#DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I WANT TO BE FORGIVEN AND CHOKE UP CHUNKS OF MY OWN SINS!!!!!!

[musical-chick-13]

Instead of "I've always loved you" try:

Somewhere, the atoms stopped fusing. I'm still your favorite regret; you're still my weapon of choosing. And out there, stuck in a quantum pattern, tangled with what I never said, you say it doesn't matter.

[hellhound5925]

One shot - Sargent Hunter

“It’s better this way” Part Three

Incase you are new, Part one and Part two.

Warnings:

18+, heartbreak, smut, (I'm bad at warnings let me know if I missed anything) mentions of blood (unintentional self harm?). References to stars exploding. Female character/reader.

Summary:

The smut chapter you’ve been waiting for…that is all 😂 Wait I lied, so the lyrics to Sleep Tokens, Blood Sport is in this as well (I’m trying something new so let me know what we think). Anything that is lyrics will be written as follows: ~ Sleep Token, Blood Sport ~

I stop just outside the doors that lead out onto the landing platform - what can I even say to make up for what I did? Will he forgive me? This is Hunter we are talking about, right? He'll understand. With a deep breath, I press the button, causing the doors to slide open. The modified Omicron-class attack shuttle rests tall and proud on the platform, while the rain gently hits the heavily armored hull.

~ Stuck in a quantum pattern,

Tangled in what I never said,

You say it doesn’t matter ~

At first, there's no sign that anyone's out here, but then I notice the stairs are down and the door is open. Stepping out into the rain, I head over to the steps. The amber glow of the lights inside is warm and inviting, which makes my heart sink - I'm an awful person... Maybe I don't deserve to be forgiven. I head up the steps, getting out of the rain. The cold dampness makes it way through my clothes to my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

~ I want to be forgiven… ~

A noise comes from he cockpit drawing my attention. I quietly make my way to the doorway, leaning against it. Hunter is on his back under the controls, tinkering with something. He continues to work without acknowledging my presence, but there isn't a doubt in my mind he knew I was here the minute I walked up the stairs. I choose to stay silent for a moment hoping he would start the conversation.

After an alarming amount of time being shrouded in the cold silence, I decide to speak up. "I came to explain myself..." I trail off seeing if he will stop what he's doing but he doesn't. I've never seen him like this before and its actually scaring me a little.

~ I want to choke up chunks of my own sins ~

"Hunter please...I need you to understand...I never meant—" I'm cut off my a loud clanging noise. Hunter drops the tool he was working with and mutters a string of curses in Mando'a. Pushing himself out from under the controls, he's looking over his hand. Without a second thought, I rush over and grab it looking it over. He's moving it, so its likely not broke and theres no blood.

Neither of us move, his hand still in mine. I gently brush my fingers over his knuckles having almost forgotten what his touch was like. Without warning he pulls away, turning his back to me "I need to finish these repairs before we ship out."

~ Would you invite me in again? ~

At his words my stomach drops into my feet. "I'll be quick then, but I need you to hear me on this please."

~ Let me pay for my arrogance ~

He sighs and his shoulder drop. Without turning around, he turns his head to the side to show me he's listening. The fact that he can't even look at me is the final strike that breaks me completely. My legs become to weak to hold me up and I drop to my knees sobbing uncontrollably, "I was so worried about losing you out there....I had no idea what I would do without you....my best idea was to pull away....Tech...he made me realize—" at this point I can't think straight or get enough air into my lungs to continue.

~ Won’t you show me your weakness? ~

Burying my head in my hands, I didn't even hear anyone approach. A hand rests on each of my shoulders, I look up to see Hunter with a concerned look etched into his handsome features only inches from mine.

"I don't—deserve forgiveness" I blurt out.

~ I made loving you a blood sport ~

He reaches towards my face, placing a hand on my cheek. The rough pad of his thumb wipes away the waterfall of tears having made their way to my lips. The taste of their salt on my tongue.

"I wish you had come to me about how you were feeling." His voice is the calm at the center of the storm. It's warm and full of life, a life I crave. He pulls me in to his chest, where I lose control once again. Rubbing circles into my back with one hand in my hair, his hold on me tightens as if I'd slip through his fingers like the sands of Tatooine.

~ I’m still your favorite regret ~

"I forgive you" his chest vibrates with his words, "and I'm sorry you were in that much pain and didn't feel like you could come to me." In that moment, the black hole I created just a day ago was gone. The very star at the center of his universe, back where it belongs. Giving its life back to the planets, it watches over.

Returning his hands to my shoulders, he pushes me back to look me in the face. "Promise me from now on, you come to me whenever you feel that way." His beautiful brown eyes roam my face as I collect myself but all I can do is nod.

~ You’re still my weapon of choosing ~

My brain is so foggy from the overflow of emotions, "I don't understand how you don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you. You mean too much to me but I wanted to respect your decision."

"Tech said I'm one of the reasons you fight so hard to come home. Is that true? You fight for me?"

There's a long pause, Hunter places his forehead against mine "I will always fight for you."

~ And out there,

Stuck in a quantum pattern,

Tangled in what I never said… ~

I'm at a complete loss for words and even thought we're so close, a need to be closer claws at my insides. My hands find their way to his face and the stubble on his jaw tickles my palms, at this angle my hands look so small. Hunter likely feeling the same way, runs his hands down my sides resting them on my hips.

He pauses for a second before pulling me onto his lap. As if we've practiced this a thousand times, my legs wrap around his lean torso, while my hands make their way over his muscular shoulders and entangle themselves in his hair. Effortlessly, he lifts the two of us off the floor, carrying me over to his bunk and gently sets me on it. Its quite messy which means he didn't stay in the shared space with his brothers last night.

~ You say it doesn’t matter ~

Hunter hesitates, still hovering over me. “I promise that whatever happens out there…I will always find my way home to you.”

Grabbing the chest piece of his armor, I pull him so our lips crash together sloppily. After a few moments we break and all the only sounds that can be heard are the pitter patter of rain on the hull and our labored breathing. The space between us still nonexistent as his lips gently brush mine, I lean into him pressing our foreheads together. His nose is pressed into my cheek and yet it still feels like theres a galaxy between us.

“I need you” I whisper into his lips and arching my back ever so slightly, pressing myself further into him.

His lips dance gently across mine and it’s almost too much to bare. Hunter knows exactly what he’s doing and at this point I deserve to be tortured. Just as he leans in like he’s going to finally kiss me, he pulls away exposing my face to the cold air between us. A smug smile makes it away across his face but before I can react, he presses me into the mattress with his body. He kisses me so deeply, it makes the darkness of space seem shallow. My hands wander over his muscular back and through his hair causing a lusty hum to vibrate deep in his chest.

Muscle memory kicks in, and armor pieces start piling up on the floor followed by a pair of GAR issue blacks. My clothes are next to follow, the cold dampness of them feels like a distant memory as the warmth of his body radiates through mine. With one finger he slowly trails my jaw line, down my neck to my chest stopping briefly between my breasts. Goosebumps erupt all over my body, as he continues his painstakingly slow journey to my thighs. I’m too caught up in a storm of blissful anguish to make a sound.

Hunter forces his way through my throbbing core, falling in rhythm with the rain creating a beautiful symphony that overwhelms my senses. My desperation to be consumed with this feeling of him inside me. We've been together like this many times before but this....it's just different. Time suddenly seems to stand still as the two of us became whole once more. My back arches involuntarily at the electricity that shoots through my body. He's almost too much for me to handle, with fist full of the sheets and my toes curled to the soles of my feet, my body trembles with pleasure. My breathing hitches as a soft whimpering gasp falls from my lips.

"Easy Mesh'la...I've got you...I always will" he purrs in my ear before nipping and kissing my neck.

I cry out as his words are the final push over the edge, white hot pleasure corses through my core with the intent to keep him there. Hunter continues, not stopping until he knows our desire has been fulfilled.

As we come down from our high he surrounds me with his closeness, his embrace. His scent washes over me and becomes the air in my lungs, his touch makes my skin shiver with pleasure. In his strong arms I feel a safeness that I have never felt before. Burying his head my hair, he inhales deeply as if to soak me in. We lay there together in silence for a moment as the soft pitter patter of the rain slowly subsides.

"I know ‘s right for both of us…We’re always better together” his words slurred like a love drunken fool.

Taglist: @cloneloverrrrr @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @idoubleswearimawriter @maybethatfanfictionwriter @savebytheodore @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @jediknightjana @techs-goggles9902 @clonethirstingisreal

Huge huge huge thank you to @cloneloverrrrr and @lune-de-miel-au-paradis you guys are the freaking best 🫡💖

[obsessedwithbbandsuju]

Half of You

He should be here soon, Taeyeon thought, glancing at the time. She took a deep breath. It was nervousness, exactly, that was making her shift on her couch – no, it was more like unease.

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong/Son Taeyeon

___

oppa: a term used by a female to refer to a male, older than her, that she is close to

___

He should be here soon, Taeyeon thought, glancing at the time. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t nervousness, exactly, that was making her shift on her couch – no, it was more like unease.

She and Jiyong-oppa hadn’t parted on the best of terms, when he finally enlisted in the military. Ever since that argument mid-2017… they had made up about a month afterwards, finding it too jarring, too hollow, to not see each other for so long, but still, both of them could tell that there was a rift growing again, the kind that hadn’t gotten between them since after they broke up all those years ago. The entire twenty months of Jiyong-oppa’s time in the military, thinking of him had made her feel like there was a gaping hole widening inside of her. It was bad enough that she missed him – his warmth, his kindness, his intelligence, his humor, his understanding.

But on top of that, she had been so worried that when he came back, things would no longer be the same. Almost two years… their relationship had already been dangling on a tenuous thread, and almost two years apart could be more than enough to completely sever that. She would do all that she could to ease the tension between them, but there was only so much that she could do. If Jiyong-oppa didn’t reciprocate, their relationship… it might go down the drain.

The thought of that was – well, it was horrifying. For better or worse, Taeyeon wasn’t the kind of person who liked to dwell on things that were over and done. She tried to push away thoughts of her father when he came up in her mind. She tried to ignore her mind’s incessant speculating about her mother. When she broke up with someone she buried the sadness where it couldn’t threaten her daily life and her work. But this was Jiyong-oppa. The person who called her half of his soul, the person that she called half of her soul. The person who understood her so intimately, so entirely, more than anyone else did. He was someone whose simple presence next to her brought her a sense of unspeakable comfort and contentment. Others might call in monotony – and maybe it was – but it was stable. Sure. Unchanging. And if she lost that…

With a long sigh, Taeyeon raked her hands through her hair. She was leaning back in the couch when she heard the sound of her apartment code being inputted. Her eyes widening, she leaped to her feet on autopilot, line of sight glued to the door.

Jiyong-oppa stepped in, shutting the door behind him. Their eyes met.

Taeyeon was walking towards him before she even consciously realized it. And she didn’t even have to make it halfway before Jiyong-oppa, reading her mind, opened his arms. Her hurried stride lengthened to a dead run, and she practically launched herself into his embrace, wrapping her hands around his waist tightly and burying her face in the crook of his neck. She felt him close his arms around her, his face pressed to the side of her head. All of it felt so natural. Nothing mattered. Her previous worries, they all evaporated to nothing. Meaningless. Hugging him, Taeyeon couldn’t even remember why she’d been so uneasy before.

“I missed you.” Jiyong-oppa’s voice was quiet, but choked with emotion. It was a rare thing for him to openly sound like this, and Taeyeon felt her throat closing up in response.

“I missed you too,” she whispered, holding him tighter, basking in the sudden contentment that had come over her as soon as their bodies collided. This. This was what had been out of her reach for the past two years without him – this feeling of security, of complete wholeness. She could only feel this when she was with him.

“You don’t get it,” Jiyong-oppa murmured, even though they both knew that she did get it – she got it perfectly. “I didn’t feel complete without you.” His arms around her tightened, but Taeyeon wasn’t complaining in the least. Reaching up, she threaded her fingers through his hair, still shorter than she was used to from his time in the military. Something about the motion seemed to please Jiyong-oppa – she could have sworn that if he were a cat, he would have purred as she did that.

“Neither did I.” And she was being honest.

They refused to let each other go for another minute. And when they finally pulled back, Jiyong-oppa cradled her face, his fingers brushing over her cheeks, and studied her desperately, like he was trying to make sure it was really her. His eyes were teary.

Overcome with emotion, Taeyeon traced the skin under his lower lip with her index and middle finger, needing to feel his warmth to confirm that this was a reality. That he really was back. She didn’t even notice that a tear slipped down her cheek until Jiyong-oppa smeared it gently with his thumb, his gaze fixating briefly on the droplet of water. He was really back, wasn’t he?

He is.

“We should sit,” Taeyeon said, even though her voice came out hoarse and broken from crying and she didn’t really want to let go of him. There was a beat and Jiyong-oppa nodded, reluctantly releasing her to take off his boots. He was still dressed in military gear – only the hat was missing, probably left in the car. Taeyeon led him into her apartment and to the couch, and they both sat.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. A part of her was still afraid that if she did, he would disappear.

He wasn’t looking away from her either. Their gazes met several times, but somehow, it wasn’t at all awkward, not in the least.

No, Taeyeon thought. It wasn’t somehow. She was a fool to have worried that it would ever be awkward between them after they hadn’t seen each other in so long.

“I’m sorry,” Jiyong-oppa said. “For everything I said to hurt you before.” He shook his head, the intensity in his eyes communicating all the things that just words couldn’t. “I was a fucking idiot for thinking I could bear to still be angry after two years without you.”

Taeyeon had to swallow hard before she could speak. “You went off to the army thinking that you would still be angry at me when you came back?” she asked. She wasn’t upset. She had had similar thoughts. Maybe not intentionally, but… it had always been there at the back of both of their minds, the idea of I’m angry at you now, and when we see each other again I’ll still be angry at you.

Jiyong-oppa nodded. “We were awkward when I left. I remember that a part of me was still pissed. I thought that it would last through all my time in the military, but it…” He shook his head. “…it all disappeared as soon as I walked away from you after we said goodbye.” Taeyeon had to avert her eyes at his admission to stop herself from tearing up again.

“I know I already apologized before I left for the military, but I need to do it again. Properly this time.” Jiyong-oppa’s voice was soft, but the sincerity in it could have shaken anyone to their core.

“I’m sorry, Taeyeon,” he said. “For everything I said to hurt you before. I didn’t mean any of it. Will you forgive me?”

I’ve already forgiven you, Taeyeon thought. I think I forgave you the moment you turned around after saying goodbye to me. She understood exactly what Jiyong-oppa was saying. She had thought some of the resentment left from their argument would last throughout all his time in the military, but she had been an idiot to think that. It hadn’t lasted, not even a single day.

“I forgive you.” Her response was simple, but she’d never been surer of anything she said. She did forgive him. Completely.

“And I need to apologize, too,” she said, because it was true and she did and it hadn’t been just Jiyong-oppa who’d let his words fly like bullets when they’d fought years ago. Apologies didn’t come naturally to her, but this one she had to do.

“Everything I said that hurt you that night,” she started, echoing his words because they applied to her completely too, “it was all a lie. Not a single word was true, and I should never have said any of it. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“I forgive you.” Jiyong-oppa didn’t hesitate, not even a single second.

That was it. That was all it took to resolve the tension that had been between them – or had it been resolved even before that? It was ridiculous to think that Taeyeon had worried so much about it for the past two years while Jiyong-oppa had been in the military, when it was just this… simple for them to figure it all out. It hadn’t even taken five minutes.

And now, looking at him, all of her problems felt distant, at least for the time being. She felt grounded, calm, even serene. After all the time she’d spent feeling like there was a gaping hole inside her, it was impossible to express in words how reassuring it was.

But if Taeyeon had had any doubts that their nickname for each other – my soulmate – was correct, she had none left now. Jiyong-oppa’s time in the military had been the undeniable confirmation, because she had just missed him so much. She wasn’t sure if it was normal to want to see anyone so badly. Without him, she’d felt like a huge chunk – no, half – of herself was just gone.

I didn’t feel complete without you, Jiyong-oppa had said. And that was it. That was exactly it.

Jiyong-oppa laughed. It was a short, breathless laugh, but it conveyed everything. Relief. Happiness. Disbelief. “You’re really here, aren’t you?” he asked, a smile spread over his face, crinkling his eyes and exposing his gums. God, that smile – Taeyeon hadn’t seen it in so long. It made her heart swell with pleasure.

“I really am,” she assured him softly. And you’re really here, too.

Without warning, Jiyong-oppa pounced on her, wrapping his arms around her again and sending her backwards so she was flat on her back on the couch with him on top of her. The surprise, though, lasted only a moment. She put one hand on the small of his back and the other on the back of his head, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. His familiar scent flooded her nose – it was exactly the same as she remembered, twenty months ago when he left for the military. She’d hugged him then, too, but it had been brief, stuffy, nowhere near as tightly as she was now.

For a few more minutes they were really content to just lay there, basking in each other. Jiyong-oppa relaxed completely on top of her, but he wasn’t heavy and Taeyeon didn’t mind. She adjusted her legs on either side of his waist to make them more comfortable, and let all the tension drain out of her body. It had been too long since she had felt so at ease.

“Hey,” she said softly. Jiyong-oppa stirred.

“Stay the night.”

He lifted his head and looked at her, their noses nearly touching. “If it’s okay with you then I’d be happy to.”

“It’s more than okay, I’m asking you to do it,” Taeyeon replied honestly. She knew Jiyong-oppa would become busy again soon. She knew that she was busy. But just for today, she wanted to have him by her side while she worked. Everything, even the things that stressed her out, always felt better when he was with her.

“Then let me just go to my apartment and get changed,” Jiyong-oppa said. Taeyeon nodded. His place was only one floor below hers anyway, so it would be quick.

For the rest of the day, she was happier than she had been in a long time. She still worked – sat on the couch and sketched out some design ideas for D’apchier, looked over the script for The World of the Married, an upcoming drama that she’d gotten a role for, read over some rough drafts for possible tracks in the future. They were things she did for the majority of every day, but it was completely different in that Jiyong-oppa was next to her. Sometimes he was laying with his head in her lap, other times he was leaning against her with his chin propped on her shoulder, and still other times they were just sitting, legs tangled together. It was tranquil.

“It figures that the first shower I take outside of the military is at your place,” Jiyong-oppa commented with a grin as he came out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over his wet hair. He had switched to the pajamas he’d also brought over from his apartment, the thin material clinging to his moist skin. It made Taeyeon happy to see him look so relaxed.

“Complaining?” she asked, a smile involuntarily spreading over her face.

“Not at all.”

After he’d dried his hair completely, he flopped down on the bed next to her, making the mattress bounce with the impact. Her bed wasn’t satisfactorily big enough for two people, but they could both fit, their bodies pressed together and their legs in a careless tangle. They were both facing each other; even in the darkness of the room, Taeyeon could mentally map out every centimeter of his face. And as her vision adjusted slightly to the lack of light, she could make out his eyes, glinting lowly in the weak rays of moonlight making their way through her curtains.

“Let’s never do it again,” Jiyong-oppa whispered.

Taeyeon blinked. “What do you mean?”

He took one of her hands in his, his skin warm as it enveloped hers. “Let’s never let anything split us apart like that again.”

Feeling her heart swell, Taeyeon squeezed his hand and, reaching forward, placed her other hand on his chest. “Let’s not,” she agreed, her voice soft with emotion. “I’ve put too much into here,” she said, pressing her fingers gently against the spot that she could feel his heart beating, “to let that happen.”

It was true. There never was, and there never would be, anyone who knew her as much as Jiyong-oppa did. Over their nearly sixteen years together she had entrusted a lot of herself to him. She had told him, showed him, some of her deepest secrets, her most terrifying worries, her weakest moments – and he had done the same for her. He was someone she could relate to, someone who she could always look to for comfort just by him being there and someone who was comforted just by her being there, someone who invigorated her mind and calmed her heart and someone whose mind she invigorated and whose heart she calmed, in a way that no one else did to either of them. She would never let anything threaten what was between them again.

“Half of me is yours,” she murmured. “It’ll always be that way.”

Jiyong-oppa closed his fingers around her hand, placed on his chest. “Half of me is yours,” he replied. “Forever.”

Neither of them were people who believed in or spoke much about forever. Neither of them were people who even liked talking openly about their emotions. But this one thing, Taeyeon knew, they could be honest about.

Because they were completely sure of it.  

[whumpeinsamkeit]

(Continuation of this drabble)

Illesindam

“I—I am terribly—I—” Axyll stammers over his words, bravery abandoned. He wonders if Nine cowered just as he is now, when the Maji Council discovered his wrongdoings. “My...my d-deepest apologies, divine one. I beg your forgiveness, most holy priest, royal liege of the High Council, esteemed leader—”

“Yes, yes,” interrupts the High Maji, and Axyll dares to think he sounds disinterested in the exaggerated display of fearful praise. “It was an understandable error. You are forgiven.”

Heart still racing, Axyll begins to rise, words sputtering out of his mouth in nervous bursts. “I am very—I didn’t know—” As he speaks, he tries in vain to use his magic. He has to get out of here. How long until his magic returns? A minute? Two? Ten? He doesn’t have that kind of time. “My deepest apologies, High M—”

He is silenced by a sudden force that clenches his legs. He falls to his knees again, biting back a cry. The pain moves into his chest and his heart and lungs feel like they’re being crushed. Each breath is a struggle. He tears at his chest, spasming, fighting for air, before collapsing on the ashen floor. Wim skitters over, frantically nuzzling the maji’s cheek.

“I don’t think you understood me,” croons the High Maji. “Not recognizing your divine leader in the darkness of this burned-down apothecary is understandable but...why did you come here? Here, at such a late hour? Now that is something I would be most delighted to know.”

The pressure lessens on Axyll’s lungs and he gulps in air and dust, wheezing with every breath. He picks himself up onto his knees again. The High Maji stares down at him, waiting.

“Well?”

He hesitates, coughs. “I...I live here.”

The High Maji laughs and gazes around the dim room. “Not very comfortable, is it? Or orderly. Your master would not be pleased.”

Axyll flinches. The divine one notices, his eyes narrowing like a hawk’s.

“Oh, yes. That’s right. He’s not here anymore, is he?”

“He disappeared...disappeared after the fire,” the maji replies, though this is common knowledge. He presses a hand to his chest and winces. “No one knows what...happened...wh-where he went.”

“No one...not even you?”

He shakes his head, which sends pain shooting through his skull. “They...they said he could have...have died in the f-fire, but...it was put out before...they c-couldn’t find a body.”

“Yes,” muses the High Maji. “How strange it would be to find the corpse of someone who is indeed still very much alive.”

“Then where—”

He holds up a hand for silence and Axyll obeys without hesitation. “Let’s not waste any more of each other’s time. Tell me everything you know about your master and his power to enter the Otherworld, and the High Council may decide to spare you.”

The...what? “I don’t know what you mean. Nine never...I’ve never heard of this Otherworld.”

“How unfortunate.”

The divine one lifts his hand, palm up, and clenches it into a fist. Magic floods Axyll’s body, fire shooting through every muscle. He hears a sharp crackling sound inside his chest—his ribs fracturing—and bites down hard on his lip until he tastes copper. He claws his fingers into the dirt as the magic takes hold of his heart and squeezes. Anguished screams echo off the walls of the apothecary. His screams. He curls in on himself, dragging in air, waiting, praying, for the pain to stop. Beside him, Wim hisses at the attacker, spines bristling and teeth bared in a snarl. He is small but fervid.

“It’s...it’s okay...it’s okay, Wim,” Axyll gasps out when the pain lessens. The familiar doesn’t back down.

The High Maji heaves a dismissive sigh and flicks his wrist toward Wim. Magic creeps up the hedgehog’s paws, his legs, his quills, freezing him in place. He has only enough time to let out one sharp screech before the rest of him turns to clay. Axyll frantically reaches for him, but a sharp kick to the side of his face sends him sprawling backward.

“Tell me what you know,” demands the High Maji.

Axyll doesn’t take his eyes off of Wim, even though it hurts to see his familiar like this. The hedgehog is sitting, frozen, on his haunches, his snout in the air. His mouth is open mid-squeal.

“I don’t...don’t know a-anything about this.”

“You were his apprentice—no—more than that. You were the one he trusted most, were you not?”

Axyll swallows hard. “He told me nothing...nothing about an Otherworld. I...I swear. By the holy stars, I s-swear he told me nothing.”

The High Maji sighs and clicks his tongue softly. “I see.”

Panic takes hold of Axyll as the High Maji lifts his boot into the air above the little clay figure.

He’s going to crush Wim.

“N-no, please! Please, I can’t remember. M-maybe Nine said something to me b-but I forgot!” He drags himself across the floor to where the High Maji stands, tears mixing with the ash at his feet. His body shakes from the pain as he begs. “I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything. I swear. Please, p-please, I swear. Just d-don’t hurt him.”

He whimpers in relief as the High Maji replaces his foot on the ground and kneels over Axyll. Wim is untouched. The silence lasts only a moment before the High Maji grabs a chunk of Axyll’s hair and jerks his head up so their eyes meet.

“You would do anything?” he murmurs.

“Yes.” The word sticks in Axyll’s throat, desperate and honest.

“Is your familiar so important to you?”

He’s all I have left, Axyll thinks. Instead he chokes out another “yes.”

The High Maji pauses for a moment and his eyes narrow. “Do you know where your master is?”

“I haven’t...” The book. Was it destroyed in the fire? Does it even exist? It’s the only key to Nine’s location—an Otherworld he had kept secret? “I haven’t seen him since the night of the fire.”

He groans as the High Maji wrenches his head to see Wim’s figure. No words. Only silence. No doubt a calculated move to show what’s at stake, how helpless Axyll really is in the hands of the divine one.

“You worry for your little companion, don’t you? You want him to be safe. Yes?”

Axyll forces himself to reply, wrenching the words past his raw throat. “Yes. Yes, I—I want him to be safe.”

Something gleams in the High Maji’s eyes, and Axyll realizes his mistake. “Well then,” he says with a soft, horrible smile. “Allow me to relieve you of your worry.”

He raises his hand. The maji lunges forward, but too late. Wim crumbles to dust in front of him. A strangled cry dies in his throat.

No.

No.

Axyll stares wide-eyed at the pile of dust, too stunned to speak or scream or fight. Wim is gone. Wim is gone.

Tears blur his vision, streaming unchecked down his face. He chokes on sobs. When he finds his voice, he can only scream. In the midst of a thousand thoughts, one is clear to him—this is what a broken heart feels like.

“There there.” The High Maji speaks softly. One hand brushes away Axyll’s tears, streaking the maji’s face with wet ash and dust. But the way his other hand is still fisting Axyll’s hair, jerking the boy’s head back so his neck is exposed and it’s hard to breathe, proves his pity is false. “Your familiar is safe now, just as you wished. Unfortunately, you and I are taking a trip to a different place.”

“You’re...you’re a monster,” Axyll chokes out. His words are blasphemous, but that doesn’t matter anymore. The world could end right this moment and he wouldn’t notice the change. His world is already destroyed. Without Nine...without Wim...his last bit of hope is gone.

The High Maji leans closer, fire in his gaze. “The one who swears he will do or say anything, anything at all, in order to protect that which he values most cannot be trusted.” Then he looks over the boy’s face with something not unlike delight. “I’m sure the other members of the High Council will celebrate your arrival with great enthusiasm...though I doubt you will.”

“You won’t...won’t get away...w-with this,” Axyll gasps, choking on his sobs. He doesn’t know which hurts more—the physical agony spreading like fire through his body or the trauma of seeing his loyal familiar turn to dust.

The High Maji only laughs, low and cruel. The sound claws at the inside of Axyll’s skull.

“But you don’t understand, young one. We already have, many times before. Did you really think you were the first?”

Another wave of pain rushes through Axyll’s body, and he screams.

------

Across the city, Wim appears in the safe confines of Axyll’s bedroom. He stretches his stiff limbs and skitters in circles across the bed, happy that he is no longer a clay statue, but also very hurt. The audacity! How dare he be turned into a humble figurine like the many that adorn his maji’s house! Axyll would never allow—

He pauses.

Axyll.

Axyll! Wim squeaks. Where is he? Surely the divine one let him go too, and if not, Wim’s little maji is quite capable of escaping bad situations. Perhaps he is firing some clay dishes in the kitchen, what he does when he tries to recover from the shakes that rack his body after he’s been frightened. Wim sniffs the air. There is no scent of baking clay.

He hops off of the bed, toddles into the living area. His maji isn’t there, so he searches the kitchen. No one. Outside? He scales the fabric of the chaise and perches on the back to look out the window. Axyll isn’t there.

Silly, thinks the familiar, but his tiny heart is beating faster now. Maybe Axyll is...hiding under the bed? He scoots back to the bed, nuzzles his way under the blankets that sweep the floor. All he finds is a thin coating of dust and Axyll’s leather satchel. Axyll is gone. He’s gone. But he can’t be. He can’t leave Wim alone.

Wim squeaks again and again, calling in desperation for his maji.

No one answers.

[pineaberry]

Self-Destruct

This is essentially a backstory for my new Jedi Consular (Vaakot) and Imperial Agent (Ara Cidran).

Warning: Death, slavery, mentions of mutilation

What happens when you break the rules and the Matriarch must execute justice.

The heavy rain pummeled the flagstones of the courtyard leading up to the manor’s massive wooden doors. A single hooded figure cut a path through the heavy drops and opened the entrance with the wave of her hand. The large building was unguarded, the heavy layer of dust betraying the fact that the manor had been abandoned a full year before. A single flickering light emitting from the study cut through the darkness. She pushed open the door and there was her brother, surrounded by tattered books and half-scribbled notes. She had hoped that after his lover’s death he would have taken time to mourn and spend time with his newborn child, but it was not to be.

He remained seated behind a large desk presumably absorbed within a tome of some ancient art, but Atrophine knew better. He was aware of her presence, they’d always been unusually close, even for siblings.

“Fallow, what have you done?” her rueful tone reverberated through the stone walls. The book slammed shut and durasteel gray eyes stared up at her defiantly.

“I did what I had to. I’ve claimed the birthright you denied me!”

“I can see through your borrowed words, Brother. I warned you Isaira’s ambition knew no bounds-”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare speak her name! All she ever wanted was to be worthy of me. Everything she did was for me! To free me from your control!”

“I am not here to argue about your lover’s inferiority complex.”

“You would know all about inferior lovers. The entire House is keenly aware of your love for the military. Does he simper and grovel and beg prettily?” he sneered,

“Mind. Your. Words. Unlike your petty infatuation, my husband has earned his place in my House.”

He bared his teeth at her in an angry grimace before shoving away from his desk.

“Isaira would never bend to my will like he does, but you couldn’t have that, could you? You couldn’t have her in your house without kneeling! You couldn’t have Isaira’s daughter challenging your supremacy! My daughter!”

“Am I to understand that you blame me for your child’s force-blindness as well? I don’t recall ordering you to breed with that woman. Tell me Fallow, is there any responsibility at all that you’re willing to shoulder at this point?”

“Explain it then! Explain why my pure blooded daughter stumbles blindly in the darkness when your own half-breed spawn all but burns with her strength in the Force!”

Atrophine unsheathed her lightsaber and glared at him. Only her love for him prevented her from igniting it and cutting out his insolent tongue.

“Maker’s sake Fallow, you’re a grown man and a healer at that. An articulate Massassi Brute spreads her legs and you forget two decades of medical training? I shouldn’t have to explain what you did wrong! I shouldn’t have to tell you her genetics were riddled with so much inbreeding and slave stock that she was a step up from sterile! She could barely provide you with a living offspring much less a force-user! You should have asked her to build you a temple not bear you an heir!”

“She was my lover! And you! You forced her to raise a force-blind child as a mark of shame! You forced her to acknowledge a damaged offspring just to humiliate her!”

Atrophine stared at him defiant, refusing to apologize for her actions regardless of how they were perceived.

“Is that why you did it then? Your inability to love your child, you complete lack of empathy for a life you created, had you resort to murder?”

“Don’t lecture me!” he snarled as he threw the heavy desk between them against the wall with a single swoop of Force, “Don’t stand there with your hands covered in her blood and lecture me about taking a life! All she wanted was to prove she was your equal and you killed her for it! You coddle and protect every strayed Imperial that wanders into your arms but when it came to her! When it came to the the center of my world! Where was you damned mercy then?!”

“She challenged my leadership! She demanded a duel because her ambition blinded her to her weakness! SHE COULD NOT LIVE AS MY BETTER SO I ALLOWED HER TO DIE AS MY EQUAL!” she snapped blocking a chunk of stone he’d ripped up off the floor. “And you Fallow… you were my brother! You had a daughter that depended on you and what have you done? You’ve broken into my library, stolen sacred holocrons, and murdered Lord Antarus in the process! Antarus was one of our own bloodline! Did you think I would ignore your actions? Did you think you would not have to face the consequences of your crimes?”

Fallow’s silver eyes narrowed but his lips curled into a mad smile. He released a barrage of lightning causing Atrophine to raise a barrier in order to block the attack. The attack rebounded and struck Fallow squarely in the chest.

“You’re too late!” he choked as he doubled over, “do what you will with me sister, it is done… I’ve created a child given every advantage available. A child whose genetic code was updated and refined just as you purified your own child. When the time comes… my son. Isaria’s son will take his rightful place as Darth Cidran...”

“Do you think me blind? Do you think I don’t know all of this?” she asked her eyes reflecting only pain and regret. “I could have helped you. If this is what you wanted, I would have given you the child. He would have been born in the Medical House and wanted for nothing. Even this, all of this could have been forgiven. But even now, that woman blinds you to your sin. You murdered Lord Antarus.”

“Antarus was a decrepit old man too loyal to an ideal to have any common sense.”

“You’re a fool and an idiot! I didn’t come here to kill you, Fallow. I came to see if you were capable of showing an ounce of regret. I came to see if you could give me even a single excuse to overlook what you’ve done!”

A group of Sith in hooded cloaks filed in solemnly followed closely by a man with unnaturally silver hair in an Imperial uniform. Moff cords and bars decorated his jacket. His cold blue eyes stared at the cornered Sith Lord.

“Lord Fallow, we have heard the accusations leveled against you. As Darth Cidran, I find you guilty of the murder of Lord Antarus. In accordance with our law, you are hereby sentenced...” Atrophine took a breath before her silver eyes hardened, “you and your bloodline are stripped of your House, your holdings, and your title. You will be put to death and all record of your name will be purged from the archives. Your holdings are forfeit to Lord Antarus’ surviving family.”

Fallow’s eyes widened as though only just realizing the seriousness of his crimes.

“You can’t… you can’t be serious! You can’t give away what’s mine! I have an heir!”

All eyes were on Atrophine as she remained stoic observing Fallow’s increasing panic.

“Your daughter was born legitimately. She will be given to Imperial Intelligence. If she is worthy, she will find her way way home. Until then, she is banished to live without a family.”

“And my son? What are you going to do with my son?!”

“Your son is tainted with Lord Atarus’ blood. His birth was an act of violence against our family. He has no place among us. He will be processed as a slave: sterilized, branded, and crippled so he may never again raise his hand against us. We will retrieve the power you sought to steal and he will never wield the Dark Side again.”

“You can’t! Atrophine! Atrophine, you’re my sister, you can’t!”

“I am Darth Cidran, and you are not my brother! You are a murderer and you will watch the entire process before you die.”

The rain fell heavy upon the large transparent window pane. It was a different storm than the one that had befallen Fallow’s manor, this one was lighter, almost gentle. Gray light filtered through the clouds casting a silver sheen over every surface. The Main House was tastefully furnished and kept in immaculate condition by a fleet of service droids. The walls held paintings and tapestries wrested from Coruscant, Alderaan, and various Republic holdings. There were priceless treasures and masterpieces claimed over generations with each victory, now beheld by only a select few. Usually the Main House held a softness and warmth unusual among the Sith, but displayed only towards their own, closely knit family. Today the House was cold.

Darth Cidran stood at one of the oversized windows and stared at a red smear on the courtyard. The deed was done:  Justice and order restored at the price of her own heart. She stood, draped in crimson and gold, but feeling as though all the light had drained out of her. Her thoughts lay buried within her memories revisiting every moment where she could have changed the outcome. All the times she refused to act, she had justified it with the belief that her brother meant no harm. Darth Cidran stared at the lick of red being washed away by the soft rains.

She could have forbidden it. She could have spirited away the woman he’d become so entranced by. She could have forced him to remain in the Main House. He would have hated her, but he would still be alive.

She could have spared the creature’s life…

The idea had been repulsive to her. To have spared Isaira’s life after her disrespectful tirade would have tarnished her name. To allow that low-born creature to continue drawing breath after insulting her would have been a crippling blow to her honor. Yet now, faced with his loss she would gladly bear it.

“No. You’re wrong,” a voice cut into her thoughts and she glanced to see her husband approaching with a sleeping child in his arms. The light contrasted with the scar that covered most of the right side of his face, marring what would have otherwise been a pleasantly symmetrical face.

“I’ve not said anything dearest.”

“You were thinking it. I can tell because you get that look on your face, that same look you get when a healing’s gone wrong,” he replied as stood by her side.

“How is she doing?” Atrophine changed the subject to the sleeping toddler.

“Difficult to say. It doesn’t seem Fallow paid her any mind. She wouldn’t stop crying for her nanny droid. I’ve had one of the scouts see if he could find the damned thing before...”

“Before she’s handed over,” Atrophine finished the sentence for him.

Atrophine could sense his hesitation. Veroz was a practical man with practical thoughts, that wasn’t to say he was stupid, but often times she could sense his puzzlement at Sith customs and obligations. She’d caught him several times reading up on Sith codes of honor to glean some sort of understanding.

“Are you sure you want to go through with it? Wasn’t his death enough?”

“You know I don’t want to, love. It’s not her fault,” Atrophine replied as she carefully took the sleeping child from him, “my poor little Ara. I’d hoped you and Tremas would grow up to be the best of friends. I’d hoped you would have found your own way, your own strength, your own power. I would have been with you every step of the way. I would have given you every advantage, every opportunity.”

Veroz watched as his wife gently rubbed the small child’s back. He knew she was saying goodbye.

“You won’t remember my face, or your parents, or this place, but I want you to remember my words,” her voice became laced with strands of raw Force as she spoke, “always remember you have a home. You are not an orphan. You are not abandoned. You are not alone. You are loved… you are so loved… come back to us. No matter where you are in this galaxy, find us. Remember where you belong. Remember… that we will be waiting for you.”

They walked in silence down the brightly lit corridors to the nursery. She pressed a kiss on the toddler’s forehead before tucking her in bed.

“She will be out of harm’s way,” Veroz promised once they’d left the room, “one of my agents will place her in a secure home.”

“She will be a pureblooded Sith in the Republic without the Force to protect her. Her life will not be easy, but her fate is better than that of her brother’s,” Atrophine countered as they descended the great spiral staircase down into the kitchens. Veroz opened the ornately decorated door to the servant’s quarters and immediately heard an infant’s desperate cries coming from deep within one of the barracks.

An Inquisitor was there monitoring the child’s health with a scanner. He bowed when Darth Cidran approached.

“The procedure has been completed, my lord. He has been clipped and marked as a non-breeding slave.”

Atrophine gave a single nod in acknowledgement before dismissing the healer with a wave of her hand. Slowly she approached the crying infant. Unlike his sister, he was not dressed in silks and his ridges held no gold adornments. He was bare-faced and swaddled in coarse rags. His lips had been slashed with twin parallel lines to indicate his status as an undesirable, chemically neutered slave. All the physical modifications we easy enough to numb, she knew his pain and cries came from the force alchemy procedure he had just endured.

Veroz remained at the doorway at a loss to what he could say. There were no words to ever fix what was happening. Finally he fished out a tiny gold bracelet with a name set in shining letters and offered it to his wife.

“It appears Fallow named him. ‘Isauro’, after his mother.”

Atrophine stared at the gilded letters describing a child so very different than the one sobbing before them. She reached out and placed a hand over his forehead soothing his distress as she visibly forced herself not to hold him.

“Isauro of House Cidran is the child you would have been. You would have grown up within these walls. The gardens would have been your domain, the hidden rivers and wonders of the mountain yours to discover. In our libraries you would have learned of your legacy and the knowledge left for us to hold. Within our Houses you would have found your passion, your talent, your skills… you would have been treasured. You would have been our pride...” her hand clenched around the bracelet, “but that is not who you are. You are… the culmination of greed and malice. You are the by-product of a selfish desire that threatened to destroy us; a blind ambition that cannot be rewarded. Your wings have been broken, your song torn from your throat. We have taken back the power that was stolen. You will never know the warmth of crimson sands or the bond of family or the thrill of your first hunt. You will never fully experience freedom or passion or love. These are gifts from the Dark Side and they are denied to you. You are banished to the cold unfeeling depths of isolation. You are not Isauro, that child does not exist. I name you Vaakot. Do not search for your family. You have none. Do not search for your past, it has disowned you.”

Veroz listened solemnly as she uttered the words like a curse upon the child. He knew what would happen should Vaakot remain within the Empire. A crippled pureblood unable to use the Dark Side would be enslaved and suffer a particularly gruesome death. Even should Atrophine allow Vaakot to remain within her House, he would be disdained and abused by all of its members.

“The only gift I give to you, is a life within the ice. It will have to be enough, you will receive nothing else, Vaakot,” she said as the child cried louder and she turned away as though pained before summoning her Inquisitor once more.

“Take the creature to Nar Shadda. On the promenade’s second floor you will find a slave market. Sell it there and give the money to Lord Antarus’ heirs to make amends for his existence...”

Once the wailing child had been taken away, Veroz held Atrophine. They both knew what was in that market. The Republic kept a close eye on it and a Sith Pureblood would attract their attention. A life among the Jedi… a life among the cold barren wasteland of the Force was the best he could aspire to be. Tomorrow, he would take little Ara to her new life but Ara’s trip was the beginning a journey. Unlike Vaakot, Ara would be able to find her way back home.

[goddamnitlady]

Notes to self: past, change, and most probable route of  future development. [JiraOro thread]

Orochimaru is now going through a shift in thinking in the JiraOro roleplay story. I need to type it out for me to understand it. No need to read it. 

No but seriously, Nikki, I'll put it under a readmore and let you choose whether to read it or not. I mostly fear that you'll sit back and think "okay so this is probably the best guess on how it will end" and then we will neveeeer write the two agaaaiiin. ;A;

Fears aside... If you read it, do leave a comment for my effort, as I started writing this halfway the football match and finish it only now. I think myself clever for having been able to put it into words. 

The situation at the start of this OroJira story  Orochimaru is convinced he does not have any goodness left in him any more. He thinks he has lost everyone and everything. He's like Sasuke. He’s in darkness. So deep, that he is beyond saving. He aims with is bad actions ("someone has to do the dirty work") to give children better lives in a better world than had been offered to him. ”Results justify the means,” he said.       This 'calling', to make a better peaceful world for the next generation, is in his mind the only good aspect about him. Fulfilling role of 'fixer' is how he can live with himself. Take these good intentions away, and their absence will expose he's just monster. That he’s the same type of monster as the villains who hurt him as a child. So he clings to this role. “I’m different. I’m doing these horrible things for the greater good.” He fills himself with self-deception, because deep down he knows he is wrong.

Telling him he's awful, and why he’s awful, make Orochimaru go either... 1) smirking arrogant because it means he's successfully changing the world.  2) trying to convince you he IS doing the right thing. This is akin to "LALALA I CANT HEAR YOU. I HAVE MY HANDS OVER MY EARS. I'M A GOOD PERSON LA LA LA." Orochimaru is so lost, that he can't be reached.

A big danger: at once acknowledging the immense scope and amount of wrong he did in his life, will utterly destroy his heart. It will destroy his sanity. So he doesn't acknowledge it. He only acknowledges the surface -- that he has no chance at redemption. 

No redemption? He's doubting that now. This doubt is sparked by the training process. The training shows that no matter how bad Orochimaru is, Jiraiya will always call him out on it, and tell him to be behave. He appeals to an inherent good nature in Orochimaru's. He has a firm believe in that inherent goodness.

That's so novel.

Like... “What does Jiraiya see in me? Is he right?? I want him to be right!!!!! Sure, there are punishments. But those can be suffered through. And they pass. And then there's the orgasm reward... :))) .”

He loves the rewards. He loves feeling good. He loves being loved. He loves being called 'Good boy'. He likes 'Good', because it makes him feel forgiven, and 'boy', because youth was before his sins. His eternal obsession with youth, eh?

This training gives him a break from his exhausting sin-denying. This training proves that not all that he touches crumbles/rots/dies, but that he can make a person happy. He enjoys serving for the sake of giving away attention and love and spoiling Jiraiya. This shared happiness gives him hope. Hope, that they can connect because somewhere deep down there IS good in him.

This brings me to how powerfully Orochimaru loves Jiraiya. Jira (bitterly?) believes there is hope for Orochimaru. That belief makes every piece of Orochimaru’s world-making wobble. Orochimaru’s previously rock-hard convictions become unsteady.      Jiraiya is the one he trusts most in his life, more than even Kabuto. He now trusts Jiraiya more than he trusts himself. Jiraiya is often right. Orochimaru now distrusts his own decision-making. He now distrusts his own mind. But he relies on his friend. “If Jiraiya thinks there’s hope, it must be true, right?”

He likes to think it could be true. 

Nikki, remember that meme? That silly meme where I had to fill in stars for Orochimaru’s romantic/platonic/sexual feelings to a muse... and when you messaged me Jiraiya's name, all the options were maxed out to ten stars? xD

He LOVES Jiraiya. 

He loves how good Jiraiya can make him feel, both physically and spiritually. He enjoys the safety, friendship, banter, homeliness, attraction, powerlessness, humour, being useful, because Jiraiya doesn’t back down he feels like he’s found back his equal. His other half. He feels loved. 

At the start of the story Orochimaru intended to make Jiraiya part of his dark world by trying to convince Jiraiya that the “end justifies the means”. That attempt failed SPECTACULARLY.

To keep Jiraiya from leaving him, Orochimaru set out try to change himself to become part of Jiraiya's world. First stop was his (mutually agreed upon) physical submission. Orochimaru is changing his behaviour. But Jiraiya won’t stay if it’s just sex, because it cannot be “just sex” between them. There’s too much history. 

Now Orochimaru has begun mentally submitting, too. Not being allowed to speak and not being able to think because he feels so good, has been a powerful agent of mental change.      This is where the big shift is happening now that I need to get down in text.      Orochimaru begun to acknowledge (in those muse&mun converstions) that he cannot bear to keep Jiraiya around if Jiraiya isn't happy. Nikki, this feeling is escalating to a degree I had never dared to predict.       Jiraiya's happiness is now the most important thing to him in the entire world. It’s vital. Sex might feel nice but it doesn’t heal an aching heart. Keeping Jiraiya captive by force (as was the very first plan) is out of the question. Awful! How could he have ever thought up such a horrible scheme! Orochimaru has already begun to rely on Jiraiya’s judgement more than his own. The way to keep Jira... and to make him happy... is to become good. It’s the only way. He now knows this. He’s preparing for this. 

Orochimaru MUST change. 

The Talk: gaining insight in the consequences of his past actions.  This talk will happen at SOME point, probably. In this talk he needs to learn what damage he has done so he know what to NEVER do again. 

He first has to acknowledge he has hurt Jiraiya immensely. 

He must listen to his thoughts.

Acknowledge his pain respectfully. 

Learn what harm he did to Jiraiya. 

And only when Orochimaru understands the full scope of his actions, he can try to give Jiraiya some peace and tranquillity. 

This talk is not for him. This talk will be for Jiraiya. (Because I’m super duper interested in your Jiraiya’s coping mechanisms and his pain and his making-sense-of-the-world). (And because I love hurt/comfort. Let my muse give comfort. It will be a ‘fix the canon’ thread!) (No one can dish out pain like you do so I dread this thread too. Never anger a calm man, is a saying. A tumblr roleplay saying should be, Never ask angst from the Fluff/Smut Queen.)(But I’m dumb). 

He loves Jiraiya. He doesn’t want him to hurt. Doesn’t want him to hurt in Orochimaru’s presence or absence or anytime at all. Jiraiya’s happiness is more important than his own. 

Hearing about Jiraiya’s pain is going to hurt him as fuck, but it will be a manageable size. It is 'merely' the severe damage he has done to his most important friend. This talk in my replies won't be about Orochimaru's hurt, not about Orochimaru’s traumas, and won't be about the unphantomable damage Orochimaru did to the entire world (which would destroy him). This talk will be bite-sized (but he’ll still almost choke on it) aims to give katharsis/resolution. 

Failing this talk, means that he's going to need to let Jiraiya (or the loved one) go. Their happiness is more important than his own. (I've encountered this version of events with Sasukes and Anko and an OC.) 

Succeeding this talk, meaning if he can give Jiraiya some form of solace. This interaction will fulfil the same function as Orochimaru (in canon) giving Sasuke solace by summoning the Hokages. This person whom he loves and is the first one he can connect to, will become his moral compass. He will become devoted to them. He won't ask for forgiveness. He will only ask if they're happier now. 

Let's suppose they touched hearts, then how will that change him? Lovingly supporting this one person he hurt before, by now doing good, so the Precious One is happy, gives off a feeling of success. Actual /warmth/ in his chest, no self-deception. This spark of warmth will catch onto his rotten heart and become a tiny flame of light in his chest. This successful attempt will give him back his faith in his ability to do good for the sake of goodness (instead of evil for the sake of goodness). 

He will want repeat his successful experience by helping more people reach happiness the right way. With this special person by his side (Jiraiya/Sasuke), Orochimaru can now actively try to acknowledge bigger and bigger chunks of his past misdeeds. And bravely begin working to correct them. 

Suddenly he is already halfway on the path back to the light.

If Orochimaru has loved one to walk beside him on that path... (a person who Orochimaru can give his brand of intense spiritual and physical love, a person who shuts down villainous behaviour as soon as he suggests it, and for whom Orochimaru can be a caring support ideal housewife) ... then Orochimaru too may just finish the path all the way out of the Darkness and back to the Light.

The Enemy of the World, now turned gentle.

That would be nice... I think.

......

Thoughts?