#and draw enough of until i feel comfortable with producing original work
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golden-snackoos · 9 months ago
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we may be delusional but at least we have eachother
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scourgefrontiers · 2 years ago
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so i was thinking about how i kinda wanted to make comics for a living (this could be a temporary desire still lol) and i was thinking about my career as a whole and how it would go. if i dont have a long-running comic that i work on for years and years, basically my whole career, then id have to make new stories to keep me on my feet. unfortunately with mirrors, at least as it is now, i dont feel comfortable enough publishing it for money just yet until it gets some major rewriting done. so if i were to go into comics id have to put my energy into some other stories i have.
what worried me for a while was that id just..run out of content to produce? run out of stories to work on, and thus run out of work to keep me afloat (i dont know how popular any of my stories would get, so i dont know how much income id have from royalties and such). but then i listed out all my potential stories and i was like..damn maybe i'll be ok with just these lol. b/c if i publish all of these i could maybe get enough income to make a living off of them, and id have enough stories to keep myself occupied
to list the original stories i could produce:
underdark
alien love
step
villain + school
the shadow of doubt
hellish compromise
when death smiled
multiplicity (maybe)
to list the stories that are iffy due to heavy influence from other stories but i could probably work them out differently:
mirrors
facets
new light
see this is a lot of shit!!! even if i finish them ALL, i think by then id be pretty set. idk. i guess we'll see
with stories i havent already started drawing (so besides mirrors and villain + school) id probably take a black & white approach to their art styles to keep myself sane (with a few colored pages thrown in there of course). but yeah i guess we'll see how things go
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2-cute-4-school · 4 years ago
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𝘕𝘊𝘛 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴
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Mark Lee
so we all know mark is a quite expressive person with his emotions
and come on when playing video games we all rage and throw fits so emotions are running especially high ‎(ノಥ益ಥ)ノ ┻━┻
what i’m trying to say is that mark is yelling, banging fists against his desk, laughing his ass off and pissing you off
i mean mark’s laugh is very cute and ENTIRE BLESSING TO HEAR but ♡ sleep ♡ is also precious 
but mark can’t hear your exaggerated sighs nor see your ever-lasting pout
so you lift your tired self from the bed and plop down on his lap
mark : “hUH??¿¿ B-BABE?!¿¿” (*〇□〇)……!
haechan, audible through the headphones: mark, not in front of the boys, you wild beast (๑⁍᷄౪⁍᷅๑)
mark opens his mouth to shout in protest but you bury your head in his shoulder and let out a soft whine and mark.just.COMBUSTS!!!
he grumbles something about how haechan is due for a good beating and nuzzles the side of his face against the top of your head  ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡
whenever he has a break and doesn’t need both hands to play, he brings one arm around you, cuddling you closer to himself and running his hand along the length of your spine
or just LAYS HIS HAND ON YOUR THIGH askfafwsr- ya know (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)
doesn’t have the heart to break the atmsophere even after he shuts down his computer and just cocoons you in his warm arms and hums a song softly as you doze off intertwined together UwU
Huang Renjun
you’re just trying to be cute and create a romantic enviroment as you cuddle up to your boyfriend who is immersed in his game
“y/n?” his voice is soft, almost a hush and it could almost lull you to sleep
“yeah?” ෆ╹ .̮ ╹ෆ
“i can’t see because of your head”
FIRST HIT HOME but you didn’t give up of course, just flattened your cheek against his shoulder to accomodate his complaint 
just as you settle downs drowsily, glued to his frint, he covers his mic to grumble to you again  ಠ╭╮ಠ
“it’s getting hot” 
SECOND HIT HOME and you’re starting to get discouraged as you scoot a little further away from his body and loosen the grip of your hands around his neck (๑′°︿°๑)
but of course ever grumpy renjun still had complaints karen who
“my legs are falling asleep” 
*SIGH* “eye roll* *definetely not pouting* you start pulling yourself away from him and trudge defeatedly and bury yourself under a ton of blankets
but he just chickles, has the AUDACITY to chuckle, and brings you back on his lap, squeezing the life out of you  (≧д≦ヾ)
“i was just kidding babe don’t leave me!!” says renjun as he sways you kinda violently may i add from side to side and rubs his cheek against yours cuz he’s a kitty and adorable confirmed  ε=(。♡ˇд ˇ♡。)
rough love you have other there as you can see
Lee Jeno
jeno is GENTLE GIANT (ノ。≧◇≦)ノ
gentle loving giant in this case actually so even better
so we all know how the dreamies exposed this boy TWICE for playing video games 25/8 and he got scolded by his mum lol so i’m thinking
you’re trying to get him to go to sleep or at least rest his eyes he’s already blind enough i WONDER WHY damn
all this started when you settled in front of his computer to block his view
and as he argued with you he decided enough is enough and pulled you into his lap, traping you against his chest (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)
“jeno it’s 3 am!!” :<
“ just one more round baby” of video games ya nasties...no? only me?ok
he tries to give you a *smooch* but you move your face away and refuse to turn around and let him kiss you
and that’s where jeno draws the line (; ・`д・´)​
kithes are something that can’t berefused between you two, an unspoken rule you apparenly weren’t aware of
so with a ‘eep!!!’ from you, he simly stands up from his seat with you latched onto him like a koala like (^ω^ ≡ °д°)
“jeno put me down!!!11!!1! NOW!!” 
“kiss first” (.◜ ᵕ ◝.)  
“are you nuts??!!!?” *exaggerated smooch* “now put me down!!”
needless to say he’s not letting go anytime soon, he just plops into bed and you cuddle until you fall asleep you’ve been scammed
Lee Donghyuck
haechan is a very VERY petty brat person ಠ_ಠ
so guess what... fights with him are a national competition of petty acts
and you know what his ultimate move in your most recent fight is? *drum rolls* turning off the central heating really original hyuck i applaud you
and this kid knows exactly what he’s doing when he sits down in his gaming chair with a shit-eating grin  (ง ͠ ͠° ل͜ °)
he hears you stumble around the house in your dora the explorer exploration in the search of a blanket
but guess what? they’re all under his flat cake  ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)
so when you bardge in the room and find him hogging all the warmth you hope to intimidate him with your  ✨ highly horrific glare ✨
but he pretends to be too busy to notice you so you just defeatedly settle on his lap and under the blankets
“well well well look who’s crawling back with their tail between their legs”
“i might just cut off your front microscopic tail” (눈_눈)
but i just know he’s gonna cuddle you until you sweat your ass off under that mountain of blankets
and even when he can’t hold you, he’ll press his lips against your forehead, lingering there as his warm breath fanned across your skin
he also made a deal with you to which you didn’t necessarily agree with but that’s a minor detail am i rite
if he wins the round he gets a kiss as a reward (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧
if he loses, he gets 2 kisses as a consolation (ฅ⁍̴̀◊⁍̴́)و ̑̑
you’re getting suspicious of his 4 consecutive losses
Na Jaemin
he’s a fluff ball we all know it, we all love it
he’d DIG THAT KIND OF SHIT  ٩̋(ˊ•͈ ꇴ •͈ˋ)و
and he babies you to the end of earth
99.8% chance that he’s gonna stop playing just to cradle you against his chest properly because YOU’RE. HIS. BABY!!! periodt.
cue yelling from his teammates for abadoning them in the middle of the game but that’s inevitable
“na jaemin you SIMP!!!!” 
but jaemin is too busy making puppy eyes at you (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。
he’d kiss you everywhere he could reach and then scoop your hands in his and bring them to his lips for another shower of kithes  (*'、^*)chu
and if you kiss him back??  
this man will literally COMUST with uwus istg
like just imagine you brush your lips against his neck and then you gently nuzzle against him??
jaemin would melt in your embrace ♡(。- ω -)
even if he did eventually go back to playing, he’d press kises anywhere in reach periodically cuz he’s soft like that
would also LOVE feeling your breath fan his neck he gets a unique feeling of comfort knowing that he has you so close to him  (๑˃ᴗ˂)
“even if you were the impostor i’d still vote myself out for you”
the romanticism of this decade 
Zhong Chenle
this boi is ruthless when playing video games
god frobid you’re in his way cuz you’re getting SQUASHED (「⊙Д⊙)「
 he obvioulsy LOVES winning
but ya know what he loves more than winning???
𝓨𝓞𝓤  ♡(㋭ ਊ ㋲)♡
so chenle is all (。+・`ω・´)
“you waste of space move along!!!!”  “shoot that gun straight dammit or i’ll shove it up yo- oh hey baby°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°“
the moment you plop down on his lap and curl yourself up with your head tucked under his chin, his blazing eyes soften so cutely
and so raging kid chenle turns into best babyboi chenle (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑
he M E L T S like he just leans into your touch and continues gaming  A LOT more silently and just smiles absent-mindedly the entire time
“yo chenle you dead????” most likely jisung on the other side of the headphones
“no?” 「(゚<゚)゙??
“... guys he’s plotting something, reatreat!! i repeat, RETREAT!!!”
“what?? no, what do you mean by that !??!!!”
you stir as his voice rises in volume and chenle immediately settles down again and shushes you while patting your heah and threading his fingers through your hair carefully (*-ω-)
goes straight for jisung after that teammate or not rip jisung you’ll be missed but also bad choice to annoy a soft-for-only-my-baby chenle
Park Jisung
a bit flustered but just couldn’t refuse you when you cutely asked him with wide puppy eyes if you could sit in his lap to watch him play
probably short circuited for a good 2 minutes before he could produce and intelligible answer (ง ´͈౪`͈)ว
and that’s how you found yourself perched on his lap, facing the screen with curious eyes as jisung struggled as if his LIFE depended on it
“how do you jump?” (,Ծ_Ծ,)
“you can’t jump”
“what do you mean you can’t jump?? gravity doesn’t work like that” Σ(・ิ¬・ิ)
you’re like 2 newborn babies running wild and unsupervised
“jisung, that character looks like you when you’re constipated” (๑꒪▿꒪)*
cue cackling from the devil spawns on the other side
he’s gonna keep in mind this betrayal UNTIL THE END OF TIME beware
if you catch sight of one of his hands not working away i bet my allowance you’ll have this uncontrollable urge to hold it in yours DO IT I NEED MY ALLOWANCE DON’T BE SHY
of course he’ll automatically intertwine your fingers together and bring them up for a chaste kiss  ~(^з^)-♡
and i know for sure that he won’t have the heart to let go of it even when he needs it to play sigh jisung you SIMP
he’s gonna get scolded and teased by the other later but ya know
at least he ain’t no touch starved coward ¯\(°_o)/¯
he gets grounded for that by jaemin
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1ddiscourseoftheday · 4 years ago
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Fri 19 March ‘21
Zach Sang’s 25 min of relaxing ASMR wait no I mean celebration of Zayn’s great talking voice wait NO I MEAN his ZAYN INTERVIEW (promised months ago then sadly postponed until NOW) is here!! Zach is such a good interviewer for these guys, you can tell he sincerely loves the music and he asks great respectful questions only, love it. And sure enough, this is a lovely interview and Zayn actually seems totally comfortable chatting and sharing his thoughts. They talk about lots of specifics about the songs on NIL; Zayn says NIL is his fave of his music and that he “tried to go a little deeper into my own personal things,” he said that he recorded the majority of the album at home in Pennsylvania and that yes, it is influenced by being there, that River Road especially is massively inspired by the locale and “I’ve got a very country vibe going on right now with the big beard and the nature, I’m enjoying it, it’s cool.” He says the cover painting is of “the blank expressions you might get when you’re speaking to somebody that’s not listening,” that “my teenage years were very different than I expected them to be and I learned a lot of things … to take things easy and at your own pace.” About Calamity that he often writes poems (zoems) and just takes lyrics out of them later, but friends voted he keep Calamity as is and go for it, that Sweat (the drums specifically) is an homage to Phil Collins, that he’s writing new stuff and will hopefully have something more out later this year, and Zach asks the pressing question we’ve all had: IS THAT A KAZOO ON CONNEXION? Disappointingly Zayn’s answer is only, I don’t really fuck with those fine details, that’s down to the producers. So no confirmation but also: it’s totally a kazoo. And finally this from Z: “I love music, it’s my solace. I love writing, I love being in the studio and being in that space, it’s something I love to do. I feel like as long as I’m alive it’s something I’ll do I’d like to be able to, I’d like people to remain interested for as long as I’m alive, I know that’s a long shot but it’s a long haul, we’re all trying to stay around for as long as we can.”
We got to see Liam today!! I’ve missed that sweet face! He recorded a little video while walking through a park (“on my way to the shops”) to show off his beautiful shaggy long hair and beard to say that he’s just surpassed 5 billion streams and a “humungous massive ginormous thank you to all you guys who are listening.”
Louis tweeted “a lot of these NFT projects are very interesting!” NFTs are unique digital things-- like normally anything online can be duplicated, unlike real objects, this way it can’t (it’s how crypto currency works), or rather: you CAN still copy stuff, just there’s a way to tell the original from the copy (of a copy). People are excited about this because it makes it possible to sell things that previously you couldn’t really charge money for (like unique digital art). The way it’s achieved is unfortunately via the massive and wasteful expenditure of resources though, it’s very bad for the environment; current bitcoin creation alone for example uses more resources than entire countries and the current NFT craze is racing to outdo that. Louis responded to a DM asking about that; “Louis are you aware the average NFT has a carbon footprint equivalent to more than a month’s electricity for a person living in the EU?” Louis says, “I’m aware and it’s something I’m looking to do differently if I do my own project,” then liked a tweet from a company addressing the issue: "Our carbon neutrality pledge is a step toward making NFT digital collectibles and the digital metaverse part of a green, environmentally friendly future.” IDK how realistic that is, but in any case Louis is aware of the issues and the fans’ concerns.
Anyway he also tweeted about football a bunch- because a former Doncaster player was picked for the England World Cup team!! Louis says the player “was at donny when I was training there. Top lad and top keeper,” and “he deserves every bit of success.” And in answer to queries, the official word from Louis’ merch site (responsive as ever, bless that twin) is that they do not plan to restock the album! No CDs! This is likely due to it having been put out by Syco, who no longer exist, but what does it mean in the long run? It’s a major release and I can’t imagine it simply going out of print forever, surely a reprint of some kind will be worked out?
What secrets was Niall hiding in his photodump yesterday? “What are you playing on the piano?” asks a follower, and Niall selected the tweet to, well not answer, but to draw attention to his failure to answer by simply replying with an eyes emoji, like a troll. Then he posted a picture of sunglasses on an electronic piano, but when asked again to spill what was up said only “a pair of sunglasses on a Wurlitzer.” But IS he trolling? “There’s nothing to know hahah it’s literally a pair of sunglasses on a piano!” he protests. He also tweeted “today is a good day!” which ALSO doesn’t tell us anything but you know what, Niall’s out there having a good time and good for him.
Lenny Kravitz tagged Harry in a throwback post of himself in a stunning look- “real men wear boas,” and the deuxmoi / Olivia’s PR team partnership rose to new levels of obviousness with the gossip blog using a supposed blind item about Olivia (you’d think she was royalty, the astonishing number of blind items they JUST HAPPEN to get) to announce a giveaway in partnership with a sponsor brand she is the face of. HARD eyeroll, imagine thinking that blog wasn’t get paaaaid, can’t relate.
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minaslittleone · 3 years ago
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Fission & Fusion (Part 2)
Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?
An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story "And I failed to climb the mountain".
Word count: ~2700
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The hours after that were fuzzy. After storming out of her parents house with little more than the bare essentials and no intention of returning Wilhemina didn't really have much of a plan. She had never fantasized about running away as a child, she hadn't even been brave enough to rebel vicariously and yet here she was, with no plan and no where to go. And terrified.
But Wilhemina was nothing if not practical so she sequestered all of those doubts and anxieties down into the deepest corners of her brain to be dealt with later, she told herself. Really to be dealt with never.
Practically speaking, money was her first concern. She knew that her mother's threat to cut her off had not been idle, but she also hoped that her mother would continue to underestimate her long enough that she would be able to clear the remaining funds out of her account before her mother froze it. Her pride raged against the idea of taking the idea of taking the money religiously placed into her "allowance" once a month by her father, hating how spoiled that made her sound and wanting to be free of any lingering ties to her parents. She would have gladly traded every last dime for any other monthly ritual with her father, for anything with him really. But she was a casualty of her parents' failing marriage, the only thing that they hated more than each other was the idea of acknowledging that their marriage had long since fallen apart. Her father avoided the house like the plague, and her by extension, throwing himself deeper and deeper into his professional life to mask the failure of his personal one. And so their relationship had become almost completely transactional, her father attempting to atone for his absence by providing her with everything she could ever dream of, save for the one thing she truly wanted - his affection. But as much as she hated the money and everything it represented, she really wasn't left with much of a choice.
That was how she found herself standing in front of a bank teller at 1:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon, lying through her teeth and praying that her voice wasn't shaking as much as her hands. Exactly how she had got there she wasn't sure - a bus? Surely she hadn't walked this far - she was completely focused on getting what money she could and getting out.
The process was certainly made easier by the fact that she had been coming to this branch since her father had opened the account on her sixteenth birthday. And maybe for once in her life her twisted frame would be an asset - it was difficult to forget a girl her age with flaming red hair and a cane.
So she lied. She told the teller that she was using the money to put towards a car but that her parents were unfortunately too busy to accompany her. That part wasn't even really a lie, her parents were always too busy. Either way the teller didn't seem to see anything unusual about depositing the entire $5000 balance into Wilhemina's hand, before politely wishing her a pleasant day.
She had thought she would feel safer with the money in hand, feel like she had more control over the situation. In fact all it did was make her realise how vulnerable she was. How she would never be able to defend herself if someone decided they wanted to take it from her. Maybe her mother had been right, maybe she really was too broken and useless to survive on her own.
She could feel her heart racing. She had to find somewhere to stay. Find somewhere that she could get off the street. Maybe then she would feel safer. Maybe.
Except she didn't know how long she would need to make that $5000 last. She had no job and had effectively forfeited her degree the minute she walked out her parents' front door. Any future prospects she had were tied to their connections anyway. Oh god, what was she going to do? She had no experience and no qualifications, and any jobs that would have been open to her without those were made impossible by her twisted spine. She wouldn't have been able to stand for long enough to finish a shift as a waitress, let alone carry much whilst also maneuvering her cane.
So she would have to make the money last. At least until she managed to come up with a better plan. Which is how she found herself unpacking her meagre possessions into a battered shell of a room in a run down hotel that offered rooms by the hour. As she eased herself down onto the bed, finally allowing her back some respite after hours on her feet, she reasoned that this was the best choice for now. And she would think of something, this was only temporary.
But it hurt. The adrenaline from her triumphant exit earlier that morning was long gone and now she was left with the painful reality of what life on her own would look like. At the moment it consisted of a sea of mismatched floral patterned fabrics, a green melamine kitchenette and far too many questionable stains.
She felt like she was suffocating, that the battered walls with their pealing wallpaper were steadily encroaching on her, squeezing the last ounces of calm and confidence out of her by force. She had to get out, had to keep moving, had to keep busy lest the reality of her situation catch up to her and drown her in its melancholy.
She burst from the room, shaking fingers struggling clumsily against the lock. She had to get away, to be anywhere but here. Away from the stale smelling room with the pealing wallpaper. Away from the lumpy bed swathed in garish floral covers of questionable cleanliness. Away from the suffocating reminder of how alone she was.
It shouldn't have surprised her that she would end up back in the college library, it's where she spent most of her time any way, finding any excuse she could not to go home. It was quiet and it was safe. Between the warm, dim lighting and the earthy smell of the old wooden shelves and the books themselves Wilhemina finally began to calm. She could feel the tension to funnel out of her trembling fingers, feel heart finally stop racing and draw her first real breath in hours.
She didn't know how long she sat there, not really seeing or hearing the world around her, just being, adjusting. Letting her body and mind begin to come to terms with her situation. Start to reset her parameters and realise that she wasn't going home tonight, that there wasn't a home to go anymore. Perhaps there never had been, not in the ways that mattered.
She was drawn from her haze by the gentle but insistent whispering of her name that indicated that this wasn't the first time the owner had tried to rouse her. As her vision cleared she was met with the kind, if not slightly concerned countenance of her adviser, Professor Thompson.
"Is everything alright, Wilhemina?" She could only nod dumbly in response. "I missed you in class this morning" the older woman added. "I know you said had a specialist appointment and might be late, but I got worried when you never showed up. Did everything go ok?" Wilhemina couldn't find the words to answer, couldn't find a way to explain how her life had been pulled out from under her in the preceding few hours. Her mouth guppied in response, producing several sounds that could have been the start of ideas but nothing intelligible.
Professor Thompson's brow furrowed. Over the years that she had known Wilhemina Venable she had always been impressed by her tenacity. For all this young woman had endured, she had refused to let it define her. She was always the first present in class, sitting front and centre, attention never wavering, even on the days Professor Thompson could see the tell tale signs of pain breaking through her indifferent facade. The tension in her brow and jaw, the twitch of her lips and narrowing of her eyes at each spasm, the shifting in her seat in a desperate effort to find some level of comfort. There was a hardness, a determination in the eyes of that girl which said she refused to give up which was notably absent now, replaced by a glazed, foggy expression that made Professor Thompson's heart hurt.
"Wilhemina," she tried again, "would it be easier if we discussed this in my office?" The redhead's eyes rolled up to meet hers almost drunkenly, obviously still not entirely processing the world around her. She managed a small nod, vacant eyes focusing somewhere in the middle distance. "Here, let me take your bag" she offered, hands floating just beyond Wilhemina's shoulders as the redhead hoisted herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she found some semblance of equilibrium.
Professor Thompson couldn't help but bring a hand to gently cup Wilhemina's upper arm, causing the younger woman to finally meet her gaze. Oh and didn't it just break her heart, the pleading terrified desperation she found in those deep brown eyes. "Come on, dear" she coaxed, "this way."
Wilhemina felt herself start to come back into her own body as she sat in Professor Thompson's office, old worn leather chair beneath her and warm cup of sweetened tea pressed into her trembling hands.
Professor Thompson noticed the change as well. "Easy, dear" she cautioned, as Wilhemina's shaking hands tried to raise the warm mug to her lips. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes" Wilhemina managed to rasp.
Professor Thompson reached out her hand to rest on Wilhemina's knee, rubbing slow comforting circles. "Do you think you can me what happened? Was it something at your appointment? Do you need another surgery?"
"No" Wilhemina whispered, teeth worrying her bottom lip before lifting her eyes to the older woman, who's warm gaze encouraged her to continue. "The surgeon doesn't want to do anything, doesn't think it's necessary to do anything. My mother on the other hand is not satisfied and won't be until I look *normal*"
"I'm sure she just wants the best for you" the older woman tried.
"She wants me to stop being an embarrassment. She flat out told the surgeon she doesn't care about my pain, she only wants him to fix how hideous I look." It was happening again, Wilhemina realised, the years of repressed pain and frustration spewing out of her unbidden. "The surgeon stopped recommending procedures when I was eighteen because they weren't likely to help but my mother kept insisting because I looked so hideous she couldn't stand it. She put me through years of pain because I was so ugly and she was so ashamed of me." Her voiced cracked as the tears she had tried so hard contain broke free down her cheeks.
"She was trying to do it again" Wilhemina choked. "She was trying to convince him to operate again and I finally told her no."
"And how did she take that?" Professor Thompson asked, almost fearing the answer. Wilhemina let out a self-depricating laugh through her tears, rolling her eyes. "Wilhemina," she added urgently, gently squeezing her knee to get her attention, "she didn't hurt you, did she?"
Wilhemina stopped at that. "Not physically, no." A beat of understanding passed between the two women before Wilhemina continued. "She threw me out, cut me off, told me I was completely on my own unless I agree to have the surgery. Told me I can kiss my degree goodbye." The older woman gasped. "I told her she could have it, I was done with her controlling my life."
Professor Thompson reached out to take Wilhemina's hands, squeezing them in her own. "That was so incredibly brave." Wilhemina let out a wry chuckle "You don't think I'm completely mad?" Another warm squeeze of her hands. "Absolutely not. I think you are so strong."
Wilhemina raised her eyes again to meet those of her professor, searching them for the signs of a lie. Finding none she felt her chin begin to tremble as she fought against the tears.
She lost. The tears came bubbling out of her against her will. Tears for the years of pain she had endured, both physical and emotional, at her mother's hands. Tears for the little girl who spent years in pain trying to convince her parents that it wasn't all in her head. For her childhood that had been stolen from her. For the little girl alone in a hospital, who's parents were far too busy to visit, who was left to rely on nurses for comfort and support. For the twenty four year old woman who had just lost everything.
She curled in on herself as much as her twisted spine would allow, rocking rhythmically backwards and forwards, trying in vain to offer herself some comfort. She felt the chair next to her dip and then she was being cradled in her advisors arms - how embarassing. But try as she might she couldn't quiet the hysterical sobs.
Eventually pulled herself out of the older womans arms, trying to regain some level of dignity. Professor Thompson gave her hands one last squeeze as she let her go.
"We will find a solution to all of this" she assured "but for now all of that can wait. You need to eat and you need to sleep. You must be exhausted" Wilhemina nodded, still frantically pawing at her tear-stained cheeks. There was no point hiding anymore, not after her earlier display.
"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Professor Thompson asked. "You're welcome to my spare room if not"
"No it's fine" Wilhemina replied, glad to avoid imposing on her professor further. "I have a hotel room."
"Ok I'll drive you" Wilhemina tried valiantly to rebuff Professor Thompson's kindness, but the older woman would not be dissuaded. And once Wilhemina realised how dark it had gotten she was secretly grateful.
As the car came to a stop in front what currently passed for Wilhemina's lodgings, Professor Thompson took her hand once more. "After work tomorrow" she pressed "I am picking you up and you are having dinner with me. It will give us a chance to come up with a plan for what happens next. I refuse to see someone as smart and driven as you are, Wilhemina, be sabotaged by negligent parenting. We will figure this out."
Wilhemina couldn't even bring herself to try and rebuff such kindness, for how her heart ached for it. Instead all she could manage was a watery "okay" and tremulous smile. As she walked back to her room she felt lighter than she had all day, tension finally beginning to drain from her body like water trickling down her arms and plummeting from her fingertips.
Exhaustion quickly rose to fill vacancy making her limbs heavy and fingers clumsy. Almost there, she told herself as she struggled with foreign keychain, not much longer. Just inside the door and then you can rest. But try as she might her exhausted mind could not make sense of the lock nor could it co-ordinate her trembling fingers well enough to keep hold of the keys which fell limply to the concrete just beyond her door.
It was as if the universe was laughing at her, she thought, as she gingerly squatted down, bending her legs to compensate for her immobilised spine. After all the humiliation she had endured today she could not be allowed to rest without at least one more reminder of her inadequacy. So fucking useless, the voice in ear chided, so fucking stupid. Hurry up and pick up the god damn keys and open the door like a normal, functional human being. Can you manage that much at least?
And maybe she could have managed it had the hand she extended to reach for her keys not been firmly crushed into the concrete and pulled away from her by a steal-capped boot, upsetting her precarious equilibrium and sending her sprawling face first into the concrete.
"Now, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"
A/N: Ok, so number one - I'm sorry (ducks). I promise I won't hurt her too much. This part wasn't even in my original plan but then the angsty little plot demons took over and here we are. Number two - for those of you who are interested I wrote Professor Thompson with Prof. Stromwell (Holland's character from legally blonde) in mind because I think she is exactly the type of tough but caring person that baby Mina would be drawn to. But also because I'm dying to see Sarah and Holland work on a project together, so this was my own vicarious little head cannon.
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absoluteindulgence · 4 years ago
Text
AFK (Away From Keyboard)
A/N: My contribution to September’s first Freaky Friday (18+). New icon, who dis? I worked non-stop on this story; hopefully, y’all like it!
Pairings: Mirio Togata x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Quarantine Blues
Word Count: 3.4K
Quarantine hasn't been easy on you. You lost your job due to your line of work not being considered 'essential.' Although bummed about it, because it was a means to an end, you remembered the times you complained about the work and how some other workers didn't treat you fairly.  But the realization of being home with your fiance, Mirio, had sparked comfort. Until you found out, he still had to work.
The pain of having to stay home alone while your sunny beau worked 24-Hour shifts every other day, saving lives as he remained one of the most reliable Firemen in Japan. You felt the sadness and loneliness from him not being home for so long. And most days, you stayed in bed, too sad to move around the empty home.
With time, you habitually set a routine, eat, sleep, check social media, then back to sleep. Until you came across a group chat accepting all and any fans of a game you fancied, it had been some time since you played, not having the energy to drag your ass out of the plush, king-size bed. You pondered whether to grab your laptop from your dusty work bag in the corner of your bedroom. Or to make the trip to your living room with your HQ computer.
Of course, you went for the latter. Throwing on your robe, walking to the living room seemed like a long trip, but sitting at the master computer made your nerves settle. Starting up the machine, you fiddle with your phone chatting with your new-found internet friends. After logging in, the rest was history.
You spent so much time online that the days where Mirio was home and not tired that you were too busy gaming to stop—practically ignoring him as he came within close contact of your hunched over body. You became a complete zombie to your favorite game that no longer became your hobby but now your never-ending job.
You clocked in and out, only being away from the screen to rest and use the bathroom. It became a problem that even Mirio could see; he didn't want to press the issue so harshly since he knew how the long hours had affected you, but seeing how less attention he got when home for more than 8-hours became troublesome.
Tonight, Mirio came home earlier than expected, his high energy shone throughout the home, yet you didn't flinch from your spot. Too focused on the glowing screen, to look his direction as he creeps up onto your left side with a delicate, yet tender kiss to your temple.
"Good evening, my love, have you eaten?" His bouncy, upbeat voice knocks you out of your trance.
You look up at him with low energy, replying with a mumble, "No."
"That's too bad, but no worries, I'm gonna order some food. Do you know what you want?" He walks away, fiddling with his phone, taking off his work uniform simultaneously.
You shrug with a monotone groan, your new way of saying that you have no preference. In case Mirio can't hear you, you utter louder, "I don't care."
"Okay, Babe, well, I guess I'll get your usual favorite." His grin is apparent when he speaks, playing off not getting acknowledged the way you used to before finding your obsessed hobby turned job.
You nod without notice and clack away at your keyboard, enamored in the chatroom. You occasionally smile while grabbing for your gaming controller; you're ready to start up another game as your group chat invites you. Happily obliging them, you've been added to the team and play a couple of rounds.
So focused on the game, you didn't hear your blond beau answer the door and walk to the kitchen as he carried two substantial brown paper bags with handles. He deftly set the bags onto the island counter, pulling out each takeout container with the same enthusiasm.
"Hey, Babe, dinner's here!" Your Sunshine called out to you from the kitchen.
Glued to your computer screen, you stammer, "O-okay, Babe, I'm coming."
Lying through your teeth, you sit unfazed by the world around you and only concentrate on what's in front of you. It is a crucial time as you're close to completing the umpteenth goal, your posture struggling as you slouch near the monitor to see better.
The site is genuinely unbecoming and catches Mirio's eye; he comes from behind, hugging you while grabbing onto your wrists. The sudden warmth shocks you but doesn't stop your fingers from shifting. A huff leaves Mirio's breath, tickling your neck's nape as he moves closer to its left side. His large hands grip your controller, nearly covering yours. It's vexatious, to say the least, your quest is near completion with an unbeatable high score.
Even with his hands on yours, you still maneuver the controller, eager to finish. No longer connected to your headset, you feel the sunny man nuzzle his nose close to your ear. A sensitive, weak spot that he's using as a means of leverage. Goosebumps emerge from your neck to your chest down to your arms as you try your best to overlook the familiar sensation.
A slightly annoying groan buzzes out his throat as you feign his attempts to distract you. He applies the slightest pressure to your hands, where you're no longer in control of your joypad movements.
"Since you're not ready to eat yet, I'd thought I'd help you instead." He smiled warmly, yet you felt on edge. "Don't worry, Babe, I got this!"
As you slightly turned to look at him, he portrayed a game face. He seemed confident to beat your current quest, his hands moved as if he knew what to do, so you relaxed. Turning back to the monitor, you watched in the marvel of his hidden gamer skills; he maneuvered so flawlessly that you were shocked. Until he died, on your last life, sending your game character to the loading screen.
"Mirio, what the hell?" You squeal in annoyance, louder than expected. "That was my last life!"
He musters out a roar of laughter that only infuriates you further as you cross your arms with a huff. "Aw baby, I'm sorry. I thought I had it, but it turns out I didn't know the controls that well."
He cuddles you close to his warm chest, still resisting his advances, he snuggles you tighter than his original bear hug. You try to wiggle your way out of his loveable grip as he chuckles at your efforts. He pulls you away from the master computer, using the handles on the rolling game chair you bought together one weekend. 
He turns the chair around to survey your irritated, flustered face. "Hey, don't be mad. I just wanted to enjoy the game just like you. I see how enthralled you've been and wanted to see what the hype was about."
You're silent with a bratty pout on your lips, which he doesn't take seriously and plants a brief, loving kiss onto your forehead. He beams as he gets a better look at you: You grabbed one of his firemen in training sweatshirts earlier that day after taking a shower.
"I see that my Sunshine couldn't help but to represent me while I'm away at work." A sneaky grin stretched across his scruffy, blond stubble.
"If I told you I grabbed anything just to get closer to playing my game, would you believe me?"
"No, I wouldn't," He chuckled, "I know how much you miss me when I'm away."
His stare was a tad intense after finishing his reasoning, catching you off guard. Your antics of irritation cracked as you dropped your arms and rested your hands onto your thighs. You couldn't crack a smile; all the days blurred into one as you couldn't fathom being alone at home. That loneliness you ran away from came back to spill all of your secrets.
"You're right." Little droplets of water left your eyes, "I've missed you so much. I know that you're busy saving the world one fire at a time, but since this Quarantine, I've wished for us to be together, not that I wanted you to lose your job. I just wanted us to spend more time."
"I've been suffering in silence, not knowing what to say to you as you asked me if I was okay. I thought I could get better all by myself, and yet nothing was enough." You were sobbing between words, no longer able to keep your composure. "I finally dragged myself out of bed, trying to get comfortable. And I got carried away."
You wiped your eyes of tears, focusing on your breathing as much as possible. Trying not to draw out a panic attack, you felt a warmth come from all over. Mirio held you close to him, undistracted by you sitting in the chair. He exhaled heavily, kissing the side of your face with regard.
"I'm sorry that you held on to all that pain, Sunshine. It was never my intent to make you feel alone." He held onto you tighter, "There's not a minute, no, a second that passes by, that I don't think about you. "
The warmth from his burly arms and chest eased your heart, feeling safe and wanted. Your soon-to-be husband readjusted his hands to lift you out of the gaming chair. With a gentle grip, you were in his arms, cradled close to his chest. The blond looked down at you with a passionate smile, producing your heart to skip a beat. Mirio carried you bridal style until entering the bedroom you shared, considerately laying you down onto the bed. With so much space on the mattress, you wondered why you were the only one laying on it. Glancing upon your love near the footboard, you recognized his exact mood.
"Please, let me show you how much I've missed you." He slowly unbuckled his pants, "I've had so many thoughts about what I wanted to do to you."
His look went from lighthearted to a serene, sensual gaze. It's as if laying you on the bed changed his demeanor, creating a severely lustful tone to the air. Laying on the mattress, you felt yourself go into heat, just staring back at the blond beau. His face colored an incredible hue of pink as he pulled off his shirt, too impatient to keep it on any longer.
You stare in awe as the man of your dreams crawls on top of you. Bunching up the sweatshirt, he pushes the fabric up above your breasts set to litter them and your lips with fleeting kisses, prolonging your divine flesh cavern. Your peaks are between his callous hands as his nose pokes at your abdomen, inhaling their essential fragrance. You giggle under your breath at his prickly stubble tickling your skin.
"I've missed your pillows so much, Sunshine." He muffles, erupting laughter out of you. "Yeah, get all your giggles out now, Baby. Because in a moment, I'm gonna make you holler."
Kisses trace down your body, along your hips; although his kisses feel like a rush, they're thorough in savoring every part his lips touch and occasionally sticking his tongue out to lick the bare sections of your stomach. A gasp gets caught in your throat, and Mirio groans in response. It's evident; your body's pleasure gets handled like a refined, care package.
Reaching the waistband of your generic bottoms, he slid them off with little consideration of the fabric. No protest whatsoever as to his tug at your dainty boyshorts hastened another groan to his lips. His eyes glimmered, looking at your panties, admiring the soft, satin-like material popping out so lovely onto your skin tone.
"It's like you wore all this to taunt me, Sunshine." He chuckled under his breath, "Now you're in for it."
A hastily gentle pull to your panties made for a head-turning transformation, looking at Mirio now between your legs with his slippery, wet tongue on your pink pearl. Your thighs clamped shut onto his head as he feverishly licked at you with no hesitation as if the goal to make you cum was more important than breathing.
Your short breaths turned into loud gasps and moans, echoing the room with a ringing back into your ears. Your audio sent shockwaves through Mirio, pushing him to keep going and not stop until you made a mess around his mouth. Quick licks to your clit hardened your core so tightly you felt your stomach would resemble your blond hero's abs.
"You taste, so divine, my love."
Each word between each lick set out to destroy the sanity within you. The overstimulation drives you over the edge into massive wails as you try to push Mirio's head from between your legs. His grip moves from your hips to your thighs firmly. The warmth of his palms settles your need to keep him from helping you reach paradise.
That doesn't stop the sweat from dripping off your body or your bud from pulsing between his soft, thin lips. Reaching your peak, you clench onto his hair, moaning out his name, "M-mirio!"
Calling out to him made his tongue go into turbo mode. And with no warning, united two fingers into your slippery, silk igloo. A luxurious howl left your lips as you focused on your breathing, no longer holding onto his hair, but your breasts. Pinching at your nipples caused Mirio to look at you with concupiscence. His thick fingers were less than forgiving as you contracted around them and squirmed.
The tension building within your core couldn't manage the pumps advancing in you or that relentless tongue belonging to your sunny beau. Ready to burst, you cry out, "I need to cum!"
Nothing could prepare you for the orgasm you had: with eyes clenched closed and legs spread wide, hands clenched to the bedsheets, you blasted a grand amount of squirt infused cum out of your body.
Mirio's eyes widen as he pulls back to flick your clit back and forth using his right hand, spraying your love juice all over the sheets. Pushing out your last robust grunt before your legs collapse. Your breath hitches in your throat as you attempt to catch your breath.
"Damn, Sunshine, that was amazing." Mirio sits up, looking down at your worn-out body. His attraction for you gets the best of him as he puts his fingers in his mouth while keeping eye contact, "You even taste amazing too."
An arousing shockwave stings through your body as you look back into his beautiful, cerulean eyes. With little energy, you roll your index finger for him to come closer to you. He leaps at the opportunity, mushing his still wet face onto your sweaty one, scattering kisses over your lips and neck. He positions your legs for his love rod to glide into your aching junction in the moment's heat.
"Are you ready, Beauti-"
"-Yes, Mirio, don't make me wait any longer."
Your seductive face said all that your muscular fiance needed to hear. He slid his charmer in painfully slow, observing your hungry gaze, urging him to get harder and bottom you out immediately. Grunting in unison, came right after as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You kissed along his exposed neck, making light nibbles along his right side.
"F-Fuck."
His hips pivot into you, and a light moan fled your mouth as you prepped for his roughhousing. Leniency out the window as the sloshing from your essence screamed 'keep going!' to your blond hunk. So he obliged you: Acting as a home decorator, rearranging your furniture with each thrust. Your brows furrowed from the sensual pressure placed inside as you looked back into his eyes; the smirk on his equally sweaty face was too smug. Your face was always a dead giveaway to how much you enjoyed him; these nights were no different.
"Tell me how much you love when I'm deep inside you, Baby."
"Don't make me say it, Mir-, I'm a-already showing you." The heat was going straight to your head as he put you on the spot. If you could hide your face, you would.
"Oh no, my Sunshine. You don't get to avoid this." He raised his body off your frame, lifted one of your legs to sit up straight on his bulky chest, grinding into your junction with a rapid, rugged motion.
All words escaped you; keeping up the pace was all too hard as he rolled his hips into you, ruthless and playful all at once. The grip on your leg firm with each pump is very calculated and delicate. licking his lips, he asked, "Will you admit it now?"
Tucking in your lips, you shake your head in detest. It was unbelievable, and Mirio knew it; his chuckle echoed through the bedroom, "Okay."
Positioning your legs to point west from his Adonis belt, he maneuvered himself to stay connected to your golden arches. His last straw and ultimate trump card, fucking you from the side as he smiled from above you. The position relative to hitting it from the back, but with enough spine power, you can see your firemen in action. The clutch to your waist always took you for a ride, a prime example of your fiance's strength and control.
Soaked was an understatement as your muffled whines turned into hoarse wails of satisfaction. Just when you thought you lost your voice after the lip service, your ass bouncing off Mirio's skin flute created an orchestrated symphony of lovemaking reverberating through the house. Your neighbors would have to understand; there's no holding in how incredible this sexual bond is.
"I concede, Baby." While holding onto his forearm, you passionately gawk, "You feel so good deep inside of me!"
Self-satisfied, his movement accelerated, "That's what I like to hear, Sunshine."
The harmony of skin slapping, your juicy cream canal is sloshing against his cock, the various moans and grunts you're exchanging, setting you on edge. His eyes have a deep blue gaze, leaking of an overly seductive spirit.
"Fuck, Sunshine, I'm so close. Tell me how bad you want me to pound your pretty pussy, and I will."
"Mirio, please," You grab onto one of his hands, freeing them from the grip on your thigh and placing his thumb into your mouth while sucking it, "Put my fire out."
Ironically igniting him with a trump card of your own, his pace heightened past your comprehension. Once again, your coil wound up, becoming tighter with each thrust, unbearable to endure for another moment and remaining to suck Mirio's thumb in hopes of feeling sweet deserved deliverance. The pounds from Mirio's powerful thighs were likening heavily wooded paddles sure to leave a mark.
A charge of sexual energy swelled between you two as your bodies went into a complete frenzy. The hand on your thigh moved up onto your waist with more intensity placed to your backside and your core getting the brunt of it all. Feeling Mirio expand and twitch inside indicated how close he was, and your coil had just snapped. Mirio pulls out of you, shooting his load all over your ass and thighs.
The warm puddle of white gold spills over to the front of your leg, trickling down your thighs; you watch as your fiance readjusts himself, "Shit, that was a lot. Let me get a cloth."
Less gracefully, he rolls off the king-sized bed disappearing out the room and returning with a stack of baby wipes. The cleanup is gentle and thorough as you smile at him, still savoring your orgasm. He throws them away into a trash bin near his nightstand, noting to flush them later. He crawls behind you, cradling your naked body close to his. You're melting within his embrace, feeling complete comfort.
"You know, Babe," He rubs your thigh soothingly as you quietly hum, "You didn't tell your teammates what happened after you died."
"Well, I can tell them tomorrow, no big deal."
"Well, you're right, but what if I told you, you weren't on mute?"
Your eyes shot open, "What?"
"I'm kidding, Babe! You unplugged your headset, remember?"
"Mirio, my heart just dropped to my ass, please don't scare me like that."
His familiar laugh vibrated through the room, "Sorry, Babe, I couldn't help myself! Are you ready to eat now? We've worked up quite the appetite."
He lazily winked, you giggled and nodded, "I hope you got my favorite!"
"So you heard, nothing I said when I got home, huh?"
"I didn't say that." You try to hide your face, resulting in Mirio tickling you into admitting it.
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kaekiro · 4 years ago
Text
The Taste of Rainwater
Pairing: Eren/Mikasa II Rating: T II Words: 2654 II [AO3] Warnings: none A/N: Because ngl I was disappointed with the short story about EM taking shelter from the rain and also because I like writing first kisses/eren looking out for mikasa 😊
At first, she mistook the droplet that slid from her bangs to her cheek as her own sweat. She felt it run down to her jawline and watched it seep into the clearing of dirt at her boots, thinking nothing of it as she adjusted her grip on the wooden ax and swung it with precision. A slight sting at her palm made her pause to look at it, and she sighed, the red and irritated skin of her upper palm tender as she flexed her hand. Blisters would form if she didn’t stop soon. After setting the newly split logs onto the sizable pile she had going, she lifted a forearm and wiped away remnants of the droplet. As she stood to her full height to relax her arms and back, the pent up tension released and dissipated like steam, leaving behind the beginnings of sore muscles. It was relieving to feel the breeze in her hair, how it rustled the looser parts of her clothing and cooled her skin. But it suddenly got colder, stronger, carrying thicker droplets that splashed directly on the tip of her nose and exposed forearms. The tree branches swayed sporadically, warning her of the kind of storm that was coming but the distinct scent and sounds of thunder rumbling in the air were confirmation enough. She tried to move fast to gather a good amount of logs to keep dry for later, yet it was of little avail. Before she knew it, she was running through the rain with the ax in one hand and a pitiful number of logs clutched at her side. Though it would’ve been ideal to go inside the cabin where the wood was needed, the icy water that was beginning to soak her hair and seep through her clothes forced her to temporarily shelter in the stables housing the few horses they had. 
She had huffed out an irritable breath the moment she stepped beneath the old roof of the stables, both at her small dilemma and at the mix of dirt and rain that left a burning sensation in her eye. She promptly dropped the wood on the ground, trying to blink away the feeling when his voice nearly made her jump. 
She looked over her shoulder, relaxing as she recognized him and said his name in greeting. He stepped forward and pulled down the cloth covering the bottom half of his face, abandoning his broom alongside the pitchfork leaning against a splintered stud. Eren eyed the ax in her hand, then the logs at her feet as he removed his gloves and haphazardly pocketed them, meeting her gaze again when he was an arm’s length away and she turned to face him properly. 
“Are you okay?” 
“Yeah, I just… got caught in the heavy rain. I meant to go inside but…” 
She falters as the burning sensation at her eye persists, making her close it tight in a feeble attempt to get rid of it. She raises a hand, intending on using the back of her bandaged wrist to rub at it but he stops her before she can, using his grip to lower her wrist back at her side. 
“Your bandages and hands have dirt, don’t rub at your eye.”
“But—”
“Here, I’ll help you.” His clothes rustle, and he produces what looks like a handkerchief. 
“Try to keep still,” he quietly instructs, and though his voice is low, would have otherwise been inaudible beneath the sound of the pouring rain, she seizes up in a way that makes it hard to focus on anything else. He curls his fingers over her shoulder as a way to keep her steady, and through the thin cloth pressing against her face, she feels the paralyzing heat of his hand. Reflexively, she tenses as the cotton carefully swipes over the inner corner and just beneath her lash line, drying her watering eye as gently as possible until it finally soothed. She blinks a few times, relieved until she realizes how close he has leaned in, his bright eyes focused on hers. Involuntarily, her gaze flickers between his eyes and mouth.
“Better?” 
She swallows around the dryness in her throat, opting to stare down at the laces of his shirt and simply nod against the hand at her face, murmuring her thanks.  Seemingly unaware of the effect his proximity has on her, she feels him give a nod of his own. As Eren takes a step back, the bit of warmth she felt moves away with him and leaves her unable to help the slight shiver that goes through her body. 
“Are you also working alone today?” she asks as casually as she can manage, walking towards a stream of rainwater leaking through the roof to clean some of the dirt from her hands. The cold temperature of it hurts, but she bears with it, eventually moving back to her original spot near Eren when she’s done. Her arms cross and she loosely grips her biceps, rubbing them to try and keep warm. Both of them watch the rain come down. 
“I had Connie here with me. But he left a little while ago to grab other tools we needed to take care of the horses… he’s probably waiting out this downpour somewhere nearby.” 
“Oh,” is all she says, half distracted by the messy pile of logs. A lone log sits at her side and she nudges it back towards the rest with the tip of her boot. His snort startles her a bit, and he nods towards the wood when she gives him a questioning look. 
“I’m surprised. Is that all you were able to chop today?” 
She sighs. “No, I had more. But I couldn’t grab enough of them before it started pouring.” 
He does it again, breathing out a small laugh that she hasn’t heard in some time. He seems to be in a better mood for some reason, and she nearly points it out but quickly decides not to.  She didn’t want to make it seem like it was a strange thing to smile and laugh, or make him self-conscious about it. It felt better to just simply witness him act a bit more like he used to.
“I’m not trying to make fun of you, I just can’t believe that Mikasa Ackerman, one of humanity's strongest soldiers, lost a battle to some rain and logs.” 
She hums, amused. “Yeah… I barely made it out alive.” There’s a sense of accomplishment as her remark makes his grin broaden, but it falters completely when a flash of lightning draws their attention back to the storm outside. A gust of wind blows through the stables, causing the old structure to creak at its weakest points. Her eyes screw shut and she hugs herself tighter, fighting off the chill that worsens with her wet clothes. She breathes out shakily once it passes, focusing so much of her attention on trying to still her shivering hands that she doesn’t notice him taking off his hooded sweater. The long black material is wrapped securely around her shoulders and she touches it, looking up at him curiously. He scratches the back of his head. 
“I didn’t realize that you were cold until just now, sorry.” 
She smiles softly, choosing not to pose a question at the kind gesture. Instead, she shakes her head, pushing her arms through the sleeves and tugging the ends of his sweater tighter around her. “Thank you.” 
They lean on opposite sides of a post supporting the aged structure, one that stands just before the opening of the stables, and they talk. They share a few stories of things that happened while the other wasn’t present, talk of upcoming plans for the scouts, stuff they and Armin should do on their days off, make mentions of little unimportant things in between, and to her pleasant surprise, Eren cracks another small joke. They chuckle, and she decides that the sudden storm wasn’t a misfortune after all. She steps over to his side to respond once they quiet down, yet the sight of him struck something within her. This time, there’s nothing to keep him from smiling, and she knows it's completely genuine in the way it softens and lifts his features. The mere fact of it has her own smile widening. She stares at his smile adoringly, stares and wishes she could see it more often until she closes her eyes and notes how sweet it feels against her own lips. The sensation lasts for half a second though, because his initial reaction quickly alerts her of her mistake. His breath stutters and his body goes stiff at her sudden romantic gesture, causing her to drop the hand gripping the front of his shirt. She doesn’t even remember reaching for it. Their lips part and she blushes intensely at the sound. 
They look at one another with wide eyes, her fingers partially covering her mouth in shock. 
“U-um,” she begins clumsily, unsure of what exactly she intends to say or how to explain herself. Should she apologize? Why did she even do that? While she did feel more at ease and comfortable with him at that moment… that’s how she usually was when they spent time together. What was different this time that made it feel so natural to kiss him the way she did? And what was he thinking? Could it be that he was upset at her? 
“I don’t…” she says slowly, shrinking under his gaze. “I don’t know why I did that…” 
His lack of response is anything but reassuring, gives her all the more reason to leave with her pitiful pile of logs. Ashamed, she averts her eyes and takes a step backward, thinking it best to give him space and talk about it later, if he even wanted to see her later after what she just did. But he is quick to stop her by hooking his fingers into the hood just before she moves out of his reach, coaxing her to look at him by tugging on the crook of her elbow when she keeps her back to him. Hyper aware of the single touch between them, the firmness of his grip, she lifts her eyes from the ground and looks over her shoulder. 
“Did you mean it?” 
They do not react to the clap of thunder that begins to agitate the horses, or to the chilled gust of wind that threatens the old structure of the stables once more. She is uncomfortably warm as they simply stare at one another, and her heart beats louder in her ears when she finds that she cannot decipher his expression. He begins to pull, guiding her closer and, being as flighty as she is, she resists. He recoils slightly, hurt glinting in his eyes as he releases her arm. Through her addled thoughts, she realizes that she accidentally conveyed the wrong message. She mentally curses, feeling guiltier and looking even more helpless. His question echoes in her ears again. Yes, she thinks, yes I did mean it. But there is a disconnect between what she wants to say and what she actually does, which has her panicking a bit because she senses that something is beginning to slip away the longer she stays quiet. It’s enough to make her momentarily cast aside any reservations and the need for words, to boldly step out of her comfort zone and back into his personal space. Balancing on her toes, she pushes her lips against his, unmindful of her fierceness in her state of desperation and panic. She gives him a hard and rather quick kiss, immediately pulling back to gauge his reaction and perhaps apologize, but she doesn’t get the chance because his hands are suddenly hot on her face and bringing her back to back to him. 
Bit by bit, the tension within her unravels and she starts to relax, consciously leaning more into his touch and body. Eren thumbs away the trail of rainwater that dripped from her bangs to her face, pausing to comment how cold her nose and hands are before muffling her apology with his lips. He holds each kiss for a long second like he’s savoring them, eventually moving to trail his hands down the column of her neck and across her back. He clutches the dark material of his sweater and breathes shakily against her mouth when she fills the last bit of space between them. As they strike a rhythm, the intensity of their kiss increases as does her sensitivity to his touch, an airy sigh of his name escaping from her mindlessly. He grips her harder at the sound and she’s gasping, both in surprise and for breath. It’s almost too much, and yet she can’t help but reciprocate by slipping her fingers beneath the neckline of his shirt and wrapping an arm tight around his shoulders— 
A loud curse cuts through the air, followed by the noise of items falling into one another in equal volume. She and Eren jump apart, breathing heavily as a lone metal bucket that has fallen on its side rolls into the stables, coming to a stop between the two of them. An irritated Connie trudges in soon after with his arms full of miscellaneous tools and one side of his body completely coated in mud, the other drenched with rainwater. 
“Sorry I took so long, Eren, I was going to wait out the worst of the storm but the Captain noticed and —” he yelps and wobbles, nearly tripping over the logs she abandoned on the ground. He wonders aloud where they came from, kicking them in further agitation until his eyes land on her. All three of them freeze. 
“Mikasa?” 
She jolts slightly when he calls her name, mentally scrambling to find something to do or say to take his attention off of her. 
“Connie…” she starts, looking pointedly at his clothes and evening out her breath as subtly as she can. “What happened to you?” 
To her temporary relief, Connie remembers why he was upset and bitterly explains that he was running through the rain trying to come back, but slipped and fell into the puddle of mud just a few feet away. 
“Are you alright?” she responds, briefly wondering why Eren hasn’t spoken up yet. 
“Yeah, I’ll live. I just don’t know why the Captain is in such...” Connie’s grimace from pulling at his own clothes fades as he looks at her, finishing his sentence a bit absently, “a rush...”
She remembers that she’s wearing Eren’s sweater as Connie stares at it directly, and it takes everything to keep her expression neutral as she awkwardly slips it off her shoulders. She holds it out for Eren to take, and her composure nearly breaks at the sight of him. The tips of his ears are burning red, his mind clearly somewhere other than in the present and she has to push the sweater into his chest for him to finally snap out of it. 
“It’s uh, it’s probably because it’s getting late in the afternoon, Connie,” Eren manages after clearing his throat. “He… probably has other plans for us tomorrow, or something.”
Her heart races as their friend doesn’t reply and instead looks between the two of them with a weird expression. 
“I should probably get those logs inside,” she says aloud, more to herself and as an excuse to escape. It’s so uncomfortably silent between the three of them as she prepares to leave, and she struggles to ignore the weight of Eren’s and Connie’s eyes on her when she uncharacteristically fumbles with the logs and ax. Careful to avoid the puddle Connie slipped in, she eventually makes it back to the cabin, well aware that the speed of her breath and pulse has nothing to do with her running through the rain.
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og-danny-dorito · 4 years ago
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Jason Todd : Assassination Jobs
[ A/N: kinda wrote this by the seat of my pants ksjdfndksjnf- it’s basically just how i think jason deals with assassination jobs and a story pertaining to the one time he really did do one and why he did it. not really an x reader but i guess you could technically place yourself in the woman’s place. she’s the one who calls upon jason to help with her issue but it doesn’t have any self-insert elements. kinda more of a really long headcanon ]
⚠️ TW : stalking, abuse, violence ⚠️
jason doesn't usually do assassin work. it requires a lot of coverups, connections, planning and is overall a huge mess, so he kinda just avoids it. 
there have been a few times though, where he’s made exceptions.
most of them just had good pay involved or something like that, but the one that’s probably the most commendable to him is when a woman came to him one time with a very vague request. how she got his line he had no idea, but regardless by the time they actually met up she seemed kinda,,, nervous.
she was kinda jumpy and avoided eye contact so she didn’t look too confident or assured in what she was doing, she was looking all around her nervously as if she was scared someone would hear them, and on top of it all she had planned for them to meet in a secluded alleyway with little to no surveillance opportunity and in a sketchy part of town.
he wasn't stupid enough to trust her right off the bat, obviously, but he was smart enough to know that if she really did have some sort of thing planned out she wouldn’t have asked him if he knew there was no way anyone could see or hear them there. it was a bit odd but seemed safe enough, so he showed up.
now, jason went into this expecting something standard. maybe a boss was bothering her or there was a coworker she was having trouble with or something like that, but what had come out of her mouth left him feeling both astonished and, to put it simply... enraged.
he could see the way she covered her arms when she talked to him or how she tried to wear layers of clothing that would hide some of the wounds under her skin. it wasn’t uncommon to find people like that in the area she said she came from, or to find people like that in the whole of Gotham, but somehow knowing that she was desperate enough to call a literal vigilante for it and risk getting put on The Watchlist made him even more concerned off than it should’ve.
in simple terms, the woman said than an ex was bothering her. the ex had forced her into an abusive relationship that usually left her in serious condition or had her admitted to a psyche ward, to which she had almost ended her life as a result. they had broken up after the police got involved, but because of some sort of loophole the ex was able to get out of prison a few months early.
that’s when the stalking began.
she said that she remembered the feeling of being watched, or feeling as if someone was always on her back. the family she was staying with just thought that it was a result of having come out of a mentally stressful situation, but she knew for a fact that something wasn’t right. the packages of unknown origin went unseen by the police. the flowers that would show up at her workplace with a little note reading “i’ll be back soon” were discounted for her loosing her mind. even things down to the way she felt like things were missing in her room when she came back from work had scared her to no end, and she finally decided to put an end to it whether she would get help from her family/the cops or not.
that’s where jason came in. she didn’t really have any specific instructions for him to follow, just a picture of the creeper and a request for him to “get rid of them” in the quickest way possible. he was kinda confused that she didn’t want them to suffer, but he struggled with the decision anyway. there was a very real possibility that she had in fact lost her mind and was now sending him out on a wild goose chase, but he also knew that it was equally as possible that she was telling the truth. he had seen people like her be ignored and have their concerns swept under the rug, only to have their voiced listened to when it was too late
so he agreed to the offer, telling her to give him until the end of the week to get the job done
he didn’t feel right having her stay alone like that, and so instead he asked her to stay in a hotel nearby for a few days so he could draw the ex out and get rid of them quietly. she was really polite about it too, agreeing to whatever requirements he had listed out for her and all of that. just a nice woman in general, didn’t produce any complications and tried to make it as easy for him as possible.
and so that’s exactly what he did. he waited until the creep pulled into the driveway in a super sketchy car with tinted windows and talked to the lady at the front desk, who eventually gave them the room the woman was staying at. they didn’t seem like they were trying to draw attention to themself at first, but as he got out of his car and made his way to the room, he could see how the ex was getting more and more aggressive with knocking on the door.
they were saying all sorts of fucked up shit to her through the barrier like how she’d never get away from them, how she’d suffer the consequences if she kept running away like this, shit like that. jason could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as he got closer, his steps speeding up as he closed in on the assailant. they only had a second to react before he was already putting them in a headlock, letting go when their body fell limp and hauling their arm over his shoulder
it didn’t take him long to bring them to his car (skillfully masking it by making it seem like they were blackout drunk) before tying them and throwing them in the backseat. the place he took them to finish them off was something simple like the side of one of the nearby docks, and he left with a text asking his cleanup guy to come take care of the body. he went back to tell the woman that it was over, that she was safe now in some odd attempt to console her. make her feel a little better
it was only when he got there did he find her sitting with her knees locked to her chest on the bed, the whole room completely undisturbed save for the mug which had probably been knocked to the floor in her panic of hearing the ex on the other side of the door. he didn’t blame her, if he saw that creeper in a dark alleyway he’d pay them no mind- ...but that wasn’t the point. the point now was that she was sitting here with her knees hugged up to her chest and her breathing erratic, obviously having a panic attack
here’s where the odd part comes in
jason has never really been one for this sort of thing. not killing people, he knows all about that, but rather... emotions. or emotionally charged situations. they had always been uncomfortable for him, like uncharted territory in a way, that’s why it was surprising- even to himself -when he walked over there and sat by her, putting a hand on her back and just... rubbing circles there
for a second it looked like she was confused too. the guy who just murdered her abusive ex in cold blood without so much as a qualm to the matter was now rubbing warm circles around her back, sitting there like some sort of awkward dad trying to comfort a middle schooler who just went through their first breakup. it didn’t seem awkward or forced though, just... concerned. and it was confusing. but she didn’t dare try to get away from him, not when it was actually helping her racing hearbeat
and so they kinda sat there for a second with him rubbing circles on her back before she eventually calmed down, taking in large breaths of air and trying to relax herself before she ended up getting cramps from staying in the same position. jason kinda just watched though, only taking his hand off of her back when she looked fully undone. there weren’t any words to affirm what had happened, it seemed. they both knew that it was done, and it could never be undone.
but the larger male couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth once she had finally settled down, soft and without the familiar edge they normally had. “you know you could’ve asked me to make it painful for them. i would’ve done it if you had told me to.”, he said, the blank eyes of his mask tracking her every movement. she shrank a bit under the pressure of it, but made sure to keep her eyes glues to her hands in her lap. it had always been easier to speak that way.
how do you explain years of complex emotions to someone? the fact that you still cared about them but knew that there was no other way to get rid of the problems they were causing? for all she knew he could just be like the other supes out here, preaching evangelical bullshit without any knowledge of the real problems that made this world the shit hole it was. but... part other knew that wasn’t the case.
she knew in her gut that behind that mask was just another human being, littered with scars from a past that would never heal over. what superman would agree to killing someone, anyway? he wouldn’t, that’s how. she knew that only someone who understood what was going on would do that, take the risk to avoid it happening to someone else. the thought made the next words a little easier to get out of her mouth, even though she knew it sold the idea short
“i cared about them once, i wouldn’t want them to suffer like that.” and to that, he only nodded. it seemed like he understood, and for a second jason did. he didn’t want his mother to suffer, even when she had sold him out to a literal clown and watched him get beat within an inch of his life. it made sense in some odd way, and he couldn’t argue with it. so he didn’t
he stood and looked around the room before asking her if she needed him to bring her home, to which she politely declined and said that she’d just take public transport. and so he got himself together and made way for the door, to which the woman called out and asked him when she was supposed to pay him.
to which, with all of his conscience guiding his actions, jason stopped and turned to her.
“free of charge.”, he said. and then he left.
he left without feeling guilty about it for the first time in a while. he slept easy that night, with his train of thought on the right track and how mind stilled, relaxed and comfortable in his nearby safehouse. and for the first time in a while, a very very long while, he felt like he was doing something right. no, he wasn’t that poster-boy that every one wanted from him or the savior people needed, but he did his best. he did his best for the people that needed it and honestly, what’s more important? complying to a corrupt system, or protecting the weak?
and even though he had always known the answer to the question, he felt like he knew for sure what it was for.
[ Thank You For Reading! ]
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kashi-prompts · 3 years ago
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Flowers For A Shinobi
Chapter 12: A Sprig of Lavender
Word Count: 3,097
Pairing: Kakashi x OFC
Previous Chapter ❀  Archive of Our Own Link  ❀  
A/N: As I said, the fluff was coming. Original art at the end.
6 Months Later
The relentless heat of the mid-day sun coupled with the heavily induced exercise regiment assigned to her that day seemed to be responsible for the halo of sweat around Ayame's body. Her chest heaved to catch her breath as she leaned against the sturdy body of an oak tree. 
"C'mon, Ayame-chan! Let's go!" Might Guy encouraged her, his steady jog lapping around the tree she leaned against. "Two more miles!"
"I can't do it," she breathed, clutching the collar of her soaked shirt. 
"14 miles is my morning routine!" Guy's smile glistened as he beamed at her, sweat dripping down his temple like rainwater. "Let's go! Before Kakashi assigns you 100 push-ups as well!" 
Ayame sighed heavily, the curve of her back weighing her down as she leaned against the tree. Her stomach churned with nausea from the constant stream of blood pumping at high volume through her body. 
"Ayame-chan!" Guy called from down the hill, his legs pumping with such a velocity, Ayame could have sworn he was floating over the summer grass. Inhaling slowly, she continued down the mountain to follow the bobbing head of black hair through the field. 
Upon reaching the training grounds, Ayame was surprised to see Kakashi missing from the scenery. The white-haired jonin was always there upon her arrival. Generally, on Tuesdays, a different sensei would train her, cycling through the other jonin in the village so that she could get a better feel of how others utilize their strengths. The chaos of training with Might Guy always left her exhausted but earned her the confidence that she had pushed herself. 
As the calendar had flipped all the way from spring to late summer, Ayame had worked nearly every day with Kakashi. His prior questionably smitten behavior was exchanged with a stern, pressing instructor. It was almost as though the seemingly mutual tiny flame formed between the two of them had dissipated. Almost. 
Kakashi made it very clear from the beginning that he would not be taking it easy on his new student. From the first day she had arrived on the bridge, he had provided her with a rather large box of scrolls and books to read as her first assignment. Then he made her carry them to the training grounds to read them every day.
It certainly wasn't enough to just read the material provided to her, so instead, while Kakashi was on a rather long mission, he appointed a man named Irkua to tutor her for two weeks personally. As the early spring rain had fallen relentlessly outside a dark and dreary classroom, she learned a significantly accelerated version of the very basics of what the children at the academy were learning. 
Handseals, weaponry, and types of jutsu had been next. Surprisingly, even herself, she had found that she was considerably skilled at the crafts she was learning. Might Guy had taught her taijutsu, while Kakashi specialized in ninjutsu and a rather pretty jonin named Kurenai explained genjutsu to her. 
Again, learning things was never enough for Kakashi. He insisted she experience things as well, moving on to confining her in a genjutsu for twelve hours until she successfully released herself. And even then, he made her do it again to prove she was capable. 
When the subject of an academy examination was brought up, Ayame was eager to complete it. In early spring, the assessment was administered to her and a dozen small children, who fit more comfortably in the desks provided than she did. When Iruka had informed her privately the following day that she had passed, her enthusiasm for succeeding could barely be contained. 
She had hugged Iruka and thanked him, running through the streets to the bridge where she would meet Kakashi every morning for training. Upon his arrival, the hug she had given him had barely been enough to thank him for the new Konoha headband she wore, realizing that she now had a rank in the shinobi system. A child's rank, but a rank. 
"Great job - but this is just the beginning," his crescent eye smiled at her, patting her on the shoulder once she had released his neck from a tight hug. If she hadn't looked right away, she would have missed the blush that crept up his cheekbones from under his mask. The realization had caused her own cheeks to flush. 
Despite the moments where their mutual pining arose, she tried not to resent him for the times he made her do things over until it was just right as the recent months had passed. He continuously pushed her to the point of exhaustion on more than one occasion, only to remind her that she would experience this on missions as well. Even so, he would always ensure she made it back home safely. 
Now, as she jogged into the grassy plain, she looked around for the turf of silver hair that usually sat perched in a tree, a book in hand, waiting for her. A frown creased her lips as she tried to catch her breath. Perhaps he had been called on a mission, she thought. 
A forceful hand slapped her between her shoulder blades, startling her as she was pushed forward a step. 
"Great job today," Guy praised, his meaty chest breathing heavily, "we made better time than last month!" 
"Thank you, Guy-sensei," Ayame smiled wearily, giving a thankful nod. 
"I'll be going now!" He told her quickly, waving as he ran off. Ayame stood in the field, puzzled by his sudden departure. Usually, he would stick around, telling stories of missions and tips that she didn't always ask for, but appreciated nonetheless. 
The muffled sound of a sandaled foot-shaped creating an imprint in the grass near her perked her ears. She listened carefully, walking towards the edge of the clearing and lifting her fingers in a cross formation. Coarse, short breaths uttered from her mouth as she then reached for a kunai in her side bag, the act still foreign to her yet oddly comforting. Could someone have known she would be here? Was someone here to ambush her? 
The sweeping, bracing sound of two metal weapons clashing against each other filled the field as Ayame spun her body around to meet two mismatched eyes. Surprised by his sudden appearance, she blinked at Kakashi in wonder before realizing what was happening. He purposely was ambushing her. 
He swept his leg under her, her lungs breathing in the heady fragrance of adrenaline while she dodged his continuous maneuvers. Her chest felt tight, and her body exhausted from the run, but she still managed to block his attacks. 
"You could have at least given me a few minutes to catch my breath," she managed, ducking as his arm punched the air above her head. 
"Enemies wouldn't allow you to catch your breath," Kakashi told her sternly, his eye glowing brightly through the shadows of the trees around them. She had only seen his Sharingan twice before. The first being on their mission together, and the second was when she had merely asked him. 
"What's under there?" She had asked one afternoon, peering over the academy scrolls she was required to read. He had lifted his head from his book, surprised by her abrupt question. 
"It's called a Sharingan," he had explained to her. "I'll teach you about it some other day." 
She had waited a few moments, watching his profile as he turned his head back into his book. The perfect curve of his nose that twitched nervously when she was near seemed to draw her in. 
"Need something?" He had asked, not looking up. She blushed, realizing he had caught her staring. 
"Can I see what it looks like?" 
Annoyed or surprised, he turned his head to look at her, hesitating before lifting a thumb to push his forehead protector up. The sight of the glowing red eye was just as jarring then as it was now. 
"Push harder," he urged her, pushing the kunai against hers. She launched forward, the unnerving sound of scraping metal on metal permeated her ears. She gritted her teeth in determination. 
Behind him, her shadow clone entered from the edge of the field where she had left her, her hands forming different signs in her memory bank to produce four sharp petals from the ground. Each spun through the air to catch Kakashi's shirt, tearing it at his shoulder as he avoided the three others. While he jumped through the air to evade her petaled blades, the real Ayame sunk to the ground with her hands splayed across the grass. In seconds, the grass beneath him turned to moss. 
As his sandaled foot slipped on the silky moss, he quickly attempted to steady himself as she launched her body forward, pushing him back onto the ground with a loud thump. With her legs on each side of his chest, she quickly placed her blade under his neck. She smiled as her chest rose and fell, smirking at the famed copy ninja that laid below her with his hands next to his head. Two strings of ivy erupted from the ground to seal him to the earth. 
"Ok, you win," he said breathlessly, a chuckle rising from his throat. Ayame smiled, sweat dripping from her temple as she tipped the blade to his chin. Her legs quivered against his ribs from the adrenaline and exertion. She could feel the heat of his body beneath her, the sheer warmth exuding from his skin that penetrated her bare thighs. His eyebrows lessened, lowering down his forehead as his gaze grew quiet. Her hand dropped to his rising chest, exhausted, still clutching the kunai. 
Behind her, she felt the cool touch of a blade on the side of her neck, and her body went rigid. Turning, she looked up to see Kakashi's soft smile above her. Under her legs, his solid figure disappeared with a puff of smoke, her eyes blinking at him in exasperation. 
"You almost had me," Kakashi smiled at her, setting the blade down to his side. Ayame sighed, sinking her bottom further to the ground between her bent legs.
"Don't be too quick to celebrate," he reminded her, sitting on the ground beside her. "One of the first things you should already know is always to be aware of your surroundings, whether you think the battle is finished or not. You did good with that shadow clone, but you should have also seen mine." 
"I understand," she nodded, twiddling her fingers over the blade of her weapon. As her heart rate finally began to steady at an average pace, she sighed heavily and leaned back into the grassy plain. Carefully, her sensei did the same, reaching in his back pocket for his book as she closed her eyes, rethinking what she could have done differently—perhaps having two shadow clones? One to serve as a lookout and one to tap in during battle? 
Her stomach constricted, angry with herself for being distracted at the last moment. She had him there, tied up. If it weren't for his shadow clone - and the way he had looked at her - then maybe she would have heard the real Kakashi behind her. Such a simple move, really. She should have been more aware. 
"Just be more aware next time," she heard him say beside her as if reading her thoughts. Her head turned, looking over at him as the golden hour sun cast a halo of yellow around them—a triangle of light under his eye and little dips of dark gray in his hair. She hated how attracted she was to him. She had pushed it down, determined to see him as her teacher and nothing more. If possible, they could be friends, but that was the extent she was willing to go for him. The thought of something more stirred a fire in her belly.
"I know," she agreed, nodding her head as she turned to look up at the sky. Puffs of clouds traveled quickly through the orange and purple sky, like an oil painting, but more refined. She thought again of the sparring match as she observed his slender fingers dance restlessly over the cover of the book he held. 
"How many times have you read that book?" she asked abruptly, catching a glimpse of the tattered spine and bent pages. His thumb held his page as his eyes continued to skim the words. She noticed that he hadn't turned the page in some time. 
"A few," he responded casually, his other arm bent behind his head for comfort. 
"Is it good?" Ayame laughed, realizing it was certainly more than "a few" times. 
"I would say so," Kakashi shrugged, smirking at her laughter. 
"Could I read it?" 
Kakashi chuckled quietly, his smile beneath his mask evident from the shadows the sun created behind him. "If you want, I could let you borrow it. But only briefly." 
"I would like that," she smiled, "I know it can be pretty raunchy." 
Kakashi closed his book quickly and looked over at her, seemingly taken aback by her response while his index finger held his page. 
Ayame felt a giggle rise in her throat at his expression and apparent loss of words. "I mean, it's not like I've never read a romance book before."  
"It's more than romance," he commented quickly, waving the tabbed book at her. Her eyes caught sight of how tattered it truly was. She wondered fleetingly why he was so invested in reading this book. Perhaps it was a method of distraction. 
"You don't use bookmarks, do you?" she questioned, her eyes still on the book that now laid on his chest. 
"I just rely on folding the pages," he said, watching her as she clasped her hands together in a familiar jutsu. Beside her, a small lavender sprig rose from the earth, its purple petals off-color in the setting sun. Carefully, she picked it from the ground and twirled it between her thumb and index finger. 
"Here," she smiled softly at him, "as a bookmark. It smells nice too. Lavender helps keep you calm." 
Kakashi looked over at her, his eyes dancing between the sprig of lavender and the affectionate gaze she offered him. She didn't mean to look at him the way she did, but something twisted within her that she couldn't stop. Everything he had done for her whirled in her mind. The last seven months that they had known each other and all of their interactions. She simply felt grateful for him.
He reached over and delicately took the sprig from her hand, brushing his fingers against hers, whether on accident or purposely, she wasn't sure. She was certain, however, of the beam of sunlight that hit his neck, illuminating a pulse that seemed to be beating rather quickly. 
"Thank you," Kakashi responded quietly. She looked at him, and he looked at her. Both unsure of what to do, but both quite certain of what they wanted to do. Ayame could feel the blood pumping in her ears, a wave of heat ricocheting off her spine to every nerve ending in her body. Her skin tingled where he had grazed it, the feeling of a calloused fingertip touching hers, wondering what it would be like to feel more of them. 
Suddenly the distance between them wasn't so far. The tickle of the grass on her cheek barely noticeable as she leaned closer. His single black eye stared directly into hers, flickering down to her lips in a way that made her stomach somersault. 
She had been the one to lean forward, to press her lips against his and soak in his intoxicating scent of sweat and cedar. The electric shock that twisted through her body as she felt him exhale in relief against her lips, the fabric between them muting the heat his breath gave off. All she could hear was their blended heavy sighs.
Her bones rattled with satisfaction, feeling the months of yearning peel away from her. She lifted her hand, gently clutching his jacket as his hand came to rest on her jawbone. Her whole body tingled at the heat of his palm. She felt his fingertips curl into her braid, pulling her against him over the grassy field. She felt delirious as he tenderly moved his lips against hers. 
She could have stayed there for days. To feel the mingling satisfaction of his body near hers and the exhilarating sensation of that damned mask against her mouth. He was near her for only seconds, not nearly long enough, and yet - 
"Ayame-san?" a feminine voice called out from the outskirts of the training ground. Without hesitation, they both pulled away, furiously blushing. Her ears rung from the interaction, and her body shook from the thrill. 
"Ayame-san?" It was that pink-haired kunoichi nurse that had helped her in the hospital. 
"Hello, Sakura," Kakashi greeted, delicately placing the sprig of lavender in his book. His face was purposely shielded from the kunoichi's sight, yet when Ayame peeked over, she could see the very tops of his cheeks were tinged rose. 
"Oh, Kakashi-sensei," Sakura smiled, waving happily at him. She looked between the two, both clearly flustered but trying desperately to hide it. Ayame looked up at the girl, realizing this must have been one of his previous students that now trains under Lady Tsunade to be a medic. He had spoken of them a few times, all fondly. But she had wondered fleetingly if it bothered him that they had moved on to other training endeavors. 
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but-" 
"You're not interrupting anything," The pinkette's sensei quickly responded, standing to his feet. Ayame followed suit, casually brushing the dirt from her clothing. 
Sakura nodded, pursing her lips to hide a smile, "Right. Well, I am here for Ayame-san. If you don't mind, Lady Tsunade would like to speak with her. It's rather urgent, or else it could have waited." 
"The Hokage would like to speak with me?" Ayame reiterated, surprised. 
"Yes," Sakura nodded, "I'll explain more on the way there. But we have to hurry." 
"Right," Ayame nodded, her eyebrows focused again as she tried to sweep away the interaction that had just happened. 
She began to follow Sakura, her pink hair bobbing as she ran back towards the village. Ayame turned, lifting her hand to wave goodbye only to find him facing away from her, nervously scratching his head as he looked out towards the setting sun. 
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A/N: Original art by the talented Caro on Twitter! It was originally a different flower but I changed it
I hope you stuck this far and I hope you like it so far! Feedback is always appreciated <3 Thank you so much for reading! 
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imagineyourworld · 3 years ago
Note
Could I get a Star Wars pairing please? Preferably Original or Sequel trilogy if that’s okay? Thank you so much for doing this!
Name: Elsie
Age: 22
Which gender you wanna be paired with (or your sexuality, if you're comfortable): Male
Preferred pronouns: she/her
Occupation (Job, field of study etc): Writer (hopefully fiction novels one day) and editor
Hobbies: singing, acting, motocross, reading, writing, sewing
Personality (a few strengths and flaws): Stubborn (flaw and strength at times), temper simmers for a long time before exploding, quiet, introvert, anxiety, creative, kind, empathetic, I think I’m hilarious, strong sense of justice, will fight for others more easily than for myself, great at coming up with quips, I have a lot to say but only to those closest to me
Specific character I don't wanna be paired with: anyone on the Dark Side
Anything else that might be helpful: um I’m really not sure? I’m obsessed with X-wings and SW pilots in general. Just the whole premise of good vs. evil in SW really draws me in because I really relate to that fight.
Hi Elsie,
Thanks for your request! Based on what you told me about yourself I would ship you with Poe Dameron. I don't know why, but I think Poe either needs a partner who is just like him or someone who's pretty much the opposite and you seem to be the former. You'd have playful arguments all the time, but at the end of the day you both know that the other is always there for you, no matter what. I hope you're happy with your ship.
Love, Charlie
-------
"I can't believe you just did that!", you yelled at Poe as he jumped out of his X-Wing. The second his feet touched the floor he turned around to face you, a look of fury on his face that matched yours. "You can't believe I did that? What about the stunt you just pulled?" A sigh left your lips. It was like this after most missions, one, or both, of you had done something reckless for a minor advantage in the fight and the other would be worried sick, tension building until it released the minute you were back on base. "I only did what I had to do to win, you just wanted to play the hero", you scoffed. Within a few steps Poe was right in front of you, closer than you would have anyone else allowed to get. "If I hadn't been there to rescue you, you would have been dead." The anger on his face was slowly disappearing, fading into worry. Maybe he wasn't entirely wrong, but he wasn't entirely right either. "I would have been fine." "Oh yeah? Tell that to the hole in your plane." The fire in both of your voices was gone now, the real fight was over and replaced by a battle of wits. "Trust me, it's not my X-Wing you should be worried about. Last I checked my engine didn't give out because you were too busy to check it before the mission", you said with a smug grin, knowing exactly what Poe had been busy with before the mission. "If I remember correctly it's your fault I was busy, you're the one who dragged me away from checking my engine. Tell her BeeBee", he complained, the last words directed at the droid who had found his way to Poe. But instead of backing him up BeeBee just turned to your own droid in a way that children would when their parents were being dramatic. It was a small beep from your own astromech that finally broke the last bit of tension and made both you and Poe laugh. Once the laughter had died down he put his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. "That was some great flying out there", he mumbled into your hair. Though you had been a pilot for quite some time now, you were still not used to compliments, especially from the man everyone considered to be the best pilot. "Thanks", you said while heat rushed to your cheeks. For a few blissful moments the two of you just stayed there, wrapped up in each others arms, unaware of what was going on around you. “If you’re quite finished, I’d like a mission report”, a familiar voice behind you said.  Slowly, not without pressing a kiss to the side of your head, Poe let go of you and the two of you faced General Leia Organa.  “I take it the ‘After Mission Argument’ is finished?”, she asked, an amused smile on her face.  In unison the two of you nodded. Though you knew that Leia would never be too strict with you, you also knew that she expected you to be professional when the time came.  “Dameron, why don’t you come with me? The two of you can celebrate the mission later.”  With a quick ‘Yes, ma’am’ and an kiss to your forehead Poe followed Leia to her office. 
-------
By the time Poe returned to your shared room, you were already dressed in your pyjama and laying on the bed reading a book. It was rare that you had enough time off to actually read something that had nothing to do with missions of the First Order, but today you had decided to reward yourself by starting a new novel.  “That took longer than expected”, you greeted him as the door closed.  With a sequence of quick beeps BeeBee agreed with you.  “Sorry, Leia had something... else... she wanted to talk about.”  You didn’t question him any further. Usually when he didn’t tell you what they had been discussing it was classified anyway and no matter how much you pouted or argued or sweet talked, Poe wouldn’t budge. Though something told you this had not been about the Resistance.  “But guess what I managed to sneak from the mess hall on my way back”, he said. With a winning smile he produced two gigantic cookies from behind his back. A smile lit up your face. Sweets were rare on base, it was close to a miracle that Poe had gotten such a big cookie for each of you.  “Stars, I love you”, you sighed as you took a bite out of your cookie.  Poe, who had changed into his pyjamas in record time, settled next to you with a laugh.  “I do hope you were talking to me and not the cookie.”  Instead of an answer you leaned your head on his shoulder and ran your hand, the one that wasn’t holding the cookie, through his hair.  “Maybe I was talking to both of you.”  Poe hummed as he pulled you even closer. He was always affectionate, but after missions it seemed like all he wanted was to hold you close for hours, as if to reassure himself that both of you were still alive and alright.  “Regardless of who you were talking to, I love you”, he whispered before taking a bite of his own cookie.  You raised an eyebrow, though judging by the satisfied moan coming out of his mouth, similar to the sound you had made earlier, you could understand why he had been jealous of the baked good.  “Leia suggested that we should take some time off, just a couple of days to recharge and come back stronger than ever”, he told you after he had finished his cookie.  You lifted your head to look at him.  “Is that something you’d like to do?”, you asked. Usually the two fo you were pretty similar when it came to your work ethic, at least when the fight against the First Order was concerned, and taking a day off could backfire easily. What if something happened while the two of you were relaxing? Could you bear to live with that guilt? Though getting away from the war for just a few days did sound too good to be true.  “I think so”, Poe finally answered. “Just two or three days, not too far away in case we need to get back for an emergency. But I miss you, I feel like even when we see each other, we rarely actually see each other, you know what I mean?”  You couldn’t help but agree.  “Alright, just three days.”  “Three days”, Poe echoed as he pressed a kiss to your head.  From the position you were in you couldn’t see him glancing to the small box on his nightstand, nor the hopeful shimmer in his eyes. Maybe this vacation would turn out to be a lot more meaningful than you were anticipating. 
-------
I hope you enjoyed a bit of down time with Poe after your mission. 
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obeymestudentcouncil · 5 years ago
Note
Regarding that last post, may I offer the alternative: giving Satan a blowjob while he reads a book in the library and tries his best to focus on reading through the pleasure 👀
Okay, I was already kinda-sorta having ideas with the original post when I saw it last night.  This...this is the epitome of “why not both?”  So yeah...you know the drill, NSFW under the cut.
You were seated at one of the tables in the RAD library, several books open around you as you finished up on a project.  You’d chosen a table in a quiet corner of the main floor, away from the bustle of demonic students so that you could work in quiet.  You felt someone right behind you before you saw movement out of the corner of your eye.  You glanced at the seat next to you, smiling at Satan as he settled into the chair, opening up his book on the table next to you.
 “Thought you could use some company.  And since you seem like it might be a late night, you don’t need to be walking home alone later.”  He said, not even looking up from his own book.  You smiled and thanked him, turning back to your pile, closing one book and shoving it to the side to pull another closer.  The two of you sat in companionable silence for a while, the only sound the scratching of your pencil as you took notes for your essay.
 Satan scooted his chair closer to yours, leaning over to read over your essay.  “Hmm.  This here, check…that book there.  Conflicting theories probably should comment on both.”  He patted your knee, leaving his hand on your leg as he turned his attention back to his book.  You took his advice, finding the conflicting information, and making note of it.  You were glad to be using a pencil when you felt his hand edging up your thigh and under the hem of your skirt.  You huffed as you erased the stray line your pencil had made when you jumped, finding your place in the textbook again.  Fingertips working their way under the elastic of your panties stopped you a second time, biting your lip to keep quiet as he brushed over your lips.  You turned your head, unsurprised to see him smirking, but otherwise looking like he was doing nothing but reading.  
 His hand stilled, though it didn’t move out of your panties.  Trying to ignore the feeling, you started working on your paper again.  Nothing else happened so you got back into research mode, almost forgetting about his hand.  Which of course was what he was waiting for; you to be just distracted enough to not be prepared for his fingers to work their way inside you.  Your pencil clattered to the table as you clamped your hand over your mouth.  You turned your head to glare at him to be met with him still reading as if he wasn’t pumping two fingers teasingly in and out of your cunt.  He glanced at you, lips twitching as he tried to keep from smirking knowingly at you.  “Something wrong, kitten?”  He curled the fingers, stroking along your walls.  “Did you have another question about your paper?”  
 You swallowed, eyes flicking around to make sure you were still alone.  “Will you stop?”  You hissed.  
 His lips curled.  “I’m not sure what you mean?  Stop helping you with your homework?”  You rolled your eyes, biting your lips to keep the sounds contained as he kept moving his hand.  
 You shifted in your seat, whimpering softly before dropping your head onto folded arms on the table.  You heard Satan chuckle next to you, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit in time with the pumps of his fingers.  “Better keep quiet, kitten.  This is a library and you’d hate to get caught like this.”  As you felt the pressure in your belly start unraveling you bit lightly on your arm to stop the sounds from being more than soft sobs.  With your head on the table, the sobs you were muffling and Satan leaning close, to a casual observer it likely looked like the demon was comforting his family’s pet human as she had a breakdown.
 You glared through your hair at Satan as he sat up, discretely producing a handkerchief to clean his hand with before picking his book back up and leaning back comfortably to read again.  Rolling your eyes you went back to work on your paper, only to find the words skittering across the page.  Too worked up to focus, you had an idea for payback.  You fumbled your pencil, watching it roll over the edge of the table to the floor where you subtly kick it further under the table.  “Oops,”  you say, pointing under the table when Satan glances at you, “Dropped my pencil.”  He shrugs and goes back to reading as you slip off your chair under the table.
 You tuck your pencil into a pocket on your uniform before crawling over and running your hands up Satan’s thighs slowly.  He jerks under your touch, shifting so he can glance down at you, one eyebrow raised.  You grin up at him, rubbing over the front of his pants, feeling him more than half-hard under the fabric.  You slowly, quietly unbuckled his belt and eased the zipper down, freeing his cock from his pants as he scooted closer to the table, slouching down in the chair.  You could hear the sound of pages turning as your fingers played up and down his flesh, drawing him to full hardness before wrapping your mouth around the head.
 You hummed happily as you slid your mouth down his length.  You started bobbing your head gently, taking more of him into your mouth each time.  One of his hands moved to rest on your head, tangling easily in your hair.  You took a good breath, the next time you went down his hand pressed you down firmly until you felt him at the back of your throat.  He didn’t force you to stay down, his hand in your hair guiding rather than forcing as you started moving faster.  You rolled your tongue along his underside, moaning when it made him clench his fingers in your hair, tugging at the strands.
 He pushed you down gently again, this time holding you down long enough to make you gag quietly.  You swallowed around him, earning a soft grunt.  Once he let you back up for air you started moving in earnest, hollowing your cheeks.  A few more movements and you felt his thighs tense.  You pulled back just enough comfortably swallow as you felt his cock twitch against your tongue, drinking down his cum as it fills your mouth.
 You felt his legs relax along with the hold on your hair, fingers combing through your strands before you pulled away.  You slid back up into your chair as he tucked himself away again, casting a wicked glance your way.  You shrugged, going back to your work.  “Turn about is fair play.  Now I really do need to focus on getting this done before the library closes.”
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iamakiller · 4 years ago
Text
Zoom call with Henry
Today, Mom talks with Dad for ages. She makes Henry leave the room like always, ordering him to go play, and she closes the door behind him.  As if that ever stops Henry from being able to hear everything she says.  She always talks in such a loud voice to Dad.
But today, her voice is really quiet.  Even with his ear pressed flat against the door, the only words he can make out are right at the end of the conversation: “I just don’t want you to tell him yet, Charlie.  We both know what you’re like.  He’ll only be disappointed.”
Henry knows she’s talking about him, but he doesn’t understand what she means.
When Mom opens the door again, he’s sitting in the middle of the hallway with his colored pencils and sketchpad, deeply engrossed in his latest masterpiece.
“Henry? Do you want to talk to Dad?”
Henry’s heart leaps with excitement.  He tears off the page he’s been working on and brings it with him, leaving the rest of his mess on the floor.  He bounds into the office and climbs into the comfy leather chair, wiggling around until he’s comfortable.  His feet almost but not quite touch the ground. Grandma said the other day that he’ll be as tall as Dad soon, and Mom gave her a look that Henry didn’t get.
There’s a lot he doesn’t understand sometimes.  Grownups are strange, he thinks.  Especially his parents.
“Hi Dad!”
“Hello, Henry.”  Dad’s little smile is the same as ever, but he looks tired today.  The same kind of tired as when he was sleeping on the couch, when him and Mom thought Henry didn’t know.  “How are you today?”
“GOOD!” Henry happily rattles off a list of all the fun things he did.  A playdate at the park with Josh.  Frozen yogurt on the way home.  Helping to bake cookies to take to Grandma’s tomorrow.  Mom even let him lick the spoon because he’d done such a good job of measuring out the ingredients without making a mess.  The only dark spot on the horizon is the bath that Mom has been threatening him with since this morning, but Henry thinks he can probably sweet-talk her into an hour of video games if he goes without protest, so it’s not all bad.  
He has to take a big gulp of air at the end, because he’s forgotten to breathe in his excitement to tell Dad everything all at once.  “How about you, Dad?  It’s late there, right?  Did you and Britt do something fun today?  Is she there?  Can I talk to her?”
Something weird happens.  Dad flinches, like Henry does when Mom catches him doing something he knows he shouldn’t do.  But when he starts talking, it’s completely normal.  “Britt’s not here, honey.  We were both very busy doing different things today.  She’s been … planning something.  And I’ve been working on my writing.  Well, trying to.”
Dad picks up a funny-shaped glass of something red, and takes a long swig of it.  He told Henry once that it’s grape juice for adults.  Henry asked Mom about it afterwards, and she said something about Dad being just like his parents.  But that can’t be right, because Dad doesn’t have any parents.  That’s why Henry only has one grandma, right?
Dad likes to write like Henry likes to draw.  It’s his favorite thing to do, and he does it a lot. Henry can sit silently so much better than any of his friends, because he learned very early on that if he could be still and quiet, he could sit with his dad for as long as he wanted to.  He loves visiting Dad in New York.  Going out and doing a million different activities is so much fun!  But the best times are when they’re in Dad’s study, and Henry is sprawled out on the rug with his pencils and sketchpad, doodling whatever comes into his imagination.  He likes hearing the sound of Dad’s fingers flying over the laptop keyboard, and the way he occasionally mutters to himself while he thinks.  And he really likes the way Dad will often close his laptop with a frustrated sigh, and come sit on on the floor next to Henry, and listen to him talk for hours about whatever he’s been working on.
Speaking of which, Henry has something he wants to show him. “Dad, look!  I drew this for you!”  He holds up the picture he finished only moments ago.
Dad peers at the screen, makes an impatient sound, and then reaches off to the side, retrieving his glasses and putting them on.  For a moment, he tilts his head to one side, and then the other.  “Why don’t you talk me through it,” he suggests eventually, his voice very kind.
Henry huffs.  Isn’t it obvious? Dad must have really bad eyesight.  Probably because he’s so old. “This is you,” he says, pointing at the tallest figure, who has very long legs.  “You’re wearing black, of course.” He points to the next largest person, with long hair.  “This is Britt.  She’s wearing her favorite big cardigan.  And in the middle, it’s me.”
Dad nods slowly and appreciatively.  “Very nice.  Your grasp of proportions is improving, and everyone has the correct number of fingers this time.  But can you explain why we are surrounded by so many dinosaurs?”
“Because we’re at the Museum of Natural History!”  It’s Henry’s favorite place in New York, aside from Dad’s study, and maybe that pizza place they go to every time he visits.
“Ah. Of course.  Silly me.  And … what is that strange looking dinosaur in the middle between you and Britt?”
Henry rolls his eyes.  “DAD!” he complains.  “That’s not a dinosaur!  That’s the baby!”
There’s a spluttering sound as Dad, who is halfway through another mouthful of his “juice”, begins to choke.  “W-what?” he stutters eventually, grabbing a tissue and wiping frantically at the front of his sweater.
This is it.  Henry’s big chance.  
“Well … Josh’s Mom had a baby during lockdown.  She brought it to the park today and it was so cute, and Josh says it’s annoying and cries all night, but I think he’s just jealous because HE still wants to be the baby, and I actually think it would be really fun to be a big brother, so I asked Mom but she said absolutely not, so basically you and Britt should have a baby so I can play with it and teach it all about dinosaurs and show it how to read and write and draw.” 
Henry runs completely out of steam at the end of his big speech, and has to take another of his massive gasps of air as he’s started to feel a bit lightheaded.
Just for a moment, there’s a strange expression on Dad’s face.  He almost looks sad.  But then he’s smiling again, although he still looks tired.  “Now, Henry.  That’s rather a big ask.  There’s an awful lot more to take into account than you wanting a sibling, I’m afraid.”
“But Dad – I asked Mom where babies come from, and she said that when a man and a woman love each other very much, they can have a baby.  And you and Britt love each other very much, right?  So you can have a baby, RIGHT?  By Christmas would be great.  It can be my present, instead of a replacement for the Nintendo Switch I lost last time I was there.”
Dad is laughing now.  Properly laughing, like he hardly ever does.  It’s hard to imagine how sad he looked a minute ago.  Maybe Henry just imagined it … “Henry, it takes an entire nine months for a baby to grow in a woman’s tummy.  Even if we were to acquiesce to your request immediately, there’s no way we could produce a baby by December.  Indeed, at the very most, Britt would merely be looking slightly round in the middle by Christmas …”  He tails off for a moment, as if lost in thought, with a little smile on his face.  But then he shakes his head slightly and continues talking.  “The answer’s no, honey.  You will get your new Nintendo Switch, and that Goose game you’ve been talking about nonstop, and you will be grateful.”
Henry pouts.  “BUT DAD …”
“No.”
Henry tries a different approach.  “I love you, Dad.  I miss you …”
“Nice try.”  Dad folds his arms across his chest.  “But that pout you wield originated with me, and you should know by now that it holds no power over me.  The answer’s still no.  However, I do love you an immense amount.  And I miss you. Very, very much.”
Dad looks a little bit sad again.  Henry feels sad now, too.  He really does miss him.  Mom is great, but Dad gives the best hugs.
Suddenly, Mom’s voice calls out from the hallway, loud enough for him and Dad to both hear. “Henry?  It’s getting late.  You need to finish up and take a bath before bedtime.”
NOOOOOOOO.  
Henry doesn’t want any hecking bath!  And he isn’t done talking, either.  He casts his mind around, trying to think of a way to stall for time.  Finally, something strange Dad said earlier comes back to him, and he decides to ask for further clarification.  “Dad? I have a question.”
He knows Dad knows that he’s stalling because Dad’s super smart.  But he also knows that he doesn’t mind.  He never wants their calls to end, either.  “Yes, honey?”
“How exactly does the baby get into the woman’s tummy?”
Dad’s eyes widen for a second.  Then he grins.  “Why don’t you ask your mother,” he suggests, voice loud enough for Mom to hear him from the hallway.  “She knows all about it.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Henry is wallowing in the bath.  It isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.  (It never is.)  Mom let him choose one of her Lush bath bombs, so the water is pink and sparkly, and covered in a thick layer of foam.  At least twelve of his dinosaur figurines have joined him for moral support.
As he lines them up along the side of the tub in alphabetical order, his mind wanders to something Mom shouted just as Dad finished the call.  What’s a bastard? he wonders.  She uses that word a lot when she talks about Dad.  
Mom said that when a man and a woman love each other very much, they can have a baby.  But Mom and Dad haven’t ever seemed to even like each other very much.  So Henry can’t help but wonder how he came to be.  Maybe Mom got it wrong, though that doesn’t seem likely.  Maybe Henry misunderstood.  That’s probably right.
There’s a lot he doesn’t understand sometimes.  Grownups are strange, he thinks.  
Especially his parents.
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sophi-s · 4 years ago
Text
Cost of Kindness
Chapter I: Chance encounter
By: sophi-s
Fandom: Darksiders video games
Words: 6,471
Characters: Original female character (OC), Raphael
Warnings: Graphic description of corpses, blood and injuries, disturbing imagery, swearing
Summary:
Life of a human after the apocalypse is difficult. The world seems to always be against them. Still, they keep on living. But one day something unexpected happens to one of the inhabitants of Haven. A woman named Nicola discovered something... or rather someone... who seemed to be in equally as sorry state as her entire race put together. Nothing was the same ever since. It's curious how one seemingly random event can change everything...
--------------------------------------------------
Nicola got lost again. All the promises she made to both Ulthane and Jones have gone into trash when with a pang of worry she's suddenly realised she does not know where Haven is. It was supposed to be a short supply run, a little trip to some ruined store in search of food and maybe some medicine if luck wished to be on her side and it turned into a whole day long journey. She hadn't been careful enough and ended up getting spotted. She was too fast for that Trauma to get to her before she disappeared into a narrow alley but she successfully lost her orientation.
Navigating through the city used to be so easy before all this apocalypse nonsense. Nicola knew her way around better than anyone honestly. Now everything looked different. What once was her home now seemed sinister and the animosity could be felt in every, even the tiniest speck of dust. All streets, previously so familiar to her, looked exactly the same, often cut in half by obsidian spikes and pits of boiling magma which made moving around even more troubling. In short words, the entire place was a wreckage. With each moment of aimless wandering, her panic was growing. Inwardly cursing, thinking about all the reprimanding she would get after she somehow finds her way back and the fact that she's most likely going to get grounded forever, she tried to move through the street as quietly as possible, without causing any unnecessary noises. Becoming an evening snack for a pack of Goreclaws or a Trauma wasn't a very attractive fate. The latter could still be around here somewhere and the blood spilling from a cut on her forehead she got when she accidentally ran into a wooden beam protruding from a wall wasn't going to make it harder for it to eventually find her again.. It was very unlikely that the Trauma could've gotten stuck in that alley after it tried to get to her. They are dumb. But not that dumb. Though the mental image alone was quite hilarious now that she thinks about it.. To some extent imagining a Trauma helplessly shuffling to try and unstuck itself from a narrow pathway made her feel a tad better, even crack a little smile. Still, she had to think of something. She'd already lived through too much to just die at this point.
Evening? Clutching a shotgun in her shaking hands, Nicola looks out at the amber sky and her heart hastens when she realises that it really is getting late. The last rays of sun were slowly sinking behind the horizon, slowly turning the sky from warm orange to indigo as the tall buildings bathed the city in deep shadows stretching over the ground like dark omens. Just perfect. There was no other choice for her than to hide somewhere and wait until dawn and resume her search tomorrow, hoping someone will start looking for her. Going anywhere after the dusk was an equivalent of a  suicide. Demons and the Wicked tend to be especially active after the nightfall.. Nicola would rather not bump into one of the Suffering either, those things are especially nasty. Hulking, four-armed abominations melded with bodies of the dead, bringing back all those poor souls who weren't lucky enough to get away… she shudders at the thought and hastens her pace.
Most of the houses were already destroyed and usually infested with all kinds of detestable creatures she'd rather avoid - from Wicked, through all kinds of demons and Duskwings, to enormous spiders ready to cocoon any unfortunate passerby for a snack - unfit to be a shelter. But honestly, what wasn't crawling with Hellspawn these days? They were everywhere, as far as the sight can reach. Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Nicola decided to hide underneath the city, hoping she won't find any monsters there.
That was not one of her most brilliant ideas but in truth whatever she chose, it would be just as bad and she hardly cared at this point. Her legs felt as though they went a couple of inches up her arse from all day of walking and running and her empty stomach growled hungrily as she didn't get a chance to stop and eat a sandwich hidden in her backpack. It didn't take long to find a lid of a well leading to the sewers below. Just in case, Nicola dug some new shells out from her backpack and shoved them into her pocket to have easy access to them before pulling the lid out and uncovering a stinking hole in the pavement. The strong "aroma" that drifted out hit her like a brick to the face.
"Ugh.."
Nicola groaned, pinching her nose. Even after the literal armageddon, she still found sewers to be one of the grossest things ever. Like, come on, that's where all the piss and shit goes and a person who enters the sewers for even a minute comes out coated in this stench. Oh well.. It can't be worse than getting torn to shreds by a Goreclaw, can it? Up here was definitely worse than below. Everything she'd met so far - except for Ulthane, Yarin and Elanya - was trying to kill her lately. At least there was no sign of the Big Bad anywhere… Nicola had seen the so-called Destroyer only once and it was enough to last her a lifetime, considering how close she'd been back then. The fact that he didn't spot her, she probably owed the fact that she was somewhere to his right and from what she'd seen his right eye wasn't exactly in good condition. Though, she couldn't deny that the dragon did look sick as Hell - she cringed inwardly at the bad joke her mind produced - and if she wasn't scared shittless and in danger of getting eaten or burned alive, she probably would've taken out her notebook and tried to sketch him. Not often does one see a dragon up this close and Nicola had a habit of drawing anything even remotely interesting she sees. And the more challenging the thing is, the better. In her sketchbook, she already had Ulthane and his younger companions, Vulgrim, some other demons and a Fallen. The last thing she did see pretty damn close. Too close for her liking.
Pulling her stained, dark-blue neckerchief up to her nose as a mostly useless mask against the foul smell, she crouches down and with a loose piece of a brick scratches out a message on the ground, hoping either Jones or some other survivor will find it.
I'M IN THE SEWER
NIKA <3
Just to make it clear, she tears a piece of her already ragged sleeve off and places it under the aforementioned brick next to the message. It's not much but it has to be enough… Without further ado, Nicola slid inside the dark hole and closed the lid above her head. Utter blackness immediately closed around her like a thick coverlet. A quiet sound of dripping, echoing through the tunnel was all that she could hear.
Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.
Should've thought about taking out a flashlight before cutting off the only source of light.
Grumbling under her breath, Nicola jumped down from a small ladder. But instead of landing on the hard and straight ground, her feet connected with something soft and uneven. With a small yelp, she lost her balance and fell flat onto the actual floor with a wet "Thwack!". Please just be regular water… She begged the puddle underneath her as she scrambled to her feet and pulled the backpack from her shoulders. For a few minutes, she blindly searched through her things, probing for the light source. When her fingers found the flashlight and she turned it on however, she nearly screamed.
That thing she landed on wasn't a mound of garbage like she previously assumed but a body. Body of a dead Phantom General. Its skin was in an unhealthy pallid shade, misty eyes were bulging out of their sockets. And the squishy bit she landed on was its face. Nicola nervously laughs to herself
"Maybe the stench killed him?"
The thought of a large demon dying in a sewer just because it smells bad was kind of amusing and a little comforting. But then she realised that if that was the case, then there's nothing to laugh at. What if there are some poisonous gases in here? Hydrogen sulfide, for example? If it killed a demon, undoubtedly much more hearty, then why shouldn't it do so with a human?
"Shit.. I hope not…"
Nicola curses and immediately presses the neckerchief closer to her face like it would do her any good. Well, no point in wondering about it now. If she were to get poisoned then she probably already was so… Father would be so disappointed if he found out she died in a sewer by inhaling toxic gas. I should've paid more attention to chemistry lessons…  Anyway.. Standing here will not make it any better. She might as well find herself a place to rest for a while or forever. Unless healing shards work on that stuff, she had nothing on her to help should she get poisoned. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, Nicola turns away from the corpse and peers into the dark pathway which opened before her like a gullet of a gargantuan monster waiting to swallow her whole. Having absolutely no idea that this choice would change her miserable life forever, she takes a breath and bravely moves onward.
The Phantom General wasn't the only one. As Nicola walked deeper into the dark, stinking corridor, she noticed more bodies. Goreclaws, Wicked, Phantom Guards, even a couple of Duskwings and - this was the most unsettling discovery - the serpentine Shadowcaster… all of them pale and wizened. An unnerving feeling grew in her stomach. Nicola had seen much death as of late but this… this was horrifying. It was like walking through a tomb or a mass grave. Up close she could see something she hadn't noticed before. Something that made her mouth turn sandpaper. All of the bodies seemed… dried for the lack of a better word. As though something had drained them of their blood, leaving only shriveled husks behind. But there were no wounds, no markings. Nicola gulps at the thought that whatever killed them might still be down here with her.
Backing away, she takes a turn into another section and curls up in a corner by a metal grate blocking the way ahead. Nicola turns the flashlight off and hugs her knees to her chest, trying to control her fearful breathing. Climbing down into the sewers wasn't such a good idea after all. What if… what if there are things far worse down here than the demons she'd already seen? Her parents often scared her with stories of monsters lurking in the dark pipes and winding tunnels when she was a child but those were only supposed to keep her away from the sewers. The true reason was always the toxic miasma drifting through them. Or so she thought as she grew older. Now it seems that the former turned out to be true… And if it murdered a Shadowcaster just like that, then it was a creature to be reckoned with, no doubt.
Whatever it is that hides in here, Nicola didn't want to meet it. Whether it was a classic sewer monster, grotesque, with teeth and tentacles, or something else it didn't matter. Looking down at her left wrist, where her blessedly still working electrical watch with sun batteries was, she squinted at the numbers it showed.
7:48 P.M.
This was going to be a long night… If she survives this, she would get out and return to the Tree, and tell Ulthane she will never leave again. Essentially, she'd ground herself for him. If she could find her way back, that is.. And this might prove rather tricky. Maybe if she could find a Serpent Hole and bribe Vulgrim to take her to Haven, it would be much easier. But then again, she will have to give him something. Aside from her soul, she had nothing he would be interested in and that she could still make use of. Damn it, why is it so cold in here? Pulling the zip of her vest up to her chin, she curls up even more and hides her hands in her pockets to seek any warmth she could find. The stench wasn't even phasing her anymore. Nicola got used to it after the first few minutes. Besides, her fear was what she was mostly focused on. At least she didn't feel anything that would hint at being poisoned.. Whatever deadly stuff was down here before must've dispersed some time after the apocalypse after the disuse of the sewers. And thank God for that..
Meow…
Her head snapped up at the echo coming from the tunnel she backed out from. It was very weak and quiet but she definitely heard something that sounded vaguely like a cat. A very small and very scared cat.
Meow…
There it was again. This time accompanied by a barely visible flash of light coming from the tunnel further down. Cursing her innate curiosity, she pulled herself up to her feet and snuck towards the entrance to her little hidey-hole. The light appeared again before slowly fading. It looked a little like… like someone was coming here with a broken flashlight. Could it… could it be someone from the Tree? Maybe another survivor lost their way in the sewers? Picking up her shotgun, she decides to check it out, the thoughts of a monster not forgotten per se, but definitely pushed to the back of her mind. Wary of every step she makes, she follows the light and the sounds of a distressed animal. Sleep was never an option anyway..
As she walked onwards, the lights were getting brighter, the meowing louder and the pounding of her heart faster. There were more corpses in various states of decay and skeletons strewn about the further she headed but she decided to stay brave. Should anything attack her, she has the shotgun at the ready. Something in her head laughed at her hysterically. How can she be so naive to think that if there's a monster down here her pathetic shotgun can do it much harm? It didn't have a problem with killing all those things. Why would it have a problem with Nicola and her weak human weapon? Besides, even if she did manage to defend herself, one shot from that thing would bring half of the city down on her head. And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.
Meow!
Another flash. Her surroundings were slowly starting to change. The bodies were left behind and she started to notice wooden crates lying here and there as though someone meant to hide the passage further down. Was this a hide out if some sort? Flash again.
Meow!
And then…
"Hush, little one… I won't let them hurt you again…"
Nicola's heart hastened when a shaky voice reached her. There really was someone down here! However, she doesn't let her ecstasy control her. They don't necessarily have to be friendly. Everyone is permanently scared and paranoid since the apocalypse and if she jumped out from a dark sewer without a warning she's more likely to receive a bullet to the face than a warm welcome. A flash, very bright this time. Before, she didn't notice it but the light was actually… green? Soft, soothing shade of green. Who uses a green flashlight? Someone who didn't have any other. We're in an apocalypse, for God's sake. Shrugging, she sneaks up towards the turn and carefully peeks into the new corridor, unable to take the anticipation any longer. And she freezes.
There were many things Nicola expected to find. Even the sewer monster was higher on her list of possibilities. But not this. Before her, approximately fifteen feet or so, in a makeshift shelter made out of ratty curtains and wooden boxes sat a humanoid figure. They were wearing some sort of metal shoulder pads on their ragged, dark green clothing, worn and stained, once undoubtedly fine knee-high boots, and a tattered and dirty hood. The gilded edges of their pauldrons were smudged and tarnished, as were the clips of the belts on their hips and across their chest. A pair of disheveled, dusted grey, feathery wings was closed around them like two shields protecting their sides and keeping the warmth in the resulting heat cave. Through a gap between the feathers, she noticed strands of long, white hair in the similar state as the wings spilling from under the hood.
This was one of those… those angels who came as the apocalypse began. Only… This one didn't seem like the rest. They didn't look like one of the warriors. And were unarmed at that, she realises once she doesn't catch a sight of any sort of weapon nearby. 
Meow!
Nicola heard it clearly now, and trying to track down the source of the sound, her eyes wandered to a hand of the angel, one which they held close to their chest. And there, on their large palm rested a tiny ball of fluff with its fur clogged with blood. The angel was hunched over a wounded kitten, and from time to time they brought up the other hand and gently ran their trembling fingers wrapped in stained bandages over the jagged claw mark along its spine. The green light flared up from angel's fingertips as gradually the wound was stitching itself. A sorcerer then. If meeting Shadowcasters was any indicator, then it would be better not to mess with this one.
Meow!
The kitten cried again and the angel, now she was pretty sure it was a male, spoke with a soft and calming, but shaking voice that reached to the depth of her soul.
"Fret not… it will be over. Soon enough."
In honesty, Nicola really had to stop herself from making a loud "awww" noise as she watched this angel treat a tiny injured kitten. How did he get here in the first place? Shouldn't he be with the rest of his buddies? She honestly never thought one of them would ever fall so low as to hide in a sewer of all places. Unless there was no other option. He must've gotten lost or something.. She thinks, almost snickering at how similar to hers this situation was.
To make no mistake, she didn't want to approach the angel, especially after what she'd seen during the apocalypse - most of them didn't give two shits about what happen to her race - and so Nicola decided, even if slightly disappointed that it wasn't another human survivor or someone looking for her like she previously assumed, to go away and leave him be with his kitten. The angels the apocalypse has shown to her were hardly the kind and thoroughly good creatures the image of she grew up with.. But then, nature decided to play a cruel prank on her and a horrifyingly loud sound of her stomach rumbling was carried over the immediate vicinity.
Nicola cursed inwardly at her stupid stomach - really, she would've eaten that sandwich but the smell of the server was very unappetizing - when the angel quickly looked up before gently placing the cat down on a piece of folded cloth and snapping his fingers to produce a small wisp of normal, white light. Now, his face wasn't obscured by the shadow of his hood. It was just like a face of a human, especially with all the grime smeared over it, just more… how to describe it? Features were more apparent, simultaneously sharp and smooth. Like those of a sculpture. Almost overly perfect. However, he looked ill, emaciated with his cheeks collapsed like this and sunken eyes, seemingly too large for his head. His eyes… brilliant white with faint silvery pupils, glowing like two wisps, opened wide in an absolutely blank, emotionless stare, not unlike that of a man in feverish delirium. How long had he been down here?
"Who.. who's there..?"
His lips barely moved as he spoke, his wide eyes darted around in panic as he searched for intruders. Not that she could blame him. Her stomach sounded like a starving demon and as far as she's concerned, his kind isn't really fond of those.. The angel looked a little like a terrified, wounded animal that had been cornered by predators with no apparent way out. It was… sad somehow. Since she'd already been heard, Nicola carefully stepped out of her hiding spot. The reaction she got however, was far different from what she's been expecting. The angel gasped, his wings shot up like two enormous flags as he lifted his hands. Green magic crackled along his slender fingers with most of the nails broken and bloodied as she froze where she stood.
"G- get away! Back off, foul creature!"
He stuttered but didn't attack just yet. Swallowing a lump of fear Nicola forced herself to very, very slowly and carefully take a few steps closer to enter the illuminated area around the scared angel to make him realise this is a misunderstanding and she means no harm. She even left her gun on the floor not to make him feel threatened and kept her hands up, palms forward where he could see them. He squinted but this hollow look in his eyes remained. Disturbing… Even more so when he started to mutter nervously to himself, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb.
"No… not a demon, nor an angel, a human perhaps…? Yes, yes… has to be… But that's not possible.. They're… they're all gone. Dead, killed, stone dead… Who is this and what do you want? Your tricks won't work on me.."
"I- I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! I am a human. I'm Nicola.."
She assures the angel, hoping that giving him her name will make him feel a little less threatened. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past Nicola's lips when the magic in his hands faded as he curiously - a little like a small, inquisitive puppy - tilted his head to the left.
"Nic… ola…"
He breathed, mulling over her name, testing it on his tongue but his wings still remained aggressively flared above his head. The kitten meowed again, too weak to stand up from the bedding the angel made for it. He seemed to calm down a bit as he glanced down at it and with a flick of his finger made the animal lazily blink before it curled into a ball and immediately fell asleep. The wound on its back wasn't so large anymore and it wasn't bleeding so the black fluff with white feet and collar wasn't in any immediate danger. Angel's attention shifted back to her. But Nicola was the first one to speak.
"Who are you? How'd you get down here?
"Don't know… Human… a human. How did you get in my study? You really shouldn't be here. What is it you want from me? I'm working on improving my shards…"
"I-... Wait, your what ?"
Nicola's face scrunched up in confusion. Get in where? Working on improving his what??
"No, this isn't right… they need more energy…"
At this point she had absolutely no idea what the angel was rambling on about but she could clearly see he was completely out of his mind. Frankly speaking, she wasn't actually sure if he knows what he's babbling either.. There was only one thing that came to her mind when he spoke of shards and so she dug into her pocket, trying to find the one she'd been carrying with her just in case as he clutched at his head, tangling his fingers into his hair under his hood…
"It worked… I did it, I can… but it hurts… Creator, how it hurts… Cold.. so cold…"
His voice was starting to break as his unsteady breathing turned into something akin to sobbing but no tears were shed and he started to rock back and forth, still muttering something unintelligible. Something in Nicola's gut squirmed - or maybe it was the hunger again - as she looked at the scrawny angel mercifully. Whatever happened to him, it must've been horrible. It takes a very traumatic experience to bring a human to such a state but an angel is a different story. Seeing anyone like this saddened her. Finally, her fingers found what they were searching for and she extracted a small healing shard from her vest.
"You mean like…"
At the gentle, green glow the shard was emitting, the angel looked up astonished and let his mouth fall open. He stopped shaking and grasping his head.
"Yes… yes, my shard. I need… My blade. Where's my blade? Who…? My name? My name… I remember, I swear."
This talk of a blade was mildly unsettling to say the least but something in her chest twisted with pity and all fear left her. A little more bravely, Nicola approached the murmuring angel who attempted to scratch something out on the floor beside his knee but only successfully broke one of his nails again and hissed quietly. What happened to you, you poor thing? When she crouched next to him, he stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost when she realised he isn't looking into her eyes anymore. But at her forehead.
"You're… injured…"
He stated as matter of factly. Oh. Right. That was true. It barely hurt anymore though… and wasn't even bleeding. She's certainly had much worse. It will heal on its own in no time.
"Let me just-"
Suddenly he leaned forward to grab at her, making her heart leap up to her throat as she cried out in fear and jumped away from him. Instinctively, Nicola booked it for the tunnel she came from when she heard a heavy thud and a pained groan behind her.. It was her good hearted nature what ultimately made her stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder. To see the angel on the floor, weakly propping himself on his elbows and breathing heavily. He was very weakened. It's unclear how long he'd been down here but it certainly has taken its toll. Nicola looked out into the dark tunnel. Whatever awaited her in this darkness and out in the city surely isn't nicer than this poor sod behind her. She wasn't even sure if he actually meant to hurt her or not. It was a reflex. Then she turned to look back at the angel shivering on the wet floor.. Her throat tightened. God, she couldn't just leave it like this, could she?
"H- hey… are- are you okay?"
Nicola approaches the angel warily and squats before him as he lifts his head to look at her. And in his eyes she sees pain. Horrible, unimaginable pain, somewhere deep within, that made his crusted lips tremble. Such a sight would be enough to break even the coldest hearts. And definitely more than enough to break hers. He eyes her hands when she hesitantly takes him by the arm - careful when she notices a rag stained with fresh blood above his left elbow - and tries to pull him up to his feet or at least to a sitting position but he doesn't recoil. He simply kept staring at her hands in bewilderment. To her surprise, he was much lighter than he looked, probably because of how thin he was, and she managed to do what she intended but she could see that his legs won't uphold his weight as meager as it is. The angel glanced at the cut on her head and once again, albeit far more cautiously, reached out towards it.
"I can… I can heal it. Just hold still.. It will take a second.."
And in spite of herself, Nicola gives him a chance this time. He extended two fingers and as their tips started to glow with green, he gently tapped against her damaged skin. It felt… odd. It wasn't painful but still strange. The edges of the wound grew numb and prickly as the patch of comforting warmth fell over her forehead. And what was even odder, the angel smiled slightly, whispering
"There… It is done.. I.. remember. Was it…? It was, wasn't it… Raphael?"
"Wh- what? What are you talking about, who's Raphael?"
Nicola asks, probing the new, thin scar that was now formed in place of the cut. He really did heal her. Curious. And it did take a second.. For a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion but only for this second before he brightened and some of the strange mist fell from his white eyes as he brought both of his hands up and repeatedly poked his chest with all of his fingers.
"Me.. Raphael is… it's me! And you…"
He extended one finger and aimed it at her head.
"You are Nicola. "
"Y- yeah. Nice to meet you, I guess…"
She hesitantly replies as the circumstances of this meeting weren't exactly "nice". In a dark, damp sewer filled with stench and corpses with a possible monster lurking nearby? Far from nice if someone would ask her.
"What.. huh. What is this place?"
Raphael unexpectedly asked, looking around with his large, white eyes, blinking in confusion. Nicola pulls a face, unsure how to tackle the odd angel.
"You… don't know? You've been living here."
"Have I? Hmmm.. Strange…"
He murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his white goatee also painted with blood that surely spilled from the cut on his lower lip. Then his face shifted into concern as he tried to pull himself up with a strained grunt, clutching at an old, but not healed yet, gash over his ribs.
"I… I have to get back.. they need me in the White City…"
As she was expecting, he collapsed back onto the floor with a tired sigh not even a second later. Where and what was the "White City" he spoke of, she had no idea. What she did know however, was that in his condition Raphael isn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get up, she could bet her right hand that he would make ten steps at most before collapsing again. Nicola winces and tilts her head to the side.
"Pal, I don't think you're in shape for walking or flying right now.."
"No, I suppose not… they cannot see me like this. I cannot return.."
At this point she wasn't surprised that Raphael kept muttering to himself about things her human brain couldn't hope to comprehend. Nicola got long used to this however. Ever since the armageddon there were very few things she could understand. It wasn't a normal day if something new and weird didn't happen to her or one of her remaining friends. Any hostility the angel showed before has faded now, his wings folded back around him as he leaned over the sleeping kitten to continue treating it. The gentleness he did it with, the uncertain smile on his face were making Nicola's heart melt. Raphael didn't seem like his friends indeed. He was different somehow. Kinder, softer. Less aggressive. More fitting the image of a stereotypical angel. But also definitely not quite… right. Up in the head.
Oh, well. Who is totally normal these days, honestly?
She wants to chuckle to herself when something gives her a pause. A horrifyingly familiar sound coming from the tunnel behind her. Panting, scraping and growling. Inevitably getting closer and closer. Her heart plummets to her heels. This sound… she would recognise it everywhere. The sound that haunted her dreams ever since the demon tore her twin brother, Nicholas, to shreds. This demon.. a Goreclaw, as Ulthane called it. Whipping around, she just managed to spot the quadrupedal monster - the size of your average Caucasian Shepherd (which was still awfully large for its kind), with long, lashing tail and sharp fangs constantly bared in a disturbing grin - appear in the entrance, cutting off the only escape route.
It must've heard Nicola's startled scream and followed it all the way here, hoping for an easy prey. Her breath caught in her throat as she stands paralyzed by the blood-hungry glare of multiple red eyes. This ugly mug, covered in blood of her sibling was still fresh in her mind, keeping her absolutely petrified. Unable to do anything, she kicks herself for leaving her shotgun behind. Now it was resting between the clawed paws of the demon who screeched in excitement as it prepared to pounce at her. Though honestly, with how rigid her body turned, she doubts she'd be able to aim, not to mention pulling the trigger.
This is it. She thinks, feeling blood leave her face. I'm gonna die. After all she's been through.. Killed by a single Goreclaw, ripped apart in a stinking sewer like an ungrateful little shite. Ulthane did so much to rescue her from the claws of that Fallen and now all his efforts are going to go to waste.. Crying out in dismay, she shields herself from the oncoming attack with her arms and shuts her eyes.
Something shifted behind her as the demon jumped at her and… nothing happened. Opening her eyes, horrified and shocked, Nicola almost gags when she sees the Goreclaw standing before her and just… gawking with its jaw slack as though it got hit on the head with something heavy. Faint golden light running around its body like tiny veins didn't escape her attention. That's when she noticed that the demon was trying to move, straining with its own stiff muscles and growling. But couldn't. It was completely paralyzed. A quiet, barely audible thrumming filled the air around Nicola and she began to feel something strange. Something she could only describe as magic. The arcane static began to nip and the bite at her skin like miniscule locusts when a green haze enveloped the Goreclaw before her. The same light fell onto her back, laying her quivering shadow out at her feet. A realisation hit her.
Raphael. He's still there.
After the apocalypse, Nicola had no delusions that angels, even the kindest ones, are ever defenseless. Before she could turn to face the angel, her would-be killer suddenly let out a soul-rending shriek that yet again almost made her drop dead or simply puke out of pure fear. Freed from the paralysis, it fell to the floor, writhing, clawing at its own chest and screeching the most ungodly noise Nicola had ever heard. What's happening?! Absolutely petrified, she watched as the demon's skin seemed to dry and wrinkle as its eyes were nearly popping out of its skull. Life - and color - was frighteningly quickly seeping out of the demon as it squirmed in agony, wailing, unable to fight the power that got a hold of it.
All this looked like taken straight out of a horror movie. And Nicola, on the contrary to Nicholas, was never a fan of those… It all took merely a few seconds of unimaginable torment before the unfortunate Goreclaw wheezed and eventually fell still with its jaws opened and tongue lolled out, wide eyes dull and unblinking, and didn't move ever again. Dead. The memory of all those corpses she has found passed through her head. The Goreclaw looked just like them… Afraid to move a muscle, she stared at the light that moved away from the dead demon, following its movement to the sight that made her back up aghast.
Raphael. The same seemingly gentle angel who healed a small, hurt animal - who healed her - was suspended in midair, tattered robes and disheveled hair billowing, with his wings flared and bristled. This soft smile was replaced by an absolute lack of any expression whatsoever as his wide eyes burned with the whitest white of unbridled anger she'd ever seen. Green streaks of magic - the same green she found so soothing before, now ominous and frightening - bathing the surroundings in brightness, were swirling around his arms, hands with fingers curled into vicious claws. For this moment he looked much stronger, a little younger… and far more dangerous than he seemed before.
"As long as I live.. I shall not stand suffering !"
Raphael bellowed at the corpse at her feet even though it was long dead and already turning cold, caring very little about how horrified she was. He didn't even seem to care how much suffering the demon had experienced before it blessedly lost its hold on life. Not that Nicola thought it didn't deserve that but still it was… pretty gruesome.. Raphael's wounded and weakened body absorbed the life-force drained from the demon and only then did he slowly descend onto the floor and landed on his feet, breathing out with relief. The magic gradually dissipated along with the sharp prickling sensation until only the tiny golden wisp hovering next to Raphael's head remained. His wings fell into their place against his back, this furious light faded out of his bright eyes before he turned to Nicola to shoot her a disarming, awkward smile as though nothing had happened at all. This tiny smile was hardly comforting.. Quite the opposite in fact. It chilled her to the bone like the coldest winter wind.
Oh fuck.
Swallowing thickly, Nicola looked up at Raphael, now standing on his own legs, clearly revitalized by the stolen energy, and felt a little fearful tear roll down her face. Then she shifted her gaze to the demon. Then back to Raphael, who seemed so small and weak before but stood at least two, maybe three feet taller than Nicola - her head reached the bottom of his sternum. I was wrong. She realises with a pang of panic, feeling a little sick in the stomach at the mere thought that this kind healer was as capable of killing her where she stood as any demon up above her head. All he had to do was flick his wrist and look at her and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing to defend herself. It suddenly made sense. There was no sewer monster down here. No beast that would threaten her. No foul creature that could suck the blood from her body and leave ber as a mummified corpse. All this death, all these bodies… The horrifying monster Nicola was expecting to find...
It was him.
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So yeah. That was the chapter I. I'll try to make more but I don't promise anything XD
The moral of this story? Don't piss off/spook angel sorcerers. Especially the crazy ones.
Also, the art at the end was once again inspired by @coloredgravity 's rendition of Raphael (I drew this mostly out of memory 😂). In addition I gave him a symbol of virtue from Darkest Dungeon over his head. He's mad, true. But he still tries to hold it together :3
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jilyandbambi · 5 years ago
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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. 
-
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mareliini · 4 years ago
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(I post most of my art in insta nowadays. No link, but it's mareliiini, with three "i"s.)
Time to say final goodbyes to this hell year, as well for a full decade of art..
Year summary: like previous year, finding stuff to fill up some months was hard. I've had some big art bursts in early jan-feb, summer, and during autumn, when i produced several pieces in one sitting before fading into obscurity of life and knitting for months. My artistic balance has relied on to comic making schedule, honestly since 2011, so without that constant flow of crunching up pages weekly I was left wandering amiss and motivationless. I've always made a rule for myself with these yearly summaries, that I wont use comic pages unless there's nothing else that month to fill it up, and this year I couldn't even rely on that.
Decade summary: Started filling up the latter monstrosity of a dA meme back in 2014 and filling it up has been a yearly tradition ever since. It is so wild looking back. 2011 I had been in Uni for a year and haven't really drawn "seriously" ever, outside of private diary doodles and plastering my room with fish art (do not ask me about my finding nemo phase please) and surrealist charcoal renderings. Reliable access to internet and fandoms, and the whole culture of creating in those spaces is really what made me draw more reliably in the first place.
Home was always filled with art supplies (comes with dad being professional oil painter with a severe case of procrastination syndrome), so in a sense I've been priviledged for early and easy access to those... many gouaches and dip pen nibs I use still, are stolen from home drawers, not that I'd had had money to buy completely new art tech supplies on the fly. Only in recent years I've been comfortable enough with my income, that I could purchase better quality watercolor papers and ink sets, and not feel bad for using them regularily. For comic pages I still use cheaper paper, though that has been upgraded several times since the cheapest sketchbook paper I started with. You don't need Big Quality to make Good Art, but it makes the experience of making it a bit more fun.
Looking back, 2014 and 2015 seems to be most important turnaround time. I was breaking away from the mold I'd created my art identity around of, and growing tired of having story ideas but no original characters. I've had some in the early teen years, but I'd been comfortable for years with using pre-set characters from whatever fandom I was into at the time. And there's nothing wrong with that, I say as an avid fanfic reader, but at some point with making Hey it's summer! the frustration between story I wanted to tell and feel proud of, and the set of characters I had decided to work with, to the point of them being almost oc's in the au world, it just put everything in halt. I'm never going to finish HiS! because I cannot finish it with those characters, and cannot remove the story entirely from it's fandom roots even by made-up ocs. 2014 was largely spent on focusing oc's... I created a bunch of grandma characters for a story I'll never be clever enough to write, and then accidentally stumbled upon Jooel in a dream I wrote up and continued later (yeah they're there in 2014 row). I think most of Bus cast was created in that year, but I didn't have clear enough plan for it (and never had even during writing) untill some years and one cloud comic later.
2015 was Big Year for original writing, as well for everything else. Which is why I have to bring it up. As short detour as the tau fandom was, it granted me the first real friend group online, one which is still together now, give or take a few changes and dramas. It wasn't the main reason, but one of the big ones for me to get proper smart phone to keep connected to them outside evenings (biggest reason was neko atsume..... i wanted to feed my cats....). Cloud story was a wild experience I can never replicate, but also a memory I will always remember fondly. 2015 also was the year I started my three years government supported therapy, which I believe affected Bus a lot. I was really tired and couldn't bother to spent time to look for the perfect fit, so I ended up with a therapist who uh, I guess helped? some? Would not recommend my tactic but it was best I could do at the time. Before that bus had never been more than wild ride of found family tropes frollocing around finnish highways, it was a roadtrip story at heart with supposed collection of small moments of each character, of local problems and stories and people they meet with 4 equally written main characters. Therapy thethered it to one character and one town with whisps of its origin, but it provided a big supplement for the somewhat-working therapy sessions.
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tenmillionwhumperflies · 4 years ago
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Cloudwalker Series: Mouse the Dragon
Alright, so here is Mouse’s little origin story... thing, because Mouse is precious and deserves all the loves. Oh, and you can meet Azeera, another sorcerer boi.
Drawing of Mouse Here
Warnings for mentions of death, grief, mentions of slavery, ‘animal’ cruelty (contained in a very small space).
Word Count: 1700
Tag List: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi
Orrien hated busy places, he hated the noise, the stall owners drawing attention to their produce, the chatter of so many people, the chopping, the grinding, the sound of animals. He hated the mix of smells that didn’t go together at all, fish and cinnamon, fruit and dung.
He hated the heat, the buzz, the way he had to bustle past so many people that just didn’t even notice he was there. He kept his cloak pulled up high, hoping to keep his tattoos hidden. No one could know he was a sorcerer. It was dangerous. They’d assume the worst, that he’d escaped or was going to start an attack on behalf of a kingdom. Sorcerers were not simply free, certainly not in his land anyway.
He kept his head down, buying what he needed to get by until he could travel to the next kingdom. Always searching, desperately looking for a new purpose now that he had lost his only son, and the man who had loved his son had turned to darkness and death. Orrien needed time before he went back to the Red Hills, back to the land he’d been born and raised on.
“Mama, look over there!” a child cried. Orrien turned quickly, thinking perhaps they were looking at him. He heaved out a breath of relief, seeing she was pointing at a small market stall. The mother ushered the child away from whatever it is they had seen. Orrien couldn’t help but approach the emptier area of the city. Something drew him towards it and didn't fight the urge to follow. He saw the owner of the stall was a cloaked man. Orrien couldn’t see his face, but he knew enough about him already. He had light magic, Orrien could feel it, but that didn't necessarily make him a friend. 
Orrien pondered speaking to him, to find out who he was, but he was distracted by a strange tink noise. He turned his head to see a very small jar on the table, and at first Orrien thought it was a small lizard. He stepped closer, seeing that its grey skin was actually metal. He picked up the jar with care. The cloaked figure grunted, but that was all.
Orrien inspected the jar with more care, seeing that the small dragon inside looked incredibly scared. They were so small, only the size of his middle finger. They clawed at the metal with one foot, but the jar was so small they could barely move. They stared at Orrien with wide eyes. He felt so drawn to them. He couldn’t leave them trapped like this. It was cruel. It could kill them. Besides, a small companion like this would likely do him some good. He turned the little paper tag attached to the jar. Enchanted dragon, 100 pieces.
"A trinket has caught your eye, sir?" The man asked. Orrien recognised the voice somewhat, but he couldn't put a name to it. "Some 'trinket' for one hundred… You can’t put a price on a life, enchanted or otherwise. You know no one will ever buy such a small charm for so much. Distress them for too long and they will lose their magic. Why push for so much money?” “The enchantment on this dragon is... immense. They were made with incredible power- from love and care. They are practically alive with their own personality... My greatest work. They deserve a loving home, but are you worthy?"
"Money and power does not equate to kindness," he hissed. My greatest work. Orrien hoped he’d put the voice to the right face, and the fact that the dragon was enchanted. Reluctantly, he eased his hood back a fraction to show his face, his tattoos. "You of all people should know that. You say they deserve a loving home, but you treat them so harshly," he grunted before putting his hood back. "Trapping them like this. You should be ashamed… Azeera." The man carefully moved his hood away, showing bright green tattoos on either cheek, a sharp contrast on his dark skin. Orrien had been right after all, and his relief must have showed. He belonged to the Sorcerer's Circle, one of the eight. His enchantment magic was impressive.
 “Correct, though it seemed to take you a while, Orrien of the Red Hills, high sorcerer of the Kingdom of Everblade." He remarked. “Former,” Orrien corrected glumly. There was no kingdom left to serve, not that he’d ever enjoyed serving that wretched man. “Indeed. Word spreads fast. But here you are, in front of me, as I’d waited and hoped. Fate always finds a way, doesn’t it? In truth, I thought you were dead."
“Why would you think that?” Orrien frowned. “Well, the last I heard of Everblade, it was being called Everblood and had fallen. I wasn’t sure if your apprentice had turned on you also.” Orrien sighed. “That castle was so low it could not have fallen any further… Avizon has chosen a darker path, but he would never turn on me.” “Then… tell me, where is your son? Are the rumours true...” his voice faded off. Orrien looked away and kept his eyes on the dragon that was now headbutting the glass with a repetitive tinking noise. “He is… he’s gone. Avizon told me the king killed him while he rested from wounds gained by protecting the castle. That is why Avizon rebelled and attacked. I was a coward and left him. I wasn't going to stop him after what Halve had done, but nor could I stand by him…"
Azeera sighed and bowed his head. “That is indeed a terrible thing to hear, but this was Avizon’s path to walk, his destiny. Fate always finds a way, even if you had stayed behind. I don’t know how Ignium will feel about the whole affair, but I shan't be the one to tell him.” “Perhaps, but what does my son have to do with buying a dragon?” Orrien asked. "And if I may ask, why are you here? Are you not still serving Queen Daphne?”
Azeera shook his head. “Not all of us were kept on as short a chain as you, you know? I was allowed to leave the grounds, but alas, no. After… Everblade, the queen decided against magic defences, despite my years of unwavering loyalty. Royals are realising we are powerful, dangerous, and most importantly, unhappy. Her focus is on the army, on a group that won’t risk so much if one loses control. She did not care for the reasons why young Avizon turned on the castle. She reflected and I believe she feared his actions would influence me. She released me peacefully, no quarrels, and gave me a home to try to keep me from turning bitter. I consider it early retirement, and really you can’t consider freedom to be a punishment. So here I am, selling trinkets to pass the time."
"I see. For what it is worth, I am sorry for Avizon’s actions. I should have been able to do more to stop this.”
Azeera shrugged. “It is a difficult situation, but when I saw Avizon after you saved him… I didn’t expect him to turn to violence, but I cannot say I’m shocked. What Halve did to him was beyond human.” Orrien shuddered, he needed a change of topic. “So what is this fate you speak of?"
"Ah, yes, that. Orrien, I don't think he told you, that it was a surprise but your son saved my life only days before the attack. I offered him a favour in return.” Orrien looked back down at the dragon and stared. Was he leading to what he thought?
Orrien continued to stare. When he stared in the dragon's eyes, he could see their pleading. They dug at the glass desperately, but it was so cramped it barely equated to anything. It bit at his own tail, but it didn’t seem to damage itself at least. Did he imagine it, or was there a familiarity? All he knew was that he couldn’t leave them. His heart told him that he needed this little one. He gritted his teeth. Orrien pulled the cork out of the jar, ignoring Azeera’s grunt of a protest. The little dragon scrambled out and hid in Orrien’s palm. He opened his hand just enough to stroke their head. They seemed so much more relaxed now they had access to magic, that they could move.
“The only way to contain them was to take away their mobility. They’re quite the trouble maker and an escape artist. They had started with a very comfortable abode,” Azeera explained with a soft grumble. Orrien put his hand up to his shoulder, letting the dragon climb onto him. They hid behind Orrien’s ear, chewing nervously on it. Orrien couldn't help but brace to have to argue or fight, to have to run away and get to the horse, out of habit more than anything.
“You're tired and on edge, old friend. I can recommend you an inn or offer space in my home to rest? That little dragon is meant to be yours. They were the favour Ro asked of me. They were to be a gift… for you. He poured his heart and soul into helping me make it… After seeing what happened to the castle I left before I could give it to him. I assumed they would be forgotten about, that you were dead, and so I put them up for sale for a good home. Fate had other plans. Your son’s love drew you here.”
Orrien bit back tears. He had not expected anything like this. For Ro to have left him something so... pure. The dragon began to slide down the front of Orrien’s cloak, so he put his hand out as a platform. “My debt is paid, the offer of rest is still there? The inn is the Crooked Key. It is welcoming of our kind and my home is just around the corner."
Orrien nodded. "Thank you, for everything you have done for me."
Orrien bowed his head and left, cradling the little dragon in his hand. “You’re so quiet… so small, like a little mouse.” He stopped and smiled. “Yes, that will be your name. I think it would have annoyed Ro just as he’d have wanted,” he smiled softly. He scratched their back, enjoying  watching the dragon weave through his fingers and arch their back like a cat might.
“To get a favour from a sorcerer as powerful as Azeera and ask only for a trinket for your father… Oh, Ro, my poor boy… This world was not made for one as pure as you.” He forced himself to take deep breaths, to calm before he let the dragon back onto his shoulder and disappeared into the choking crowds.
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