. Well, they will see him anyway. He will be staying with me, and I will be staying here for the time being."

"Um . . . this is my house," Tony said from behind her.

"Yes," Arianna answered, turning around. "But none of you want me alone with Loki, so . . ."

"She has a point," Clint said. "She shouldn't be alone with him."

"I assure you, he cannot harm anyone now." Frigga grabbed Arianna's arm. "Come."

Arianna was led to the couch and around it. An audible gasp escaped her and bile threatened to rise. She swallowed compulsively.

Before her was a beaten and bloodied Loki. There were cuts and bruises everywhere she could see. His armor had been removed along with everything covering his upper body, and he was no longer restrained. He was laid out over the couch and he was on his stomach. Lashes from whips covered the pale skin of his back. There were scorch marks along his arms and back as well.

"What happened?" Arianna's voice shook with the effort it took her to not yell. "He didn't look like this before, so what happened?"

"His magic was removed. He must've been covering it up."

Loki must have had a serious endurance for pain because she hadn't seen any sign of him being wounded before. She had seen his memories – or some of them, at least – but she'd had no idea what she'd seen and felt had happened so recently.

She now knew why Frigga didn't want the others seeing Loki like this. He would probably be humiliated once he woke up.

"Can you help him?"

"I . . . it will take time. If I try to heal everything at once, it won't end well for me."

"Just do what you can."

Arianna nodded and moved forward until she reached the resting form that was Loki. She knelt beside him, the irony of which was not lost on her.

On closer inspection, Arianna realized that Loki was extremely malnourished. In fact, she was certain that if he'd been human before now he would've been dead.

"Dr. Banner, we need an IV drip. Now."

She didn't look up from Loki, taking it on faith that Bruce would listen. He was a pretty nice guy when he wasn't green.

"Tony, I know you can help him with that."

If Tony didn't have medical equipment in the building, he would know where to get some quickly.

Arianna brought her hands up and let them hover over Loki's back. She didn't really want to touch him, didn't want to feel what he'd been through, not again, but he did need to be healed. His whole body was probably teeming with infection. Now that he was mortal, he would need help fighting it off.

"Tash, go tell Banner he'll need antibiotics too."

Loki's body was filthy, but that was the least of her worries.

"Clint, I'm gonna need some warm water and a wash cloth. Cap, I need Tony to set up a room for him."

After each Avenger left to do his or her duty Frigga touched Arianna's shoulder and whispered, "Thank you."

"It's nothing. I didn't understand until I saw him."

Arianna jumped when a broken and shaky breath escaped Loki's lungs. She didn't know what that meant. She could heal people, but she wasn't a doctor.

"Ms . . . um . . . Loki's mom, I will have to clean him first. I can't leave the infection there. I may have to wait to heal the lashes."

"Please call me Frigga."

"Frigga."

"And what of the bruises?" Thor, who was standing off to the side, asked.

Arianna smiled softly. "Those I can heal."

Regardless of her fear, Arianna gently touched Loki's back. She had to fight her very nature so she wouldn't be pulled into whatever nightmare he was having, and she knew he was having a nightmare.

Arianna forced herself to focus so she could heal the bruises that littered Loki's skin. She was fairly certain the bruises were from when Bruce had lost his temper and banged Loki around a bit. Well, when the Hulk had banged Loki around a bit.

She didn't force her energy into Loki. In the state he was in it might throw him into shock. Plus, it was just rude, forcing your energy in to try and meld with someone else's. She was aiming for a stream not an ocean.

She was glad Loki was unconscious, though, because he might have known how to steal energy, latch on and just take, and she didn't want that either.

"Does anyone know how long he's been . . . tortured?"

"Perhaps a year," Thor said. "He's been away for a year."

"A whole year? You didn't know where he was?"

"I . . . we thought he was dead. We didn't know he –"

"The burns," Frigga interrupted. "Can you heal those? They are probably what bothered him the most."

Arianna nodded. She would do all that she could.

"It will take time," she said. "I am human and will have to rest frequently, but it will get done." ---------- "His room is ready," Bruce said. "We were able to get the saline and the antibiotics."

"Good. We may need to take him to the lab, though. I sensed there was internal damage. I need to know how bad it is."

Bruce helped move Loki, and Tony met them down in the lab. Arianna would have preferred being alone aside from Thor and Frigga, but it was Tony's lab and Bruce was an actual doctor.

Besides, she had no idea how to use the equipment in Tony's lab.

Arianna cleaned Loki off as best as she could, considering only the upper half of his body was free of clothing. The bruises Loki had been burdened with before were gone as they had been the easiest to heal, but everything else was the same on the outside.

Once she'd sensed internal damage, Arianna had decided to take a break to conserve her energy in case the damage was so bad that Loki would need immediate attention.

X-rays and Cat-scans were taken, revealing broken ribs and damaged lungs. Arianna was fairly certain that these particular wounds had come from the Hulk swinging him around and smashing him against the floor multiple times.

Bruce made sure the bones were set right before Arianna sent enough energy into Loki to help jumpstart the healing of his ribs. Then she changed her focus to his lungs.

Him being able to breathe on his own was the most important thing, in her opinion. It would save them the time it would take to hook him up to a bunch of machines, assuming Tony even had the equipment they would need for that.

Once Loki was stable enough, Arianna moved onto healing the burns littered across his skin. Or she tried to. The burns were extensive and to heal those she would have to manipulate his tissue to heal itself, which was hard by itself. Add in her exhaustion from all the healing she'd already done, and it was almost impossible.

She felt as if she'd been going at it for hours, and it wasn't until her head was hurting and her nose was bleeding that she realized she needed a break.

That and Tony saying, "A'right, Miss Miracle, you need food and a nap."

"I . . . okay, yeah. Is he gonna be okay if I stop?"

"He's as stable as he can be at the moment," Bruce said. "And he's better than he was."

"Are we leaving him down here, or . . . ?"

"We can take him to his room," Tony said. "I set up a room for you too, right next to his. Jarvis will keep watch." ---------- Arianna ate something small to put Tony's mind at ease, and it helped her headache go away. She wasn't able to sleep, however, even though she did lie down for over an hour in the bed Tony had provided.

She kept thinking about the words she'd pulled from Loki's mind. She hadn't meant to, but it happened when she was so fully connected to someone, and with the amount of healing she'd done to Loki, she was very much connected to him.

He was having nightmares and that was where the words had come from. One of his tormentors must've been equipped with the mission to make Loki feel unwanted and unloved because those were the words she had picked up the most.

No one had said anything to her when she'd come back up from the lab, but she could tell no one really understood why she was expending so much energy to help Loki.

Tony seemed to be the least judgmental, and then it was Clint. It had nothing to do with Loki and everything to do with the fact that he knew Arianna couldn't help but lend a helping hand to anyone that was suffering. Bruce was the most compassionate and she knew he would help her with Loki as much as he could. Steve was the least understanding, but only because he saw Loki as someone who had tried to destroy his home. Natasha was more worried because she knew how far Arianna could push herself.

Arianna didn't know what the big deal was. Everyone else on the team pushed themselves, risked their lives in the line of fire and what she did was no different. ---------- Frigga and Thor were in Loki's room when Arianna went in after resting but not sleeping. His mind had suddenly gone silent and she'd wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.

Thor was standing off to the side of the Spartan-like room. Loki was on the bed and Frigga was seated on a chair beside it, and there was an IV drip as well attached to Loki. Other than that, the room was bare.

"He's quiet," Arianna said.

"He's asleep," Thor said.

"No, I mean, his mind is quiet. I've been able to sense his thoughts from the first time I touched him. I don't sense anything now. Either he's stopped dreaming or he's blocking me."

"Is that bad?"

Arianna sighed. "That depends on how you look at it. If he's blocking me, it means he's aware enough to block me. It also means I won't be able to heal him, not if he's gonna fight me."

"He will sense you as you sensed him," Frigga said. "He'll think your magic is foreign. He will fight that."

"If I can make my way back into his mind, I can wake him up. I was hoping to heal him more fully first, but if this is the only way . . ."

"Is that not dangerous?" Thor asked.

"It's actually not dangerous at all, physically."

"And mentally?" Frigga asked.

Arianna hesitated before answering. "If Loki had his powers, I wouldn't try this. I think the worst he can do now is to just keep blocking me. He might be able to remove me if I make my way in."

"Have you done this before?"

"Yes, with trauma patients."

The younger patients almost never put up a fight. The adults, however, were another story altogether. She was sure that was because adults had defense mechanisms that children did not.

"What will you need?" Frigga asked

"I'll need the room so I can concentrate. I need it to be quiet." ---------- Arianna was surprised when she was able to easily gain access to Loki's mind. Most people who were unconscious fell deep inside of themselves. Add in the fact that she hadn't been able to hear or sense him before, she thought it would have been harder.

She'd found him within seconds, however, crouched behind a rock. He was hiding. That was probably why he'd suddenly disappeared from her mind. Whatever or whoever he was hiding from had shielded his thoughts from her.

Why was he hiding, anyway? There didn't seem to be anyone else around aside from Loki and herself.

As she grew closer to him, she noticed that all of the bruises she'd healed were still covering his skin in his dream state. None of what she'd been doing in real life was taking place here.

And where was here? It looked like the barren wasteland that she'd seen flashes of earlier. This was Loki's own personal form of Hell, probably, and he was stuck here.

She crept forward and knelt beside him, surprised that he hadn't even glanced her way. Did he not feel her there or was he just so overwhelmed that her presence didn't register?

"Loki?" she whispered and touched his shoulder.

He jerked away but finally looked at her nonetheless. His eyes were wide with fright and she regretted touching him. She was downright flabbergasted when he tried to cover his head. It was as if he thought she was going to hurt him.

Well . . . of course he did. This was a place of pain and he wouldn't have known anything else but pain here.

"Loki, I'm not here to hurt you."

"Everybody hurts here," he said, though he didn't move to get away.

"Loki, you're not actually here anymore. You – you got out."

"No one gets out."

"You did. You went to Midgard."

Technically, he'd been sent there, but she just wanted to help him wake up. Best not to bring up what he'd done once he went to Midgard.

"Thor is waiting there for you."

"He came for me?"

Loki seemed to want to believe that so badly, but he also seemed afraid to.

Arianna nodded. She would have to play this carefully. It appeared that this Loki, the part of Loki that was still truly himself was locked up here. This was probably a defense mechanism for the Loki that wanted to rule Earth. That Loki couldn't have had this one running loose or it would've messed up his plan.

"Loki, do you know who I am?"

"Should I?"

"Yes. Well, sort of. I met you earlier today."

She told him about how she could heal people and that she was trying to heal him, but he was blocking her.

"This is madness," Loki muttered.

"I know it probably seems that way, but you have to trust me."

She knew that was asking a lot, considering he didn't know her at all, but she did need his trust to even begin to bring him out of his head.

"What are you hiding from?"

"Thanos."

She remembered that name. Thanos was the one she'd heard threaten Loki. He was the one Loki was so afraid of.

"He can't actually hurt you here. He can only do what you allow him to do."

"Actually . . ."

A voice came from behind Arianna and Loki's eyes widened in fright again. She turned around to find a huge, purple man in black clothing and gold-plated armor. If this was Thanos, what exactly was he?

He had to be about seven feet tall and he looked to weigh at least a thousand pounds of pure muscle.

"I'm very much real."

His huge fist came toward her and she instinctively flinched even though he shouldn't have been able to touch her.

'He isn't real,' she thought even as his fist connected with the side of her head. She was sure if this had been real, she would've been knocked unconscious by the blow, assuming she would've still had her head.

He had proven that he was real, however, and Arianna was now afraid. She'd actually felt pain – not from the hit itself, but a sharp migraine-type pain. A mental blow to match the one he'd given her in the dream state.

Since she'd been knocked over by him hitting her, she scurried backwards as if she were crab-walking.

"I told him what awaited him if he failed. You will not take that away," Thanos said. "You can choose to leave him here."

Loki stiffened and she could tell he thought she would leave him. The truth was that she would if she thought she could bring someone back with her to help, but she knew what it was like to be trapped in her own head with no one to help pull her out and she wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Maybe if Loki had been truly evil, she could leave and not regret it, but now that she knew why he'd done what he'd done . . . she couldn't, with good conscious, leave him there.

Thanos couldn't really hurt her if she didn't let him. Maybe she would be able to pull Loki out of this despite what this Thanos had said. ---------- Loki hated himself at the moment. Not that he'd ever loved himself, but he really hated himself for being a coward. He didn't know this girl even though she'd said they'd met earlier and yet he still didn't want her to go. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

He especially didn't want to be alone here, but he didn't want the girl to be hurt either, not when she seemed so willing to help him.

"No one can help you," Thanos said. "No one would want to."

Nobody could love him. He was a monster. He was a Frost Giant. He'd never been anyone's priority and he definitely didn't expect this girl to pick him over herself. It was absurd to hope for anything other than a quick and painless death.

"Loki?" the girl said. She never had said her name. "Don't listen to him. I'm not going anywhere and I can help you. You have to let me."

Thanos yelled and Loki saw the Titan rush forward to hit the girl again, but she was quick and he ended up falling over himself.

If what the girl had said was true, if they really were in his mind, then he could do whatever he wanted here. He could take away his pain and he could get rid of Thanos even if the Titan was real.

The first thing he did was make himself strong again. He needed to assist his helper. She wasn't a fighter, he could tell by the way she carried herself.

What he really needed was a weapon yet he'd been made defenseless. Was he able to conjure one out of midair? Apparently he was, because as soon as he thought of one of his many daggers it appeared in his hand.

The girl was standing still with her hand in the air. She had her palm faced outward and Thanos . . . well, he was still too. He seemed to be attempting to move, but it wasn't working.

This girl knew magic – more than just illusionary magic. She was literally keeping Thanos still by sheer force of will.

"Now, Loki. You have to be the one to do it."

Since they were all in his mind that made sense. He couldn't actually kill Thanos since this wasn't physically real, but maybe just the act itself would force the Titan out.

Loki moved quickly. Within seconds he'd stabbed through the leather of Thanos' attire. He twisted the dagger and yanked upwards, properly eviscerating the image of the Titan.

Just like that, Loki opened his eyes to the world.

#loki #loki x reader #loki/oc #loki/ofc #love is healing #chapter three

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mitsuhasnolifebutwatchesanime · 4 years

Text

Cells at Work!/Cells at Work!!/Cells at Work Black

(Don't mind me reviewing technically three shows at once!)

Hmm, 2018, when I sorta fell off the seasonal anime binge. Anyway, I DID watch Cells at Work when it came out in 2018...just...like four eps tho. It was cute, it was educational, and I just had so much other shit going on at the time. The manga for Cells at Work Black which sounded a lot cooler was going on and I heard about it and was like “well if that gets an anime I’ll be sure to watch.” Well it got its anime! And Cells at Work got it’s second season! I’m so behind.

I actually spent a good chunk of the end of 2020 watching Grey's Anatomy thanks to my fiancee’s mother watching it while I was visiting. So, somehow I sorta learned a lot about medicine and health. My mother was a medical transcriptionist for about ten years, so I absorbed some info from her-- anyway, I’m not into the sciences as hardcore as some of my friends. While I will continue to call this Osmosis Jones the anime, I mean it in the most endearing way, because it is very cute. It’s not a new concept, but it’s a good execution of a tried and true concept of “the inner workings of the human body.” I mean, I grew up on School House Rock as well, so sometimes I just sing the Body Machine song (among others from Science House Rock) to myself Just Because.

What I want to do here is compare the two series. Both go places, and for sure from the get-go of Cells at Work Black, you KNOW it’s going bad places. So it depends: do you want something light hearted, slice of life with a little sprinkling of education? Cells at Work is great.

If you don’t know the story already just by the title and my brief, unoriginal joke, it follows the story of a new Red Blood Cell throughout the body, introducing the viewer to different cells and functions of the human body, showing off the immune system, cardiovascular system, and much much more, all while the body deals with threats of the viral, bacterial, and even external injuries and such. The first Cells at Work and it’s sequel Cells at Work!! (the 2 exclamation points= two) focus on one body, while Cells at Work Black focuses on another body which is doing significantly worse health-wise.

We all get sick, there are constantly bacteria and viruses going through the human body which is what your immune system fights, but the body in the first cells at work? Aside from maybe being a little allergen-ridden and maybe suffering from some immunodeficiencies, is much healthier than the body featured in Cells at Work Black. That body is dealing with smoking, insomnia, just, any bad thing you can think of, it’s happening to them. Also the Black is Cells at Work Black is in reference to “Black Factories” in Japan, which are factories/companies with such shitty work ethic and such they literally work their employees to death. This could refer to the state of the body as a whole, or maybe the person’s body is in this sort of situation where they’re being so overworked their body and health are suffering because of it.

I suppose sometimes I wish that the show would show outside of the body, but that would be no fun. It is fun, with what limited medical knowledge I have, trying to guess the solution to each situation. I.E. the body loses a ton of blood and I’m just yelling “BLOOD TRANSFUSION” at the screen and then bam, blood transfusion, or in another case, severe dehydration “FLUIDS!” and fluids.

Unrelated I was super sick at the beginning of last year and went to the ER and knew for a fact I just needed fluids. Well they had to rule everything else out so I got dragged from test to test and I was like PLEASE JUST FILL ME WITH THE HYDRATION JUICE. Anyway my nurse said “oops” as she was putting in my IV (something a medical professional should never say) and I glanced over and got to see my own blood and fainted, which I never do lmao. Take care of your body! It’s already been proven these shows have made people really want to take care of their bodies.

Whether you want it lighter or darker, both anime are pretty enjoyable and so episodic, you can enjoy them whenever and in no particular order, just know that Cells at Work Black is a LOT darker and more depressing. Either way, please give either of these shows a try for yourself!

#cells at work #hataraku saibou #cells at work black #hataraku saibo black #anime review #mitsu review

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letteredlettered · 4 years

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hi! ive been following your writing for a few years now and i drop by periodically to check if you have anything new posted, and im really surprised that you seem to be enjoying the untamed? im curious what you think about the show - its story and characters, the acting, the production, etc. idk if you know, but the untamed is the most successful example of a current trend in chinese entertainment, where popular online novels centered around a gay romance is adapted into a 'safe' drama.

continued:

due to the many explicit and implicit restrictions imposed on creative media in china, many crucial plot points have to be changed (often badly) or removed, including the nature of the relationship between the main characters. the untamed is considered the most loyal adaptation so far, but like all other works in the genre, it received criticism for weak acting and queerbaiting. that's why im really curious about what you think of the show as it is, as itself, free from its context.

if you're interested, you could also check out guardian! it features much better performance and chemistry by the leads imo, but the story was heavily botched bc the original incorporates and reinvents a lot of classic chinese folklore beautifully and stuff like that is considered disrespectful and not-pc. i think it's really sad how so many great pieces of writing with complex world-building and plotlines are simplified into... idek what to call them, but just, less than what they are.

im sorry this turned into a rant. as a mainland chinese person with oh so many frustrations about our current society, it's hard to comprehensively describe my feelings about the untamed's popularity. it's the first mainland chinese show/movie to gain this much organic interest abroad so i should be glad? but, but. anyway, yes, im sorry.

There’s no need to apologize for ranting, but I admit to some confusion as to whether you want your question addressed or the rant. Because I’m me and tend to be thorough, I’ll address everything, in reverse order.

First of all, I’m sorry that this show is sad to you. I’m sorry that the popularity of it is difficult. I’m also deeply sympathetic to your frustrations about your society, as I too am deeply frustrated by my own.

Secondly, yes, I’m aware of the context of The Untamed. I’m aware that the book it’s based on is a BL novel, and that, in order to align with Chinese politics, overt queerness was erased from the adaptation. I’m aware of the censure laws of gay media in China. I’m also aware that some aspects of necromancy and morality were adjusted to make the show more palatable for general audiences, but I’m fuzzier on those details. Lastly, I’m aware that the popularity of the show calls attention to certain things, such as fanfic, and that attention results in more censorship,

The fact of this erasure and this censure provokes a lot of questions: by consuming this product, which contains erasure and censure, do we engage in the erasure and censure? By posting gifs and writing fanfic and talking about this product, do we increase its popularity, thereby encouraging additional erasure and censure? By increasing the popularity of this product, do we diminish the popularity of the original gay morally gray canon, thereby decreasing representation? Do we discourage other authors in China from writing explicitly gay morally gray material? In short, are we allowed to enjoy this media?

I don’t know the answer to these questions. However, I do know that boycott is a very effective tool when it can inflict economic pain on the producer, or when it can exert pressure on an entity to change. That said, I feel like a lot of the calls to boycott certain media these days are a lot like telling people to stop driving their cars to stop climate change: it’s suggesting that individuals can solve the problem, which presupposes individuals are the problem, and therefore fails to address the scope of the problem, or present the possibility of a real solution. Not watching The Untamed isn’t going to change laws about portrayals of homosexuality onscreen in China, partly because the laws in China are a much bigger problem.

The other part of it is that The Untamed is coded queer, so if you run a successful boycott against it, you end up with . . . less queer TV. I know a whole lot less about China than I do about the Hays Code, but if you had told gay people during the Golden Age of Hollywood that they couldn’t enjoy movies that were coded queer because they weren’t explicitly queer, they’d have said you were crazy. In fact, many people will tell you that media that was coded queer was a big reason we got more explicit queer stuff later. And as I’m sure you’re aware, the US is still fighting that battle . . . partly because it wants to sell movies to China.

So then there’s a question about whether me, an American in the US, liking something coded queer from China but not explicitly queer--does that encourage Chinese censorship? Should I only support texts that are explicitly queer? But the answer is the same--it’s not addressing the scope of the problem, and by supporting texts that are coded queer, you could be paving the way in the future for something brighter.

But you weren’t talking about boycott! You were talking about your discomfort with the popularity with this show, which I accept. I understand feeling uncomfortable. I can only hope it makes you a bit more comfortable to know that plenty of fans are deeply aware of the context and do wrestle with the question of what liking this show means in the context of a society that would never allow aspects of the original to be portrayed onscreen.

Thirdly, I’m not against trying Guardian at some point, but by comparing the acting and chemistry of the leads to The Untamed, I feel like you prove our tastes are very different in these regards. I love the acting of the leads in The Untamed; I found their chemistry off the charts. It’s okay you don’t feel the same.

Lastly, you asked my opinion of The Untamed: its story and characters, the acting, the production, sans context of the canon upon which its based and censorship laws in China.

a. I love the overall story, but the plot has deep plot holes. Quite a few segments do not actually make sense to me, because the plot is so haywire. However, I’ve never cared that much about plot, except when it gets in the way of characters and themes, and for the most part, this plot serves its characters and themes, except when the parts they leave out are so confusing that I cannot follow the story. As for the story, it feels like it’s built for me, because ultimately it’s about moral decisions and how to make them; it’s about guilt and paying for mistakes; it’s about learning, changing your mind, and remaking yourself. Really, I’m not sure there are many stories I love more--except they killed my favorite character, and I almost quit. So, that certainly put a damper on things.

b. I love the characters most of all, although the villains are really two-dimensional. However, large parts of the plot are not Hero vs Villain, they’re Hero vs Society, and then some Hero vs Himself in a way that suggests the Hero is no longer a hero. I could talk about the characters forever, but suffice it to say I think they’re really strong. Also, the relationships are really exquisite, particularly when it comes to family dynamics. Unfortunately, they killed my favorite character off. Also unfortunately, there are six women in this show, only two of them are main characters, and every single one of them dies. It disgusts me.

c. I think the two leads are exceptional, in particular Xiao Zhan . . . when he’s not being too broad, which he is quite a bit. However, I do wonder how much of this is direction and production style, because in many instances, he’s quite subtle, and the choices he makes are astounding. Then there are times where it’s like they needed more footage, or wanted to drive home a point, and he turns on the extra, and it’s awful. It could just be him, but I actually feel it’s the case with most of the actors, which does make me think it’s a directing issue. Meng Ziyi never really has that problem though, because she is the most perfect of all. But then take He Peng, who I actually thought could be incredible, but every scene was just SO BROAD that I began to feel sorry for the poor dude having to act that part. But there is nothing to be said for Wang Zhuo Cheng, who really is just terrible, which is sad, because it’s a great part.

d. Production-wise, it’s really hit and miss. So much of the locations are truly beautiful. A lot of the costumes are too, unless the shot is too close. I actually don’t mind the wigs; I love the long hair. The CGI is terrible. And then while a lot of the shots are beautiful, some of them are awkward, and the pacing is really difficult, imo. It really seems like they wanted to drag it out, and there are so, so many scenes where I’m sort of embarrassed that we’re in the same scene or that we’re still looking at someone’s face, or that everyone is just standing there waiting for the shot to finally end.

I will say that film is a language that does differ from culture to culture. It could be that both the broadness of the acting and the awkwardness of the editing are my cultural lens based on American and a lot of western film. When I watched older Hollywood films, the acting is a lot more broad and maybe a little less “true” feeling, but I understand that it’s not the case everyone in the past was a bad actor. It was just a different style, so I’m not sure I’m equipped with the cultural knowledge of Chinese acting, cinematography, and editing to be able to really judge the value of these things.

I do know how I feel, which is that the editing is the biggest hurdle for me while watching the show. However, I feel that the beauty of it makes up for a lot, and the strength of the characters and themes really carries it.

I hope I addressed your points adequately, and I wish you well.

#Anonymous #the untamed #china

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adarlingsnightmare · 5 years

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Chuuya Nakahara Yandere Alphabet

Anonymous said:

Sounds good! How about the alphabet for chuuya? :3c

accidentally posted this to my main blog after writing a huge apology for my lack of posting :/ i keep doing that unfortunately. anyways, ive had a full week exams which is why i havent been posting. im extremely tired and stressed but i will try to get more requests done this week, though i have another week of exams. i do apologise, but itll be over soon. i hope you enjoy anon, this short bastard is one of my favs. <3

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Chuuya would gladly smother you in endless kisses and cuddles, but if you tell him to back off, he'll stick to just having an arm around you (because god forbid he isn't touching you in one way or another). You'll often hear him whispering how much he absolutely adores you when he thinks you're asleep, and when you're visibly awake he'll be showering you in compliments.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Oh, Chuuya will undoubtedly do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if that results in bloody murder. He's in the mafia after all, what's a little blood on his hands, especially in the name of love?

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Chuuya would only mock you if you consistently failed to escape or were getting punished by him. Otherwise, he is generally loving and as romantic as possible. He will always make sure you're eating and sleeping properly, snapping at you if you refuse to eat as he gets awfully worried about you sometimes.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

No, not really. The only instances where something's against his darlings will is when he's punishing them. Other than that, it's mainly abduction and the lack of freedom to talk to people.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Chuuya confides in his darling, and will show a side of himself that no one else ever sees. He'll ask for advice on work matters and will constantly seek love and reassurance from his darling. While outwardly he may still appear tough and cocky, he's really soft for you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would be pretty irritated and though he'd never admit it, quite hurt. Why can't you just love him, goddamnit?! He'll try not to hurt you too much, but if you're not backing down he will use force to get you to stop.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Chuuya doesn't enjoy it in the slightest. His love for you isn't some 'game' and seeing you try to escape both infuriates and saddens him. All he truly wants is to be a happy, normal couple so your refusal to love him is not something he enjoys.

Hell: What would be their darling's worst experience with them?

Chuuya isn't always fully aware of how strong he actually is, especially when he uses Corruption and becomes out of control. This can lead to a terrifying situation where you're worried for your life as a monster in your boyfriend's body goes on a rampage and destroys everything around him. It rarely happens, as Chuuya really doesn't want to hurt you, but when it does it's a living nightmare.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Honestly, Chuuya doesn't really know what kind of future he wants for him and his darling, but ideally you two would move to some beautiful island — somewhere in the Caribbean, maybe? — get married, possibly start a family and live out the rest of your days in bliss.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Luckily, Chuuya isn't insanely possessive and doesn't lash out just because you looked at someone else, but he is paranoid. He has to keep you away from other people because, what if they attempt to hurt you? The only instance where he would genuinely become jealous is if Dazai was involved. This is when you'll see his full yandere side come out and it will be extreme: locking you up in highly secure room, restraining you, putting tracking devices in everything you own, anything to ensure your safety. If you were to show an interest in Dazai, whether platonic or even worse, romantic, his paranoia and jealousy would spike up tenfold — essentially guaranteeing you'll never see the light of day again.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Chuuya is generally really loving and calm towards his darling, still messing with them and lovingly calling them an idiot, but always so soft when speaking. However, if you were to be a brat, his rougher, more 'mafia' side would make an appearance— any soft words of reassurance thrown out the window.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

The 'traditional' way: flirting with you, taking you out on fancy dates and gifting you jewellery and flowers. He may seem smooth but he usually has to ask people (Kouyou) or the internet for advice on how to win someone's affections. He's also very observant to what you're interested in, so if you mention preferring movies to fancy dinners, that's where your next date will be.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yes, but in a good way. Instead of being his 'tough executive' persona, when he's around you, he'll reveal a much sweeter and softer side of himself. He's also surprisingly affectionate, taking every opportunity to be as close to you as possible.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Chuuya doesn't generally plan out punishment, he tends to go into a fit of rage and attack you with whatever is nearest. Usually it results in you being choked, slammed repeatedly against the floor or him almost breaking your ribs with his foot. Once he's calmed down is when he will decide on a proper punishment, such as keeping you restrained to the bed, taking away certain privileges or maybe if you've really done something bad... a more permanent solution will be used.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

As long as his darling was relatively compliant, Chuuya's only real restriction would be the ability to go outside alone without the safety of his watchful eye. Of course, if you betrayed his trust, any hint of freedom you had previously would be stripped away.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Chuuya tries to be patient, he really does, but he's just so hotheaded that he often ends up snapping at his darling whenever they act up in the slightest.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

To put it simply: no. No one else can make Chuuya feel this way, and without his wonderful darling, he feels distanced from the world. It is likely he would continue working for the Port Mafia (unless they were involved in your escape/death), a mere shell of his former self only existing to serve the mafia rather than actually living.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Chuuya would feel a small amount of guilt if he had to kidnap you, but his belief that it's necessary for your protection would overrule the guilt. He would absolutely never let you go, you're like the anchor that keeps him human; he cannot lose you.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Like Dazai, Chuuya feels almost inhuman, like he is a foreigner in someone else's body, yet when he brushed hands with you, he felt something real. This is what drives him to get to know you: the desperation to be human. The more he spends time with you, the more this feeling increases — leading him to be unable to just allow you to leave him. Ironically, he becomes less human the more time he devotes to you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Chuuya really doesn't like seeing you upset, and it hurts his heart having to punish you when you're so upset, but some things are just a necessary evil. If you've done something he considers to be really bad, he will be apathetic to your tears, believing you deserve whatever you're suffering.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Unlike a lot of yanderes, Chuuya does respect your boundaries to a degree, and won't force you to do anything you really protest against (aside from letting you go, of course).

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Chuuya has to leave for work nearly everyday, so if you're smart and able to break locks, you have a fairly good chance of escaping. However, even if you do escape, Chuuya will find you again, and he won't take the betrayal lightly.

Wit's end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Chuuya has a pretty short temper, especially when it comes to the safety of his darling, so if you persistently tried to escape or "put yourself in danger" (interacting with Dazai, refusing food), he may snap. As stated previously, he doesn't enjoy your pain, but sometimes it's necessary to get you to listen.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Despite his sometimes arrogant nature, Chuuya sees his darling as on an entirely separate level to himself. He practically worships you, though he doesn't always like to show it (he's got to keep up his tough guy persona after all) and would gladly do anything you asked. His loyalty to you is even able to override his loyalty to the Port Mafia.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Chuuya would make an effort to woo you, buying you flowers and taking you out on fancy dinners, hoping that you'll end up wanting to be in a relationship with him. He'll vehemently deny being so desperate to be with you, but it's pretty obvious he's hopelessly in love. If you were to continuously reject his advances, he may eventually end up kidnapping you, but only if he thought you were in danger (or that another person was making a move on you).

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

If he did end up breaking you, it wouldn't be intentional. All Chuuya wants is your unconditional love and affection, but he can get desperate if you're not showing it and will make you say how much you love him, even if you have to be put through hell to achieve it.

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ellewritesathing · 4 years

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Ten Things IV

Summary: If there’s one thing you have to know about Harvey Kinkle, it’s that he rarely thinks things through. So when he meets (and falls for) Sabrina Spellman on his first day of Baxter High and finds out that she can’t date anyone until her tempestuous sister does, it seems like the obvious solution is to get someone to date her so he can go out with Sabrina. A not so obvious choice for the challenge is Caliban, but, hey, it’s not like Harvey thought that far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 4

Word-count: 4.5k+

A/N: pls listen to Wish You Were Sober in the background whilst reading this part + whatever coming of age music you like (bonus points if you choose Ribs by Lorde and/or Strawberries & Cigarettes)

It seemed that when it came to Sabrina Spellman, Harvey would always be nervous. He had these lame little butterflies whenever she tutored him (that spiked when she’d take his hand to correct something). He almost threw up before their next meeting after the head-kissing debacle. And now he was supposed to pick her up for the costume party.

Three costume changes, a near heart attack, and fifteen minutes spent brushing his teeth and fixing his hair later, and Harvey stood outside her house. Her very creepy house. He'd just reached for the door knocker again when it swung open.

Ambrose stood there, giving Harvey a very knowing smile as he looked him up and down. “Afraid she’s not here, friend,” he said, not sounding too disappointed or afraid. “Though in an outfit like that I can’t imagine why.”

Harvey looked down at his jeans, dark t-shirt, and leather jacket and suddenly wished he’d gone with Tommy’s old Captain America costume even though his hair was the wrong color. He reached up and adjusted his hardhat. “It was kind of last-minute,” Harvey admitted awkwardly. “Anyway, uh, what do you mean she’s not here?”

“That she left with one Nicholas Scratch about fifteen minutes ago,” Ambrose said. He nodded gravely before continuing, “Though my other cousin is here if you-”

“No, I’m good thanks,” Harvey said quickly. Ambrose raised an eyebrow and Harvey felt he had to explain, so in a quiet voice he added, “She kinda scares me.”

“Oh, Harvey, you don’t have to suck up to me,” you said with a very mischievous smile as you walked around Ambrose. Harvey went through the four stages of shock as he took in your outfit: A blue and gold cheerleading uniform (weird enough) with the letters DK on your chest and your hair and makeup perfectly done. Sabrina must have done the hair and makeup because you looked like an entirely different person like this, except that your mouth was covered in blood and you wore white-out contacts and a pair of fangs. “She doesn’t listen to me anyway.”

It took Harvey a second to realize that he was supposed to answer you, and, in that second, you and Ambrose let out matching (almost evil) laughs and started cracking jokes about how innocent Harvey was. It was hard to think of innocence when fake blood was running down your neck. At least, Harvey hoped it was fake.

“So, uh, do you need a ride?” Harvey asked in an attempt to recover from the millions of conflicting thoughts he had and his earlier social blunder.

“You’re offering to spend time with me in an enclosed space?” you asked, looking slightly taken aback. Harvey nodded almost immediately. “Wow, you must really like her, huh?”

“No, that’s not what- well, I mean, yeah, I like her,” Harvey stammered. Your smile got a bit wider as you and Ambrose shared some side-eye at his expense. “But that’s not why I’m offering. I just- you know, I’m already here. And the environment is in shambles. So carpooling is, like, the responsible thing to do-”

You laughed and untangled yourself from Ambrose to grab your things. “You’re cute, Harvey Kinkle.” You waved at Ambrose and started closing the door as you stepped outside, ignoring his cries to play nice with Harvey. “I get what she sees in you.”

“Thank you?”

---

This costume party was all Sabrina had thought about for the entire year, and now that she was here all she could think about was Harvey. What was that about? She was here with Nick. Her Nick. She should be having the time of her life listening to him talking about his latest modeling gig, not wondering if Harvey was going to show up. Or what he’d be dressed as if he did. Or-

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Nick asked teasingly, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to him.

“Of course! You were talking about how your agent thinks you could get that underwear deal,” Sabrina lied. That was almost all Nick talked about, so it wasn’t that hard to guess. Harvey would have been more difficult to lie to, but Harvey would’ve drawn her flowers and laughed her distraction off. “And they’d be idiots not to take you,” she said, stumbling into Nick’s arms after he pulled her closer.

“Thank you! That’s what I said but my agent …” Nick carried on talking through their rather forced slow dance, but Sabrina stopped listening when she saw Harvey walk in.

He looked so handsomely awkward in his miner outfit as he said ‘No, but thank you’ to all the girls offering him punch and dances. His dark eyes looked so hopeful as he scanned the room and it broke Sabrina’s heart when that hope went out as their eyes met.

She hurriedly separated from Nick, almost tripping over her feet in her rush, but Harvey was gone by the time she did. And when Sabrina looked back at Nick, he looked annoyed and confused.

“If you didn’t want to hear about what Estelle said, all you had to do was say,” Nick said a deep-set frown.

“It’s not that. I just thought I-”

Nick shook his head and started walking away. “Whatever. I’m gonna go get a drink.”

Sabrina let out a breath, suddenly feeling very alone and exposed in this crowded room. Her spirits lifted when she looked around and saw you outside with a very attractive blonde guy, and - better yet - you weren’t telling him to piss off. He must have been Caliban, but he looked very different in his flowy white shirt and blue jeans from your description of ‘he looks like an asshole, but the kind you want to makeout with just to get him to stop talking.’

At least one of you was having a good night.

---

“So what exactly are you dressed as?” you asked, taking a sip from your solo cup in an attempt to come off as cool and not annoyingly flustered by Caliban. Saying something mean would get you out of this mess for sure. “Because you look like one of those idiots from the cover of a trashy lady novel.”

“While I wasn’t going for idiotic, that’s exactly what I am,” Caliban said with a smile. He took the cup from your hand and took a sip, eyes twinkling mischievously as he did. “You seem surprised.”

You shrugged, chiding yourself for thoughts of Caliban’s lips on the spot where yours had been five seconds ago. “I didn’t have you pegged as a romance novel kind of guy.”

“And what kind of guy is that?”

His question was innocent enough, but it was the way he asked it that made your heart skip an irritating beat. Caliban was distracting enough with half his chest exposed and pretty white lace constantly drawing your attention to it. And, if that wasn’t enough, his dumb blonde curls had framed his face when he leaned in to ask you.

“The kind of guy who carries around a lighter because he likes to burn things,” you said, taking your cup back and taking the last sip to spite him.

Caliban looked amused in the corner of your eye as he drew back. “Well, we can’t all be demonic cheerleaders, princess,” he said. “Assuming that’s what you’re dressed as.”

“You’re close. I’ll give you a hint,” you said and turned back to him. You held out your hand and asked for his lighter. Caliban didn’t say anything as he placed it in your hand, but he didn’t break eye contact. You uncapped it, lit it, and held it up to your mouth. The flame got dangerously close to your tongue before you blew it out. In your best Jennifer Check voice, you said, “I’m a god.”

Caliban started laughing as you capped the lighter. “Well, if anyone is going to make killing boys nearly as attractive as Megan Fox, it’s you,” he said. “Though I don’t remember the white contacts.”

“I took some creative liberties,” you said with a small shrug. You reached for his hand and gave his lighter back to him.

After you pulled your hand away, Caliban shook his head and held the lighter back out to you. “You should keep it. Far more attractive when it's with you.”

“What about all the pretty things you like to set on fire?” you asked.

Caliban took a step closer and lifted his hand to tuck some hair behind your ear. He took his time, keeping his eyes on his hands before looking at your lips and then finally meeting your eyes. “They’ll have to take the backseat to another pretty little thing.”

“I’m going to get another drink,” you blurted out as you took a step back. Not your smoothest move, but you needed to get the hell out of there before you did something dumb like kiss him. “Stay here.”

You could hear the smirk on his face when Caliban said, “Whatever you want.”

Luckily, it only took a few frightened looks from the underclassmen to renew your confidence. The contacts were doing their job of unsettling people perfectly, and it made your night to see people who were checking out moments before start squirming. Until you reached Nick Scratch.

Despite the fact that you knew he was afraid of you, he didn’t squirm. He just looked at you with that smug face that made Sabrina fall for him. You hated him.

“And what are you dressed as tonight, kitty cat?” Nick asked, deliberately emphasizing the old nickname. It made your skin crawl.

You started answering when you looked up at him and pretended to be shocked. “Wait, Nick- was that … did your hairline just recede?” You pointed at his hairline and grabbed two cans of soda while he checked.

Nick didn’t try to follow you when you started walking away, but he did start talking loud enough for you to hear him over the music. “You know, your sister likes my hair just fine. She even-”

You turned around and gave him your harshest glare as you stomped closer. “Stay away from my sister.”

“Woah-” Nick held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll stay away from your sister,” he promised. He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “But I can’t guarantee she’ll stay away from me.”

He bumped your shoulder as he walked past you, and you would’ve thrown something at him if he didn’t get swallowed up by the crowd of people racing towards a fight in the other room. Instead, you opted for cursing Nick out with every profanity you could think of as you slammed the sodas down and started looking for something a little stronger.

An over-eager junior was offering you something to drink from his tray of assorted bad alcohol when you saw Caliban again. He was still annoyingly attractive, but he was very clearly pissed that you'd ditched him. Oh well.

“What is this?” he asked as you downed one of the drinks. It tasted disgusting but you refused to pull a face in front of him. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.”

“Maybe you should go look for someone who actually likes you,” you said without looking at him as you downed another drink and the junior cheered you on. You grabbed another drink, despite Caliban’s protests, and disappeared into the masses.

---

Of all the ways Caliban saw this night going, you ditching him for a bottle of cheap tequila and Harvey looking like someone kicked his puppy hadn’t been his most likely pick. Apparently, Sabrina had blown him off for Nicholas, but Caliban wasn’t listening to Harvey's tragic story so much as he was trying to track you down. He left him with a very surprised vampire named Theo and focused his attention on finding you.

“Hey, James Dean!” Nicholas yelled as he slapped Caliban on the back with unrequited fondness. If he had any awareness at all, it wasn't picking up on the glare Caliban gave him. “How did you get her to do it?”

“Do what?” Caliban asked, promising himself that he could punch Nicholas in the mouth after he made sure you weren’t throwing up in the bushes.

“Act like a human.” Caliban would have to table that promise because Nick was going to- “Oh, yeah!”

The music started blaring from the dining room and Nicholas took off to see some girl dancing on the table. Only, that just wasn’t some girl. That was you, doing a very non-PTA approved cheer for the people around you.

Caliban rushed to get to you, but all you did was grab the drawstrings on Caliban’s shirt and run one of them across your lips before standing back up and continuing your dance, ignoring his repeated requests to come down. The only time you looked at him was when you stepped too far back and fell off the table, hitting your head on the chandelier as you went down.

Caliban caught you and looked at him with the saddest look in your eyes he’d ever seen. You were so uncharacteristically vulnerable after who knows how much alcohol and a head injury. “You know, you’ve got a bit of gold in your eyes, Sparky,” you said softly, lifting your hand to the side of his face.

“Hey, what about our show?” Nick hollered from the safety of his pack with Billy and the other idiots. They made a few more comments as Caliban carried you out to the garden to get fresh air.

You kept trying to push him away, but as soon as Caliban set you down on the low brick wall, your hands tightened around his shirt. “Don’t go. I just need to lie down somewhere.”

“If you lie down now, you’ll fall asleep,” Caliban said, prying your fingers off his shirt one at a time as you argued that sleep was good. “Not if you have a concussion, princess. Can you-”

“Hey, we need to talk,” Harvey interrupted. He was surprised when you latched onto his sleeve and let him know that his hat was askew.

“I’m a little busy right now, Harvey,” Caliban said through gritted teeth as he untangled you from Harvey. You didn't want to let go, and you were just as stubborn when you were smashed as when you were sober.

“I see that but can you give me like one second?” Harvey asked.

“Aww, go talk to him!” you hiccuped. “I’m fine. I’ve got these hydrated-" You frowned. "These hurgerated-”

“Hydrangeas?” Harvey asked, still confused.

“Hydrangeas!” You beamed at him, which looked slightly terrifying with your smudged makeup and bloody face. “Thank you! I’ve got these hiiigh-drangeas to keep me company.”

Reluctantly, Caliban sighed and walked a few feet away with Harvey. He was still making sure that you were upright when Harvey started babbling.

“It’s off. The deal’s off, okay?” Harvey finished. “Sabrina never liked me. She liked Nick this whole time but I thought that, you know, after all this she’d give me a shot but she didn’t and-”

Caliban cut Harvey off before his head exploded and you fell over. “Harvey, do you like her?”

“Yeah…” Harvey said, sounding confused.

“And is she worth all this trouble?”

“Well, I thought she was. I mean, of course, she is. But you know-”

“Either she is, or she isn’t.” Caliban put a hand on Harvey’s shoulder and Harvey somehow looked even more confused by the touch. “First of all, Nicholas is not half the man that you are. He's an asshole. And secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.” He put his other hand on Harvey and shook him slightly as he said, “So go for it.”

Before Harvey could respond, Caliban saw you falling into the hydrangeas in his peripheral vision and dashed to save you from another head injury.

You laughed as he held onto you and twirled the strings of his shirt around your finger before getting very quiet. The same vulnerability shone through as you looked at him. “Could you take me where the music isn't too loud?”

“Of course.”

Caliban helped you to your feet and almost carried you through the crowd of people to get out to the front, shooting Harvey a not so subtle glance to make sure he made up his mind. He helped you the neighborhood playground across the street while you mumbled about how opprobrious it was to have to be carried out of some high school party.

“Opprobrious,” Caliban repeated, shaking his head. “Leave it to you to use big words when you’re smashed.”

“If I were smashed, could I do this?” you asked, promptly untangling yourself and falling down into the grass a second after you tried to show off. “Ow,” you said in disbelief.

Caliban bent over to help you up and you pushed him off with one hand and pulled him closer with the other. As a result, Caliban came crashing to the ground. He did his best not to crush you as he landed, which you found extremely funny.

Your mouth was tilted up to the sky as you laughed. The street lamps lit up your smile and Caliban couldn’t help but notice how pretty it made you look. You caught him looking at you and fell quiet again. You turned to look back at him, not saying anything at first.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you asked softly, tucking one hand under your head and - tentatively, gingerly - reaching out with your other.

Caliban looked down at your outstretched hand as you started playing with his shirt again. He found himself wishing you reached out for him and not his shirt. “Because you have a drunken concussion and someone needs to look after you.”

“Why does it have to be you?” you asked, frowning at the knot you'd created. “It’s not like you care if I never wake up.”

“Of course, I do,” Caliban said, leaning closer like he was going to tell you a secret. “If you didn’t wake up, I’d have to start talking to girls who actually like me.”

You scoffed and threw his shirt back at Caliban. “Like you could find one,” you said as you rolled to your feet.

“See, who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” Caliban asked as he followed you to the swing set. He wrapped his hands around each of the chains of your swing as he leaned down to speak to you. “Why would I want someone else’s affection when I have your prejudice?”

“Just let me breathe for a second and then I’m gonna say something so mean that you-” You frowned and shook your head, looking down at the ground. “I just need a minute, alright?”

“Alright.”

Caliban took a step back and let himself think for a moment. As rocky as this night had been, he thought it was going fairly well until he found you three drinks in with a junior. He didn’t have time to dwell on why you ditched him, though, because you were falling backward and he had to dive forward to catch you.

You started laughing as you righted yourself and Caliban swore. He sat in the swing next to you and took a deep breath when he was sure you weren’t going to fall over again. “So what did Nicholas say to drive you to drink?” he asked, nudging you with the toe of his shoe.

You rolled your eyes. “Nick just has to open his mouth to make me want to drink,” you mumbled.

“But usually you resort to a witty comeback and not tequila,” Caliban said as quietly snarky as he could. “What made this different?”

“I just … I hate him,” you admitted. “And my sister …”

“Your sister?” Caliban asked, turning back to face you. You’d already started leaning on your chain with your eyes closed. Not only were your eyes closed, but you were seconds away from falling on your face. “Oh, shit. No, no, no, I need you to wake up. Hey, look at me. You need to wake up.”

“Mm hey,” you said quietly, looking up at him and smiling. “You know, your eyes-”

You cut yourself off by vomiting on the grass just in front of his shoes. Caliban pulled a face and tried not to sound too disgusted as he said, “Have a bit of gold in them?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

---

Sabrina stood with Prudence while the party died down. She hadn’t seen you since your table dancing incident but according to a quick text from your phone, Caliban made sure you got some air and took you home. With you gone and her mad at Nick for how he acted with you, that left her without a ride.

“Hey, a few of us are going to Jarrett’s,” Nick said. He put one arm around Sabrina and the other around Prudence. “You ready to go?”

“Oh, thanks, but I have to be home in twenty minutes or my aunts will have my head,” Sabrina lied.

“Well, I don’t have a curfew or overprotective family,” Prue said slyly. Her smile shifted from Sabrina to Nick.

Nick shot a glance at Sabrina and she shrugged. “I can’t tonight,” she said.

“Damn …” Nick sighed and looked over at Prudence. “Well, do you wanna go?”

“I’d love to,” Prudence said, sliding her hand into Nick’s and leading him away. Sabrina would have argued if she cared about him or thought it would make a difference. When Prudence wanted something, she got it.

The only thing Sabrina did care about was how she was going to get home. Her options were slowly dwindling and her aunts would ground her for life if they saw the kind of party she was at.

“Having fun tonight?” Harvey asked as he walked past her, still glum from earlier.

“Yeah, tons,” Sabrina said with a sigh. Harvey kept walking so she rushed to keep up with him. “Hey, Harvey, I know … I know I don’t deserve it but do you think you could give me a ride home?”

Harvey let out a breath and turned to face her. Sabrina braced herself for what he’d say, for the moment that gentle, sweet Harvey would turn out to be no better than Nick. That moment didn’t happen.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, my truck’s parked down the street.”

Sabrina didn’t know what to say as they walked to the truck, so she just didn’t say anything. Her hand brushed Harvey’s a few times and it broke her heart when he yanked his hand away. She deserved it, though; she broke his heart first.

They didn’t speak as Harvey drove, and it took them a few seconds once the engine was off to say something.

“You never really wanted to go out with me, did you?” Harvey asked, looking at the steering wheel instead of her. “It was always Nick, wasn’t it?”

“It used to be Nick,” Sabrina admitted. “But he’s not very nice to me anymore. He just … I don't know.” She looked out the windshield and shrugged. “And you drove me home after I blew you off. I don’t deserve how nice you are to me.”

“No, you don’t,” Harvey said. He turned to face Sabrina and she knew that this was the moment. “Just because you’re beautiful and smart doesn’t mean that you can treat people like they don’t matter. I- I really liked you, you know? Even when people said you were selfish. Or that you were using me.”

Sabrina sucked it up and turned to look at him. It didn’t surprise her that people said those things, and it didn't surprise her that Harvey defended her. He was the kind of guy who did that for people he cared about, not that he'd be doing it for her again any time soon. “I’m sorry.”

Harvey was quiet. His jaw tightened for a moment and then he looked away. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like you liked me much, to begin with.”

“I do like you, Harvey,” Sabrina said. She resisted the urge to reach out to him. “I like you a lot. That’s the problem.”

“Oh,” Harvey said quietly, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

Sabrina laughed and leaned over before she could talk herself out of it again. She cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss, which he returned after a second of hesitation. It was sweet, clumsy, and over too soon.

“Don’t apologize,” Sabrina whispered when she pulled away. She gave him another smile and gathered her things. “Thanks for the ride.”

---

“Here we are,” Caliban said as he parked the car in front of the old house. “Home sweet home.”

You pulled a face at the mortuary sign and turned away from the window. “Ugh, don’t you just want to keep driving?” you said. “Maybe to the ER? I’ve heard alcohol poisoning is a real bitch.”

“That it is but considering you puked your stomach contents all over my shoes, I think you’re safe,” Caliban said with a smile. Though he knew he’d take you wherever you wanted if he knew it wasn’t just the residual alcohol in your system talking. You just shrugged without saying anything. “Why don’t you want to go inside?”

“My family is … complicated,” you said. You started picking at the sleeves of your cheerleader outfit instead of looking at him. “My parents died when I was little and my aunts took us all in. They’re great, really, they just want me to be someone I’m not.”

“Like who?” Caliban asked.

You sat straighter in your seat and put on a dashing smile before imitating your sister. “I’m Sabrina. I get good grades and don’t punch people even when they deserve it.” If the voice was accurate, it had nothing on the imitation laugh. It was downright creepy with all your smudged demonic makeup, but then you deflated into your seat and started mumbling profanities and Caliban knew you were back to yourself.

“Well, no offense to your sister, but I think the whole people-pleasing act is overrated,” Caliban said. “There are better things to do with your time.”

“You really think so?” you asked quietly. When Caliban looked over at you, all your snark had faded away to your familiar drunken vulnerability. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I really think so,” Caliban said. “Why do you think I like you so much?”

“You like me?” you asked, seemingly caught off-guard.

“I wouldn’t have let you throw up on me if I didn’t.”

Caliban wasn’t sure what he expected you to do, but leaning in to kiss him wasn’t even on the top ten most likely options. It made his heart race, but he knew it wasn’t right. As much as he wanted to kiss you, he didn’t want to kiss you like this.

“Maybe we should do this another time,” Caliban said, turning to face the steering wheel before you could kiss him.

You frowned at him, sinking slowly into your seat. You looked at him but you were strangely quiet as you did. Then, with speed Caliban didn’t know you had in this state, you got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

Not quite the way Caliban saw this night ending.

Part 5

Tagged: @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e @miss--moose @marrypuffsstuff @harryscarolinaa @igorsbby @foji2000 @hxlalokidottir @artaxerxesthegreat @thxmagic @strawberriesandknives @xealia @hotmessindisguise @acciomaximoff @reheated-coffee @shelby-x @perseny-blog @millie-753 @luneerius @shizzybarnaclee @lettherebelovex @throughparisallthroughrome @ietss @thebookwormlife @mechanicalanimalz @mariamermaid @nqbmf @caliban-is-my-girl @shephard17895 @music-movies @clockworks-world-to-fandoms @luquincy @marina468 @olivia-west-allen @drrramaaaqweeen @roxytheimmortal

#caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #ten things #caos #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

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vonnyphant · 4 years

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To Blog or Not to Blog?

“You should start a diary and write about your experiences. It may help people going through the same thing.”

Honestly? If there’s one thing I discovered about this diagnosis, it’s that it makes me pretty damn selfish. I don’t want to help other people (not just yet, anyway). But putting some thoughts down about this time in my life may be of some sort of therapeutic value, and I do want to help myself.

(Maybe for once, saving the world can wait. Do you remember how, soon after the pandemic hit, people stopped avoiding plastic and single-use items? When your health is at risk, suddenly rainforests and polar bears and the planet are deprioritised- not that anyone will admit to this. But this is my diary and I can say what I want!* Writing for myself it is.)

Having established my less-than-Mother-Theresa-like reasons for this blog, my conscience cleared, it’s time to start. This is where the Lifetime movie shows me, in a half daze, mellowed out on drugs while they sew a mediport into my chest to start administering chemicals. A fast lane to my bloodstream. A docking station. The soundtrack? Hopefully ‘Across The Universe’ by the Beatles (possibly Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. If I get a say in it, I veto The Walrus) Time to pump this body full of drugs that’ll make my hair fall out.

Wait, what?

Voice Over: “Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering what I am doing here…” //record scratch - freeze frame - fast rewind to the psychedelic outtro of A Day In The Life//

Two months ago, during rub-a-dub-in-the-tub (less naughty than it sounds, was just washing myself), my mind inexplicably went to an episode of Beverly Hills 90210, s1 (aired in 1992- yes, I am that old), where Brenda Walsh has a breast cancer scare. I say inexplicably, because my usual shower fantasies do not include Ms Shannon Doherty - if I was going to pick a shower lady, I’d opt for Charlize Theron, Kiera Knightly or Winona Ryder in their short-hair phases, but that is neither here nor there.

Say what you want for 90s television- weird outfits and ponytails notwithstanding, in their AfterSchoolSpecial PSA way, they dedicated a whole scene to the girls giving themselves a breast exam, including how-to instructions**, and eventhough I was only 11 years old when I saw it, I remembered what to do, and for the last 30 years, every now and then I have randomly carried it out while wondering how I always preferred Brandon over Dylan and how my tastes have changed over time.

But this time - my hand actually found something.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down the same way I did after finding spots on my skin, lumps on my head and every time I sneezed since covid-19; by telling myself to fucking snap out of my hypochondria tendencies. One cannot go to the doctor every damn day after all. Breast tissue is pretty lumpy and I assumed it was just imaginary. I made an appointment to see a therapist, and put it out of my mind until a few weeks later, when one of the kids came crashing down on me (literally) and faceplanted in my boob (as they do).

Now this always hurts af, but it just hurt that little more that day, so that I grabbed the appendage in question and went “WHAT THE--!” And I felt it again- the lump, more defined than a few weeks before.

Cue a lot more freaking out than the first time, and after a sleepless night, imagining what my funeral would look like (as one does), I decided to go to the gynocologist the same day or risk never to sleep again.

After a long wait and an ultrasound, my doctor assured me that while there really was a mass, it had every indication of being benign. We should keep an eye on it. If I was worried, I could schedule a second screening, but would not likely get an appointment before April. I scheduled one and tried to focus on preparing our first lockdown Christmas.

But over the holidays, the lump started hurting, even when I wasn’t poking it or having a kid catapult themselves into my chest. I’d be Netflix and Chilling, and suddenly - ZAP - like someone stuck a hot needle into it. Repeatedly. My nipple would go numb or start tingling like a bodypart that fell asleep. It freaked me out, and in the new year, I realised I couldn’t wait until April - I had to get it checked out again or I may worry myself to death.

My gynocologist did another ultrasound and again, told me not to worry. I told her it was way too late for that as I had been worried for weeks, and I wanted the thing biopsied (they gave Brenda Walsh one too, after all! It’s the only way to be 100% sure). She referred me to the hospital. At the description of my symptoms, I could come directly, and the radiologist told me in no unclear terms: “I will not let you leave this room until we draw blood and take several biopsies.” Okay- not exactly what one wants to hear at that point, but at the same time, I figured knowing would be better than guessing by the shape of it.

Test results took a week. I went in, being prepared to be told (like Brenda) it was a harmless clump of random cells or a cyst we could have removed like a wart. Only it wasn’t. It was breast cancer, an aggressive, fast-growing kind, and had I waited until April, that could have had disastrous consequences.

While the doctor explained we now needed to determine the scope of the spread and take more tissue to determine what kind of chemo (if any) could be applied, all my 2020-PTSD brain could think was:

“.............of course”.

Didn’t hear much of what she said afterwards.

Another harrowing 4 days went by, with a CT screening with contrast solutions that gave me an intense stomach ache as well as a migraine, and finally, a fully rounded diagnosis and treatment advice could be made.

Thankfully, all my organs as well as lymphnodes were clear, so it appears to be a localised tumor. And here we are - to fight this thing with chemicals and then cut out whatever is left. Genetics testing to see about the likelihood of a recurrency (and a possible double mastectomy if so - ‘pulling an Angelina Jolie’, ‘not saving the tatas’, insert ‘Think About It meme’...can’t have breast cancer if you don’t have breasts! THINK ABOUT IT***).

Chances are good. I need to cling to that while I wait for this port and treatment to start. I have accepted the inevitable hair loss, have scheduled a ritual ‘crazy hair cutting party’ with my kids for this weekend (as I would rather shave it off in one go than clean up clumps and strands over the course of weeks and look like Gollum), and I have sewn several funny little hats for inside wear and ‘going out’ (though where will I be going in pandemic, idk).

I was going to end this post on a light and happy note - but I must admit my confidence just took a really big hit in real time, as I googled how to spell Shannon’s last name for this blog entry and found out that she was treated for breast cancer in 2015, initially succesfully, but it reappeared metastasized in 2020 (again: ‘of course...when else’) and she is now in stage IV. Fuck 2020.

What are the odds that the woman whose character made me discover my own breast cancer is now, in fact, dying of the same disease? This will surely haunt me for a long time to come.

More tomorrow? Or soon? It may take a while. Until then: outro to It’s Getting Better.

*also for the record I would like to state that I’ve sewn my own masks from upcycled pillowcases and continued using fruit- and vegetable nets to avoid plastic; maybe that makes up for me being utterly selfish at the moment. Karma +1?

** https://youtu.be/pkgYXITkrfw (the scene from BH 90210)

***cis men / trans women without breasts can also get breast cancer (even though it’s rare) so this meme doesn’t really hold up, but that’s the whole point of the meme ;)

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angelicmichael · 4 years

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Imminient Annihilation Sounds so Dope, Chapter Seven

Michael Langdon x reader

Summary: Reader confesses to Mallory that she met Michael and they go have a night out, execpt they run into a certain someone ;)

Words: 6.1k+

Warnings; Mentions of alcohol poisoning, and someone gets VERY drunk (not saying who cause I don’t wanna spoil it). For the sake of the fic pretend that all characters including the reader are of legal drinking age: please and thank you lol

A/N: Sorry for not updating this in so long 😶 I will be back to add a ‘read more’ line and add it to my master list in a couple days. Idk why all my chapters and fics are so fucking long I’m sorry 😂 this chapter was originally even longer but I cut it down believe it or not. I feel like the chapter is the ‘peak’ moment for the tension between Michael and Reader for sure. The tension and the dynamic between them is just so fun to write honestly haha. Reblog or like this if you enjoyed ♥️ also if u wanna be on the tag list let me know!! ALSOO this is readers POV and takes place about a day after the last chapter!

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

You felt tense. That was the best way to describe how you felt but it also wasn’t. You felt a constant swirling storm inside of you since you met Michael. That storm made you feel different flavors and elements of being anxious and angry but being tense was the most prominent emotion of them all.

You made the difficult choice to lay low about your new powers, but that only seemed the make the crazed whirlwind of emotions you felt even worse.

You knew you were making the best decision by not telling the coven, it would only breed more chaos and make everything more complicated if you did decide to come clean about your powers. You hated to admit it but lying to Cordelia was too fucking easy.

Telling little white lies to Cordelia was easy anyway, however, pretending that you only had two powers everyday was not so easy. You could feel your new powers growing and itching to be used. It was almost like you had all of this pent up energy inside of you but no outlet. It seemed to burn at your fingertips and the fact that you couldn’t be your true authentic self in front of your sisters was slowly killing you and sending you into some kind of depression. You weren’t sure what was worse, going insane or letting the depression slowly eat away at you.

However hiding your new powers from your best friend was what was really proving to be the most difficult of all. You were normally a open book with Mallory, she knew everything that there was to know about you.. execpt for this. She didn’t know that you were now supposed to be the next supreme, and she certainly didn’t know that your powers were so strong that you were even stronger than the actual antichrist himself. And it was killing you not to tell her, and it was showing.

You had been drawing back and becoming reserved around Mallory over the past couple days, and it would be naive to say she didn’t notice. You knew she noticed but you two were just avoiding the topic.

Today was starting out as another typical morning for you. You and Mallory both got up, got dressed and were prepping to go downstairs to have another boring, dull day. Even though you had been distancing yourself from her you still waited to walk downstairs with her, and make small talk atleast. You atleast owed her that much.

You watched Mallory come out of the bathroom that was connected to your room, and shut the door. You stood up and approached your bedroom door; getting ready to leave but you felt a small hand touch your shoulder instead and stop you.

“(y/n), wait”.

You turned around and met Mallory’s sad honey colored eyes. It wasn’t just her eyes that seemed sad though, you could even hear it her voice. Something was wrong.

“Can we talk”?

She asked and you immeaditly nodded as you two both sat down on her bed. You couldn’t help but remember how last time you two sat on her bed to talk it was to discuss how you found out Micheal was your soulmate.. it seemed like only bad news was revealed on this bed.

“Yeah of course”.

You replied and took a deep breath and continued to keep talking instead of letting her talk.

“But it’s not fair to you Mallory that you have to be the one to initiate this conversation.. I.. Ive been hiding something”.

You spoke softly as you bit your lip. You could feel a pit in your stomach start to form as you did not want to continue to have this conversation with her but you knew you had too. You really shouldn’t have been keeping this information from her for so long in the first place. You noticed Mallory started to sit up a bit straighter as her eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. Her mouth opened like she was about to start talking when you cut her off once again.

“I hurt Madison”.

Your words came out shakily, and you made sure to utter them out as a whisper so that none of your sisters could hear. The only thing you really became conscious of was your breathing and your heart beating in your chest. Everything else in the world seemed completely silent and irrelevant. It was as if the world had paused for a couple of seconds until Mallory chose to speak again.

“Madison? How? Why-“

She looked awfully confused as she spoke, and the words seemed to come out quickly. As if she thought the faster she spoke the faster you would give her an answer.

“I didn’t mean too but Micheal wasn’t there at all at first, it was Madison and it was my only option - she would’ve killed me”.

“So it was self defense”?

Mallory asked, the confused expression she wore ealier melted away and now was replaced with a much more stoic and cold look. However, it still held a touch of softness. She had to know deep down that you wouldn’t do something like this unless it was absolutely necessary.. right?

“Yes! I would never hurt her otherwise and you should know that! I wouldn’t hurt a fly”.

You replied and this was when Mallory gave you a small smile and rubbed your shoulder gently with her hand.

“I know (y/n) it’s just I don’t want you to get in trouble. Maybe we should tell Cordelia”?

Mallory offered as she drew her hand back from you.

“There’s no way I could tell Cordelia, Mallory. You know that this whole situation would just stress her out even more than she already is. I feel like she already thinks that I can’t pull the whole ‘seduce Michael’ scheme off. This would just add fuel to the fire, you know”?

You asked her, biting your lip in frustration.

“No, your right. I’m sorry, I just- this whole thing is so complicated. It would just be nice to have a easy solution to all of this”.

Mallory replied with a giggle and a small smile. She looked at you and looked at the floor as if she was deep in thought, and when you got a look in her eyes - you saw a glimmer of adventure and playfulness in her eyes. It was the same glimmer that was in her eyes when you first met her - it was what drew you to her initially. Mallory turned her head back up to look at you and this time she was grinning.

“So your telling me that your powers are stronger than Madison’s? Because you look unscathed”.

She continued and you took a deep breath.

“I- yeah. That’s another thing.. I think seeing Micheal for the first time set something off inside of me because I have these crazy powers, Mallory. I- I stopped Michael from hurting me. I dont know exactly how but I did. Each day my powers seem to be growing and I don’t want to burden anyone else with this information so.. I just feel helpless”.

You ranted. You felt incredibly guilty as you spoke, you knew you were implying that you would be the next supreme but that’s not what you wanted. You didn’t want to be supreme. You didn’t want to take that away from Mallory, your best friend.

“I know your meant to be the next supreme and I would never want to take that away from you-“

You continued to talk but Mallory hugged you and before you realized it you stopped talking. You sat there on the bed speechless. You looked at the patch of sunlight that was in the room since the light was turned off and the curtains were drawn. You supposed noticing this ray of sun was a sign - a sign that things would finally get better and that Mallory would drag you out of this weird funk you’ve found yourself in the past couple days. Then Mallory started to speak,

“Don’t ever think that your taking something away from me. I never really wanted to be supreme anyway I mean, that’s a lot of responsibility and.. I don’t know (y/n) but maybe your not supreme. If your powers are really growing at the rate you said they were then wouldn’t Cordelia’s powers be dying out? And Cordelia’s powers haven’t been affected that I’ve noticed”.

By the time she was finished talking, Mallory stopped hugging you and was looking at you dead in the eyes. The patch of sunlight seemed to hit her and highlighted her dark brown eyes, making them look golden and honey brown. They were beautiful. She was beautiful.

But now was not the time to ogle at Mallory’s beauty; you knew she had a point. Cordelia was constantly teaching and preforming her powers, it would be obvious if her powers started to deplete.

“Yeah but what would that even mean? Would that mean I’m like some other entity like Micheal is? I mean, damn maybe I’m not even a witch at all”.

You were thinking outloud at this point. You crossed your arms gently as you started to get deep in thought. What the fuck would that even mean if you weren’t a witch? How many entities were there that even had ‘magical’ powers? And how would that even really make sense anyway? Your powers really only advanced so rapidly once you met Michael, before that you were just like any other witch. If you really were a entity or something, wouldn’t your powers manifested immeaditly? Plus, you think you would’ve noticed if you really were a demon or some shit.

“Well don’t jump to conclusions I mean, if you really want to know if your a witch you should talk to Cordelia. She would know. Taking the seven wonders wouldn’t be a horrible idea either”.

“Yeah.. maybe after this whole ordeal with Micheal is over though”.

It was nearly as if a lightbulb was turned on in Mallory, she suddenly lit up when you mentioned Micheals name and her mouth even dropped open slightly.

“I totally forgot about Micheal! What happened with Micheal when you met him? How did he not hurt you”?

She questioned and you licked your lips before you continued.

“Take a guess”.

You said with a smirk. It was as if she read your mind because she seemed to know immeaditly what you were talking about. She knew that you were implying that your powers were stronger than Michaels.

“No way! We need to tell Cordelia”!

Mallory’s face continued to light up but you simply shook your head.

“I cant, Mallory. I really can’t”.

You replied softly, trying to stifle a laugh. It made you happy to know that Mallory didn’t reject you or the idea that you might possibly be supreme. However the idea that you perhaps weren’t even fucking human at all overwhelmed you - to say the very least. For now, you were trying to ignore that little detail though.

“Well if your stronger than Micheal than there’s no reason to stay cooped up then, is there”?

“But the coven and Cordelia still need to think that nothing changed. They don’t even know that I met Micheal-“

“We’re going out tonight whether you like it or not. It’s a Friday, and no one will notice if we sneak out.. we deserve a nice night out stress free”.

She replied and you couldn’t help but agree to it. She had a point, it felt purely stupid now to hide away in Robichaux’s when you really had nothing to fear.. even if Micheal did show up, you were stronger than him.. when it came to him hurting you though. Who knows if you would be able to stop his powers if he tried to hurt someone else, like god forbid, Mallory. The odds of Micheal actually showing up tonight in Lousiana were slim to none though. Most likely the fucker was cooped up in his crazy expensive penthouse back in L.A.

But after all you deserved to have a nice night out. You deserved this.

It wasn’t hard to find a house party to go to on a Friday night in Lousiana.. it was nearly laughable at how easy it truly was. It was getting close to midnight and you and Mallory had just arrived, parking the black SUV about a block away from the party you two planned on ‘crashing’.

The house was huge, and college students decorated the yard and flooded the house - making the once spacious area seem cramped and tiny as you walked through the yard and then into the house with Mallory. Mallory led the way as she held your hand as to not get lost as you two had to push through people to find drinks.

It was difficult to be completely certain but with the limited decor you noticed on the walls, the house seemed to be a frat house which explained why all the boys looked like jocks and why all the females seemed to be dressed in minimal clothing. You and Mallory both sported black dresses, hers was long and flowy and fell to about her knees while your dress hugged your body a lot more and ended mid thigh.

You two looked like you belonged here, like you were a part of the party scene but you really weren’t. This was the first time you and Mallory had ever been to be a place like this... from what you heard - this seemed to be more of Madison’s scene. You know she frequently visited frat houses - probably even this one atleast once.

Thinking about Madison put a bad taste in your mouth - it made you incredibly sad. The image of how Madison’s body looked when you threw her against the wall played in your mind but you were quickly brought out of your thoughts when Mallory handed you a cup. You took a sniff of it and sure enough, whatever the substance was DEFINITELY had alcohol in it. You tried not to think to hard about what the substance exactly was before you completly chugged it. Mallory merely gawked at you.

“Your gonna get sick if you keep drinking that fast”!

Mallory yelled at you, you could barely hear her through the blasting music and all of the people talking. You simply giggled at her before replying.

“I’ll be right back”!

You yelled as you turned around, on a mission to find where the rest of the booze was. Of course you didn’t see where Mallory got your booze from in the first place, and it was fucking impossible to see where the kitchen was when you were literally shoulder to shoulder with strangers from how packed this house was.

You swear you could already feel the effects of the alcohol because you knew normally you would be gagging at the smell the house reeked of. It could be best described as pure sweat and maybe unwashed underwear?

You were pleasantly surprised to find that when you next opened your mouth, it was words that came out and not vomit. You didn’t even look to see who was next to you when you spoke; there were so many people in this god damn house - someone was bound to hear you. You had wandered off from Mallory as well, you couldn’t see her anymore but you really weren’t worried at the moment.

“Excuse me, do you know where there keeping the alcohol”?

You tapped the person who was next to you on the shoulder lightly.

The person had their back turned to you and as soon as you actually had time to look at them - you felt as if you had been stabbed square in the chest with fear.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The person you tapped wore a full black outfit with hands crossed behind their back, and their fingers were adorned with several expensive looking rings. Their hair was a curly, beautiful, golden blonde that seemed to rest around their head like a nest or halo of some sort. You just knew that all of these features seemed to hauntingly familiar to you. Too familiar.

Your mouth fell open as you tried to back up but you ended up stepping on someone’s foot, you were trapped. This time, if it really was him, you didn’t have the luxury of running away like you did on the previous meeting. You didn’t know if it was worse to be alone with him or to be stuck with him in a room full of people. Hopefully you were just over reacting and this was just a doppelgänger at best.

The person (who you were hoping wasn’t Micheal) finally sauntered around to face you, you couldn’t help but continue to gawk at them with your mouth wide open. You knew if you continued to keep your mouth open you would surely attract flies so you managed to close your mouth.

You realized this person was wearing a light black cape with two golden claspes on each side with a golden chain running between the two claspes. You couldn’t help but briefly think how expensive those claspes probably were - fuck. All it took was for you to look up and meet his icy blue eyes. Fuck, those eyes. Once you pulled yourself out of the trance his eyes seemed to put you in, you then realized who you were staring at... oh no.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck fuck!!

“I don’t, I was actually just looking for the drinks myself. Care to search with me”?

You stood there as he spoke, completly fucking baffled. You forgot you had even talked to him at all ealier, but he sure didn’t seem surprised to see you. Weird. It was almost as if he knew you were going to be here, but how was that even possible? He wore a smug smirk on his face while your thoughts started to race at one hundred miles per hour.

You tried to make it look less apparent that you were so shocked; it looked like he was getting off on the fact that you looked caught off guard. You didn’t know too much about him but you knew he had a thing for control and manipulation; and you weren’t about to let Langdon control you anymore than he already had.

“Wait.. What? What the fuck are you even doing here”?

You asked and threw your hands up in the air in frustration. The sheer hatred and anger you held in your voice got the attention of a few people who stood close to you but they quickly lost interest.. thank god.

You went to this party with the intention of finally letting go of fear and being able to be free and yet you ran into the person that you were dreading would be there. You felt incredibly angry that he took this night away from you, a night where you could just let go and have fun but now that was fucking gone.

It was odd how he wasn’t scared to confront you when he knew you were stronger than he is. It’s as if he got off on having control over you and your life, and even how you felt.. And you were so fucking over it. It was so fucking sick.

“I could easily ask you the same, couldn’t I”?

Micheal responded. Instead of yelling to talk to you, you noticed that he kept moving in closer and closer to talk to you and you were still trapped. You could feel your palms starting to itch with inticipation, waiting for the right moment to use your powers to attack - if it came to that but that was the absolute last resort. You were surrounded by way too many people to just use your powers freely like in the abandoned house you two had met in previously.

“You don’t own me Micheal. I’m sick of feeling like you control me, I feel like I’m not even in charge of my own emotions or actions anymore. And now when I finally try to have a night to forget about you, you fucking show up. So let me ask you again, what are you fucking doing here”?

You hissed. You kept your voice a little low, still yelling but not quite at the volume that would catch other people’s attention. You made sure to look right into Micheals eyes as you spoke, you wanted to show him you weren’t scared. There was no reason to cower from him anymore.

Micheal smirked as he glanced over his shoulder, as if he was making sure no one was picking up on your conversation. There was so many fucking people here, it was really hard to tell if any of them were purposely listening in or not. And even if they were listening, it probably just sounded like you two were exes that happened to run into eachother at a party.

“I’m here for the same reason you are. To forget about all of the bullshit that’s happened within this past week. So, C’Mon lets go take shots”.

Micheal said and actually grabbed your hand. Your mouth dropped once again as soon as he touched you, your not sure if it was from pure surprise or disgust.. maybe both? Your first instinct was to take back your hand and you tried to - you really did but the fucker seemed to have cat like reflexes and he caught your hand before you could yank it away too far.

You thought the first time you would touch your soulmate you feel sparks or fireworks and maybe even butterflies but when Micheal touched you, and was even leading you through the crowd now - you felt nothing of the sort.

You felt regret, nausea, and if anything it felt like you had almost been electrocuted when he touched you. And not in a good way.

He was moving through the crowd pretty damn fast, and he wasn’t really holding your hand - more so grabbing onto your wrist as if you were a kid who was about to be punished. You tried to slide your wrist out of his grip but he wouldn’t fucking let go, and it was really starting to hurt. You stumbled behind him and he continued lugging you through the crowd and to the kitchen; where there was definetly still a crowd but it was more dispersed and there was actually room to breathe. It was a little bit quieter here too, the music a little bit distant and the crowd was more sparse. It wasn’t nessacary to scream here to talk but you chose to anyway for your next sentence because you wanted to make sure he fucking heard you.

“Micheal let go”!

You yelled, you still couldn’t work your wrist free so you took your other hand to pry Micheals hand free off of you.

You noticed people were staring at you two - you didn’t look to see but you could feel their eyes on you. Micheal must’ve sensed that you two were getting attention because he finally let go of your fucking wrist. Ow. He might’ve let go because you were also digging your nails into his skin as well.

You rubbed your wrist which was now red as you frowned deeply. Even though your wrist was really just irritated and not actually injured; you still chose to put your other hand over your wrist and heal it. It’s not like anyone would notice, you doubted even Michael noticed what you were doing. However, What you really wanted to do was to continue to yell at Micheal but you knew you couldn’t do that now, espically since you just got people to stop staring. You cleared your throat.

“What the hell is this all about Micheal? Are you out of your mind”?

You hissed, glaring daggers at him as you spoke. You hurt Madison, why was he not furious with you? It made no fucking sense. And he wanted to take shots with you?? What??

You don’t know what exactly you were so mad about honestly, because this point it was fucking everything. You don’t know if it was the fact that he was trying to pretend everything was okay when it obviously fucking wasn’t, or the fact he was expecting you to just forget all of the bad blood that was between you too? Who knew at this point.

You waited for him to talk but instead he moved toward the counter to pour shots, you assumed since he was so hellbent on you two drinking together. You wouldn’t be surprised if he poisoned your drink honestly but something about Michael today seemed desperate, and sad. He really seemed like he was trying to get on your good side; maybe you were just reading him wrong but you felt like you could trust him tonight.

Michael didn’t even bother to turn around to reply to you; he kept his focus on the alcohol and not even making eye contact as he spoke.

“I told you, I’m done fighting”.

He said. He nearly slammed the alcohol bottle down onto the counter and he turned to look at you as he kept speaking. He first handed you your shot which happened to be clear in a tiny red plastic cup. You stared at the fluid in the cup suspiciously, and then you looked back up at Michael. You figured you would watch him drink his shot first before you had yours.

“The more I try to distance myself from you, the more I just end up getting fucking nowhere so I’m done trying to run away from you. Whenever I try to push you away someone ends up getting hurt, so It’s not worth it.. bottoms up”.

Micheal took his shot and downed it within seconds and slammed it back down on the counter. You noticed he was already reaching for the bottle to fill up his glass again. You continued to keep holding onto your cup absentmindedly as you watched Michael pour himself another glass. You couldn’t help but to notice how whenever he spoke tonight there seemed to be a desperation in his voice, it was as if he had given up. It almost made you feel bad for him.. almost.

You had to remind yourself who he was, and what his ultimate goals were. The only reason he was sad and angsty tonight was because he couldn’t manipulate you or use his powers against you, it wasn’t because he cared or felt any kind of empathy for you. It stung and hurt for you to acknowledge that but you knew you couldn’t let his charm cloud your judgement.

You already had a drink ealier but you figured this tiny shot wouldn’t hurt, being tipsy around Micheal couldn’t be TOO risky.. After all Michael seemed to be pretty cozy with drinking around you. You downed your shot and pull your small plastic cup back onto the table; assuming Micheal would fill it for you since he was still holding the bottle of alcohol.

You were about to speak but instead you heard someone else speak up and talk to Micheal instead.

“Why are you even taking shots? You might as well just drink the whole bottle at this point”.

It was an all too familiar voice, you whipped your head around and you saw Mallory. You exhaled and grinned, you were never happier to see another human being in your fucking life.

It’s not like you were alone with Micheal, you were surrounded by people but you felt alone. Micheal could do whatever he wanted to you here because you couldn’t use your powers. You felt isolated and alone but now with Mallory here? You were getting the fuck out. Nothing could stop you now.

You were surprised Mallory made such a snide remark to the damn antichrist of all people.. I mean she knew who he was.. right?

Micheal at first smirked, and then he full on laughed - it was like he was trying to hold it in at first. He was defintly feeling the alcohol you could only assume. You’d never seen him laugh before... you couldn’t decipher whether it was a true laugh or a sarcastic one from being challenged.

“Your right. I guess I will”.

Micheal announced, he placed his shot glass on the table and even slid it across. Your not sure if it slid naturally or if he used a bit of his magic - a quick glance around told you that no one seemed to notice or care execpt you.

He started to chug the bottle which happened to be a pretty big fucking bottle of Absolute Vodka. You watched his throat as his Adam’s apple continued to bob as he swallowed.. and swallowed and swallowed. You and Mallory’s mouth both dropped open, you didn’t know what the fuck to do. You both looked at eachother in shock as you watched the amount of liquid in the bottle start to grow smaller and smaller.

He was defintly going to get sick at this rate, and be drunk off his fucking ass. Yes, you hated him and wanted him dead but not like this. Choking on his own vomit and dying drunk and alone would be a fucking awful death; even for the antichrist. And lucky for him you actually gave a shit about people and their feelings.

You knew Cordelia’s ideal end game would be to have Micheal dead as soon as possible but if you could help it Micheal wasn’t going to die tonight. You would rather it be a quick and painless death if he had to die; dying by being drunk would not quick and painless. And on the other hand, Mallory didn’t even know this was Micheal yet. You assumed she probably thought this was just some guy you stumbled across - which wasn’t a totally wrong assumption. You brought your attention back to the man in front of you; who was still fucking drinking, the bottle was nearly empty.

“Hey! Stop”!

You hissed at Micheal. You gripped the end of the bottle and yanked it away from him - he had a damn good grip didn’t he?

The bottle was at least three quarters empty, fuck. You noticed Mallory gave you a weird look when you yelled at Micheal but you only did so cause you didn’t want to randomly name drop him, you figured they could have a (semi) proper introduction.

You still held onto the bottle as you shifted glances between Mallory and Micheal. You pointed at each of them with the bottle you held as you said their names.

“Mallory, this is Micheal. Micheal, this is Mallory”.

Mallory, who was staring at you before, instantly snapped her head toward Michael as her eyes grew wide. It was as if she was trying to convince herself that what you had just said wasn’t true. She looked completly panicked, in fact you could nearly feel the anxiety radiating off of her like how you would feel the heat rising off of a hot stove.

“This is Micheal”?!

Mallory asked in a panicked whisper. You merely nodded quickly. Micheal on the other hand looked purely amused, and swayed in place dangerously. If he wasn’t drunk before, he definitely was now. you had no doubt in your mind that he was reading and taking in all her thoughts right now, if he wasn’t too drunk to use his powers anyway. You weren’t drunk, maybe just a little tipsy at most but you could still feel the strength of your powers swirling inside you. Being intoxicated definitely had no effect on the strength of your powers - that was good to know. Michaels blue eyes flickered from watching Mallory to meeting your gaze.

You knew no one else execpt maybe Mallory was staring at you but you felt under the spotlight under Micheals gaze, almost like how a bug would feel right before being squashed. You started to sweat and shift uncomfterably in place. You felt even more uncomfterable as he spoke.

“Is this your new normal now? Do you always keep a posey of witches around you wherever you go? How about you just introduce me to rest”.

Micheal mused, you nearly screeched when he said the word ‘witches’ outloud. Even though he looked obviously drunk, his words came out smoother than silk - not stumbling on his words once. You found it odd Michael didn’t even bother addressing Mallory, not even respecting her enough to look her in the eyes. You assumed he knew she was a witch from reading her thoughts, or maybe he could just sense it. This seemed to piss you off any more of that was even possible. He could at least pretend to be civil.

“Micheal, What is your problem? Im not scared of you”.

You snarled, you stepped closer to him, just a foot away from his face as you stared him in the eyes. Even though you felt insanely nervous doing this, you knew Micheal couldn’t hurt you. You just needed to show him that you were in control for once. Not him.

You felt Mallory’s soft hand on your bicep, very gently pulling your arm back. You knew she was scared that you or Michael would start fighting.

“(y/n), we need to go”.

You heard her say. Micheal still had a smug smile on his lips and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it clean off.

You backed off though, you took a couple steps back and turned to Mallory; your back now to Michael. As you spoke, you felt Micheal tug on the bottom of the bottle you still held - trying to take it back - but you gently tugged it back. He was already drunk out of his mind, no fucking way he was having more.

“I can’t leave him like this, he’s going to get himself killed”.

You explained to Mallory, frowning. It’s not like you wanted to spend tonight babysitting Micheal but you couldn’t trust him to be by himself.. even if he was acting like a asshole and purposefully trying to piss you off. You could tell Mallory was about to protest by the look on her face but you spoke instead.

“Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine. Go home, I’m gonna stay with him”.

“There’s no way I’m going to let you do that, what if he hurts you”?!

“I’m not worried, I’m stronger than him. Plus he’s drunk, the only one he’s in danger of hurting right now is himself”.

You said with a giggle. Mallory quickly took a couple steps toward you and bear hugged you. You hugged her back and you could barely make out the words,

“Be careful. I’m gonna head back”.

You gave Mallory a somber smile as you watched her melt back into the sea of people as she left the kitchen. You turned your attention back to the drunk bafoon you had the pleasure of babysitting tonight.

You caught him dancing embarrassingly bad and trying to lip sync to whatever hip hop song was playing.. you could only laugh as you walked over to him.

After pick pocketing his phone from his back pocket of his jeans, you quickly got you two a Uber to wherever the hell Michael was staying this time.

You could only hope it was another nice penthouse like how his one in L.A. was.

While holding his phone; you didn’t mean to snoop or go through anything execpt the Uber app (which you downloaded) but.. a message notification popped up.

A quick glance at Michael told you that he wasn’t paying attention, the dumbass was too drunk to even notice you took his phone in the first place.

You looked over back at his phone and first noticed the message was from Madison, and then you noticed what the message even was.. a photo. It looked to be a photo of.. oh my god.

Was that Madison? Was that a fucking nude? Your mouth opened and your shut his screen off, you immeaditly handed his phone back over to him which he reluctantly took with a confused puppy look.

By how Michael was talking ealier you thought that maybe he wanted to make mends but if he still had this kind of relationship with Madison, what did it even mean? What did any of this mean? You saw first hand though how in love he was with her. He wasn’t just going to break up with her, you should’ve known that.

You shook your head, atleast you knew you had a lot to think about tonight.

Taglist: @mindlesschicca @mina672 @guiltyfiend @michaellangdonstanaccount @9layerdevilsfoodcake

#lemme know how trash this chapter was lol #i feel like the writing in the beginning and end is good but in the middle its kinda meh?#writing drunk michael is SO fun #next chapter is pure drunk michael content #michael x reader #michael langdon x reader #imminient annihilation sounds so dope #my fic #ahs

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