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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Back to Bourbon Street

summary: When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 6.7k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, poison, brink of death cuddling, angst with a happy ending

There is a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of the battlefield; a brief, impossible moment that allows Bucky to take hold of a peace he’s been missing for decades. The perfect storm of violence and adrenaline is one he’s familiar with, something he knows well enough to allow his mind to take a step back and give control to his instincts.

Left jab. Right hook. Kick. Swipe the leg. Shoot.

The sound of the chopper above is muffled. The shouts of the men rushing at him with weapons and malice are indistinguishable. His body moves of its own accord and this is what makes him untouchable. Even with the Winter Soldier buried to the deepest parts of his mind, Bucky finds a relief in letting go of the control, of allowing an untethered detachment to rise to the surface just long enough to get the job done.

Bodies in his wake, blood on his hands, and his mind elsewhere.

That is, until you come into view.

Elegant in your movements, exceptional in your ability, you’re teasing Sam on the coms as you duck under the swing of a mercenary and clip him on the chin on your way up. You’re laughing, bright enough that it carries the several feet away to where Bucky is in hand to hand with a combatant half his size.

He pauses, taken back by how clear your laugh comes through when the rest of the world seems muffled and distant. It’s not enough to give the scrawny opponent an advantage, because even as Bucky watches you with an awe and disbelief, his left arm snakes around the man’s throat and hurtles him fifty feet away with little effort.

Amongst enemy lines filled with bad guys and guns, amongst the blinding snowfall and the blistering wind, amongst blood staining crystalized white upon the frozen dirt, you capture the entirety of his focus. Clear as day. Spotlight down from the sky. A wonder to behold.

You catch his eye and for a moment his heart skips completely because you smile at him. A light breaking through a sea of shadows, wrinkling up by your eyes, a giggle in your chest, and Bucky’s knees nearly give out from under him.

You must notice the fluster burning hot on his cheeks and you start to laugh; that same beautifully, sweet sound that shouldn’t belong on a battlefield. He smiles back.

But the moment lasts longer than it should. It’s something too kind for the evil you’re surrounded with and it’s taken away in a matter of seconds when Bucky sees the sharp reflection of a blade flicker under the haze of sunlight.

His stomach drops as if he’s stepped off the edge of the cliff, as if he’s falling hundreds of feet into a dark ravine to the icy waters below, and he barely feels the sharp burn of a bullet as it skims his right shoulder.

“Y/n!” he screams, wasting no time in firing fatal shots to the men around him before he rushes towards you.

But he’s trudging through mud and quicksand and his limbs are fighting through the resistance of ocean currents. He’s trapped in a nightmare, he’s certain of it, because his body is failing him in the one place it’s not supposed to. Time slows down as he watches the flash of panic in your eyes.

He’s still a few feet away when the knife embeds itself in your stomach.

Something else takes over; maybe it's the Winter Soldier, maybe it’s something darker that has always resided inside of him, lying in wait, but his vision fills with red as he watches you clutch at the shoulders of your assailant, lips parted in shock, chest heaving as you glance down at the knife buried in your gut. A sickening smile curves up on the man’s face and he drops you to the ground.

Bucky only vaguely registers the bodies that fall around him as he empties his clip. He can't look at you now, not as blood starts to seep around your suit and drip into the snow, so he focuses the brunt of his tunnel vision to the man wielding the knife. The satisfied grin drops as he notices Bucky raise his weapon. It only takes one shot, but Bucky fires six.

By the time he reaches you, he’s skidding on his knees into the snow. It soaks into his suit and sends shivers into his spine in unpleasant memories of the ice, but he pays it little mind as he bends down to assess the damage. His hands hover over the blade, almost afraid to touch you, and he resides to keep the knife secure until he can safely remove it.

“Hey, Barnes,” you mutter weakly and it snaps Bucky from his trance. He looks up to see you smiling at him, though your eyes are fluttering shut. Your breathing is shallow.

“Don’t talk right now,” Bucky warns you because he can see the energy draining away. It’s happening too quick. The blade doesn’t appear as though it’s nicked any major arteries, and yet, you look as though it plunged straight through your heart.

You chuckle, though it’s faint and you wince in the effort. “Sick of my voice already?”

Bucky shakes his head, astounded how you can still tease him in your position. “You kidding me? Not a chance.”

He reaches up to press a finger to the coms to get ahold of someone, anyone, to get you airlifted out of here, only to find it slipped out of his ear in the struggle. A quick glance back behind him and he knows he’ll never find it amongst the snow. He clenches his jaw and tried not to let the panic show as he looks for yours.

“Lost mine, too,” you mumble, gesturing to the broken pieces in the snow beside you. One of your attackers must have hit you hard enough to dislodge it and slammed it under his heel to cause that much damage.

Bucky pulls in a deep breath, glancing up to the sky in search of Sam, only to find a dark cast of clouds carrying over. On the ground, dozens of mercenaries are engaged with the rest of the Shield team and more are piling out from the woodwork.

“I have to get you out of here,” Bucky resides. He doesn’t have a plan, but he knows it’s not safe where you are. He slips a hand under your knees, another around your back, and hoists you into his arms. He’s lucky the blade is small enough that it stays nestled in place as he carries you away from the field.

He tries not to think of what would happen if a mercenary caught up with him now. He was defenseless with you in his arms and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sacrifice you to save himself.

The wind whips around the trees, snow stinging on his cheeks as it builds in the scruff on his cheeks. You curl into his neck as best you can and he knows it’s subconscious, that it doesn’t mean much more than you seeking out the warmth of his body, but it doesn’t stop the trace of a smile that pushes at his cheeks.

“Stay with me, alright?” he pleads, though he’s not sure you can hear him. It earns a tired hum in response.

A storm is approaching quickly judging by the dark overcast of clouds and the snow on his boots that inches up higher along his shins with every step. If the blade doesn’t kill you, the exposure will, and Bucky starts to pick up his pace.

The field is nothing but a distant haze by the time he reaches an unmarked dirt road. He must have walked miles with you in his arms, fading in and out of consciousness, waking you up every few paces when your eyes started to flutter closed. The relief is overwhelming when he spots a cabin at the end of the road, obstructed by trees and overgrown weeds. Abandoned.

“Almost there,” he tells you and you curl up tighter against him. A whine leaves your lips and he picks up the pace.

Bucky doesn’t bother with picking the lock and slams his foot to the most vulnerable angle of the door instead. It whips open to reveal an empty living room; dark, with cobwebs hanging in the corners and dust upon the mantle. He rushes inside to escape the painful sting of the wind and the snowfall as it piles outside the door. His footprints are already swept away in the impending storm.

“You’re alright, hold on,” Bucky mumbles, blindly searching around the room until he can lower you onto the couch. He wipes away as much of the dust as he can as he eases you against the cushions. Your face scrunches up in pain and he knows how hard you’re trying to hide it from him.

He brushes a hand over your forehead and it startles him when he finds it burning hot. He doesn't have a lot of time.

“I’ll be right back.”

“No! Wait--”

He freezes, stunned when he hears your voice so clearly. Your hand wraps at his wrist, clenching so tight it would have hurt if it wasn’t constructed of solid metal. When he meets your eye, he finds a pain stab straight through his chest, because he’s become so used to your light and joy and charm that the fear etched into your features ruins him completely.

“Bucky, don’t go.”

His heart splinters.

“I need to find a first aid kit. I’ve got to clean that wound before it gets infected,” he explains as gently as he can, sinking down to his knees beside you. You nod at his words, but you’re unconvinced.

“I won’t leave you,” he adds with a little more conviction.

His relationship to you is complicated; filled with teasing smiles and playful tension in the sparring ring, late night talks and comfortable silence. You were the first person he trusted in Shield outside of Steve and Sam, the first to make him laugh until his stomach hurt, the first to accept him completely and entirely as the man he is, not who he was in his youth or what Hydra made him to be. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect him to be anything he wasn’t.

He cares for you and he knows, at least on some level, you must care for him, too. He can't imagine that anyone would be as sweet as you are with him if you didn’t. There’s too much violence to overlook, too much evil ingrained into his veins. You don’t seem to mind and Bucky wonders most days if you’re not simply an angel sent from heaven itself with the extent of absolution you grant to him.

So it’s not a question. There’s no second guessing. He won’t leave you.

“I’ll be right back,” he presses again, eyes flickering to the knife in your side. “I promise.”

You nod, letting go of his wrist, but he can tell you’re still afraid. He recognizes it in himself, how he’s felt as though if he closed his eyes for even a second, he might convince himself it was all a dream and he’ll wake up right back in Hydra’s cell. He realizes then that you’re wondering if Bucky steps out of your view, he might disappear entirely and you’ll be alone, facing the impending darkness on your own.

“Hey, remember that summer in New Orleans?” Bucky starts, hoping to ease your panic through the sound of his voice as he slips from the room. “Sam was walking around Bourbon Street with a dozen beaded necklaces and tripping over his own feet?”

Bucky can vaguely hear you chuckle weakly from the living room as he rummages through the drawers in the bathroom.

He continues. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam that wasted before. I had to carry him up three flights of stairs to his room.”

Shifting through old toothpaste containers, wash rags, makeup brushes, Bucky knelt down under the sink in search of anything he can use. He grabs the clean towels and an ace bandage hidden behind the pipes and moves onto the first bedroom. He still needs something to close the wound.

“Idiot passed out on me before midnight,” Bucky calls out to the living room, stealing a glance at you to make sure your eyes were still open. You smile at him, faded and faint, but he continues on. “You called when we didn’t show up to the bar, remember? You didn’t think you could keep up with Natalia’s tolerance and you wanted to push some of your drinks off on me.”

Bucky is surprised when his lips curve up into a smile at the memory. It was the first time anyone managed to convince him to stay a few days passed the scheduled mission. He always had such a hard time saying no to you.

“Think that might have been the first night I went out dancing since the forties. It was a little different than what I was used to but the music had the same soul to it,” Bucky continues as he searches under the bed, through the closet, shoving aside old clothes and shoe boxes. He can feel the panic rising, though he keeps his voice as calm as he can manage. His hands are trembling until he finds a small white box tucked into the back corner. Red cross on the top.

It’s missing a few pieces inside but it’s enough. Relief surges through him and Bucky makes his way back out to the living room.

“Don’t know if I would have let anyone else drag me away from the bar long enough to get a whole song out of me,” Bucky says as he holds up the kit for you to see and quickly moves to the kitchen to wash his hands.

“You’re a good dancer, Barnes,” you mutter out feebly, smiling fondly at the memory.

It’s a good memory, he thinks. A little faded with time, but he can still recall how you felt pressed against his chest, how his left nestled along the small of your back, his right intertwined with yours. Slow movements, swaying gently to the soft strum of the guitar.

Bucky smiles backs at you, pauses for just a moment to memorize the way your lips curve up so beautifully into your cheeks before he turns to the sink to wash his hands. The water comes out brown for the first few seconds before it clears up. He washes his hands quickly and gathers a bucket of water before he makes his way back to you.

As he kneels down at your side, he tries to mask the flash of panic that courses through him as he catches sight of the blood seeped into the couch under your back and the sweat dripping down your temples. It’s wet in your hair and you don’t seem to be in much pain anymore. Just tired. Your eyelids fall heavy.

“Hey,” Bucky calls sharply, shaking your shoulder a little harsher than he intended. Your eyes snap open. “You need to stay awake for me, alright? You know I’m lousy at this stuff. Need you to make sure I’m doing it right.”

You laugh, though Bucky can tell it’s forced. You both know he’s lying. He’d tended to wounds of his own far worse than this before. But Bucky doesn’t care about causing himself pain. He powers through it, uses it as a means of strength. He knows how badly this will hurt you and he hesitates as he holds a pair of scissors to your suit.

“I trust you,” you say so quietly Bucky isn’t certain he even heard it. You nod at him.

Bucky takes a deep breath as he cuts away at your suit and removes the fabric away from the wound.

“It’s going to bleed a lot,” he warns. “Don’t let it scare you.”

You nod, staring up at the ceiling as you try to prepare yourself.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, because he knows it will make this harder. Your chest rises a little quicker, hands clench into fists, and it takes nearly everything Bucky has not to hold your hand instead of the hilt of the knife.

It happens quickly. He pulls the knife from your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasp at the sudden sensation, a cry in your voice as you bite down on your fist to keep yourself from screaming, and Bucky presses a towel to your side to absorb the gush of blood and it drenches the cloth in a matter of seconds.

He removes it in favor of a clean one and drops the bloodied rag onto the floor. The next towel doesn’t turn red as quickly and Buck begins to exhale a sigh of relief. The blood flow is slowing down. It’s a good sign. It’ll give him the chance to clean the wound and stitch you up enough to keep you together until rescue shows up.

It takes a while before Bucky dares to lift the cloth. It’s heavy in his hands and dripping with blood, but the wound doesn’t appear to be freshly bleeding. Bucky gets to work, humming quietly to himself as he cleans the wound as best he can. He can feel your eyes on him, watching as he tends to the wound and mumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t mind. You’re awake. It's all that matters to him.

“You really need to do that?” you ask nervously as Bucky begins to thread a needle.

Bucky shrugs. “There’s a stapler in the office if you prefer that?”

You laugh, enough to cause a bit of blood to seep out from the cleaned wound and Bucky presses a hand to your stomach to stop the bleeding.

“Hey! Don’t mess with my work!” he teases, thankful for a moment where you feel more like yourself than you had since he picked you from the snowbank on the battlefield. You nod, trying to contain your smile, though its weak and fading.

“My apologies, Sergeant Barnes.”

“That’s Dr. Barnes to you,” Bucky quips back, distracting you long enough to slip the thread through your skin. You wince, hand gripping in tight to the straps on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” you mutter out tensely. “What decade did you get your medical degree in, Doctor? Feels pretty amateur from where I’m sitting.”

“You should be nicer to me, doll. I’m the one with the needle in my hand,” Bucky smirks. Only two more threads to go before the wound is closed and you’re taking it like a champ. Pride swells in his chest and he has the urge to kiss you, but quickly pushes the feeling down.

“Imagine how I must feel,” you scoff playfully, exhaling a heavy breath of relief as Bucky sits back and cuts the thread.

Bucky grins, brushing a clean cloth over the surface to wipe away the excess blood. “You did good. Try to get some rest now, alright? I’ll be here.”

He lifts a blanket up over your body and lets it lay against your chest. You smile at him again and he’s certain it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He stands to clean up the mess around the couch when your hand catches his.

“Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, rub your thumb over his wrist, something so tender and loving that it nearly jolts his heart straight from his chest.

“Anytime, doll,” he replies as even as his voice will let him. By the time he finishes cleaning the bloodied rags and rinsing the red stains from his hands, you’ve already fallen asleep.

Bucky takes his time as he gathers a few stray blankets and lays them down on the floor beside the couch. He knows there’s a room with a decent bed just a few feet down the hall but he meant what he promised you. He wasn’t going to leave your side.

So, he lays down on the hardwoods, rests a pillow under his head, and stars up at the ceiling; content to listen to the soft sounds of your breathing until they too lull him to sleep.

***

He wakes abruptly a few hours later. It’s dark outside, nearly pitch black in the cabin, and Bucky rubs his hands over his tired eyes before he realizes what woke him up.

Quiet whimpers above him, muffled, pained. You’re crying.

Bucky jolts up in a panic. He kneels beside you to find you curled up on your side, knees tucked to your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks. You're sweating again, and it drenches into your hair.

“Y/n?” Bucky begs, hands hovering over you, terrified to make it worse. “Y/n, talk to me.”

“It hurts,” you cry, barely able to mutter the words out. “It hurts... bad. S-Somethings wrong.”

Bucky nods, rushing up to the fireplace to give some light. It takes him longer than it should and he nearly shouts out in frustration before it sparks and a flame bursts onto the wood. It’s a faint flicker, but it’s enough.

“Let me see,” he requests, and you release the blanket to let Bucky's slide it off of you. He helps guide you to lay flat on the couch and he knows how much it hurts you because you’ve bitten down so hard on your lip, it’s bleeding. You choke back a cry.

“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky soothes, running a hand down your arm to find you shaking so badly it trembles right into his palm. You’re fully sobbing as he tries to pry your hands away from the wound. “I’m so sorry, but you have to let me see it, honey. Come on now. It’s alright.”

You pull your hands away, clutching them tight into the couch cushions and it's then that Bucky sees the series of large, angry, purple veins extending from the wound. Jagged lines protruding out across your stomach, stretching up towards your chest to your heart.

Bucky can’t find his breath as he stumbles back. On the ground at his feet, the faint flicker of the knife catches his eye in the dim light of the fire behind him, and he bends down to pick it up. On its surface, hardly visible, is a sticky thin substance; green in color, bitter in its stench. Poison.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to you as the knife slips from his hand. It clashes against the hardwoods and echoes through the painful silence in the cabin, only obstructed by the muffled whistle of the wind outside and your faint attempts to stifle the sob etching its way through your throat.

“No,” Bucky replies quickly, though his voice wavers. You’re unconvinced as tears slip past your eyes and you drop his gaze in favor of the ceiling tiles.

“No,” he tries again, firmer as he kneels by your side. He runs a hand over your forehead to brush away the sweat, soothes his palm against your face and traces the line of your cheekbone until you dare to meet his eye again. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not letting you die today; you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”

“Bucky...”

“You’re going to be fine,” he says again, determined. “Starks probably got a whole branch of the military searching for you by now. We both know how much of a soft spot he’s got for you. Hell, I’m lucky you’re the one I’m MIA with. Stark wouldn’t waste an AI suit on tracking me down. But you? Come on. He won’t sleep until you’re home safe.”

Bucky doesn’t know why he’s trying to draw a smile out of you. He’s terrified and he knows you are too, but dammit, all he ever wants to do is make you smile.

“Tony would send more than an AI for you.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “You underestimate how much he dislikes me.”

“It’s been better, hasn’t it?” you ask, and he knows you’re trying to distract yourself from the pain, so Bucky nods.

“It has. He hasn’t tried to kill me lately, so I’d consider that an improvement.”

You smile and Bucky’s whole world brightens around him. Sunshine through the night sky, past the dark clouds and the blizzard outside the window, flowers blooming through the snow. It's perfect. You’re perfect.

But then the pain sweeps in again and steals your smile away, warps it and twists it until you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe and Bucky is helpless but to watch.

There’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t know what the poison is, let alone how to counteract it. He doesn't often wish Stark was around, but he does in this moment. He’d know what to do. He could save you, take away this pain, in a way Bucky couldn’t.

He finds himself looking to the windows, watching as the snow continues to fall in blurring sweeps enough that he can’t see the trees beyond the clearing. He figures at least another foot of snow has piled up in the last hour but maybe if he could find the right layers in the back bedroom, he could make himself useful, venture out to find a nearby town or a phone or --

“Don’t.”

Your voice is barely a whisper but it punctures straight through to Bucky’s heart.

“Please don’t go,” you mutter out. “I don’t want to be alone when... when I...”

“Hey,” Bucky exhales, shaking his head, “hey, come on. What did I say? You’re not dying today, remember?”

He tears his eyes away from the window, forgets his plan because he knows you’re right. He can’t leave you. He wants to believe that his hope is enough, that his insistence will sway fate herself, but the truth is he doesn’t know. He can’t do much of anything at all, but he starts to wonder if there is something he can do to shoulder even an ounce of your pain.

Slowly, Bucky slips an arm under your back and gently guides you forward just enough so that he can slide into the space behind you. You mold against him as he eases his way onto the couch beside you, gathering you up into his arms. He runs a tender hand over your stomach along the spidery veins around the knife wound and you don’t wince. It seems to come and go in waves.

The next wave comes quickly and Bucky holds you through it the best he can. He’s never felt so helpless in his life; arms wrapped tight around you, a hand soothing along your arm as he tries to reassure you that this will pass, that Stark’s on his way, that you’ll be okay, but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth anymore.

You exhale as the pain subsides again and you’re drenched in sweat. Bucky is too, but he doesn’t mind, not if it means he can give you even an ounce of comfort through this. You curl against him, careful of the fresh stitches in your side.

“I’m scared.” It comes out broken and aching and Bucky’s heart lurches.

“I know, honey. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

It’s all he can say.

His own helplessness makes him sick.

There’s a prolonged silence and Bucky finds himself keeping a finger against your pulse, just to be sure. He feels like screaming or crying or maybe both, but he exhales a steady breath and tries to calm his heart rate instead because he knows you can hear it.

“I’m glad it’s you,” you say after a while, voice barely louder than a whisper. It’s faint, fading, and Bucky bites down on his cheek. “I’m glad... that if this is... if this is it... you’re here.”

It breaks his heart, shatters it to pieces. He’d trade places with you if he could, absorb your pain tenfold if it meant you’d survive this, but he knows it’s a fantasy. Bucky Barnes stopped allowing himself to indulge in such dreams a long time ago.

So, he holds you a little tighter, dares to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and rubs gentle circles along your spine. He can feel your pulse weaken, how it slips to beats a little longer apart, how your breaths fall shallow and he’s not ready to lose you yet. He’s not.

“How about when we get out of here, we go dancing?”

You don’t say anything, but he can feel your smile against his chest, the warm of your breath as you exhale a tired chuckle. It takes nearly all of your energy.

“Been thinking about it a lot since New Orleans,” Bucky continues. “It could be fun, you know? Get dressed up. Listen to good music. Beautiful woman in my arms. Sounds nice.”

“You should... You should go,” you tell him and he barely recognizes your voice. He clenches his jaw until it aches, brushes at the tear in his eyes you’re too weak to lift your head to notice.

“I’m not going with anyone but you, so no deal.”

“Bucky...”

“No deal. You or nothing, doll.” Bucky finds himself smiling through the tears. “You’re my only dance partner, okay? Can’t be having just anyone step all over my toes.”

You hum and it’s so faint he can hardly hear it.

Bucky clears his throat, swallowing back the lump that threatens to choke him. “We’ll have to go back to that bar, okay? The one off of Bourbon Street. Live music only. I can show you how we used to dance back in my day. I’m sure you’ll be wonderful at it.”

A smile breaks through the tears as he imagines spinning you under the soften glow of amber lights and the reflection of the moonlight through the windows, the roar of trumpets settling in his chest and the echo of your laugh etched right into his soul. You’d smile at him and his whole world would stop spinning.

“What do you say, doll?” Bucky sighs, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. He brushes the hair away from your eyes, sticky and wet with sweat.

But you don’t say anything and suddenly, it’s impossibly silent.

Bucky stops breathing because he can’t hear the crackle of the fire place or the wind barreling against the cabin walls. He can’t hear the heavy snow as it brushes against the windows. He can’t hear your breaths, can’t feel the pulse as he reaches up to your neck, and that silence begins to feel like a void, like he’s screaming, but it’s all inside his head.

“Y/n?” he chokes out. There’s no reply, but still, as if to break his own heart a little more, he tries again. “Y/n? Please... don’t do this. Come on. Come back to me.”

Nothing.

“No... no no no... don’t give up on me,” Bucky pleads, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Y/n...”

He barely notices as the cabin door is blown open, as the wind screams outside and snow barrels in through the frame. He can’t focus on much of anything else as he tries to move your lifeless body in his arms, trying to wake you from the edge of a paralyzing darkness. He doesn’t recognize the blur of red and yellow as it crashes into the room.

“Banner! I need the antidote, now!”

You’re being pulled from his arms and all Bucky wants to do is hold on tighter.

“Barnes, you need to let go of her.”

The voice is calmer now, gentle, and Bucky allows himself to meet Tony’s eye. There’s a kindness there he doesn’t expect, an understanding. Tony’s helmet has been discarded and Bucky notices quickly he bares the same redness in the whites of his eyes, the same dark circles beneath. Tony’s hand lays upon your shoulder.

“Let me save her, Barnes,” Tony tries again as Bruce barrels in through the door in a parka a few sizes too big for his frame. He’s clutching a syringe in his hand, desperately trying to hold up the hood around his head.

Bucky nods numbly and releases you from his hold. Tony and Bruce lower you carefully down to the ground, laid upon the blankets he slept on less than an hour earlier. Tony presses his hand to your chest and an electrical spark jolts through your body. He tries again, and still, nothing.

Bruce pulls off the cap of the syringe and without hesitation, plunges it directly into a vein and releases the serum inside. He sits back on his heels and waits.

It's agonizing. The seconds feel like hours and Bucky is certain he’ll never learn to smile again, until suddenly, the purple veins along the knife wound begin to retract. They crawl along your skin and shrink back to the wound until they’ve disappeared entirely.

But then, the most beautiful sound.

You gasp for air, chest rising high off the ground before you sink back against the blankets. FRIDAY reports your pulse, says you’re stable, and Bucky presses his hands over his face to stop the sob before it consumes him whole. It’s made of relief.

“You did good, Barnes,” Tony says as Bucky lowers his hands.

He’s suspicious of the praise, but as Tony runs a hand over your hair, soothes it away from your face, Bucky knows he meant what he said.

“We should get her to the cradle,” Bruce says, shivering as he glances back to the door. “Helen will want to fix that wound up and run some tests to make sure the antidote worked.”

Tony covers you with the blankets as best as he can and gathers you into his arms. Bucky tries to ignore the lurch in his stomach as you press your nose to Tony’s neck, seeking out his warmth. He doesn’t say anything else before he flies out the front door, back to the quinjet.

Bruce starts to make his way to the door when he realizes Bucky isn’t following behind. He pauses and glances back at Bucky over his shoulder.

“How did you know?” Bucky asks weakly, staring at the empty syringe.

“A few of the Shield agents came back from the field with the same symptoms,” Bruce explains. He scratches the back of his neck. “We wanted to be prepared if either of you were infected by the poison.”

Bucky nods. He feels empty.

“She’s going to be alright, Barnes,” Bruce says and he places a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It surprises him but he can feel the tension slip away as Bruce squeezes the muscle tightly. He gestures to the door. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

***

Bucky’s right hand is throbbing. Blood trickles down from the open scars on his knuckles and it smears into the punching bag. Beads of sand embed themselves into the wounds but he presses on because it’s better than the pit in his stomach, of seeing you laid up in the med wing with wires attached you and a monitor displaying the weak rhythm of your pulse.

It’s been days since you’ve been home, since the antidote was administered and Helen properly stitched up the stab wound in your stomach, and yet you’re still unconscious, barely breathing on your own. Banner can’t make sense of it, but he suspects it’s because the poison was in your system longer than the others.

Bucky can’t help but wonder that if he never left the field with you, if he had just stayed put and fought off whoever tried to come near, that maybe they could have saved you. Maybe he’s the reason you're still fighting for your life. Maybe if he wasn’t around at all you'd be safer, you'd be alive.

The bag dislodges from the ceiling and slams into the wall in an echoing thud.

Bucky sighs, slumping his shoulders down as he kicks at the sand streaming from the bag onto the gym floors. He turns to pick up the next bag in the long line leading from the storage closet when he stops dead in his tracks.

You’re standing in the center of the gym, still dressed the pale blue scrubs from the med wing, holding onto the edge of a weight machine for support. There is a mark in your arm from where the IV line should be, tape residue around your mouth from the tubes. It’s a miracle you’re on your feet at all and all Bucky wants to do is run towards you, wrap you tight into his arms, just to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re standing right there, but instead, he holds his ground. He’s turned to stone.

“Thought I’d find you here,” you chuckle, your voice raspy and airy, but it has a strength to it again. It sounds like you.

Bucky grips his hands at his side. “I didn’t... I didn’t know you were awake.”

You shrug. “Don’t think the nurses do either. Helen might be mad at me when she finds an empty bed in my room.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Y/n,” he says, his gaze focused on the floor. He pushes aside the heavy stone sitting in his chest as he starts to walk towards you to usher to towards the med wing. “I should get you back...”

“What else was I supposed to do when I woke up and you weren’t there?”

You’re smiling, teasing. There’s a laugh in your voice, and still Bucky can’t help the pang in his stomach. It twists and turns and threatens to consume him whole.

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe not wander around the tower after being in a coma for four days?”

The smile lingers upon your face despite his tone. It doesn’t seem to bother you at all, doesn’t throw you off your game, doesn’t puncture even a crack into the shield of your charm. No – you smile at him.

“You broke your promise, Barnes,” you say simply. “I’m here to scold you for it. Think you may owe me a few takeout nights before you’re out of the doghouse.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, daring to challenge your gaze. “What promise?”

“You left.”

Bucky feels the hitch in his lungs before the flash of guilt sweeps over his gut. You notice it just as quick because the teasing smile falls in an instant. He stumbles back away from you, slipping out from the extent of your outstretched hand.

“It’s better that way, Y/n,” he mumbles. “I’m the reason you ended up there.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” you snap, enough so that it startles him.

You struggle to walk the few steps closer to him, your legs wobbling underneath you and he wonders how you even made it across the tower and down five floors to the gym without anyone stopping you. You reach for his hand and because Bucky can’t bear to see you struggle, he offers his support. You balance yourself on the edge of the weight machine beside him, one hand anchored in his left forearm.

“Y/n,” he starts, taking in a deep breath, but you cut him off quickly.

“No. There is no room for the Bucky Barnes guilt parade here, okay?” you argue. “You saved my life, Bucky. You can’t possibly stand there and think for a second that you’re somehow to blame for anything less.”

He shakes his head. The guilt and shame that burns deep into his chest is one he knows well. It lives inside of him, festering, waiting for moments like these.

“If I hadn’t taken you from the field, if I got that blade out sooner, Banner could have given you the antidote hours earlier and you wouldn’t have—”

“I would have bled out before he had the chance,” you press, pulling yourself a little closer. “Those other agents? They had scrapes, Bucky. Nicks. The poison only started to affect me after you removed the knife. Bruce thinks it reacted to the oxygen in the air. Waiting to remove the blade, closing the wound... Bucky, you prolonged it as long as you could have. You gave me more time, gave Bruce and Tony time to find us. You saved me.”

Your hand squeezes at the solid metal of his forearm and Bucky knows he can't really feel it. He can only register the synapses faintly, as if they were distant, far away; it reads it like data and numbers, but there’s something in the way the pads of your fingertips press into the divots of vibranium that makes his breath hilt. His stare focuses on your thumb as it rubs soothing sweeps along the crevices and it takes him a moment before he dares to meet your eye.

When he does, all that is waiting for him is that same smile that lit up across a battlefield, that pushed through when you were on the brink of an endless darkness, that cast away the shadows and demons that swarmed in his chest just with the wrinkles up by your eyes. He felt lighter. Safer.

“Now,” you start, sliding your palm down his forearm until you can intertwine your hand in his own. You curl your fingers around his and you don’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by the harsh chill of the metal. You smile at him and for the first time in a while, Bucky finds himself smiling back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Sergeant.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x you

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getouswh0re · 3 years

Text

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast.

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end.

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months.

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much.

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated.

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.”

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy.

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.”

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex.

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure.

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train.

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague.

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night.

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?”

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you.

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!”

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!”

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart.

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!”

That is when he activates his domain expansion.

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way.

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms.

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...”

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love.

“In time and evermore.”

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arrantsnowdrop · 3 years

Text

To be a Jedi - Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Request: “anakin/female!reader getting together fic that involves reader crying because she’s feeling self-conscious about her appearance and feeling worthless and anakin comforting her and calming her down and then accidentally confessing to her?”

Tags: @lothloriien

Warnings: self-deprecation, insecurities, etc. (~2,500 words)

~~~~~

Being a Jedi really sucked sometimes.

Not all the time. In fact, you normally enjoyed the fast-paced, demanding lifestyle you led. Even as a youngling you had taken pride in the ritual and responsibility of being a Jedi, and now, as a Padawan on the verge of facing the Jedi trials, you were more confident than ever that the Force had led you down the right path.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t have bad days every once in a while.

Your Master had been called away on some highly classified mission in the Naboo system, so you’d been spending the week at the Jedi Temple working on some independent research and participating in training sessions with the other senior Padawans. Unfortunately, they were focusing on lightsaber combat this week - something you were definitely not as skilled at considering your specialization in negotiation and communications.

It wasn’t that you were unathletic - you were training to be a Jedi for crying out loud - but it was hard not to feel a little self-conscious about how much you were struggling with the training exercises, especially when your assigned training partner was none other than Anakin Skywalker.

It was just past midday - you’d been training for hours already and still had a few to go. The sun was blaring down on the courtyard where you and the other Padawans were sparring under Obi-Wan’s supervision.

You panted heavily, eyeing Anakin as the two of you circled each other slowly. There was no question as to which one of you would launch the next parry - Anakin had taken the offensive right out of the gate - so all you could do was try to catch your breath and prepare yourself for his next attack.

His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, a few beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and some of his hair sticking to his face. His eyes were following your every move, tracking you like you were some kind of prey.

You hated this.

Suddenly, Anakin lunged forward, blue lightsaber whirring loudly as he swung it towards you. You groaned, lifting your own lightsaber up at the last possible moment to deflect him.

“Such a slow reaction time,” Anakin teased, grinning as he stepped back to give himself a wider range of motion.

“I thought it would take you longer to catch your breath,” you replied, voice strained as you blocked another one of his strikes.

You’d been friends with Anakin since Obi-Wan took him as a Padawan years ago, offering to help him as he played “catch up” with the rest of you. The fact he’d become such a strong Force-user despite starting so late was something you deeply respected him for, though you were perfectly content simply watching him display these skills.

Being on the receiving end of a lightsaber attack from Anakin Skywalker was not something you would consider enjoyable. You’d spent the whole morning dodging and jumping and somehow still losing every match.

You flinched as Anakin’s lightsaber hit your torso, the sting of the “training mode” setting hurting far less than the sting of your own pride.

“Seven to one,” Obi-Wan called from where he was watching. You groaned, rubbing your temples with your free hand and turning your lightsaber off.

“Hey, you were definitely doing better than time,” Anakin said reassuringly, sensing your frustration. “Improvement is all Obi-Wan is looking for.”

“Improvement doesn’t take away from the fact I’ve lost seven matches today,” you seethed, bending down to re-tie the laces of your boots.

“Perhaps if you worked out a bit more you wouldn’t lose so often,” one of the other Padawans jested. Your head snapped up, face flushing as you sent them a pointed glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked curtly, watching them look between you and Anakin uncomfortably.

“It’s just-”

They didn’t get a chance to finish, letting out a small shriek as they dodged a rock flying through the air. You turned around to look at Anakin, his slightly raised hand indicating who’d been responsible for the rock. At least he was using his Force capabilities in your favor now.

“Thanks,” you muttered, reigniting your lightsaber, glancing at the clock above where Obi-Wan was sitting. All you wanted was for training to be over so you could retreat to your room.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Anakin said, a somewhat angry look on his face as he took a fighting stance across from you. “You’re perfectly capable of wielding a lightsaber, and you’d definitely beat them if you’d been paired up.”

“Hopefully,” you corrected him, “hopefully I’d beat them.”

“Definitely,” Anakin insisted, you rolling your eyes as you lifted your lightsaber in front of you.

----

What sucked about getting older was how little you saw Obi-Wan and Anakin. Your Master was responsible for conducting multiple research projects for the Jedi Council off-world, and Obi-Wan and Anakin hardly ever stayed on Coruscant for longer than a few days, so it was unlikely that you’d find yourselves in the same place for a decent amount of time anymore.

Normally, you would’ve used this week as a great opportunity to catch up with one of your oldest friends. This damn lightsaber training was getting in the way.

It had been yet another long day of sweating the equivalent of your own bodyweight and paling in comparison to Anakin’s abilities. Obi-Wan had focused on lightsaber combat in precarious and compromising situations, with one of which resulting in you falling off a two story rock wall.

As you stood in front of the mirror in your room you couldn’t overlook the spattering of bruises covering your torso and arms, all varying hues of blue and purple culminating from the last few days. You sighed, grateful you were getting the extra training you so clearly needed and nervous about what that meant. Imagine you’d been confronted by some Sith fanatic in the last few weeks - who knows how long you would’ve lasted?

Perhaps you were overthinking. You did have an extremely over-skilled training partner who made most other Jedi look incompetent with a lightsaber.

That being said, you still couldn’t shake what that other Padawan had said about you yesterday. Had you really become unathletic? You didn’t think you’d ever really neglected your daily training exercises, but perhaps those weren’t enough.

You sat down on the edge of your bed slowly, shoulder slumped. Maybe you weren’t as capable as you thought. The bruises all over you and lack of any actual visible muscle certainly pointed towards that.

----

The next morning, you skipped breakfast, giving Obi-Wan some offhanded explanation as to why you’d be missing training and heading for the library. You weren’t really skipping for no reason, your Master had given you a list of different research topics for you to look up in the Jedi Archives. Did you really need the extra time to get this done? No, but it still gave you a good excuse to avoid the feeling of physical incapability that accompanied your training sessions.

Plus, you didn’t want to slow the entire group down. Tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered yesterday when Obi-Wan made you repeat some dumb exercise on a floating raft over and over again, even though everyone else had already done it to his satisfaction. It was humiliating.

At least here in the library, surrounded by stacks of holograms and books, you were in your element. Here you didn’t have to move fast or chop anyone’s limb off out of self-defense.

It was sometime in the late afternoon when Anakin stormed into the library, loud footsteps immediately shushed by a swarm of librarians. You couldn’t help but grin softly, eyes meeting his as he marched over to you much more quietly.

“Even the great Anakin Skywalker is no match for an angry librarian,” you teased, him scoffing as he plopped down in a chair next to you.

“And where were you today?” Anakin asked, a strange intensity behind his question. You gulped, gesturing to the pile of transcripts and notes in front of you.

“I was right here,” you replied meekly.

“Since this morning?” he asked, eyes widening in surprise. You nodded.

“What the heck, Y/N,” he groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Obi-Wan assigned me a different partner. Do you know how irritating every other Padawan is to train with?”

“No, I’ve only ever trained with you,” you said bluntly.

“Exactly!” Anakin responded a little too loudly, earning him a dramatic shush from the circulation desk.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, slapping his chest lightly. He rolled his eyes.

“What I mean is that I’ve only ever trained with you, too, so everyone else doesn’t live up to my expectations.”

“What expectations?” you asked quizzically, flipping one of your notebooks closed.

“Working hard but still having a good time,” he answered, waving his hand nonchalantly. “You never sacrifice good banter for anything, I value that.”

“Ah, I’m glad to know you only value me as a training partner for my humor,” you retorted dryly, gathering all your belongings into a pile and standing up. Anakin’s brows furrowed as he looked up at you, a confused look painted across his face.

“Hey, what?” he asked, standing up with you. “What happened?”

“Nothing, just makes sense that you only enjoy my conversation, not anything actually training-related.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, completely dumbfounded as you started walking away.

“See you tomorrow, Anakin,” you replied, refusing to shed any more tears until you reached your room.

----

The next morning you were too unmotivated to let Obi-Wan know you weren’t coming, deciding instead to stay in bed and do absolutely nothing. Well, you were reading, but what did that really matter to a Jedi? You were supposed to be able to do backflips through the air and take on five enemies at once, and yet here you were wrapped in two blankets feeling like absolute shit. Some Jedi you were.

You held your breath as someone began knocking furiously on the door, hoping desperately they would think you weren’t home.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” Anakin called. You groaned, turning around and smashing your face into the pillow.

“Y/N!” he called again.

“Don’t come in!” you shouted back, voice muffled through the pillow.

“I’m coming in.”

“Don’t-”

You never got the chance to finish, bolting upright in bed as the door flew open, Anakin stalking in. You rolled your eyes, just thankful he had kept the door on its hinges.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, cringing as you recoiled slightly at his harsh words.

“What do you mean?” you replied quietly, his face softening as he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I meant what’s wrong, not what’s wrong with you,” Anakin corrected, taking your hand in his own.

“Nothing’s wr-”

“Don’t give me that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t even try, I know you better than anyone Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You kept quiet, focusing on the way his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of your hand.

“You’ve been acting off since we started training together, is it something I did?” he tried again, genuinely concerned. You laughed dryly and shook your head.

“No, Anakin, you didn’t do anything,” you replied truthfully, looking at him. “You’re perfect, I promise you did nothing wrong.” He gave you a small smile, looking down to where he was still holding your hand. He didn’t let go, only gripped you a little tighter, urging you to continue. You bit your lip, debating whether or not to tell him.

“Do you remember when that Padawan told me I needed to exercise more?” you asked finally. His head snapped up, eyes meeting yours.

“I knew it,” he murmured, nostrils flaring as he tried (and failed) to conceal his budding anger. “I knew it.”

“Anakin it’s ok,” you said, reaching out and rubbing his forearm, his gaze following your hand. “I mean, they were right, if I-”

“No,” Anakin said. “No, they weren’t right. They have no idea how strong you are, how capable-”

“Anakin I’ve struggled this entire week,” you blurted, eyes stinging and face heating up. “I pale in comparison to you, and the other Padawans, at least physically. I thought whatever training I’d been doing had been enough but clearly it wasn’t, so they’re right. I need to exercise more, I need to train more, I’m incapable of defending myself with a lightsaber and I don’t even look like a proper Jedi.” You thrust your bruised arms out towards him. “Look at these, you don’t have them, no one else does. I’m the only one who struggles with every exercise and test.”

You realized you’d begun to cry, tears rolling down your face and breaths shallow.

“Y/N,” Anakin murmured, hurt in his eyes as he took your arms gingerly in his hands. “Y/N, no.”

Your eyes widened as Anakin bent over, slowly pressing his mouth to each bruise on your forearms. You gulped, feeling a little dizzy as Anakin glanced up at you. “You’re an amazing Jedi,” he started, sitting back up straight and pulling you closer to him. You tried to pull away, not wanting to stain his robes with your tears, but he held you firmly. “You’re already stronger than half the people in that group, I’ll have Obi-Wan reassign you so you can kick someone’s ass and everyone will realize it.”

“Anakin-”

He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours.

“There’s more to being a Jedi than using a lightsaber, anyways,” he continued. “You’re the only person our age in this whole temple that can negotiate with warlords and thieves and murderers and still come back unscathed with five new friends.”

You chuckled, biting your lip as he pressed a kiss against your hair.

“You’re perfect, Y/N,” he insisted softly, you shifting in his arms to gaze up at him.

You were surprised by how nervous he looked, as if he didn’t know how you’d react to what he’d just said, what he’d just implied. You just smiled softly, leaning up to press a slow kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Anakin,” you mumbled against his face, grinning as you felt him smile.

Suddenly he pushed himself up, forcing you down onto the bed and collapsing on top of you. You shrieked, bursting into a fit of giggles as he began nestling himself in your hair.

“Shouldn’t you still be at training?” you asked, a wide smile on your face.

“I was sent here by Obi-Wan to fetch you,” he replied smugly.

“So shouldn’t we both be getting back then?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, gazing down at you with a cocky smile on his face.

“I never told him when I’d be coming back.”

You decided you could afford to skip training another day - Anakin probably needed the rest anyways - and pulled his face down to meet your own.

#anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #star wars fanfiction

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dracowars · 3 years

Text

sacrifice | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin x jedi!reader

word count: 4,1k

summary: where y/n has to sacrifice everything in order to save anakin

a/n: i'm so proud of this, i hope you enjoy reading it <3 also i really want to write more for anakin (& other male sw characters), so feel free to send in requests!! ♡

warnings: angst, torture, violence, mentions of severe injuries

universe: star wars

Exhausted and plagued by a painful sting pulling through your whole body, you slowly flutter your eyes open which turns out to be difficult at first due to the bright light. Your limbs feel sore and incredibly weak, you can hardly feel your arms anymore and an uncomfortable tingling sensation runs through your legs. Your head is extremely heavy and the world around you rotates, getting faster in each second that passes and thus disenables your ability to think clearly.

Still blinded by the light, you narrow your eyes to at least be able to see something and as you do, your breath gets stuck in your lungs right away. Your gaze is directed at a black steel door with red and white switches and lights flashing on the right and on the left. A steel door which most likely allows no escape.

"Sir. The Jedi is conscious again", you hear the mechanical voice of a droid and you turn your head in its direction to your right. You see two Battle Droids next to you, one of them now aiming his weapon at you alarmed, the other standing at a control field.

Only now do you notice that you are much taller than these droids and you quickly discover why. Surround by a bluish light, you float in the air, your wrists and ankles chained in stuncuffs, making you unable to move even a tiny bit. You helplessly hang in the air, the tight handcuffs already painfully straining your skin.

"Do not let her out of your sight until I get there", you suddenly hear another voice through the comlink one of the droids is holding. A voice that unmistakably belongs to none other than the Supreme Commander of the Separatist Droid Army General Grievous himself.

However, there was something else in the background. Something that made your breath get stuck in your throat again.

Screams. Full of pain and suffer that can only be produced by incredible agony.

"Where should she even go?", one of the droids asks annoyed and gets hit on the back of his head by the other after his statement immediately.

"Don't ask, work."

Not saying a word, you try to shake your hands to maybe loosen the handcuffs a little, but to no avail.

"No chance, lady. You will not get out of here that easily", the Battle Droid laughs while the other joins in. Throwing them an angry look, they quickly stop and get back to their work, ignoring you.

Using the moment of silence to your advantage, you close your eyes and try to feel the Force that surrounds you so that it can guide you the way. Because of your severe headache you do not succeed, but you also do not give up instantly and at least try to concentrate enough to remember what exactly happened.

The terrifying image of a battlefield on Ryloth appears in your head, droids and clones brutally fighting each other. With your ignited lightsaber you run between them, giving the clones cover while taking down several Battle Droids and Droidekas with one slash of your elegant weapon.

"General Y/L/N! General Skywalker has just informed us that he has advanced further at the front and has almost reached Grievous", you hear Fives tell you in your blurred memories when you hide behind a tree to seek protection for the split of a second.

"Anakin", you softly breathe, not noticing that you said his name out loud, and your eyes shoot open when your memory cuts off all of a sudden.

All you remember is that you followed him after Fives' words, but you do not remember what happened after that and you do not know where Anakin is now or if he was even captured as well.

In any case, you are not allowed to think about it any further when the door in front of you opens and you are greeted with the shadow of a large robotic figure, two Magna Guards on either side of him.

"Grievous", you hiss disapprovingly when he comes up to you with slow, heavy steps, his face - if you can even call it that - at eye level with you. "I sould have guessed that only you would be able to carry out such primitive captures."

His smoky laugh sounds at your words, which is quickly interrupted by a subsequent cough. In the next second, however, he tightly grabs your neck with his mechanical hand all of a sudden and forces you to look into his fleshy eyes. The pressure on your throat causes tears to well up in your eyes.

"You have a very important piece of information that Count Dooku would love to have, General Y/L/N", he mentions and you try to hide that he is currently blocking your windpipe. "All methods are fine with me as long as I get what I want."

"And I suppose you will only let me go if I tell you this very important piece of information?", you state ironically and take a quick breath in as he releases his strong grip from you.

"That would make things much easier for both of us", Grievous agrees and looks at you intensely, almost expectantly. "Where do the Jedi keep the holocrons?"

"What do you want to do with it? Even if I told you, which I will definitely not do by the way, you could not open it anyway", you mockingly point out and raise an eyebrow.

A second later, you have to fight for air again.

"That is something you should not worry about", he aggressively snaps at you and squeezes his hand harder, making you gasp for air even more. "Tell me where they are kept."

"You could kill me and I would not tell you", you choke out and his creepy-looking eyes sparkle with anger.

"I will let it depend on that", Grievous states and lets go of you again, but with a subtle gesture he gives his Magna Guards a sign and they suddenly approach you, their dangerous electrostaffs now activated.

Shortly afterwards you already feel an incredibly terrible pain that makes you cry out loud. A painful electricity shoots through your entire body that would force you onto your knees if you were not currently chained to stuncuffs in the air. It only takes a few seconds, but it feels much longer until they stop their torture, staying in their position.

"Where. Are. The. Holocrons?", Grievous asks you again, this time more angry and somehow stressed, putting strong emphasis on each word.

"You would like to know, huh", you slightly grin and although you know that such a cheeky answer will cause you to suffer again, it rolls of your tongue anyway.

Again, several electric shocks run through you at the same time and an increasingly unbearable pain forms in your body, but your head remains unwavering when they stop again.

"Tell me where they are, Jedi scum! Now!", the merciless General shouts at you and you can sense how he is getting more and more impatient by each second. He will not stop torturing you until you tell him what he wants to know and until you stop holding it back, but you have sworn a vow to the Jedi Order that you can't and will not break, no matter how much pain you have to endure.

"I guess you have to kill me then, because I will never tell you, Grievous", you respond breathless and you can already smell how your skin, your flesh, has slightly charred because of the burns.

Giving his Magna Guards another command with a simple hand gesture, they continue to torture you, but this time they only shock you briefly with their bright purple electrostaffs before stopping abruptly. Your muscles still tremble from the impact and the unbearable ache persists.

"Uhm, Sir. I hate to interrupt you, but the other Jedi just managed to take down one of the droids", one of the droids next to you reports and you, although you only understood half of what he just said, too weak to focus, you immediately know who he must be talking about.

General Grievous must have already tried to squeeze something out of him, that is why you heard screams earlier.

"Anakin", you groan in pain as the Magna Guards go back to their task of torturing you out of nowhere and put you into a state of absolute pain.

"Interesting", you hear Grievous utter through your own screams as your body writhes in pain in the air, the handcuffs pressing deep into your skin. Until the pain suddenly fades and you fall to the hard ground in front of his feet the next moment when the droid freed you with the push of a button.

"Sir, is that not too risky?", one of the droids ask, but you can't even get up from the floor by yourself because you have been weakened so much by the electric shocks. You are not even sure anymore whether you might even have passed out at this point.

However, you quickly realize that you, in fact, are still conscious when you are roughly pulled to your feet, a firm grip on both your upper arms as the Magna Guards pull you up.

"She is so weak, she can hardly walk. And without her lightsaber she can't do much anyway. It was a fine addition to my collection", Grievous laughs in your ear devilishly, and a lateral push in your ribs makes you realize that you should move forward. Having no other choice, you obey and stumble forward on shaky legs, losing your balance with almost every step due to the fact that your hands are still tied together with stuncuffs.

Losing any sense of orientation, you get pushed forward right behind General Grievous, your vision blurred and your head continuing to spin until you finally come to a stop in a corridor that is no different from the previous one.

The door to another cell opens, at least you recognize the same sound as your cell door did before, and you are suddenly rudely pushed inside after Grievous has entered, meeting the hard and cold surface of the floor.

Trying your best to get up again, you notice that their dangerous weapons are no longer close to your body. Yet, you are prevented from doing anything at the sight in front of you after you managed to lift yourself up from the ground a little bit with your hands and looked up.

"Anakin!", you exhale in shock when you see your almost lifeless husband floating in front of you, the same handcuffs on him as on you, stunning him.

He immediately stirs when he hears your voice and lifts his head up, only to discover your trembling figure lying on the ground in front of him.

"What did you do to him?", you shout at Grievous with all your might and manage to fully get up due to the sudden adrenaline rush, but soon are shoved back onto the ground by Grievous and the Magna Guards pull you into a kneeling position by your arms.

"The same I did to you", General Grievous explains with a laugh and trudges back and forth between you and Anakin. "Verily, the will of a Jedi is strong, but I have already cracked the toughest will."

Admiring himself, his gaze slides on you and you immediately avoid the contact, looking at the ground.

"If you touch her even once, I swear you are already dead", Anakin angrily snaps at him, but Grievous does not even react to it, not even when Anakin manages to throw one of the Battle Droids against the wall in his anger with the tiniest movement. Grievous just stops in front of you and roughly lifts your chin up, indeed touching you.

"How many more electric shocks will she endure before her will breaks, what do you think?", Grievous asks into the room and you remove your chin from his grasp with all your leftover strength.

"J-Just leave her alone", Anakin mutters weakly and briefly looks at Grievous with a hateful expression before his muscles give up again and his head sinks down again in exhaustion.

"Tell me where the holocrons are and I will let her go", Grievous declares and turns to your husband, who is about to pass out.

"No! Don't listen to him, Anakin!", you interrupt him right away and try to, although you know that it will not be possible, to loosen your bonds, but the Magna Guards are quick to hold their electrostaffs threathingly close to your body again. "N-No matter what he does to me, you must not tell him- ouch!"

Feeling the burning imprint of the metal back of Grievous hand on your now throbbing cheek, the impact throws you to the ground and tears shoot into your eyes because of the sting, but you suppress them quickly.

"Well, if you do not want to talk, I know who will", Grievous threatens and you press your eyes shut in defeat to mentally prepare yourself for the torturing pain.

A pain that does not come.

At least not in the way you expected, because all of a sudden you hear something that is probably much worse for you than thousands of electrical particles shooting through your body.

They are shooting through Anakin right now.

Excruciating screams escape his throat and you have to watch how he is tortured, how his body winds in pain, how he slowly breaks apart.

You both expected that he would attack you.

"NO! Stop!", you yell at them and desperately shake at your bonds, tears flowing down your cheeks at the sight of the love of your life being hurt in front of your own eyes.

"Y/N-"

"Please stop! You will kill him!", you screech over his screams, but Grievous does not let his Magna Guards stop, rather he induces them to continue.

"Don't, Y/N. Do not tell- argh!", Anakin tries to tell you, but is interrupted by his pain and you can clearly feel how he is getting weaker by every second and how his strength and will are leaving him more and more.

With every further shock that electrifies his body and puts his muscles out of action, he groans in unbearable pain while thin billows of smoke are already emanating from his upper body. The skin on his neck and hands is reddish, a sign of an already severe burn. Yet the worst are still his inevitable screams that are fully soaked in suffer.

"The Jedi Archives!", you shout out loud while your tears keep streaming down your face, a feeling of guilt building up inside of you for just having betrayed the whole Jedi Order.

But you have no other choice.

"T-They are in the Jedi Archives!", you stutter out and General Grievous finally brings the torture to an end, but Anakin's body is now just lifelessly floating in the air.

"Well, that was not that hard, was it?", Grievous says, amused, and turns around to step out of the cell, his Magna Guards close behind him, leaving you alone. Before the door closes, however, one of the droids presses a button on the outside of the door, causing Anakin to fall to the ground with a loud thud.

"Anakin!", you cry out and quickly crawl over to him, his body still trembling as a result of the numerous shocks when you turn him on his back to get a better view of him and as soon as you touched him, you shortly get electrocuted as well.

"Do you hear me, Anakin? Please, please don't do this to me. Open your eyes!", you basically yell at him in his passed out condition and very carefully place your hands on each of his cheekbones, caressing them tenderly.

Lowering your head after he shows no reaction, your heavy sobs rock through your body and you whimper quietly, gasping for breath over and over again.

"I am so sorry", you sniff sadly and wipe your tears away with your hands, which are still tied together, before gently placing them back on his burning hot upper body.

"Y-You should not have- Should not have t-told him", Anakin utters all of a sudden and his eyes flutter open a tiny bit, weakness and pain covering his handsome face.

"W-What should I have done instead?", you desperately ask and can't help but feel a little bit relieved that he is able to talk to you despite his bad condition and despite the terrible torture method he just went through.

Seeking support and security, you grab his hands and he gently squeezes yours, trying to reassure you that he will be fine.

"That is- That is w-why it is forbidden- ugh forbidden for us to love and- and-", he groans as he tries to sit up, but he is too weak and even with your help, you do not manage to get him up so you gently lay him down again, his head in your lap.

"A-And to make us dependent on some- argh, damn! Someone", Anakin finishes his sentence anyway and if you did not know better, you could have sworn to see a small smirk scurry over his chapped lips.

"Ani, I betrayed the Council", you supress your crying and brush his brown locks out of his face while looking down at him with affection. "They are going to exclude me from the Jedi Order.."

"What are y-you even talking about? You s-saved me, babe. I will not let that happen", he hisses in pain, the last words nearly inaudible as his eyes slowly close again, his body becoming limp.

"We will not let that happen either", another voice suddenly speaks up and you look up startled, only to see Ahsoka standing in the hallway in front of your now opened cell.

"Ahsoka?", you mutter under your breath in disbelief and widen your eyes as she steps into the cell, not sure how much of your conversation she was able to hear. After all, nobody knows that you and Anakin are a thing, let alone married.

"Master!", Ahsoka breathes in shock and falls onto her knees next to you as she speechlessly takes in Anakin's fragile figure.

"I- They have-"

"It's okay, Y/N. Take it easy, slow breaths, in and out. We will get you out of here in no time", she affirms and gives you a gentle, encouraging smile before she quickly severes your and Anakin's cuffs with her green lightsaber. "Obi-Wan is chasing after Grievous and Captain Rex-"

"Master Tano, I found the lightsabers and am now on my way to the prison wing", Rex's voice interrupts Ahsoka through the comlink.

"Can you walk on your own?", she asks you concerned and helps you on your shaky legs, even though you nodded.

"I knew- I knew you would come, Snips", Anakin coughs out of nowhere, and you are not sure whether he is conscious or if the Force just allows him to feel what is happening around him right now.

"You always have to be bailed out, Skyguy", Ahsoka chuckles and at this moment Rex enters the cell with more clones, immediately handing you back your lightsaber, which you attach to your belt.

"Rex, please help me out over here", Ahsoka asks him and together they lift Anakin up from the ground and carry him out. Following them into the corridor in front of the cell, Fives quickly meets you and puts your arm around his shoulder to help you walk until you arrive in the hangar and get onto the Twilight.

They place Anakin in one of the small cabins and you let Fives guide you there as well. You sit down in front of your husband and do not let him out of your sight.

Holding back the sad and re-emerging tears that come up while looking at his distorted, unconsicous body, you bite down on your lower lip to prevent you from crying and take his rough flesh hand in your own. You gently stroke over the back of his hand with your thumb while the clone trooper medic puts an oxygen mask over his face.

It does not take long for Obi-Wan to join you in boarding the ship and as he does, he straightly goes to you when they start the Twilight and fly out of the hangar and into the vastness of space. When you feel his hand on your shoulder, you flinch.

"Sorry. How is he?", Obi-Wan asks you with great concern in his voice and face. After all, Anakin is like a son to him.

"The clone trooper medic said that he suffered severe burns and bruises, but apparently no permanent serious or consequential damage. Nevertheless, he urgently needs professional treatment when we arrive on the Negotiator", you sob and inconspicuously remove your hand from Anakin's to not let Obi-Wan see. "I have to- uhm I have to tell you something, Obi-Wan."

"I know. But better keep it to yourself a little bit longer for now until we report to the Council together, alright? Then you only have to tell it once", Obi-Wan calms you down and gives you warm smile.

"Thank you, master", you lower your head and turn your gaze back to Anakin, whose chest moves up and down regularly and whose breath is sounding through the room.

"Don't worry, Y/N. You did what everyone would have done and I am very grateful that you did so. We all have to make sacrifices at some point", he assures you before carefully patting your shoulder one more time and leaving the room, leaving you alone with Anakin again.

After you have finally arrived on the Negotiator, you do not leave Anakin's side when a few clones bring him to the medical bay, where the meddroids take professional care of him right away. While they are treating him, you wait outside, your body full of tension while nervously tapping the floor with your foot and playing with your fingers. They checked up on you as well, but because you were only briefly subjected to torture it only took them a few minutes to treat your wounds.

When the door finally opens automatically, you look up with hope in your eyes and stare at the medical droid expectantly.

"He is stable. You can see him now", the droid announces and guides you inside. At the sight that greets you, your heart stops beating for a moment.

There your husband lies, with cables connected to all the beeping machines, his eyes closed and his breathing light and regular. You unconsciously quicken your pace in order to get to his side faster. As soon as you stand next to him and neither say anything nor touch him, Anakin immediately opens his eyes as he senses you through the Force.

"Hi, beautiful", he weakly smiles at you and grabs your hand, causing you to directly surround his with your own, looking at him with worry, the load suddenly falling off your shoulders all at once.

"I was so worried about you. How are you?", you openly admit and gently run one of your hands through his messy but soft hair.

"You should not have done that, you know?", he clears his throat, ignoring your question as he feels the conflict within you, a serious expression while staring in your eyes. "I mean saving me. You have put yourself in danger. If something had happened to you.."

Tears well up in your eyes as you unintentionally review the recent events in your head, taking Anakin's words to heart, but you quickly catch yourself again.

"Anak-", you want to answer, but abruptly get interrupted when he pulls you into his strong arms out of nowhere, hugging you tightly like his life depends on it.

"Thank you for saving me, love", he softly whispers into your ear and you smile into the crook of his neck before he guides your face with his hand on your jaw right in front of his own. His blue eyes scan your face and then switch between your eyes and lips until he gently places his hand on the back of your head and leads you into a tender kiss.

Feeling his lips against yours suddenly feels so surreal to you. After everything that happened, you almost did not believe that it could still end, well, like this.

Leaning more into the kiss, he eventually breaks the kiss, just to place one gently between your eyebrows. His thumb softly runs over your cheek as he gives you a warm smile.

"I love you."

"I love you more. And I would always sacrifice everything for you", you return his smile and connect your lips again, feeling like nobody can harm you anymore.

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willowcrowned · 3 years

Note

Hi, I just found your blog and I love it! I have nevere laugh so hard thanks to chewku and I started reading some of your others AUs. Can I ask you if you'd like to continue a bit the Gray Apprentice AU? The one with Obi-Wan both a sith and a jedi? Pretty please? I would love to see hin and Maul bicker for everything but then they form a brotherly bond and Maul gets adopted by Lord Zannah.

Okay, thank you SO much for reminding me that this AU exists because I love it very dearly (to the point where at one point I was starting to write full-on scenes and stashing them in a word doc for later). You can ABSOLUTELY have a bit of the Grey Apprentice AU

Obi-Wan, unlike his master, isn't really one for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. During tenure as Qui-Gon's apprentice, he's had a firsthand view of what results from judicious snooping, which is mostly messes that he’s had to help clean up, and that has never endeared him towards the practice, but this is different. This is more than justified. After all, it’s not often that one gets to look at a rival Sith’s ship, especially when that rival Sith is trussed up in the hold like a Takodana chicken on a festival day.

Unfortunately, Maul’s ship is disappointing. Obi-Wan has long done away with his notions of Sith caves and fortresses dripping with filth and darkness, but he’d at least been expecting something more interesting than a closet full of black tunics and half a burrito wrapped up in the fridge. There should at least be some weapons— a few poisons, maybe, or a cursed pike if he’s lucky; Sith tend towards backups, and that extends to weapons as well as plans.

He frowns, looking around the hallway. He’s checked all the places he would hide things— inside the engine’s wiring, behind a second fake panel that is itself behind a wall panel, and even in the vents (though those are fairly obvious, and therefore a last resort)— but he hasn’t found anything. Obi-Wan reaches out with his senses, calling for the Dark in the hopes that the Sith-blessed weapons will call back, but there isn’t any response; the entire ship is peaceful, almost blank.

Obi-Wan slaps a hand to his forehead, swearing. He’s been looking at this as though Maul is a fallen Jedi. Of course he’s not going to bother hiding the weapons carefully, he’s just going to mask them with the Force. Instead of looking for where they are, Obi-Wan should be looking for where they aren’t.

He reaches out with the Force again, and finds several deeply suspicious blank spots. Obi-Wan grins. Perfect.

Which is, of course, the moment Maul has to wake up and start making noise. Obi-Wan sighs. That’s the trouble with kidnapping people. They never let you look over their things in peace.

By the time he gets to the hold, Maul is screaming (presumably with rage, though the bindings, physical and Force-created, are keeping him from moving even his face). It’s a rather funny scene— it’s always amusing to watch someone used to having power suddenly have access to none of it. It’s the panic, really, sort of like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “Hello there.”

Maul, predictably, screams.

“You know you’re just going to damage your vocal chords if you keep at that,” Obi-Wan says, undoing the bindings on Maul’s face, mouth and lips included. “Can we have a civil conversation now?”

“I will defeat you, Jedi,” Maul hisses, eyes blazing with fury. “You will know the pain of my saber as your flesh is rent apart.”

“Haven’t we already been through this?” Obi-Wan sighs. “I defeated you on Tatooine. You can’t seriously be expecting a do-over.”

“I will tear you limb from limb. I will break every bone in your body, and feed the splinters into your muscle. I will pierce your skin with one thousand needles, crush your brain inside your skull. I will—”

Obi-Wan gives him a flat look. “You’ll do nothing until I undo your bindings, which isn’t going to happen if you keep up with that.”

“My master will come for me.” Maul’s eyes are filled with such fervor that Obi-Wan almost feels bad for him.

“Maul,” Obi-Wan says, looking at him with a sincerity he hopes displays how utterly stupid he thinks it is that they have to have this conversation, “do you really think your master cares if you live or die?”

“I will tear your beating heart from your chest, rip your spine through your back—”

“Yes, yes,” Obi-Wan says, “we’ve been through this. I’m sure you know many ways to kill me gruesomely.” He huffs. “I mean, fuck’s sake, he’s already grooming a new apprentice. He won’t be finished cooking for another year or two, but you’ve not got more than a couple months before your replacement waltzes in and kills you.”

“I have no replacement,” Maul growls.

Obi-Wan wants to feel cheered that Maul has stopped issuing death threats, but the murderous intent gathering around the other man is somewhat dampening his triumph. “Yes, you do.”

Maul opens his mouth, but before he can argue, Obi-Wan continues.

“He’s been laying a trail, you know. Your killing my master was supposed to be the final straw for him to finally immerse himself in the darkness. Of course,” Obi-Wan adds, not very contrite, nor inclined to fake it, “he was then supposed to track you down in a little while, and kill you— for the light, of course. All that would be left then is the sacrifice.”

“You lie,” Maul spits.

“No,” Obi-Wan says, exasperated, “I don’t, and I know you know that because I can feel you listening to the Force to check. Sidious is going to do away with you, sooner rather than later, and you’re not prepared to face him.”

Maul’s eyes widen, the implications finally settling in.

“Work with me,” Obi-Wan offers. “Help me kill him before he can get rid of you.”

“This is a trick— you want me to give away my secrets, to betray my master, to turn us against each other to take us down.”

“Well, yes, that was the general idea.”

Maul’s expression doesn’t change, suspicion still clouding his features beyond all else.

“I’m offering you the chance to save your life,” Obi-Wan adds, gentler.

“Very well.” Maul grits his teeth. “But know this, Jedi, after we have disposed of him, I will come for you and your master, and I will make you watch as I kill him.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, disgusted. “Banites.”

#fun fact!#this is the tumblr au that's most likely to get turned into a fic by me #I did have most of it plotted at one point but I forgot to write it down #still—#fun premise #easy-yet-satisfying romance #lots of quips #and approximately half a complex theme #it's the polar opposite of what I'm working on right now and it'd be a really fun next big project #we'll see #grey apprentice au #willow's aus #star wars #star wars au #sith au #sith!obi wan #darth maul #asks #sarcasticamaleont

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kaeyas-beloved · 3 years

Text

Be You {Leviathan x Reader}

Leviathan x Reader (They/Them) || Obey Me!

Warning(s): None (Well, actually I make Levi bully Mammon for less than a paragraph)

Note: This was a request I received from someone on Wattpad!

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

Finally, Leviathan’s done it. It’s been a long three days, hours upon hours having been poured into this playthrough.

“Woop woop! Aren’t I the best!” he praised himself, smiling wide. He’s skipped meals, pushed assignments to a later date and avoided any outside interactions to finish this game. His sight may be blurry and his limbs numb but if those were the sacrifices he had to make to go full completionist then it was all worth it. Now, time to celebrate a well deserved win.

“I think this calls for some of Ruri-chan’s celebratory season 3 limited edition candy and-!”

A chorus of knocks on his door immediately snuffed out his joy. Levi scowled, turning to glare at his door from his chair, it’s gotta be Mammon. The third born is absolutely positive that it’s his scummy older brother - it always is - back yet again to mooch more money off him for a trip to the casino. The usual slander he and his brothers would throw at the second born was on the tip of his tongue, ready to fire at will.

“Hey Levi? You there? It’s me....”

A voice that definitely doesn’t belong to the second born piping up and Levi, halfway through spouting the first syllable, shuts up all together. That’s his normie. A weight presses on his heart: he was just about to yell and insult his Henry…

Clearing his throat in hopes of gaining some kind of composure (all previous anger having diminished) the usual “What’s the password?” came out in a stutter. The demon was only acutely aware of his heart beat. How it skipped periodically. How it raced like he himself just ran a marathon. Levi waits a moment for the human to finish reciting the TSL excerpt. His hands begin to shake, his palms exuding profuse amounts of sweat. Gah! Why was he so nervous? Yeah, he’s aware that he’s just some gross shut-in otaku but he shouldn’t be this anxious! It’s not like this is the first time the exchange student has hung out in his room... alone... with him…

“Yo Levi?”

“Yes MC?”

“You think you could open the door now? Please?” Snapped back to reality, Levi hastily opened the door, finding himself regretting it soon after.

“I, uh, MC? What do you…?” his voice trailed off, orange gradient eyes locked on their garments. Immediately he sputtered, taking a step back. A bright scarlet coated his pale cheeks. Levi tried to hide it with his hand, though it was proven useless. The sea demon's at a toss up; should he screech? Slam the door shut? Combust all together!? At the rate he’s going, number three is looking pretty probable.

On the other end of this exchange, the human stood almost timidly out in the hall, fingers fiddling with one another while their eyes darted anywhere but at the man in front of them. The words of the fifth born rang in their ears:

“You absolutely have to wear this dear! My brother would surely fall head over heels for you, even more so than he already is!”

Oh whyyyyy did they trust him? Cause he had knowledge in fashion and love? Yeah, that was it. Still, if this turns south Asmo is going to get a lecture worse than any Lucifer could ever give… Damn, they really should’ve never let the lust demon shoo them into his private bathroom and make them change into this girly outfit.

And it hit them all at once: Levi doesn’t like it, what they’re wearing. What if he never talks to them after this? Maybe if they leave now then there will still be a chance they can forget about this.

Time went on slowly, like people who walk through mud are, and MC just about tuck tail and ran, what they had planned and gained courage for be damned.

Levi had other plans though.

Only now registering that the two were standing out in the open for all to see, in a blind and desperate attempt to save himself and the human from embarrassment, the third born latched onto their wrist, yanking them into the safety of his room. Unfortunately, demon strength is a funny thing and Levi had handled them with more force than he meant to, the human crashing into his chest - hard.

Perhaps it was instinct -- a need to protect the fragile being within his grasp -- but the demon's arm found purchase around their form, pulling them almost impossibly closer as they tipped. The pair, balance long gone, toppled over, landing with a thud.

Somehow, just like in all the romance anime he’s watched, Levi found himself hovering over them, arms propped on either side of their head. Their noses brushed, both staring frozen into each other's eyes. It wasn’t everyday that either of them were this close to one another, the exception being when the duo falls asleep playing video games. God, with this kind of proximity he was sure that the normie could hear how fast his meek heart was pounding. If this went on any longer he might actually die.

“Levi?” They whispered, their voice so quiet that he almost missed the call of his name. He however did catch their whisper and tensed up before coming back to the here and now, catching sight of the ‘what’ that led to their current position. Standing, Levi’s face burned hotter than ever before.

‘It was all because of them,’ he thought, turning away turning away with tense shoulders as he still tries to mask the red that licked all the way up to his ears. ‘It’s always their fault when I start to feel like I do now!’

“S-stupid n-normie! Why are you even wearing that?” he asked, chancing a glance over his shoulder. Levi did have to admit… they looked kinda cute in those clothes… and it looked like something Ruri-chan would wear too…

Gah! No no no focus Levi!

The ‘normie’ didn’t answer right away, instead raising to their feet and opting to grab a bag from beside the door. That wasn’t there before.

“Asmo…” they sighed, turning back to face the demon, nervousness swirling within them. Now or never, “Asmo said you’d like it if I wore something like this” So this is Asmo’s doing? Damn him… “Anyway, here, take it.”

“Wha-?” A shimmering gift bag the same colour of the water Henry his goldfish swam in was thrust into his hands, whatever he was about to say dying in his throat.

A present? For him? Oh why must a no good otaku like him have to go through such an intimate endeavor???? He just can’t take it!

Then again, this was like that one scene from season 2 ep. 22 of this anime he binged: I Forget Important Dates all the time which causes me to get into really awkward situations. This time I forgot about my Birthday and my Crush handed me a bag before confessing their love for me!

So-! Spurred on by fictional characters and MC’s urging “go on, open it”, Levi tore the tape, presented with his spontaneous gift: a popular multiplayer game from the human world; one near impossible to get in Devildom.

“WHAOOO!” MC couldn’t help but think how much he’s acting like a kid on Christmas, the notion cute in their opinion. The human stood still for a couple minutes, allowing their friend to rant and gush over the game (and how cool they were for even acquiring it).

“But…” the purple haired demon calmed down, “why did you suddenly give me this?” What? Did he not know what today was?

“It’s… it is your birthday isn’t it!?” Don’t tell them Asmo lied to them about Levi’s birthday!

Levi pulled out his phone, his eyes widening to the size of saucers, “No, it is my birthday,” he assured. With all the gaming he was doing he must've failed to noticed, which is strange considering the last time his special day drew near he practically counted down the days.

“MC.” He got their attention, looking them right in the eye, his words and actions portraying a sureness and sincerity, “Thank you and…” As quick as lightning strikes the ground, the human had themselves pulled flush against Levi once more, his head resting on their shoulder and nose buried in the crook of their neck. His hair, so soft and fluffy, left a ticklish sensation on their skin.

“And about what you said before. With Asmo. I do like what you’re wearing but…” he tightens his hold, “I like you just the way you are. I know you don’t usually dress like this and I want nothing more than for you to be comfortable, like how you make me. If that means dressing tomboy-ish then so be it. I want you to be you: the human only you can be: my Henry.”

“I’m glad you feel that way…” They smiled, arms wrapping around his torso. They hope their gratitude is able to shine through in the hug, “Now, ya wanna play your new game?”

“Yes!” He smiled, pulling back and raising his hand. They return the grin, suppressing a chuckle seeing as the demon reminded them of the YES demoji. “Oh, but um! Would you like to change first? It’s not that I don’t like seeing you dressed like that or anything but like I said I want you to be comfortable but also I don’t think my heart can take it anymore… wait that’s not what I meant!” That made them chuckle though.

“Do I have to?” They teased, enjoying the reaction they got out of the third born. Levi gulped, ducking his head while whispering a small no. “Then maybe I’ll stay like this a little longer. It is your birthday after all.” Tugging the envy demon towards their usual gaming spot they let Levi set up the game before the two plopped down in their spots.

“Oh and Levi?” He hummed, tilting his head, the light of the screen illuminating the side of his face. They hugged him once more, “Happy Birthday”

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

[Masterlist]

Thank you for reading!

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theseerasures · 3 years

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For the meta thing, how about big sisters with absent mothers: Winter and Yang? Like, how they dealt with things differently and what a friendship between them would look like

anon i just want you to know that as soon as received this ask i barged into my girlfriend’s room to be like “is this you???” because this ask is so EXQUISITELY tailored to my personal interests that i was like “literally who else would cater to me like this” and it was not her, apparently!!! so thank you very much for this ask.

of course i have SO MANY thoughts about this topic that it took me a complete month to marshal them into something faintly coherent, if staggeringly long, so. i hope it’s worth the wait.

S(chnee)-side: how to lose brothers and alienate sisters

let’s start from some well-trodden ground: the season 5 character shorts, and their subsequent caricaturization via Chibi, which posit the Yang vs. Winter dichotomy as something like “Yang loves Ruby by diving into a monster’s mouth for her, and telling her she always has her back, and Winter does the same for Weiss by...siccing monsters on her, and telling her that she won’t always be around to save her from them.” much hay has already been made about the reasons why the two of them would act in the ways they did, so for the purposes of my own meta i’m going to skip over those, and concentrate on how content since season 5 has updated these conceptions.

and on Winter’s end of things, these conceptions have been updated by showing that she’s, uh.

...full of shit.

we’ve now had TWO instances of Winter going above and beyond to protect someone vulnerable. the first time was for Penny, with whom she has a sisterly bond, and the second time was for Ren, with whom she has...exchanged a few lines of dialogue. if she’s so ready and willing to hurl herself bodily into the path of an aggressor for someone who is basically a stranger, then why all the pageantry with Weiss about how she can’t (or won’t) save her? did she carve some kind of blood relative exemption into her saving people thing? does it only apply to people who wear a lot of green?¹

to properly address this question--and to bring in the Willow of it all--i think we should step back and ask: how does Winter actually feel about the Schnee name?

not Jacques’ name, mind. nor anything he did to besmirch it. Willow’s name, and Winter’s birthright.

because what has always been interesting to me is that while Weiss has talked about reclaiming or rehabilitating the Schnee name from their father’s meddling and still clearly wants to reconcile herself with it, even after being disinherited, Winter has only ever talked about distancing. it’s entirely possible that she had similar aspirations when she was around Weiss’ age and was just more thoroughly disabused of them, but my point stands: Winter shows a discomfort with the Schnee name overall in a way that Weiss has yet to. you don’t have to look any further than Winter’s combat style to see how this discomfort is telegraphed, as she barely uses any Dust, or Glyphs, and the one aspect of her Semblance that she does use and tout are Summons, which just so happens to be the part that emphasizes her own individual ability to conquer foes. something about the Schnee name feels irreconcilably tainted for Winter,² and while i’m sure a large part of it has to do with her father, who can make her explode into emotion confetti by just being in the same room as her for thirty seconds, a not-insignificant part can probably be chalked up to the fact that...

Willow Schnee was probably never all that good a mother.

granted: we’ve have exactly one scene (two if you count the 8.2 sneak peek) with her, so i’m fully ready to be called Boo Boo the Fool if we get a flashback and Willow was some kind of crusading super-mom prior to her descent into alcoholism, but. the idea that she hasn’t ALWAYS had to compromise herself and her children just to get by feels facile. this is not to victim blame, but to say that Willow is an imperfect person (in that she is. a person) placed into a horrific situation, which means that she could not always deal with the situation perfectly. it’s important to remember her agency--both before and after she became an alcoholic--but it’s just as important not to idealize it into something it’s not. Willow was by no means a co-abuser to her children, but she was probably always inconsistent, because living with your abuser for years on end does that to you. personally, i’ve always envisioned pre-alcoholism Willow as...well-meaning and much more perceptive and intelligent than people give her credit for, but beset with her own flaws that grew in proportion to her hurt and bitterness. she was capable of shielding her children from her husband’s worst excesses, and often did; but she was just as capable of retreating when she might have fought, of excusing Jacques’ actions to try to keep the peace, even of lashing out at those who shouldn’t have to handle her negative emotions.

her descent into alcoholism exacerbated these tendencies, but Willow has always been a complicated woman, and the idea that there was a prelapsarian time when Willow was an unmitigated good, before...idk, her Good battery ran out and she became Drunk Victim Non-Mom, is...well, it’s definitely something that a ten-year-old who had an ENORMOUSLY traumatic birthday would believe (and blame herself for), but Winter might disagree. i don’t think her view would be any more objective, if only because the day Winter Schnee has an un-myopic thought is the day i pass gracefully into the West, but her view is probably more complicated and less flattering, because Winter knew her mother more as a person, and that’s something we’re gonna talk about more with Yang and Ruby, later.

the point i want to make now, with Winter, is that her determined inconstancy, where she’ll readily jump into the jaws of a monster for her siblings in one breath and berate them and caution them against needing her in the next--that comes from her experience with Willow. the lesson she wants her siblings to learn is not just “the people who are supposed to love you are cruel, so get a helmet,” but “the people who are supposed to love you disappoint you, which is worse, so it’s better to not rely on them at all.”³ better for them to learn it from her than firsthand, but also--better for herself, because when she does disappoint them (and she did. she left.) at least she can take comfort in the fact that surely it doesn’t hurt as much; she warned them, after all.

in Winter’s mind, this kind of disappointment is an inevitability, so what’s paramount is to make sure that when it does happen her siblings are at least prepared for it. in the face of that the fact that she would actually risk life and limb to help them if they ever need it falls to the wayside; i don’t think it was a mindful decision that Winter consciously made--like, i don’t think she ever thought “i’m going to withhold the fact that i would die for them because that would contradict the whole social Darwinism thing i’m trying to drill into their heads,” because Winter’s just...not that kind of deliberate rational actor, in any arena. rather--and maybe even more damning--i think she just assumes that Weiss and Whitley already KNOW, that it’s a given for them the sacrifices she’d make for them in the same way it’s a given for her. but they don’t! because you have to say these things, and Winter has been force-feeding them the precise opposite.

ultimately all of these contradictory impulses stem from Winter’s deep-seated need for control--both of herself, and of the environments around her, and those in turn come from the fact that she was a) repeatedly wounded as a child and b) had to shoulder responsibilities far beyond her own ability as that same child, which...continues to this day. from this perspective, what matters is less keeping her siblings safe, and more her own ability to save them. she knows that’s imperfect, so she compensates by enforcing what worked for her onto them, and also by keeping them away from anything that could harm them, without their input. i never thought much of the contrast in environments for the character shorts--like of course Weiss would spar with Winter’s Summons at home like the untested shut-in she was--but what did take me aback was that in season 7, after Weiss has waltzed across an entire continent and been promoted to a full Huntress, Winter...still exclusively trains Weiss with her Summons up in Atlas, while Ruby and Yang are traipsing across Mantle killing ACTUAL Grimm. i have no doubt that this was for foreshadowing reasons, but still: it points to the fact that for all Winter loves Weiss and would fight giant monsters for her, there’s a part of her that...doesn’t trust Weiss, and wants to maintain control over her.⁴

this, i think, is part of the reason why Whitley treats her basically like an un-person: it’s not just that she left when he was too young and Jacques filled in all the gaps with lies and slander, it’s also that even when Winter was around the bigger age gap made it much easier for her to reconcile keeping him out of the loop, for his own good. she can’t ever be vulnerable around either of her siblings, but especially not Whitley, because he’s too young; he might let something slip when they’re around Jacques, and she shouldn’t be putting that kind of burden on him anyway. if he resents her when she’s just trying to protect him--except you said that you wouldn’t, Winter you absolute moron--then that’s his prerogative. it doesn’t change her own responsibilities. they can be miserable and Byronic in their own separate cubby holes and it’s fine.

(it’s not fine.)

R(ose)⁵-side: tonight, the role of Replacement Goldfish will be played by...everyone

let’s get one thing out of the way: Yang is a GOOD big sister, and some of the ways that she is good can be chalked up to the fact that she had a better home life, but only some. her character short ends with her promising Ruby that she’ll always have her back after spending the short proving it, and she has--until recently, and we’ll get to that--lived up to it. people get caught up on how much time Yang spends with Blake nowadays, but it’s important to remember that the entire impetus for Yang reuniting with anyone during the Mistral arc was about Ruby. so is the thing that separates a Yang from a Winter is that a Yang preaches what she practices, and isn’t firing a million zillion mixed signals at all times?

well--yeah, basically, but we’re gonna make a big thing out of it anyway.

what made Yang and Ruby different from the Schnees--even before the character shorts--was a sense of parity. in contrast to Winter insisting on maintaining a) the most unapproachable facade in the world, and b) a death-grip on every situation at all times, Yang was characterized from the outset as...chill (ironically). despite her Semblance being LITERALLY hotheadedness, Yang’s passionate energy never manifested in any real desire to take charge. the fact that she was fine (even happy!) with Ruby being bumped up to her year and then becoming leader speaks volumes to how much Yang trusts and respects Ruby’s judgement. rather than try to mask her flaws, she exudes this kind of...radiant fallibility and lets Ruby take care of her, or keep her in line. they complement each other: Yang takes care of more grounded concerns like individual fights and making friends, while Ruby--again, until recently--set more abstract goals and gave them moral direction.

a lot of this can be attributed to the smaller age gap, but i think it also comes from growing up as two motherless free-range children on an island--and the motherlessness is obviously a huge deal for both of them. when i started writing this i honestly thought i’d talk more about Raven, since she’s the mom who’s actually a character already, and her absence plays a huge role in how Yang deals with her abandonment issues in the present, but to be honest: the loss that cut the deepest for Ruby AND Yang is Summer, because Summer was actually around enough to be lost. despite the show frequently dividing custody of Team STRQ right down the middle between Ruby and Yang, where Ruby “gets” Summer and Qrow and Yang “gets” Tai and Raven, it’s the admixture of Rose and Branwen that makes the two of them who they are.⁶ Yang spent more time with Summer, but Ruby spends more time with Qrow, who is Yang’s blood uncle, so the dichotomy between nature and nurture is fascinatingly blurred.

i know this is an unpopular opinion, but i hope Summer really is dead, because the ways that her daughters interpellate their own identities from her absence drives so much of the story. that SUMMER was the first mother Yang lost--not Raven, because Yang didn’t even know about Raven until Summer died--is what shapes her relationship with Ruby, but also her relationship with Raven. what’s always simmering just below the surface of any Yang-Raven confrontation is that the person Yang actually wanted to find the whole time she was looking for Raven was Summer, because she wanted a mom, and a mom looked like Summer. Raven’s not stupid--it might be her one redeeming quality--so it’s likely that she’s always known and resented this. it’s not an accident that the moment Yang stopped looking for Raven for Raven and started looking for her for an easy conduit to her real family was the moment she actually found Raven.⁷ it was the first step to Yang outgrowing her old habits, of waiting for a mother to return--a classic “she needed a hero so that’s what she hurdy blah”

in a way that’s what she’s been doing this whole time. in contrast to Winter, who compensated for her mother’s flaws by ratifying them into universal law, Yang did the same by defying their supposed truth: people might leave her, but she won’t leave Ruby, and Ruby won’t leave her. it’s telling that whenever Yang leaves--even as a literal child--she always took Ruby with her, even if she planned on coming back. (it’s just as telling that when Winter left she didn’t.) she’ll always be there for Ruby, to give her the boost she needs to become the Summer they all want her to be, which means being a little of Summer herself--the part of Summer that baked cookies and slew monsters. and in return Ruby gave her...a sense of certainty, i think: that Ruby needs her and therefore won’t leave, but also that Ruby has the parts of Summer that Yang can’t muster herself--the grand heroic ideal, the moral certitude, etc.

...and now we’re finally gonna talk about the Schism, which i honestly think is the best thing that has happened to their relationship, development-wise. by the end of the Mistral arc Yang has arrived at a healthier perspective with respect to her relationships with everyone: now it’s not about indiscriminately giving herself away to people in the hopes that they might not leave her, but about choosing to give herself away to the people she loves and trusts. on one level this should not conflict with her relationship with Ruby at all, because Yang loves Ruby, but on another...the fact that Yang no longer feels obligated to perform unending support, to be the grounded complement, to fill in the parts of Summer that Ruby can’t--of COURSE that’s going to bring about conflict. because it turns out Yang never needed Ruby to give her direction or discipline. she’s now had time to think of the things she herself values, and those...don’t exactly match up with Ruby’s--or Summer’s.⁸ Yang, having known Summer as a mother, having been confronted repeatedly with the fallibility of mothers, is starting to outgrow Summer, and grow separately from Ruby.

but growing separately doesn’t have to mean growing apart, and i think Yang, at least, knows this. she clearly feels Some Kinda Way about their disagreement (and Blake’s implicit alignment with Ruby), but she’s also confident enough in her own beliefs by this point to commit to them. Yang’s taking charge instead of deferring to Ruby, and it turns out that...she’s actually not a bad leader herself, since she and Jaune have pretty much split a lot of those responsibilities. for her it’s not a question of losing faith or love in Ruby as a person, but about discovering what she herself fights for.

Ruby...sees it differently, because Ruby sees Summer differently. if Yang has always defined herself against Summer by deciding that she can NEVER fully be Summer, so she’ll make do with what she can, then Ruby’s always defined herself against Summer by marking Summer as the endpoint of her personal trajectory. what Ruby knows of Summer--that she was a person who enjoyed life and did not believe in original sin, that had a magical special destiny that was totally fine and awesome and didn’t drive her to her death, that she was a baker of cookies and slayer of monsters--is what Tai and Qrow--and Yang--told her about Summer, because Ruby was too young to remember the real Summer. so Summer for her is this abstract paragon to live up to, and no more. she can’t possibly exceed Summer, because the Summer Ruby knows encompasses literally all that is good.

when Yang tells Ruby “i’ve always got your back” in the short, a lot of it is about Yang, and the ways Yang needed to be there for other people so they’ll be there for her in return. but it’s also something Ruby really needed to hear, because Ruby needed the security and comfort of knowing that even if she screws up there are people around her who can help shoulder the burden. that security already took a serious hit after Yang lost her arm, but Ruby, kind and generous person that she is, was able to reconcile with that, because YANG HAD JUST LOST HER ARM. it would be ridiculous to expect Yang to have her back the way she used to, and besides--it was time she grew up, and growing up means becoming more like Summer, all of Summer, by herself.

and...she gets pretty far, is the thing, because Ruby IS a lot like Summer, and is incredible and amazing all by herself to boot, but the point is that no one should feel this much pressure to be All That Is Good, especially when you’re a teen. Ruby’s not ready to recognize that, partly because at this point so many people are looking to her for leadership, but also because being Summer’s heir is the only real link she has to her mom.⁹ so she hunkers down and does the best she can, in a situation that has far spiraled beyond anybody’s control...and then Yang tells her that it’s not working out, that this time it’s not that she can’t have Ruby’s back, but that she won’t. in Ruby’s mind, this could only mean one of two things: either Yang no longer believes what Ruby believes--what Summer believed, or...Yang no longer believes in Ruby, because she wasn’t good enough.

and well. it’s Ruby. it’s not hard to guess which reason she’s picking right now, especially since she pretty conspicuously refused to call the shots during the Amity heist.

but this is of course a false dichotomy. it’s not about which one of them is right, or even more right, and the show does a very good job with the framing to show that both of them have a point. similarly, what Ruby needs right now is neither confirmation that her long-held beliefs are objectively the best ones, nor that she is good enough to become Summer after all. no; what she needs instead is the knowledge that she’s allowed to fuck up, to deviate from what people have told her about Summer, to become what Summer never was. that’s something Yang can--and will--help her work out.

oh no this analogy is breaking apart: how they’d get along

...oi.

look, even beyond the fact that Winter doesn’t get along with ANYONE over much, i don’t think there’s any universe where she wouldn’t immediately rub Yang the wrong way. not only because Winter’d initially treat Ruby with the same cold tyranny that she (up until very recently) treats Weiss, but also because Yang’s partner is Blake, and--to say nothing of Atlas/Schnee-on-Faunus oppression--she was personally made collateral during the fallout with Blake’s abuser.¹⁰ i myself wouldn’t say that Winter abused Weiss, but to Yang’s protective and skewed view...

well, can you imagine Weiss trying to explain the way Winter ~~~trained her to the Bees? “oh, she sent a pack of Beowolves to hunt me! it was a meant-to-lose fight and when i started doing well she just moved the goalposts. one of her wolves almost ate me before i begged her to stop but it...probably...wouldn’t have...it was fine! my Aura didn’t dip THAT much. Winter’s the best!!” Yang’s hair would have been on fire after the first sentence, is all i’m saying. this coupled with the fact that Yang would very likely view Winter leaving Weiss and Whitley through the lens of Raven doing the same thing to her, and i think it would take a pretty long time for the two of them to see eye to eye on anything.

which is not to say that they have nowhere to go but antagonism, because at their cores Winter and Yang both have a) no hesitation whatsoever when it comes to protecting the people they care about and b) a tendency to define protection literally, often bodily. the difference is that Yang’s Semblance weaponizes these protective instincts for her, and she learned the limits of taking that too far. Winter...doesn’t, and hasn’t.¹¹ that COULD lead to some interesting conversations, but i don’t think Yang has quite the emotional clarity and generosity to reckon with that yet, and they’re not about to talk about it inside the Giant Whale.

a necessary part of Winter’s development is learning to respect the people around her instead of instantly categorizing them into boxes labeled “to fight” and “to protect and order around.” her friction with Yang could be an intriguing way to explore that; i have no doubt, for example, that Winter would have hurled herself between Elm and Yang just as readily as she had between Elm and Ren. similarly, i think if Winter ever were in the same room with both Raven and Yang she’d last about ten seconds before trying to rip Raven’s hair out with her teeth, because Raven is neglectful and casually demeaning in ways that are instantly recognizable to Winter (in the same way they were to Weiss).¹² the issue is that her doing any of these things for Yang--y’know, the same Yang who IMMEDIATELY gave Blake the cold shoulder when she tried to pull the whole “i’ll protect you” crap--is that she would only find it confusing and frustrating, and likely wouldn’t mince words expressing that.

Yang’s a big sister herself, and therefore knows all the big sister tricks, and Yang has a consistent pattern of not wanting to rely on other people, particularly people she sees as adults. so the best path toward a Winter and Yang friendship is probably not the head-on approach, but obliquely through someone else. that someone else can’t be Weiss, because Yang would be already hypervigilant about the way Winter treats Weiss--but it could be Ruby. even putting aside the fact that she is now one of the most important people in the world for BOTH her sisters, Ruby herself is very easy to love, and Winter loves very easily, despite herself. what they have in common--idealism and a martyr complex--would also engender some cool interactions, and Ruby would let Winter take care of her, if only to make Winter feel better.

i could see that being the impetus for Yang tentatively, grudgingly forming her own friendship with Winter, because there ARE things that Winter can give Yang, even if Yang can’t (or won’t) admit she wants them. it’s nice to try out being the kid sister, once in a while.

still, even if they get that far: i can’t imagine their relationship as anything friendlier than this.

¹ tbh neither would actually surprise me; what Winter does and doesn’t let herself do is only knowable to the Gods Who Have Forsaken This Land, and they’re certainly unknowable to Winter herself.

² maybe she knows that the whole “the Schnees were up-from-bootstraps-good-capitalists until that guy Jacques came along” thing is stupid!! i don’t care that he’s Santa Nicholas Schnee ain’t shit

³ this i think is why the current thing with Ironwood is such a bitter pill to swallow, because...she thought she’d been so careful. not in thinking that she’d chosen a man who couldn’t disappoint her, but in caring so deeply about him and investing so much of herself into him, despite the fact she’s only ever let herself call him “sir,” or “General.”

⁴ though i will say, to give Winter some credit: she actually accepts the fact that her sister is totally her own person now with a lot more aplomb than i’d expected, both in the “you stole an airship” scene and during all of Sparks. i wouldn’t be so generous as to read subtle treason into her disclosure of Ironwood’s Winter Maiden plans, but it does point to Winter’s desire for control being much more easily unlearned than that of her boss.

⁵ geddit? it’s a joke about handed-ness because now they both have the Hand Tremor

⁶ Tai is, as always and on purpose, the stabilizing agent. “appropriately underwhelming,” as Winter might put it, but absolutely essential.

⁷ of course then Raven had the gall to resent THAT too, because she’s the worst, and...see above, about Winter Schnee’s self-unknowing.

⁸ curiously, the values that Yang most espouses now--the importance of knowing what you’re getting into, protecting what is tangible, what is within your ability--are a) hard-won from years of taking care of Ruby and b) ones that she shares with Raven. the only difference is that Yang’s circle of protection extends far beyond Raven’s, which only includes herself.

⁹ weirdly enough the best person to talk to Ruby about this might be Raven, who has a very skewed perception of Summer herself (because Raven’s perception of EVERYONE is generally fucked up), but probably won’t hold back when talking about Summer’s flaws. Ruby won’t want to hear any of it, but i think she needs to.

¹⁰ i do think Blake and Winter would have some interesting conversations, if Blake ever...was generous enough to deal with *gestures at all of Winter.* it’s easier to compare Blake to Willow given the shared nature of their interpersonal abuse, but Winter on the other hand knows what it’s like to be hand-picked and groomed by a charismatic man with a singular vision who ended up wholly compromising that vision for the sake of their personal ego. that the White Fang are a good force perverted while the Atlesian Military is rotten to the core would...make the conversation more lively? it’s probably fine?

¹¹ “i’m Winter Schnee and i have maladaptive coping mechanisms that i am currently clinging to, as a maladaptive coping mechanism”

¹² though there...probably IS a world where Raven and Winter end up getting along after the initial skirmish, and it disturbs Yang and Qrow to no end

#Anonymous #yang xiao long #winter schnee #rwby #tl;dr they both play vanguard when they play mass effect #helen writes meta

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jadedxrealityw · 3 years

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-Soulmates- Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

♡~🐍~♡

Kody: This soulmate au came from (minxy_keys) and (paradisepjm) on Wattpad, with some slight changes. You should go read there work and such. Also there is no house rivalry in this story, just blood status and such.

Summary: In this world you have a timer on your wrist and once it goes out without finding your soulmate you become emotionless, but finding your soulmate before the timer runs out can come with immense pain if separated for too long.

Year: 7th

House: Gryffindor

Possible Triggers: Mentions of insecurities, bullying, pain, cursing

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soulmates

a word that was overused and overheard quite often in this world. Having a soulmate was much as a necessity as breathing was. You needed your soulmate to live a comfortable life, or to put it more bluntly live at all. Even checking your timer on your wrist became an everyday task, like second nature.

in Hogwarts, almost everyone had found their soulmates. Even your best George Weasley found his soulmate last year, Luna Lovegood. They were both playful and weird in their own ways, absolutely perfect for each other in every way. You were one of the few who was still searching for their soulmate of course.

little did you know it would come sooner then later and in the most unexpected way.

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9:00, saturday morning

your eyes slowly flutter open only to be met with the harsh gaze of the sun that shone through the window. Your eyes shut instantly and very groggily, you turned onto your side now facing the wall. With eyes still closed you lift your left arm to look at your wrist. Opening your eyes you look at the timer, a dreadful feeling sets in the pit of your stomach.

27 hours

you sat up quickly, praying that your mind was fuzzy from just waking up and what you were seeing wasn’t really true, but alas no matter how much you blinked it was still there. You only had twenty four hours to find your soulmate or be a empty numb hollow shell of what you were now.

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9:10, saturday morning, 27 hours

after laying in bed for ten minutes bawling your eyes out, you get up and throw on whatever clothes you could find at the moment. ‘Why did this have to happen? i thought i had so much more time left? and on a saturday too- okay thats not important right now’

you left your dorm and was now walking down the hallway, head full of terrified thoughts. You had witnessed students have mental breakdowns over there last few hours, but you honestly never thought you’d be in the situation yourself. It wasn’t fair.

as you walked into the great hall, the smell of breakfast foods filled your nose, your stomach growling in response. The hall was a bit empty, it made sense considering it was a weekend and students were most likely sleeping in and would get food later in the day.

in a odd way, you wanted to sleep through this madness, but on the other hand waking up an emotionless zombie wouldn’t exactly be the best either. As you looked over to the Gryffindor table you spotted the ginger twin with the Ravenclaw girl.

you practically ran over there and sat yourself in front of them, startling the couple “Woah Y/n are you okay?” George asked, taking note of your anxious state. You shook your head frantically and pulled up your sleeve, showing both of them your timer.

“you have twenty three hours left, oh no” Luna spoke in her usual quiet tone, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. George had a horrid expression on his face “Oh shit- well we don’t have time for eating. Let’s go!” George exclaimed, standing up from his seat.

Luna nodded once and stood up as well “Are you sure guys” you ask and stand up along with them “Your our friend and we would do anything for you! You helped me and Luna find each other and it’s my turn to help you” George states proudly, making you smile.

“Alright let’s go”

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5:23, saturday afternoon, 20 hours

“George it’s been seven hours, we are not going to find them and after forcing kids to touch my arm all day, i think people hate me” you groan out taking a seat on the hallway bench and shoving your face in your hands. George sighs as he looks down at you. He goes over to you and grabs your hands.

“Come on we can’t give up. Who is going to help me plan pranks with fred? Who’s going to give me advice on Luna? I refuse to let your personality slip away from you-” George was cut off as Luna came running down the hall, you had sent her to see if any other girls or guys were around that they haven’t seen.

Luna looked visibly distressed by something which worried the Weasley. “Luna? Are you alright?” he asked as he step towards her, grabbing her arms with his hands. She nods slowly, seemingly out of breath “Harry...Draco...fighting...courtyard...Harry....loosing....”

you stand up quickly and look at your wrist “Twenty hours, that’s enough time to deal with Harry’s bullshit right?” you spoke, not waiting for an answer as you began to rush down the halls. George looks at Luna and turns around, crouching down. “Here get on my back darling, your already out of breath”

Luna smiles sheepishly and climbs onto his back.

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5:26, saturday afternoon, 20 hours

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

you saw a crowd of people forming a circle. The chaos was definitely in the middle. In the corner of your eye you saw George stop next to you, putting Luna back on the ground slowly and cautiously. “So i suggest we-” you rush up to the group leaving the both behind as you shoulder check students out of your way.

students gave you hateful glares, but you didn’t care at the moment. You just wanted to make sure Harry didn’t break a limb again, you’d never hear the end of it from Hermione. Your met with the sight of the Slytherin boy hovering over Harry with a fist raised, about to strike him.

in a swift movement you leap forward and grab Draco’s arm, holding it in place. In that moment you felt a quick sting on your wrist and wince slightly. You turn your wrist, still holding Draco’s arm and watched as your timer faded from your wrist. ‘oh no- oh merlin please- no- not him!’

Draco seems to freeze in place as he to witnesses his timer vanish from his left wrist as well. You let go and take a step back from the Slytherin. He turned around, his eyes boring into you, taking in every inch of how you looked “You?” he said simply. He shakes his head slowly, going to stand up from the ground.

you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else and turned quickly on the heels of your feet, pushing through the crowd once more. You ran back into the school, passing a confused George and Luna in your path. This could not be happening.

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7:42, saturday evening

after locking yourself in your dorm room for two hours you began to feel the effects of meeting your soulmate. You need constant physical contact when you first meet your soulmate or you will become extremely lethargic. It’s like your being drained of all your energy. It’s not great.

a soft knock came to your door and you groaned out a response “Go away George!” you hear a girls laughter, Luna’s laughter as she opens up the door. “It’s just me, George let me in. So Draco Malfoy is your soulmate?” she asked, your eyes widening a bit.

“he told you?” you asked, the Ravenclaw shook her head and walked over to your bed, sitting beside you. “George threatened to knock his teeth out unless he told him what happened to you” she chuckles softly. You feel a small laugh bubble in your throat, but an overwhelming soreness fills you instead.

you wince, eyes being forced shut. Luna frowns and places a hand on your head “You should go find Draco, the pain will go away-” “No, i refuse to be around that dickhead. All he does is bullying people who aren’t pure-bloods. Knowing he’s in the exact same pain is what makes it worth it”

Luna shakes her head and pats you gently “You both are so stubborn. You’ll come crawling to each other in no time” she says as she climbs out of your bed and makes her way over to your door. You scoff and shove your head into the pillow under you roughly. “As if”

all Luna dose is smile warmly and shut your door, leaving you to your pain and thoughts. ‘Like i’d ever go running to him’

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10:23, saturday night

everyone in Hogwarts was sleeping peacefully in their beds. You. Were. Not. The soreness had now turned into a slight pinching feeling. It was like having your period, only all over your body. You could feel your want, your need for the Slytherin boys touch. “Son of a bitch” you mutter.

you grip the sheets and throw them off of you, swinging your legs over the bed. You stand up and slip on your slippers so you wouldn’t have touch the cold floor with your bare feet. The room begins to spin a little, almost causing you to sit back down.

you shake your head a bit and stumble your way to your door, opening and walking out into the common room. Making sure to lean against the wall, you quietly walk across the Gryffindor common room, passing by a sleeping George Weasley on the couch with Luna laying on his chest.

pushing the portrait open, you begin to walk down the stairs. You had to lean on the railing so you wouldn’t fall over. It took you some time, but you managed to make your way into the halls. What were you even looking for? Maybe madam Pomfrey to see if she could numb the pain slightly?

as you walked the empty halls, you heard footsteps in the distance. Looking up you come face to face with a disheveled Draco Malfoy, looking just as bad as you were. Freezing in place, you watch as he looks up. He looked pale and irritated.

the question now was who would move first? Who would sacrifice their pride to make the first move? As you begin to move your legs, so does he. Both of you make your way to each other, using the little amount of energy you had left. Once your only about a foot apart, Draco’s slender arms wrap around you.

you feel as though you had been revived in a instant. You wrap your arms around him as well and bury your face in his chest. The thing is, despite the whole searing pain being relieved you actually liked being in Draco’s arms. He was surprisingly warm and smelt of green apples.

it was calming and you quite enjoyed it. Who would of thought you would find comfort in such a jerk. You felt Draco grip you tighter, pulling your chest completely flush against his. “Your never being apart from me that long ever again. I don’t think i- we could handle it”

you nod against his chest, agreeing with his statement. “Yeah sorry about that. Just- it came as quite a surprise.” you explain to him. Draco sighs deeply against your scalp “Yeah i get it, but we’re stuck with each other so we have deal with it. I’m yours and your mine”

his possessive tone caught you a bit off guard, but at the same time you felt the same thing. Being his soulmate made you see him in a different light. “Yeah” you say simply.

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it has been three weeks since you had figured out Draco Malfoy was your soulmate. After spending the night with each other you both could now being hours apart without any pain. Draco told you he didn’t want anyone to know that you were soulmates, which made your heart sting a bit.

so in the afternoon, after lunch you both would sneak off into the astronomy tower and hold each other for an hour before classes started again. It became a daily task like other things and you were okay with it, but you always secretly wanted more.

Draco had changed so much since you became soulmates. He didn’t really bully anyone anymore, he’d become less stressed and was actually paying more attention in his studies. You had even questioned him on it, but he only said “I guess you’ve changed me for the better”

as you sat at the lunch table, you casually talked with George and Luna. You had been laughing for a good ten minutes straight at the stupid jokes George had been saying. Little did you know a certain Slytherin had taken notice. “Merlin George, your making my stomach hurt” you chuckle.

he grins in response and shrugs his shoulders “It’s because you love me and my jokes” he spoke. You nod slowly “You are indeed right” a slightly harsh tap comes to your shoulder and you turn behind you. Draco. “Draco i-” “Let’s go, i’m feeling drained”

your eyes widened a bit as students watch your two talking. You turn towards George and give him a slight smile “Guess i’ll be going” you spoke and stood up, straightening your robe. Draco shoots a glare at the ginger “Keep your eyes on your own soulmate Weasley, she’s mine”

oh he did not just say that. Without getting a word in Draco grabs your arm and drags you out of the great hall, leaving students to gossip about what just happened. You stayed silent on your way to the astronomy tower, thinking about what you wanted to stay.

once your at the top you pull your arm away from him “You know you just exposed us right? I thought you wanted it to be a secret?” you questioned him. His jaw tightens slightly as you speak “I did and now i didn’t” he spoke vaguely. “That’s not an answer Draco”

he didn’t answer you and took a step forward to bring you into a hug, but you take a step back “We haven’t touch each other all day. I know you feel sore too” he spoke, coming closer to you. You move away from him and shake your head “You don’t get to touch me until you answer me”

he rolls his eyes at your stubbornness and sighs “You told Weasley that you loved him. You can’t love him, simple enough” he looks away from you. You scoff in response “He’s my best friend. I meant it in a platonic way. How can you be jealous when your the one who didn’t want a relationship?”

“I’m not jealous! You’re already mine therefore i won” he spat in slight annoyance. He takes notice of you saddened expression and sighs “I’ve never felt the way i do about somebody like i feel with you. It’s different and quite terrifying if i’m being honest” he spoke, his voice wavering slightly.

“I also didn’t think i immediately fall in love with you, but i did and now i really want to keep you all to myself” he took a step closer to you, trapping you in his arms “Tell me Y/n, do you feel the same?” he asked, the tone in his voice lowering. You slowly nod “I do. I love you”

a small smile came to Draco’s pale face as he leans down and captures your lips in his

and once again, you were revived.

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Kody: Omg this sucks so bad. Lmao, feel free to make fun me. Anyways, peace.

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 136

This chapter was a chance to explore some more science-based tropes that I absolutely love in stories. The truth is, when I’m working at my day job, I love listening to documentaries on Curiosity and YouTube channels like Answers with Joe or Kurzgesagt. My love of science fiction actually comes from my love of space and astronomy, not the other way around.

In no way, shape, or form, does this chapter cover any of the concepts in question in full. It’s just a quick convo between Sophia and a good friend ;)

My thanks, as always, go to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @charlylimph-blog, and @anotherusrname. Plus all of YOU!

Even as my mind wandered, I couldn’t help but grin a bit as I took my weekly stroll through the corridors of the Ark with Miys in tow. For several years now, we had a standing appointment on my calendar that both Alistair and Tyche treated as sacrosanct - just some time for me to spend with our host, my friend, and learn more about each other. When I had originally arrived on the Ark, any time I was seen walking with them, other humans would give me odd looks, but never approach. Now, people would recognize me, smile, and wave, but still never interrupted the strolls.

It was nice. Like my weekly family dinners, it was a routine, pleasant part of my life. Especially days like today, when we were entering the dawn-cycle and each day became a little brighter. It made me wonder about other civilizations, ones that would have evolved in conditions like the ones we were adapting ourselves for. How did it affect them? How would it affect us as generations passed? Future generations were certainly going to be shorter, due to the high gravity. Would it change our technological advances as well -

“Wisdom, why are you thinking so hard about Gestrcht Clusters?” Miys interrupted my thoughts.

“Hm?” I asked absently. “What’s a Jestrick Cluster?”

“Gestrcht,” they corrected mildly. “Gestrcht clusters are a type of civilization that has adapted to live in artificial platforms surrounding their sun, in order to better harness the solar energy, radiation, or heat needed.”

“You mean a Dyson swarm?” I tried to clarify, confused.

“All of the galaxy calls them Gestrcht clusters, therefore I think that is what you mean.”

“Alright, alright,” I laughed, holding my hands up in defeat. “The reason I was thinking about Gestruck clusters - “

“Gestrcht”

“I will work on it. The reason I was thinking about those is… I was wondering how living on Von will change our priorities. In our history, those constructions were something that fascinated both imagination and science - something several people thought was our launching pad to a Kardashev Type II civilization, or the singularity point. Maybe both.”

“Kardashev…” they hummed for a moment, thinking. “Only humanity would create goals of technological advancement that required destruction on a multi-planetary scale.”

I desperately wanted to object, but strongly suspected they were right. “So we were wrong, again? There are no civilizations out there that would fit what we imagined for a Kardashev I or II race?”

“I will concede to the existence of species that you would consider both. However, it is not how you believe it to be - humanity would never have been able to accomplish it without greater sacrifice than they have ever known.”

Oh boy. “Tell me? I want to understand why other species could do it, but we could not.” My curiosity needed to know.

They held up one of their liw, rocking it back and forth in imitation of a human head tilt. “Species that have managed to harness all of the energy produced by their planet, and not destroy their environments, have historically been those who had very little power to harness to begin with. These civilizations come from either very harsh, or very gentle worlds - never anything in between. Abundant wind energy scouring a planetary desert can greatly benefit a species who can harness that wind to temper it and create a paradise. A planet with no atmosphere, but incredible amounts of geothermal energy runs little risk in being able to direct all of that volcanic activity to its benefit. But Earth?”

“Is a deathworld,” I pointed out. “You said so yourself.”

“This is true, but it is not a deathworld in the way So’Kn is, for example. Preeyar and So’kn are planets that are lethal for very singular reasons: So’Kn is a frozen waste of permanent night and eternal wind. It is so harsh that only So’Knor can truly survive there with without significant technological assistance. Preeyar only has atmosphere in its valleys, and that is thinner than most species can survive, much less the fact that there are no liquids on Preeyar. None. The air pressure is too low to allow it for any chemicals that are naturally occurring, and the atmosphere violently reacts with any elements that could exist in liquid form. It is, in fact, believed that the rift valleys were caused by simply an icy meteor impacting the planet.”

“Ho-lee shit,” I whispered.

“I doubt many cultures would find it holy at all,” they joked drily. “Whereas Earth… There is no one singular quality about Earth that classifies it as a deathworld. Instead, there are several, each stemming from the abundant forms of energy offered by your home world.”

“Seriously!?”

“Indeed. And the combinations thereof. The length of natural disasters that are possible, alone, is unique to Earth. Tornadoes and earthquakes. Flooding and wildfires. Volcanoes and hurricanes. Methane just rising from your lakes to kill large swathes of people. Lakes below your oceans, Wisdom! Volcanoes below your oceans! It is insanity to the entirety of the Galaxy, and yet humans consider that just a normal aspect of existence.”

“And… what exactly does that have to do with being able to harness all the energy of our planet, exactly?” To say I was confused was an understatement.

To their credit, Miys only reached with one vomu to make a ‘nose pinching’ gesture against its head. “Earth, somehow, is only habitable and so abundant in life because everything exists in a precarious balance. Surely, the last two centuries of your own history demonstrated that. Attempting to harness all of the admittedly prodigious energy of your planet would have ended up destroying that balance beyond compare.”

I tried to comprehend it. I really did. Focusing on what little I knew, I thought about dams. Those were familiar to me - I had grown up in an area that dammed every river and creek possible for everything from grain mills and fruit presses, to artificial fish ponds, to electricity. “Starting there…” it was faster not to explain out loud when I knew Miys was following along with the home game, “Damming a river creates a lake. That floods an area that already has a habitat, and dries out another area that already has an aquatic habitat.”

“And prevents floods that fertilize fields and redistribute minerals from erosion, yes.”

“Right. Times every river, creek, and faint trickle on Earth…” I stopped myself. Every river. The Amazon. The Nile. “And we just washed out what’s left of the largest rainforest on Earth.”

“Leaving more carbon in the air…” they encouraged.

“And increasing the greenhouse effect, increasing heat on the surface, melting more ice, which - hey, more wind, amirite? - but changing planetary albedo, more water, wetter Sahara, no dust to fertilize… South America? Dammit, are we back to killing the Amazon again?”

“That is just one form of energy, Wisdom. But I feel you are understanding the issue.”

“Yeahhhh…” I trailed off. “Okay, so. Kardashev I is no bueno tacos for Earth. What if we skipped straight to Kardashev II slash singularity?” I made a point to focus on the concept of technological singularity very hard, so there would be less need for research on their part. You know, spare myself half a minute or so. “The Gestrkt clusters.”

“Closer,” they admitted, although I was suspicious they meant my pronunciation and not the idea that humanity would ever get there. “Humanity is not… suited, for Gestrcht clusters.”

“Wait, what?”

“Humanity is too curious, too social, and too exploratory. Your fiction abounds with every variation of different worlds and strange universes you could possibly conceive of. And it constantly expanded - your oldest texts involve travelling to your moon, and when you actually reached it, you looked further out - other systems, other galaxies, other dimensions. Gestrcht clusters require such substantial resources and maintenance, there is little left over for exploration.”

“There are humans who would be perfectly content living in such a structure,” I argued, although my heart wasn’t in it. I wouldn’t have been, knowing that other worlds were out there.

“Not enough to sustain it, unfortunately. Not even in what you call the Before.” Lightly resting one vomu on my shoulder, they squeezed gently. “Wisdom, humanity has always wanted to see other worlds. Gestrcht clusters are all or nothing.”

“And singularity?” I asked, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

“It is true that there have been some singleton species that have achieved what you term singularity with technology. Fewer have been successful.” When I glanced at them, all six upper appendages were held up in defense. “Hive minds are uniquely suited to it, and even some of us,” they waved those same six appendages at their torso, “would never accept it. I could never imagine not having the chance to travel the galaxy, to be with other races as they experience it. Add to that, humanity is somehow both individual and social. Removing that line, that choice? I doubt your kind would thrive. Postulate this: Derek, in a hive mind.”

“Absolutely not,” came my unhesitating response, disgust and violence trembling in every limb before I calmed myself. “And I see your point. Integrating technology in our lives, into how we function…” I tapped my head for emphasis, “that’s one thing. It makes our lives better, by making sure that Derek, and others, can have their personal space protected.” The more I thought about it… I never considered the idea in reference to ‘now’, only ‘eventually’. What if we did it now, and I was one of the people - suddenly never alone, always connected to every thought of strangers via technology. What if Tyche was? Or Maverick? Hell, Charly? “I think I need a shower, now,” I admitted, skin crawling.

“Humanity could achieve both,” Miys confirmed, although it didn’t feel as reassuring as I had hoped it would at the beginning of our conversation. “But I don’t think humanity would truly want to live in Gestrcht clusters or singularity, given any other choice but extinction.”

Laughing, I wiped a tear from one eye. It was a bitter truth, but still true. “I think you’re right.”

“I may be wrong,” they countered. “As I said, there are singleton species who have made those transitions and the entire galaxy is better for it.”

“Some hope that we weren’t entirely wrong would be nice right about now,” I mumbled as I scuffed my shoe at the floor. There wasn’t anything to kick except Else-puffs, and that was just mean as fuck.

“Most species that made a transition to Gestrcht clusters early in their development are belligerent, insular species. The fact that they must focus all their efforts and resources on maintaining their platforms prevents them from becoming actively warlike. As far as ‘singularity’... singleton species who thrive in that transition are often species who cannot thrive on a galactic scale otherwise.”

Huh? I craned my neck to try to look up at them in the perpetual-dawn light. “What do you mean?”

Miys flicked a datapad open - one I know they only wore for our sakes, seeing as they could not actually see anything on the purely-optical screen, I had learned. They could only navigate it if interacting with a human, so they could ‘see’ what they needed to tap out.

Needless to say, Charly and Grey had been working for years on one that responded to sonic commands.

Eventually, a seven-fingered flick caused my own databand to chirp. I flicked it open to see the file. “They… Noah, this looks like sentient pollen… or feathers…” Realistically, any description I tried to create fell devastatingly short. The being on my datapad moved as though it was floating on wind, with tens of thousands of filament-fine tendrils swaying and navigating. The sound it created reminded me of the sound of snowfall, if snowflakes could sing opera. “They’re beautiful,” I sniffed, driving back tears at knowing something so breathtaking existed.

“They also cannot survive off their planet, unfortunately. Even the transition out of their atmosphere is lethal to them.”

My heart shattered into a million pieces. “What is their name?”

“No one knows for certain. But they have achieved a sort of singularity - once they have matured and reproduced, they upload themselves at the end of their very brief lifecycles. In the Galactic Community, they are known as Odvub.”

“Odvub…” I whispered, holding out my fingers like I could actually touch the screen.

“Outside of a Hujylsogox rescue ship, it is nearly impossible to avoid encountering Odvub. Most believe they are some sort of galactic artificial intelligence, and they prefer to allow that belief.”

“Why are you telling me this, then?”

“They have permitted it, when these sort of questions are asked. To show what desperation is required for a singleton species to thrive in singularity.”

I sniffed, desperately trying not to cry at their situation. “Do they know about humans?”

“They may be the only species who could not avoid knowing about it. But Odvub believes your people are hearty, and adaptable, and should never suffer their fate. They advised, in the event that your people ever ask about singularity, to do this…” Miys gently cupped my cheek in one liw and patted it, “and tell you that you will never need to resort to what they had to do, and that they look forward to meeting your people one day.”

“Obviously not face to face,” I admitted quietly. “I have allergens that are more substantial than they are.”

“It is considered a great honor in the Galactic Community for this icon to display when you interact with Odvub.” Miys gestured at the vicinity of the image on my datapad. “Only those who know why, know why it is an honor.”

“We’ll take it,” I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. “All of humanity may never know why, but we’ll take it. If I may tell Arthur, we probably will know why.” He would see to it. Loudly, angrily, derisive of anyone who mocked it. “Regardless, we’ll take it, all the same.”

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

Seal the Deal

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 2658

Summary: A hunt gone bad leads to Dean’s death. While Sam looks for solutions in vain, you make an appointment with a crossroads demon.

Notes: Here is the first part of the Deal series! This series is gonna be suuuuuuper dark, so fair warning to all of you. I’m really really proud of these three imagines, so I really hope you guys enjoy. As always, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Death, gore, mentions of Hell, plenty of guilt, sacrifice

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

Thursday 4:44 P.M.

You messed up. You had been so sure, so ready to be the hero. Why wouldn’t you just listen to them?

Sam and Dean stood on either side of yo, guns raised and shoulders tense. Two pairs of black eyes glistened wickedly. They definitely weren’t vampires.

“I think we owe the pretty one a thank you.” The one possessing the girl laughed. “Sam and Dean Winchester dropped at our feet like a good hunting dog.”

“What am I, hellhound food?” You snarked, readying your weapon. She just smiled.

“You will be.”

“Enough talk.” Dean stepped in front of you, his defensive boyfriend mode activated.

The boys leapt into action, Sam taking the man on the right and Dean took the one on the girl with the mouth. You only had your knife, but luckily Dean had come prepared with an angel blade. She swung her arm forward, crashing a nearby table into both of you. You recovered quickly and lunged at her. The demon Sam was fighting grabbed you by your hair and prepared to slit your throat.

“No!” Dean shouted, throwing the angel blade into the demon’s chest.

That’s when a sick snap echoed through the room, making the rest of the world go silent. You turned around and felt everything inside of you shatter. The demon had her hands on either side of Dean’s face, his head turned in an unnatural way. His body fell, but you didn’t hear it hit the ground. You didn’t hear anything. Not Sam screaming out his brother’s name or the demon’s dying shriek when he ran it through.

You didn’t realize you had moved until you were on the floor, checking Dean’s broken neck for a pulse. You watched the life fade out of his eyes, his green irises staring blankly at you.

“Come on Dean, we have to go.” You whimpered, laying a hand on his cheek.

“Dean…” Sam crouched down beside you. “No. No, Dean you can’t go like this.” He clutched his brother’s hand, letting out a painful, guttural cry. “Dean!”

10:27

Dean Winchester was dead. His body laid on the bed in front of you. This was real. And it was your fault. Sam was pacing back and forth, muttering something about calling Cas and looking for spells.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” You muttered. He stopped moving.

“Everything is going to be okay.” He assured you, his eyes filled with desperate hope. “We’ll get him back.”

“This is my fault.” You wiped a tear with the back of your hand. “We went in unprepared because I didn’t listen to you. Dean dropped his guard because he was saving me.”

“You can’t think like that.” He sat beside you, reaching out to comfort you, but you pulled away. “You’ll find all the ways to blame yourself, believe me, I know. But that isn’t going to help Dean.”

“He threw that blade without a second thought.” You mused, as if you hadn’t heard what he said. “He gave up his only weapon to stop me from getting hurt.” You finally tore your eyes away from Dean and looked at his younger brother. “Why would he do that?” Sam’s eyebrows drew together.

“He loves you, Y/N.” He said softly. “Dean protects the people he cares about, no matter what it costs him. He sold his soul to save me all those years ago. It’s who he is.” You froze, letting his words sink in.

“You’re right.” You sat up straighter, pulling your thoughts together. “Sitting here feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to bring him back.” But you knew what would. Sam nodded.

“Cas has been M.I.A so far, but he might know what to do.” Sam looked at his brother with determination. “You should try and get some sleep. We’re going to need all of us at our best game to get him back.”

“When are you going to sleep?” You countered. Sam sighed, putting a hand on Dean’s arm.

“When I figure out how I’m getting my brother back.” You huddled close to the younger Winchester. Laying your head on his shoulder, you tried to fight the exhaustion that was slowly taking over your limbs. Sam leaned into you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’re going to get him back.”

“We’re going to get him back.” You repeated. The world needed Dean alive. You needed him. Before you fell asleep, you looked at his face. You would give anything to see those green eyes again. Anything.

Friday 3:23 A.M.

“Y/N! Sam! Anybody!” Dean’s screams echoed in the dark. Fire ignited around him, illuminating the table he was strapped down to. A saw blade hung above him. “Not again. I can’t do this again. Sam! Y/N!”

The saw’s shrill cry drowned out his painful pleas for help. It lowered ominously towards him. Dean’s blood splattered his screaming face as the saw cut into his rib cage.

You woke up to darkness in a bed that was not your own. It took a moment to catch your breath and for your eyes to adjust. You were in Sam’s room. He must have carried you in here when you fell asleep. It was nicer than the couch and Dean was in the bed that you shared. Dean. The image of his chest splitting open burned itself into your head and you rushed into Sam’s bathroom. You threw up the little you had in your stomach before stumbling through the bunker to you and Dean’s room.

He was just a still shadow in the dark. You collapsed next to the bed, hands clinging to his unharmed chest. Tears streamed down your face and your words came out as garbled sobs.

“I’m going to get you out.” You swore. “It should be me. You’ve already suffered so much. It should be me.” You fell into a shaking, crying mess on the floor, a hand still desperately clutching his. You had to fix this. Dean wasn’t supposed to die. If you had just listened…

“Y/N?” Sam opened the door, letting light stream in the room. When you could see the body, you started screaming. You shrieked like you had lost your mind. Maybe you had. All you could see was Dean on the table being ripped apart.

Sam grabbed you and lifted you up off of the floor. You fought him without thinking and he trapped you in his arms until you had calmed down enough to stand on your own.

“We have to save him, Sam. We have to save him.”

“We will.” He put his hands on your shoulders. “We’re going to find Cas and we’re going to make a plan.” You shook your head.

“No, no, Sam we don’t have time. We have to get him out. He’s been there too long already.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“I saw him and-and-” You started hyperventilating and Sam put your amblings aside, chalking them up to panic and grief. He pulled you close again, keeping your face to his chest. Dean would know what to do. He stared at Dean’s body and did the one thing he could do. He prayed.

2:07 P.M.

There was nothing Cas could do. Without his grace, he couldn’t even transport on his own, let alone raise someone from the dead. He felt so useless.

“We’ll find a way.” Sam refused to give up. If he had to go to the ends of the Earth, he would. It’s what Dean would have done for him.

Sam was worried about you. You hadn’t said a word since last night and you wouldn’t leave the room. You barely even blinked when Cas arrived. He knew how much you loved his brother and he knew how much the guilt was gnawing at you.

“Should I talk to her?” Cas asked. Sam shook his head.

“Not yet.” He said somberly. “She’ll feel better once we have a plan.”

“Sam,” Cas sighed, “I think we might need to start making other kinds of plans.”

“What?”

“I want Dean back as much as you do, but you know this isn’t what he would want.” Cas knew that someone had to be the voice of reason, even if he wanted nothing more than to bring Dean back to life.

“What if it was me in that bed? Or Y/N? Or you?” Sam snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Dean would not rest until we were alive again.” Cas’ face pleaded with him and Sam’s shoulders slumped. “But,” He took a breath, “if nothing works, and we’ve turned over every stone, looked at every spell… then we have to let him rest in peace. He’s earned that.”

You stood around the corner, your heart sinking with every word. He wasn’t at peace. Unless you did something, he would never be at peace. You crept back to the room, making sure not to make any noise. You carefully closed the door and lowered your voice so Sam and Cas wouldn’t hear.

“Sam’s working hard to find a way to bring you back.” You leaned against the wall, watching Dean as if you were expecting him to respond. “But they’re not going to find anything. Life's just not that easy for us.” You paced forward, standing over him with a sad smile. One of your tears fell down onto his lips.

“I know what I have to do. Trouble is, I know that you’re gonna hate me when you wake up.” You lifted his hand, holding it against your heart. “But that doesn’t matter. The world needs you, Dean. Sam needs you. I-” You choked back a sob. “I need you to come back, baby.”

You knew that this was right. You just hoped you could be brave enough to do it.

11: 49 P.M.

It was a warm night, but you still felt an icy chill run down your spine as you stood at the crossroads.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Winchester’s little pet.” Her red eyes glistened when she smiled.

“You know why I’m here.” You snapped. You didn’t have time for witty demon banter.

“Yeah, yeah, you want your boyfriend back because one of my black-eyed friends snapped that pretty neck.” She rolled her eyes. “What is it with you people and sacrificing yourselves all the time? Dean’s gone, sweet cheeks. Move on.”

“Can you do it or not?” You were half tempted to take an angel blade to her throat.

“Dean’s a pretty big player. He’s already gotten out of hell once, not to mention all of the trouble he’s caused for us.” She started to circle you, her wicked grin making your skin crawl.

“Look, if you can’t do it, can we just-” She clicked her tongue like she was scolding a child.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it.” The demon stalked towards you. “But it’s going to take a lot of pulled strings and I don’t have ten years to wait around for your soul.”

“That’s fine.” You growled, stepping forward. You weren’t afraid of her. “Dean only got a year when he saved Sam.”

“Oh, I don’t have a year either.” You faltered for a moment.

“How long will I have?” She seemed to be calculating in her head, counting off on her fingers. Her smile grew.

“I can give you until Monday at midnight.”

“What?”

“Three days. 72 hours to spend getting freaky with Dean-o before I feed you to the dogs.” She laughed, watching your confidence fade.

“Three days?”

“Do we have a bargain or not? I have other appointments, you know.”

“You swear that you can bring him back? No tricks. Just Dean, him and his soul in one piece?” She held up her hand in a mock pledge.

“Scout’s honor.” For a second you just stood there. Could you do this? You didn’t have a choice. “Come on, Y/N. You have to seal the deal.”

The clock struck twelve, the sound of the bell snapping you out of your trance and restoring your courage. You yanked the demon forward, colliding your lips into hers. She pulled back, red eyes flashing with twisted delight.

“Time starts now.”

Saturday 12:32 A.M.

Sam finished lighting the last candle and inhaled the overpowering scents of artificial pine and apple cinnamon. It was nauseating, but it would hopefully help when the room started to smell. He turned to the body and sighed. Cas was right. They needed to do something. He heard the bunker door open and rushed out to the entry, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Where the hell have you been?” He demanded. You looked at him blankly. “Y/N, you can’t just run off in the middle of the night. I was worried that you had-” He didn’t even want to think about it. But you were here now and not at the bottom of a ditch, which was something to be grateful for.

“I’m fine, Sam.” You tried to keep your hands from shaking by holding onto the railing as you went down the stairs. Sam noticed the dirt on your hands and the still determined look in your eyes.

“Y/N,” his expression changed from angry to panicked. “Where were you?”

“Does somebody want to tell me why my room smells like an old woman’s car?” The voice echoed from down the hall. Sam’s eyes went wide and your heart started to race. As soon as Dean appeared in the doorway, you leaped into his arms. You took his face in your hands and kissed him like it was the first time. Confused, though pleased, by this greeting, Dean pulled away.

“Dean,” Sam let out a sigh of relief and hugged his brother, momentarily forgetting your suspicious absence.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean barked, eyes darting between his brother and his girlfriend.

“What do you remember?” Sam asked.

“I remember the demons and this neck cramp like you wouldn’t believe.” He thought for a moment, everything slowly coming back to him. “I was in this place. A home. My home. There were pictures on the mantle with me in them…” HIs gaze landed on you and he smiled lovingly. Your blood ran cold. No. “You were in them too. There were a few of me and Sammy, on hunting trips- but not our kind of hunting. Normal people hunting.” He stared off, like he was trying to go back. “Y/N, you came in holding this little boy with my chin and your smile.” He finally snapped out of it, remembering where he was. “Anyway, I heard this clock bell chime and I woke up surrounded by a whole Yankee candle store.”

“Dean…” Sam said softly. “I think you were… in Heaven.”

“I don’t know, but it sure felt like it.” Dean sighed. He had seen the life he always wanted. A real life, a family, with you.

You just stared, processing every word. Sam read your face and remember your unexplained absence.

“Y/N, where did you go?” He spoke in that low voice that always came before he went off.

“He’s back now, Sam.” You held your head up. You did the right thing. You did the right thing. Dean froze.

“What is he talking about?”

“Y/N disappeared for four hours and then you suddenly came back to life.”

“You wanted him back too, Sam!” You yelled. You did the right thing.

“Not like that!” Sam’s voice boomed and the room fell silent. HIs anger dissipated into dread. “We would have found something else.”

“Not in time.” Your eyes fell to the floor. Dean put his hands on either side of your face.

“Y/N, look at me.” You looked up into those green eyes- the ones that you sold your soul to see again. You would never regret it. Dean watched your chin tremble, confirming his fears. “Baby…” You could see his heart break. “What did you do?”

Continue to 72 Hours

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto;

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy

#dean winchester x reader #winchester october takeover #death warning #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural imagine #jensen ackles #Jared Padalecki

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xiyao-feels · 3 years

Text

Part Two: Claims about NMJ and NHS

Intro - Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4

NMJ

1) NMJ wished to protect NHS from cultivating with the sabre as a youth.

I don't think he tells us this in quite so many words, but it seems implied by the flashback scenes: his giving NHS the paintbrush, the bit where he takes 修刀 and gives NHS 修心, and course him literally telling NHS that whatever NHS wishes to do, he'd support it.

As far as I can tell there's no evidence of this. Now, to be fair, we don't see them as children in MDZS, but there is not as far as I can tell any sign that NMJ has ever done anything but strongly desire that NHS work on the sabre. Indeed, even at Hejian during Sunshot, the reason he overhears MY and LXC's conversation is because he is bringing NHS' sabre to LXC so that NHS will not be able to escape practicing with it. He certainly does not renew any kind of commitment to allowing NHS to do what he wills before his death. In CQL, we see rather less, but as far as I can tell there doesn't seem to be anything that contradicts MDZS on this front.

2) In his heart, NMJ carried significant doubts about the righteousness of Nie cultivation practices, including both the sabre-curse-inducing sabre cultivation and the practice of balancing the sabre spirits via corpses in the wall

This is quite central to the movie. It's arguably implicit in his desire to protect NHS from cultivating with the sabre, but beyond that, he is clearly extremely uncomfortable at NHS' moral challenge of Nie practices and believes at least partially that NHS has a point; moreover, it's implicit in his confessions to NHS in the tomb:

The Nie family's ancestors created this family foundation with great hardships. Unexpectedly, it was cursed by the sword spirit. I practiced swordsmanship hard and thought I could find a way to solve it, but I just followed the same old disastrous road of the ancestors.

And of course, his moral arc in the movie is about embracing those doubts and rejecting Nie tradition.

There is as far as I can tell no evidence of this in MDZS or CQL; in fact we don't learn anything about the Nie burial traditions in scenes where NMJ is still alive, and he never shows any doubt about the wisdom of sabre cultivation.

3) NMJ used to be "intelligent and wise"; it's due to the effects of the sabre curse that he is "moody and brutal".

We're explicitly told this by NHS at around 32:50: "Da-ge, look at you now, you have changed. When you were young, you were always wise and intelligent. Ever since you practiced swordsmanship, you've become moody and brutal." It's also backed up by the childhood flashbacks. The sharp distinction between NMJ and sabre-curse-affected-NMJ, shown by the way sabre-curse-affected NMJ is visually marked out, also helps suggest this.

Now, in MDZS and CQL, this…is complicated. Again, in MDZS, we don't see him as a child—the earliest we see him is still well past the time he began practicing sabre cultivation. And in ch 26 NHS does indeed suggest that sabre cultivation causes increasing irritability; it certainly seems plausible, indeed almost necessary, that he had less of a temper before he started practicing, and for that matter we see his anger grow worse as time goes on.

Nevertheless, we never actually see any trace of a calm-tempered NMJ in the text. Even by the beginning of Sunshot, his reputation as an angry man is firmly established. Consider the Nie men's reaction to his anger at their shit-talking MY, in the cave:

The entire cave was in a muddle. Everyone knew ChiFeng-Zun’s personality—the more one tried to explain, the angrier he was. Seeing that they probably couldn’t escape punishment and would have to tell the truth, nobody dared to speak a word.

Even his friend LXC says to MY, “MingJue-xiong has quite a fiery personality. It must have been truly difficult for you to have earned his approval.”

And NHS, who very much loves his brother even as he is also to some extent frightened of him, is never shown pining for the halcyon days of yore. Narratively speaking, sabre-affected NMJ is the only NMJ we know. I think…this is something a Nie brothers spinoff could theoretically do something interesting with, but the way it's presented in their relationship is all wrong.

In CQL, the evidence is much the same or just not shown. NMJ generally seems less angry (though even so, we see him be angry at the Nie men for mocking MY (in subjective CQL-Empathy, but still), at WWX for saying maybe let's not kill XY immediately, at JGY for having killed the Nie cultivators, etc.), and if anything his relationship with NHS seems better than it is in the novel, although this too is well after he's begun to practice sabre cultivation.

4) NMJ respects NHS' interests

When picking NHS to lead the other team in the tombs, NMJ tells us that NHS knows most about astronomy in the Nie, and NMJ clearly considers this valuable.

If NHS did actually have significant knowledge of cultivation, NMJ would probably respect that. However, this is what NMJ has to say about the interests NHS canonically has (ch 49):

Nie HuaiSang was absolutely delighted. He greeted Jin GuangYao again and again as he grabbed the fans in haste. Seeing how his younger brother reacted, Nie MingJue was so outraged that he almost found it amusing. He turned to Jin GuangYao, “Don’t send him those useless things!”

In a hurry, Nie HuaiSang dropped a few fans on the ground. Jin GuangYao picked them up for him and put them into his arms, “HuaiSang’s hobbies are quite elegant. He’s dedicated to art and calligraphy, and has no propensity for mischief. How can you say that they’re useless?”

Nie HuaiSang nodded as fast as he could, “Yes, Brother is right!”

Nie MingJue, “But sect leaders have no need for such things.”

In CQL, I believe we just don't see enough to say, although given that again, NHS' isn't actually studying cultivation, it seems likely NMJ' attitudes are much the same.

NHS

1) NHS is profoundly morally motivated

NHS is immediately and hugely upset with the practice of using corpses in the walls, explicitly on moral grounds, even though it was the practice of their ancestors, and even once he finds out that they're not (usually) Nie men, but evildoers.

Having been told by NZH that the blades need the corpses to suppress their aggressiveness: "But isn't that just sacrificing people?" "Zonghui, the Nie family have always been righteous. If we give sacrifice to it with life, we will become evil."

And then, to NMJ: "Wait. Let me ask you. Why is here called the Sword Sacrifice Hall? What is to balance sword spirit? I didn't understand before coming what exactly Sword Sacrifice Hall represents. I know it now. This is not balance but sacrificing flesh and blood!"

NZH: Second Young Master, you misunderstood it. Those corpses belong to evil men. The Nie family's ancestors had uses their bodies to balance the sword spirit. We also follow the ancestral instructions."

NHS: (to NZH) Evil men? (to NMJ) Aren't they human beings? Are you qualified for deciding their fate?

NMJ: The sword spirit is extremely dangerous. Generations of the Nie family all balanced the spirit in this way.

NHS: Even if they were wrong, you also follow their way?

In MDZS…I went over the chapters where he shows up, and I'm not actually sure we ever see him express a moral sentiment? I could be missing something, but it doesn't seem to be any kind of fundamental part of his character.

This is his reaction to WWX's first suggestion of demonic cultivation, when they're studying at CR (ch 14):

After thinking for a few moments, an expression of envy and yearning appeared on Nie HuaiSang’s face, “To be honest, Wei-xiong’s words were quite interesting. Spiritual energy can only be obtained through cultivation and taking great pains to form a golden core. It would take I-don’t-know-how-many years to do, especially for someone like me, whose talent seems as if it was gnawed by a dog when I was in my mother’s womb. But, resentful energy are from the fierce ghosts. If they can easily be taken and used, it would be beyond wonderful.”

And—granted this is several years down the line and NHS is keeping up his cover, but when NHS is explaining the sabre tomb to LWJ and WWX in chapter 26, he doesn't seem to have any problem with the practice. In fact, he tells us that he participated in choosing corpses for NMJ's sabre:

Nie HuaiSang was already shocked speechless. Wei WuXian inquired, “Who chooses the corpses that the Nie Sect uses for the Saber Hall?”

Nie HuaiSang replied with a glazed expression, “Usually, the past sect leaders chose and stored them when they were still alive. My brother passed away at an earlier age. He didn’t have enough, so I also helped him choose some… I kept whichever corpses that were complete with all limbs. I don’t know about anything other than this…”

In CQL...mmm. I rewatched all the pre-Sunshot scenes with him in it, and I do think he comes across as, at least, less amoral. We don't have the gee wouldn't demonic cultivation be nice scene, and you could definitely interpret him as being worried about the granny at Dafan, or even the temporary-puppets; he says you have to admire Songxiao's integrity and elegance as they depart; and while we don't see him be part of the initial 'maybe we shouldn't just immediately execute XY squad,' he does go da-ge after NMJ seems irritated at WWX, and after NMJ throws MY out he goes in and is like but why!!!! That said, in both cases where he challenges (and I use the term rather loosely for the da-ge after NMJ is irritated with WWX), he immediately backs down faced with NMJ's opposition. I really don't see any sign of the character who is so morally motivated and so sure of his own correctness he challenges NMJ, /in front of all their men/, and keeps up the challenge despite NMJ's consistent opposition.

2) NHS isn't really interested in JGY's gifts

At no point is he shown delighting over or interested in anything JGY gave him (except of course the flute for treating his brother), and in fact when JGY says that after the journey he will give him gifts he replies "San-ge, I am not afraid of difficult journeys. I'm not craving for toys either." On the contrary, gifts are associated with /NMJ/, who gave him a paintbrush as a child.

In MDZS, we see him explicitly delighted in and interested by JGY's gifts. In ch 49, we see him going over a dozen gold-lined fans, which turn out to be gifts from JGY; when JGY mentions he's going to play a song for NMJ, he expresses interest and mentions "the limited edition" JGY gave him "last time," and then when NMJ shouts at him to go to his room he runs instead "to the living room for the presents that Jin GuangYao had brought him;" when JGY shows up at Qinghe after the stairs incident, NHS "beamed as he got ready to go to Jin GuangYao and see what presents he brought this time." Considering how little time they have together on the page, the gifts show up a great deal.

In CQL, we mostly don't see a lot of NHS and JGY's interactions after JGY's legitimation but before NMJ's death, so it's impossible to directly say. However, he is at least shown to delight in and greatly value beautiful things (see at least the fan flashback in ep 35).

3) NHS is motivated by a desire for his brother's respect and the respect of their men.

This is the argument JGY uses which finally settles NHS on going along on the journey, around 14:30: "Both of you are pillars of the Nie family. You should work together. You can also prove yourself." See also his pleasure with himself at solving the puzzle quickly in the tombs; it's not a purely self-satisfied pleasure, but rather, "It seems I'm not useless" (27:35ish). When NZH replies, "Second Young Master, you are definitely not useless. It's just because everyone has their own will," NHS gives a firm little nod. NMJ's respect for NHS' skills and interests is also made central to their relationship.

In MDZS, NHS really doesn't seem to be motivated by people respecting him. Consider, again, what he says about WWX's idea of demonic cultivation (ch 14):

A golden core was a core formed by cultivators after they had cultivated to a certain point. It can store and control spiritual energy. After the core was formed, the cultivator’s level of cultivation would increase at a rapid speed, and become better and better. Else, they would only be a low-end cultivator. If disciple from a prominent clan forms the core at a later age, it would be a disgrace to tell other people of it, yet Nie HuaiSang didn’t feel ashamed at all. Wei WuXian also laughed, “I know, right? No harm comes from using it.”

Even during Sunshot, he's slacking off, using the excuse of having forgotten his sabre. (ch 48)

And then in ch. 49, after NMJ burns his things:

Nie HuaiSang roared at Nie MingJue, “Saber, saber, saber! Who the fuck wants to practice the damn thing?! So what if I want to be a good-for-nothing?! Whoever that wants to can be the sect leader! I can’t learn it means I can’t learn it and I don’t like it means I don’t like it! What’s the use of forcing me?!”

I'm not necessarily saying he wouldn't enjoy it if NMJ respected him, and certainly it seems a fair read that he would like it if NMJ yelled at him less. But by and large, he just doesn't show any objection to being thought of as useless, even before his Headshaker cover—and there's a reason that cover worked, after all.

In CQL...well, again, he doesn't really show any sign of objecting to being thought useless, as far as I can tell.

4) NHS knows about the sabre curse

JGY explicitly says so at about 13:05: "You know his sickness. He didn't do it on purpose." Moreover, if NHS didn't know, the offer of flute-playing wouldn't really make sense.

In MDZS, NMJ explicitly hasn't told NHS at least as of JGY's visit after the stairs, and there's no indication he told him between then and when he qi-deviated. Indeed, it's JGY who thinks NHS should be told, while NMJ rejects this (ch 50):

Jin GuangYao, “Brother, these days you’ve been stricter and stricter towards HuaiSang. Is it the saber spirit…?”

After a pause, he continued, “Does HuaiSang still not know about the saber spirit?”

Nie MingJue, “Why would I tell him so soon?”

In CQL, we're not told either way; this being the case I tend towards defaulting to MDZS unless I have a specific reason to think otherwise.

5) NHS, though bad at fighting, is skilled in cultivation theory

Again, JGY says so, at around 13:19: "You are good at Daoist magic" (and NHS seems to accept it). Moreover this is continually backed up by the film, with NHS making good use of it in the tomb, and then of course in the last scene having put together the true effect of the corrupted passage.

There is no indication of this in MDZS. He's interested in art and beautiful things, but he struggles with the Lan lectures. When JGY defends NHS' interests, he mentions art and calligraphy, and says his hobbies are elegant; he makes no mention of any kind of cultivation theory. As WWX himself notes, thinking back (ch 21):

In the past, Wei WuXian and Nie HuaiSang studied together, so there were a few things he could comment about this person. Nie HuaiSang wasn’t an unkind person. It wasn’t that he was not clever, but that his heart was set somewhere else and used his smarts on other areas, such as painting on fans, searching for birds, skipping classes, and catching fish. Because his talent in terms of cultivation really was poor, he formed his core around eight or nine years later than the other disciples of the same generation as him. When he lived, Nie MingJue was often exasperated by the fact that his brother didn’t meet his expectations, so he disciplined him strictly. Despite this, he still didn’t improve much.

I'm not saying he couldn't have developed in this direction after NMJ's death, but there doesn't seem to be any indication he was skilled in that way beforehand. Again, there's a reason his cover as "totally useless person" works as a cover.

In CQL, again, we don't really see any evidence of his skill with cultivation. NHS is shown flipping through his book for the answer to the executioner question LQR asks WWX; he doesn't show any evidence of significant cultivation knowledge on the road trip section (although he is shown to have a good memory for things he's actually interested in, and you could argue he has good instincts!); his wish at the lantern festival is that he passes his studies at the Lan. I just don't see it.

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#fj negativity #long meta #anger burned in his heart #we can't change places #more than one tag could contain

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hermadnessmacwrites · 3 years

Text

Why Do You Feel So Close (But You’re Oh So Far Away?)

Major manga spoilers in this fic

Rescue missions aren’t the sprint that combat missions are, Ochako is quickly learning. Rescue missions are a marathon. And, yes, time is still an important factor, but on her track, endurance—of her body, of her mind, of her spirit—reigns supreme.

The fact of the matter is, Ochako's tired. She's tired, on so many levels, but mostly she's tired of this limbo. Her life is on hold. No matter how she chooses to fill her time, Ochako knows she's just biding time: waiting for another attack, waiting for the cities to be put back together again, waiting for school to start.

Waiting for Deku to wake up.

—x—Day 1—x—

"Oh Deku," Ochako breathes, taking in the sight of the boy before her.

Visiting Izuku in the hospital isn’t a new experience, but he’s truly outdone himself this time. Thick, white plaster encases each of his limbs. Even if he was conscious, Ochako thinks Deku would struggle to move the heavy weights. That's probably the reason for the pulley system keeping each appendage suspended off the mattress. Either that, or the medical staff doesn’t want to put any more stress on his shattered bones.

Ochako's stomach, already sensitive from a full day of using her Quirk, rolls. Why does it always end like this? Too much first-hand experience with Deku's injuries means she doesn't have to imagine the damage hiding underneath the plaster. Flashbacks of blackened flesh and the unstructured movement of boneless arms parade through her head like a horrifying slideshow.

It's the USJ all over again. It's the summer training camp. UA's entrance exam. Their first Hero training—Stain.

Why does it always end up like this?

No matter what choice she makes. No matter how she tries to help him, somehow Ochako always ends up...here. Standing in front of Deku's hospital bed.

She's tried to support him.

She's tried to save him.

She's tried to stand beside him.

She's tried to hold him back.

She's tried to trust him.

But still…? Still this. Still standing in this acoustic tile room that smells like dead flowers and antiseptics. Still listening to the insistent electronic beeping and counting breaths. Still absolutely powerless to keep him safe.

The worst part is Ochako can't even be mad at him. She understands why he did it. Her first proud moment as a hero wasn't the result of a conscious decision. Seeing Deku writhe in pain during their match with 1-B—Ochaku just moved. Pure instinct drove her forward to protect him from hurting himself. Long before she had any plan on how to make that reality, Ochako was airborne.

And, yeah. Maybe it was reckless. Those charged black whips were a completely new phenomena at that point—a variable that could have panned out badly for both of them. But Ochako looks back at that memory and smiles because—that's it. That's what it feels like to have no regrets. To know that she may have put herself in harm's way, but her actions made a difference for someone else.

And Deku has made a difference.

It's easy to miss from the outside. In the aftermath, in the hospital, most people see an injured first year and shake their head. Rash, they think. Careless. Another young boy drowning in the deep end.

Maybe there's a kernel of truth in that. Maybe Deku has taken on more than he can handle. If that's true, though, it's only because he could see others buckling under the strain. Because Deku looked at a situation with that brilliant, tactical mind of his and thought, I might not win, but I can help.

How can Ochako not find that inspiring?

Heroes step up when there's a need, they've been taught. Well, it turns out that sweet, stammering Deku has a spine of steel to go with that heart of gold. Armed with an unyielding moral compass and double-edged Quirk, he's proven more than ready to rise to every challenge thrown this way. It’s amazing. He’s amazing. And as scary as it can be to watch Deku shatter against his upper limits, watching him chase his dream of becoming the Number One Hero has pushed motivated Ochako into her own Plus Ultra moment more than once.

But, even still…

...Ochako just wishes Deku didn't see himself as such an acceptable sacrifice. He matters. It matters that Deku is destroying his body for them. It matters that he's laying here in this damn full-body cast.

Tears escape onto her checks. Ochako lets them fall unhindered. Deku, of all people, would understand the need to cry right now. Her chest is full, tight, with a mess of contradicting emotions. She's proud of him. She's furious with him.

She's terrified.

If this isn't the first time, then logic says it won't be the last, either. There will come another night that Ochako stands at the foot of his bed and wonders how many more times can his body take this abuse?

How many more times will Deku get back up?

A soft knock sounds on the door before it creaks open slowly. Ochako hiccups in surprise. Drawing the back of her hand across her nose, she hastily tries to piece herself back together for whoever has just walked in.

"Young Uraraka?" A large, warm hand lands on her shoulder. All Might. "The hospital staff just informed me that visiting hours are over. You should go get some rest."

"R-right!" Ochako’s voice sounds thick even to her, so she tries again. "I'll go—I'll go do that, then."

Moving slowly to give her stiff muscles a chance to wake up, Ochako makes her way to the door. Once there, she can’t resist pausing to look back at Deku one more time. The slow rise and fall of his chest is the only solace she can take from his broken and bruised form. Ochako’s hand tightens on the doorframe, lips drawing into a thin line. She hates this.

“Young Uraraka.”

Ochako’s gaze snaps from her friend to the emaciated man standing next to him. Electric blue eyes burn intensely from within their sunken depths. She instinctively draws herself up taller under his gaze.

“Young Midoriya will get back up,” he promises in a voice that rings with the power and conviction of the former Number One Hero. “I have full confidence he'll come out the other side of this experience as well."

As well. Because this is far from the first time Deku has been bed-bound in a hospital. The thought leaves a bitter taste on her tongue, but Ochako manages a wane smile around it anyway. The amount of confidence All Might has in Deku is heartening. It takes a special kind of person—a special kind of hero—to catch the eye of the former Symbol of Peace. Does Deku know how much faith his idol has in him?

It feels necessary to answer a declaration like that with one of her own. She nods sharply at her teacher and lets the hard-edge of her determination shine through her eyes.

Read the rest of this fic on ao3

#hermadnessmac writes #My Hero Academia #IzuOcha #IzuOcha fic

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brimmingwithautism · 3 years

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Nail Painting for Idiot Sorcerers and Tired Lesbians

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Fushiguro threw himself against the window for the third time, forcing his skinny shoulders under the frame so he could push the old hinges as high as they could go. Nobara sighed from her position on the floor, a bottle of dark green nail polish already open and fumigating the broom closet the school had given her as a room.

“Itadori will be here in a minute, he can brute force his way through,” she said as her teammate once again slumped over in defeat. It’s not even that she minded the smell of acetone so much, but she doubted Fushiguro would stick around if they couldn’t get any amount of fresh air in. Well, she thought with a vicious little smirk, he might if Itadori asked him to.

As if sensing her thoughts, Fushiguro twisted his neck around to glare at her. “I still don’t understand why we aren’t training.” He had his uniform on even though it was the weekend, shoes laced tight and muscles tensed. As far as Nobara could figure, her teammate never relaxed, something that had only gotten worse after Itadori died, then came back, then nearly died again in the exchange event with Kyoto.

But Nobara had also picked up on the fact that Fushiguro had been involved in the world of sorcery and curses for years, maybe most of his life. It was her solemn duty to teach him how to chillax once in a goddamn while, regardless of how grumpy he got. And he could get pretty grumpy, a fun fact she was learning day by day.

She didn’t say any of that, though, because she didn’t just go around spilling her feelings like that to teenage boys who couldn’t even understand their own moods. She stuck her tongue out instead and started the first careful pull of the brush over her pinkie finger. Her hands were rough, of course, and getting rougher every day in Tokyo. She knew this. She allowed this.

But she also wanted them to be beautiful. Nobara was getting better at the balancing act since coming to Tokyo: making the decisions she could and dealing with the ones she couldn’t. She had a black eye given to her from Panda yesterday that she couldn’t control but the hammer she had swung at his wrist in retaliation was something she could give back in return.

Plusses and minuses. Choices and sacrifices. Pretty nails and a stinky room - Nobara was learning.

The window opened with a deafening screech by the time she had started on her middle finger. Fushiguro gave a pleased grunt. She put down the bottle in her unpainted hand long enough to give off a couple victory snaps that were only half-sarcastic. It was impressive he got it open at all considering Gojou-sensei had told her that he himself glued the windows down years ago as a prank on another student.

“Can I get back to training now?” he asked even as he sat down on the floor next to her. Nobara didn’t want to sit on the floor, but she knew it would be easier than trying to convince her teammates to get on the bed with her - and she couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling that once they did get on the bed Gojou-sensei would pop through the window to accuse them of youthful troublemaking. She just assumed he really had nothing better to do.

For Gojou-sensei it would be a coat of white polish, she thinks, or maybe bright blue with a sparkling silver accent nail. She knew she wouldn’t find a color to match his eyes, though, something that would frustrate her.

Fushiguro was an easy choice: black. It’s the only thing she could even get near his hands without him scuttling away and it went well with his whole “I’ve been in my goth phase for years now” look. Even still, pushing the bottle of jet black polish towards him only garnered a huff and a set of shifty eyes. It didn’t matter - she still had a secret weapon.

For a while they sat in silence, the only sound the wind as she went down her left hand and started on her right. Nobara had never really had male friends before, honestly didn’t think they were worth more than the time it took to bully them off the swings at recess, but she liked Fushiguro.

He was quiet, which was always nice, but he wasn’t scared of noise, which was practical. He took Itadori’s brash personality and Nobara’s absolutely charming personality in stride, content to let them fill the space around him. He was quiet with his kindness as well, but it was there in the way he made the meatballs Itadori taught him, the way he saved her life in that cursed domain all those weeks ago.

Nobara wasn’t nice like that, she knew. But she could paint nails.

When Itadori eventually did bother to show up it was through her now-open window, thirty minutes late. He practically leapt through, landing hard on her floor before rapidly crawling under her bed. His sudden entrance surprised her enough that her brush went wide and painted her cuticles more than her fingernail. Fushiguro dragged himself so he could poke his head up enough to see through the window while Itadori seemed to be trying to claw Nobara’s duvet off her bed for another layer of protection.

She nailed him in the eye with her comb, prompting the most dignified yelp she’d heard in her life, but the sound of Fushiguro hitting the desk was enough to make her turn. Eyes wide, he only had to whisper one word to send her diving along with Itadori under the bed: Panda.

If he saw them, it didn’t matter how many days they had already trained this week — they were training again. Ears straining, eyes wide, Nobara shook her hands as frantically and silently as possible in case she ended up needing to fight with only the base layer on. It wasn’t fair, they were barely even dried yet!

There was a shadow cast on the floor through the open window as a lumbering form wandered past the building, calling out Itadori’s name. Fushiguro became one with the floor as he silently slid under the bed as well; he was smart enough to drag the nail polish with him.

The shadow grew ever larger until Nobara could see the white head of Panda peering through the window, sniffing experimentally. “Inumaki, it looks like they finally managed to get the window open!”

Another tuft of white hair poked its way through the window with a muttered “Salmon,” before withdrawing once again. Panda left a few seconds later, swiping at his nose and complaining about the smell of nail polish.

Nobara, now unfortunately squeezed in the narrow space under her bed with both her teammates and a duvet, gave the quietest sigh of relief that she could before trying to maneuver her body down and out. It was slow going given her unwillingness to touch anything with her hands and mostly left her wriggling around like a worm on a hot sidewalk as Itadori giggled into his scarf.

“Shut up!” she hissed, hitting him with her wrist.

“Oh, that’s a pretty color!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand. “Did you do it to match Maki-san’s hair?”

The headlock she put him into was a purely instinctual response and therefore NOT her fault, even if it did manage to get the wet polish on her right hand all over Itadori’s cheek. It ended with Fushiguro divebombing them with the duvet to muffle the choking sounds, leading to an uncomfortable tangle of limbs that ended with both boys blushing and Nobara lamenting her ruined paint job.

Getting out from under the bed was an exercise in frustration and more worm-like movements that Nobara would take to her grave. Fushiguro took lookout once more, but after a thumbs up all three of them managed to wrangle themselves to a circle on the floor with the nail polish once again.

“So!” Nobara started, because it was her idea, “Fushiguro is getting black nails and Itadori can have pink. It should match with your dye job.” The bottle she held up to his head wasn’t perfect, but she thought it was pretty enough. Itadori confirmed this when he snatched it from her hands with a wide grin.

Her other teammate pouted but took the bottle of black polish as well, falling to a combination of Nobara’s fearless leadership and Itadori’s enthusiasm.

The way they were so obviously crushing on each other made Nobara feel better about her choice in polish - Maki-san wouldn’t think it was creepy, right? It was just a nice color, really, and it didn’t have to be any deeper than that.

She methodically wiped away any mess off her hands and began once again to paint her nails, paying close attention to making them neat. Itadori didn’t seem to mind the mess he made on his hands, and Nobara was glad she had plenty of remover on hand. Her other teammate managed to paint his nails perfectly on the first try, but Nobara was resolved to not even look at him so she wouldn’t get angry about it. She mostly succeeded.

“But Kugisaki, won’t we all mess up our nails tomorrow in training anyway?” Itadori asked after about five minutes of blissful silence.

Nobara gave another paranoid peek out the window as she considered the question. “We can put on a top coat to protect it some, but it’ll probably get dirty, yeah.” She inspected her left hand in the light, tilting it from side to side before blowing on her fingers lightly. It looked better than it did before.

Fushiguro, fed up with the disaster next to him, grabbed the pink polish and started painting Itadori’s right hand, entirely oblivious to the violent blush that stained Itadori’s face. “Then why,” he asked, moving his canvas into a better position, “Are we bothering to put in on in the first place?’

“Because I like it when my nails look good.” And you need a break. And Itadori needs to be around people again. And we need to do something other than train and fight for a day. “And you guys desperately need my fashion advice.”

Right hand finished, she thought with satisfaction. Time to dry and then put on another layer. She was debating about trying to do additional details or designs but she knew Fushiguro was right - they would be destroyed in training tomorrow.

And she would do it again. And again. She made the decision, she painted the nails, she fucked them up later trying to avoid Maki-san’s endless arsenal of weaponry.

Itadori bounced his knees up and down as he sat criss-cross waiting for his hand back. He always had energy with whatever he did. Nobara had never seen him still, not really; she was still lying unconscious in the car when they picked his body up and she had never gone to see him in the morgue. It didn’t feel right considering that they had barely known each other. Considering Nobara hadn’t been able to help him at all.

His finger on her nose pulled her from her thoughts. “Hey, Kugisaki, is liking Fushiguro’s cousin breaking the bro code or not?”

“I am not your bro!” she shouted with enough presence of mind to lash out with her feet instead of her hands. Her kick to his abdomen did nothing, unfortunately, his stupid abs absorbing the blow without even having the hand that was being painted shake.

Fushiguro huffed. “Can we not talk about your crush on Maki while I”m still here?”

“Would you rather talk about your crush?” she retorted. Again, both her teammates turned beet red, and again, both her teammates were completely oblivious. The only reason she hadn’t gone right out and said anything was because their entire situation was too funny to cut short prematurely.

She picked up her bottle of polish with a grin and began the second coat. Itadori started to furiously blow on his fingers in the background, though Nobara thought that the heat still coming off his face was enough to dry his hands in seconds.

“Are you doing a second layer?” she asked Fushiguro as he sat still, not moving to leave but not moving to continue painting either.

“Kugisaki-san,” he mumbled, looking off to the side. It was uncharacteristic for him to look embarrassed like that considering Nobara had seen him say the stupidest things with the straightest face, so she didn’t interrupt. “Maki doesn’t paint her nails.”

Oh, she thought.

He really is kind.

Pinky finger done, then the ring finger. “Whether or not I have a crush on Maki-”

“But you do,” Itadori sang gleefully.

“Shut up! Whether or not I have a crush on Maki-san is immaterial - I’m painting my nails because I want to.” She grinned at her teammates before deflating again. “The color is just a coincidence.”

Itadori made another little crow of victory at her admission. “You’re really cool, Kugisaki!”

“Watch your nails!”

The next half hour or so managed to actually be some measure of peaceful as Fushiguro and Nobara traded off painting their own nails and Itadori’s. Panda never came around again, and if she thought she saw a flash of white hair pass by the window, she didn’t say anything. And neither did Inumaki-san.

Itadori complained enough about not being able to use the nail polish himself so she let him apply the clear topcoat to her fingers, confident enough that he couldn’t stain her work with that. When he grabbed her hands, twisting her wrist to look at the callouses on her palms, she didn’t stop him, just raised her eyebrows.

She knew he wasn’t hitting on her, a comfort she didn’t take for granted. As much as she denied her crush on Maki-san (It was just because her senior was cool!), it was still surprising every time she heard her teammates joke about it in a kind manner.

“Kugisaki,” he eventually said after about five seconds of solemn reflection, “When did you learn to fight curses?”

Nobara opened her mouth automatically before closing it again, letting herself think about the answer. Fushiguro was also looking at her, head tilted in the way that meant he was absorbing every single word to an uncomfortable degree.

“I was young,” she eventually said. She drew her story together in her head as Itadori resumed painting her nails, trying to decide what would matter to her teammates and what wouldn’t.

“There was a curse on the swingset of my school, one that only I could see. I wasn’t scared, really, mostly annoyed that it was interrupting recess.” She blinked and could almost see the shape of it crawling on her dresser: a long spindly mess of mulch-brown legs and protruding eyes. It carried itself over all the equipment, tripping or pushing children along the way. “The teachers didn’t believe me but my dad did. My aunt lived with us and she was a sorcerer, B-Grade, but she was on a job at the time so he told me to just read inside during recess so I could avoid it.”

Itadori laughed at that. “You tried to beat it up, didn’t you?”

“Of course! My aunt used throwing knives in a technique almost like mine - I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was my dad worked as a carpenter and he had a mallet in his toolshed that was light enough to swing around.

“I carried it in my backpack the next day and after school, I went to the playground and beat that ugly little curse’s face in. It was beyond weak, thankfully, but at the time I felt like I was a superhero. When my aunt came home the next day I told her everything and demanded she start training me, so she did.”

She freed her hands from Itadori and gave them to Fushiguro to clean up all the excess topcoat that was hanging around her cuticles. “She painted her nails before and after every mission and she let me pick the colors.”

She stopped there. She had answered the question in full, told Itadori and Fushiguro more about herself than she knew about them, but she still wanted to go on.

Her aunt was gone a lot, traveling around all the country towns exorcising the curses that no one else noticed. But she raised Nobara when she could, not a mom but a mentor. An idol, almost, with the way Nobara used to look at her. She had always been so cool: short hair, leather jackets, heavy work boots that matched her father’s construction shoes perfectly. And her nails were always bright and colorful and fun.

Her aunt wanted to be an exorcist so she was. She didn’t want to get married so she stayed single. And on a job that should have been routine, she made the choice to save a family and then she didn’t come home.

Nobara, who was barely able to land her nails with precision at the time, had been too numb to cry when her father had told her. Saori had already gone by then, a wound Nobara had been stubbornly ignoring, but this was an absence that was too wide to even think about.

What made up a life? What made up Nobara when everyone was gone, leaving her in a town that drove away anyone it didn’t understand? Her aunt had never minded, had been too strong to mind the sneers that followed her when she stuck around between jobs, but Nobara wasn’t strong like that yet.

Nobara was eleven.

Or, she was.

But now she was older and her attacks always landed and she made her own choices exactly like her aunt did.

Nobara didn’t need to say this though. She needed to finish painting Itadori’s nails so they could sneak out to dinner in order to avoid more evening training with the second years.

Fushiguro finished applying the topcoat to his own nails with a bemused look, like he still couldn’t believe he bothered painting them at all.

“Hey Itadori,” she whispered as loudly as possible, “Fushiguro kinda looks like one of his dogs right now.”

Itadori did a perfect imitation head tilt in response that had both of them rolling on the floor and Fushiguro did his best to seem grumpy. The fact that he was still hanging out with them ruined the effect a bit. Her plan to make them calm down was going perfectly! Next was a nice dinner out (that she would make them pay for) and maybe some retail thera-

“Oi!” came a call from out the window.

Itadori fell completely flat on the floor out of instinct and Fushiguro wasn’t moving, so it was up to Nobara to make her way over. In the four steps it took to reach the window she mourned her dreams of Tokyo sushi and late-night shopping: Maki-san was standing three feet away and staring directly at her.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey,” she said, poking her head out and leaning on the windowsill. Maki-san wasn’t wearing her jersey, at least, but the glint in her eye told Nobara that Maki-san knew she had been hiding. It wasn’t fair how put together she still looked after what was probably a full day of training: Maki-san really was the worst kind of jock.

“Let me see your nails,” Maki-san said with a snap, causing Nobara to reel backward in surprise and almost trip over her duvet which the boys had left on the floor. She saved herself though - letting her senior see her fall over like that after all the training they had already gone through would be a nightmare.

Maki-san laughed, tilting her head back (in a way that was completely unfair!). “If you first-years are going to skip training so you can all paint your nails together, I at least want to see if you did a good job.”

Nobara blushed, or maybe she had been blushing the entire time, but dutifully stuck her hands out for Maki-san to see. She was seriously regretting the color choice now, but she had to be brave! It was her decision to use the color so it was her decision to be completely embarrassed in front of the coolest girl Nobara had ever met.

Cool hands grabbed her own, pulling her forward so Maki-san could get a better look at all three of them’s combined efforts. Nobara turned away so she wouldn't have to look at Maki-san’s only to find her room empty, Fushiguro and Itadori apparently having fled like the traitors they are. All that was left was a small note on the ground with the phrase “Good luck!” and a grinning Itadori with a thumbs up. For a second she let herself be impressed with how quickly he drew the picture.

She still made the choice to kill her teammates the next time she saw them.

“Ah, Maki-san, well, Fushiguto and Itadori needed the break, you know? And they were too dumb to know it so I had to take charge. And it was team bonding, which is actually a kind of training!” Nobara was very much not noticing that Maki-san was still holding her hand. In fact, Nobara was noticing everything else in the world. Was this what Gojou-sensei felt like?

“I like the color,” Maki-san said, after an excruciating fifteen seconds of study. “Do you have more?”

…

(She could never make fun of Fushiguro and Itadori again.)

“YES!” she screamed and then stopped. “Yes,” she repeated at a normal human volume. “Would you like me to paint your nails?”

Maki-san stepped forward, closer and closer until Nobara had to back up as once again someone came through her window, though Maki-san did it with much more grace than Itadori.

Nobara, with the UTMOST grace and poise, did her best to discreetly kick her fallen duvet over the note and Maki-san was too kind to say anything about it.

Instead she grinned, mouth sharp and eyes bright, a cocky set to her hips and shoulders that Nobara couldn’t help but admire. “If you’re offering, sure, but I’m thinking of a different color.”

Maki-san sat on the bed, confident to the last, so Nobara picked up all her polish bottles from the floor and followed. “If you want black I should warn you that you’re going to match Fushiguro.”

Maki-san patted the seat next to her and laughed. “Nah,” she said, holding up her own calloused hands to the light, “I was wondering if maybe you had an orange. Something that matches your hair.”

#jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #kugisaki nobara #itadori yuuji #fushiguro megumi #my writing

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