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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

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Brave - CHAN

I honestly still can’t believe I’ve finished this? There was a time I didn’t think I’d get to writing this fully until 2021 lmao?? And now it’s the longest fic in the whispers of nature series I need to go lie down

Dedicated to @wingkkun because screaming to Kai was like 95% of the reason I wrote this so fast <3 I also appreciate your fanart SO MUCH you are the entire reason tbz has such a presence in this fic!!

(reposted for... the second time without gifs AND links if it doesn’t work I'll cry)

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, nature spirit!au

Triggers: mild descriptions of violence (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 12.9k

Through tears, heartbreak, and a bit of love, Chan teaches you how to be brave once again.

SKZ Masterlist | Whispers of Nature

Red is simultaneously a color of love and a color of death. It is the color of passion, the color of a bride’s dress and the roses she carries down the aisle, but also the color of blood seeping slowly out of an open wound.

Right now, watching the wedding, surrounded by pale red flowers and silks and draperies, you feel as though you’re sitting at a funeral.

Your dress isn’t red, of course. No matter how much you wish you could leave the elegant hall and run away forever, you wouldn’t disrespect the bride in such a fashion. Not only is she the crown princess of your kingdom, she is also kind, a gentle, intelligent, bright woman who will be a brilliant queen when she is crowned tomorrow.

No wonder she is the love of your best friend’s life.

Something in you itches to just start screaming, to draw your sword and ruin the festivities. But you have no sword, only a sparkling ivory gown chosen by the kind princess herself. Today, as Jacob said, you are here as a friend. Not as a knight, not as a guard, not as a protector. A friend.

Somehow, that word feels so much worse than a cold “protector” would.

The dress is shimmering white, pale and beautiful, dotted with small crystals that shimmer like clouds and stars. It should make you feel lighter than air, light with happiness for your best friend and the woman he is marrying.

But the soft fabric feels cloying on your skin, heavy and strange and choking. It’s not that you can’t wear a dress – no, you’ve gone undercover many times at balls and galas as an unseen eye to protect Jacob, after he took his place as his father’s heir. It’s the situation.

This gown was made with good intentions. The heaviness in your heart has dragged those good intentions away, replacing them with dread, anger, guilt, and sadness.

At the altar, somewhere simultaneously very close and very far away, Jacob smiles at his bride-to-be, holding her soft hands between his rougher ones, reciting the vows that will bind them for the rest of their lives. You stifle the urge to place your hands over your ears.

Oh, spirits.

He says the word “love,” and you have to fight the visceral flinch that threatens to tear through your body.

His bride’s words are not quite as painful as his. You didn’t know her as well as you knew him (does she know his favorite color is burgundy, a red between scarlet and purple, the color of roses on the darkest night?), so her vows don’t sting as much. But there’s pain just the same – throbbing, subtle, never harsh but ever present.

The neckline of your dress feels too hot against your skin.

With sick dread, you listen to her voice taper away, see the trembling smile on her face as she stares into the face of the nobleman’s son. Jacob stares back with all the stars of the sky in his eyes.

(Did he never notice that you looked at him the same way?)

The priest takes their hands, guides them through the “I dos.” They are a radiant couple, pure red covering pale skin and silky hair.

Your heart, smothered in innocent white cloth, cries.

The priest’s next words ring through your head, rattling around your mind with a force to rival the club that gave you last year’s concussion. “You may kiss the bride,” you hear, muffled as though he is speaking through water.

The red-covered couple leans in close. One of Jacob’s hands cups her cheek almost reverently, while the other gently grasps her fingers. He looks at her like she hung the moon that illuminates the red roses of his night.

You’re a knight. You’re one of the Guard. You’re brave, courageous, able to face down any foe without hesitation, ready to fight to the death for your country and the people that you love.

As their lips touch, you close your eyes.

(You’re a coward.)

. . . . .

Your boots echo loudly on the hard marble floor. As you approach the throne, the large, wooden doors swing shut behind you with a soft thud. You sink to your knees, head bowed.

“Rise,” your queen says, her voice lilting and sweet and perfect in the shining chamber. Her king consort, your best friend (is he still your best friend? You aren’t quite sure), sits by her side.

Respectfully, you stand, careful to hide any vestiges of pain on your face. It’s been several months since the wedding, and you’ve gone back to the Crown’s Guard, assigned to protect the king and queen and train the guards for their duties.

The metal of your armor, though heavier than the ivory dress that still hangs in your closet, feels lighter on your body. It is protection, from swords and words and emotions.

“We received the request for your leave of absence,” the queen says. Her eyes convey the perfect amount of sadness and wisdom. “We would be sorry to see you go.”

Jacob looks at you beseechingly. He wants you to change your mind, to stay as his friend and protector. Your mind tells you that you should stay – after all, you know little of the other kingdoms, of the lands you have decided to travel and explore. Staying in the country you know best is the safest option, for you and for the royal family.

But your heart tells you to go, and on this matter, you will listen. You wouldn’t be able to live here long, watching Jacob and his queen rule happily together for the rest of your days. You wouldn’t be able to stomach seeing their children romp around, watching them dance together at balls, hearing the cries of the common folk singing praises of the royal couple.

“However, though it pains us to see such a trusted member of the Guard gone, it is your life, and we wish for you to live it to the fullest.” The queen smiles gently, holding out a folded letter. “This contains a copy of your signed request, as well as a letter of recommendation to any future employer you may seek.”

She’s kind. So kind. Your throat closes up as you take the letter, and you can barely choke out a “thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And do remember,” Jacob adds, “that you will always have a place in our guard, should you choose to return.”

“I thank you for your kindness, Your Majesties.” You bow low, touching your hand to your head in a gesture of utmost respect. “I, too, am sad to go. However, I do not doubt that I leave you in very capable hands.” A ghost of your usual smirk appears on your lips. “And I am sure, Your Majesty, that the King Consort has enough skill to keep the two of you safe.”

The queen, being the wonderful lovely woman she is, chuckles slightly. “If he was taught by you, I am sure he will.” She smiles. “We wish you the best, Protector of the Crown.”

. . .

Jacob catches up to you later, just as training has finished for the day. As you bid goodbye to the last recruits, he enters through the back door. You recognize his footsteps and put on a smile as you turn around.

“I could’ve been an attacker, you know,” he says, slipping into the easy banter you’ve established over a decade of friendship.

“You think I don’t recognize your footsteps by now?” The smile stays on your face more easily now, not because the pain is any less, but because you’ve had more practice.

A short silence hangs in the air. Sweat from your hair drips onto your leather tunic, while not a speck of dust lies on the rich silk that clothes your best friend. It reminds you of how far apart you are now.

“Is there really no way I can persuade you not to leave?” Jacob finally asks. His mouth is downturned in the slight pout you’ve grown to love, while his eyes hold the hope that made you fall.

Your mind screams yes. Your heart shouts no.

“Not this time, Cobi.” The nickname slips out before you can even think. “I’ve made my decision. It’s time for me to go.”

Jacob sighs. “Could you at least tell me why?”

You could. Speaking words isn’t as hard as other people think it is. It’s just that once you say them, you can never take them back.

Should you tell him?

His eyes are earnest. They’re honest. They want the brutal truth that you’ve grown accustomed to giving him over the years.

But the easiest lies are those that carry a hint of truth.

“I’ve never traveled.” The untruth falls easily from your lips. “Sure, I’ve gone to the countries where we were called to battle, and I was around when you had to go places for business, but I never got to really see anything. I want to explore, see the world before I’m too old.”

He doesn’t completely believe you. You know that for sure. You can see it in the downturned quirk of his lips, the suspicion as he blinks, but he knows better than to question it. He knows you would tell him everything if you could.

(This time, you can’t.)

“And here I was, thinking I could find you someone in court to repay you for all you’ve done for me.” Jacob smiles, completely unaware of how his words are stabbing holes into your heart. “Visit, all right? You’ll always be welcome here.”

You can almost hear your heart shattering, the pieces breaking off bit by bit as they fall to the floor. But you smile. “I’ll try,” you say, because here you won’t lie and say that you will. You won’t give your best friend, the love of your short life, a promise you may not be able to keep. “I’ll try.”

He hugs you, staining his silken shirt with the sweat of your tunic. You hesitate a moment, then fall into the embrace, taking a final comfort in the strength of his arms. It hurts, but it’s a memory. And even though you want to escape, you don’t want to forget Jacob. Ever.

“I’ll see you off when you go,” Jacob says when you break apart. “Tell me when, all right?”

Should you tell him? you wonder. Will him seeing you off do anything but hurt you more?

It won’t. But your pain means little in the face of Jacob’s, not when you’ve already hurt him so much with your desire to leave. You’ve injured him enough. “I will,” you promise.

Later that night, you wonder if you should have told him the true reason you were leaving. You wonder if you should have confessed everything, laid your heart bare and told him how much he truly means to you.

No, you eventually decide. You’re glad you didn’t. Better to not ruin his happiness with his wife or his remaining memories of you.

(Or maybe you were just too scared to tell him.)

. . .

You set out early in the morning, just as the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon. A part of you hoped that Jacob would be too tired to send you off, but you knew he could never do that. He cares for you.

Just not in the way you care for him.

He meets you at the stables, where you’re outfitting your favorite horse for the journey. In his loose tunic and trousers, it almost feels like the two of you are in your teens again, waking early to train for your positions in the Guard.

Those were the good days, you think. There wasn’t a worry in the world besides making it past the next test. Jacob’s father wasn’t dead, and he didn’t have to leave the Guard to take over his household’s duties. Meanwhile, you had no idea of your feelings. There was no heartbreak.

Better times.

Words aren’t necessary, not this morning. Jacob helps you saddle your horse and store your belongings in silence. If he notices you stiffening – just barely, mind you, you’re much better at hiding it now – when his fingers brush against yours, he doesn’t say anything.

When everything is finished, you linger for a moment more. It hits you that you’re really leaving the place and the people you’ve called home for so long with no intention of coming back.

Jacob’s eyes are sad but tinged with hope when he finally speaks. “You’ll always be welcome here, you know that, right?”

Your chest tightens. You know he’s asking, one more time, for you to stay.

Last chance to tell him, you think. Last chance to clear the air.

But you’re still a coward.

“I know,” you reply. “But I have to go, Jacob.”

He doesn’t ask you why, not this time.

You wrap him in a hug, one last hug before you set off forever. A piece of your heart shatters when he puts his arms around you, squeezing your body to his in that secure, soft hold that’s just so him. So caring, so sweet, so Jacob.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

“Safe travels, Y/N,” he says as you swing yourself onto the horse. His eyes sparkle. You know he’s holding back tears, too.

You give him one last smile, imprinting the memory of his voice saying your name in your mind. “Thank you, Jacob.”

When you ride away, you only look back once. Jacob smiles in the distance, hand raised in farewell. A small tear on his cheek barely glints in the morning sunlight.

You wave back.

. . . . .

Travel is liberating, truly – though you loved being a knight, there’s something so free about not wearing armor all the time, not having everyone recognize you as one of the Crown’s Guard. You don’t have to listen to anyone, you don’t have to watch out for constant danger. You don’t have to worry about anyone, now, but yourself.

There’s a little guilt in this pleasure, as well as some unease. It’s strange not to follow the strict routine you’ve held yourself to for over a decade, and it’s even weirder not to have someone you are charged to protect.

Well, you have to protect yourself, you guess. But that just… doesn’t come as naturally.

You eventually force yourself stop thinking about it. Thoughts like these weigh down your mind and take away from the joys of exploration, you firmly remind yourself. So you content yourself with roaming small towns and villages, meeting the people, picking up new skills with which to make a living.

(You never knew you were so bad at cooking, but at least you get better.)

The spirits treat you kindly for the first few years. The money from your work as a knight keeps you afloat as you learn to make a new living (you avoid using the queen’s letter – that would draw attention, and you don’t want any of that now), and when that runs out, you put your newfound abilities to use wherever people care to pay you for them.

It’s not a rich existence. Nothing is certain in this life, not the way it was when you lived in the palace barracks and your basic needs were always met. Here, you can rely only on yourself for food and water and shelter.

But it’s enough. Everywhere you go, you meet new people – rich and poor, rude and kind – and it only enhances your wonder at the world around you. Truly, you think, you lived in a bubble before. Now, even though you’re poorer, you can see everything your eyes glanced over as a knight.

(And if you sometimes miss Jacob’s warm smile, even if it never spoke of love as deep as yours, it doesn’t matter. You’ve made your decision. You won’t go back.)

It isn’t like you’re losing your fighting skills, either. You still have your sword, something you refuse to part with no matter how little money you have. There’s plenty of danger – bandits, thieves, rich boys who think they own the streets – and as such, plenty of opportunities for you to keep your senses sharp.

It’s after one of these fights that you meet the moon child, Changbin. He appears in the dark alley after you’ve knocked the last man out and takes concern with the bleeding wound on your upper arm.

“I’m fine,” you try to tell him as he firmly guides you away from the alley and towards a dark patch of trees. “I’m fine – hey, please let go of me.”

Hearing the urgency in your voice, he drops your arm. Your hand immediately goes to the sword at your hip. “Where are you taking me?” you snap, eyes flickering toward the trees.

He reddens. “I’m so stupid,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead. “I stay in the woods,” he explains. “If you’ll let me take you there, I can help you clean your wound.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You stay in the woods?” you repeat, incredulous. “Why –”

A breeze shifts his hair away from his ear, revealing a pure white flower dangling from a slim chain, glowing in the moonlight.

A moon child.

Oh.

In all of your years of traveling, you never thought you would truly meet a spirit.

“My Lord,” you say, dropping hastily to your knees. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier.”

“Please, none of that.” The moon child tugs you back up, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m just a moon child, none of the ‘my Lord’ stuff. My name is Changbin.”

Changbin doesn’t turn out to be a bandit masquerading as a moon child, thankfully, so you allow him to clean your wound in his makeshift hut in the middle of the trees. He introduces himself fully as a wanderer. Not a traveler, he clarifies, because travelers roam the world for pleasure. He does it out of necessity.

(The look of desolation in his eyes convinces you not to ask.)

He becomes your companion for months, nearly a year, walking with you from city to city until he decides to part ways in a small village near a forest. By that time, you’re sad to see him go – he’s been a wonderful friend – but like Jacob never asked the reason for your departure, you honor Changbin’s desire for silence.

He does leave you with one piece of advice, “traveler’s wisdom,” he calls it (you punch him in the arm when he says that in this high, haughty voice). “Villagers will tell you that these woods are dangerous,” he says once the two of you have calmed down. “They’ll say it’s haunted by spirits. And there is danger, it’s true, but there is also safety.”

You listen carefully.

“In the heart of the woods, there is a shrine. If ever you find yourself lost or in trouble, go into the forest at the break of dawn and find the shrine. The priestesses will take you in. If you can’t find the shrine by dark, though, leave as fast as you can.” The seriousness in Changbin’s eyes tells you he isn’t joking this time. “The forest isn’t nearly as dangerous during the day as it is during the night.”

So you travel for another year, keeping Changbin’s words in the back of your mind. As you continue, though, money begins to get scarce. These villagers are more suspicious than others you’ve met and aren’t as quick to hire a newcomer, especially one so poor but who bears such a sword (you’ll never sell it, not ever). Their suspicion is understandable, but it doesn’t make anything better for you.

You’re lost, now. You sold your horse and fine clothes a long time ago, leaving you with nothing from your old life but your memories and your sword. You’ve become a wanderer, not a traveler – forced to roam for no reason other than you must.

Several times, you mull over returning to the Guard. Jacob said he would welcome you back, and the thought of a full stomach and a place to sleep almost make up your mind on the worst nights.

But even though you want to see Jacob again, want to remember his warmth and kindness, a green snake twists its way around your heart, sliding up your throat every time you think of going back to him. He’ll never accept you, not truly, the snake hisses. He’ll never love you the way you love him.

And try as you might, you can’t stomach the thought of facing him again, not when you made the choice to leave.

So you remain a coward, a blind, stupid, stubborn coward. Instead of going to a place you know, a place where you would find care and acceptance, you throw your lot into Changbin’s advice.

You decide to find the shrine.

. . .

You’re on your last coins when you finally make it back to the village where you and Changbin parted ways. As dawn breaks, you take a breath, summoning your last strength, and head between the trees.

It’s eerie, a bit, but so beautiful. As the sun rises, the sky turns a beautiful shade of blue that melds with the trees’ greenery. It almost distracts you from the fact that you legitimately have zero idea where you’re going – Changbin only told you the shrine was at the heart of the forest, nothing else. You’ve been marking your path with stones you picked up along the way, but something tells you that won’t help much if you’re being chased by… an evil spirit. Or something.

(It’s embarrassing and slightly scary to say it, but you don’t think you have the strength anymore to outrun such a spirit, much less fight one.)

Luck seems to finally be on your side, though, because after exhaustedly pushing through a crowd of bushes, you come face to face with a beautiful shrine, surrounded by wild gardens and small stone buildings.

Several young men and women – a few barely older than children – look up at the rustling of leaves. For a few moments, they stare at your undoubtedly grimy, gross face. You only stare back.

It feels like an eternity has passed before one of the young women stands and walks up, a gentle smile on her face. “Hello, traveler.”

“Hello,” you manage, voice croaking with disuse. You clear your throat, face hot. “I’m sorry for intruding. I just… I met… I don’t know if you know him, but I met a moon – a man named Changbin –”

“You met Changbin?” Her eyes take on a new intensity and a sliver of joy.

“Um, yes.” You try to smile. “He told me if I was lost and needed a place to stay, I could try to find the shrine.” Looking down at your dirty hands, you bite your lip in shame. “I’m sorry. I can leave if you want, I’ve just… I don’t have a place to stay. I can cook, clean, anything you need help with. And, um…” You hold out the remaining coins in your pocket. “I have these?”

A rough hand closes your fingers over the money. “Keep your coins, traveler.” The woman smiles widely. “Changbin would only tell a true friend about the shrine, and a friend of Changbin’s is always a friend of ours.”

As she leads you into the shrine, the only thing you feel is guilty, overwhelming, crushing relief. Relief that you won’t have to face Jacob once more. Relief that you won’t have to face your heart once more.

The mere thought of your cowardice makes you cringe.

. . .

The shrine, you learn, is a very busy place. You wake up pretty early the next day, unused to the fact that you have an actual futon now and not just the ground, but already the other two girls in the room are getting dressed. Feeling distinctly out of place, you start to follow suit.

“Oh, you don’t need to get up just yet!” One of them smiles. “You’re a guest, traveler. Take some time to rest.”

“No, it’s all right.” You smile back, hoping it isn’t as awkward as it feels. “I’ve never been able to sleep too late, and I don’t feel right intruding on your hospitality without giving something back in return. Is there anything I can help with?”

So you find yourself in the garden after breakfast, sweating under the sun with a boy around your age named Kevin. He’s cheerful. Very fun company. Somehow, he makes the monotonous task of pulling weeds enjoyable, even takes your mind off of how out of place you feel in this quaint shrine.

Walking back into the shrine after spending the day in the garden, you wave off Kevin’s offer to bring you dinner, telling him you’re going to take a shower instead. But because you’re an idiot, you forget the fact that you have no idea where the showers are.

Kevin’s already walking away, and you honestly feel too embarrassed to call after him and ask. So, ignoring the curious stares you’re garnering from the other girls and boys, you start walking in an arbitrary direction.

It’s a mistake. As the sun sets, you feel like you’ve wandered the grounds at least four times, but you can’t even find a semblance of a shower room in the whole shrine. You’re about to give up when the priestess who welcomed you walks out of a nearby building, followed by a young man with curly blond hair.

You really don’t mean to catch his eye. In fact, you’re drawing away, about to walk in the other direction, when he looks up and fixes your gaze with his. His eyes narrow.

You suddenly feel very uncomfortable.

The priestess – what was her name? Priestess Yang? You think that’s it – turns around and sees you there, immediately breaking into a gentle smile. “Oh, hello, Y/N!”

Sheepishly, you wave. “Hello, Priestess.”

“You welcomed the sword-bearer?” the man interrupts.

What?

You’re not even carrying your sword. You left it back in the room, thinking it might be viewed as a threat if you brought it around. And you’ve never seen this man in your life. So how does he know that about you?

The priestess gives him a scolding look. “Chan, the shrine welcomes those who are lost.”

“But a sword-bearer?” he – Chan – argues. “You do remember what kinds of damage they cause?”

Indignation rises in your chest. He doesn’t even know you, and he’s already making assumptions? “Hey –”

“Changbin told her to find us if she was lost,” Priestess Yang cuts in smoothly. “If Changbin can trust this sword-bearer, I’m sure you can find it in yourself to do so too, Chan.”

Chan just looks at you with undisguised suspicion in his eyes. You glare back. How dare he assume such things about your character?

“Were you looking for someone, Y/N?” Priestess Yang asks, pulling you out of your annoyance.

“Well, no.” The sheepish smile finds its way back to your face. “I was, um, looking for the showers.”

“Oh, they’re just over there! I’ll show you the way.” She pats Chan’s shoulder. “I’ll see you, Chan.”

Chan smiles briefly, then disappears into the air, leaving behind the faintest scent of grass and springtime.

The priestess laughs at the shocked look on your face. “Chan is our forest guardian,” she explains, leading you onto a dirt path. “He helps keep us safe.”

Uneasiness crawls up your spine. “Is that how he knew I had a sword?”

“Yes.” She nods. “He sees everything, knows of all those who travel the forest. It’s part of his Sight.”

A ripple of annoyance passes through your mind.

All that sight, and he couldn’t help me once? you grumble internally. Thanks a lot, guardian.

Suffice to say, even though Priestess Yang encourages you to have an open mind, your opinion of Chan isn’t the highest.

. . .

The discomfort of being the “new traveler” at the shrine stays for a week or so. By then, most of the residents are more or less used to your presence (you just ignore Chan whenever he gives you one of his suspicious looks), and you’ve carved out a small niche for yourself, taking care of the shrine children.

There are more than you expected, surprisingly. You would’ve thought the shrine was primarily made up of older teens, if anything, who could find their way here. When you mention this to Kevin, he gets a faraway look in his eye. “The shrine opens its arms to the lost,” he says in reply. “It makes itself easier to find for children, because they often can’t journey here themselves.”

“Abusive families?”

Kevin bites his lip. “Yes.”

This knowledge only makes you want to protect them more.

As much as you enjoy talking with Kevin in the garden, it’s so much easier to work with the shrine children, you find. They’re sweet and kind, if rambunctious, and you make it your duty to keep them occupied and safe while the older kids and priestesses work.

“Y/N, Y/N!” One of the older children, Yuna, comes running up one afternoon. “Priestess Jeon said you could take us into the forest for a walk!”

“Who else?” you ask. “Not just you, right?”

“Chaeryeong, Sunwoo, and Eric want to come too.” She looks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you weigh the merits and dangers of a walk. It’s going to get dark in a few hours, so you can’t stay out long, but if one of the head priestesses agreed, it couldn’t be too bad of an idea. The kids aren’t too young, either. They’ll listen if something goes wrong.

“If you get one of the messenger boys to come, we can go,” you eventually decide. If something happens, at least you’ll be able to send someone off to get help quickly. Just in case, though, you strap your sword to your side.

Juyeon meets you with the four kids at the shrine’s entrance. Your heart sinks a little – you hoped Yuna would find Kevin – but Juyeon is pleasant enough. He returns the smile you flash at him, anyway.

The walk is uneventful, for the most part. Eric and Yuna pepper you with questions about your work as a knight while Sunwoo and Chaeryeong listen in rapture. Really, it hurts a little to talk about your life in years past, but for the kids, you’ll do it. The smiles on their faces are worth it.

When you start walking back to the shrine, though, the air changes. It doesn’t ripple right – the wind feels strange, somehow evil. Juyeon clearly feels it too, from the way his eyes are darting around the trees. With an unspoken agreement, you begin herding the kids along faster.

There’s barely a change in the wind when the thing – whatever it is – swoops down. Only the blur of a wing in the side of your vision alerts you and you shout, pushing Eric out of the owl’s range and drawing your sword.

“What the fuck is that?” you snap, brandishing your blade.

Juyeon’s face is white as he gathers the children. “Screech owl!”

“Screech owl?”

Then the thing – screech owl, you guess – dives down again, and there’s no time to talk.

“Juyeon!” you yell. “Get them out of here!”

He doesn’t argue, just herds the children together and races away. Smart boy.

You’ve never fought an opponent in the air before. It isn’t fun. The owl is fast, too fast, almost like a damn mosquito racing through the air as you try to squash it, only a million times bigger and fiercer.

Your sword slashes through the air as you duck and twist and hide behind trees, feathers fluttering to the grass all around you. Awful shrieks ring through the air and you honestly can’t tell if it’s you or the bird – all of your senses are jumbled up.

Adrenaline courses through your veins even as the sun sets further, washing the forest in pale evening light. The bird seems to take delight in the onset of night – it swoops faster, hoots louder, and is in general just a much bigger asshole than before (if that was possible).

“ARGH!” A claw slices the top of your shoulder. If I had my armor…

But you don’t, so you duck behind another tree. Think, Y/N, think, you tell yourself as you heave deep breaths. Wait, no, don’t think. Thinking gets you killed.

Just listen.

The air is still. You don’t move a muscle.

Then –

The faintest brush of wind on your left.

Your sword cuts through meat and bone, and the owl falls, dead, at your feet.

For a moment, you just stand there, gasping, staring at the blood dripping off your blade and pooling from the owl’s body.

Gross.

“Thank you.”

For not the first time that afternoon, you let out a deathly screech and leap away. Clapping a hand over your heart, you glare at the newcomer.

“… Chan?”

“That’s my name.” The forest guardian raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “Thank you for killing the owl.”

You just look at him, eyebrows fully wrinkled in annoyance and confusion. “If you wanted the owl dead, why didn’t you kill it yourself? You’re the forest guardian, surely you have the power to do that much.”

“I can’t kill things just because I want to,” Chan replies. It should sound antagonistic, you think, but the look in his eyes is softer than he’s ever looked at you. Appreciative, maybe? “It would upset the forest’s balance if its guardian killed one of those who live in its domain. I can only defend the forest against those that mean it deadly harm, not those that are merely dangerous.”

Wiping your sword on the edge of your tunic, you mull that over. “But if the screech owl was too dangerous, wouldn’t that upset the balance of the forest in the end anyway?”

“We weren’t at that point yet.” Chan raises a shoulder in a half shrug. “But you killed it, so we’ll never know if that would’ve happened.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”

He laughs. It’s a surprisingly cheerful sound – you thought it might sound like, you don’t know, someone croaking (look, you never had the greatest opinion of Chan until this point, and that’s still in the air). “I don’t think it is,” he finally says. “And I’m sorry. I was wrong about you being like all of the other sword-bearers who came to this forest. You clearly care for the shrine children.”

An apology. That’s something. Grudgingly, you force yourself to see Chan in a better light. “Apology accepted.”

For a few seconds, you just stand there, feeling the air turn more awkward by the second. “Um –”

“Do you need the way back?” Chan interrupts, a knowing glint in his eye.

By all the spirits, why did you have to meet him when you were lost at the shrine? Now he thinks you’re bad with directions, which you swear you’re really not, you just hadn’t been at the shrine long enough to figure it out.

Embarrassment creeps up your skin as Chan’s smirk grows. “… Yes.”

(And, okay, the forest guardian is a little infuriating and you find yourself wanting to hit him several times on the way back. But really, he isn’t that bad. Though you’d rather die than let him know you think that of him.)

. . .

Chan comes back the next day. You don’t expect him there, especially because he never visits the shrine more than one day in a row, but he surprises you with a smile and the offer of a walk.

“This isn’t your plan for killing a sword-bearer without anyone finding out, is it?” you ask, raising a nonplussed eyebrow as you follow the guardian out of the shrine. You’re not sure why, but it’s so easy to fall into banter with Chan the way you used to joke around with the other knights in the Guard.

Chan snorts. “As a centuries-old guardian of the forest, wouldn’t you think I’d have a little more wisdom than to kill you after several people at the shrine witnessed you leaving with me?”

You very visibly keep a hand on your sword just in case.

“So why did you invite me on a walk?” you ask after several moments. Chan’s bare feet are silent against the grass, but your boots make slightly louder thumps as you step over stones and fallen branches. “I know it wasn’t because of my scintillating personality.”

He stops walking. “I’ve heard you used to be a knight,” he says bluntly. “I wanted to know what kind of sword-bearer you were to leave such a prestigious position and even befriend Changbin, of all people.”

“What’s wrong with befriending Changbin?” you ask, desperately dodging the first part of Chan’s implied questions. “You make it sound like he hates… sword-bearers. He literally dragged me away after I beat up a bunch of men in an alley with my sword so he could clean the one wound I got on my shoulder.”

“Ah. That explains it.” Chan nods. “He saw you do good things with your blade.”

“… Yes?”

“Sword-bearers killed the girl he loved,” Chan explains. “Well, archers, really, but swords were involved.”

You swallow. That explains his wandering tendencies. “Oh. Who sent them?”

“The king of Adment.”

The title brings a scowl to your face. “Oh, him.” You spit. “That would explain it.”

Chan looks at you curiously. “You hold a grudge towards him as well?”

“He was never the friendliest to my kingdom,” is your brief reply before diverting the topic again. “So, is that also the reason you hate sword-bearers in your forest?”

“Whenever sword-bearers trespass, they almost always bring destruction.” Chan’s face turns hard. “I’ve learned not to take chances.”

The ages-old anger in his eyes speaks of a wisdom far older than the youthful form Chan takes. You narrow your eyes. “How old are you, exactly? You said centuries, but how many?”

He smirks, though there’s something weary in his gaze. “I’ve been alive for over a millennium.”

“What?”

“I can tell you more about that another day,” he says, teasing. You want to complain that he can’t leave you on a cliffhanger like that, but the sun is beginning to set, and you have things to do at the shrine. “Do you need an escort?”

You resist the urge to punch him, forest guardian or no. “I’m not that bad with directions,” you grouse. “You just caught me on a bad day. I can find my way back.”

He walks you back to the shrine anyway. And day by day, after every conversation you have, he walks you back as well.

Kevin, when you meet him in the garden, remarks that you seem more cheerful after a few weeks. “You look like you’re anticipating something exciting,” he clarifies when you only dignify him with a confused glance. His lips curl into a smirk. “Something about Chan?”

Kevin probably expects you to hit him or roll your eyes, maybe say something snappy in response. Instead, your face only drops as the meaning of his words hits you.

Do you feel something for Chan?

Well, you love to hear about his life. There are some really exciting stories he’s had after living so long. He’s also pleasant to hang around, and you enjoy talking to him.

It’s just curiosity, nothing romantic, you tell yourself. There’s no attraction. Just a slight friendship, maybe. Nothing more.

Nothing like what you felt for Jacob.

“Y/N – hey, Y/N!”

You blink to see Kevin staring at you in concern. “Are you all right? You zoned out for a minute.”

No, definitely nothing like Jacob. You try to smile at Kevin, pushing thoughts of blond hair and kind eyes out of your mind. That’s stupid – you would never let yourself be swayed so badly again. “I’m fine,” you say, hoping you’re telling the truth. “Let’s go get dinner, yeah?”

. . .

As the weeks pass, you begin to wonder just how much was truthful in what Kevin said.

Walks with Chan have become a regular occurrence, now. When he shows up at the shrine entrance every other afternoon, someone immediately calls for you.

And the worst thing is, you feel excited when you hear your name being called, when you’re with the children or scrubbing dishes or working in the garden. Everyone around gives you a knowing glance and maybe a teasing smile as you rush to see the forest guardian.

One part of you wants it. You want to be able to freely enjoy these walks, feeling the soft earth beneath your boots as you listen to Chan speak. The forest itself is interesting – he shows you the overgrown faerie ring, the water nymph’s pond and the accompanying willow tree – but you think his stories are even more intriguing. You like hearing Chan’s voice. You think you’d like to keep hearing it.

The other part of you doesn’t want this, though, doesn’t want the budding warmth that you feel with the forest guardian, even as the months begin to grow colder. It’s not that it doesn’t feel nice – in fact, this is precisely because it does feel nice. Too nice. You’re starting to feel a stirring in your heart that reminds you of how you felt for Jacob. Though it’s small, very small, it’s there – you can recognize it from the years of heartache you spent watching Jacob fall in love with someone else.

You don’t want that again with Chan.

It shames you to want to run away again, to run away from a place that has provided you with so much comfort in the months past. You love the children, truly, and the friends you’ve made are wonderful. You’ve even started giving Juyeon lessons with your sword. But what other course of action is there? There’s no reason a forest guardian with so many centuries of wisdom would fall for a young, naïve human like you. Here, a love story is even more impossible than one with Jacob.

The decision curdles in your stomach, fills your throat with bitter, hot shame, but it’s necessary, you tell yourself. Better to cut everything off right now, before your emotions grow out of control.

You’re not that important to the shrine, really. You’ve only been there a few months. They’ll survive without you.

You just can’t go through the pain you felt with Jacob ever again.

. . .

You debate avoiding Chan. If he were human, you might actually have chosen that path. But just like you couldn’t avoid Jacob when you fell in love – you were too close, he definitely would’ve noticed – you can’t avoid Chan. He’s the forest’s guardian – he’ll know you’re purposely trying not to be found.

So you decide to cut things off on one of your walks. It feels so simple in your mind – get away from the shrine, then tell him you’re leaving. He won’t care, you tell yourself. It won’t matter to him. And as much as the thought hurts, it’s the better option.

It should be easy, really. Chan gives you the perfect opening – “Why do you look so sad today?” he asks, stopping you by Hyunjin’s pond. The nymph himself doesn’t appear, which you’re very thankful for.

Well, no time like the present. You steel yourself. “I’m going to leave the shrine.”

Chan’s face switches expressions several times within seconds. You watch, feeling a sick sense of dread and relief pooling in your stomach. It’s out there. You’ve said it.

But spirits, why does he look so upset? So angry?

Like you mean something to him?

“Why?” he finally asks.

“Well,” you stammer, his unprecedented reaction sending all of the rehearsed words flying out of your mind, “I – I’ve overstayed my welcome, haven’t I? I’ve been here for months already, and I’ve used the shrine’s hospitality long enough.” His incredulous expression sparks indignation in your chest. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you realize how much you do for the shrine?” he snaps. His footsteps, usually so silent, pound on the earth as he steps up to you. “You think you’ve overstayed your welcome – do you know how much I – how much the shrine needs you now?”

How much I?

How much I need you?

How much Chan needs me?

Slip of the tongue. You shake your head, trying your best to ignore it. “All I do is help with the children, work with Kevin in the garden! Chan, I’m easily replaceable – I’m just a poor traveler who was fortunate enough to find the shrine! I’m lucky that you’ve all been so welcoming, but really, it’s time for me to move on.”

“And what about the children? Your friends?” He crosses his arms. “What about me?”

“They’ll live!” you snap. “And what do you mean, what about you?”

Chan growls under his breath. “Are you really trying to say that I mean nothing to you?”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, like that time Jacob accidentally rammed you in the stomach with the pommel of a sword.

So… not a slip of the tongue.

“Why does it matter that you mean something to me when I don’t mean anything to you?” you finally say.

“And here I thought you were smart,” Chan snaps.

Anger flares in your chest. “I’m serious, Chan! Why would I ever think I meant something to you?” You gesture wildly at the expanse of trees surrounding you. “You’re a millennia-old guardian of a forest of magic. I’m a human who ended up here out of luck. Why, even if I ever felt anything for you, would you feel anything for me? What have I done to merit your attention?”

Chan’s eyes soften slightly. “So many things.”

Taken aback, you flail for words. “Elaborate.”

“You’re a sword-bearer. A kind sword-bearer. A sword-bearer Changbin trusts, enough to divulge his name and travel with for almost a year. A sword-bearer he believed was pure enough of heart to find the shrine – and don’t stop me there, if he hadn’t thought you would be able to find it, he wouldn’t have told you of its existence.” Chan stares at you with that same soft look, that soft look that pierces your heart and makes you feel guilty, so guilty, because you’re not as good, not as kind, not as pure as he thinks you are. “You carved your place in the shrine the first day you spent there. Without anyone asking, you took care of the children and helped Kevin in the garden. You did everything you could to give the children a bit of the love they never might’ve experienced otherwise and protected them from a threat you knew nothing of, something that could have torn you to pieces if you weren’t as trained as you were. You –”

“Stop.”

Chan looks at you, confused. “What –”

“I’m not – I’m not even near the brave person you’re describing,” you snap, tears starting to well in your eyes. “Stop talking about me like I’m some – some spirits-damned martyr, or something –”

“But –”

“And even if I was this, this noble and amazing person you think I am,” you interrupt, tears fighting to slip past your eyes, “how many other men and women at the shrine are the same? Kind, gentle, whatever you want to use to describe me? I’m not special, Chan. I’ve never been.”

Jacob didn’t think you were, at least.

“Y/N, why – just – did you not hear anything I just said about you?” Chan tries to take your hand, but you shy away, pretending the hurt in his eyes doesn’t send knives into your chest. “You earned the trust of a moon child haunted by those who carry blades in a matter of months. Those at the shrine took years to gain his full acceptance. You proved me wrong about sword-bearers. You showed me you were fearless, brave, kind – you are special, Y/N,” he insists, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’ve shown me that, shown me so much –”

“Stop.”

Your chest is heaving, the tears have spilled out, and you’re fighting for breath. It hurts, it hurts so much that Chan thinks this much of you, but all you are is a coward running away your feelings. “You don’t know,” you gasp, “you don’t know what kind of a person I am. I’m not what you see. How can you –” you angrily brush a tear away – “how can you not see that?”

“Then tell me,” Chan says. “Tell me why you’re so different. Convince me.”

You don’t want to. You don’t want to convince him, you want him to always have that beautiful image of you in his mind – a brave, gentle knight dedicated to protecting those who cannot defend themselves. But he deserves the truth.

And the truth is that you are a coward.

“I left my kingdom because I was in love with my best friend,” you spit. “He married the queen, and I couldn’t do anything but watch. I left because I couldn’t stand to see them so happy together, knowing I would only be on the sidelines of their love for the rest of my life. I left because I couldn’t bring myself to tell him how I felt, couldn’t bring myself to clear the air. I left because I wanted to run away instead of facing my problems, Chan! And even when I knew Jacob would always welcome me back with open arms, even during my darkest moments, I still chose to run away! I chose to find the shrine instead of letting my feelings go and reconciling with my friend. I chose to find the shrine and run away a second time because I couldn’t stand to face him again when I was the one who chose to leave.” A choked sob escapes your lips. “And now I’m running away again, because I thought you could never care for me in the way I’m beginning to care for you. Only you apparently do, but I can’t just stay here and let you love this perfect, noble character who doesn’t exist.”

Silence fills the air. Surely the birds are chirping, the leaves rustling, but you can’t hear anything over the pathetic sounds of you trying to control your tears.

“So now you know,” you croak. “You know the truth behind the coward this knight really is.”

You can’t even meet Chan’s eyes.

“You’re right,” Chan finally says. “For a knight, you’re an awful coward.”

His words stab you in the chest.

“Courage doesn’t constitute running away.”

You can feel the blood dripping out of your heart.

“It means facing your challenges head on, doing what you must.”

You clench your teeth, resolutely looking down at your feet. It’s the truth, you tell yourself. It doesn’t matter if it hurts. It’s the truth.

Then Chan’s trousers enter your vision. You stiffen, ready to back away, but Chan’s already tilting your chin up with one gentle finger so that you’re staring into his eyes. “But you’re brave, Y/N,” he murmurs. “You’re brave when it comes to protecting others, defending the innocent from those who would bring harm.” A small smile curves his lips. “You’re just not too good at protecting yourself.”

You burst into tears. And this time, when Chan presses you into his chest, letting you inhale his woodsy smell of fresh grass and sunlight, you don’t pull away.

. . .

“You don’t have to run away from attachment,” Chan tells you on the walk back to the shrine. “You don’t have to run away from familiarity, from caring about people. We care about you, truly. The children would be heartbroken if you left. So would Kevin and Juyeon and everyone else.” He gives you a gentle smile. “I would be, too.”

Keeping his words in mind, you put away your thoughts of leaving the shrine and try to open your eyes to how much people actually enjoy your presence. Some days, when the self-loathing rises and you don’t want to do anything but run away, it’s hard.

But Chan always finds you, if not the same day, then the day after. He takes you into the woods and tells stories until your sides ache from laughter and the sparkle – or so he tells you – is back in your eyes. With his slow, careful help, you begin to see the small, but visible effects you have on the shrine.

Eric’s and Chaeryeong’s eyes light up when you walk into the room. Sunwoo and Yuna fight for your attention. Juyeon’s calm face breaks into a smile when you show up for his daily swordplay practice, and Kevin laughs with abandon when you crack jokes in the garden. They’re small things, but you realize that leaving the shrine would’ve caused a lot more damage – to you and to them – that you didn’t realize before.

So you cement your place in the shrine, throwing yourself into the daily life of the place you’ve tentatively begun to think of as something deeper than a mere shelter. Juyeon’s interest in swordplay gives you the idea to begin training some of the girls and boys in defense. The priestesses agree after a little convincing – after all, you argue, even if the shrine isn’t threatened very often, dangers like the screech owl crop up every now and then. And if anyone decides to leave the shrine in the future and make their own life, defense could be a very useful skill.

Chan embraces your idea with more warmth than you’d imagine, given his aversion to sword-bearers. When you ask him about it, he just gives you that teasing smile that infuriates and calms you. “I trust you, don’t I?” His smile turns gentler. “You’re a good, brave sword-bearer. I think you’ll be able to keep your pupils from going… astray.”

You certainly do your best. Over several years of training, you watch Juyeon, Kevin, Yeji, and Lia grow into formidable opponents. Sunwoo takes more of an interest in archery after you fashion him a crude bow and arrow, practicing with the (kind of terrible) weapons until you buy him proper set in town.

Life goes on, and it goes well. Shrine life is peaceful as new residents enter – the newest resident, Haknyeon, is adorable – and you grow into yourself as the months go by. Chan never presses his feelings, only treats you the same way he always did until you’re ready to accept his care.

“Are you sure?” he asks when you tell him, eyes sparkling with hope and love and uncertainty all at once.

Your heart blossoms with love for the forest guardian. “Yes.” You smile. “I think I love myself enough to allow you to love me too.”

His lips taste like spring, like golden sunlight filtered through verdant leaves. Pressed against his chest, you feel safe, delicate in the touch of his fingers splayed gently across your back, strong in the warmth of his arms around your waist.

Oh, Chan makes you feel loved, loved in a way that slowly erases the self-loathing you’ve carried for so long, in a way that makes you feel brave enough to remain standing with each passing day. And even though you’ve still got a long way to go, you take comfort in the knowledge that Chan, your forest guardian, will always be there for you.

. . . . .

News doesn’t come often to the small village just outside the forest, so when there’s gossip that doesn’t pertain to the whereabouts about one villager or another, it’s worth listening to. This time, it’s a kingdom at war with another.

“Which kingdoms?” you ask idly, examining an apple.

“One is Adment,” the shopkeeper replies. You snort, a sentiment he laughs with. “Which was the other, honey?” he yells to his wife in the back of the stall.

“Was it Callia?” she yells back.

You don’t laugh when the apple drops from your hand.

Trying not to visibly show your distress, you wave off the shopkeeper’s worry at your expression and hurry to finish the shopping. To your luck, when you make it back to the shrine, Chan is already there, conversing with one of the priestesses.

“Y/N!” His smile drops slightly when he takes in your expression. The priestess quietly excuses herself. “Did something happen?”

“Callia – Callia is at war with Adment.” You swallow hard, trying to steady your voice. “Jacob’s kingdom. At war with the one that killed Changbin’s love.”

Chan’s face turns hard. “I see.”

“I – I feel like I need to do something.” You gaze at him, begging him to understand everything you can’t put into words. “Chan, I feel like I have to go back and help, somehow.”

Chan’s eyes are gentle but unreadable as he grasps your hand firmly in his. “You should do what you think is right,” he says quietly.

What I think is right.

What do I think is right?

Your mind races with panic, but one thought emerges, crystal clear in certainty.

“Yes,” you whisper, more to yourself than Chan. “I’ll do what is right.”

. . .

The priestesses give you their blessing to return to the kingdom you used to call home. Juyeon, Kevin, Lia, and Sunwoo volunteer to come with you as well, even though you try to dissuade them repeatedly with how dangerous it’ll be. They could die, you stress – this is war, after all. But they insist.

You put off saying goodbye to Chan until the day before you leave. He’s the one who finds you, actually – he has something to say, apparently, before you go.

It feels so strange, walking with Chan through the forest with the knowledge that you may never come back. It’s not like you’re a stranger to the evils of war – every time you rode into battle as a knight, you knew there was a high likelihood that you would die.

But it’s different, now. Jacob and your fellow Guards knew the risks of war – you were all seasoned fighters, trained in tactics and stealth and strategy. Here, you only have a very small group of fighters – reasonably good for the amount of training they’ve had, but lacking in true experience. They won’t understand the true horror of battle until they’ve experienced it themselves.

There’s something else, too. You’re leaving behind someone you love for the first time, someone who cannot come and fight by your side.

“Can I go first?” you ask, stopping by Hyunjin’s pond. You want to see the still waters one more time before you leave.

Chan nods. “Of course.”

“I…” You look down, mustering your courage. “I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

For a moment, there’s just silence. Then a sudden flush spreads across Chan’s cheeks.

It bolsters your confidence. “I know I don’t say it often,” you continue, enjoying the shyness on your guardian’s face, “but I really do. I wanted you to know that I’m not going off to help Jacob’s kingdom because I love him the way I used to, but because I still care about him as a friend.” You gaze into Chan’s clear eyes. “I love you very much, and I wanted to tell you that before I left.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I never thought you were going to war out of romantic love for Jacob,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to worry about that, ever. I trust you.”

Your heart explodes with warmth. “So what is it that you had to tell me?”

“I never told you how forest guardians are chosen, did I?” Chan asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Well, sit down, and I’ll tell you now.” He smiles. “It’s a long story.”

Chan tells you of his first life as an oread, a mountain spirit settled in the craggy cliffs not too far from the forest. He tells you of the last guardian before him, a teasing fae named Jaebum.

“A fae?” you interrupt. “Isn’t that… not a good idea?” As lovely as Han and his lady are – you’ve met them several times by now – you wouldn’t exactly call him a suitable guardian. You’d say the same and more for his more sinister counterparts.

“Jaebum was different,” Chan says. “He cared deeply for the forest. After the two centuries I knew him, he found someone to love, to grow old with over time. He asked me to be forest guardian after he died.”

“So the current forest guardian chooses the next when they feel their time is over?” you clarify.

Chan nods, gazing into your eyes. “Yes.”

And all of a sudden, you understand.

“Chan, you –” You have to clear away the emotion rising in your throat. “You want to pass on the guardianship for me? To whom?”

“I’ve spoken to Changbin.” Chan smiles. “He was very receptive to the idea.”

“But – Chan, for me?” The old uncertainty starts to plague your mind. “Chan, I’m just… I’m just me.”

“Exactly.” Chan takes your hands in his. “You’re you. And I want to grow old with you. Live life with you. Don’t try to argue with me – this is something I know I want.”

You can’t even speak through the tears running down your face. “Chan –”

“Come here.” He wraps you in his warm arms. “I love you, Y/N. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

For how long you stay there, crying into Chan’s embrace, you don’t know. By the time you’re coherent enough to pull back, it feels like it’s been an eternity.

“So now you have to come back.” Chan smiles, though you can see a glimmer of fear, of uncertainty in his gaze. “You have to stay safe and come back for me, all right?”

“Yeah.” Hyunjin suddenly appears from the pond and you literally shriek, toppling backwards onto the grass. “You have to come back to Chan, or he’ll mope around for millennia and send the forest into ruin.” The nymph smirks, though you can see real concern hidden in his eyes.

“Like you moped for centuries over your cloud nymph?” Chan retorts, lips curved in an exasperated smile.

Hyunjin sniffs. “Details,” he says haughtily, already sinking back into his pool. He sends you a glance, though, that’s full of meaning.

You must come back. Don’t leave Chan waiting.

You make a silent promise that you won’t.

. . .

The next day, your cohort wakes up early. After yawning through a quick breakfast, you quickly gather your belongings and meet up at the front of the shrine. Several of the priestesses cluck over you like mother hens checking on their chicks, and you dutifully take their warnings and cautions with as light a smile as you can muster.

Chan shows up just as you’re about to go. The others thankfully leave you two alone for a bit (though you scowl at Kevin’s smirk and Lia’s whistle).

You don’t talk much, just stay wrapped in each other’s arms for several minutes. Eventually, though, dawn breaks. It’s time to leave.

“Be brave,” Chan whispers as you pull away.

You smile. “I’ll come back.”

With one last kiss that tastes of spring greenery, you leave the shrine. When you look back, Chan’s already disappeared.

. . .

It’s a long two years spent away from the shrine. The pace is difficult on your friends, who have only known the shrine as a home for so many years. For you, it’s a bit easier – you’ve been a traveler for a good few years, and it doesn’t take too long to settle back into the wanderer’s mindset, moving around, never staying in one place too long.

But they don’t complain. They’re strong, resilient, and resourceful – more so, really, than some of the knights you knew on the Guard. With their help, you launch quiet strikes at the border of Adment and Callia, taking down Adment’s forces small legion by small legion. Your group becomes known for your silent ambushes, though you take care to keep your identities hidden.

It’s like being a knight again on a smaller scale – planning attacks and carrying them out, knowing that you might lose your life or your friends along the way. It isn’t entirely unwelcome. Fighting still gives you that adrenaline rush, that grim, satisfying knowledge that you’re doing something to protect the people you love.

At the same time, though, it isn’t as fulfilling as it used to be. This life of fighting battles isn’t for you anymore. Yes, you will fight to defend, but you’ve found other ways to protect your loved ones, too.

It just cements the fact that you don’t think you’ll ever come back to Callia to stay.

Finally, Adment surrenders. You’re glad, truly – you’re ready to return to the shrine, as are your friends. As you begin the trek back through some of the rural villages, though, a few posters catch your eye. They spell out a request for the unknown border attackers to come forth to the palace and be honored for their aid in the war.

They know your story, Lia, Juyeon, Kevin, Sunwoo. It was only fair that you told them – how could you lead them to possible death without knowing why you came in the first place, why this was so important to you?

So you ask them. “Do you want to reveal yourselves?”

“I don’t think it’s a question of us,” Juyeon says quietly. “It’s about you.”

“Yes,” Lia echoes. “We’ll follow you, whatever you decide.”

Their trust still astounds you, even after so many years spent trying to dilute the self-loathing that used to plague your brain. “Give me a day to think,” you eventually say. “If you say you’ll follow me, I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

You stay up all night, debating. Your friends have already spent so long away from their home, fighting a war on your behalf. Is it worth it to take the extra few weeks spent traveling to and from the palace? Would it be fair to ask them to journey with you for even longer?

No, Y/N. You shake your head. They asked you to decide, which means they want a decision based on your feelings, on your desires. They’re kind enough to know that this must be your choice to make.

You sigh, leaning back against a sturdy tree. Why are you so hesitant about seeing Jacob again, anyway? You don’t love him anymore, not the way you used to. It doesn’t hurt you as much to think of him. Spirits, you even came all this way to help him in a war you weren’t even involved in.

Maybe you’re afraid that you’ll fall in love with him again, a tiny voice in your head suggests. Maybe you’re afraid that you’ll want to stay.

Oh.

That’s probably it.

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you sigh again. You love Chan. You love the shrine. You’ve realized that fighting battles as a knight isn’t the way you want to spend the rest of your life. But you’re still afraid that seeing Jacob again will awaken feelings for him once more.

Wait. You sit up, frowning into the darkness. For your feelings to awaken, they would still have to exist.

You don’t love Jacob anymore. The thought of him doesn’t make your heart thump anymore, doesn’t choke your throat with emotions anymore.

Logically, rationally, seeing him again wouldn’t hurt the way it used to.

But love isn’t rational, the oh-so-helpful part of your mind pipes up.

You scowl. Stop making this decision harder.

As the fire dies to glowing coals, as your friends quietly snore throughout the night (except Sunwoo, he snores very loudly), you sit there, mind warring with fear.

By morning, you’ve made your decision.

. . .

The palace is almost the same as you remembered – high, polished stone walls surrounded by a bustling marketplace and lush gardens. The grass looks a bit wilted and the market chatter sounds subdued, but the kingdom has just gone through a war. You would be more worried, really, if everything looked exactly as beautiful as it used to be.

Anxiety bursts in your chest as you slip through the crowds, face covered in a scarf, getting closer and closer to the palace. Three of the Guard stand sentinel at front gates, and even though you’re too far away to see their faces, you’re sure you’d recognize at least a couple of them up close.

“Breathe,” Kevin whispers helpfully next to you. “You’ll be fine.”

You nod shakily. “Yeah.”

Two of the Guard cross their spears over the gates as you approach. The third steps forward, meeting your gaze.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of an old friend. Changmin!

“State your business,” Changmin says, eyes unmoved. It stings a little that he doesn’t recognize you, but it’s understandable. You’ve both changed over the years – you’ve grown out your hair, while he’s cut his shorter, and he’s lost the last baby fat from his cheeks – and you have a scarf covering half of your face.

“I have business with the king,” you reply, heart hammering in your chest. “I believe my presence was specifically requested, along with that of my friends from the border.”

Faint recognition lights Changmin’s eyes, though they also narrow in slight confusion. He looks at you for a second, gaze piercing yours.

“Is something wrong?” you ask. “We can leave our weapons at the gates, if you wish.”

Changmin shakes his head, shoulders slumped in resignation. “No, I just thought you sounded like someone I once knew.” He looks down. “She had a sword like yours, too.”

Your heart hammers at your old friend’s words. What would he say if he did know it was you?

His voice cuts through your panicked thoughts. “May I have a name by which to introduce you to His Majesty?”

Last chance, you tell yourself. Last chance to turn back.

You won’t lie – the choice sounds appealing, at least to your pounding heart. Glancing up at the high stone walls, you feel the old urge to run away.

You could. You could turn away from the gates right now, leave Changmin remembering someone who will never return. You could travel back to the shrine and forget this ever happened.

But Chan told you to be brave. And being brave doesn’t only apply to war.

You pull down your scarf, smiling at the incredulous expression spreading over Changmin’s face. “You can tell him an old friend’s come back to visit.”

. . .

After yelling at you for never visiting and punching you at least ten times (your arm is so, so sore, but as he reminds you, you should just be glad he didn’t challenge you to a duel right then and there), Changmin brings you into one of the waiting rooms. “I’ll find you and bite you if I come back and see that you’ve disappeared again,” he threatens before heading back into the halls.

Sunwoo raises an eyebrow, looking mildly disturbed. “Bite you?”

You snort, smiling widely. “Long story.”

Too soon, though, there’s another set of footsteps echoing outside of the room. The smile slowly starts to slip off your face, and your heart, previously calmed by Changmin’s characteristic welcome, starts to pound again.

Be brave. Chan’s voice speaks in your mind. Be brave.

You steel yourself.

Then Jacob appears in the doorway, and the room feels like it’s falling away.

. . .

By the time your mind has caught up to the present, you’re wrapped in Jacob’s strong arms, in one of those Jacob hugs that you used to yearn for every day. It’s comforting, warm, but to your pleasant surprise, there’s no hurt. No pain.

You only feel happy.

“You came back,” Jacob whispers, more to himself than to you. “You came back.”

You just laugh, squeezing your best friend harder. “I did.”

Thankfully, your friends understand that you need some time with Jacob alone. Changmin leads them out, already bickering with Sunwoo (how they became friends so quickly, you’re not sure you want to know). In the silence of the room, you and Jacob just stare at each other for a moment.

“I –”

“What –”

You burst into laughter and Jacob joins in, feeling heady with absolute bliss and relief that your worst fears haven’t been realized. You haven’t fallen back in love with Jacob at first sight. His mere presence doesn’t make you want to stay.

“You first,” Jacob finally says when you’ve calmed down. “You first.”

The laughter disappears from your throat as your smile dims. “I never told you the full reason why I left.”

Jacob is a good listener, a fact that you’re grateful for. If he’d interrupted you at any point, you aren’t sure you would’ve been able to continue. Still, though, it’s harrowing, recounting the love you felt for your best friend for so long.

“When I left the first time, I didn’t have any intention of returning.” You state the harsh truth with a bitter taste in your mouth. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you about what I felt, so seeing you only hurt. I didn’t… I didn’t want to feel any more pain.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Jacob’s eyes are cloudy, filled with pain on your behalf. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known…”

“Stop.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “One reason I didn’t tell you was because I knew you’d blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

Jacob sits in silence for a moment. “But you did come back.”

“I did.” A small smile curves your lips. “I found a place that took me in, allowed me to try and find myself once more. I found someone who helped me heal. So when I heard about the war, I didn’t have qualms about coming to help. It was something… I knew it was something I had to do.”

Jacob’s eyes clear. “I see. Your someone, your, um…”

“Husband,” you offer. It’s the closest thing to what Chan is to you that Jacob would understand.

He nods. “Your husband didn’t come?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I came with friends. We have our own things to protect, back at home.”

Home. That word surprises you as it leaves your lips. Home.

The forest, the shrine is your home.

It’s the first time you’ve made this connection. With the realization, a sudden burst of warmth fills your chest.

“I see.” Jacob leans forward, looking genuinely happy for you. “Things are going well, then?”

Briefly, you wonder if you should tell him about the shrine. You decide not to. That’s your secret to keep, at least for now.

“Yes, they are.” A smile involuntarily spreads across your face. “Very well.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit in comfortable silence. Then Jacob speaks. “Can I persuade you again to stay?” he asks, though from the look in his eye, you’re pretty sure he already knows your answer. “You can bring your husband and friends. There will always be a place for you here.”

It feels like you’re being thrown back in time to that day in the training room, just a few months before you left. Your answer is still the same as it was then, so many years ago.

But you have something else to add.

You shake your head. “Not this time, Jacob.” Your smile grows smaller, but softer. “Though I do promise I’ll visit you again.”

. . .

On the horses Jacob gifted you, it only takes a few weeks to return to the forest. You see the children and the priestesses first, waiting at the front of the shrine, followed by the other maidens and messenger boys. Their shouts of welcome bring a smile to your face.

Then Chan appears when you’re riding up to the gates, crushing you in a hug almost before you’ve leapt off your horse.

You lose yourself in your guardian’s warmth, in the strength of his arms wrapped around your body. It feels so similar to Jacob’s hugs, so comforting and soft and strong, but also so uniquely Chan. You laugh into his chest, tears beginning to stream down your face.

“I’m back,” you gasp between the tears. “I’m back, Chan.”

“I know,” he whispers, only holding you closer. “I know.”

A blissful eternity passes, wrapped in Chan’s arms, until he pulls back the slightest bit, just enough to press a long-awaited kiss on your lips. “You’re back,” he says one more time, as though he still can’t quite believe it.

“I am,” you confirm. “I did it, Chan.”

He knows. He knows, looking into your eyes, what you mean by “it.” He knows you don’t just mean that you fought Adment, that you came home alive. He knows there’s something more.

Something involving a certain past love.

Warm, warm pride blooms in Chan’s eyes. “Were you brave?”

Memories race through your mind – staunching bloody wounds, trekking through the forests at the border – but you know that isn’t what Chan means. He knows you can be brave in the midst of battle, brave in protecting those you love the most.

He wants to know if you were brave with him.

Your eyes twinkle as you remember the palace gates, seeing Changmin again, landing in Jacob’s arms once more. You remember his soft voice, his kind eyes full of real, platonic care, a memory you’ll treasure for years to come.

Where you once might have grimaced at the thought of your old home, now, the smile on your face only broadens with every passing second.

“Yes.” Your laughing gaze sparkles into Chan’s proud eyes. “I was.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

By the king’s hand 🐍 IV

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, violence, oral, a bit of degradation)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Loki closes in on his prey.

Note: Doing my best to update something every few days. I’ll probably switch it up here and there and try to get to other series old and new as well. I won’t be answering any asks about updates but I am working on lots between work so I appreciate the patience.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You cleaned up the balcony for fear that Hal or another servant would happen upon your mess. You were aware that they would have little misconception about your position but you had no desire to flaunt your shame. It might not be your choice but others would not know that nor would they easily assume.

‘Bed warmer’; that was what he’d said. He’d assured you of it upon his last visit. You were nothing more than a whore to him and undoubtedly, to any other who knew of your existence in the palace. Your only comfort was that you might hide from prying and judging eyes for the duration of your service.

How long would that be? And after, what would you be left to?

You sat on the ledge of the window and stared out. The sunlight faded slowly, the summer lingered still. Even so, you could feel it was late. The king’s absence fed the dread deep in your chest and assured you that with each minute that passed, his return would come with inevitable zeal.

He promised you pain and had proven himself to be a selfish and sinister man. A man never told no, even to that one thing which had never been promised to him, the crown. How could he expect anything other than to be sated in his every need?

When the door handle turned and drew your attention from the ruffling leaves below, you stood. You watched Loki enter with the young boy, Hal, at his elbow The king’s day deepened the small lines around his eyes and brought out the vein on his forehead.

Hal removed his cloak and hung it and Loki fell heavy onto the sofa. He was skilled at ignoring all around him until they were required. Including you. He waved away the boy with his fingers and sighed.

“Fetch me wine for the night. I have little appetite…” He let his head loll and his eyes sparked as he saw you standing anxiously by the window, “Do you require anything to nibble on, little mouse?”

You shook your head but quickly corrected yourself. You cleared your throat and spoke carefully. “No, your majesty.”

“Very well,” he flicked away the servant and spread his arms over the back of the couch. The boy left and Loki hummed at the ceiling. You watched his profile as he closed his eyes. “I cannot lie. Our noontime delight did tide me over as the day stretched on. And how it did make it seem longer too.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at you again. He smirked.

“Just a taste and I want more, like a sweet tart secreted from the sill or a sip of ale stolen by a child. A simple craving turns to an irresistible hunger.”

You squirmed and he beckoned you close. You watched him warily as he pulled at his overcoat with one hand and unbuttoned the high collar.

“Sit with me. I should like a drink before we proceed.” He said and his lithe fingers worked down the front of his coat. “I must wash away this tension, little mouse, and you might drown your fear.”

You lowered yourself onto the edge of the couch as he let his overcoat droop and reveal his tunic beneath. His fingers ran along the back of our gown and he sat forward slightly as he snaked his arm around you. He pulled you against him as he reclined again and grabbed your chin as he made you look at him.

“I like that.” His nose was close to yours, “The way you try to hide your emotions. That artificial bravery that cannot still your fidgeting fingers or that tic in your cheek. It assures me that you are truly afraid of me, little mouse…” His hot breath grazed your lips, “As you should be.”

“I am not afraid of you,” you uttered, “I am appalled… your majesty.”

He chuckled and a rap came at the door. He parted from you, his hand slipped down to rest on your hand and he pulled it onto his thigh as he called for his servant to enter. Hal came in and set down the bottle of wine and the pair of cups. He was dismissed with a nod.

Alone again, Loki pulled your hand up his leg and forced it over his growing bulge. He snickered as he hardened against your palm.

“My patience wears thin,” he groaned, “So pour us some wine before my thirst is forgotten.”

You drew away as he released you and stood. You poured the wine to the brim and returned to Loki. He took his glass and pointed you to the cushion again. He drank smoothly as you nearly choked on the acrid alcohol. You pulled the cup from your lips and crinkled your nose. The king chuckled and reached to set aside his empty goblet on the side table.

He pushed on the bottom of your cup until it was once more at your lips. “I recommend you drink but do not require it. Perhaps, I should enjoy you sober and petulant.”

You gulped again but quickly recoiled. He laughed again and took the glass from you. There was still quite a bit of wine sloshing around in it as he placed it beside his empty one.

“Get undressed for me, little mouse,” he stood and shrugged out of his overcoat.

You hesitated and flinched as his face turned stern. You rose as he slung his jacket over a chair and pulled the tails of his tunic loose from his trousers and unbuckled his belt. You strained as you bent your arms back but only managed to tangle your fingers in the laces.

He neared and turned you. He expertly unknotted the top of the laces and your bodice slackened. You caught the dress as it drooped down your chest and reluctantly let it slip further. You stepped out of the skirts and he gathered the fabric from the floor. He tossed it over his jacket as you avoided looking at him.

You felt his warmth along your back as he came close and his fingertips brushed lightly along the scars that lined your skin. The ones he’d left there. Those which might never go away. He pressed his thumbs more firmly to the lacerations and traced them down to your ass.

He exhaled and his hand stretched around your hips as he gripped them firmly. He edged you toward the couch until your legs met it. He nudged you until you lifted your knees onto the cushion. It was like you were in a trance; the thought to stop him was overpowered by that which wanted it all to just be over.

“You are healing nicely,” he purred, “A reminder of me when I am kept for too long from you, little mouse.”

You lowered your head as your lip curled. You latched onto the back of the couch and clawed the cushion.

“I feel the anger in you,” he slithered. “I long for it. A sharp tongue calls for a sharper strike. Should I use my hand or another toy?”

You stiffened as his hand crawled back up to your shoulders and he squeezed them as he leaned in.

“Or should I give into my basest desires and leave all patience behind. I could be inside you in a moment. I could have you screaming with a different pain. One which would soon enough be pleasure. An insatiable need.” He hooked his arms under yours and cupped your chest. “Funny, how peasants differ little from ladies. You have the same curves, the same want of a man.” He nuzzled the back of your head, “Perhaps the cunt is tighter? Wetter? Sweeter?”

You snarled and he pinched you. You swatted him away without thinking and he caught your wrist. He twisted your arm against your back until you whined.

“Come on, mouse, fight me,” he sneered, “Give me a little entertainment.”

You bit down but remained still. You huffed and stared at the carpet on the other side of the couch.

“The ladies never do. They’re too proper. Even as a prince, they were all too eager. Of course, they thought their kisses, their words, would lead to something other than a carnal revelation. They thought of contracts and prestige but I only wanted the flesh. They are too proper, too polite to resist.” He pushed on your arm and a pang went through your shoulder, “And when I fucked them, they only cried. Silently. No matter, I’d rather the back of their heads.”

Your insides roiled and the thought of this man, this monster called king, doing to you what he proudly boasted of doing to countless others had you livid. You could not resign yourself to the shame. If he never had to work for anything, he would have to now.

You swung your leg back and your heel met his thigh bluntly. He let go of you with a surprised grunt and you spun, kicking out again. He barely dodged your foot and you were quick to stand. The back of his hand split your lip and you stumbled but not far as you threw your elbows up into his ribs. His second strike missed as you ducked away and struggled to gain your bearings.

You flung a fist out at him and he batted you away. He swept your feet out from beneath you with one of his and you landed with a gasp as the air rushed from your lungs.

“Do you not recall our first lesson? You do not strike a king.” He taunted and stood above you. “If you do, you should hit a lot harder.”

He jabbed your side with the toe of his boot and chuckled. He lifted his tunic over his head and tossed it away. He paced around you and as you tried to sit up, he kicked you back down.

“Shall I have you on the floor? A beast like you belongs there.” He spat, “Oh, dear, are you angry?”

He bent and grabbed your arms. He pulled you up to your feet, leaving you light-headed as he stared you down.

“Go on and try again. Your venom only feeds my own.” He leaned in and his cheek brushed yours as he lowered his voice, “And this snake is meaner than any.”

You pushed on his chest and he shoved you away. You collided with the side table at the end of the couch and wine splashed across your front. He followed you and kicked your ass so that you fell atop the the table entirely, leaving it overturned as you writhed on the floor.

“I’d use your mouth again but you seem like to bite, little mouse,” he chortled. “Oh, but I have waited for that which makes you a woman.”

“You’re… disgusting,” you choked out as he planted a boot on your chest and pinned you to the floor.

“Perhaps but those words mean little from a heathen like you. Tell me, how many men have known you, hmm? A peasant like you? Perhaps a butcher? A forger? Several, even?”

“Get--” You grunted as you grasped his boot, “Off.”

“Do be honest. There is no number which could tarnish you further. You cannot possibly sink lower, little mouse.”

“St-stop,” you pleaded as he pushed down and you found it even harder to breathe.

“Tell me,” he said, “Hmm? More than one? Perhaps five?” He peered down at you and smirked, “Is it more? In the tens?”

You wheezed and shook your head. You kicked out as silver dots floated around your vision. “N-n-none!” You gasped, “None.”

He relented but kept his foot where it was. He laughed. Loudly. He shook his head and scoffed.

“No man?” He said wryly, “Oh, the elusive untouched maiden.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you snarled.

“A mouth like that on a creature so pure,” he bent and grabbed you by the throat.

He lifted you to your feet and spun you. He forced you over to the table and your middle met it with a thud. You bent over as once more the air was driven from you. His hand was on your ass as he pressed his crotch against you and rocked.

“I do like this angle but wonder if it better to look you in the eye as I pluck your flower,” he kept his hips moving and moaned, “See the pain, the fear, the realisation that you are completely and utterly mine.”

He reared back and slapped your ass. You whimpered at his strength as your hips knocked against the wooden table. He raised his hand again but was halted by a sudden knock. He paused and let out a thick breath. He struck you again. The knock came again. Louder.

“I told my guard, I was not to be disturbed,” he growled.

“Oh, your majesty,” the sing song came through the door, “I have a message for you.”

“Fuck,” Loki swore and backed away. You turned your head to watched him as he pushed his shoulders back, “That fool.”

You didn’t move as he snatched up his tunic and replaced it over his torso. He glanced at you and snapped his fingers. He pointed to the bedroom and you stood straight. He lifted a brow in a final warning.

You shakily retreated and ambled through the doors. You stayed close as you listened. You couldn’t stop quaking. The adrenaline was ice in your veins but seeped away and uncovered the flames of agony licking at your body.

“What is it, you dolt?” The door whipped open in tandem with Loki’s words.

“Why, it is I, your brother’s most beloved companion, aside from his wife, of course, and a message for his most esteemed brother, the king,” the man sounded like a jester.

“Lord Fandral, I do command that you are to the point and do not continue on in this mockery.” Loki tutted.

“Oh, you have not changed,” the lord, Fandral, quipped, “As dour and dull as ever.”

“But a king now so do be on with it.”

“I have been sent to present to you a humble invitation to your brother’s own tournament upon the celebration of his new marriage. He does apologize for the short notice but it would not take you much long than a day and a night to arrive which is why I did insist upon my interruption… I do assume I have disturbed some going on.”

“If I accept this ridiculous proposal, will you be gone?”

“Oh, I must, your brother does await the answer and I would be away tonight to insure you do not arrive before me. You see, the tournament does commence in three days thus. You do want to make the lists, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, go. Let him know that I will appear.” Loki huffed. “At once before I change my mind and have your head sent back instead.”

“As amiable as ever, your majesty,” the other man said, “Do continue on in your… well, whatever it is you do for fun.”

The door snapped shut quickly and you staggered away from the door as you heard the king’s footsteps beneath the muttered curses. His shadow appeared in the dim and you pressed yourself to the wall. You eyed the door behind him, the balcony to your left.

“Get in the bed,” he snipped. “If I must drag you, you will not drag yourself from it.”

You shuddered and forced yourself away from the wall. Loki undressed fully as you neared the bed and climbed over the covers. He was quick as he followed and met you from the other side. He shoved you onto your back and held you there with his hand across your throat. His hot breath glossed over your cheek as his fingers flitted to your chin and he squeezed.

He growled and let go. He flopped onto his back beside you and laid silently. Stewing. You watched his silhouette in the dark.

“My brother does ruin everything,” he whispered. “I am so… riled I can barely focus and…” he bit his lip and stopped himself. “Use your hand.”

“Wha--”

“Or your mouth. I don’t care, I only need to cum,” he closed his eyes. “And not think of what my brother has laid on my plate for the morrow.”

You grimaced and reached over blindly. You kept your eyes on the ceiling as you gripped his hard member and he winced at your touch.

“Tighter,” he murmured.

You did as he bid and slowly moved your hand up his length and back down. You thought of the balcony. At least it was only your hand. You stroked him as he groaned beside you, as his voice floated in the moonlight, and the night air skimmed over your bodies. He wrapped his finger around yours and guided you faster.

You kept the motion as his hand dropped back down and you felt his climax building as he trembled. He grunted as he reached over and kneaded your hip. He bent his legs slightly as he erupted and his warm cum dripped over your knuckles and along your palm. He stopped you and spasmed as he tried to catch his breath.

“You will fetch a rag and clean me before I sleep,” he said, “And we will continue our little game another day.”

🐍

You awoke with a heat wrapped around you. The king’s arm clung to you as there was a prodding further down. You could feel his arousal along the curve of your ass. You tried not to fidget in fears you would rouse him more or wake him. You laid, helpless and watched the early dawn light on the wall.

“It is merely a nocturnal habit,” Loki said as his arm tightened around you. “But, I suppose, your presence does evoke it as well.”

You scowled and said nothing.

“You slept heavily. Rather loudly.” He mused. “I had to roll you over to ease your snorts.”

“You might send me back to the dungeon if I see you sleepless,” you suggested.

“I did not say I was,” he countered, “I slept well enough.”

He drew away from you and the bed shifted as he turned his back to you and hung his legs over the edge. You rolled onto your back as the blanket crumpled around his back and you watched him. He stretched and shook out his black waves. He stood, unabashed by his erection, and went to the window.

“On the road by noon.” He said, “A brief rest on the roadside and the sojourn will not be more than a day.”

You stayed as you were. It might be his bed but it was the most comfortable you’d ever known. Besides, you were unsure of what else to do.

“The party needn’t be very large. Some guards and a few companions.” He spoke to himself as he picked at the window frame and stared out. “Of course, my armor will have to be polished and--” He pulled away and looked back to you on the bed. He smirked. You sat up, alarmed by his sudden interest. “And you will need a chest.”

“Pardon?”

“You must accompany me, of course. As my bed warmer.” He neared the bed and loomed over you. “Did you truly think I’d leave you behind? What in all the gods’ names would you do?”

You frowned and bent your legs to your chest. What would you do indeed.

“In an unfamiliar castle, my bed will certainly need warming and… my brother is the very being that does know how to irk me entirely. I will need the… respite.” Loki lowered himself back to the bed. “And there is so much undone.”

You couldn’t hide your discomfort. You watched him recline across the bed as you stayed huddled at the top of the mattress.

“I don’t understand…” you said quietly.

“Understand what?” He looked over at you with his discerning green eyes.

“Why you didn’t leave me in the dungeon? Or send me to the laundries or the stables?”

He considered you a moment and exhaled. “Well, you are of little use to me in either and I do see use in you. As king, it is prudent only to surround yourself with those who can further your own purpose; be it pleasure or otherwise.”

His answer made you sick. You were an object. A commodity. Well, you were just a peasant, what did you expect?

“And, was your life so glorious before? Were your clay pots and simple companions so amusing? Never touched? Did you ever expect it, at the least?” He challenged.

“Commoners do not marry so early as nobles,” you said quietly.

“Oh, but surely by your age they have considered it? Tell me, do I tread on another man’s grass? Is there some secret betrothal I do not know about? Or perhaps just a tryst unconsummated?”

You pursed your lips and begrudgingly shook your head. You kept your eyes on the blanket as he rolled onto his side and looked at you closer.

“I have done you a favour,” he said, “And I am not in the habit of favours so you might be thankful for it.”

“You would make me a whore. I could’ve done the same in any alleyway.”

“You will find no kings in your alleys,” he girded, “Nor silks, satins, or furs. I offer you all despite your crimes and you think I take from you. I have given you more than you know. You, little mouse, are not the prize in this game, I am.”

You looked at him and blinked. He ran his finger along the blanket that hung over your leg. He tugged until it fell down your knees. You shivered as you thought to grab it and pull it back to your body but he was quick. He pushed your legs apart despite your resistance and you fought with him as he moved between them, his head by your thighs.

His hands hooked over your thighs as he held them apart and he beamed up at you. He licked his lips and pulled himself closer. You felt his breath along your folds as he held your gaze. He lowered his head slowly and you squirmed as he hovered just along your cunt.

“What--”

He poked his tongue between your folds and dragged it up along your bud. You gasped at the peculiar sensation and he did it again, this time circling the sensitive bump. You grasped the pillows as he watched you and continued on, teasing and toying with his tongue. As he pressed his lips around your bud and suckled, you squeaked and you fell flat on the pillows.

“What are you--” You were breathless as he lapped at you and hummed, sending a thrill up your spine.

Your back arched without thought and your hand flew down to grip your own thigh as it pushed against his head. He held onto your legs as he hugged them and closed his eyes as he devoured you. Your eyes rolled back and you dug your heels into the mattress. You lifted your pelvis as you were driven wild by the flurry in your core.

You moaned and whined pathetically as he took control of your body. As he lured you closer and closer to an unknown release. A coil wound tighter and tighter inside of you until finally it snapped. You felt the pleasure flow from you as he drank it up and the tension left your body in an instant as the waves crashed over you.

You bent your arms across your chest and held yourself in your shock; in the sheer ecstasy that had overcome you. You panted and felt suddenly cold as he removed himself from between your legs. You peeked over at him as he sat up and wiped his glistening lips. His mouth curved deviously as he met your gaze.

“I am not the only in need,” he preened, “Though the need is so much more dire when you know what exactly it is you long for, isn’t it?

#loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #series #by the king's hand #king!loki #au #medieval #medieval au #medieval!au #mcu #marvel

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jilyandbambi · 4 years ago

Text

Hey gang, so a couple of days ago @padawanlost brought up an old SW fic of mine that I’d only posted to my old blog, not my AO3 as it was only an off the cuff thing that I meant to turn into a full fledged multi-chapter, but bc I was working on so many projects at the time the fully realized idea I had never fully got off the ground.

Anywho, there were some people in the replies to padawanlost’s post who asked me if I wouldn’t mind reposting it. So I did some digging and actually did manage to find my old Word docs. The person who I mention in the original Author’s Note user @/TheMooseJTM isn’t on Tumblr anymore, so unfortunately I can’t link to her old post, and I’m also not sure if suzukiblu is still on here or, in actuality, which post of theirs’ inspired Michi’s fic, which inspired mine. In any case, mine can be read as a standalone. Everything is under the cut. Feel free to reblog/let me know what you think in the comments, etc.

Fair warning, I haven’t touched this thing since probably summer of 2016/2017 at the latest, so apologies for my older, less “polished” writing.

Shout out to @celestialily and @alabasterswriting this is for you :)

The One Where Padmé Spills the Tea Pt. 1

Inspired by this post by suzukiblu and this follow up ficlet by themooseJTHM. Also, Anakin being epileptic is in reference to this post. I didn’t come up with it. But I find it very fitting. I just want you both to know, this is all your fault. You two have no one to blame but yourselves.

In which, I take things a little farther than Michi does bc what can I say I’m 95% angst, 5% bacon. : ) : )))))))

Trigger warning for child abuse

=================================

It all starts when an unusually grave Obi-Wan returns Artoo to her, charging port and all. Right off the bat Padmé can feel her intestines clench and constrict into hard stone as he explains that, as apart of an intensive spirit cleansing ordeal recommended by the Temple Healers, Anakin must relinquish all of his material attachments. Especially those that were given to him as gifts from outsiders.

“But what will you do about his seizures?” she asks him. Trying her best to keep her voice even despite the frustration and worry bubbling up inside as she remembers the first time Anakin told her about them. Their wedding night, when he’d had one in front of her, and he hadn’t even been able to put a name to it. It was just a thing that happens to me every now and then when things get to be Too Much, Padmé. No need to get all fussy over me.

And she’d hated it. Hated that he’d had such a poor grasp of proper mental health. Hated that he’d been conditioned by his upbringing to see his own well-being as tertiary if not altogether immaterial. But knowing that Anakin oftentimes had trouble distinguishing when people’s negative emotions were directed at him or for him, Padmé had tempered her righteous fury by giving him Artoo as a service droid. Just a friend, to watch over you for me when we’re apart, Ani. And he’d been delighted. Problem solved.

But Obi-Wan’s brow furrows and his lips tighten into that patented Obi-Wan grimace that crops up on his face whenever he knows some new and dreadful information is about to be unloaded on him.

“What seizures?”

And the stone in Padmé’s gut grinds to dust, and she thinks it might have also been whatever remained of the restraint she’d been grasping at since this whole ordeal began. Because the next thing she knows, she’s hauling a panic-stricken What seizures, Padmé? What seizures?! Obi-Wan out the door and back to the Temple, demanding to see her Ani.

His room still has a window, so she can’t call it a prison cell. But Mother of Mothers…

Everything is gone, everything. The room is completely barren save for the cot, the sheets, and the thin, shabby-looking carpet. Anakin’s workbench and all of the droid parts and little side projects he’d been working on had been taken away. Along with his single podracing poster that had been hanging on the far wall.

Padmé has long been respectfully critical of the Jedi philosophy of no attachments, knowing that as an outsider, that there were aspects of their culture she could never understand. But this? This was just cruel.

Anakin looks up when she enters, and oh the dullness in his eyes and the weary slump of his shoulders make him seem at least three times his twenty-two years. His entire body seems to sag with misery and resignation.

He doesn’t get up to greet her, and he barely reacts at all when she sits down on the cot next to him. It’s been a week since she’s seen him last, thanks to the new restrictions the Jedi have put on their visits. Does he feel she has abandoned him? Stop it she mentally slaps herself. This isn’t about you!

She reaches up to run her knuckles along the back of his neck, and he immediately jerks back and bats her fingers away. Then turns to look at her—really, look, as if seeing that it’s her for the first time—and is immediately remorseful.

“Sorry,” he says. His eyes are painfully wide, weighted down with dark circles. Has he slept at all in the time since they’ve last seen each other?

“Sorry…” he says again. “Sorry. I’m…I’ve been…remembering things.”

“Don’t apologize,” she tells him, gently taking his hand in hers’. She starts to bring their joined hands into her lap, then reconsiders and places them on the cot in the space between them. Neither of them say anything for the longest time. And that’s just fine. She didn’t come here to talk, or to force him to talk. She came to make sure he was doing alright (and he’s not. Oh, he’s so far from alright. What is she going to do?).

The silence stretches on and Padmé can do nothing but stare at the dreary grayscale walls of the room Anakin’s been trapped in. Is this what every Jedi’s room looks like? The younglings included? Do the infants in the crèche go to wake from nightmares with nothing but gray spackled walls to comfort them? Can the Jedi think of no way to breed order and conformity than to stamp out anything that could encourage creativity and color?

Anakin clutches her hand suddenly, and she’s brought back to the present. He opens his mouth and pauses. Then clenches his jaw and tries again. She runs her thumb along the back of his hand, coaxing him through his distress.

“Padmé,” he croaked. “Do you think maybe if I were a proper Jedi, if I had been able to adapt to the lifestyle from the get go—if-if I weren’t so needy, Sidious wouldn’t have been able to…?”

What was left of Padmé’s stomach plummets to her feet. “Ani…” she says slowly. “Is that what they’ve made you think?”

“No!” he says defensively. Retreating back into himself. “It’s just…the other day when the Healers recommended that the Council take Artoo and the rest of my things they said…”

“What? What did they say?”

“They tell me Sidious was able to get to me because of how easily I latch onto people. How susceptible I am to attachments. That the reason I didn’t say anything to anyone about what was going on is because—“

“He took advantage of you,” Padmé said heatedly. Anakin recoiled, and she brought her hands up to cup both of his cheeks. Stroking her thumbs along them, so that he knows it’s not him she’s upset with. “He was an adult. He was in a position of authority. He manipulated you, Ani. That isn’t your fault.”

“But—“ he gasped. His breath coming out harsh and heavy. His words choking on the edge of them. “but I-I should’ve…”

“Shhhh…” she whispers, drawing his forehead down to touch hers’. “You’re not to blame, Ani. You didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it.”

And he just looks so relieved, even as tears begin to leak from his eyes and a sob stifles in his throat. As if this is the first time anyone’s told him this explicitly in the month since the truth has come out.

It lights a fire inside Padmé over the dust of her long-held restraint.

And the next thing she knows she’s pulling Anakin up by his flesh arm, and dragging him out of his cell and through the winding halls of the Temple. Without any labels on any of the doors it’s either by pure luck or fury fuelled instinct that she finds the Council Chambers on the first try. Caution thrown completely to the wind, she bursts through them.

“We’re married.”

She tells the group of scandalized Masters, before they can even open their mouths to rebuke her lack of decorum. Scandal quickly morphs into shock. And surveying the varied looks of surprise and indignation on each of their normally stoic faces, Padmé feels dark satisfaction water the embers of her rage.

Master Windu is the first to recover.

“Excuse us?” he says tightly.

“We’re married,” Padmé says again. Plainly and proudly. Code be damned. Careers be damned. Enough with the secrets and hiding. Enough. “For going on three years now. Since right after the war broke out. We’re married.”

Now that it’s out there, Padmé finds she can’t stop saying it. Mother goddess does it feel good to say those words out loud. She wants to shout them from the top of the tallest skyscraper on Coruscant. Rife with rebellious attitude, she turns behind her and smacks her lips against Anakin’s. And if the way he just melts into her doesn’t convince the Masters that she isn’t making this up, nothing will.

“This is ridic—“

“Unbelievable!“

“How dare—“

“I’ll produce the marriage certificates tomorrow, if you like,” she says over the voices of the hysterical Council members. “But right now, I’m taking my husband home. Consider this his resignation. Good evening, Masters.”

And with that she links her arm through Anakin’s, and and they walk briskly through the doors of the chamber, just in time to here Obi-Wan’s “Wait! Padmé, Anakin! You’re making a—” before the doors slam behind them.

The reality of what’s just happened doesn’t hit her until they’re back in their apartment. Anakin’s left the Order. She just resigned him from the Order. Is she even allowed to do that? Did he want to leave the Order? Is he very angry with her? Is he going to leave her now and go crawling back to them? Oh, blessed Mother of Mothers curse her impulsivity, what did she just do?

“You were amazing!” Anakin shouted. She turned around to see a huge grin plastered across his face, and what a difference it makes. Gone is that hollowed out prisoner. He’s himself again, and he’s scooping her up in his arms, kissing her and spinning her around, saying over and over again. “You were amazing! You were amazing! You’re so” kiss “kriffing” kiss “amazing!”

A long, deep kiss against her lips. He holds the back of her head, bringing her in deeper. Then pulls away, giggling now. Oh, she’s missed that laugh. She’s missed that smile. Oh, Anakin…

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispers, clutching her to his chest, and tangling his flesh hand in her curls. They stay like that for an eternity, swaying back and forth on his heels; her, several inches off the ground, buried in her husband’s arms, and him, nearly delirious with renewed hope, holding her tighter, tighter, tighter as if she’ll float away from him if he lets up.

“What happens now?” he whispered in her ear. Softly, hesitatingly. As if daring this to somehow be only a dream.

“Now,” Padmé grinned. “I’m going to pack a bag. You’re going to change out of this,” she fingered his ratty tunic and scowled at his too-small pants. “And the two of us are going to leave all of this behind, like we always talked about.”

Anakin’s smile is so wide she’s afraid he’s going to pull a muscle. Instead he pulls her in for another deep, hungry kiss.

“Sounds like a plan.”

He changes quickly so that he can help her pack. As is their routine, she pulls dresses and pants and tunics from their hangers and hands them to him to put away. He’s such an efficient packer. Somehow able to fit half her closet into one mid-sized suitcase without rumpling anything. He’s so careful with her things, taking special care to fold and arrange them perfectly. Treating them as lovingly as he does her. And he says he’s the lucky one.

They’re just about done when Threepio comes in to tell them that Obi-Wan has arrived. Unnecessary, as he is right on Threepio’s heels. And just as quickly as it set in, Anakin’s good mood is snuffed out like a dying flame.

“Anakin, Padmé, I—“ he stops himself when he catches sight of her open suitcase.

“You’re leaving,” he says flatly.

“Yes,” she answers, daring him to challenge them. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly.

“Please, just hold on a minute. Hear me out,” he says carefully. “Don’t do anything rash. Please.”

He looks to Anakin, who is uncharacteristically silent, sitting on the chaise lounge at the foot of her bed with his head bowed away from his master. Padmé steps in front of him.

“We’ve already made up our minds, Obi-Wan,” Padmé says forcefully. Lie. She’s made Anakin’s mind up for him. But in her defense, he was all for it…

Right?

I’m so lucky to have you!

Right.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan scolds. Scolds, as if she were a simple child! “I’m surprised at you. You’re not usually so reckless. Please, just take a minute to think about this. Think about what’s best for Anakin.”

“What’s best for Anakin,” Padmé seethed. “Being shut away in that room like some criminal? Being stripped of all of his personal possessions and any sort of stimulation? Being cut off from the only person who cares for him? Is that what’s—“

“You’re not the only person who cares for him!” Obi-Wan shouted. “You’ve got some nerve! We’re doing everything we can think of to help him through this! And then you just swoop in and—!”

“Whatever you call yourselves doing it’s obviously not enough!” she exclaimed. “Obi-Wan he was miserable in that room. You had to have seen that! You have to know that being isolated like that would crush him! You know how much he needs other people!”

“That’s precisely what got him into this mess!” he cried. “He’s always just been so…attached! Palpatine saw that and was able to prey on him because of it. I know being cut off from everyone is difficult for him now, but he’ll come out of this a stronger, wiser Jedi. He’s a grown man, Padmé not an infant. He doesn’t need you coddling him!”

As a general rule, Padmé hates violence. Especially when used to resolve an argument. But right now she wants to throttle every self-righteous bone in Obi-Wan’s body.

“How can you say that?!” she screamed. “Palpatine preyed on him because he was lonely and traumatized! And then you go and make him worse!”

“Oh so it’s my fault that that…disgusting maniac was buggering him for twelve years?!”

“Must you be so crass? I never said anything like that!” she bellowed, incensed. “But yes, while we’re at it? Where were you during those twelve years? What were you doing that you could be so willfully blind to what was being done to him?!”

“Willfully--?!” Obi-Wan spits out through clenched teeth. His face redder than a setting sun, and twice as huge. Like it’s going to just burst open from rage. She’s never seen him so furious. Good. Finally getting some genuine emotion out of Mr. Model Jedi. “Where were you? Now that we’re pointing fingers, where were YOU? He was married to you during three of those years? Clearly sharing more with you than he was with me, what were you doing that you missed something this huge?”

“How dare you imply that I--!“

“STOP IT! JUST STOP!!”

They both turn to find Anakin hunched over and stricken. His hands clutching at his scalp. A high-pitched keening noise—like the garbled whirring of a broken droid—begins to sound from his mouth as he started to convulse. Oh no.

“Ani…?” Padmé said softly, stepping closer to him. He didn’t look up. She deflated. All of the anger and bitterness and contempt flowing out of her at once. She didn’t have to look over at Obi-Wan to know the same was happening to him.

“Anakin,” he said, getting down on his knees so as to be eye-level. “Anakin, shhh…Stay with us.”

He reached up and began to tug at Anakin’s arms, trying to pull his hands from his hair. They didn’t budge. He pulled harder, yanking at them.

“Anakin…Anakin let go.”

“Stop,” Padmé comes down beside them, and gently pulls Obi-Wan away. “Leave him. It doesn’t last long.”

“He’ll pull his hair out!”

“His muscles and joints go stiff when he’s like this. If you pull on his arm too much like you were you could dislocate his shoulder.”

Obi-Wan makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Padmé—“

“Stop!” Anakin croaked. His speech slurred and gravelly. “Please…”

He brings his arms down, then. But his eyes remain bleary and unfocused. They both reach for him, but Padmé gets there first. She pulls him into her lap, bringing his head to rest against her chest and carding her fingers through his hair to soothe any scratches he might have left.

“Shhh…” she soothes, as his breath hitches and he begins to tremble. “We’re sorry. We’ve stopped. We’re so, so sorry, Ani…”

The room goes quiet and still as Anakin calms and his breathing returns to normal. Then, Obi-Wan asks

“Anakin, did Palpatine know about your seizures, too?”

She could slap that man. She could. She really, really could.

A noise comes out of Anakin’s mouth that is halfway between a shriek and a sob. She shushes him again and rubs his back, glaring at Obi-Wan who glares back.

“I’ve been…remembering things,” Anakin whispered.

“Shhh…” she says again. “It’s alright. You don’t have to—“

“No, let him get this out,” says Obi-Wan.

“H-he used to…when I was younger…afterwards, he’d have me sit on his lap,” he made another noise. “He’d lift up my tunic and rub my back…like Momma used to. Except he’d go lower...”

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan said, dropping his head into his hands. Sounding as though he were going to retch.

“Sorry!” Anakin whispered. “Sorry! I’m sorry! I should have…”

“You did nothing wrong,” Padmé says vehemently in his ear. “Remember what I told you before, you did nothing wrong.”

“She’s right, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, just as emphatic. Bracing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

He waited for Anakin’s breathing to regulate. Then pulled him up from her arms. Anakin went to him like a marionette being repositioned.

“Look at me,” Obi-Wan said. “I want to hear it from you. Do you want to leave the Order? Truly?”

For a moment, Anakin doesn’t answer. And Padmé gets the sinking feeling that she’s made a terrible lapse in judgment. But then he says

“I want to go with Padmé, Master,” with all of his trademark obstinance. But all the same, it’s a question, a request. As if he needed the other man’s permission. As if Obi-Wan would force him to stay against his will.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he pleads.

And Obi-Wan just looks so defeated, so desolate. Padmé can’t help but want to take back every single one of her earlier words. But before she can even begin to, he hangs his head, and leaves them with a quiet, “So be it.”

Anakin falls limply back into her arms. They don’t leave for another two hours.

==================================================

The Tea ‘Verse Pt. 2

(Palpatine is a nasty space hipster that wears ugly robes and plays chess) Trigger Warning for graphic abuse

---------------------------------------

Their first couple of days on Naboo are like something out of a dream. A second honeymoon, only better.

Before, whenever they visited the Lake Country they’d been confined to the house and its surrounding lands for fear of being recognized and outed by locals. But now that they’ve revealed themselves there’s no more need for subtlety and sneaking. They can be as gooey and shameless and public as they want, without fear of reprisal. And they take full advantage of it.

(It turns out, actually, that they had nothing to worry about all along, at least as far as the townies are concerned. The inhabitants of the Lake Country are far too consumed with their own day to day lives to care anything at all about the “vacationers” canoodling in the middle of the town square. Padmé and Anakin happily make a note of that.)

They cook breakfast together every morning, then take their food back up to bed and feed one another by hand off of a shared plate. She purposely drips syrup down Anakin’s chest so that she can lick it off. He doesn’t mind one bit.

They waste an entire day making love. Languishing in tangled limbs and tender touches. Exploring and relearning one another’s bodies the way they always do after a lengthy separation. Finding new and creative ways to make each other ache and writhe in pleasure, until they are too sore to do anything more than listen to one another breathe, as the sun sets just outside their bedroom.

They have dinner by candlelight—both at home, and at restaurants in town. The wait staff at one is so taken with the two of them and the way they feed each other bits of their dessert between kisses, they end up getting two more on the house.

They picnic out in the fields, and watch the wild shaaks graze. And when Padmé teases him about that time he tried to ride one and ended up falling flat on his face, Anakin does it again, just to see her laugh.

They pop popcorn and watch live coverage of the Pixelito Classic on Malastare, and she listens attentively as Anakin savagely rips apart every contestant’s podracer. (“I built a better racer than that at nine, what is Kolbron even DOING?” he rages. She chuckles, kisses him, and shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth.)

They take her father’s old speederboat out on the largest lake in the region for a day. While she tans, he lies halfway over the edge of the deck and drags his arms along in the water, grinning and laughing like a little boy. And Padmé thinks that if she loves one singular thing about Anakin, it’s his wide-eyed wonderment at the simple things.

Going to bed on a full stomach.

Clothes that fit properly.

Water. Fresh water. Unlimited fresh water. (“that you can just…drink and sail in and swim in, Padmé. Drown in, even. Anytime you want. It’s just there!”)

Her smile.

And she wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, how anyone could ever want to break her Anakin, the way Sidious and the Jedi almost did. How anyone could see his passion and think it something that should be stripped away or perverted.

Thinking about what they almost did to him makes her want to tear millennia old institutions down to the ground with her bare hands.

Anakin catches her brooding, and against all her protesting scoops her up and tosses her into the water, tumbling in right after her. When they finally come back onboard, she’s missing her bikini. (She never sees it again.)

Later that night, as Anakin trails butterfly kisses down her belly, muttering nonsense words of praise and adoration between every nip and suck, Padmé finds herself feeling so very grateful to this provincial little corner of her homeworld for being so good to the love of her life. For helping him heal. For washing the gray from his skin. Lifting the hunch in his shoulders. Spilling light back into his eyes. For slowly bringing him back to himself. For proving to Padmé without a shadow of a doubt that she made the right choice in taking Anakin away from the Jedi and bringing him here to their sanctuary.

He’s home. He’s safe. He’s loved. With her, as he should have been all this time.

--------------------------------------------------

Honestly, now that he’s finally free, Anakin can’t fathom why it took him so long to leave. Or rather; why it took Padmé getting fed up on his behalf and literally dragging him out of the Temple for him to realize that that is what he should have done years ago. Thrown up his hands and stormed out. Kriff the Council and their scorn and distrust, Obi-Wan and his endless criticism, and three years of endless, pointless war.

Kriff it all. Let the transistors fall where they may.

He endured them for entirely too long. Let them push him around for entirely too long. Let them take away all of his things—his posters and his droids and Artoo—when he already had so little to call his own, when they’d already forced him to relinquish so much. Let them lock him up like a rabid dog. Let them pick apart his mind like he would with a busted engine, trying to discern if there were parts of it that could be salvaged, or if it would be better to just scrap the whole thing and move on.

That’s all he ever was to them, wasn’t he? A piece of machinery. Another droid they could program and push around and possess. That’s all he’d ever been to anyone. Even…

No. Don’t think about that. Your mind always ends up going to the wrong place when you think too hard about that.

But…

Shut up…

But—

Shut up shutupshutupshutupshutup—

You don’t know for sure. You never actually did get the chance to confront him.

Shut up.

Obi-Wan took that from you.

He was defending me.

Really? When has he ever done that?

Shut up.

He was your friend. He was always there for you. How do you know—

Shut up.

—that he was really out to hurt you? Obi-Wan’s been wrong about things like this before.

Things like what? Obi-Wan’s never wrong. Shut up.

He never did like the Chancellor. Maybe…

Shut up. He was right. I was wrong. I’m always wrong. Wrong and cocky and stupid and—

(“That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Anakin! I never want to hear you say anything like that about yourself ever again. Am I understood?” “Yes, sir…Thank you.”)

See? Why would a person who wanted to hurt you treat you with such kindness?

That’s a stupid thing to ask.

But did anything he did ever hurt? They keep saying he hurt you, but did it, actually?

Shut up. I remember. I remember…

What do you remember?

Hands…and touching…and—

Hands and touching. People touch each other with their hands. That’s normal. You were right. You so stupid. Why do the people in your life even bother with a socially illiterate imbecile like you? How can Padmé and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka even stand—

Shut up! Just shut up!

Anakin rolled roughly over onto his side and stuffed his face into his pillow. Hoping to quiet the annoying voice in his head telling him that maybe this was all terrible a mistake. That maybe everyone had been exaggerating. Maybe…

“Ani…” Padmé’s sleep-thick voice called out from behind him. “Are you alright?”

Kriff. She’s awake now. She’s not going to let this go now that he’s woken her.

“Fine,” he mumbled into the pillow.

She pressed into his side, stroking cool fingertips down the nape of his neck. That wasn’t fair. That was the opposite of fair. She knows what that does to him.

“Ani…” she said again.

He buried his face farther into the pillow. If he looked at her he would have to tell her everything, and she would look at him with That look. The only expression on her face that he could honestly say he detested. The one that was pitying and saddened and outraged all at once. The expression she always wore when he said or did something that was normal for him, but not Normal. When he reminded her of where he’d come from. Where she’d met him.

But she was awake now. She was going to have it out of him one way or another. Best to just rip it off. Like a bandage.

“Padmé,” he said slowly. Taking his head from the pillow and turning on his side so that they were now face to face. “What…what Sidious did to me. I…I know it was wrong. But why was it? I mean I know why, but why, you know? Why is it such a big deal?”

Why does it hurt me so much, when it didn’t actually hurt? Is what he doesn’t say. But he thinks Padmé gets it. He hopes so because he knows the words won’t make any sense if said aloud the way they do in his head

And sure enough, there it is. Her drooping eyes pop all the way open and she’s staring at him—at him, but not at him. Now seeing cruelty and hardship and oppression instead of her husband. And she is so very sad for him, he can feel it swelling around her in the Force. She is heartbroken and furious with people who are long buried in his past. Her lips twist into a scowl that then quickly morphs into an even sadder smile when she remembers that she was scowling at him. Her mouth opens. Then closes with a disquieted hum. She’s silent for a moment, then says.

“Ani, do you think it might be good for you to talk to someone…else about these thoughts? A professional, I mean. To help you sort through it all?”

And Anakin—

(“Anakin, listen. The Council has decided you are to spend some time with the Temple healers after…this whole business with Palpatine.”

“For how long, Master?”

“Until they clear you for active duty, I suppose.”

New clothes, dark and coarse. Too loose and too tight. Then later a new room, bare and cold and alone.

“It’s just to help you clear your head, Anakin. This isn’t a punishment; I swear to you.”

Cold and bored and alone in the dark. No Artoo. Nothing to tinker with. No visitors. No Obi-Wan or Padmé or Ahsoka. Where are they? Why don’t they come? Why did Obi-Wan have to take everything away and leave him like this?

“This is for your own good, Skywalker.”

“It’s only to help you, Anakin.”

“We’re doing what we can to undo the damage Sidious did. But Skywalker’s not cooperating.”

“As usual.”

“Perhaps a more aggressive approach is necessary.”

It’s just to help. It’s just to help. It’s just to help you, Anakin. The more you work with them, the easier this will be.)

—Anakin thinks, Palpatine never hurt me, the Jedi did. Except he says it out loud, and Padmé looks absolutely crushed. Fuck, fuck, fuck what was he thinking saying that out loud?!

Before she can say anything else, he whispers

“This is where I belong, Padmé,” into her neck, as her arms wind around him and she clutches him in a quivering embrace. “I’m happy here, with you. Finally, after so long. I’m finally happy. It was just a thought. Please…”

Don’t send me away to another dark room. Don’t let anyone lock me up again. Please. Please…please.

Padmé doesn’t say anything more, just continues to hold him tight and stroke his hair. And Anakin tells himself that that’s the end of it. That he’s safe now, with the only person who’s ever cared about him. He has nothing to worry about with being stuffed away in isolation while someone new tries to “help” him. Padmé’s not going to do that. She loves him. She’s the only person who does.

He repeats that to himself again and again as he drifts off to sleep in her arms.

And that night, for the first time since this whole thing began, Anakin dreams.

He opens his eyes to find himself walking through a familiar hallway. Aides and staffers bustle around him, casting furtive glances his way, but upon realizing who he is return to their work. Some nodding at him in polite greeting.

Eventually, he comes to a familiar door, and passes through it without a moment’s hesitation.

Palpatine looks up from whatever it is he was working on as soon as Anakin enters his office, an eager smile stretching across his face.

“Anakin,” he says as he stands up from his desk to come over and greet him. “It is so good to see you again, my boy.”

“You as well, Chancellor,” Anakin says, bowing his head respectfully.

“Come, come, sit down,” Palpatine says excitedly. Looping his arm around Anakin’s and leading him over to one of the couches in the sitting area of his office. Gently guiding him into one, and sitting down next to him.

“So…” he says, that eager smile on his face getting wider and wider. “What brings you by today, Anakin?”

Anakin faltered.

“I… I, uh…”

What was wrong with him? Why had he shown up at the Senate building today? He couldn’t remember…

“Did you have something to discuss with me, dear one?” Palpatine prodded. “Is everything alright between you and Obi-Wan? Do you have some concerns about the last mission you went on that you’d like to share with me?”

“I…”

Did he have something to share with him? He did. Of course he did. There had to have been an important reason for coming here. He wasn’t so arrogant to think he could just show up at the Chancellor’s office for no reason at all.

“You seem troubled, Anakin,” Palpatine said. Smile gone. Lips pulled down into a thin frown. “Are you certain nothing’s the matter? There’s nothing going on that I should know about?”

Anakin shook his head, trying to clear his mind. What was going on with him? He thought he had been bad off before, but this was on a whole new level. He was seriously losing it.

“No. No, I…I just…”

“Are you sure?” Palpatine said. Mouth twisting into another fond smile. He gave him a knowing look. “Trouble in paradise, perhaps, between you and Senator Amidala?”

Anakin’s head shot up.

“H-how…How did you…?”

No one knew about him and Padmé. They’d been so very careful. How could this be?

“Are things a bit…awkward between the two of you right now? What with all of those awful things they’ve been saying about me in the HoloNet?”

Anakin froze. The blood in his veins turned to hard, steely ice. He turned to look at the Chancellor. He stared back. An expectant gleam flashing in his gold-rimmed eyes. He smirked. Anakin’s gut rose up into his throat.

“This isn’t a dream,” he whispered vacantly. The horrifying realization slowly creeping up on him. “This is really happening.”

Palpatine’s grin widened, and his cold, weathered hand came to rest against the back of Anakin’s neck, attempting to comfort him with gentle, placating strokes. Anakin stiffened. Palpatine’s touch stilled, and his fingers wrapped around the base of his neck. He felt a faint tingling sensation shoot down his spine, and slumped against the couch cushions.

“What do you want?” he said in a strained voice.

Palpatine chuckled fondly. “I think, Anakin, the question is, what do you want? We are in your head, after all.”

“You’re in my head,” Anakin said, his voice shaking with anger and barely suppressed fear. “You’re using some kind of Sith magic on me!”

The Chancellor laughed again. This time with far less mirth.

“Anakin, not even I am powerful enough to invade another being’s mind like this. Especially not now that my true identity has been revealed and the Jedi have pushed back my influence. Me being able to enter your mind means that you have to have given me permission, young one. You must have called me here for some reason. What could it be, I wonder.”

Anakin took a minute to stew on that. What he was saying did make some sense…maybe. Obviously, he wasn’t well versed in what was and what wasn’t within the realm of a Sith’s capability. But with Sidious’ true identity revealed didn’t that mean that the shroud of the Dark Side that had been clouding the Force for so long was finally lifted? It had to, didn’t it? Obi-Wan and the Jedi have finally triumphed. They had to have.

(Maybe he would know this for sure if someone had bothered to update him on what was going on during all that time he spent in isolation.)

He turned back over to Palpatine and, with more bravery than he felt at the moment, stared his (former?) mentor straight in his eyes.

“You’re a Sith Lord.”

“Yes.”

Anakin swallowed thickly, looking back down at his lap.

He knew how he should be reacting to this. He should feel outraged. Violated. His entire being should be responding to the alarm bells sounding off all around him in the Force. He should be doing his damnedest to wake himself up. To fight back. To alert Obi-Wan and the Council that—even if Palpatine had been driven to whatever far corner of the galaxy he was contacting him from—he was still a powerful enough presence to manifest himself in another’s dreams. He should pull himself up, throw off Palpatine’s hand and get himself out of this “office” as fast as he can.

And yet, Anakin finds himself planted right where he is. Paralyzed by the only thought currently running through his head.

“All this time,” he choked. His heart hammering away furiously in his chest. “All this time. You’ve been using me. You never cared about m—“

“That’s not true, Anakin!” Palpatine cut him off, raising his voice ever so slightly in reprimand. Anakin flinched and ducked his head. Palpatine resumed his stroking.

“If you believe nothing else,” he began softly. “Believe that all of our interactions over the years have been genuine on my part. You have always been very special to me, dear one.”

Anakin shook his head, doing his best to shake off Palpatine’s hand. It tightened again, and another twinge shot through him. He relaxed.

“You just wanted to use me,” he whispered. “This whole time, you were—“

“Trying to guide you,” Palpatine said forcefully. “That’s all, Anakin. Just trying to offer you the guidance and affection I knew you craved. You were so lonely during those first few years after you came to Coruscant. Don’t you remember?”

Anakin drew in a shaky breath. And without letting that one out, took another. Yes, he remembered. Of course he remembered those early years in his training. Before he learned that Obi-Wan’s aloofness was his own way of showing he ‘cared’. Before he had completely given up on making friends with the other padawans in his class. Before he had resigned himself to never earning the Council’s acceptance. He had been so utterly alone back then. And who had been there for him during all of that?

He nodded.

Then, remembering who—what—he was talking to, he shook his head again.

“You were trying to turn me…” he whispered harshly. Furious that he needed to remind himself of this. “You wanted me to be your apprentice.”

“I still do,” Palpatine said plainly. “Were you to wish it, were you to embrace my teachings, Anakin, you could be the most powerful Sith in millennia. I have foreseen it. I have always foreseen great things for you. In spite of your confounding insistence on wallowing in mediocrity.”

“You’re everything I’ve spent my life fighting against,” Anakin gritted out between clenched teeth. “I will never join you.”

“No, I suppose not now,” Palpatine sighed regretfully. “But nevertheless, Anakin. I still consider myself your friend. You called me to you for a reason. I’m here to help you. Whatever it is.”

His hand drifted slowly down Anakin’s neck and spine in slow, soothing circles until it stopped at the small of his back. It reached around his waist, urging him closer to his side.

Blood pounded in Anakin’s ears. The rhythm beating in time to the Force’s warning. Saliva, stale and sickly sweet pooled in the back of his throat. He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed until his mouth went dry.

“You’re lying,” he said. “I wouldn’t have called you here. I don’t want to see you. Not after what you—not after…After—oh you know!”

Palpatine hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head so that Anakin was now facing him directly.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, Anakin.”

“What you did,” he fumbled. For some reason unable to even think the words, much less voice them aloud.

“What did I do?”

“You…” Anakin croaked over the lump in this throat. “…Hurt me.”

“Did I?” Palpatine frowned in genuine confusion. “When?”

Anakin breathed a long, ragged breath. When? When?

Yes, when. When did it all start? He thought back through all the old memories that had been cropping up recently. After Obi-Wan had sat him down and explained to him that what had been happening during his and Palpatine’s meetings all these years had been wrong, he’d thought back over everything. Every touch. Every hug. Every pat on the head or the cheek or the back. Which one was the bad one? Which one had made him feel dirty? Used? Manipulated? He couldn’t tell now. Palpatine was looking down on him, expectant, and just a little bit hurt, and Anakin found that he honestly couldn’t say for himself when the Chancellor’s touches had begun to bother him.

If they ever did.

They did, didn’t they?

Because what he was doing was wrong.

Right?

“I-I’ve been…remembering things?” he said, closing his eyes and turning away from the Chancellor.

“Really?” Palpatine said. Bringing his head back up with an insistent jerk. “Such as?”

Anakin shifted his eyes to the floor—tried to, but Palpatine’s glare was firmly holding him in place. He couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Things.”

“Like?”

He shuddered. His whole body began to tremble, much to his embarrassment. Palpatine brought his hand from Anakin’s side, and cupped both of his cheeks in his own. They were cold and clammy against Anakin’s hot skin. He sank into them before he could stop himself.

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “I understand this is difficult for you. But you’ve always been able to talk to me, and I’ve always been able to set you right. Don’t shut me out now, when you’re clearly in so much turmoil.”

“Y-you…touched me,” Anakin mumbled. His eyes stung and he shut them again. Willing the water building up beneath his lower lid to stay where it was.

“Yes,” Palpatine said, running his thumbs along Anakin’s cheeks. “Just as I am now. Does this hurt you, Anakin? Do you want me to stop?”

Anakin thought about that. Did he? He should. He feels like if Obi-Wan or Padmé saw this happening they would tell him he should. But why? It wasn’t hurting him. It made him feel…the opposite…

“No,” he whispered, with a slow shake of his head.

“Has anything I’ve done ever made you feel unsafe?”

Again, Anakin shook his head. “No.”

“I see. Then, do you want to know what I think, Anakin?” Palpatine asked softly.

“Yes…”

“I think—and mind you this is just my own personal observation based on what I know of you and your Master. But I think the only reason you feel this way about our relationship now is because Obi-Wan and the Council told you you ought.”

Anakin’s eyes snapped open. No…No! That wasn’t…right. Right? Right. Obi-Wan was his Master. His teacher. His friend. He was always right. He would never lead Anakin astray. Anakin opened his mouth, ready to jump to Obi-Wan’s defense.

The Chancellor hushed him before he could even make a sound.

“Just hear me out,” he implored. “I’m not saying they did this maliciously. Far from it. You’re Obi-Wan’s former padawan, Anakin. He would never do anything to deliberately cause you pain. But think about it, how often has he shown you any sort of physical affection over the years? How often are any of the Jedi ever affectionate with one another? Not very, am I right?”

“…yes,” Anakin said reluctantly. This was true. It was one of the biggest culture shocks of coming to the Temple. He had been so used to hugs and kisses before bed or before departing for the day’s work or just because. There had been none of that with Obi-Wan. Especially not in the beginning, when they were still so new to each other. It was one of the reasons why his meetings with Palpatine had meant so much to him…

“So perhaps, then,” Palpatine said quietly. “It’s all just a horrible misunderstanding on their part.”

He dropped his hands from Anakin’s face, and reached into his lap to take his hand. Giving it a prompting squeeze.

“You know that Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi just don’t understand things like this. They view any kind of affection as dangerous and corrupting. Of course they wouldn’t understand how we are when we’re together. They’ve never understood you and what you need.”

He drew tiny circles over the back of Anakin’s hand. And a familiar coldness spread through Anakin’s gut.

“They’ve never even tried,” he muttered angrily.

“No,” Palpatine agreed. “But I have, Anakin.”

Anakin nodded.

“You’ve always been there for me,” he whispered. Waves of shame and guilt coursing over him with each swirl of Palpatine’s thumb against his hand. He tried to look away, but Palpatine’s glare burned. His hand tightened. Anakin felt another spasm shoot through his bones.

“I have,” Palpatine said quietly, his voice taking on a pained edge. “Which is why I can’t understand why you’d let them say all of those horrible things about me in the media, Anakin. Do you have any idea how devastating this has all been for me? How mortifying?”

Anakin’s throat hitched. His cheeks burned.

“I-I’m sorry, Chancellor,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry I let this happen to you. Everything just went so fast after Obi-Wan and I switched back. He came to get me and brought me before the healers, and I—“

“Shhh,” Palpatine hushed him with a finger to his lips. “That’s enough, dear one. Of course I don’t blame you for all of it. This isn’t completely your fault. I know how the Jedi can be with you. I bet they didn’t wait a single second to hear your side of the story, did they?”

Anakin shook his head mutinously. “They locked me up,” he said. “For weeks.”

“Surely Obi-Wan couldn’t have agreed to that.”

“He did!” Anakin said, voice rising as familiar pangs of betrayal hit him as he recalled being packed off into that room to ‘heal.’ “He said it was for my own good.”

Palpatine tutted disdainfully, as he continued to stroke Anakin’s hand. “There’s more, isn’t there? I can see it in your eyes, Anakin. There’s more you want to tell me.”

Anakin hesitated. He knows he shouldn’t. Again, he remembers what he’s talking to. And he knows, alright? He knows how dangerous it is to put his trust in a Sith Lord. Knows what fate awaits him should he let himself sink too deep. But this isn’t just a Sith Lord. This was Palpatine. His friend. His confidant. He could tell him anything. Had always been able to share anything and everything with him. And he had forgotten over these past few weeks how much he missed the Chancellor’s open ear and paternal wisdom. Forgotten how good it felt to come to him and just get it all out, without fear of judgment or reproach.

“They took away all my droid parts. And Artoo, too. And they locked me up like a prisoner. No one ever came to see me, to update me on what was going on or to tell me when it would all be over. Not even Obi-Wan. They even tried to keep Padmé away!”

Palpatine mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, ‘those fools. Those insipid, unbelievable fools.’ Then let go of Anakin’s hand to spread out his arms welcomingly.

“Tell me all about it, Anakin,” he says, pleadingly. “I can see there’s still so much you need to get off your chest. I know they’ve made you doubt me. I know they’ve tried to turn you against me. But you know who I am. And you know that your thoughts and worries are always safe with me. Let them go, my boy. It’s alright. It’s all going to be alright now.”

Anakin looks at this man, his mentor, whom he has known and trusted and confided in for more than half his life. And now knowing who he is and what he has always wanted from him, tries to find some hint of malice. Some trace of deceit or cunning. Any small seed of treachery.

He finds nothing. Except Palpatine. His friend who has always wanted nothing more than to guide him, to give him the esteem and the security he has never gotten from the Jedi.

If Palpatine has always been the one to make him feel accepted and cared for, when he was supposedly evil, and the the Jedi have always made him feel alone and unwanted, when they were on the side of good, then…

No, he can’t think like that. He can’t allow himself to…

But still…

Was it so bad? Was it really all that bad?

Palpatine, seeing the reluctance and yearning warring in Anakin’s eyes, spreads his arms wider, reaching for him ever so slightly. That same old welcoming smile spread across his face.

“Come to me, dear one,” he croons.

Anakin goes.

Well

After ignoring the outside world for a solid week, it was high time Padmé got back down to business. There are messages she needs to return. Meetings to reschedule. Bills to review. And new speeches to write, as she has yet to personally address the news of her relationship since its reveal.

She had made sure to have her publicist leak the story of her and Anakin’s secret marriage to the press the night they left Coruscant, in order to beat the Jedi to the punch. And upon checking the Holonet the next day she had been pleased to find public’s reaction was even better than she’d anticipated.

By the time she and Anakin had reached the Lake Country, every tabloid, gossip rag, and talk show in the Republic was abuzz with talk of the forbidden love affair between The Hero With No Fear and the beloved Queen turned Senator of Naboo. As Padmé hoped would happen, the general public was so enamored with the melodrama of her and Anakin’s torrid romance, the scandal of a Jedi being romantically involved with a senator was less than an afterthought to them. Neither had anyone made the connection between Anakin and “Minor A,” the Chancellor’s unnamed victim in the Senate Sexual Abuse Scandal.

But there were still people she had to answer to.

The Queen and her advisors had not been pleased at the news of one of Naboo’s most respected politicians engaging in such unseemly behavior. But given Padmé’s previously spotless record, and that her approval ratings were higher than they’d ever been, what with the public’s obsession with her relationship, she’d been allowed to keep her seat in the senate. Though she knew that she would have to work hard going forward to regain the monarchy’s full confidence.

And then there was her family.

Sola and their mother, especially, were understandably incensed that it had taken three years for them to learn of Padmé’s marriage, even more so that they had had to find out through the HoloNet instead of from her directly. Her father, for his part, hadn’t said a word while his wife and daughter ranted for a full forty-five minutes. But the look of abject heartache on his face hurt Padmé more than her mother and sister’s tearful raging.

She’d borne all of their resentment meekly and penitently. Knowing that there was nothing she could say in her defense. She has been selfish all these years, keeping Anakin a secret from them for her own convenience, and she wasn’t going to disrespect her family more than she already had by trying to reconcile her selfishness to their betrayed faces.

But when they demanded that she bring Anakin home to them, and introduce him as Anakin her husband, not Anakin her bodyguard, Padmé had refused point blank. And no amount of cajoling or pleading or guilt-tripping on any of their parts could make her change her mind.

When asked, bitingly, why she would deny them this one small request, after putting them through so much, Padmé had cringed, reigned in the tears and exasperation threatening to spill out of her, and told them that she and Anakin were keeping a low profile for right now so as to avoid the paparazzi, until they were ready to give interviews.

Lie.

Like the general public, Padmé’s family doesn’t know the real reason behind Anakin’s resignation from the Order, and she intends to keep it that way. It’s his secret to reveal. But if they don’t know, she can’t tell them about how moody and skittish he’s been lately. About how he stares off into space for hours on end. About how his seizures have started becoming more frequent. About how at night he wakes them both, shaking and screaming from night terrors, with no memory of what they’d been about once she gets him calmed down again.

About how he was backsliding, in spite of all the progress he’d made during their first week here. And that he wouldn’t talk to her about any of what was going on in his head so that she could help.

Padmé knows there’s no way she can reintroduce him to her parents while he’s like this. She—

“Miss Padmé,” C3P0 called, interrupting her thoughts as he came into the study. “Miss Padmé, I’m so sorry to interrupt your work, but I’ve made lunch. Shall I fetch Master Ani?”

“No, that’s alright Threepio,” she smiled at the droid. “Thank you, but I’ll go get him myself. We’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yes, of course, Miss,” chimes Threepio, and with a slight bow, heads back to the kitchen. Padmé follows him through the door.

She hasn’t checked on Anakin all morning, but finds him in the first place she looks, their bedroom.

Surrounded by… sheets of flimsi?

They’re scattered all over the floor; from the foot of the bed to the dresser, from the doorway of the ‘fresher heading out the opposite way to the entrance to the balcony, from the closet coming up to the hallway. Many of the pages were blank, save for a few illegible scribbles. More were filled with strange drawings of irregular shapes with words and equations written next to them. There were run down pencils abandoned all over the floor, and erasers chased down to ragged nubs. In the middle of this mess sat Anakin. One page held in his hand. His head lolled forward, his chin was touching his sternum. A low murmuring whine squeaking out from between pursed lips.

Artoo was at his side, dutifully monitoring his vitals. He beeped in greeting as Padmé came further into the room.

“How long has he been like this,” she asked him.

Three minutes, seventeen seconds he told her.

Longer than normal. Padmé bit her lip and went into the ‘fresher to wet a washcloth under some the cold tap, then came back out to sit on Anakin’s other side, and began dabbing at his forehead with the cloth, as she and Artoo waited for him to regain full consciousness.

It’s another five long seconds before he comes back to them, collapsing into Padmé’s arms with a loud groan.

“You’re alright, Ani,” she soothed. Shifting him so that his head was pillowed in her lap, and laying the cloth across his forehead.

“P’dmé,” he mumbled groggily. “’rtoo?”

Artoo beeped in affirmation.

“We’re right here,” Padmé assured him. Bringing his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “We’re right here.”

The three of them sit in silence for a long moment. Before Padmé remembers all of the flimsi laying around them.

“Ani what is all this,” she asked him, taking the page he was holding from his hand to get a better look at it.

Her jaw practically unhinges once her eyes register what she’s actually looking at.

“I was…bored,” Anakin said weakly.

And Padmé, she just has to laugh, because Mother of Mothers is he really going to write it off as just that?

“Ani—this…this is…”

A blueprint. A full-scale, impeccably detailed blueprint for what appears to be an original concept design for a starfighter. He did this. In the span of one morning. Because he was bored?

“Ani this is incredible,” Padmé breathes once she finds her voice again. “You just did this on the spot?”

“It took me a few times to get it right,” he shrugged. Weakly gesturing at all the flimsi around them. “I wanted to build something, but I don’t have my tools anymore.”

Her heart hurts for him. Faintly, because she’s still so caught up in her amazement.

“So you designed a starfighter.”

“Yeah…”

So nonchalant. Like this was normal. A thing everyone just up and did whenever they got sick of returning messages and filling out paperwork.

“Ani this looks—please, don’t take this badly—but this looks like it could actually fly.”

“In theory,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if my math is right, but it’s based off of the Actis-class. With a few tweaks.”

He brought up a finger to point at the different areas on the ship’s model.

“I added room for a built-in hyperdrive, and stronger laser cannons,” he explained. “Thicker wings to accommodate a full sized astromech. And better shielding.”

Padmé is right back to being rendered speechless. There’s so much she wants to say to this. She wants to tell him to sell his design to Kuat Systems Engineering. Then she thinks that he should keep it to himself and start his own ship-designing firm. She wants to tell him to enroll in university and pursue a business degree so that he can start his own ship-designing firm. Then she remembers that he has had far less and far different formal schooling than most university students, and wonders if that might be a setback. Mostly she just wants to kiss him all over, and tell him how amazingly talented he is and how proud she is to be married to someone so gifted.

But first, she smirks and says

“Is this what you’ll do from now on? Spend your days drawing starships?”

He frowned. Clearly not getting that she wasn’t putting his work down, but asking a semi-serious question. She does quick damage control before things get out of hand.

“You could, you know,” she said lightly. “You could take some classes, hone your skills a little more. Submit your sketches to a firm, and maybe they’d hire you on to oversee the projects.”

Anakin pulled himself up from her lap, and spun around to face her.

“Do you really think that could happen,” he asked. His jaw clenched doubtfully, but his eyes shining and hopeful. “I mean do you really think that I could really…do that…ever?”

Padmé smiled, pulling him down in for a kiss.

“You’re free, Ani,” she promises against his lips. “You can do anything you like.”

Anakin pulls away suddenly. His face a puzzle of wonderment, as though he’s watching an entire galaxy form right before his eyes. It takes Padmé a second to get it. But when she does she finds herself looking not at a galaxy, but a road.

Winding and expansive, full of forks and curves and hills and pitfalls, making up endless paths and possibilities. All of which were, until very recently, cruelly held out of Anakin’s reach. But no more. For the first time in his life, Anakin has no master prodding him along, demanding that he follow whatever path they set out for him. Those chains called Destiny and Prophecy that for so long have shackled him to them have all been cut loose. At last, Anakin is free to go his own way.

Having finally gained some perspective, Padmé realizes suddenly that she’s been indefensibly remiss in not doing more to help him explore the many options now available to him.

She resolves to remedy that, immediately.

This is an old game from a very ancient and long-dead world. It’s boring, and Anakin’s terrible at it. And yet still, every once and a while, Palpatine will insist they play a round or two.

I so seldom have any company to play with, Anakin, he would say. I know this isn’t a game you enjoy, but please, indulge an old man, won’t you?

And Anakin will roll his eyes and groan good-naturedly as Palpatine pulls out the faded black and white checkered board, lines up all the strange looking pieces, and makes the first move.

It didn’t seem fair, though, that if they were in his head, and he was the one calling Palpatine here, that he should still have to endure this. Couldn’t they do this in a workshop? He chuckled inwardly at the thought of the Chancellor with his sleeves rolled up, fiddling around with nails and bolts.

“Something funny, Anakin,” Palpatine mumbled absently, not looking up from the board.

“No, nothing,” Anakin lied. “I was just thinking.”

“About…?”

“Nothing.”

Palpatine sighed, in that disappointed way that he knows Anakin hates, and looks up from the board.

“Anakin,” he scolded. Crossing his arms and raising a chiding brow. “Remember what we talked about.”

Anakin flinched, and folded under the weight of the Chancellor’s heavy glare.

“I did a sketch of a starfighter the other day,” he said quietly. “Padmé really liked it. She thinks I should go to school to become an engineer.”

“Really,” Palpatine said. For once sounding genuinely surprised. He leaned back in his seat. “And what do you think about that?”

Anakin shrugged. “I think it could be fun, I guess. It’s certainly never anything I considered before.”

Palpatine “hmmed” thoughtfully, turning his attention back to the board.

“What?” Anakin said. Suddenly feeling very anxious.

“Nothing,” said Palpatine. “Just considering my next move.”

He moved one of the little pieces that looked like a tower one space to the left. Then looked back up at Anakin.

“Forgive me for speaking candidly, Anakin,” he said. “But I can’t imagine you’ve ever given much thought to a future outside of the Order.”

Anakin dipped his head, staring fixedly at the board. “Not really…”

All those years ago, when Master Qui-Gon came to Tatooine, the choice he had presented Anakin with were either become a Jedi, or stay a slave forever. Obviously, he’d chosen the former. But that had been it, as far as career exploration was concerned. From the day he became Obi-Wan’s padawan, he’d devoted himself entirely to being the best Jedi he could possibly be. And while yes, at times he’d considered leaving the Order—especially after his marriage to Padmé, his fantasy of chucking his lightsaber at Master Yoda’s head and storming out had always stopped there. It’s probably why he didn’t have the strength to leave on his own after the scandal had broken. No matter how chafed he felt by the Order, realistically, Anakin could never envision himself doing anything else.

Only now that he’s actually done the impossible and left the Jedi, was he starting to see that maybe there were other things out there for him.

The Chancellor tutted softly, and then stood and came over to Anakin’s side of the table, sitting down beside him.

“Well at your age there’s certainly nothing wrong with considering a change in career path,” he said judiciously. “Even one as drastic as this.”

Anakin nodded.

“Of course,” he went on. “You’ll want to keep in mind that the world of academics is an entirely different setting than what you’re accustomed to. Not to impugn your intelligence, dear boy, but let us be frank, your formal education was uneven at best. The students at the schools Padmé no doubt has in mind for you have spent their entire academic careers being educated at the galaxy’s most elite institutions. And you, well…”

“Haven’t,” Anakin said bluntly. Remembering the trouble he used to have keeping up in lessons at the Temple. The instructors had put him in remedial classes when he first arrived because of how far behind he was. In the beginning, he did try his best to catch up to his peers, but it didn’t help that he was always being taken out of classes to go on missions with Obi-Wan. Although the workload did eventually get easier for him, by that point he had already given up on catching up with the more advanced students in his class. It had become enough for him to just get by. He’d learned to read and write and do advanced arithmetic, which was much farther than his mother or any of his friends back home had ever gotten. Farther than he ever thought he would get. For him, that was something to be proud of. And besides, even as a padawan he was a better pilot than most knights, and he could build and fix just about anything. Who cared if his marks were just average when everything that actually mattered came naturally to him?

But he isn’t a Jedi anymore. He has to find a job in the outside world now. What if whatever meager amount of knowledge his instructors had been able to beat into his belligerent adolescent brain wasn’t enough? His place had never been in the classroom, true. But he’d have to be trained in something if he wanted to build a life for himself outside of the Temple, right?

“Maybe I could, I don’t know…”

“A career in engineering requires years of intensive study. Not to mention, a strong background in mathematics and the sciences, which I’m sorry, Anakin, but that you just don’t have. You’ve never exactly been the studious type.”

Anakin nodded, eyes downcast. The Chancellor was right. Raw talent aside, he couldn’t just jump right into a fancy university program and expect to be able to hold his own against the galaxy’s best and brightest when he’d been an average student at best. He needed to think of something realistic, not let himself get carried away by idiotic fantasies.

“It was just an idea, anyway,” he mumbled.

Palpatine laid a hand on his thigh, and squeezed it reassuringly.

“I don’t mean to discourage your desire to explore new paths, dear one,” he said softly. “I know you need to search for something more, now that you’ve left the Order.”

“I just…,” Anakin whispered. “There’s so many different things I can do now that I’m not a Jedi anymore. Things I never even considered doing.”

“You’re worried about not taking all your options into account.”

“Yeah…”

“Well,” Palpatine said, patting the inside of Anakin’s thigh. “Let’s do this then. Let’s say you have the power to do anything you wanted to do, right now. No certifications or justifications required. What would it be?”

Anakin thought about it for a moment.

“Explore every planet in the galaxy.”

He looked at Palpatine to gauge his reaction. If he didn’t know any better, he would almost say the Chancellor looked put out by his answer.

“And that’s it?” he said, his lip curling ever so slightly.

“What do you mean,” Anakin said hotly. A tiny spasm shot through his leg. He softened his tone. “It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it?”

“If I’m being honest, Anakin,” the Chancellor answered. “Yes, I am a little disappointed. I would have thought you’d have a nobler answer for me.”

“Nobler?”

“You’ve always been so mission-driven, Anakin,” Palpatine said. Stroking the inside of his thigh. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you. You have this…innate drive to improve the world around you. To make things right.”

“Fix things,” Anakin said to himself.

“Exactly,” said Palpatine. “Going on a tour of the entire galaxy sounds wonderful. Enviable, even, for those of us banished to hiding out on one planet in the far corners of the galaxy. But—forgive me if this sounds harsh, dear boy—but it would also be a very big waste, in my opinion.”

“A waste?”

Palpatine smiled, wide and prideful. “You have so much talent, Anakin. So much power inside you. You could do so much good with it. Especially now that you’re not bound by the Jedi and their dogma.”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Good like what?”

Palpatine wrapped his arm around Anakin’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He resisted at first, not liking where the Chancellor was going with his suggestion. But a faint pressure in his shoulder blades relaxed him and he went without further protest.

“Anakin,” Palpatine said gently. “What has been your dream, ever since you were a small child?”

He didn’t even have to think. “Freeing all the slaves.”

Palpatine gave him a pointed look. “So…?”

Anakin looked away. Ashamed at having forgotten the promise he made to himself and his mother all those years ago for even one moment. Palpatine pulled his head back up so that they were now face to face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten where you came from.”

“Never!” Anakin said fervently. “It’s just…a lot more complicated than I thought it was when I was a child.”

“How so?”

“There’s just so much politics involved. The places with the highest concentration of slavery are all outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“But do you think they would if they could?” Palpatine argued. “When have the Jedi ever shown you that they cared about ending slavery?”

“They care,” Anakin said. Not completely understanding why he was defending the Jedi, when he has thought this for years. “They just… “

“Won’t do anything about it,” Palpatine finished for him. “Innocent people being tortured and exploited doesn’t threaten the status quo. So it’s not a pressing concern for anyone in power.”

“You’re a Sith Lord,” Anakin said. Not sure if he was calling Palpatine out for his hypocrisy, or reminding yet again himself of this fact, as the Chancellor’s reasoning was sounding more and more rational.

“And that means I can’t believe in justice?”

Anakin scowled. “This Sith manipulate the will of the Force to execute their own agendas. They use their power for their own selfish reasons. They act only out of self-interest.”

“And the Jedi don’t?” Palpatine said rhetorically. “Which is more self-serving, cloistering oneself in a ziggurat to meditate and pontificate about the evils of emotion and attachment, or actually using the powers you’ve been gifted with to institute real change in the lives of those who need it most.”

“The Jedi do help people.”

“Is that why you were born into bondage, then? Is that why they never allowed you to free your mother? Is that why they only intervened in Zygerria once the war broke out and the slavers became enemies of the Republic?”

Anakin can feel a familiar, aching rage writhing inside his stomach. He has thought all of these things before, many, many times throughout the years. The Jedi warned of the suffering caused by fear and anger and attachment. But what of the indignity of being stripped naked and muzzled for a slave auction? Of having your rations cut because your Master blamed you for their business losing profit that month. Of having no water to wash with because there was currently a shortage and it was too expensive to waste on slaves. What of that kind of suffering? How could that just be meditated away? And how could a body of powerful beings touting themselves as guardians of harmony and light turn a blind eye to it? Claiming the abuse and exploitation of innocents to be out of their hands, but then having no problem with diving into a war driven by politics and corruption?

“It’s complicated.”

“It always is with hypocrites,” Palpatine mused. “But think about how easy it would be to un-complicate it, Anakin. Slavers and pirates and smugglers care nothing at all for politics or rule of law. They respond only to power, to brute strength. And you have that in spades, my boy. Think about how easy it would be for you to use your natural talents to deliver justice unto those who need it most, the way the Jedi never have. After all, you’re born of the Force itself. Who could have a better sense of how its will should be exercised than you?”

It has always made Anakin burn with satisfaction whenever the Chancellor spoke like this. It still does. In spite of the Force burning back, just as fiercely. It’s warning bright and clear.

(Remember who he is. Remember who he is. Remember who you are)

“It’s not the way of the Jedi.”

“But you’re no Jedi. Not anymore.”

Anakin’s gut twisted. (Remember. Remember. Remember.) He did remember. He remembered being shut down and shut out whenever he tried to bring up his past. He remembered how good it felt to have just one person listen to him. How good it felt to have the most important man in the galaxy be that person.

The Chancellor’s words sweep their way into him, settling inside his heart and igniting a fire over years of stored up kindling.

The frustration he felt at being seen as irrational and immature for wanting to free his mother. His despair and guilt at how he’d left her to rot in that hellhole. The resentment he carried with him like an extra limb for every single Jedi who had ever made him feel foolish for being unable to leave his pain in a vacuum.

Hatred. Pure and nurturing and vindicating raged like wildfire within him. His entire being sang with it. If only for a moment, before it was tempered by the Force’s warning.

(Remember)

Yes, this was a Sith speaking these thoughts into his ear. He couldn’t forget that. But even so, they weren’t lies or half-truths. They were his own words, being repeated back to him by the only real friend he’d had for so many years.

(Remember, remember…)

Making Anakin sick with confliction.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he muttered. “Can we go back to the game?”

“Of course, dear one,” Palpatine smiled. And with a final pat on the leg, stood and went to sit back over on his side of the board, and waited for Anakin to make his move.

Padmé, in a not-at-all subtle ploy to get him out of the house, had insisted they have a picnic lunch down by the lakefront today. Truthfully, Anakin hadn’t been in the mood to do anything but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. But that’s all he’s done for the past three days, and he can tell Padmé is getting frustrated with him.

Force, he is frustrated with him.

Here he is, in the most beautiful place in all the galaxy, with his favorite person in all the galaxy, and all he can do as of late is mope. It’s disgusting. Anakin is disgusted with himself. He wants so badly to stop. To go back to being as happy as he’d been when they’d first arrived on Naboo. But he can’t. And he doesn’t know why.

He wishes there was a way to just wrangle it all back in. Everything that’s come out since Obi-Wan told the Council all that stuff about him and Palpatine. He wants to put it all back the way it was. He wants the Chancellor back in power. He wants the Holonews to stop spreading the lies put forth by the Council. And he wants them to stop obsessing over his and Padmé’s marriage, as if they weren’t real people behind all of the holos and romance and gossip. He wants it all gone.

But most of all, he wants to stop the visions. Or flashbacks. Or memories. Whatever you want to call them. They’re annoying. And they’re wrong. Or, well…maybe the way he’s remembering them is wrong. Skewed. Because of the Council and the Healers and what they made him think about the time he and Palpatine spent together. It’s wrong. And it’s dirty. He’s been set straight. Nothing happened back then. Nothing. So Anakin shouldn’t be remembering his friend this way. It’s shameful. And he wishes he knew how to make himself stop. He wishes he knew how to make everything stop.

Palpatine would know. He always knows what Anakin needs. But he hasn’t come to see him in several days, which has Anakin feeling worried, and a little abandoned. Though their last conversation ended on a bit of an awkward note, overall it has been so good having his mentor back. No one’s ever been able to get him the way the Chancellor always has—except Mom. But she’s gone. Like Palpatine was almost gone, thanks to the Jedi. It seemed to be a common theme with the Order, taking away the people who cared for him the most so that they can control him.

He hates them. Force, does Anakin hate them for doing this to him.

“Hey,” Padmé says, reaching up from her position in his lap to stroke the side of his face. “What’s that look for?”

She wouldn’t believe that it was nothing. But he can’t tell her the truth. She wouldn’t understand.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked tentatively.

“You can tell me anything,” she said, sitting up to give him her full attention. “Always.”

“I…” he shifted, looking down at the ground and nervously plucking up blades of grass. This wasn’t really something he wanted to bring up, either. But it would go over better than the other thing. “I don’t want to be an engineer.”

Padmé cocked her head to the side, looking puzzled for a moment. And then started to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…you looked so guilty when you said that. I was gearing myself up for something awful.”

He grimaced, pulling chunks of grass up by the handful. “But you had so many plans in mind after I drew that sketch and I didn’t want—“

“Ani,” she says firmly, grabbing his wrist to catch his attention. “It was just a random thought I had. A suggestion. I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do. I can’t do that. That’s the beauty of freedom, love. Ultimately, it’s up to you to decide what you want out of life.”

Anakin nodded, a small smile returning to his face for the first time in days.

“I know what I want to do,” he said, emboldened. “I want to free all the slaves.”

She blinked. Her brow furrowed. Why did she look so bothered by that?

“All of them? Everywhere?”

“Yeah,” he bristled. “Why do you make that sound impossible?”

“It’s not impossible,” she said carefully. “Just…it’s a tall order, is all. The places with the highest concentration of slavery are—“

“Outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction, I know. That just makes it easier then, if there’s no law and order in place there to begin with.”

“But there is law and order there, Ani,” Padmé argued. “It’s just a different kind than what we have in the Republic.”

“An immoral kind.”

“True,” she said evenly. “But one we need to respect and abide by regardless.”

“Why,” Anakin growled. “Why do we need to respect laws that allow people to be oppressed? Why do we need to respect laws that make sentient beings the property of others? How is that fair? How is that just?”

“It’s not,” Padmé said. “But we can’t breach the sovereignty of the Outer Rim planets, Ani. Not if we want them to one day join the Republic willingly. I know you want to see change happen. I want it to. But change is a process. It happens gradually. I know you don’t like it. I don’t either. Not one bit. But the situation is complicated.”

“It always is for hypocrites,” Anakin grumbled, turning back to the grass.

Padmé caught his wrist again. Her eyes narrowed.

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?” she said lowly.

Anakin wanted to slap himself. How could he say something like that? Of course not! Of course he didn’t—

“No, no! I didn’t mean—what I was trying to say is—it’s just—the Senate. The Senate is full of hypocrites.”

“I’m a senator. Bail and Mon are senators.”

“No, I know that. I just mean—as a whole,” he fumbled. “There’s a lot of hypocrisy. Like, we can start a war to bring planets who don’t want to be in the Republic back in, but we can’t make outside planets stop having slavery?”

“I understand your frustration, Ani—“

“How could you possibly understand?!” he roared. Furious, all of a sudden. With her, for not seeing it his way. With himself for making her flinch and draw away from him. “You have no idea—”

“You’re right,” Padmé loudly cut him off. “I don’t share your experiences. I can’t understand it the way you do. But I want slavery eradicated too. So do a lot of my colleagues. But we’re politicians, Ani. Not magicians. We can’t make change happen overnight.”

“You should, though,” he seethed. “You should have the power to make change happen overnight.”

Padmé glared at him, snuffing out the fires of his rage with the ice in her eyes. Anakin winced, knowing how much it upset her when he talked like this. But this was how he felt. She said he could tell her anything. He was just being honest…

He should apologize. She’s hurting. He can feel it seeping out of her like puss from a wound. She’s angry and hurting because of him. He hurt her. She was just trying to do something nice for him, trying to cheer him up and pull him out of the funk he’s been in, and he’s paid her back by insulting her, her friends, and her life’s work all in one go. He needs to apologize. He needs to take it all back. But he can’t. She’ll know he doesn’t really mean it. That if he had the power he would run his lightsaber through each and every slaver in the galaxy. Right now. She’ll know that that is the real truth. She is better acquainted with that part of him than anyone else. But it’s a larger part of him than even she knows, and he spends a lot of energy hiding it from her. Except sometimes it breaks free and comes bursting out of him. And then this happens. And he doesn’t know what to do.

Cursing his big mouth and stupid temper, Anakin reached into the picnic basket and grabbed a pastry. Popped it into his mouth and—

(“Have you ever had a muja-fruit pastry, Anakin?”

“No, Chancellor.”

“Ah, well I have a few extra left over from a luncheon with some delegates from Ganthel. Would you care to try some?”

“Well, I guess. If it’s alright, with you, sir.”

“By all means, dear boy. I insist.”

The Chancellor beckoned him over to his side of his desk, and pulled out a white box from one of the drawers. He set it on the desktop, and then to Anakin’s surprise, lifted him into his lap to give him better access.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing to the box. Anakin opened it, picked out the smallest piece he saw, and began to nibble at it. Hoping to make the treat last.

“You seem troubled, my boy,” the Chancellor said thoughtfully. “May I ask what’s the matter?”

He placed an encouraging hand on the small of Anakin’s back and began rubbing small circles, just like Momma used to. Gods, he missed her.

“Master Obi-Wan hates me,” he murmured.

“Whatever would make you think that?”

Anakin flinched. He shouldn’t be talking about Master Obi-Wan like this. It was disrespectful. Not to mention ungrateful. The Council hadn’t even wanted to let him be a Jedi, but Master Obi-Wan had stuck up for him. So what if he was mean sometimes. He was just trying to make Anakin better, right?

“He’s always fussing at me, ‘cause I’m always messing up. Everything I do is wrong.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is, though!” Anakin cried. “I’m lousy at meditation. I’m still having trouble reading big words. I can’t remember all my katas. And I’m trying so hard, but I can’t stop thinking about my mother!”

He sighed.

“I’m never gonna be a good Jedi.”

“I see,” Palpatine said sympathetically. “Do you want to know what I think, Anakin?”

“Yes, Chancellor.”

“I think Obi-Wan’s just a little bit intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated, sir?”

“Anakin, if the late Master Qui-Gon’s suppositions were true, you are the Jedi’s Chosen One. Training you is a great honor, but it is also a huge responsibility. Obi-Wan is a newly-minted knight. If I had to guess, I’d say he is under an enormous amount of pressure to be a Master worthy of you.”

“Worthy?” Anakin repeated disbelievingly. Unconsciously squeezing the pastry in his hand and “Oh no!”

Purple splotches ran all the way down his tunic and onto his pants. Oh no. Oh no Oh no. Master Obi-Wan was always scolding him for being dirty and unkempt. He was going to be so mad if Anakin came back to the Temple looking like this! Oh no!

“Don’t worry, Anakin,” the Chancellor soothed. “I can have my dry cleaning droid take care of that for you. Here, let me…”

He tugged on the hem of Anakin’s tunic, pulling it up over his head. Then reached for Anakin’s leggings, removing those as well. Anakin wasn’t sure about this. The Chancellor shouldn’t have to go through so much trouble just because he’s a messy eater. But he knew better than to refuse when someone important tries to do you a favor.

A droid came by and collected the soiled clothes from them. Anakin shivered. Freezing now, without his clothes on. The Chancellor tightened his hold around him.

“Would you like another pastry, Anakin? Go on, have one. I insist.”

Not wanting to be rude, Anakin took another small one from the box.

“Now, as I was saying…”

But Anakin wasn’t listening anymore, because the Chancellor’s hands were now moving all over him as he continued to speak. Down his back and along his arms and legs. Pulling him closer. Closer. Closer. All the while Anakin remained completely still, his Momma’s words coming back to him (“It’s just a body, Ani. Let them do what they will. It’ll be over quickly if you don’t fight.”). Right. It’s just a body. It’s just a body. It’s just a body. Just lie there and be good for them, Ani and I’ll give you and your mother double rations for the week.

Anakin’s not surprised that this is what the Chancellor wanted from him after all. And to be honest he doesn’t really mind. The Chancellor is the only person who’s been nice to him since he’s come to Coruscant. Anakin doesn’t see a problem with giving him something in return.

But then things start to get fuzzy. Like an incoming transmission from an old, outdated comlink. The picture grainy and the sound choppy. He can still hear the Chancellor’s voice coming in and out in spurts, talking about the Jedi, and occasionally offering Anakin more food. And he can still make out the office around him through his blurred vision. The Chancellor is still…doing that. And it hurts. But distantly. Like when his leg falls asleep and he gets that prickling feeling, but throughout his whole body. And his head. His head is the worst. It’s so heavy he can’t hold it up. But light at the same time. As if he wasn’t even in there anymore. As though he, Anakin were being pulled out of his own mind and replaced with static…

…

What?

He’s sitting upright on the Chancellor’s lap, fully clothed and alert and a little bit dazed.

The chromo on the wall shows that an hour has passed since he’d arrived. Wow. The time sure has gone by fast. Anakin can’t even remember what they’d been talking about. He’d been telling him about his troubles with Master Obi-Wan and then…nothing. Could he have dozed off while the Chancellor was talking. How rude! He hopes the Chancellor at least didn’t notice…

The Chancellor has stopped talking now, and the box of muja-fruit pastries in front of him was now empty. Had he eaten them all by himself?

(“Have another Anakin. Go on. Keep eating… Have another… Have another”)

He must have. The Chancellor’s hands were clean, and his were sticky with purple filling.

“Anakin, I’m afraid I have another meeting coming up in a few minutes that I must prepare for. I’m going to have to ask you to—“

“That’s alright, Chancellor,” Anakin said quickly. Embarrassed at having overstayed his welcome. “I get it! I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

“Not at all, dear one,” said Palpatine, patting him on the shoulder. Anakin flinched involuntarily at the touch. He hopes the Chancellor didn’t catch it. “We really must do this again soon. I do so enjoy our visits.”

“Me as well, sir,” Anakin said earnestly.

He hopped off the Chancellor’s lap, and stumbled a bit, before regaining his footing. Noticing for the first time how sore his legs were. Why did it hurt to stand on them? He took another step, and his belly lurched. He wrapped his arm around his middle, and continued walking. This is what he gets for being greedy. He shouldn’t have had so many pastries.

He turned to wave a final goodbye to the Chancellor, then passed through the doors to the outer office to meet Master Obi-Wan.

He spends the rest of the day throwing up, and ends up missing his evening meditation session. Master Obi-Wan is not pleased.)

—gagged. Clapping a hand over his mouth. He tries to swallow, but the half-chewed bit of pastry gets lodged in the back of his throat. He retches and retches, and his eyes well up. He can’t breathe.

“Ani?” Padmé’s sounds frightened and far away. “Ani, are you alright?”

She pats him on the back and helps him move onto the grass, as he continued to retch. The mashed bits of pastry roll around in his throat, mixing with saliva and bile. He gags, and gags. But keeps his mouth clamped tight so that the wet, mushy bits of food don’t spill out. (Have another, Anakin. Have another. Go, on, don’t be shy.). Padmé tells him to breathe through his nose and he does. He inhales and exhales and accidentally heaves what was once the pastry as well as the rest of his lunch onto the grass, while Padmé rubs his back and whispers soothing words in his ear.

“Anakin,” she says urgently. Helping him sit back on the blanket, and dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Are you alright?”

He nods. Then, to prove it, he grabs another pastry and shoves it into his mouth

(Have another, Anakin)

He swallows it after two bites. Then he has another. This one too goes down without a struggle.

Padmé still doesn’t look convinced, even after all that. But Anakin can’t eat any more. Not for the rest of the day. His stomach hurts.

Anakin won’t talk to her. And that’s fine.

No really, it is. The holobooks and sites all say that every survivor processes their trauma differently. That all their family can do is be there for them and validate their pain as they work through it.

And Padmé thinks she’s doing a pretty good job at it. She hopes she is.

It’s just… what she wouldn’t give to have someone else to talk to about all of this. Someone to reassure her that she’s doing the right thing by Anakin.

Like Obi-Wan? that annoying “I-told-you-so” voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously like the Jedi Master says. But Padmé knows she can’t com him. He’d gloat (Obi-Wan doesn’t gloat) and admonish her (Obi-Wan would understand) and tell her to take Anakin back to the Temple (Obi-Wan respects your and Anakin’s decisions). She can’t have that.

Besides, Anakin is going to be fine. It’s expected that people who’ve experienced a severe trauma to have ups and downs. He was in a slump now, but he’d come out of it soon. Especially with her here to help him through it.

Padmé has done a lot of research since finding out the truth of what Palpatine had been doing to Anakin all these years. She knows all about triggers and flashbacks, and has already scratched muja-fruit pastries off the list of foods to have Threepio prepare for them. But she needs more. What is it about them, specifically that set him off? The taste? The smell? The texture? Does he not enjoy sweets anymore? Or is it only just pastries? She needs to know, for Anakin’s sake, yes. But for her own as well. It’s fine that he doesn’t want to talk to her about any of this, really it is. It’s just—she needs him to.

He doesn’t say anything after his episode, but his body goes lax and he falls into her arms, dead weight. She gathers him up and rocks them both back and forth. Pressing kisses to his brow and running her knuckles along the base of his neck. He stuffs his face into her shoulder and there are no tears. He doesn’t make a sound. And she doesn’t press him other that to ask one more time if he is alright. He is. And she leaves it at that. He’ll let her in when he’s ready.

Which is fine. Perfectly fine. But also.

I’m right here, sweetling. I’m right here. Please just talk to me.

#fic #star wars prequels #anidala #star wars au #cw child abuse #comments are nice #even tho this thing is OLD and whew so many old habits i'm glad to be rid of #the Tea verse

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igirisuhito · 4 years ago

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Title: Afflicted Relationship(s): Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito Rating: Mature Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / ? Chapter Summary: Monokuma has a fresh new motive! Monomi has been a bit too comfortable lately, so why not let the chains go and let the biggest secret they're trying to suppress manifest within the simulation under the guise of illness? Trigger Warnings: Vomiting, Illness, Personality issues Author’s Note: This fic is an AU of sdr2 chapter 3. Rather slow to update. Can’t tell you how long it will run for but if you like to keep track, I recommend subscribing on Ao3.

[Ao3 Link]

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈

"Hghh-GAH!"

My body shot up involuntarily, kicking me from my sleep. My breathing was laboured and sweat dripped down my forehead, was that a nightmare? As quickly as it had come, the nightmare had completely dissolved, feeling out of reach in the depths of my mind yet leaving a bad taste in my mouth

My body was hot, unusually so. It's so hot here on tropical Jabberwock Island but I was finally starting to get used to it. This heat was more...feverish. Have I come down with something? Can I even get sick here? Surely not.

…Can viruses travel across water?

Pocketing the thought in my mind to ask Tsumiki later, I buttoned my shirt and lifted myself from the bed. My body was heavy, exhausted, like I hadn’t rested in years. Vertigo made the floor deceptively uneven beneath my feet.

Oh god. Something is wrong.

I picked up my jeans from the floor and pulled them on, stumbling slightly as I tried to balance and get my legs in the right holes. I wrapped my tie around my collar and knotted it loosely before quickly slipping my sneakers on, not even bothering to redo the laces. I really should have had a shower with how sticky with sweat my skin was, but I really had to get to breakfast.

A weird thought floated through the back of my mind, it was almost as if I was…underdressed? This is what I wear every day…?

I stepped towards the door slowly. My heart was pounding in my ears, like I'd been running a marathon. Ohhh something was definitely off.

I turned the knob and stepped outside into the daylight. Crap the sun was bright. With slow steps, I made my way from the cabins to the restaurant where everybody usually met up.

My fingers glided along the banister as I stepped up the wooden stairs. This mundane task felt so much more difficult today. Upon making it upstairs and entering through the diner’s side entrance, I was confronted by the sound of loud sobs.

I assumed it was Saionji or Tsumiki, but the sobs didn't quite match those two. They were louder, less whiny. The sight that appeared before me was Owari leaning into Tsumiki's chest, bawling her eyes out and staining the nurse's white apron. It was such an unusual scene, I found myself glancing multiple times to see if it was actually happening.

"Ah! H-hinata! I-i-is there any ch-chance you could please give- give me a hand here?" The Ultimate Nurse stuttered out, clearly distressed and overwhelmed.

I attempted to step forward to help her with Owari, but my body was frozen, stuck in place.

Huh?

"My assistance won't make any difference to her condition."

A deep, unfamiliar voice spoke. I snapped my head around the room attempting to find its owner, but there was only there was only the three of us here.

Was that…? No, surely not. I don't talk in such a pretentious way.

"H-hinata…"

I stared at her with what I assumed was panic. Tsumiki flinched and was now clinging to Owari tighter than Owari had been clinging to her.

"Hey, what the fuck is going on here?" A familiar gruff voice broke the tension.

Kuzuryuu emerged from the stairs and looked towards the two girls clinging to each other desperately. He then glanced to me, expectant of an answer.

"At first glance it would seem the stress of Nidai's loss has finally tipped Owari over the edge and into despair, but it's rather something much more sinister."

There that voice was again! I could feel my lips moving and the words coming out, but there was absolutely no thought of these words going through my mind! The Ultimate Gangster appeared shocked as well.

"Wait what the fuck is wrong with you? You sound like fucking Komaeda."

"Huh? Who sounds like me?"

As if on queue, Komaeda arrived to the scene with Nanami in tow. The girl barely looked up from her device before sitting down at a table.

"Oi, say to Komaeda what you said to me!" Kuzuryuu barked at me.

Oh god this is going downhill so fast.

"I see no reason to repeat myself." Desperately seeking her help, advice, anything, I approached the dining table and sat myself next to the gamer girl.

Nanami paused her game to look at me with a wide eyed expression. "Hinata…" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Amazing! You've finally developed a personality fit for an Ultimate such as yourself!" Komaeda clasped his hands together excitedly. "What brought this on?"

It seemed whatever had possessed me and myself both agreed to ignore the Luckster.

Soon Saionji and Mioda were entering the room, Saionji giggling nefariously behind her small little hand.

"Hey guys look! Ibuki will do whatever I tell her to today!" Saionji yelled across the dining hall enthusiastically. "Ibuki! Go jump on Tsumiki!"

The colourful girl made a salute "Right away, Hiyoko-chan!" and threw herself at the Ultimate Nurse, who was still cradling Owari. Tsumiki screamed as she hit the floor with both Owari and Mioda on top of her.

"My my what's going on?" Sonia and Tanaka emerged from the stairs with a dejected looking Souda trailing behind.

"A new motive!"

A shrill voice shrieked excitedly. Suddenly, a familiar monochromatic bear popped up at the end of the dining table. Man, way too much is happening too fast, especially when I'm feeling like this.

"Motive?" Komaeda was the first to speak up, sounding almost excited.

"That's riiiight! The motive for the next murder! I've decided to inflict some of you with a bad boy I like to call 'Despair Disease!" Monokuma grinned a toothy smile as he addressed everyone in the room.

"I'm sure you've all gotten a good idea of what's happening by now, but I'll give you a nice little rundown regardless, just so you brainless bastards can understand." Monokuma pointed a furry paw at Owari.

"Akane Owari has Coward Disease."

Then to Mioda. "Ibuki Mioda has Gullible Disease."

Then to me. "Hajime Hinata has Apathy Disease."

Huh…me?

I was one of the motives…?

The words left my mouth too quickly once again. "There's no cure then, unless a murder occurs?"

The bear nodded. "That's right my hollow friend! Unless you take advantage of your 'no strings attached' state and kill somebody, you could be stuck like this forever!"

The room got suddenly hotter, forcing me to loosen my tie a bit so I could breathe. My eyes were becoming unfocused and everything was drifting away. The only sounds I could hear were Monokuma's rambles, Owari screaming about her fear of death, and the blood rushing in my ears.

Monokuma had made us the perfect candidates for a killing.

With this thought the world began to spin, even though I was still seated.

"Hinata-san…are you okay?" Chiaki's soft voice was distant as my head became unbearably heavy and the world slipped through my fingers. The last thing I felt was my forehead hitting the wooden dining table.

I awoke to the sensation of my muscles being stretched. Specifically, the ones in my arms.

"...ant…d...t...an…….'s t-...eavy…."

"urel….n…..t-m-t….ike…..you -an…ft another person, Souda!"

"I can't! It's not my fault he's so-"

"Ah! Hinata-kun!"

My eyes slowly fluttered open and I groaned. My head ached and there was sweat coating my body from head to toe. I could feel the hard floor on my back, pressing my shirt to stick damply to my skin.

A mess of fluffy white hair and sunken grey eyes was leaning into my gaze. The very sight of Komaeda made me want to close my eyes again.

The two boys were stood at either end of me, Souda still holding my arms up. His face was twisted into an uncomfortable look.

"You pick up heavy machinery almost daily, Souda. You're only feigning this weakness so that you don't have to carry me, right?" I mumbled, letting out an exasperated sigh and glancing back at the pink haired male.

Souda let go of my arms with a shocked expression, allowing them to fall to my side with a thud. "W-what?! I wouldn't do something like that to my soul-friend!"

I examined his expression closely, Souda wore a nervous smile. "How boring. It's not of any issue, I can walk by myself."

I set my palms down on the floor beside me and sat up. Komaeda reached out and uttered a "Wait" when suddenly I was overcome with an aching pain in my head. A small hiss escaped my lips and I faltered.

"It's so incredibly brave of you to try to move yourself, Hinata-kun! However, Tsumiki-san said you shouldn't try to in your state.” Komaeda spoke, concern apparent in his voice. “Souda and I planned to take you to the hospital, unless you don’t want talentless scum like me carrying you!”

“I don’t. I can take care of myself.” I had another go at lifting myself off the floor. My knees stuttered for a moment, but I managed to stand. My head was still pounding, but it was so much more tolerable than allowing myself to be carried.

Komaeda’s expression morphed into one of hurt, but his eyes gleamed with a whole different emotion; intrigue. “Hinata-kun…”

“Seriously Hinata! You could hurt yourself!” Souda objected, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I swatted his hand away and began to walk towards the stairs of the hotel. “Why are you two looking at me like that? You should have expected this.”

Komaeda and Souda stayed silent as I made my slow descent down the stairs. If my hearing was a little bit worse, I probably wouldn’t have heard the “stubborn bastard” Souda eventually muttered out.

I gripped the handrail tightly once I stepped off the last step, now finding myself in the games room. Son of a bitch- my head hurts so badly. It was almost as if somebody was shoving an ice pick through my brain. My body was still glazed with sweat and my eyes bleary. Whatever Monokuma had inflicted us with, it was pretty unbearable.

I know I’ve always been a prideful person, but even in this situation I should be completely fine with leaving my health in the hands of Tsumiki. Being the Ultimate Nurse, she would definitely be able to relieve my symptoms somewhat. But the very thought of seeking help seemed anything but of interest.

What is wrong with me? I thought Monokuma said I had apathy disease, not ‘huge prick’ disease. I felt like a completely different person. The very thought made my throat dry up.

On another note, what does apathy mean again? It means like...not caring, right? So I surely couldn’t be concerned about what Tsumiki thinks of me...I don’t get it. Something just feels incredibly wrong about putting myself in her, or anyone's, hands.

Shoving those thoughts down, I decided to make my way to the third island. The sun made my fever all the more excruciating and I found myself feeling faint, but I powered on anyway.

I crossed the bridge to the centre island, then took the bridge to the third island. I've never been so incredibly grateful for that red and white building to not be on the other side of the island.

I pushed open the door of the hospital building, finding myself in a small reception room. It was painted a dull blue-green colour, and bore a large white reception desk. There was also a small assembly of chairs, forming what I presumed is a waiting area. Kuzuryuu was lounged in one of these chairs in a seemingly uncomfortable position.

The Gangster jumped up the second he saw me, as it he had been awaiting my arrival. “Dude, did you fucking walk here? Did Komaeda and Souda ditch you?!” “Yes, and no. I left them at the hotel.” I explained, making eye contact with the shorter boy.

“Why the fuck would you do that? You’re sick as a dog! You passed out at breakfast, remember?!”

“I recall.”

“Then why’d you-”

“I don’t need to explain my actions to you.”

Kuzuryuu’s face twisted in a scowl, before he sighed and dropped all emotion from his face. “Man I don’t get this shit. Just go talk to Tsumiki okay? She’s in the first room treating Owari’s fever.”

I nodded and made my way into the hallway past the desk. There were doors on the left, labelled with numbers, patient rooms. On the right were windowed rooms with various…Monokuma displays?

Something about this place made my headache even worse.

I swallowed down the feeling and opened the door to the firsr room, stepping inside and quietly closing the door behind me. The room was filled with the loud sound of Owari sobbing her heart out. At this point, her voice was beginning to break, sounding hoarse and desperate. Tsumiki whirled around to face me, a wet rag in hand.

“H-Hinata! I-I-I’m glad you’re- you’re here. If y-you’d like, um, y-you can go rest in the second room. I’ll be- um, w-with you in a sec!” She stammered out, flashing a forced smile.

“I’ll stay there, as I assume the others will see me as a contagion risk, but I don’t wish for you to treat me.” I spoke sternly.

Tsumiki looked shocked, and then tears began to drip from her eyes. “I-I-I’m s-sorry! I-I didn’t know that- that I-I was in-in-inadequate in my n-nursing!”

I left the room before I had to listen to her cry any further, it was boring to listen to somebody act to so pathetically. As I stepped back out into the hallway, a rush of dizziness and nausea overcame me. I staggered slightly and leant an arm on the nearest wall, squeezing my eyes shut tight and trying to still the room around me.

Jesus Christ I feel like crap.

Light footsteps approached in my direction. I couldn't see who it was, but the sound of metal chain clinking against itself hinted as to who the footsteps' owner might be.

Komaeda's voice sounded cheerful. “Hinata-kun! Kuzuryuu-san told me you made it here okay! Ah, you look awfully-”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Oh, I understand. It’s only natural for you to have that reaction upon running into somebody like me.” Komaeda laughed at his own self-deprecation.

“No, Komae-” I gagged on my words and quickly pressed a hand over my mouth.

Komaeda’s eyes went wide, followed by a soft “oh”. The boy then grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the second patient’s room. The room had a small ensuite bathroom, much alike most hospitals. I didn’t bother looking around too much, instead opting to make my way into the bathroom as quickly as possible. I spied the toilet and removed the hand from my mouth, opting to lean it against the cistern and sinking to my knees.

I heaved into the toilet, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes as my throat burned and my head screamed. This feeling was utterly...despairing.

After what felt like hours, my stomach had finally begun to calm down. I wiped my mouth with a groan and laid my face on the cool tiles of the floor.

“That’s kind of unhygienic, you know.” A breathy voice spoke from the doorway.

“It doesn’t matter.” I mumbled.

I heard Komaeda’s footsteps come closer, followed by a cool hand being pressed to my forehead. A quiet sigh escaped my mouth in relief.

“You’re incredibly hot, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda paused for longer than necessary, “Hang on, I’ll go get Tsumiki.”

He removed his hand from my forehead and I groaned out in annoyance. “Nooo.”

“Huh? Why don’t you want me to go get Tsumiki.”

“I don’t want to be treated.”

“Wh- why?”

“I want to see what happens.”

Komaeda laughed a wheezy little laugh. "Hinata-kun, normally I'd agree to anything you say, but an Ultimate like yourself shouldn't force yourself to go through something like this."

“Your opinion on the matter isn’t important, Komaeda. I’m just telling you not to get Tsumiki.” I stated firmly. “Besides, knowing the people here, it won’t be long before a murder occurs and I'm free from this.”

Komaeda tilted his head, looking somewhat intrigued by my statement. He had hardly reacted to my harsh words. “Not that I disagree, but why do you think that will be the case?”

I shrugged slightly and pushed myself up from the floor, now sitting up. The room was still spinning dangerously around me. “You’re all psychotic. That’s all.”

This statement seemed to tickle Komaeda, as he laughed and drew a big grin on his face. “It’s surprising how much more honest you are at the moment. Has your new apathetic outlook made you unbothered with hurting people’s feelings?”

I sighed. “You can sit here and philosophise all you like about the despair disease and its impacts. I’m going to go get a drink to calm this migraine."

I pulled myself up, slowly rising to my feet when a shocking pain pulsed through my head again.

"Ghuh-!"

My legs went weak and Komaeda reached out, grabbing hold of my torso to keep me from crashing to the floor below.

"You probably shouldn't try to do that." He muttered, gripping my waist tightly.

"No shit. Let go." I hissed, reaching out and latching on to Komaeda's shoulders.

The boy laughed heartily, making no attempt to remove his hands. "You tell me to let go whilst using my body to prop yourself up? You're awfully strange Hinata-kun."

Komaeda moved to my side and, removing one of his arms from my waist and now placing his hand over mine. "Please put your arm around my shoulder, we should just get you to your bed."

I sighed loudly in defeat and placed my arm around Komaeda's shoulder. The boy nodded and slowly started to move forward.

"I really don't need your help for this Komaeda."

"I know. Thankyou for allowing me to assist you, even if garbage like myself isn't worthy to."

I didn't bother to entertain Komaeda with a response. Instead I leaned more of my body weight onto the boy and groaned.

"It's alright, Hinata-kun, you're doing an amazing job." Komaeda breathed in a hushed tone.

The sound of his voice so close to me made me shiver, but it provided a momentary distraction from the pain.

My knees bumped into something hard and I looked up, realising we had made it across the room. Komaeda slipped his hand out from my waist and helped me lower myself to sit on the mattress.

"God I'm so hot." I murmured.

Komaeda pressed a cool hand to my cheek, making me sigh in relief. Using his right hand, he pressed his fingers into the knot of my tie, pulling it further undone from my neck.

"You should probably change into a hospital gown, it would at least be much cooler than wearing jeans." Komaeda spoke in a low voice.

He must be trying to help my migraine by being quiet. How…considerate of him?

"I...you're right." I sighed, bringing my fingers to undo the top button of my shirt.

Komaeda backed off, removing his hand from my face quickly. "Oh, Hinata-kun! Should I leave?"

I undid the rest of my buttons and shrugged off my shirt and tie. "Do what you want."

The boy nodded quickly, his cheeks were slightly flushed. "I-I'm going to get you a gown." And with that, he dashed out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Weirdo.

I undid my belt and lifted my hips from the bed, carefully wiggling myself out of my jeans. They were awfully tight on my body, probably from the sweat of the fever.

I discarded my jeans and laid back on the bed with a groan. I probably shouldn't lie down yet, but I'm so goddamn sore and tired. The bed was hard and uncomfortable, but it was so nice to be off my feet for even a moment.

The door opened again and in stepped Komaeda, holding a folded up gown in his hands. "Ah, Hinata-kun, are you okay?"

"No." I mumbled, rolling over so I was now face-down in the pillow.

"I'm sorry, can I get you anything?" Komaeda spoke softly as a weight sat on the edge of the bed, most likely him.

"Water."

"Can do." The weight disappeared once again. "I left your gown on the bed if you want to change."

"Mhm." I mustered the strength to push myself up before scanning my eyes around the room. Komaeda was gone once again, I never heard the door click when he left, how strange.

I picked up the gown from the edge of the mattress. It was incredibly lightweight, but the linen was soft. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and pulled it up onto my shoulders. I then tied it around the waist loosely and sat back down on the bed.

Komaeda returned a few moments later with a tray holding a jug of water and a cup. He set the tray down on the bedside table and began to pour a cup of water.

"Are you feeling any better, Hinata-kun?" He quizzed, not taking his eyes away from what he was doing.

"I'm less hot." I mumbled.

"That's good." The boy turned to me, holding a plastic cup of water in his outstretched hand. I took it carefully with two hands, raising it to my lips and sipping.

The cool water felt like heaven on my burning throat. I squeezed my eyes closed tight and drank the whole cup, finishing with a pleased sigh.

"Ah, you probably shouldn't drink too fast, you don't want to make yourself sick again." Komaeda smiled and took the cup from my hands.

"That would be exciting though, wouldn't it? To be desperately seeking a release from pain only for it to make things worse? Actually, no, that's so incredibly predictable…" I babbled out, somewhat dazed and sleepy now that the ache in my throat was relieved.

"Haha, you're starting to sound a bit like me. How scary." Komaeda chuckled to himself, pouring another cup of water.

I slowly lowered my body back onto the bed, resting my head against the pillow. "Mmnn...it would be most unfortunate to have a mindset as boring as yours."

Komaeda gave a sad smile and placed the plastic cup onto the tray. "I think I'll go. I need to talk to Kuzuryuu-san about what everybody else is doing. Please call for Tsumiki-san if you need anything."

"Mmm."

The last thing I heard was the sound of Komaeda muttering to himself and the click of the door behind him. Fatigue took hold and I found myself falling into a deep sleep.

#Komahina #Kamukoma #Kamukura Izuru #Hinata Hajime #Komaeda Nagito #Ficgiri

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finsterhund · 3 years ago

Text

Hey I fucking broke my ankle lmao

“I could really use a break right now” I say as I struggle with my dog having terminal cancer, my roommate pushing my limits, my money being nonexistent, and barely getting one meal a day.

A finger on the monkey’s paw that is me ever wanting anything in life curls again. Must have been a pretty fucked up monkey because there’s a lot of fingers on this thing by now.

So yeah, life thought I wasn’t going through enough already so it added broken fucking ankle to the list of Finsterhund suffering hours.

“I wish I wasn’t broke” is another good one. “here have a different broke then lol. go fuck yourself you rotting corpse of a victorian boy piece of shit”

here’s the goods. Got ex roommate to take photo of the screen. Doctor did not let me email the high res version to myself.

I did not go “waaaiii” on the way down, unfortunately. Life just isn’t like a video game. Probably didn’t look funny either. In reality I am a silent faller/injurer/whatever. Survival instincts of child abuse survivor I land and stay there as quiet as possible. I “grew out of” signals for help before teenage years. Which is a blessing in disguise because I don’t like people looking at me when I am hurt. it’s the “baby deer waiting for mom to come back instinct” I hide from predators.

My brain didn’t really process it when it happened. I just fell and heard a SNAP. If I had watched a video of it happening to someone else I would have found it gross but fortunately my brain just let me ignore it.

I was mostly immediately scared that I had somehow damaged the FIFTY DOLLAR dog calming aid that I got for Cazza in the pet store. I needed something like it for her and just seeing it in person and not having to pay 30 dollar shipping I was like “yeah. getting it here” fortunately the only fragile part is a little plastic capsule that imitates a heartbeat, which was packaged inside the toy inside the box. I hope. I have not opened it.

But the reason I fell is because I was also carrying giant bag of dog food. You see my vet recommended I switch out her food in light of the potential heart disease link. So I got the biggest bag of the best chicken stuff they had. My roommate might try saying that it was because the bag was too heavy. It wasn’t. I could lift that shit just fine. Bag was impossible for my impaired depth perception cringe fail line of vision to see around. The same visual impairment that prevents me from being able to drive a car made me think that I could put my foot down on the curb of the sidewalk. Dumb ass thought I was stepping OVER the curb.

Fortunately the bag of dog food broke my fall. Otherwise I’d have probably smashed my nose and teeth on the pavement. I really hope the expensive puppy calming toy is unharmed :( I say as I have a fucking broken leg.

So yeah. If you’ve seen labyrinth where David Bowie playing Jareth the Goblin King walks over all those weird ass fucked up stairs and ledges that are all a manner of odd angles? Specifically where he just takes steps that are at an angle that you cannot actually walk? Yeah I fucked up Jareth platform stairs walked over the fucking curb and snapp my legs

yes, I said legs.

Only my left is technically broken. It’s a Webber A something or other. I have a sick as hell photo if you wanna see. It’s included in this post.

But my right foot also got fucking fucked up. That one it snapped a tendon or a ligament or whatever the fuck. Get this, it snapped off a small piece of the gottamn bone. It’s not a break but it’s like it came off like a splinter. I made a joke in the hospital about how it’s like when you throw a sticky hand at the wall and when you pull it back a piece of the paint comes off with it. That was really fucking funny but nobody laughed. My friend’s group chat thought it was funny though. I did not get a photo of that foot and the tiny cringe sticky hand paint sliver bone.

I am on pain meds better than my normal pain meds. I can barely feel the legs in bed now.

So back to the parking lot. I landed on the dog food bag. I am hoping the calmeroos puppy is not broken or damaged in any way, I heard the snap but my brain is not registering the snap. This hurts “like a normal fall” I think at first. It hurts a lot of course, but I have the pain tolerance of a truck (thanks for this one Will) and a “heartwarming” story from my youth is that my mom didn’t believe my arm was broken both times it happened because I wasn’t “in pain enough” so I’ve got the firsthand experience to back that up.

Yeah then I try to fucking move my goddamn legs. Left one, broken one, there’s noises. Like cracking pop sounds. And pain. God fuck. It feels like the foot is loose and it’s only connected by fleshy flesh and muscle and skin. Aka like how my dislocated shoulder (that my mom also dismissed because I didn’t scream enough... after the lifeguard had alreayd put it back in...) had felt when I was 12.

So I’m like “oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck I can’t get up or move” yeah my first response was “how the fuck am I going to escape?” I attempted to better myself to get up but absolutely not. Right foot feels like when I roll the damn thing which happens a lot. That *WAS* my bad ankle. sidkfjsdkfjskdf not anymore!!!!!

So an important note is that I’m technically better about my severe agoraphobia that my roommate can let me go into a store by myself provided he’s no more than a couple stores away. So while I’m waiting for a predator to pick my weak ass off outside the petstore he’s in the dollar store next door where I was supposed to meet him after putting the dog food in the car. The car I am now sitting next to. I have no way to get his attention because my phone is dead and also in my bedroom because it’s useless when not plugged into the wall.

Luckily the people parked next to us come out the store and see Mr fuck leg the fucked leg boy sitting on his bag of dog food between the cars and bless this family they help me out. By trying to get roommate out of the dollar store. Which doesn’t work. So they get the dollar store manager. Who then gets roommate out of the store. I was probably sitting there for 10 minutes or so. They had kids so I’m really trying not to let them see how fucked up the rapidly growing ankle balloon is.

But yeah. Eventually roommate come out the dollar store. And get this, he does the same shit my mom did every time anything ever fucking happened to me and is all “okay if it were really broken you’d be screaming right now” as I’m finally able to prop myself up enough to get into the car. That fucking triggered me real bad and I had a breakdown in the car while he went back into the dollar store to continue shopping.

Then we went to get food.

Then we went to costco.

He said that he would take me home and then if it was “still bad tomorrow” he’d take me to the ER.

So he tries to help me out of the car to the house.

I cannot put weight on the right leg either. It is agony. He’s trying to support the bad leg but the other leg need support too. A weaker man would have screamed but I just dropped to the parking lot ground and cried.

Made an attempt to crawl to the house but the gravel on my knees was just too much on top of everything else.

So FINALLY the ER is back on the menu. Ex roommate comes out because I need someone to support each foot. And they take me to their car and they drive me to the ER and I’m trying to eat a baconator while my foot is reminding me that we should have stayed as tiktaalik. you know, not fucking biped I want semi aquatic too please please please youre nothing

The wheelchairs in the ER are designed to offer full body support but the damn things are so hard to maneuver around and cannot be user operated. So I was sitting there having to get pushed around feeling like a dumb fuck because I hate needing assistance to move I hate it I hate it I hate it. I kept reaching down expecting to find the wheel handles but they weren’t there.

ER was... fun. There was a cool cartoon I’ve never seen before “Craig of the Creek” playing on the TV. I really want to see more of it I really liked it. But a fucking anti vax guy (YEAH REALLY) was swearing and bitching because there were kids shows on the TV This show was the only comfort I fucking had. Craig was spoonfeeding me comfort with his little freeze to death without your winter clothes adventure (RIP to him but I’m different)

But yeah. Once being treated it was all really nice. My ability to make constant jokes about fucked up injury death and suffering is a really good stress relief. Shout out to the xray tech who totally understood I use dark humor to cope and in response to my joke about how if I was a horse they'd just shoot me that I would “make wonderful glue” the other people were also very kind but I kinda felt they were intimidated by how “jovial” I was about the whole thing. Like yeah. I’m “handling it well” because that’s my whole strategy. Inside I’m screaming “please not the plates please not the plates please not the plates” (I am scared of having metal plates and screws.) Fortunately the stupid little cringe bone broke just low enough on the bone that I don’t have to get the plates and screws. I was literally begging Spot and she answered.

In my moment of weakness I decided that the true nature of the “Spot Power” is that she makes it so that when I’m going through shit I’m always “being so brave about it”

I kept thinking about how Cazza thought I had abandoned her though and while roommate did give her her evening walkies she was stressed and puked on the walk. Which fucking ruined my life and I cried more hearing that than the fucking leg.

So yeah. In canada crutches and the foot boot actually cost money. I’m out like 100 dollars. Plus like 30 because roommate wanted gas. I’m just used to it by now. I definitely need to plug Cazza’s gofundme again now though. Have no clue how I’m even going to take her to her appointments. I am hesitant to hope that roommate will give her as good walks as she needs.

There were more tears over the fact that I was going to fail Cazza than that I actually broke my fucking ankle.

This shouldn’t be a shock. I knew that eventually my visual impairment and my physical disability were going to team up on me and fuck up my body even worse somehow. Always thought it was going to be stairs though. A small comfort is apparently the x ray department has had four other people come in about the exact same curb. Yeah I kid you not. The curb between the redacted dollar store and the redacted pet store confirmed for Heart of Darkness 2: Andy Ankle Adventure

They were supposed to give me more pain meds but I guess I didn’t pick them up or they forgot or something. My brain is fried so i have no idea at all.

Crutches are a massive learning curve for someone with depth issues and balance issues. I almost fell face first on the goddamn crutches several times. If I wasn’t broke and you know, if I couldn’t fucking not leg broken walk leg I would go to hardware store and make a wheeling seat thing like those scooters in gym class and then I’d have Cazza pull me on walks. That would work.

Big issue is in and out of our place is fucking stairs. Yeah. I crawled up them on hands and knees. No way in hell with my already fucking broken mobility could I go crutches up them. I have to hold onto railing or I fall down stairs so crawling it was.

I can technically take the boot off to sleep but the tightness makes it so much better so fuck that. Wish I had the rolling elementary school gym class scooter so I could drag myself around the house.

Cazza doted on me like nothing else. She tried to brace me going up the stairs but she’s not big enough for what I’d need with this fucking leg problem. She helped me change out of my clothes though. Even though she’ll never be certified she’s still my everything.

The she cuddled close to me until I had calmed down and now she’s fast asleep in her bed. I am so glad I ended up giving her her bath before going out.

I am going to attempt to make it to my bloodwork appointment tomorrow. I have rescheduled that due to chemo appointments too many times.

I can’t remember if I’m forgetting anything else. Honestly my roommate telling me the exact same shit my mom did just fucking hurt so bad. I think I know my own body better than you do. Like I’ve told him about how she didn’t believe me and I had to beg her to take me to the hospital and he ended up doing the exact same shit. All because I didn’t outwardly exhibit being in enough pain apparently.

I just hate how being disabled you always have to fucking prove you’re disabled. Like I was expected to somehow walk back to the house and up the stairs but when I got to go to the ER yeah fucking broken lol.

I just wish I had parents. I need taking care of. I always did and I never got it.

I’m scared for the future. I don’t know how I’m going to manage or how I’m going to provide for Cazza.

I wish breaking my ankle could have made Cazza’s cancer go away

#text post #negative #long post #cw: injury #broken bones #ask me to tag #cw: medical

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stricken-with-clairvoyancy · 5 years ago

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Prinxiety fic recs

Hey everyone, I know isolation is difficult, and a good majority of the fandom use fics as an escape mechanism, so hopefully some people can get a kick out of some of these. As my blog title suggests, I mostly just consume prinxiety content, so this list is for any prinxiety stans out there. Feel free to add on with your own fics or recs, regardless of ship! All fics are completed unless stated otherwise, to avoid giving anyone WIPlash. :)

First up, literally anything by the Queen of Prinxiety (and stunning writing in general) @coconut-cluster. Hers was one of the first blogs who’s writing I got really invested in, and her writing is like the equivalent of snuggling into a warm blanket in the sunshine. It’s good stuff y’all. Writing masterlist If you’re overwhelmed by how many incredible stories she’s written though, I gotchu fam, here are some of my favourites to get you started: Sciamachy, My dreams made music in the night, Snowball fight

Powerless by @impatentpending . One of the best stories I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, better than most published literature I daresay. Seriously it’s just,,, so good!!! If you haven’t read it yet I highly recommend you do. You’ve got morally grey villains, you’ve got wit, you’ve got a hoverbike named Brendon Urie. It’s an all round good time, except when, you know, it’s angsty.

The To Love And Be Loved series by @virgilsjourney It’s so soft!!! So light and sweet and comforting!!! You’ve got hurt/comfort (heavy on the comfort) with a large helping of mutual pining, and it’s the perfect fic if you need a pick-me-up after a long day.

Butterflies by @creativenostalgiastuff . I live for techie Virgil and this fic does not disappoint. Incredibly cute, Roman gets the validation he deserves, 10/10.

My true love gave to me by @lovelylogans Honestly my favourite oneshot of all time, I giggle the whole way through when reading this. The sheer magnitude of their mutual pining,,, incredible. Genuinely this fic is so wonderful and funny and lighthearted and sweet and hhhhhhhhhh. Looking at her masterlist I’ve also come to realise that she’s written a lot of my favourites, so I’ll just link that here! :)

Wet blanket , Life of the party and Social grace by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors. A tad angsty, but so worth the read, and they more than make up for any potential hurt with the gratuitous fluff. Hella soft, superb writing. On another note, if you haven’t already, you should absolutely read their jaw-droppingly amazing series Love and other fairytales. Romantic lamp and a heck tonne of cool worldbuilding, gripping plot and fae galore, prepare to become thoroughly invested.

A dragon’s tail by @theeternalspace . This one had me on the edge of my seat you guys, it’s so gripping you’ll wanna stay up all night reading it. You’ve got prince!Virgil, you’ve got knight!Roman, you’ve got Dragon!Logan. Need I say more?

The most adorable Parents!Prinxiety headcanons you ever did read, by the incredible @thelowlysatsuma , with a tooth-rottingly sweet fic to go with it by @watchoutforthefanfics . You WILL get cavities and you WILL sob at the soft domesticity of it all.

@shakesqueer-writes is lowkey a Prinxiety GOD so I’m just gonna link you to their whole entire masterlist of masterpieces.

The phenomenal It’s only logical by @tinysidestrashcaptain . This one is incomplete, but it’s honestly so perfectly written that it’s going on here anyway. I can only dream of achieving Virgil’s level of sass in this fic, an absolute icon. It’s a flower shop au AND a coffee shop au babyyy.

I can only assume from the remarkable quality of the writing that Keep him safe by @whatwashernameagain gets recommended a lot, as it RIGHTLY DESERVES. This fic is also incomplete, but so worth waiting for, each new chapter is a sucker punch of emotions and the character development is second to none. I’d definitely heed the trigger warnings on this one though, it does handle (very well and realistically) some darker themes. There’s also a raccoon named Cat and I love her.

A get-together and getting together by @hickory-dickory-doc-k Fake! dating! Fake! Dating! Fake! Dating! Fak- Ok but for real though guys this one is so gosh darn cute I dropped everything on Christmas day to rush upstairs and read it when the last chapter came out and I was grinning so much lemme tell you. I’ve read a lot of fake dating aus in my time and this one honestly takes the cake.

(I’d never) want once from the cherry tree written by @ace-corvid with gorgeous art to go with it by @blank-ace . YouTuber au!!! Virgil gets to be the chaotic conspiracy guy we know he secretly longs to be, and Roman gets the adoring fanbase he deserves. The humour is also on point. I mean, Deceit’s name in Virgil’s contacts is Snake fursona man, and honestly if that doesn’t sell it, I don’t know what will.

Of trying and towers by @parsnipit . An oldie but a classic, this story is phenomenal. It’s got action! It’s got magical curses! It’s got so many dragons! It’s got highkey terrified but also kinda badass Virgil! It’s so good you guys, the plot and the family bonding and hhhhhhh dragons are so cool.

Destined by @rosesisupposes . Oooooh this one has such a fun premise. Virgil’s a sage (kind of like a seer) and is just kinda vibing with the humans until sh*t goes down, ft sass, flirting, pun-based bakeries, and a coffee machine named Gilda. It’s great. I love it.

Long live by @meginoi . It’s!!! Essentially a really cool princess diaries au!!! How rad is that? Virgil is pretty much permanently stressed, but Pat and Lo are supportive bros and he ;) has ;) Roman ;) there ;) to ;) help.

Falling (falling) by @basically-i-write-shit . Don’t let their url fool you this fic is honestly so gripping, I stayed up way into morning bingeing it. Be warned though, it does handle some pretty dark topics, so heed the trigger warnings. ft. single dad Virgil and babysitter Roman!

Inks and tallies by @skittlesun . Tattoo 👏 artist 👏 Roman 👏 Frick 👏 Yeah 👏 Also by the same author, the amazing fic The betting pool is an absolute delight. Flirting galore. Go read it pls.

Late night, long night by @crowleyspraisekink . Virgil’s in a tank top and Roman is Gay Panic tm. Adorable, superb, 10/10.

A curse is a dream your heart makes by @romansleftshoulderpad This oneshot is a long boi but my god you will enjoy every single second of it. Roman gets cursed by the Dragon witch to act out classic Disney movies with Virgil, and it’s honestly so entrancing. Phenomenal writing.

Queen of fluff @not-so-innocent-bi-sander has so much adorable fics that I’m gonna link their whole masterlist because you deserve to treat yourself to their writing, and I’m also gonna add some quick links to my faves here because I love them: The reunion, Romance in the air…port, Guitar lessons. The first fic of theirs I read is the series The view from here, and it was so heartwarmingly sweet that it helped distract me from some pretty bad cramps, so I highly recommend you go check that out if you need a cute pick me up. It’s incomplete, but it’s mostly fluff and ongoing, so you won’t be left on any cliffhangers.

Thespian by @random-snippets is a heart-wrenchingly sweet hurt/comfort fic that I wholeheartedly recommend. Roman puts on a play in the imagination but neglects to tell Virgil that his character straight up dies at the end, and Virgil is understandably distraught. It’s ok though, Virgil gets love and hugs! Also just check out their masterlist because their writing is absolutely sensational, especially their pining!Virgil LAMP fics.

Through different eyes by @stars-and-rose . Roman’s a warlock who’s been ‘kidnapping’ Patton in an endearing attempt to get the handsome knight’s ;) attention. Super cute and a fun read, honestly it’s adorable.

@today-only-happens-once is another phenomenal writer who’s masterlist I’m also gonna link because they’re all! So! Good!!! Here’s some of my faves: Exposure therapy ft Ace!Roman, Acoustic, Always

A hero’s rescue by @stillebesat . Villain!Roman and Hero!Virgil ft a healthy dose of hurt/comfort and a a really cool premise. I go back and re-read this one a lot!

Welcome to the neighbourhood by @lefaystrent is incomplete, but it’s so goddamn hysterical that it’s going on here anyway. Their comedic genius is astounding. Some more of my favourites of theirs include: Roamin’ nights, Flutter and fall, Rewrite

Blink and you’ll miss it and waterspout by @greenninjagal-blog are both lovely reads which I highly recommend. Seriously guys their writing is amazing, go check them out.

Sweet dreams and Petals red as blood by @candied-peach are both gorgeously written and I absolutely adore them, 10/10.

#fic recs #go hog wild y'all #was this a painfully transparent way for me to compile all my faves in one place for ease of re-reading?#yeah and what of it #i can have a little self indulgence #as a treat :)#seriously though guys all of these authors are crazy talented go show them your love #and this post is a free-for-all so add anything you want #i've likely forgotten some people and if you're one of those people i'm so sorry i'll probably update this as more of them come back to me #ily all stay well #sanders sides #ts sides #romantic prinxiety #shout out to my tags which i can't :) get :) to :) work #Prinxiety

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wondereads · 4 years ago

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Personal Recommendation (2/28/21)

Damsel by Elana K. Arnold

Why am I recommending this book?

I loved this one. I finished it in less than two hours and then spent an extra hour lying there thinking about how great it was. I think this is the first book I’ve felt this way about in a long time, so anticipate a very long, spoiler-filled review. (Please keep in mind, this review discusses things like rape, abuse, and extreme misogyny. If this is a trigger for you, please do not read this review! Also, if you’re looking to avoid spoilers, skip to the Overall section.)

Want something quick and short? Check out my tiktok

Plot 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

In the land of Harding, it’s tradition that after the previous king dies, the prince will venture out, slay a dragon, and rescue a damsel. When Ama wakes up in the arms of Prince Emory of Harding, she has no memory of the dragon or anything before that. However, as she starts her new life as Emory’s fiancée, she starts to realize that life in the palace isn’t quite what it seems.

One thing you must understand is that this book is character-driven. There is no grand plan or kingdom-threatening evil. It’s all about Ama and how she deals with life in Harding. As such, the plot section will be a little short. The gradual transition that takes place in Ama from her arrival to the wedding is very well done, and the slow revelations that take place really begin to up the ante towards the end. Even if this wasn’t the most exciting book I’d ever read, I was entirely invested in Ama and her search for the truth.

There was also a very cool bit of symbolism in this book with the comparison of Sorrow, Ama’s lynx kit, and Pawlin’s falcon. The falcon represents what Emory wishes Ama to be, the perfect pet. An obedient creature that will always return to him. Sorrow represents what Ama actually is. A wild animal that was partially trained before eventually finding freedom again. Both Ama and Sorrow return to Harding with Emory, are trained to behave a certain way, and face pain and sickness before escaping.

Also, this was the most satisfying ending to a book that I’ve read in a long time. It’s a bit open in that we don’t know what the characters will be doing after or what will happen in Harding, but Ama gets what she wants and takes out the people who were keeping it from her, and even though I don’t know what will happen to her after, I know it’ll probably be something good.

Characters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Now, this is the section that will be quite long. Ama has her quirks and traits, but I believe that first and foremost she is average. She has the sort of compassion that you would expect from any human being, and she doesn’t always speak out. Sometimes, she’s scared, and she ends up giving in. As the story progresses, Ama begins to lose some of her fire, she begins to give up. It’s very easy to see how her treatment is having an effect on her character, and that’s why I felt so strongly about her arc. Seeing her gradually lose herself makes me all the more insistent that she will win in the end. And she does, and it’s a very satisfying win at that. I’m particularly fond of how she turns Emory’s words on him during her escape.

Emory is an incredibly well-written character. The transition from savior to captor is very smooth and convincing. When Ama first meets Emory, he’s very sweet. He showers her with compliments, he prioritizes her comfort over his own, and he protects her fiercely. He was so nice that I at first thought that he would be Ama’s ally in Harding. However, once Ama and Emory enter Harding, a place where he is now king, he changes. He expects Ama to fit the mold of the perfect bride; quiet, docile, pretty. He humiliates her, does whatever he pleases, and he can get away with it all because he has undeniable power there. To put it simply, Emory slowly begins to show the classic signs of an abuser. He exerts his power in every way, he cuts her off from the outside world, he tries to deprive her of Sorrow, her only protector, and he and his friends gaslight her at every turn. And it’s slow enough that by the time Ama is exposed, she’s already under the watchful eye of an entire kingdom. A realization of Ama’s puts it in perfect terms - he likes her best when she’s in need of rescuing.

Ama and Emory at first seem like the perfect couple. It matches what we have been taught, the brave prince and the beautiful damsel, and Emory is dedicated to the show. In fact, Emory never once physically abuses Ama. He loves to give her compliments, and it’s obvious he genuinely wants to marry her. Unfortunately, the reasons for marrying Ama are probably due to his coronation and his belief that, as king, he needs a damsel as queen. The psychological abuse on Ama is profound, and, because of the culture in Harding, he can get away with it no problem. It’s only through Ama’s own strength and the help she receives from other girls, such as Tillie and the queen mother, that she is able to escape.

The last major character I want to talk about is the queen mother. She is very important for Ama’s discoveries, and she’s a classic abuse victim. She has come to accept what happens in Harding as the norm, and she encourages Ama to accept it as well so she won’t get hurt. However, she still is an important character to Ama, and she still, perhaps on purpose, helps Ama escape what she had to experience. I have high hopes for her at the end.

Writing Style 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

This book is written in a similar style to a typical fairytale. It has similar language, and a lot of the descriptions, especially of Ama’s inner feelings, are rather abstract. It really does feel like an exceptionally long fable. Also, the pacing in this book, the way the revelations of Emory’s character and Ama’s memory are spread out, is perfect. It held my attention just enough, and once it began to pick up speed towards the end I was absolutely ready for it. It’s not hard to predict what the big secret is. Odds are, if you’re on Tumblr as much as I am, you could tell by the time you finished the summary. However, Arnold leaves it right up to the last moment to reveal what impact that secret will have. Although it was the ending I was hoping for, I wasn’t sure it would be right up until it happened.

Meaning 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

There is some great commentary in Damsel on rape culture, psychological abuse, and the effects of misogyny. First of all, Harding is one of the most misogynistic kingdoms in the fictional world. The worst part is, most of it isn’t through actual physical threats to women. There is one scene where two men attempt to sexually assault Ama. However, her savior is Emory, her abuser.

The big problem in Harding is the absolute dehumanization that woman face. Multiple times, women are referred to as vessels, having no worth beyond the children they carry and raise. It is so heavily ingrained into the damsels when they arrive that the queen mother believes it to be true. All of the girls that have lived in Harding, such as Tillie, agree with it as well. Women are expected to sit quietly and look pretty while the men around them make crude jokes and treat them like objects. This is why Emory can do what he does. He can almost rape Ama and literally lead her around on a leash because the entire society of which he is king is filled with enablers and bystanders. Ama knows throughout the entire book that the way Emory treats her is wrong. It goes against her very nature, but she submits to it. Why? Because everyone around her acts like it’s normal. Because it’s better than being held captive by a dragon. Because it’s better than being on the streets where much worse could happen to her. Because it’s just the way things are.

Damsel has some pretty powerful statements on how rape culture can enable abuse and psychologically wear down women. It shows what horrible things a abuse victim can be subjected to. However, it also shows what happens when Tillie and the queen mother help Ama in the little ways they can. It shows that woman can stand up to their abusers and have a much brighter future; that they are not defined by what they have endured. And I think that’s why I loved this book so much.

Overall 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

I was wholly invested in the book. I absolutely loved it, and I will definitely be getting a personal copy for myself. Ama’s journey of self-discovery (literally) pulls the reader in, and Emory’s quiet transition is so subtle and powerful. The social commentary is amazing, and you will absolutely love Sorrow. Please do keep in mind that this book deals with some heavy topics such as rape and abuse, so do not read it if you have issues with that. I would recommend this book to people who enjoy fantasy, fractured fairytales, and people getting what they deserve.

The Author

Elana K. Arnold: American, also wrote A Boy Called Bat, What Girls Are Made Of, and Red Hood

The Reviewer

My name is Wonderose; I try to post a review every two weeks, and I take recommendations. Check out my about me post for more!

#damsel #elana k arnold #fantasy #ya #books #recommendations #reviews #tw: rape #tw: abuse

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finalcreacher · 4 years ago

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Invisible Hearts - Chapter Three

A/n - Please read trigger warning before reading!

Previous Chapter(s): Chapter One, Chapter Two

This chapter was majorly edited, so that’s why you might be seeing this again.

Also, I've been listening to the album " He Has Left Us Alone but Shafts of Light Sometimes Grace the Corner of Our Rooms… " by A Silver Mt Zion, which always makes me sob- and while it isn't necessary, I would recommend you listen to it as you read. :)

Word Count: 1,321

Trigger Warning(s)

Attempted Suicide - Not gory, but fairly descriptive

Drug-Use

2006, 17 years old

Distancing myself from my siblings was hard to stop. It was like being struck with an awful disease, and not being able to get rid of it. It was a bad habit, and it was incurable.

It's not that I wanted to do this, not to Klaus, not to my siblings- not precisely. I knew I had to protect, to keep them safe from myself. But not to this degree. It was much harder to say hello and apologize for the months left with quick glances away, the absence of those midnight escapes to each other's rooms, and the talkless free time, than to continue looking away every time he looked back. I only said what I needed to, when our father- no, Reginald, made me.

It was challenging to face the fear that Klaus would no longer accept me, and I wasn't allowed to nestle in his arms on too gloomy nights. To whisper to one another are deepest, darkest secrets, and still know it was going to be okay- as long as we were here for one another. And knowing I had broken that trust, I would- he would not be able to look at me as the same person I was before.

The world was so much colder without him, and without Ben, and I'm sure Diego and I weren't about to stay close for very much longer- maybe if I were to stay. I never had a plan or an idea outside of the training, out of the endless work, and sleepless nights, and the looming feeling that he would always be watching.

With no place to go or a place in mind, I'd be moving out on our birthday. That's as far as my plan went. I'd slip silently into the night, feeling small as Klaus's loudness and the thought for birthday tricks and celebration came out. I'd be small and invisible, with a whole world to conquer.

All I had left were the few remaining months, and a fraction of the siblings I used to be close with and used to love me. Vanya and I? We haven't talked in years. Allison's been too busy, with her dreams of stardom, and walking down the red carpet- but most of all, starting her own life. Luther said he'd be staying, and he encouraged me, too. Diego thinks he'll get a job on the police force; he says he's been looking into it.

I doubt their dreams. We've never been much more than a group of fucked up kids- what could we really offer? Besides our powers, which never worked to most of our favors. Were we capable of anything that wasn't fighting or manipulation? That's what I was unsure of, I didn't honestly doubt that they couldn't do what they set out to do- but if there were ever an inkling otherwise, I'd find myself down the rabbit hole.

I played with the idea of staying. It wasn't- awful. I smiled, thinking I'd be able to see Luther every day, there was still a connection there, and I could try- for one last time- to stop my ugly disease. But I also think of Reginald, and how disappointed he'd be that after 18 years, 19 years, 20 years, 21...that I'd still be unable to fully grasp and take control of my powers. I quickly concluded I wouldn't be able to stand seeing his - almost- taunting face for another 10, 20- for the rest of your life- years!

I'd have to run away and never look back. It was my only option now. And I'd realized the years I'd given to pushing away have worked- there done with me. I'd let that thought sink in, and my chest felt heavy thinking of it. I'd never be loved again. Not as before, nothing had been as it was before for a long time, and that awful weighted feeling had finally set.

I had been lying in my bed, playing with all my ideas, feeling too restless to sleep. I'd tried, the lights were off, and I'd tried to keep my feelings silent- keep my brain shut off. It never worked. My head filled with racing, pacing, neverending thoughts. The things in my head lead me places that made me shiver, and I wished every time to be brought back to how it was.

Please, please- let me have one more night with them. One more night, I can lay my head down and feel comforted with silence.

I know it's useless.

I shake my head, and my whole body shakes and shivers with it. I slowly push myself off the bed, disappearing from my room- the only sound is my bare feet padding across on the wood flooring, and the occasional faint creaks of the old floorboards.

I find myself tiptoeing to Klaus' room, peering into his bedroom from the crack in the door- I can see his body slowly rise and fall in a deep sleep. I slip slowly through the door, scavenging his drawers, and finding nothing.

'Where would he hide it?'

There's a small wooden box near his bedside; it isn't labeled and blends right into the messy and dark interior of the room. Crouching down to pick it up, I let out a shaky breath, and when I take a glance at Klaus, his eyes clenched- he begins to stir. I hold my breath, and he turns to his other side- facing the wall opposite. I grab it, shutting the door a little too loud as I leave. I exhale- my breathing sounding scared, once more.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, holding the box on my knees as my hands shake. Slowly tipping the lid open, letting fingertips fall against what was inside- a small bag of assorted, mostly white, pills, something that's probably weed, and an even smaller pocket of presumable coke(I think, I hope not though). I snatch the first little bag in one hand, spilling a sizeable amount of the pills into my other hand. The shaking- which hasn't stopped, and has only gotten worse the more I've stayed in my room, holding this box- makes the pills nearly fly from my grasp.

I bring my hand slowly to my mouth, forcing my head back as the palm attaches to my lips- trying not to spit it out when my throat rejects it with a feeling sort of like sticking your fingers down your throat—successfully getting it down after a glass of water.

I'm still holding Klaus' box on my knees when I begin feeling foggy. I think of him from a while back- staying in his room on a long night, holding him to my chest as he sobbed and whimpered, allowing him even as my shirt got wet. And remembering; as my fingers tousle his hair and run along his back in comfort. While he calmed down, finally lying in silence, and the feeling as he hugged me back before falling asleep. That was a moment I would miss.

In the short moments we had alone as kids- dressing up with Allison and singing to pop songs on the radio and Five reading a book and allowing me to peer over his shoulder(and not getting mad when I asked questions, indulging me, even). With tall & strong Luther giving piggybacks across the hall or listening to Vanya play her violin(before Five left). Klaus, Ben, and I all sitting together, smiling and joking and laughing- a long, long time before the drugs and the pain.

We were still kids, and I missed them- and all of a sudden I was scared again, I didn't want to miss the rest of this.

I try to will myself up, the foggy feeling growing stronger, and my head feeling dizzy. My one clear thought is someone smiling up at me, tears clustered in their eyes, and—

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nickburn · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on the Oculus Quest and VR after One Week

Last week, I obtained an Oculus Quest, fulfilling a goal I had for this year of buying my first VR headset. I’ve been really interested in VR for years, and now feels like a great time to get into it, if you have the dough. Since I’m still fairly uncomfortable with traveling, I figured a headset would allow me to escape to faraway lands from the comfort of my studio apartment. The Quest in particular was enticing because, unlike most powered headsets, it doesn’t require a tether to an expensive PC or console. Now that I’ve had some time with it to explore the headset and some apps, I’d like to talk through my first impressions here.

The Oculus Quest

I got the 64 GB Oculus Quest through Amazon for $400, and I feel like it’s important to say that upfront. I recognize it’s a privilege just to be able to afford something like this right now, let alone have a decent job that allows for it. VR is not as cheap as it should be yet, but I think it will be within the next five years or so.

64 GB is plenty so far, and I can’t see the size limit becoming a problem for a while. Maybe once more premium apps like Half-Life Alyx hit the Quest I’ll regret it, but for now I’m totally happy with the smaller hard drive. The controllers are super comfortable and responsive, though figuring out left from right takes some getting used to, especially with something blocking your vision. But it’s easy enough once you realize that the second trigger is on the inside of the controller, so the wrong orientation will feel awkward. The device and controllers are very portable, if awkward to transport because of their shape and fragility. I expect I’ll have to purchase a carrying case for them sooner or later, but for now a backpack has sufficed.

The headset itself is truly a wonder. The four cameras on the front can create a live black and white feed of your surroundings so you don’t bump into things if you walk with it on, and they can even track just your hands for additional control options (currently in beta). The straps allow for easy size adjustments, and they’re tough enough that I don’t feel like they’ll wear down any time soon. There’s a slider for the lenses to adjust your viewing angle if things still look blurry, and the lenses themselves blend nicely into your vision, so you truly feel like you’re in another place with the headset on and running. The built-in speakers only heighten this effect, providing a surround sound experience in a small package. There are headphone jacks on the sides of the headset as well, but I haven’t had cause to use them yet.

The hub interface experience is fairly smooth, and you can choose your background environment for it from several thematic choices. Getting around the menus is easy enough, but it can be hard to know what to look for or even where to start. There are a few free demos, but after that you’re on your own to discover what’s best for you. Since VR is still so new to most people, I would like a little more guidance there, but I’m enjoying the process of discovering things for myself too. One nice thing is every game is listed with a comfort rating, so you know which are likely to give you motion sickness and which are basically 3D movies.

Beat Saber

It’s no secret Beat Saber is one of the most successful VR games so far, and it lives up to the hype. It’s a rhythm game where you have to slash at different colored blocks with the corresponding saber, in time with the music and in the right direction. You also dodge obstacles on occasion, either by leaning or ducking. This sounds simple, but it allows for a ton of different patterns and complexity. The best levels have really satisfying sequences to perform, and it does almost feel like conducting or drumming along with the music. The main campaign is surprisingly lengthy and difficult. At one point, it starts to require you to go against your instincts and mess up songs on purpose in order to not let your combo go above a certain number or to hit a required number of misses. I’m sure they were added to give the game some more mechanical depth, but I’m not sure they’re necessary. Fortunately, there’s also a solo mode and leaderboard where you can play any song you have access to on any difficulty you like. I haven’t bought more songs yet, but I suspect I will before long. Overall, this is an easy game to recommend and a must-play for anyone with access to VR.

The Climb

I’m a novice rock climber who hasn’t been able to go to a gym since March, so this game caught my eye. It gives you the experience of free soloing (climbing tall, long routes without a harness or other people) and bouldering (climbing very short but difficult routes, which is the style I prefer in real life). So far, I’ve only tried the tutorial, and I’m still working up the courage to go back. The game gives me a lot of vertigo and kind of freaks me out, as your character screams for their life whenever you fall (which, in the tutorial at least, will happen often as you learn the controls). Falling is a very real part of climbing, but if you’re doing it right, you should never get hurt. Free soloing is only really attempted by the most expert climbers, and even many of them die in their attempts. A better way to experience it though is through the Free Solo 360 VR documentary by National Geographic, which is free on the app store and thrilling to watch, just like the regular doc. I’m sure I’ll go back to this game soon, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to get used to falling in VR.

National Geographic VR

This game is very cute and allows you to play the part of a National Geographic photographer in Machu Picchu and Antarctica. So far I’ve only started the Machu Picchu route, but I really like it. Your producers tasks you with getting different shots, and you have several locations to choose from in each area. Not very deep, but the views are great.

Job Simulator

In Job Simulator, you play a boring, everyday employee for sentient, floating robot TV’s in a few different roles, and it’s awesome. There’s tons of physics objects to play with, which is definitely one of my favorite parts of VR. The writing is clever, the world is cartoon-like and inviting, and it’s much better than actual work. This is another game I’d strongly recommend for VR beginners like myself.

Netflix VR

As weird as it sounds, I like Netflix in VR. The TV in the environment seems much larger than the one I own in real life, so it feels bigger even though it’s virtual. I like the cabin setting and atmosphere, and it beats staring at my apartment walls. I was able to watch several episodes of Death Note in a row pretty easily, although the headset does start to feel heavy after a while. I wouldn’t say this is the ideal way to stream TV by any means, but it’s worth a try as a fun distraction.

Other Odds and Ends

I’ve dabbled with various other apps and games so far, as one does when one acquires a new electronic toy. I started the tutorial of Vader Immortal Episode 1, and it has you deflecting lasers and slashing robots just like a Jedi, so I’m excited to start that game properly. I was able to hook up my headset to my PC in order to try Google Earth, and it’s great. I don’t think my PC will be able to handle much else, however, so I’m thinking about upgrading it relatively soon. It is nice to know, though, that all you need to make the connection now is a USB 2.0/3.0 to USB-C cable. Until May, you had to buy a special $80 cable directly from Oculus, so I’m glad they removed that barrier. I still feel weird about Superhot in VR. I’ve tried it once before, and the demo still felt awkward to me this time. You have to be so precise in Superhot that dodging bullets while attacking and moving becomes really strenuous, and I don’t think the game really accommodates that well.

Next Steps

All that said, I’m looking forward to digging into all the games I’ve only touched the surface on as well as exploring new things. I’ll try to continue to document my thoughts here so you can all share in my journey with me. I’m coming to realize that VR time is separate from my regular gaming time, in that the experience is totally different. It’s not a replacement for the games I own already; it’s an expansion on a medium and still very new. But there’s something very freeing and magical about VR that comes with the masking of the senses and trickery that the headset provides. Very soon, within the next three to five years even, I think it’ll be much more commonplace.

Thank you for reading if you got this far! And let me know what comments or questions you have here or on Twitter. :)

#vr #oculus quest #video games #vacation ideas #beat saber #job simulator

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harryimaginestuff · 5 years ago

Text

Lover

This is heavily inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘Lover’ so I'd also recommend giving that a listen whilst you read this (if you want).

The one where he’s your lover.

Genre: Fluff (like pure fluff)

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: some drug use (weed)

‘Y/N! Over here,’

‘Miss Y/N to your right!”

This was familiar to her, the calling out of her name by people she didn’t know and had no interest in her actual life but rather whatever drama she could bring to whatever column they worked for. This may have been her first red carpet in over a year, but she surely was no stranger to such events.

Going through these events was more like a chore than a benefit, at least that’s what she had begun to think soon after she passed the twelfth year of working in the music industry. She had lost herself to the glitz and glam, pulled too far into the inviting glamour that came along with fame. But what she once found charming, she then discovered it to be toxic and unfavourable. Much like the transition of the media’s view of her.

As it turned out leaked nudes by ex-boyfriends are far more damaging to a career if the person had a reputation of being naïve and pop’s princess.

It was the sound of another name that had called her out of her stupor, too blinded by the lights to notice that someone else had joined her on the red carpet. She had been relieved of the alleviated attention, five minutes on the red carpet had been five minutes too long. The tedious formalities aiding in the reaching of her limit. And who better to steal the attention than none other than Harry Styles.

Harry Styles was far from unfamiliar to her, being an avid follower of the man, she practically knew everything about him (that is only things he wanted fans to know). She had been a fan since the very beginning including his X-Factor days. Becoming star-struck was not a regular occurrence to her so for it to happen to her right then and there, on her first red carpet appearance in years had her feeling giddy and scared instantaneously.

She had already begun to walk off of the carpet when his name had been called and obviously being the huge fan, she was, could not miss the opportunity to look back and gaze at the man she had admired for so long. But it wasn’t his quirky suit that left her heart beating erratically, neither was it the one dangly lock of hair, resting delicately on his forehead, but rather it was the way he was already looking at her with the brightest most brilliant smile to match his shining eyes that had her heart beating a million miles per second. And there was nothing more to do except send him her most sincere and genuine smile of the night.

That smile belonged to him, just as his belonged to her. As it always would.

She was surrounded by her friends, her heart fuzzy and warm, all of them encased by the Summer air as they enjoyed drinks on a rooftop somewhere in London with the golden sunset behind them. It was times like these where she truly felt happy. Spending time surrounded by people who loved her away from prying eyes. But it wasn’t this that had her stomach exploding with giddiness, in fact it was all due to the message she had just received only five minutes prior from her boyfriend, Harry, asking her to meet him once her night was over.

They had only began dating four months ago after the brief, but life-changing run in on the red carpet and from then they had entered a thunderstorm of a relationship. Loud, heavy and unapologetic. It was just them and nobody else.

They were attached at the hip and no one could come in between them.

For the first time in a while she felt completely at peace. Sure, she still got the occasional belittling comment about her body from random men on the street catcalling her and openly discussing the leaked images. And whilst it still left a dull ache, the pain from her past did nothing to change the peace she had begun to welcome.

As if on cue her phone rang soon after hugging her friend’s goodbye.

“Perfect timing, H.” she had smiled into the phone, her admiration for the man spilling out of her as soon as the sound of his voice reached her ears. “I’m on my way now.”

“No need. I’m across the street.” And just as he promised, there he stood to her left, leaning on the side of his black Audi as if he had just come out of some 80s teen romance.

“You stalker,” she had practically shouted as she approached her boyfriend, his arms already outstretched and already anticipating her body against his.

“You love it.” He murmured against her head, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, then onto the corner of her eye and then to her cheek until finally he reached her lips.

“Oh, look what I picked up.” He smiled coyly at her once the two of them had entered into the privacy of his car.

“Show me.”

His smile grew wider as his hand reached into the glovebox on her side, pulling out a small baggie of weed. “This.”

Now this wasn’t something the two of them did often, it was a rare occasion for the both of them to sit down and smoke together, but when it did happen they thoroughly enjoyed it. Relishing the feeling of complete serenity that was often uncommon because of the nature of their work.

So when they reached Harry’s North London home, they were quick to get settled down, the two of the stripping only to get dressed again into comfortable attire, Y/N automatically helping herself to Harry’s stash of old tees, a habit he loved since there was nothing better than seeing someone he cared so deeply for feel so at home in his own home.

“You roll it.” He had said, chucking the small bagie to his girlfriend along with all the necessities.

“Just ‘cause you can’t do it yourself.” She laughed, sitting herself onto his bed and getting started.

“I mean.” Harry stuttered for a moment before breaking out into a smile. “True.”

Sooner rather than later, the two of them were sprawled across the bed, her legs resting on the headboard, and his legs dangling off of the end. The position brought them discomfort, but in their high state of mind, it was the unsurpassed position for them to be able to be looking at one another.

“We were meant to be together.” She had mumbled, her dry tongue coming out in an attempt to wet her lips. “It was fate.”

She ignored the breathy laugh Harry had let out and instead sat up, swinging her legs so that they were now on either side of his head.

“I swear, it’s that destiny bullshit. Because if I had met you any other time before that day we actually met I never would have said yes to you asking my manager for my number because obviously I wasn’t in the right state of mind with everything that was being spread and then if we had met after I also would have said no because my ex had asked me out.” She said her red eyes meeting his. “Do you remember that? And I probably would’ve said yes to him because I’m a masochist because four months ago I had no idea that being with someone could feel like this.”

At that moment Harry had sat himself up too, swinging himself around so his legs rested on top of hers, before pulling her in for a kiss.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Merry Christmas!”

The happy couple were cuddled into each other’s side, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, foot to foot as the clock struck midnight signalling the first hour of Christmas Day. His home-town home was entirely covered in decorations green and red tinsel wrapped around picture frames and a gold star resting atop of a heavily decorated Christmas tree.

It had been the first time she had met his family, both agreeing they would split the two-day celebration between his and her family. Christmas Eve for the Styles’ and Christmas Day for the Y/L/N’s and boxing day just for the two of them.

It was the first time for both of them to be that kind of couple. The kind that would wear matching Christmas jumpers and buy the two-person Christmas jumper, unironicallythat is, and post a picture of it on their shared finsta account.

Much to their dismay, they had been split up during a game of Family Fortune, Anne demanding teams of boys against girls completely disregarding Harry’s complaints on how ‘s’not fair that they get to have my girlfriend’.

Eventually his complaints only worsened as his team began to lose, jokingly screaming in frustration he would point accusatory fingers at whoever got the answer wrong. In this instance it was Michal, Gemma’s boyfriend triggering a frustrated cry from Harry.

“Give me back my girlfriend!” he had whined. “She’s winning this game for you. S’not fair. I don’t’ want to play anymore. Gem take your man back.”

He was pouting then, his arms founded across his chest as he huffed and puffed from his seat causing Y/N to laugh along with Anne and Gemma at the grown man who still had moments when he became a child.

“Harry you’re still such a sore loser!” Gemma had called him out turning to you with a roll of her eyes. “Try playing scrabble with this man. An absolute nightmare.”

A drawn out a slightly offended ‘hey’ could be heard from Harry, but the two girls both chose to ignore the childish, yet adorable man they had both come to love.

“Oh I get it.” Y/N had smirked rolling her eyes too. “Every bloody Sunday we play and every time I win and every time he pulls a strop and refuses to look at me for at least five minutes.”

“You two finished bitchin’ ‘bout me ey?” He plonked himself in between the two of them, half of his body sitting on top of his girlfriend.

“Not bitching H, just some tough love.” She laughed, straining her neck so that she was able to kiss him on the cheek to which he happily leaned into.

“How ‘bout some other type of lovin’.” He had whispered in her ear with his back to her chest, his brows wriggling with suggestion. But little did he know that in his drunken stupor he had all but shouted the words causing her cheeks to burn a bright red as everyone in the room laughed at his words.

“You horny bastard.” She had muttered against his back, hiding her burning cheeks from everyone’s prying eyes.

But drunk Harry had no shame and a very little regard for a limit on what could be said. “Can’t help it babe. I love you, all of you.” His tone was once again laced with suggestion, brows raised and mouth open, his tongue poking just beyond his teeth.

“Harry!” her mouth had said, but her eyes screamed, ‘I love you.’

His words and actions may have been a bit too much for a family occasion, but they didn’t care for they had never seen him love so deeply without a care for anyone else.

“Welcome to my house.” Y/N had said, pulling open the gold framed door and welcoming their friends.

“Our!” Harry’s voice had sounded from the kitchen where he had been busying himself making frozen margaritas.

It had taken a while, but the two of them had finally decided on a home in South West London.

Three whole Summers they had been together.

It had been a shock to everyone who knew them, for the couple to be moving in together so late considering the nature of their relationship. In fact, many had believed they would move in by the end of their first year together. But instead it had taken three whole Summers for it to happen. An outcome of both their busy schedules.

The both of them had just finished their own respective tours, hers finishing only a week after his. Pathetic rumours spread by strangers did nothing to crack the towering wall built around the two lovers, in fact all it did was build another layer. After all, how could it cause any harm when the happy couple couldn’t hear anything except each other’s loving declarations even if they were 500 miles apart. Finally the media had no control over their narrative and instead they formed it together, built from the ground where they had once laid broken and beaten in a puddled mess.

A womaniser and a princess were now simply Harry and Y/N.

Their friends had to step around the cardboard boxes set up along the hallway, the couple not yet having enough time to set up all the belongings and make their house a home.

“Harry I have known you five years now and I have never seen you this disorganised.” Mitch had stated, as he stumbled over a couple boxes causing him to stagger into the living room where Harry was waiting, margaritas in hand.

With a nonchalant wave of his hand, Harry disregarded his friends’ comment, “We got time,” He could be easy going, but mostly when it came to her.

“You guys are literally what I aspire to have.” Clare declared after a moment of watching them cuddled against each other on the sofa later that evening. Despite the free seat on their left the couple still refused to split from the others side which didn’t go unnoticed by anyone.

“I mean… we’re not perfect.” Y/N had pointed out, her hands busy with fiddling with Harry’s brown locks.

Mitch shook his head with a mocking laugh. “What you guys argue too like the rest of us?”

“We do!”

“Like about who’s turn it is to wash the dishes?” Adam joined in on the teasing.

The couple failed to answer, but their avoiding of the eyes of everyone in the room spoke volumes causing the room to erupt into laughter.

“Hey! it was a very serious argument in the moment!” Harry defended himself. “Besides arguments can be healthy no matter what they’re about.”

“I can’t even imagine you guys not being stuck together anymore; you’ve been attached for so long. Swear you’ve never come out of the honeymoon stage.” Y/F/N snickered. “Remember that time they broke up for literally five minutes?” Hums of agreement could be heard from around the room.

“Yeah!” Clare laughed. “Harry started crying in the studio, got a call from Y/N and then wrote his biggest love song on the second album.”

“They had only been dating two months then. Two!”

“No way was I letting my greatest lover slip through my fingers.” Y/N smiled pressing a kiss to her boyfriends’ cheek.

The conversation continued without them, unbeknownst to the group, Harry and Y/N too invested in whispering sweet nothings into one another’s ears.

“Oh my god they’re not even listening anymore.”

“For fucks sake!” Complaints could be heard around the room, but it was no surprise that this would happen, besides how could they truly complain when they were nothing but happy for their two friends. Happiness was the least that they both deserved.

However, the array of playful protests from their friends were ignored as Harry began to pepper kisses onto his girl’s face. This was their house and to them that meant they were free to do as they pleased.

‘+’

“Is it… are you?” Harry had stumbled over his words, watching in shock as tears ran down his girlfriend’s face. With a slight nod of her head, he had erupted into a fit of laughter, prancing around the room before he scooped his girlfriend into his arms and made another round around their living room.

“S’gonna be a girl I can feel it.” He had said once they settled down, the pregnancy test clutched in their hands.

“You can feel it huh?” she laughed at Harry, who had just begun to rub the non-existent swell of her belly.

“Gonna name her Anastasia. S’gonna have your colour hair and my eyes. The colour not the shape, that’d be yours too.”

“And what would she be like.”

“An absolute handful! Because she’s our first baby we would give her everything, but she had to be good. She’d always be attached to one of us.” The noise of everything else had been drowned out by the fantasy Harry displayed, the calming, slow tone of his voice walking them through every step of their daughter’s life, from her first steps to her first day of University.

It was hours later when they had finally risen from the couch, their legs were cramped, and pins and needles were running up their arms. But neither cared, the two of them running on the high of their news.

“Marry me.” Harry had spoken suddenly causing Y/N to halt her climb on the stairs.

“What?”

“I said marry me.” His face was dead serious, but his eyes glowed with passion and his hands were clammy from the nerves that had been running through his body.

“Yes.” Y/N whispered only to speak louder the next time. “Yes.” she tackled Harry into a hug, forcing him to grab onto the railing to stop themselves from falling down.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

Small gurgles could be heard from the front bench, the one-year old child chatting happily on her Nana’s lap.

“Wave hi to Daddy Ana!” Anne whispered sweetly to the child.

“Da.” Anastasia shouted, her chubby fingers reaching out in an attempt to grab onto her father’s Gucci suit causing everyone around her to coo softly at the small child.

Harry was right as it turned out. She did have your hair and his eyes. But she was nowhere near a handful, in fact she was the complete opposite. She was their little angel; always content and always smiling.

It had been safe to say that almost the entire room and been in tears as soon as Y/N had stepped into the room. This was a day that everyone who knew them saw coming. Their lives together had been written by some other omnipotent force as soon as their eyes had met that night on the red carpet. For them there had been no other way.

It was a beautiful sight to watch destiny play its card, to watch as the two lovers became husband and wife. Who knew that what was once a borrowed heart, when mixed with one that was once blue, created a golden hue, like a halo that wrapped around the couple and the happy family they had created together.

Their love was golden, like the gold in her dress the night they had met. Golden like the sunset the same evening Harry had told her he was falling in love with her. Gold like the star that had sat on top of the Christmas tree on their first Christmas together tied with meeting the other’s family. Golden like their door, that they had promised to step into every day for the rest of their lives. And golden like the ring he had put on her finger when he had promised to marry her.

They had left that room as husband and wife and they never looked back.

‘Y/N! To your left!’

‘Smile for us Y/N!’

Journalists had continued to scream your name from all directions, each demanding that you gave them your attention. But unluckily for them that had been stolen, for your focus still remained on the man who joined you on the red carpet, your eyes still locked right until the point where you left the red carpet.

It was especially chaotic that evening mostly because it was your first appearance in over a year and yet you were unable to focus. The intense stare you had just shared with him left your palms sweating and left you stunned initiating a shake of your shoulder as if an attempt to be rid of the flustering feeling that somehow you knew this man beyond what you knew as a fan of his work.

It was then, when you were smoothing out your golden dress, that you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

“Hi! M’Harry.” His voice caused you to jump in shock, your hand quickly reaching out to meet his outstretched one, it may have simply been a formality but that did nothing to stop the tingle that ran up your arm as soon as his skin touched yours.

“Nice to meet you.” You stumbled over your words, slightly overwhelmed by his presence. “I’m Y/N.”

have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Okay so I would like to know if you liked that please and thanks (please give me validation!!!! (jkjk (but not really)))

Ngl I felt really creative and artsy when I planned out the whole thing, idk if it came across as a cool idea but idc

I really hope you enjoyed it!!

#harry #styles #Harry Styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #fluff #a lot of fluff

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