#anyway forgive my absence but i’ve been suffering

[quietlyblooms]

my tummy heckin hurts y’all

[the-coping-dragon]

I uh, I’ve had this blog long enough that I think it’s reasonable to use it as a “writing things down to keep track of thoughts and ideas.” Anyways, I...do have OCD tendencies.

I remember seeing OCD portrayed on a “medical drama” show. A surgeon kept washing his hands after surgery, and everyone just had to adapt to “Yeah that surgeon stays very late sometimes, washing his hands. It’s OCD. You can just go about your business. It’s okay.” And I thought back to how, sometimes, when I wash my hands, they just don’t feel RIGHT afterwards.

I won’t describe it lol! I don’t want to encourage those thoughts. I haven’t had that particular compulsion in a while, and I do not suffer for its absence.

Anyways. OCD, ADHD, ASD, IDK. Sorry if that sounds like someone a wine mom says when she’s having mimosas with her friends and venting about her kids. Something makes it hard for me to stop or start certain tasks. Sometimes, it’s like, “I know exactly what I want to do, and how to do it. I can envision myself doing it perfectly. I really want to do it. Why am I still sitting here?” Sometimes it’s like “I’m ready to stop with this task. Why am I picking up another part of the task? I want to stop. Why am I getting more supplies? I want to stop. I want to eat, and use the bathroom, and lay down. It’s midnight and I’m sitting outside tying grass together, like I have been doing for the last 7 hours. I want to go inside now.”

Sometimes it feels like there must be a button you press in your brain, when you’re ready to do a task that you’ve been thinking about. Maybe it switches the focus, from internal planning, to external doing. I don’t have one of those. Mine is like a broken car window crank. I struggle with it. Sometimes I can’t get it to budge. Sometimes I can move it, but tire out before finishing. Sometimes it moves well enough, but doesn’t actually move the window. Sometimes the window just falls into the door, freed of the mechanism and drawn down by welcoming gravity. Is it obsession? Am I obsessed with doing the task, so i cannot stop? Or the other way--obsessing over planning, so that I can’t begin?

Usually when I get stuck, my brain struggles for a while, and I feel helpless and stupid, and then my brain will sneakily wander to something less distressing.

The “wandering brain” is a step up from “sits in a pile of self-loathing.” It’s been a long effort, to reassure my brain that it’s allowed to take care of itself/me. I used to keep it (and myself) in a mobile iron maiden, and wandering was met with severe repercussions. And I did it for my own good, in the end. In retrospect, maybe things would have been okay if I hadn’t tried so hard. Maybe if I’d broken down, others would have stepped in to help. But I was doing my best to survive a very very dangerous life. I forgive myself for it, and even thank myself for the effort.

Wandering brain is good though :3 It’s been nice, to watch it. Like birdwatching. Or watching a pet cat. What does it like? Where does it tend to go? What does it do when it’s ready to rest? How does it behave when it needs something? Do I have hobbies? (Yes) Can I remember how to feel thirst and hunger and pain? (At least slightly). Is there a way to start over with scary things, to set aside the bad experiences, and seek happiness in things that frighten me, like cooking, like going outside, like opening up to someone? (Yes)

I think giving my brain the freedom of willpower is maybe contributing to “gets stuck doing/not doing something.” Maybe there is a part of me that doesn’t want to do/not do something? Maybe it’s a self-preserving part. It’s less effort to continue than to change. Maybe my brain settles into an activity, so deeply, that it can’t get out.

But, I do enjoy weaving grass. It’s one of the more pleasant things to get stuck on. Sometimes I’m stuck doing a chore, and even once the chore is done, I invent new rules that create new chores. “I washed all the dishes. But I should organize the cups. By usage, and breakability, and microwave-safe-ness.”

“I swept the kitchen, but I should sweep under all the appliances. And move the table to get under the feet. And actually, I should re-sweep the entire kitchen, sweeping only towards the north, to make sure I got as much dirt out of the (north-south running) gaps as possible.”

What’s the difference, between obsession and stuck? “Stuck” feels like I am struggling to ACTIVATE the next task. Obsession feels like I am struggle to DEACTIVATE a task. Maybe, I get stuck, and my brain stands still for a moment, and then goes “well, if we’re unable to do the next task, might as well loop back and work on the previous task more.”

I think I have one BIG and SPRAWLING obsession: efficiency. That was not easy to discover! So I hope it’s correct, because I’d hate to waste more energy on a conclusion that isn’t even correct.

I will invest ENDLESS time and energy into something, if my brain tells me, “This will be less work later on.”

If I rearrange the cups by usage, breakability, and microwave-safe-ness, then LATER, I can simply grab a cup from the bottom shelf, where I placed commonly used, durable, microwave-safe cups. I won’t have to reach over that one cup that I like but don’t use often because it isn’t microwave safe. That one goes on the second shelf up, where I can enjoy seeing it when I open the cabinet, and use it when circumstances are correct.

But if I spend two hours reorganizing and reorganizing--maybe if I had a shelf here, maybe if I put a hook here to hang one from, maybe if I swap this category with that one then I can also fit this other one on this shelf--is it really less effort in the end? How long does it take to grab a cup from a non-optimal shelf? 2.6 seconds, instead of the 1.9 seconds it takes to get one from an optimally sorted shelf? How long did I spend just now, calculating reasonable estimations for that? If it really saves 0.7 seconds each time I get a cup, then I’d need to get a cup so many times, that it saves more than two hours. How many fucking cups is that? 60 seconds to a minute, 60 minutes to an hour--3,600 seconds per hour, doubled, 7,200 seconds in two hours, so...? Is that 10,000 cup-grabs, to justify the laborious perfectionist sorting?

I usually get 0 cups dirty, net, per day. I use one for coffee and rinse it out and put it by the coffee pot. I don’t even GRAB CUBS from the SHELF most days. if I grabbed one per day, it would take me--oh my god--28 years to grab that many cups? That’s so long that it’s almost worth going back and factoring in leap years. That’s too damn long!

It’s just really hard to ask myself, “Is this worth it?” My brain is so long-term oriented. “If we reduce the work now, then eventually it’ll pay off.” It’s like that fucking kid and the marshmallow, except my brain is REFUSING to eat the two marshmallows and keeps saying, “I am struggling not to eat; thus, I will be rewarded for this,” and the adults are like, “WE ONLY HAVE TWO MARSHMALLOWS. FUCKING EAT THEM.” And the kids like, “Actually, if i refuse long enough, you’ll probably go to a store and buy more.” And the adults are like, “STOP GOING ON A HUNGER STRIKE. EAT THE FUCKING MARSHMALLOWS.”

So...

ANYWAYS. What the fuck was I talking about. What was my point? Oh, right. I am obsessed with some theoretically all-rewarding idea of efficiency, so my brain harasses me with “It’ll save someone some work, some day,” until I finally do whatever it wants so it stops fucking telling me about the fucking Agavero Orange Liquer case in the broken box in the back of the warehouse. I was a cashier. I didn’t get paid to worry about that. But it ate at me, for weeks, until i finally got someone else to do it for me (I wasn’t allowed to do it, so I “bet” a different employee $5 that they couldn’t find it. They tried turning down the $5 afterward, saying they were happy to do something so small like that for me, but I gave it to them anyways, because they saved me from obsessing over it.).

“Someone wants that product, and they’re waiting to see it on the shelf. And we have it. It’s just logical and efficient if we make sure to shelf our wares, instead of losing them in the warehouse.” Yeah, true! But you didn’t get paid to do that.

Instead, when I got really overstuffed with those feelings, I would tell myself, “Okay, if you have the time to freak out over the Agavero, then you have time to crochet.” And I would crochet at my register. And it instantly made the panicy feeling go away.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s just about “feeling like I am working on something.” That feeling is POWERFUL y’know. “Why didn’t you remember to do X?” “I was busy.” ...

...

...

Oops! I think I found the ~source~ of the ~problem~ (or at least, a current generator of the problem’s power)

So one of the things that I am CONSTANTLY finding at the root of my issues: my mom’s suicidal behaviors during my childhood.

I know people internalize their parent’s stuff, without the parent necessarily being suicidal. But... I mean, like. I didn’t try to internalize “I look ugly,” and my mom’s suicide attempts didn’t affect that. That was just because she kept forcing me to wear makeup, by applying it to my face while I was practicing driving with my learner’s permit. (Forcing someone to wear makeup is a little easier, when they are busy learning to drive, because if they protest, you can accuse them of risking your lives!) So; that wasn’t really given power by the suicide attempts.

But, on two of the most vivid memories, she tried to kill herself because I forgot stuff. I forgot to check my phone (I had to wait about 20 minutes for her to get me from school, so I’d go to the classes I was struggling with to ask questions and get help; and lost track of time sometimes, and my phone was on silent since any phone that rang during class would be sent to the office). And I forgot to...put a pair of pants...somewhere. I forget where she’d asked me to put them, but I forgot.

--Squints suspiciously at my current lack of memory, wondering if it also is faulty for the same reason I have fibromyalgia, “they got overworked and now they’re broken.” Which also happened to my pancreas (though that one resolved after I moved out of my mom’s house) and, perhaps, several other organ systems. OH MY GOD I AM LOOKING AT MY FUCKING UTERUS AND REMEMBERING HOW I WAS ALWAYS GLAD THAT MY PERIOD SKIPPED WHEN I WAS REALLY STRESSED, BECAUSE IT WAS ONE LESS THING TO DEAL WITH. Hm. Okay, that’ll be fun to research later--

So--what the fuck was i saying this time lol. Uhhhhh obsession with efficiency, via obsession with being ‘busy’ enough, via obsession with having a REALLY good excuse if anyone gets suicidal over something I did (which might prevent the suicide, or at least let me cope with it without blaming myself too much).

...I remember telling someone about one of her suicide attempts. I said something like, “Do you still like me, even though I almost let my mom kill herself?” In my brain, that’s what happened. My forgetfulness “let” it almost happen. And I remember they looked so haunted, and said, “That was not your fault.” And I remember the way it shattered something in me, something I’d been using to keep myself going; and the freedom of feeling it fall out from under me; and the freedom of hitting the ground and realizing i was okay and i could learn to stand without it.

I remember sitting and thinking, as a kid, “How am I going to survive the weight of my mom’s suicide, if she does it? How will I eat breakfast, go to school, breathe air, lay down at night, knowing I am responsible for her suicide?”

Oh my god I am Simba alksalksdjalkdjla ?????????

Ohhhh, my brain is telling me a joke, to gift me with a happy feeling, to keep me from sinking into a sadness. Thank you brain. I appreciate the hilarious joke. The fact that you even made a joke about the way I was trying to plan ways to not kill myself if my mom killed herself--that shock alone tugged me quite a ways back from the somber depths of sadness. So... Yeah, thank you for the help. I am not mad at you, so do not be afraid to try to help more in the future. You are enjoyed and welcome here.

I do remember planning for her suicide. I knew my options about who i could live with, and had a very hard time picking between a violent freedom or a comforting isolation. I had a plan for which schools i might end up at, depending on who i lived with, and depending on the stability of the housing situation i chose. I even planned for being turned away from everyone. The things they said... You’re supposed to believe people, right? It’s rude to even consider that they are lying. In my family anyways. Especially when someone was always saying some weird shit like “You can hear what song comes next on the radio. You have better senses than others, and can sense the radio waves. It’s because we are direct descendants from Jesus.”

So if that family member thinks that certain minority groups should be “rounded up on an island and shot” then, you account for the possibility that they might not take you in after you made your mother commit suicide, and the possibility of them murdering you.

So, anything to make life easier during all of that, yknow? So maybe i developed a little shield, a little “I’m busy--working--doing important and worthwhile things--it’s okay that I’m not doing other things--even if theyre important--and I am not doing wrong, even if I could be doing something else.”

So what (referencing a song called so-what because familiarity is comforting)

So maybe I should ponder on my obsessions and stuck-nesses, and see if any of them arise from a deep-seated fear of death due to guilt of feeling like i contributed to some bad event or condition.

That’s hard, because that s a lot to keep up with.

[daisies-and-buttercups]

Day 10: Nightmares - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: Each time he walks out the door you fear for your safety, and each time he’s not home for the night, your worries translate into nightmares. 

A/N: thank you @twvstedsouls​ for requesting this, it was lovely to write 💕 Decided to go with Luca bringing comfort because it was cute as hell (+ will be analysing him having nightmares in the alternative fic for today so it felt like the best way to go), also this didn’t help with my crush for this man 😂

Words: 1.6k

September prompts here

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Death had never been part of your life, but ever since Luca had come into it you had been more aware of it, knowing that each time he walked out the door there was a chance that someone would get hurt, and you selfishly hoped with each ounce of your being that it wouldn’t be him. 

The hardest moments were the nights when you were left alone, business to deal with far away from your home, and as much as you tried to convince him to take you along with him he insisted that he didn’t want to put you in danger. “What about when we go out together?” ��I have no doubt in my power to protect you, sweetheart. But business is different. Business is dangerous.”  That’s what his father always told him, his words clear in his mind, a golden rule to never forget. A curse, his father called it, telling him to never involve women and business.  “Luca-” “It’s like a curse.” He said, tilting your chin up so that you would look at him, “A curse that I don’t want to mess with. You’re safe here. It’s only a few nights, and then I’ll be all yours, I promise.” 

You gripped the sheets tightly, the scream still trapped in your throat as you struggled for air, your eyes shut tight. You dared open them, inspecting the room. No blood. There was no blood.  Your hand instinctively moved to the other side of the bed, looking for him, but all you found were the crumpled sheets, cold from the absence of a body lying on top of them. Tears pooled in your eyes, the thought of your lover lying there, cold, alone, broke your heart, but it was a dream, a terrible one, but there was no truth to it. 

The night went by slowly, each second being muttered by the clock’s ticking down the hall, echoing throughout the house. You thought about calling him, you knew the name of the hotel where he was staying and you knew someone would answer, but couldn’t bring yourself to wake him up or disturb him. Your sleep was ruined, but there was no point in his having to suffer the same fate.

Hours passed, but you eventually fell asleep on the chair by the phone, knowing that he’d call you, as he always did when he was away, just before breakfast. The ringing of it had barely even started before you picked it up, desperate to hear him. “Luca?” “Someone is missing me.” he joked, his laugh warming your heart, bringing life back to you. The worry that plagued you evaporated the moment you heard his voice.  “Oh, it’s so nice to hear you.” He sensed the tone in your voice, a pang of guilt building in his chest, knowing just how much you wanted him by your side, desiring the same. “Is everything alright?”  You didn’t speak about the nightmare to Luca, feeling like it was a childish thing and, even if the images were still clear in your mind, they were slowly starting to fade. You’d forget about it soon.  “Yeah, I just missed you.”  He smiled, his fingers tracing his neck, sighing at your words. He wished he could bring you along, but he was afraid. You were the one he needed each night, calming his tension better than any liquor could, but he could never forgive himself if anything happened to you because of him.  He glanced up, seeing Matteo enter the room to announce that he was needed. He had stayed up almost all night, both trying to end this deal as soon as possible and because he couldn’t really sleep without you, not well anyway.  “Amore?”  “Yeah?” “I’ll be home tonight. I’ve got to go now, but wait for me, yeah?” “See you soon, then, dear.” you smiled, feeling slightly reassured, his words and the light coming in from the windows welcoming you in a safer space that the one you felt in last night.

The door opened and closed, Luca’s voice calling your name in the darkening house, but you were fast asleep on the sofa, still clutching the book he had gifted you before leaving for his trip. It had just been a day of absence, but he could see how you’d already gone through most of it. He carefully peeled it out of your hands, finding a stray piece of paper and placing it between the pages, closing the book and leaving it on the coffee table for you to continue tomorrow.  He pulled you up, slowly, trying to keep the balance after the few glasses of liquor he had on the way home, moving softly so as not to wake you, shuffling the covers and laying you under them when he reached your bed.  “Goodnight, amore mio.” he whispered lying down next to you, but he couldn’t help but notice the tears in your eyes in the dark, or the pleas that soon escaped your lips, barely audible, but there.  “Please, no. Please. I can’t do it, I can't.” “Shh, it’s okay.” he whispered again, facing you. His fingers ran through your hair, trying to bring you out of that nightmare, but you kept getting more agitated, your hands flinching and gripping onto the sheet. “Luca. I can’t go.”  Your words didn’t make sense, no context to fit them into, but you sounded scared, and that’s all he needed to know you needed him. He reached for the lamp on your bedside table, turning it on, trying to wake you up sweetly, but you were too deep in the dream. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he remembered his mother’s way, when he or Angel had nightmares, of gently humming a song, trying to softly bring them out of their bad dreams, so he tried, repeating his mother’s song softly, his hands caressing your shoulders as he did so.  Your whimpers slowly subsided, your eyes fluttering open, feeling his presence next to you, his smile coming back when you opened your eyes fully, the tears drying now that he was before you.  You moved into his chest, your arms wrapping around his frame, hiding your head is his chest so that you could hear his heartbeat, another confirmation that the dreams you had been having were nothing but that, dreams.  “Love, are you alright?”  “I’m fine.” you tried to reassure him, with a smile.  “You can’t say that with tears still staining your cheeks. You think I don’t have nightmares?” he smiled affectionately, extending his hand, helping you sit up.  “I… It’s just… well… I don’t want it to affect me as much as it does.” “Nightmares affect everyone, even me. It’s the worst things we can imagine, and sometimes they help us understand what we truly fear.” You lied back down, turning the lamp off, seeing the tiredness on his face. He needed sleep, as did you.  “Do you want to talk ‘bout it?” his voice was low, tired, but his attention was still fully focused on you.  Your hand moved towards him, resting on his arm, tracing some of the scars that decorated his arms. “It wasn’t nice.” “Nightmares never are.” he smiled, leaning into your touch.  “It was you.” you revealed, frowning at the image.  “I was your nightmare? That’s not good.” he joked, but still worried that you were afraid of him, that he’d hurt you, that you didn’t trust him. “You were hurt. Dead. You were-” the tears came back, stopping you for a moment as you wiped them, “I couldn’t do anything anymore. You were gone, Luca.”  “Shh, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”  He shuffled closer, finding your cheeks and caressing them, wiping the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.  “You can’t always be, though. I have to get over that fear.” “Dear, I’m flattered that the worst thing in your eyes is losing me.” he tried to joke again, the sight of your tears breaking his heart.  “My father,” he continued, “he never wanted my mother around when business was involved. I thought that it was so that she could be safe, but maybe he just didn’t want her snooping around.”  You laughed, his fingers tracing your collarbones, an attempt at tickling you, desperately in need to see you smile.  “And I guess I’m scared, sweetheart, because that’s what I grew up seeing. This protectiveness that I saw as love. But it wasn’t. It was tradition, women now wanted involved with the business of men.” “Times haven’t changed that much then.” “They will. But I don’t care, I need you with me, too. Times are changing, and so are we. What I saw growing up doesn’t translate as love anymore, not necessarily. I can protect you with you by my side.” “Aren’t you afraid of me snooping around your business?” you joked this time, his trust in you filling you with pride.  “I’m an open book, you know that. All I own is yours too, and I know it’s a new world, but if you’ll take my hand I can guide you along with me, next time. No more staying alone, if you don’t want to.” You nodded, happy to have the chance to go with him. Not only were you going to be able to have him by your side each night, keeping the nightmares at bay, but you’d also get to travel, and know more about what he did. A man’s world, you’d realise, walking by his side, earning side glances and jokes that Luca would shut up with a single look.  “You’re tired.” you muttered, seeing the way his eyes struggled to stay open.  “I didn’t want to admit it,” he smiled, shaking his head lightly, “but it’s not easy to sleep without you.” “Ah, so your request was a selfish one.” “Maybe.” he laughed softly, his forehead resting on yours. “Well, I accept either way. And I’m sorry you didn’t get to sleep either.” you murmured in his chest, embracing him, your breaths synchronising, your expressions soft and serene, just like your dreams would be now that you were together again.

[spectral-musette]

She touched his face, fingertips light along his temple, nails delicately scraping through the short beard on his cheeks, lingering on the cleft in his chin before resting on his mouth.

“I thought…” she began, but then choked on a soft sob as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

“I thought you would be angry,” he said instead, nuzzling his cheek against her hand and then kissing the palm.

“I am furious,” she assured him, tenderly. “I am incandescent with rage.” Her lips were against his, her breath uneven in his mouth.

Directly following the Deception arc (Clone Wars Season 4 episodes 15-18), Obi-Wan asks for Satine's forgiveness for letting her believe he was dead.

Just over 2000 words, M in AO3-style rating, probably part of a longer work if I can ever finish it and think of a title.

. . . . . . . . . .

Obi-Wan had not protested very much when Padme offered him the use of her family’s lakeside retreat in the aftermath of the attempted abduction of the Chancellor on Naboo. He had, however, expected a slightly more modest structure than the sprawling villa he’d found upon his arrival. Despite the droids on staff, the place seemed empty, hollow, as though it still echoed with the voices and laughter of a happy family. So fresh from his undercover work, he wasn’t sure isolation was the best remedy for his rumpled spirits after the ordeal, but arrangements had been made, and he supposed he could make the best of it for a few days.

In some ways, he was eager to leave Naboo. The memory of Qui-Gon’s death still cut like a keen-edged blade here. But perhaps that meant he should stay, to meditate on his old grief.

Painful as that prospect was, at least it sounded more surmountable than returning to a Temple that had been mourning him.

He’d have to, eventually. Anakin’s (justified) expression of betrayal and Ahsoka’s wounded demeanor still stung, and he didn’t look forward to repeating these painful scenes with other dear friends, with Luminara, or with Quinlan. But until the GAR red tape was untangled (at least a few days), he was still officially dead, and granted all the freedom of a wandering ghost.

He felt a little like the ghost of his old self after a quick swim as he climbed out of the lake onto the patio by the house. He sat heavily on the flagstones, still warm from the sun even as the stars were coming out. The constellations of Naboo seemed startlingly familiar considering the few times he’d seen them. The span of nearly 15 years felt short tonight. Perhaps it was the mere stubble of hair on his skull, shorter even than a padawan’s. Perhaps it was the ache of his old Master’s absence. He tried to ground himself in the present; as he toweled off his wet limbs, the ugly burn scars from his duel with Count Dooku shone pale in the moonlight, and his face still hurt from the dreadful biotech that had transformed him into the Mandalorian marksman.

It was always Mandalorians, wasn’t it? Proof that the Force possessed a sense of dramatic irony that the brethren of the woman to whom he’d lost his heart seemed to continually haunt him.

The guilt of it weighed like a stone on his chest. The mission had dragged on far too long for Satine not to have heard news of his apparent death. He had hoped it might all be resolved before… Well, it had been an unlikely hope, anyway. Padme almost certainly told her immediately.

There hadn’t been anything for it. To ask for permission to tell Satine the truth before the charade would’ve been tantamount to confessing his feelings for her. Had there only been the censure of the Council involved it might’ve been one thing, but any careless word to the Chancellor’s staff could’ve proven disastrous for Satine and the gossamer-fine line she walked to keep peace and authority on Mandalore. He’d been keeping her safe even as he wounded her.

Just like the old days, pulling her out of harm's way, or shielding her with his body.

Only this wasn’t an accidentally scraped knee or bruised arm. Perhaps it was vain of him to assume, but he knew how deeply she cared for him, how intense her feelings ran…

He’d tried composing a message to her so many times. Even still in the guise of Rako Hardeen, when he caught a moment’s rest, he’d gone over it in his mind, lulling himself into an uneasy sleep as he tried to find the words to ask her forgiveness.

In the end, a forthright Forgive me, was the best he could muster, hastily sent to her private channel as soon as he’d gotten access to a comm unit at the conclusion of the charade. If you’ll listen, I’ll try to explain, but nothing will excuse what I’ve put you through. Know that I am so very sorry.

She hadn’t replied. He checked the comm unit again as he pulled his undertunic over his head, the rough linen soaking up the last of the lake water on his back, seeing only his own message, stark and insufficient.

He didn’t blame her, truly.

He’d slept since sending it, through the afternoon, reveling a little in the luxury of resting when he felt tired, regardless of the local daytime cycles. And he dreamed in disjointed flashes, mostly of her… her grief, her melancholy, her ire… of the glint of tears on her dark gold eyelashes, the quaver of anger in her beloved voice.

He wasn’t sure if he ought to just sleep again, now that night was here. Weary as he was, he felt he could sleep for days.

He heard the door from the house to the patio open. He didn’t look immediately, as it seemed likely to be one of Padme’s droid caretakers, there to ask if he required food or clean linens. But there was no whirring of servos, and the footsteps on the flagstones sounded too soft. He caught a whiff of an achingly familiar floral scent just as he turned.

She must’ve been too much in his thoughts already, his mind too clouded with guilt and regret and weariness to clearly sense her presence.

But Satine stood, silhouetted by the dim illumination of the house, resplendent in the scarlet gown she’d worn the night they’d met in secret on Coruscant, though her hair was loose about her shoulders, pale and shimmering in the moonlight. For a moment she was utterly still, then she merely raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a soft gasp.

He scrambled to his feet, keenly aware that this was not the state in which he wished to appear before his lady. His trousers were still sopping, his undertunic open to the navel, and his hair had barely grown in longer than the stubble on his jaw. But her eyes were only on his, and shining with tears. She took a few steps towards him, then swayed a little. He lunged to catch her around the waist; the last thing she needed on top of all the rest of the suffering he’d caused her was bruised knees. She twined her arms around his neck, and his knees gave a slow surrender too, such that the pair of them sank to the flagstones, wrapped in each other’s arms.

She touched his face, fingertips light along his temple, nails delicately scraping through the short beard on his cheeks, lingering on the cleft in his chin before resting on his mouth.

“I thought…” she began, but then choked on a soft sob as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

“I thought you would be angry,” he said instead, nuzzling his cheek against her hand and then kissing the palm.

“I am furious,” she assured him, tenderly. “I am incandescent with rage.” Her lips were against his, her breath uneven in his mouth.

He tasted it in her kiss, a fleeting note of bitterness and sorrow amid the heady sweetness of her relief and joy, the fire of her desire.

“I am so very sorry,” he repeated, abject.

“Oh, I hope so,” she replied, breathless.

As usual, Satine had the last word, as neither of them could speak for some time after that.

. . . . . . . . . .

She lay on her side, half propped up on her elbow, her head against the pillow and her hair spread across it in a tangle of pale spun gold. The bedclothes were pooled around her waist, and he deeply felt the intimacy and vulnerability they shared in that moment. He thought this image of her would be vivid in his mind for the rest of his days, however long that might be: the pale morning light on her bare skin, her flushed cheeks, the glint of unshed tears in her eyes, the soft swell of her breasts with her sharp, uneven breaths as she tried not to cry again.

Finished with his abridged account of the awful ordeal, he reached out to run the backs of his fingers along her arm.

“Say something,” he begged.

She sat up a little more, her hair falling across her face as she wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from him.

“It might be… easier to accept, if you’d done it for the sake of someone … worthy of all this pain. To protect Anakin or Ahsoka or Padme or…”

“Satine, I can’t decline a mission to protect the Chancellor simply because I dislike the man.”

“It isn’t a matter of dislike. There’s something… so… wicked about him. Manipulative and scheming. Don’t say it’s because he tried to put troops on Mandalore, and don’t you dare say it’s because he’s a politician.” She turned back to him, her gaze challenging.

“No,” he agreed prudently. “I won’t say that. I don’t disagree with you. He’s been a mentor to Anakin and to Padme for as long as I’ve known him, but I can’t help thinking it’s always been somehow for his own benefit. He steered Padme to get himself elected in the first place, and his grip on the office has been white-knuckled since. I can’t very well blame him for the war, but despite his lipservice towards peaceful resolution, the GAR keeps swelling its ranks.”

“I’ll blame him. Unfortunately, there’s no evidence to confirm it aside from my gut feeling.”

He placed a hand on her waist, his thumb tracing around her navel. “I’ve learned to trust your gut feelings. But dislike him, distrust him or not, my duty is to the Republic.”

He started to pull his arm back, but she gripped it by the elbow. He slid his hand to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

“What of your duty to me?” Her voice was quiet, but not without a note of beskar.

“Is it duty?” he asked. “I thought it was love.”

“Perhaps it’s very Mandalorian of me,” she said, “that we hold our most sacred duties to be to those we love.”

“Satine, I cannot put my devotion to you above the will of the Council or the good of the Republic. Not while I serve the Jedi Order.”

He almost expected her to pull away in anger or distress, but she shifted closer, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I know that. I’ve always known that. But it hasn’t hurt like this before.”

“Not since I left?” he suggested, burying his face in her hair and holding her tightly.

“No. Not even then. It wasn’t losing you, it was letting you go. This was… like I had died too.”

The guilt of it made his stomach turn. “I am so sorry, Satine. If there had been time to find another way… to spare you this…”

“The worst of it is that you knew how it would hurt me,” she accused. “And you still did it.”

“I knew,” he confirmed, regretful. “The Chancellor insisted on knowing everyone who was privy to the plan, and I had no time to even find the opportunity to disobey. I thought… the risk of revealing that you should be told…”

She let out a breath, hot against his skin.

“I think I’d have much rather run that risk than think you were dead.”

“If I’d had time to think it through, perhaps I’d have decided differently. But everything was snap decisions, and my instinct was to protect you.”

“And I can’t even be angry at you for that.”

“Of course you can be angry,” he soothed.

“Oh, what good does it do?” she demanded, lifting her head, fair brow furrowed. “Just wasting time quarreling when we have so little time together anyway.”

“Then you forgive me?” he asked humbly, kissing her forehead.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, stroking his cheek. “I know that I still want you, though.”

“Then I am yours,” he promised, kissing her fingertips.

“At least it’s not an offense that’s very likely to be repeated,” she reflected, shaking her head a little.

“Not very,” he agreed.

“I feel like I ought to extract some promise… some penance. But I expect you’ve punished yourself enough.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. “The thing itself was terrible too. Not that I’m suggesting that what I went through can compare to-”

“Hush, darling,” she scolded. “It can be terrible on its own.”

“Sometimes I thought my death might end up not being a lie after all,” he said softly.

“Do you want to tell me?” she asked, her fingertips light across his brow.

He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to see how it would pain her, to think of him in danger, forced to behave as an utter villain. “Not now. Not more than I already have.”

She kissed him then, deep and ardent. “Then forget, for a while,” she said, breathless, her lips still brushing his. “Let me forget again. Make me forget.”

She hitched her leg around him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he shifted onto her, into the blissful oblivion where she was the center of the universe and the Force sang in resonance with their love.

[duxhess-kryzewan]

Obitine First Kiss?

- Drowning -

When they had first landed on Corellia, Obi-Wan was relieved to be somewhere that had plenty of fresh water. The last planet they had been hiding on was dry and dusty and even Satine - born and raised on a desert planet herself - had became sick of the terrain.

The novelty quickly wore off the longer they trekked through the jungle. The forestry was dense, the humidity unforgiving. Every breath he took came with the unsettling sensation of drowning on dry land.

Qui-Gon had left them the night before last, leaving Obi-Wan with coordinates on where to meet the following day. He had a contact - a long time ally - who resided on miles away from the forest they were hiding in. If all went according to plan, they would have a new and unrecognizable ship and a safe means off the planet. All he was tasked with was keeping Satine safe in the mean time.

He didn't like to read too much into why Qui-Gon was so keen on leaving them alone together.

"The sky looks like it'll be clear tonight." Satine comments as they move into a clearing.

"It' seems so," He says, "Let's just hope it stays that way."

Storms were frequent and often unpredictable. One minute the sun would be shining, only for the clouds to roll in mercilessly pelt the planet with rain.

"From desert to storm," She huffs, "I can't tell which is worse."

He observes her intently as she walks; how her damp hair clung to her neck, how she would periodically run the back of her hand across her brow line. He sympathized with her discomfort. The air felt sticky, the breeze heavy as it blew past them. Satine had long since abandoned her attempts at maintaining her regality. There was no point anymore. She had been with them long enough to know they wouldn't judge her in the slightest for slipping out of her Duchess façade, and the climate made it nearly impossible to look the part.

Not that it mattered much. Obi-Wan didn't think there was anything that could make her any less beautiful.

He tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. An irrevocable attachment to her was the last thing he needed.

"Can we stop for the evening?" She asks.

He marvels at the gentleness in her voice. Before, in the beginning weeks she had been placed under their protection, she had huffed and whined until he relented and gave into her requests. The near death experiences and friendship they managed to forge over the passing weeks had humbled her some, and gave him enough insight to realize she was more than just an entitled Duchess. He was grateful they had found a way to be more civil to one another.

“As you wish."

They were nearing one of the many lakes that covered the planet anyway; a more than ideal place to set up camp for the night. Fresh water was something neither of them took for granted after their stay in the desert.

When they stop Satine wastes no dropping to the ground and leaning back against one of the trees that surrounded them. Foliage was another thing they both had become more appreciative of recently. The cover of trees, the simple ability to rest against something other than the hot sand, even the always lingering dampness of the soil.

He busies himself looking around around for wood dry enough to start a fire. It was by no means necessary for warmth, but it would be there luck that the temperature would drop with the arrival of night time, and it wouldn't hurt to have a source of light. The stars might have been bright on Corellia, but he would be hard pressed to consider it enough illumination for them.

His mind had been so preoccupied on setting up camp that he hadn't even noticed Satine's absence until a splash broke through the silence.

"Satine?"

He turns just in time to see her disappear below the surface of the water, and for a fleeting moment panic floods through him. What if she can't swim? What if something was in the water? And why is she in the water in the first place?

The relief he feels when she reappears is almost insurmountable.

"What are you doing?" He half yells, trying his best not to let the worry in his voice show.

She grants him an amused smirk, and something about the sparkle in her eyes sends a warmth trough his chest, despite how hard he tries not to let it do so.

"Cooling off, Obi-Wan." She says matter-of-factly, "You may not mind being covered in sweat and grime after trekking through the jungle all day, but I refuse to stew in filth."

He has to repress the urge to laugh. Roughing it may have humbled the young Duchess, but there was always going to be a part of her that was prim and proper.

"I'm a bit more preoccupied with your safety than worrying about my personal hygiene."

He glances to the pile of discarded clothes at the waters edge and is grateful for cover twilight provided him. If Satine could see the blush that colored his cheeks at the thought of her undress she would never let him live it down.

Satine scoffs and swims closer to shore, "As if you have to choose one or the other. Honestly, Obi-Wan."

She was right, of course. He hated the stickiness from the humidity and sweat that clung to his skin, but it hadn't been at the top of his priority list.

"Priorities, Duchess."

She laughs lightly and disappears under the water again.

The fire he was attempting to start was a lost cause, he decided. There was too much moisture for a flame to start. As much as he didn't like it, they were going to have to fair out without one for now.

So he settles for laying out his cloak in the driest area he could find and depositing their items on top of it. Qui-Gon didn't leave them with much, but the few items they did have were more than essential to their survival the next few days.

Obi-Wan decides that, so long as she is content in the water, he'll sit along the lakes edge and meditate. It had been too long since he had a chance to do so, and this was he could keep an eye on her.

​He settles at the waters edge, lightsaber and top layer of his clothing discarded beside him. The muggy air proved to be a challenge when taking a deep breath, but the sounds of the water and quiet of the night soothed him.

That was, until an unexpected splash of cold water hit him.

He sprang to his feet, the sudden chill catching him off guard. Below him, he found Satine smiling mischievously, still partially submerged in the water.

"Have you lost your mind?" He manages to sputter out.

She laughs, "Don't act like it didn't feel good. You know as well as I do the temperature is less than favorable."

He glares at her, but there's something to her smile that almost makes him forgive her. Rarely over the course of their time together has he seen anything resembling genuine happiness grace her. For all of the things that drive him crazy about her - and there were many, many things - there were just as many that made him adore her in ways a Jedi certainly should not. Seeing her smile was one of them.

“I was meditating."

"You do that quite enough."

"Its an integral part of connecting with the force."

Satine rolls her eyes, "Yes, so you've reminded me many times."

They had managed to cultivate something close to a friendship during their time on the run. Qui-Gon had insisted that he try and get along with her, both for the sake of their mission and for the sake of the Duchess.

He's sure neither Qui-Gin or himself could have anticipated the less sudden feelings that would blossom between him and the Duchess. Feelings that most definitely went against the code.

It scared him that part of him didn't care.

"Swimming in a random lake on an unfamiliar planet doesn't seem very becoming of a Duchess," He counters with a smirk, "Especially one so preoccupied with appearances."

"Neither is being on the run with a Jedi, but I've had to learn to adapt with what's given to me."

Her smiles falters for a moment, and suddenly he's filled with guilt. He could feel her emotional struggle through the force; how much anxiety and guilt she carries for leaving her planet in the midst of a civil war.

"I'm sorry," He says, "I didn't mean to imply anything."

The smile returns. It's softer, more understanding, but there all the same. He likes to see it on her.

"Forgiven," She stands, the shallow end of the water only reaching her waist, "Though I would appreciate your assistance."

She reaches out a hand towards him, all while he tries his best to ignore the way her wet underlayer of clothing clings to her. He hopes the cover of nightfall masks his blush.

"As you wish, your grace."

He takes her hand in his, fingers gripping her smaller ones tighter than what was strictly necessary, and just as he goes to pull her up onto dry land she roughly yanks him towards her.

He topples into the water, barely managing to catch his balance before he was submerged completely.

"Satine!"

She backs up quickly into deeper water, swimming away from him with a newfound sense of urgency. It doesn't stop the laughter though, or the wide smile she wore. It was the first time he's seen her that amused, and if he wasn't so distracted by his sudden frustration he would marvel at just how beautiful happiness looks on her.

"Have you gone mad?"

Satine laughs some more, "Oh please, it's just water Obi-Wan. You're doing little more than bathing and cooling off. Master Qui-Gon wouldn't be too pleased if I was left alone because you suffered heat stroke."

It was pointless to argue that the temperature wasn't near hot enough for heat stroke to actually overtake him and, though he would never admit it, the cold water did make him feel a great deal better.

"I'm not much use as a protector while unarmed and in the water." He decides to counter with, though he knows its a weak point. If the situation suddenly became dangerous he would just as well protect her here as he would on dry land.

Satine doesn't answer him and instead disappears once again below the surface of the water. The sky was clear, but not even the planets stars could provide him enough light to see where she had vanished too.

He had grown accustomed to the many facets of her over their time together. There were versions of her he learned how to handle; from a stubborn Satine to a solemn one. A mischievous Satine however was uncharted territory, and he didn't know whether to fear her or be amused by her.

There's only inches separated them when she ascends out from under the water, and he quickly settles on terrified.

He's utterly terrified, because never has another person looked so beautiful to him as she did in that moment. Lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring back into his.

"Satine..." It's a warning, but he knows deep down his heart isn't really in it.

"Obi-Wan."

She's kissing him then. Gently; a ghost of a touch that he almost isn't convinced is real. Her lips are cold from the water, breath warm against his skin.

Before he can think better of it, his hand finds hers under the water, his other sliding up the slope of her neck and coming to cup her cheek.

"We shouldn't be doing this." He whispers against her.

Satine pauses for a brief moment, "No we shouldn't."

He wonders what it says about them that neither make a move to stop.

It crosses his mind what Qui-Gon would say if he found them like this; pressed together in shoulder deep water, disregarding the promises both of them made to their people and to themselves.

Her hand slide up the back of his head and tangles into his hair, her fingers grasping his Padawan braid tightly between them.

"We should stop." Satine says before kissing him hard with a newfound sense of urgency.

"We should." He agrees, kissing her back with just as much force.

Her legs suddenly wrap around his waist and it renders him breathless. The code was cracking around him with every passing second, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop kissing her.

It dawns on him then; that he has fallen irrevocably in love with Satine Kryze.

[kurama-is-love]

Comfort and Harmony (Kurama x Reader)

Word count: 4.365 Pairing: Kurama x Female!Reader Genre: Comfort Fluff, family, romance, mild sexual themes (teasing) Rating: Teen (lots of sexal teasing) Summary: This oneshot is related to the „Poltergeist Movie“. If you haven't seen the movie, you may not understand why Kurama is acting the way he does. After the events with Yakumo and his underlings, Kurama fell in some kind of depression. The memories of his deceased friend Kuronue haunted him more like he wanted to admit. Kurama never showed any sign of weakness or mental breakdowns, but now, that he has human emotions, he occasionally suffers from them without realizing. After not seeing him for two weeks, you decided you pay him a visit and look how he is doing.

You were worried about Kurama. After the events with the Netherking, King Yakumo and his underlings, Kurama seemed to stopped interacting with his friends. According to Yusuke, he wasn't at school either, and he didn't really answered calls from them. The memory of his old friend Kuronue must have torn painful wounds, you knew that from the moment after Kurama had defeated the Netherlord demon, who had disguised himself as Kuronue.

For a long time you quarreled with whether you should visit him at home, at the Minamino house, or whether he would rather have his peace and leave him alone. After all, he didn't just avoid his friends and lover for no reason.

After school, you didn't want to think about it anymore and tried to distract yourself from worrying. But then you noticed that you had gone to the Minamino house by yourself when you stood in front of their front door.

"Okay, that's almost creepy .. His house is in a completely different direction than mine and I'm sure I didn't go in that direction .." you mumbled to yourself and closed your eyes before  a smile escaped your lips. "Well, then I can make sure that he's okay when I am here anyway."

You took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. It was not your first visit there and you already had a mother-child like relationship with Shiori. To be honest it wasn't difficult to build such a close relationship with such a lovable and warm-hearted woman like Shiori.

Said woman opened the door a few moments later she smiled warmly when she saw the visitor.

“[Y/n]-chan, what a nice surprise that you are coming to visit us again. How are you, dear? “ Shiori asked warmly and pulled you into a motherly hug. You smiled and hugged her back before loosening up and scratching your cheek.

“I'm fine, thanks for asking. Hopefully you too. I'm here because I wanted to see Shuuichi .. He doesn't come to school anymore and .. I just wanted to see how he is doing. " You explained. Shiori's smile fell slowly, the condition of her son was troubling her too.

"Shuuichi has been acting really weird for two weeks ..", Shiori began and looked at the ground. Two weeks, yes that was exactly when the Yakumo thing came up. "He hardly comes out of his room, doesn't eat and stares absently in front of himself .." she explained and you saw how hurt Shiori was about the mental absence of her son. You put your arms reassuringly around the older woman's shoulders and smiled confidently at her.

"That is why I am here. I'm going to kick Shuuichi in the butt so that he can at least eat again. Don't worry, Shiori-san. Shuuichi has had a lot of stress in school and with his friends lately. He doesn't mean it that way, really. " You spoke softly and hugged Shiori again. It was like Shiori was your own mother.

“Thank you for your comforting words, dear. It's just, I've never seen Shuuichi like that before. And that just worries me. " She sighed.

“Me too, believe me. Can I see him? " You asked.

“You don't need to ask permission. He's in his room. That he hasn't left in days. As I said, he doesn't even touch the food, which I put in front of the door .. "

"You know what, don't bring him food today. Just cook as usual and set the table for Shuuichi and me. I'll make sure he comes down.“ You promised her with a smile and that calmed Shiori down again when she nodded gratefully and smiled.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Really."

As Shiori moved away for you to come in, you greeted Hatanaka and Kokoda, Hatanaka's son, as you made your way to Kurama's room. If he didn't want to see you, he could still say it in your face. But now it was important to see how he was doing, when even Shiori was already very worried. That wasn't a good sign ..

In front of his room, you knocked so gently that Kurama probably thought you were his mother.

"I'm not hungry, mother." He answered slightly monotonously and you sighed softly. That was really not the Kurama you knew and you didn't want to leave him in a state like this. Without further hesitation, you opened the door to his room and stepped inside. Kurama, lying on his bed, jumped a bit when the door opened. "I said, I-" his sentence stopped when he didn't see his mother, but you. "...Oh sorry. I thought you were my mother. "

You smiled a little and carefully stepped closer.

"I'ts all right. Please forgive me for showing up unannounced, but .. We are all really worried about you. "You spoke. "Yusuke said, you haven't been to school for weeks and your mother said that you hardly ate anything." Your words became quieter and softer when you looked into his face. He looked unhealthy pale and the glow of his emerald green irises was gone. "Kurama, it is really not a good thing that you distance yourself and try to escape your depressive hole on your own."

Kurama was silent as he listened to you. Did he really looked depressed? He hadn't noticed that at all.

"I'm not distancing myself." He tried to defend himself.

“You do. You even avoid your family and ignore our messages completely. " You contradicted him directly.

"Because I need time for myself?"

A low sigh escaped you. Who could have guessed how stubborn this fox could be when he wanted to? Without saying anything else, you stepped closer until you were right in front of his bed. Then you put your arms around him and pressed him against your body.

“Then why doesn't get your condition better when you're alone? Don't fool yourself, Kurama. Being alone is the last thing you need right now. " You spoke softly and hugged him even more to your body. Kurama allowed you every touch, there was so much trust between you two. After all, that's how it should be in a relationship. The fox sighed in defeat and inhaled your scent deeply.

"Thanks." He said after a short moment of silence.

"For what?"

"That you are so persistent and always go your way." He explained and pulled away from you as he caressed your cheek and smiled slightly. That expression on his face looked much better and you smiled too.

"I have to be persistent because you never admit that you need us." You countered teasingly and were glad that you were able to lure your fox out of his reserved condition. Kurama laughed barely audibly and fell back on his pillow. Then he made a wave of his hand that signaled you to lie down next to him. He didn't have to tell you twice, of course, and you snuggled against his chest as you laid down in bed with him. There was a pleasant silence for a moment, until you spoke up again. "Kuronue must have been a very close friend."

“Yes, he was. We were like brothers. ”Kurama explained with a sad smile. You noticed his broken voice and gently stroked his cheek, trying to comfort him.

"Would you like to tell me more about him?"

"What do you want to know?" Kurama asked, surprised that you were so interested in his old friend.

"How did you meet? What was his personality? How long have you been friends? Things like that. ” You listed and Kurama nodded.

"That could take some time," he warned.

"That doesn't matter, I don't intend to leave you anytime soon." You waved your hand and Kurama chuckled softly before he breathed a short kiss on your lips.

"All right."

And so Kurama began with his stories from his past. How he met Kuronue when they were both still children and had lost their parents in a war. You asked him if demons had "children forms", which he answered with a "yes" and you giggled cutely when you imagined Youko as a child.

"What's so funny?" he asked and squeezed your shoulder affectedly as he held you close.

“Funny is the wrong word. I'm just imagining what you looked like as a kid. With your cute little fox ears, the short tail, shorter white hair. Really lovable and adorable. " You admitted, still giggling. You already saw his Youko form at the Dark Tournament.

“If you put it that way now, it almost sounds as if I couldn't be taken seriously. But I take that as a compliment. At least you don't know how I looked as human child. ” Kurama mused.

"Um, I do. Shiori has already shown me some photo albums. "

"Eh? When? Which?"

Kurama's surprised exclamation was just so cute that you had to laugh again.

“Back from your kindergarten days. You were really cute. And then I saw pictures when you were 14. You are not recognizable at all with short hair. “ You spoke and Kurama smiled.  “I can reassure you, there weren't any embarrassing pictures."

"There are no embarrassing pictures of me."

"And what about the 'shaving accident' when you had to go to kindergarten with a bald head?"

"... how do you know about it?"

"Hahaha."

"At least I didn't think there were monsters in my closet until I was 13." he teased back now and you blushed a little.

"H-Hey, first of all because you're a demon and second, you didn't had a stupid big brother who told you horror stories and even hid in the closet at night to scare me to death."

"Touché"

You both looked at each other and then shared a laugh. It was so good to see him laughing again.

Kurama went on to tell how he and Kuronue had gone on missions together and how the two were constantly endangered by Youko's spontaneity and carelessness. The expression on his face was priceless when you said that you can imagine that he must have been a chaotic as Youko.

It actually took some time before Kurama's stories were exhausted and he closed his eyes. He hadn't talked so much about his past in a long time.

“I hope it wasn't too difficult to tell me all of this. The last thing I want is to open more wounds. ", You apologized and averted your gaze, feeling a little guilty. You really hoped that your curiosity did not cause him to fall deeper into the hole of depression again. A warm hand on your cheek brought your face back in his direction and you saw him smile genuinely.

“To be honest, I also thought that it hurts to talk about it, but .. I have to say that I feel much more liberated now. It was so good to tell our stories and refresh my memories. I am not sad, [Y/n]. I am happy. Happy about the memories that I regained of my old friend again and happy that I could talk that off my mind. " He spoke softly. You smiled and leaned your head on his.

"See? You just needed someone to talk to."

“No, not 'someone'. You are exactly the person I needed without realizing it. So .. thank you for coming here. " He whispered and pulled you into a gentle and innocent kiss. You closed your eyes and returned the kiss just as lovingly, until the lack of oxygen caused the two of you to break away from the kiss. You leaned forehead against forehead and Kurama hugged his you close.

"No need to thank me. I wanted to show up earlier, but Yusuke and Hiei advised me against doing so. They said you needed this break to collect your thoughts. "

"Yusuke said something like that?" Kurama asked incredulously, causing you to laugh again.

"Let's say Hiei said it."

"I see. I really needed time for myself, but .. I didn't realize how much I would miss you during this time. "

"Oh? A phone call would have been enough and I would have been with you immediately. " You teased him and played with one of his strands of hair.

"Maybe I wanted to see how long it would take until you couldn't take it anymore without me?" He teased back and his hand caressed your clothed bum shamelessly.

"As I said, it only took me so long because of Hiei. If it had been up to me, I would have shown up on the first day you were absent. " You pouted. Kurama smiled. He wouldn't have thought it was possible, but you actually managed to lift him out of his cloud of sorrow. "Can you do me a favor?" You asked then.

"Anything you want," he said, caressing your cheek lovingly. You leaned into his touch and sighed blissfully. Oh, how you had missed this closeness to him in the past two weeks.

“Are you coming downstairs for dinner? I told Shiori to cook for both of us and that I will definitely bring you downstairs. With or without your consent, so better say yes. " You warned with a wink, whereupon Kurama's smile only broadened and softened.

“Of course I'll come with you. Even if I would like to see how you 'force' me. " He said and saw you grin.

"Oh. No you don't want to. I can assure you of that, fox. “ You whispered resolutely and then got up from your cozy, cuddled up to your boyfriend in bed, place,. “Dinner should be ready soon. Let's get down there. "

“Today is Friday, mother always does something more elaborate today. She probably have just started cooking. ”Kurama commented.

"I know. That's exactly why we're going downstairs. You can finally talk to your stepfather and stepbrother again and I'll help Shiori in the kitchen. “ You answered and when you saw how Kurama opened his mouth to say something, you cut him off. “And no, Kurama, I will not allow myself to be talked out of helping. I kind of invited myself to dinner. So it is the least that I can do and help Shiori with the cooking. ”You said and Kurama just smiled silently. He knew that if his girlfriend got something on her mind, he got stuck with arguments. And in that case he would be the last one to forbid you to integrate into his family.

The young couple left the room and came down the stairs, when Shiori heard two sets of footsteps and ran from the kitchen to the living room, which was adjacent to the stairs.

"Shuuichi ..!" She shouted and smiled in relief when she saw that her son seemed apparently better.

"Sorry for bothering you, mother." He apologized and hugged his mother tightly. Shiori shook her head in understanding.

"The main thing is that you are better. I am so glad that you are back on track. You looked so terrible the last few days .. So pale, as if the spirits of life had left you. "

"What? That bad? " Kurama asked, shocked, before Hatanaka laughed gently and put his arm around his son-in-law like a companion.

“Yes, my boy. But as I can see you had a very good therapy from this phase. You look great. “ he agreed. Kurama smiled and closed his eyes.

“I'm sorry for all the grief. But you're right, I actually had the best therapy you can imagine. " He spoke and looked at you, making you avert your gaze in embarassment and playing with one of your strands of hair.

"Ahaha. I'll go into the kitchen and help Shiori with the cooking. "

"Dear, you really don't have to. Basically everything has already been prepared. "

"I still want to help."

"Alright."

Kurama smiled contentedly when the two women disappeared towards the kitchen and he stayed in the living room with Hatanaka.

"And we can also make ourselves useful and set the table."

"Yes, stepfather."

Kurama smiled again and looked into the kitchen. Shiori and you laughed together and talked lively. He was so happy that his loved one and his mother got along so well. But then again ... Was there anyone who didn't get along with Shiori? She was downright an angel. The dearest person on earth. Only such a person could eventually change his demonic beliefs.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

During dinner you sat between Kurama and Shiori, next to her Hatanaka and Kokoda rounded off the table on the other side to Kurama. Everyone talked freely and Kurama seemed to have finally found his way back to his friendly nature.

Under the table, his hand wandered inconspicuously next to him while he was eating and gently took your hand to give it an affectionate squeeze. You looked under the table beside you and smiled as you looked up at Kurama and looked into his happily vibrating irises. You two lingered in this rigidity for a moment until Kokoda blinked and looked under the table.

"Can't you two keep your hands off each other for 5 minutes?" Kokoda asked amused and Hatanaka scolded his son with clearing his throat. Kurama and you blushed because you were caught and looked into the smiling faces of Shiori and Hatanaka. Despite this situation, Kurama did not let go of your hand.

“There is a lot of catching up to do. We haven't seen each other for 2 weeks, ” the redhead smiled, slightly cheeky.

"And whose fault is that?", You asked teasingly, which made Kokoda laugh.

"She owned you, brother."

"It would be unfair if I were always the winner in the relationship."

Kurama's quick-witted answer made you open your mouth a little indignantly in shock before looking at Kurama's smiling face. He winked at you to make you understand that it was all just kidding. But of course you knew that beforehand.

“Shuuichi, don't be so complacent. Of course you are the winner in this relationship. After all, I'm a good catch. " You said jokingly, whereupon Kokoda patted his brother on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

"Your girlfriend is really on fire, Shuuichi." He said with a grin.

"Indeed." Kurama agreed with his stepbrother and pulled on your hand, which he held the whole time, to pull you close with a little more force. Now his lips were on your ear and his voice was deep and low so that his family could not hear what he was whispering in your ear. “Without you, this dinner  would be pretty uncomfortable. But the mood is so harmonic and relaxed. Thank you, my love. " He whispered in your ear and you suppressed a blissful sigh before putting your arm around his head to move so that this time your mouth was at his ear and you could whisper back.

“It's just because you have a really great family. With them you can just laugh and feel good. Believe me, we are all happy that you’re back to being the old Shuuichi we all love. So no need to thank me. "You breathed in his ear and Kurama's smile turned into an almost embarrassed grin.

"Awww. Get a room, lovebirds. " Kokoda said, until he was scolded again by Hatanaka. Man, this boy could be even more annoying than Yusuke with his comments. This two would certainly get along well.

After this incident, the rest of the dinner was quieter and everyday things were talked about. Kurama thanked you for being so prescient and for telling Shiori a good excuse that explained his condition. He could never told her the truth. It was almost frightening to him how well you could adapt to the circumstances of his family and almost automatically only call him Shuuichi automatically when you entered the house. He often had to interrupt Yusuke or Kuwabara when they wanted to adress him as Kurama in front of his mother, because they had simply forgotten that Shiori knew nothing of his true identity.

"The food was really delicious, Shiori." You said then.

“Thank you, but actually it was partly the food that you helped with. So you basically gave yourself a compliment. " Shiori replied, laughing gently.

"Heh. I was just helping you out. I can't come close to your culinary skills. " You laughed and saw Shiori get up to get the dishes. "Stay seated. I'll take care of that. "

“Oh no, you are a guest. I shouldn't have allowed you to help in the first place. There is no way I could let you do the dishes. " Shiori sighed with a guilty conscience.

“I don't mind! The food was so delicious and you can treat yourself to some rest. After all, you have to cook and run the household for three men who are always hungry. I bet nobody will help you from this lazy himbos! " You snorted in a „not serious“ tone and pointed to the men.

"That's not true. Kazuya helps me a lot and Shuuichi also does what he can. Kokoda also has his household chores, which he does, thanks to Shuuichi. " Shiori explained with a smile.

"Really? Okay, then I didn't say anything. But I still do the dishes. I can always relax and pursue my thoughts, " You explained further.

"If you don't take mother's help, may I help you with the dishes?" Kurama's voice was soft as he put his hand on your shoulder and brushed down a few stray strands of hair. A tender smile was reflected on his lips.

"Oah, please no sex in the kitchen. That's so unhygienic. " Kokoda groaned annoyed, but he continued to grin when the couple turned away from each other, blushing.

"Of course you can. But no roaming hands." You warned and Kurama chuckled as he followed you into the kitchen. Shiori and Hatanaka looked at each other and laughed heartily.

"They are so cute together."

"Indeed. I'm so happy that Shuuichi has finally found someone who makes him so happy. "

"Yes."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In the kitchen, you hummed happily as you washed the dishes. You really enjoyed Kurama's family. They were so warm and harmonious and you already felt like a member of the family. Above all, however, you were infinitely happy that your Kurama was back to normal and no longer isolated from everyone.

“It would be the best if we give Yusuke a call and tell him that you are feeling better. Otherwise he'll bomb me with countless messages tomorrow and want to know how my visit went. " You chuckled.

"Mhm. Or we just keep our cell phones off and just enjoy the next few days as a couple? ” Kurama suggested instead, which elicited an embarrassed smile from you.

“A tempting idea. But it's not fair for our other friends. They're very worried about you too. Please. ” You said then and Kurama couldn't help but put the towel, he was holding to dry the dishes, aside and put his arms around you from behind to hold you tight.

"Alright. A short feedback can be set up. But after that I would like to be undisturbed with my girlfriend for a while. Or do you have any objection? ”He asked and began to nibble on your earlobe. You stopped your work and closed your eyes to gasp softly.

"No, I haven't," You replied softly, whereupon Kurama grinned against your skin and kissed your neck.

"Good .." he breathed and his hands went under your shirt to caress the bare skin underneath.

"S-Shuuichi .. Not .. here." Your protests were quiet and uncertain. Kurama started sucking on your neck while his hands went to your breasts and gently squeezed them over your bra. "Your family could hear us .."

"Then you shouldn't be so loud, huh?" Kurama purred in a deep and erotic voice that left no room for discussion. You bit your lip as he put his knee between your legs from behind and used his knee to grind and rub at your crotch. His fingers flicked your clothed nipples and his mouth was hot and greedy between your neck and shoulder.

"N-No .. We can't …" it was rare that you resisted against such intimacies. In fact, you never had any objections. "... I don't trust my mouth ..." You explained afterwards.

Kurama kissed your neck gently up to your ear before looking at her questioningly. "I find your mouth trustworthy." He smiled and took your earlobe into his mouth to suck on it. You sighed and slowly moved away from him before turning around and looking deeply and apologetically into his eyes.

"You do not understand this. I'm afraid ... that the name I'm going to moan won't be Shuuichi. " You said very quietly and Kurama understood now. He smiled understandingly and pulled you into a gentle hug before kissing your forehead lovingly.

"I understand. Thank you for your care. " He whispered against your lips before giving you a gentle kiss.

You smiled gratefully and laid your head on his shoulder. "It's fine. Maybe we'll find a soundproof room here. " You smirked jokingly. Kurama glanced at you with an illegible face before lifting you up in his arms. "Wh-?"

"The bathroom is soundproof," he grinned.

"… Seriously? .." You laughed and put your hand  over your forehead when your redhead only smiled innocently at you. "And the dishes?"

“Let's foist them off to my stepbrother. He's been neglecting his duties lately anyway. Just like me in .. certain other things. " He whispered and kissed your lips gently. You blushed after realizing what he meant and just giggled happily as Kurama carried you past his family with a laugh and asked Kokoda to continue the dishes.

You disappeared up the stairs to the bathroom and were not seen again that evening.

Everything was the same again.

[itsnothingofinterest]

A recent topic of discussion I’m seeing lately is whether or not Endeavor will or should die before series end. And surprisingly, even from people who don’t really like him & are willing to rightly call him out are saying he should live. For a variety of reasons too; such as death being the easy way out of consequences for him, that he’d become a martyr if he dies, it’s better if he lives to make things up for his family with his actions, and other such points. So I just wanted to get my own complicated thoughts on the matter out there.

Because I happen to agree with all of those points.

But I also still think Endeavor should die.

And to be clear, that’s not because I think he’s a bad person (although I do; he’s a type of horrible equal yet opposite to the League really). Actually, when I think about it, I find I don’t much care for if he deserves to live or die or what it would mean for his character; I only really care about what it would mean for the people around him and their relationship with him. Really, my view on the matter is Fuyumi’s in reverse; which is to say I think him dying would take his family members in a good (or at least more interesting) direction.

Mainly Shoto & Touya, although it’s not like I don’t think the rest of the Todorokis lives wouldn’t be improved by a severe long term reduction of Endeavor in their lives. There’s just, y’know, more to talk about with those two.

Shoto

For Shoto, I’ve mentioned this before, but he’s in a really weird place with Endeavor, with obstacles of various natures in the way of really addressing his issues with him or reaching the conclusion it seems he’s supposed to reach with him (and also his character's conclusion in general). Obstacles that I think Endeavor dying would help remove.

For one, Shoto’s not really thought about his own feelings on his father for the longest time; always putting that on the back-burner in favour of how Endeavor is useful to him in one way or another. Whether that be as a good mentor & networking connection, or as a tool to mend his family’s hurt, or most recently as someone who can bring him to Touya or Touya to him. And I’m not exactly sure that’s healthy.

And that’s why I think Endeavor dying might actually be good for Shoto; it would force Shoto to stop thinking of his father in terms of his utility and finally address his own feelings towards the man. All that stuff he’s put aside because they’d interfere with more pressing matters, won’t interfere anymore. He might finally be able to actually resolve his conflict with him. I mean, he’d have to if Endeavor were dead; you kind of get the final word in that scenario.

It would also make ‘forgiving’ his father, something he’s foreshadowed to do eventually & to some extent, easier and more palatable for him. See, to forgive someone who’s still alive and active is, in part, ceasing to hold what the forgiven did against them and no longer look to hold them accountable. Which would be somewhat off-putting with Endeavor, who hasn’t really made up for what he did, or done much to apologize to Shoto at all. If they’re dead though, then the act becomes a lot more about letting go of your own anger for your own benefit. Which I am into, because I am far more interested in what is for Shoto’s benefit than Endeavor’s.

Additionally, I kind of just think Endeavor being gone for good would be good for the structure of Shoto’s story arcs. See, Endeavor has this horrible habit of making his family’s story lines all about himself; and Shoto, a supposed major character, suffers from this more than anyone else. The Todoroki story line, which is meant to be his story line, has stared Endeavor for so long now. Even Shoto’s basically let him take the lead. It feels like Endeavor being permanently removed from the picture one way or another is the only real way to make Shoto the star of his own arc again.

Dabi

Dabi is also a character that’s made to revolve around Endeavor, just in more obviously unhealthy and downright destructive ways. His only goal in life seems to be ruining Endeavor and all he stands for, happily destroying himself and whatever else must be sacrificed along the way; in fact I’m not unconvinced he’s planning a murder-suicide with his abuser, he’s so single-mindedly and self-destructively focused on ruining Endeavor.

And so one day I had a thought. “What would he do, if Endeavor died, and he was still alive?”

It’s a question I’ve thought about a lot, because he does in fact have things going for him outside his dad. He’s got a found family that supports and cares about him, he’s got a cushy job (if his underlings get broken out of jail anyway), and he’s got plans for the future. He just doesn’t expect to be there for it or take any direct part in building it. But he might if he inadvertently has no choice.

This is why the idea interests me so much: if Endeavor were dead, what would Dabi do? Would he finally start working with his fellow villains in earnest and open up to them? Would he be able to find new purpose, maybe taking direct action towards bringing about the future he wants? If so, how would he do that? I mean I doubt it would all be good & healthy, because if it was then Shoto wouldn’t really need to intervene to close out the Todoroki plot line; but it would all be forward progress for a guy who’s been stuck in the past since he was a kid, and that’d be an intriguing development.

(Also, just to throw out an idea to consider in this idea we’re considering: If Endeavor were to die saving Touya, whether from an external threat or by making sure he survives his murder-suicide attempt, that could have a further interesting effect on him. Like, I don’t think it’d mean Touya would forgive him by any means, but it would likely leave him very confused and unsure of things, and maybe Shoto could make use of that in saving his brother.)

In short, I think Endeavor should die for both his sons’ character arcs. His, preferably permanent, absence from their lives feels like it may be a necessary ingredient in their growth, independence, and reconciliation. And if a character I don’t particularly really like has to die for that; a more than fair trade I say.

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt9 / On AO3

after being punished for their behaviour in Yunping City, Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen have a chat about friendship and forgiveness

warning for mentions of corporal punishment

Nie Huaisang failed to contain a whine as another blow from the discipline rulers hit him. When no more followed, and Lan Qiren finally announced that he and Lan Xichen could stand again, Nie Huaisang instead collapsed to the ground, exhausted by the beating. 

"I said stand up," Lan Qiren ordered. "I went easy on you this time. Don't expect such leniency again." 

Nie Huaisang almost laughed, only for it to come out as a choked sob. He was no stranger to being punished, but at home it was done differently. To think he used to call his brother's methods cruel… but he would gladly have taken Nie Mingjue's extra training over that awful, pointless beating he'd just received. 

He was half convinced he would just expire there, in the dust of that courtyard of the Lan discipline hall, when strong, slender hands grabbed him by the armpits and helped him up. Lan Xichen, who barely had a hair out of place in spite of enduring the same punishment, weakly smiled at Nie Huaisang and silently encouraged him to lean on him until he felt better. 

Nie Huaisang wondered if he hated Lan Xichen for having a cultivation so great that this beating hadn't impacted him, or pitied him for apparently being used to such treatment and thus enduring it so well. 

"Let this be a reminder to follow rules and respect your elders," Lan Qiren said, glaring at both boys. "Now go, I've seen enough of you."

Lan Xichen, ever respectful, bowed before his uncle and thanked him for taking time to educate them. Nie Huaisang had no choice but to bow as well, though he refused to be thanking anyone for what he had just endured and firmly pinched his lips in pointless rebellion. 

Especially pointless when he knew that this was but one half of the punishment : Lan Qiren had also assigned both of them to write an essay, and to copy a few times certain rules relevant to their behaviour in Yunping City. And to make it worse, Nie Huaisang wouldn't even be able to ask Su She to help him: his friend had gotten in trouble during his absence, and was punished as well. 

At least, Yunping City had been a success of sorts. Meng Yao was probably never going to join Lanling Jin now, which was good, and Nie Huaisang hadn't needed to kill anyone the way his future self had half implied he should do, which was great. It might be worth a little pain, Nie Huaisang thought as Lan Xichen slowly led him out of the discipline halls. 

After having walked in silence a little bit, Lan Xichen stopped. Nie Huaisang, expecting to be sent away to his cabin, or scolded further for dragging Lan Xichen in his mischief, braced himself for yet more unpleasantness. 

"Would you like to come home with me?" Lan Xichen offered instead. "I can make you a certain tea I have which will help with the pain, and we can work on our punishments together." 

"You're not going to poison me, are you?" Nie Huaisang asked. Lan Xichen gave him a puzzled look so he shrugged. A mistake, with the state of his back. "It's just that you wouldn't have been punished if I didn't go out." 

"And you wouldn't have been punished if I hadn't helped you go out," Lan Xichen replied. "So I would say we're even. Besides, Wangji will be home and I'd rather not deal with him right now. He gets very judgmental about people breaking rules, but he won't say anything if we have a guest."

The idea of spending yet more time with Lan Xichen was an unappealing one when Nie Huaisang still remembered that bad taste joke about Su She. Normally, he wouldn't have considered it at all, his future self be damned. Now though, with the promise of something to deal with the pain… 

Principles were well and nice, but Nie Huaisang decided he didn't have the sort of personality needed to suffer heroically for his beliefs. 

He accepted the invitation.

Just as Lan Xichen had said, Lan Wangji was in the house when they arrived. He threw his brother a most betrayed look, as if Lan Xichen had personally murdered someone rather than just been a little rude to an awful man, but when he noticed Nie Huaisang he kept to himself whatever remarks he might have had and just left them alone. What a stuffy boy, really. If it had been Nie Huaisang whose older brother had misbehaved, he would have found the whole thing hilarious and teased Nie Mingjue to hell and back. Su She was clearly right whenever he complained about Lan Wangji being the most bland and boring person in the world.

Once Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang were alone, Lan Xichen set out to prepare the tea he had promised, while inviting Nie Huaisang to sit down. Sitting wasn't particularly comfortable right then, but Nie Huaisang still obeyed. He quickly noticed that Lan Xichen was preparing a different blend of tea for himself, and asked about that when Lan Xichen handed him a warm glass.

“The pain isn’t so bad for me,” Lan Xichen explained. “It would go against the spirit of the punishment if I took something, especially when shufu didn’t tell me I could. But you are our guest, and I know you’re unused to such methods, so it would be cruel to let you suffer.”

Nie Huaisang wrinkled his nose, both because he could tell he had just been called weak in a very polite manner, and because his tea had a rather strong smell. The taste wasn’t so bad, though, and after a few sips he felt his body start to relax, the pain still present but more dull and no longer the only thing on his mind.

“I’ll give you some of that tea,” Lan Xichen said before Nie Huaisang could even comment on the effect. “So you can have some more before sleep, and tomorrow morning as well, or else classes promise to be difficult to put up with for you.”

“It’s not like they’re easy even at a normal time,” Nie Huaisang retorted.

“Then there’s no reason to make it even worse, is there?”

Nie Huaisang said nothing, watching Lan Xichen with a slight pout. It seemed to him that Lan Xichen was in awfully good spirits for someone who had just taken such a beating. In fact, Lan Xichen had seemed in a very good mood since Yunping City, or at least since after that encounter with Meng Yao, hadn’t he?

From talking with his future self, Nie Huaisang knew that both Meng Yao and Lan Xichen would have been involved in Nie Mingjue’s death. He hadn’t really given it much thought yet, but what if that hadn’t been their only link? Meng Yao had a pleasant personality and was as good looking as all of Jin Guangshan’s trail of bastards, so with the way Lan Xichen had so vehemently taken his defence that day… Nie Huaisang thought he might ask his future self about that. Then, remembering he didn’t much like the man, and that his future self was a little too fond of mysteries, he realised he’d have to figure this out on his own if he ever wanted to know.

He wasn’t sure he did want to know, but between trying to find out if Lan Xichen had developed an instant crush or doing the essay Lan Qiren had demanded…

“So, Lan gongzi, how come you’re so nice today? I mean, you’re always nice of course, but you’re in a very good mood considering…”

Nie Huaisang made a vague gesture. When the movement made him wince, he took a few more sips of tea.

“A few things that were worrying me have cleared up,” Lan Xichen explained. “Although if you really want to know why I offered you this tea, and to help with your essay…”

“I am quite curious about that, yes.”

“I suppose I feel I owe it to you,” Lan Xichen said, lowering his eyes. “I was… I realise I was unpleasant to you when we were in Yunping City. First I made things difficult for you when we met while visiting the town, and then my tasteless attempt at joking about your friendship with Su She… I should have behaved better than this.”

Without thinking, Nie Huaisang nodded. He’d been upset about the way Lan Xichen behaved toward Su She even before, but that joke had just been too much. And then the accusation of him having a crush… well, that had just been mean. Mostly because it made Nie Huaisang feel awkward about hanging out with his friend again, when already his future self’s cryptic mention had made things weird. 

He didn’t want to be thinking of Su She like that, because he knew from their chats that Su She only liked girls, whereas Nie Huaisang…

But it didn’t matter what Nie Huaisang liked anyway. Not unless his brother hurried up and got married… but since his future self appeared to be a sect leader, Nie Mingjue probably hadn’t gotten around to do that, meaning Nie Huaisang would be left with the duty of continuing the family line.

So it didn’t matter if he liked Su She in any way except as a friend, because that was all they would ever be, which was fine. Su She was a good friend to have.

But speaking of Su She...

“Lan gongzi, I have a question for you,” Nie Huaisang said.

Lan Xichen emptied his glass of tea and smiled politely.

“I’m listening.”

“See, I thought I had you figured out,” Nie Huaisang explained, tapping his fingers against the side of his own glass. “I thought in the end, you were just another Lan prick full of himself and convinced that only people born in a great sect, or at least in a sect at all, are actually people. With the way you are about Su She, I really thought you were that sort of person.”

Lan Xichen winced at being called a prick, but didn’t actually protest, which Nie Huaisang took as an admission of guilt.

“But you weren’t like that with that Meng Yao and his mother,” Nie Huaisang continued, putting down his glass with an impatient gesture. “You were nice to them. More than Huang zongzhu for sure! And you said that stuff about treating people by their actions not their origins, and you sounded like you meant it, and about the son of a courtesan too! So now, I feel I don’t understand you at all, and I’ve got to ask. Why do you dislike Su She that much?”

Hearing Nie Huaisang’s question, Lan Xichen was silent for a long while, observing the other boy as if somehow, the answer to his dislike of Su She lay within Nie Huaisang.

“Why do you like him so much?” he said at last.

“I asked first!”

Lan Xichen sighed. “And I’m not sure what to answer. I had formed a certain opinion of Su She, but perhaps… I could be wrong. So please help me understand how you see Su She, so that I might revise my judgment.”

“He’s fun, that’s really the main thing,” Nie Huaisang said. “And he tries hard. He’s always trying so hard. Half the time we hang out, he’ll end up practising in some way, because he wants so badly to catch up to the other disciples. And he’s quite skilled, too. I think his teachers don’t like him because he can have a bad temper, but he’s real clever, and real good at music too. It’s really annoying that people treat him badly. Like that thing with Jin Zixun while we were in Yunping City? I’m so sure it wasn’t Su She’s fault, but because it’s him, everyone thinks he’s done something wrong and they punished him! It’s unfair!”

Impassioned by this defence of his friend, Nie Huaisang half stood up from his seat, only for the pain in his back to flare up again at the sudden movement, forcing him to sit down again. Lan Xichen watched him through all of it, his face turned into an expressionless mask.

“Nie gongzi has a very strong sense of justice, I see.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged, and only half regretted it.

“Not really. If we weren’t friends, maybe I wouldn’t care,” he admitted. “But he is my friend, so it bothers me, and I don’t know how to help… but you could, and yet you don’t. He’s a disciple of your own sect, but you treat him with less regard than you do a complete stranger you met at a market. If you took his defence, then everyone else would have to stop bothering him!”

“I suppose,” Lan Xichen said with obvious reluctance. “It is wrong he’s not given a fair chance.”

“It is! Lan gongzi, please, please help Su-xiong,” Nie Huaisang begged. “I’ll really owe you, and… and I’m sure you’d get along with him if you just gave him a chance! And he’s really a good element to have in your sect, and… ah, he even has a beautiful handwriting, you know!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, hit by a sudden realisation. “So maybe he could help with that thing you’re doing of copying books!”

Lan Xichen, already a little upset at their topic of conversation, went very pale at that new suggestion.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “Every time I see you, you’re copying something. And not just you, I’ve seen other Lan disciples do it in the library too, and some of the juniors when they’re being punished. But mostly only the ones that are teachers’ pets. Well, that’s what Su She said when I asked about it. But he could help! He’s really good at writing, and he knows the rules well, and…”

“We’ll see,” Lan Xichen dryly cut him. “Although I’d appreciate if in the future, you did not mention anything about those books being copied. It is private sect business, and Gusu Lan does not wish for it to be known.”

“But you always do it, even in front of me.”

“I didn’t expect Nie gongzi to pay attention to what I was doing. My mistake, of course.”

Meaning he thought Nie Huaisang was too stupid to notice. Of course Nie Huaisang had already guessed it was something of the sort, that Lan Xichen really had such a low opinion of him, but it still annoyed him.

“If I keep that to myself, will you be nicer to Su-xiong from now on?”

“Blackmail is forbidden,” Lan Xichen replied. “By my sect, and by yours as well, I believe. As for Su She… I’ll see what I can do. But first, Nie gongzi, I have another question for you.”

Lan Xichen’s tone sounded odd, too polite somehow, but Nie Huaisang still nodded.

“Thank you. It is a question of… philosophical nature, I suppose, and perhaps only distantly linked to our conversation, but here it is. Do you think that everyone deserves a second chance?”

It was a very weird question, but also a very earnest one, Nie Huaisang felt. Certainly Lan Xichen had a very intense expression on his face. Why he would have asked this as they were talking about Su She, who hadn’t done anything wrong except for having an occasionally difficult personality, Nie Huaisang couldn’t say. Unless there had been some incident in the past that Su She hadn’t mentioned, or worse where he hadn’t realised he’d offended Lan Xichen? It seemed unlikely but not impossible, so Nie Huaisang gave the question due consideration before answering.

“Yes, I think people deserve second chances. Sometimes, they just don’t know that they’re doing something wrong. But I also think they have to know they’re getting a second chance.”

“So they know they won’t get another one?” Lan Xichen asked, his eyes almost shining now, as if he were the one who’d done wrong in the past. But then why would he be angry at Su She? And why wouldn’t Su She have mentioned it, when he never hesitated to complain about others’ faults?

Again, Nie Huaisang took a moment to think about it before shaking his head.

“A bit, but mostly not. It’s just that like I said, people don’t always know they’ve done something wrong,” he explained. “So what da-ge says you must do if someone acts in a bad manner is, you’ve got to let them know, and then they can actually understand what they’re doing wrong, and do better later. Oh! I guess that’s what I’m doing!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, clapping his hands. Lan Xichen threw him a puzzled look, to which he answered with a smile. “Lan gongzi, that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m giving you a second chance!”

Lan Xichen paled so much so that it almost made his robes look colourful in contrast. Nie Huaisang’s enthusiasm fell quickly. He wondered if Lan Xichen was going to have another moment of complete panic, the way he’d done in Yunping City. Nie Huaisang braced himself to take the other boy’s hand again and hold it until he got over whatever was happening to him, since that had seemed to help the other time.

Before he could move, Lan Xichen took one big gasping breath, and forced a smile.

“I’m… I’m thankful for Nie gongzi’s… for your generosity,” he said in a trembling voice, as if he couldn’t breathe quite right. “I… I will try to be worthy of it.”

“So you’re going to help Su-xiong?”

Lan Xichen flushed and nodded shortly.

“Yes, if it matters so much to you. But in exchange, might I… would you let me make a request?”

“You can always ask,” Nie Huaisang replied, which even he knew was a less than polite answer, but Lan Xichen appeared so shaken still that he didn’t remark on it.

“Would you let me give you music lessons?”

“What? Why… You’ve suggested it before, and I’ve told you, my grades in your uncle’s classes are…”

“I wouldn’t make those lessons depend on the results of those lectures you attend,” Lan Xichen said a little too quickly. “I have told you before, I would like us to get along, since we both care about Mingjue, and who knows, it might be useful in the future if you know how to…” He paused, and took another deep, shaky breath. “I think it would be nice to spend time together like this. I know you haven’t particularly enjoyed my company so far, but…”

“I like when you do my homework,” Nie Huaisang generously protested. It really was the only pleasant part of their time together thus far, and he'd been pretty rude already so he had to say something nice. “And I know you’re busy, with the copying that I won’t talk about anymore, and you’re helping with teaching the little kids, and… and I know you don’t like me much, and you’re going to like me even less if I fail to learn anything from you.”

“If you don’t like it, we will stop,” Lan Xichen promised. “But I’d still like to try.”

Nie Huaisang huffed, unsure what to say.

Of course he had to spend more time with Lan Xichen. His future self had been so angry to hear he wasn’t making progress in getting Lan Xichen’s trust, and Nie Huaisang would like not to be shouted at again. At the same time, he was still quite angry at Lan Xichen about his treatment of Su She, and wouldn’t believe in the older boy’s promises until he saw them actually be put into action.

With that said, though, the perspective of learning music was… well, it certainly had appeal. Anything that wasn’t cultivation or martial arts had appeal. If he could learn the guqin, even just a little… it was what proper gentlemen did, right? They painted, and played music, and did calligraphy, and… 

And maybe now that Nie Mingjue was probably not going to die after all, perhaps Nie Huaisang could start dreaming again about a perfect future where he’d do nothing all day but be accomplished in ways that mattered to him as the elegant and useless second master of Qinghe Nie.

“Fine. If Lan gongzi really wants, I’m willing to try,” Nie Huaisang said, making it sound as if he were doing Lan Xichen a huge favour.

Maybe he was, because Lan Xichen gave him a real smile upon hearing that answer.

“Thank you, Nie gongzi. I appreciate you giving me this second chance.”

Nie Huaisang laughed awkwardly. He’d mostly said that as a joke, but apparently Lan Xichen had taken this second chance thing quite seriously. He really was such a weird person at times. Weird but… but perhaps not entirely awful. If he really taught Nie Huaisang music, if he really kept his word and started taking Su She’s side more… 

Nie Huaisang was too lazy to hold a grudge, especially if the other person made real efforts to change.

“Now,” Lan Xichen said, “let’s get started on those essays for my uncle, since we’re here. I think this might be quite fun, if we apply ourselves well.”

Nie Huaisang groaned, and dramatically let himself fall over the table.

He took it back. All Lans were awful, and they were out to get him and torture him to death, and he hated every single one of them.

[another-snape-story]

Merry Christmas

Chapter XXI

The days that followed were tough. You happened to visit The Department of Magical Law Enforcement every once in a week – although you were beyond suspicion, they always had new questions.

“They call me again.” The words that made Snape’s heart sink each time they were spoken. Once annoyed, the other time despaired – “They call me again,” you announced over and over again. Of course, this couldn’t pass by unnoticed without affecting your emotional state which kept worsening after every new attendance.

Snape felt you were getting estranged – from him, from the world around. It was unbearable seeing vigorous glint of your eyes gradually die out. Knowing your passion for nature walks, he used to take you outside whenever possible. Snowy landscapes along with fresh air worked wonders, and you were back again – distressed, tired, but still alive.

Support Severus gave you was huge, substantial, able to bring you to tears, which in your current condition was easy as pie. Immensely grateful for his regard, you felt like giving him the whole world in return. The more time you spent together, the stronger grew your sentiment for the man, until you realized you could no longer imagine your days without him. Relieved in the solace his presence offered, you wished you could nestle under his protective wing, shielded from all the horrors of cruel reality, and doze off in a long deep peaceful slumber.

You hated the moment Snape left you at your door late in the evening, afraid to stay alone with your thoughts or just selfishly unwilling to let him go – sometimes you seemed to forget he wasn’t your possession and had other things to take care of apart from you. The man’s become an indispensable part of your life, a vital part of you, which, if taken, would cause a fatal outcome. Little did you know you’ve become the such for him as well.

Looking you in the eyes as he put you on train, Snape struggled with desire to cup your face and make that one last step towards the edge to let you know his heart was beating for you and you only, to assure you were not alone, that you could count on him whatever happened. However, being a man of a rational mind, he admitted he was no good match for you – with heavy burden of his past and a vague chance for future – what could he give you? Moreover, he wasn’t hoping you’d accept him. How pathetic thinking you would!

Snape felt uneasy letting you go to London alone. Having grown exceedingly protective of you he couldn’t find any peace until you returned, safe and unharmed. During hours of your absence, Snape questioned himself what if the court found you were involved by implication? What if you decided not to prolong your contract with Hogwarts and left the school once the term was over? What would his life be like without you?.. Intrusive thoughts that scratched in the back of his mind aggravated all of his unpleasant traits, and students got to suffer Snape’s ill temper more severely than usual every time you were away.

“It’s over,” wearied, emotionally drained, you informed Severus when he met you at the station in Hogsmeade as he’s done since the process started.

“You told everything like we’ve agreed?” anxiety bubbling inside his chest, Snape intently examined your face to detect the slightest change in your expression trying to foresee the probable answer before you could utter a word.

The question reminded you about the dispute you had before your departure. You nodded weakly. Although you’ve chosen to follow Snape’s advice, you still were uncertain if you did the right thing.

“Good,” he approved calmly as befitted his usual composure, while a sudden yet so much anticipated relief made him feel dizzy. No one would take you from him, now he knew it for sure.

“He’s been sentenced to ten years,” your voice bleak and lifeless. “I should’ve told the truth. Should’ve told them it was all my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Snape stepped closer, his hands reaching out for you.

“It’s unfair. That’s not what I intended.”

“Listen. It’s just the consequence of negligence,” he softly rubbed your shoulders. “Nothing more.”

“I know,” you sighed bitterly. “I know… But… I didn’t mean to ruin his life. Didn’t mean to…” you fell silent fighting back tears.

“He’d end up in prison anyway,” Snape stated with contempt, wishing the man who brought you so much trouble be damned. Snape realized you’d need time to finally get over all this and move on – and he was there to help you. “Let’s go back.” He led you along the platform covered with a thick layer of trampled snow dotted by hundreds of footprints.

“Have the students left already?” you asked indifferently just to switch the trail of thought.

“Yes. This morning.”

A ghost of a smile swept across your lips. “How was the feast?” sad notes in the tone of your voice revealed utter disappointment over a missed opportunity to attend one of the main school events.

“No trolls, no three-headed dogs,” he spoke apathetically. “Boring, in other words.” Snape could’ve probably been other opinion if you kept him company.

“Huh, I thought all the celebrations here had an element of surprise,” you sniggered recalling the night of Halloween. The night of Halloween! Quirrell… You knew Severus wouldn’t appreciate what you were going to tell him, but keeping it in secret after the risk taken would make no sense either way. Preparing for being told off, you listened to the snow creaking serenely under your feet.

“I saw Quirrell again,” you confided at last as you turned around the corner heading towards the carriage harnessed by a pair of Thestrals.

“And again you followed him?” Snape frowned disapprovingly, just as you would expect.

“Yes, but this t…”

“How many times have I told you not to mess with him?” he resented.

“And how many times have I mentioned I were not a child?”

“Leave him to me! Being ‘not a child’ isn’t enough!”

“Aren’t you even curious what I’ve seen?!” you huffed in disbelief. He’s never taken it so bad before.

“No! I’m not curious at all!” Snape raised his voice. “Merlin! He might be dangerous! Is it too complicated for your stubborn head to grasp the simple fact?”

“You speak this way to your students, not me!” you spat back. That was way too much. Who did he think he was?!

“I will speak to you the way you deserve unless you listen to me!” he hissed angrily.

“Oh is that what I deserve? Really?! After a month of interrogations with testifying at the trial on top of this SHIT-CAKE? Is that what I deserve?!” you burst out. “I listened to you and didn’t tell them it was me who purposely changed the data! And now I’ll have to LIVE with it!” yet you were shouting.

“At least you’ll live!” Snape growled in frustration. He shouldn’t have spoken to you this way. Living in constant fear for your fate, holding back all the doubts that ate on him while he played confidence assuring you everything was going to be all right, but actually having no idea how the things might’ve turned out was a real torture – no wonder, he still resembled a bare nerve when it came to the matter of your safety. Always composed and collected, this time Snape failed to restrain his emotions.

Although he regretted it immediately, it was too late for remorse. Exasperated, pissed with his tone, you rushed past the carriage. “I’ll walk!”  

Trying to stop you, Snape grabbed your elbow. You spun around, shooting him a vicious look which shattered Snape’s puny hope you would accept his apology. “Get in,” he said calmly. “I will walk.”

“FINE.” You abruptly freed yourself from his grip and climbed inside.

The carriage set off.

You laid your head on the backrest, tears streaming down your cheeks. This scene was easy to be avoided, but, as ill luck would have it, everything came together at the breaking point. Of course, he was worrying about you. No one ever had. Yet he did. He placed your interests over his own. How many days, how many nights he has spent comforting you! Fixated on your problems, you’ve never taken into consideration when he has managed to keep up with his work… after spending hours and hours and hours with you… Anger struggling with an expanding feeling of guilt and gratitude tore your soul apart.

But his tone! You crossed your arms on your chest, still doubting whether to forgive him. His tone hurt!

The window hole offered a wonderful performance of trees and bushes garmented into gentle niveous covering slowly dancing along the road. As much as you loved winter, the other day you’d hardly be able to take your eyes off this fairy picture, but now it seemed to just dishearten you. You turned away – the vacant seat beside you gaped with pervasive emptiness – same that you felt inside. Severus used to take it, right next to you. Once, you’ve even fallen asleep on his shoulder… A memory brought a dolorous smile to your face. You missed him. You missed him so bad. What just happened wasn’t right. It should’ve been different. Moreover, on a day like this.  

You gave a sign for the carriage to stop and stormed out – you haven’t gone too far – he’d catch up with you soon. Wading through the snow, you hurried back to reunite with the man so dear to your heart as soon as possible. In his black coat he should be an easy target to spot, but Snape was nowhere to be seen. Frozen to the bone, you found yourself standing on the place where you left him. Despaired, you looked around – not a single soul.

“Severus!” you called him desperately, a lump in your throat growing thicker as you tried to hold it in. “Sev…” Everything’s gone so wrong.

Lost the last bit of hope – despondent and wretched – you sobbed into the void, scoffing grievously at yourself, “Merry Christmas…” Perhaps, you deserved it indeed.

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[zuzu-hotman]

Ready To Love Pt.3 [[Zuko]]

Pairing: Zuko x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst as always, loves. 

A/N: I’m glad to see the notes on my fics, I read them and smile <3 Anyways... hope I did her justice. I didn’t want to make her a villain or  too ooc. Then again, the show never gave us too much of her. I’d have done more with her and hopefully allowed her to express herself a bit too. ((Also the lyrics ive been using are from a song, but they’re out of order bc of how I want them to fit. This set is specifically tied to her, not reader))

Pt.1, Pt.2

“ Tʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ..”

Staring blankly at the ceiling of her room is where she’d found herself stuck for hours at a time. Her face remained blank as ever but deep inside her emotions were starting to stir up. Deep inside she began to hurt- the kind of hurt that can sometimes be hard to mask or ignore.

Not that that fact stopped her from doing it. She’d be damned if she allowed herself to falter.

She hadn’t expected her words to really push him to make such a choice. To this extent of utter betrayal- if she was honest, she’s not sure what she expected. She only knew what she hoped for and she hated that she allowed herself to do something so stupid.

Hope? That’s something Ty Lee would do. She is not Ty Lee. Not by a long shot- yet she still did something so foolish. She still had hoped he’d turn around- come to his senses and realize.. realize what? Who was she to say what he should feel when she couldn’t even control what she felt? She wanted to be angry, wanted to just.. gut punch him the next time she saw him.

Sure, she’s the one that pushed him away but.. she wanted a different outcome. She just wanted... something else- but she also wanted him to not be so miserable. It was clear he wasn’t happy here. It was clear he had many regrets in regards to how he was able to come back.

She wanted him to be happy- she didn’t want to be used.

What she got in return was some stupid letter- just some dumb letter. All this time spent- all this nonsense. Years spent wishing he’d be allowed back home or that he’d at least speak to her without anyone else around and all she gets is a letter.

She gets this and what does the other girl get? Some low-class peasant not even of full Fire Nation blood? She gets to be around him- be with him if the circumstances are right.

She wants to be angry at them both- but is it right to? Is any of this right?

She continues to question herself as the time passes. Even as she gets a golden opportunity to tear right into him- to go off- to have him suffer.

“I’m sorry.”, he says, gently so. “I shouldn’t have- it was never my intention to hurt you like that. To just.. use your feelings. I thought I was where I was supposed to be.”

She makes a face, “Yeah. Your letter sounds so very sorry. You betrayed the nation for one peasant-”

“I didn’t betray my nation! I’m saving it- it’s not just about you or her and.. she’s not a peasant.”, his last words hit her harder. He didn’t say them any different. He was just quieter. Defensive. “Even if she was, it would mean that a peasant has more class than any of us.”

That stung a bit- if only because she wanted to be the one he defended so passionately. To be truly loved by him... what must that feel like.. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”, she says, “You betrayed her too. You’re just full of bad choices.”

It was a low blow and she knew it. It almost hurt her to say it but she was so angry-

“I know. I’m trying to right them. Even if I don’t get what I’m hoping for.”

“You think fixing them by hurting others is what will work? You-”

“I’m not trying to hurt anyone! I haven’t hurt anyone else back there but you and I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you face to face. I’m sorry all you got was a piece of paper. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was wrong to do what I’ve done! I’ve been wrong for a long time but I’m trying! I know just apologizing isn’t enough but right now I have other things to deal with! This war is literally life or death for the whole world!”, he takes in a deep breath, “Mai. I really am sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have gone out with you when I knew deep down it wasn’t what I truly wanted. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.”

She had to turn away from him, to look away to readjust the mask she kept constantly. It couldn’t fall, not here and now. She’s silent for a bit before speaking again, “You better right things with her or I’ll never forgive you.”

She had said it quietly, and continued to speak it though a guard had burst through the door. She can’t be sure if he heard her or not, even though the look he gave her as he shut the door held the answer.

Mai had made her decision. It was final and clear. Enough to shock a friend she thought held her dear.

Azula was starting to derail- she couldn’t see what she was becoming.

“You miscalculated. I love Zuko more than I fear you.”

“No you miscalculated! You should have feared me more!”, she shouts, readying for an attack, “He doesn’t even love you- you dare betray me for something so shallow?! He’s all about that peasant!”

“I know. I’ll get over it eventually.”

Mai braces herself, readying a counter attack despite knowing Azula’s bending is more powerful. Azula has always been precise- she shot the Avatar down without blinking. She-

A raw gasp broke through her inner thoughts.

Ty Lee.

“C’mon we gotta get out of here!”

It was no use though. Guards surrounded them instantly. They would be prisoners for now, thrown into the farthest cell away from Azula. Mai wanted to say it hurt, crazy or not, Azula was once her friend. However Azula is not who she was. Her use of fear wasn’t right or fair.

It hurt, but not as badly as it should- at least not on her end..

Three long nights. Zuko had left for three long nights and something had told you it wasn’t for food. Deep in your gut you knew it wasn’t. He wouldn’t have looked at you like that the night before he left if it was just some trip. His absence gave you time to think. To be a bit more rational- calmer, in deciding if you even want to hear him out. He’d tried to do so a few times before he left, but in your anger you ignored him.

What if you never saw him again? What if this was just a trip, would you feel differently? Or were you looking for a reason to justify talking to him. A reason better than simply wanting to.

You couldn’t deny you were weak for him.

When he finally returned, you learned he traveled to a high security prison with Sokka. To find his Dad and within that time he’d also found his girlfriend Suki.

Something like that could not be fake- risking your own life in a high security prison- in a nation you betrayed.. for someone you’d only just grown to be friendly with?

Zuko was changing, you felt it. You had pure proof of it and oh how you begged for it to be true. To be hurt a third time? There would be no coming back from it.

“Zuko.”, you whisper while he stands off to the side.

He flinches but turns to look at you. Shock covers his face,”..yes?”

“...Let’s talk..”, you say, and finally, you reach for him. You lightly but hesitantly take his wrist. He lets you lead him to wherever you need to go.

In all the happy reunions, no one notices you two disappearing into the night.

“ Bᴇғᴏʀᴇ I ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ?”

Pt.4

[dreadwulf]

The scars of your love, they leave me breathless

The prisoner lies unmoving in a darkened tent.

Her wrists and ankles are chained heavily and staked to the dirt below. They needn’t have bothered. Though she was as dangerous once as anyone alive, there is no spirit left in her now. What lies bound and chained on the ground is only a body.

The prisoner had been a hedge knight, armed and armored. She is also a woman, though one might have to unclothe her to be sure. Tall and broad, well-muscled and masculine, and ugly besides. Her face is scarred horrifically, her body bruised and broken. She does not appear to have any fight left in her, but still they chain her to be certain. 

Beauty, they call her mockingly. Once she had been astonished at the consistency of her nickname, how from place to place it would follow her among strangers like a stray dog trailing behind her. No one can resist the irony of her hulking form with a name so delicate and pretty, and every man thinks themselves brilliant for thinking of it anew. In this camp here she no longer takes note of her nickname. She hears very little now.

Since they brought her to the Lannister camp, Brienne has done nothing but lie here lifelessly in the dark.

Soldiers come in from time to time. They sneer at her, check her bindings and change her bandages with rough hands. Each time she expects, dully, that this is when they will beat her, rip the clothes from her, but their manhandling is half-hearted at best and she remains unmolested. Brienne the Beauty is too hideous for that, she is told. There is some grumbling about orders, that she is to be kept undamaged, and that is a mockery as well. There is nothing undamaged about her. 

Brienne the Beauty. She knew that woman once. Even that is a distant memory. Now she is Brienne the Beaten, Brienne the Broken. 

She has betrayed everyone. The Starks will remember only that she broke faith with Catelyn Stark and absconded with the Kingslayer. The Brotherhood Without Banners calls her Kingslayer’s Whore and the Lannister Camp calls her beast and traitor. She brought Jaime Lannister to Lady Stoneheart to save her squire Podrick, and now Jaime imprisons her and Pod is gone. Hyle Hunt is gone. Her magic sword is gone, her horse and her armor and the shield she had brought with her from Tarth. All gone. She has failed in her knightly quest, failed in her life. Failed King Renly, failed her father, failed her Lady Catelyn, failed Podrick Payne and Hyle Hunt, failed Jaime Lannister. She has had nothing but her honor to sustain her, and now she has no honor left. 

And what is she without her honor? What use is she, what is the point of her? Without that she is only a body, as battered and broken as it is. Without it she is nothing.

There is nothing more for her in this world but the stubborn insistence of her body to keep living, her lungs still breathing and her heart still beating. But even that will cease, given time. 

The hours crawl by while she is awake and dreaming she slides into horror. 

She is hanging. Hanging and choking and clawing at the air. And all around her are all the people she has failed, in a ring surrounding her. As the rope twists she can see each face in turn, spinning and spinning, and it seems to go on forever. So many faces. Her father, Renly, Septon Merribald, Catelyn Stark, Randall Tarly, her old quartermaster, Ronnet Connington, half a hundred more she cannot put a name to. She wants to beg them all for forgiveness, but she can’t breathe. She pulls urgently at the rope around her neck, trying to loosen it enough to get the words out, but she can only rasp and suck in small gasps of air that taste like death and decay. It goes on and on, the world spinning around her while her life drains out. Kicking, dying, issuing faint, animal cries for mercy.

No matter where her dreams begin they end here, with the agonizing pain of the noose choking the life from her as the onlookers cheer. She wakes gasping for air and feeling for the rope around her neck and it is no better. Awake there is no ending to her suffering. Her wounds pain her, old and new, and the knowledge of her betrayal pains her even more. Somewhere beyond this tent is Jaime and he will not come to her. Her most painful wound is from him, a dagger sunk into her shoulder without hesitation or mercy. It throbs even now, and bleeds through the bandages still tied there.

The last she had seen of him, he had cursed her for a traitor and ordered her taken captive by his arriving reinforcements, lead by the silent headsman Ser Illyn Payne. Somehow he had followed them, turned back, and brought a rescue party. Somehow he had been in time to stop the Brotherhood from murdering his liege lord. He had not been in time to stop her betrayal of him, his capture at her hands. 

Ser Illyn had dragged her away from Lady Catelyn’s body. Threw Brienne over a horse and rode her roughly to a new camp, somewhere in the Riverlands, she knows not where. She could hardly see her surroundings during the ride for weeping. Then she had been thrust into irons and left here, alone, ever since. 

Periodically a bowl of stew is put before her, which she ignores. She has no stomach for it, no use for food anymore.

A guard kicks her when he comes to collect her bowl. “Eat up, Beauty. The Lord Commander will have my head if you don’t get a meal in you before we march.” Later he kicks her again, but it does not improve her appetite. The bowl is taken away untouched.

She is wasting away, drifting. It is almost peaceful, to leave behind the striving and struggle. Hope is a cruel weight, and without it she is light as a feather.  

But when she closes her eyes…

A weight atop her heavy as a boulder that she cannot lift with all of her strength, pinning her back to the ground. A weight that claws and scrambles and tears into her with teeth like knives. Biter. Biter tearing at her face, Biter eating her flesh. And all around a faceless crowd of soldiers from the Baratheon camp, from the Lannister camp, from the Vale Knights, from every camp she had ever encountered, watching her struggle and die and doing nothing. They could even be cheering, but she cannot hear them over the wet ripping sound of another bite –

Brienne jerks awake from these violent dreams out of breath and with her heart racing. Such terror afflicts her in these moments that she cannot take in where or when she is or what danger exactly surrounds her. She reaches out for Oathkeeper every time, hands fumbling at her waist where her sword-belt should be, at the space beside her where she would keep it at the ready. Her magic sword can soothe her at such times, and just to hold it in her hands makes her feel protected and strong. But Oathkeeper is gone. Jaime took it from her, when he locked her in shackles. 

Oathkeeper comforts her as much for its deadly effectiveness as for the memory it brings of the man who bestowed it on her, she is beginning to realize. The blade has been her connection to Jaime, and when she holds it, she feels him with her. Her protector. Her source of strength. Now its absence punctuates the breaking of that connection. Her hands fumbling in the dark cannot find the lion pommel that her fingers know so well, and she remembers now that Jaime despises her.

She remembers this and shuts her eyes against the reality of her surroundings, the hard iron around her wrists and ankles. She would rather sleep and dream of dying than live in a nightmare she cannot wake from. 

At last, in the monotony of her drifting days, a well-familiar voice interrupts her half-dreaming state.

“You aren’t eating.”

She doesn’t look at him, nor reply. In the corner of her eye she can still see his shape hovering there in the flap of the tent, shifting unsteadily, unable to hold still.

“If you intend to spite me by starving to death, you should know it’s a very slow process. We will have reached King’s Landing before that can happen.”

He says it casually, almost conversationally. There is only a hint of the bitter edge in his voice that she knows she will see on his face, if she can bring herself to look.

“You have to eat,” he insists strangely.

Why? What would be the point? It doesn’t matter even enough to respond. She just looks at his shadow stretching across the ground, how it reaches past her, carried in the moonlight.

There is a rustling sound, and then movement. The tent flap closes, and the moonlight winks out. The shadow is replaced with fine leather boots, and Brienne has to close her eyes.

Then he is crouching down beside her.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time pondering what to do with you,” Jaime Lannister says quietly, directly above her face.

He waits.

“Are you going to ask me what I’ve decided?” He pauses again. She can feel his eyes on her steadily. “No interest?”

His presence sparks something in her, feeble but present. She is more awake than she has been in days. Her wounds ache in his presence. The one in her shoulder sharpest of all. 

“Come now, you are disappointing me. Where has your cunning gone? You playacted so earnestly to entice me to my doom, and now you lay there like a lump. Will you not argue for your release, at least?”

She has nothing to say to that. There is nowhere for her to go, if he releases her. 

Her inaction is upsetting him. She is realizing it slowly, but can’t understand. She is so tired. She wants everything to be over.

He repeats his order, a little bit louder. “You have to eat.”

“What for?” she murmurs weakly.

He comes nearer, satisfied perhaps that at last she has responded to him. “Your wounds won’t heal if you don’t eat.”

Her wounds won’t heal anyway. She is more wounds than flesh at this point. Why is he bothering with her? He should go away and let her sleep.

Confused, she opens one eye and takes in his blurry shape. When she glimpses his face she gasps, despite herself. He looks awful. There are dark rings around his eyes, and a cut on his forehead from the melee with the Brotherhood. He looks pale and exhausted, aged, haunted. 

“You stabbed me,” she says in a hoarse whisper.

He makes a noise that resembles a laugh, but sounds a little more like a punch in the stomach. “You betrayed me. How else should I respond?”

Does that make them even? Probably not. She is chained to a stake in the ground. That does not suggest forgiveness is in the offering.

He goes on. “Let’s have it then, your excuses. You did not mean to do it. You were forced into it. Your liege lady commanded you and you had to obey. Which tale will you go with? Tell it to me.”

Jaime’s voice breaks on this last and he glares at her, furious, or so she thinks.

It will do no good. She could tell him any number of things, and it will not matter. Her reasons are not reason enough, and anyway he will not believe her. 

She stays silent, watching him.

“Do you mean to die now? Is that what this is?” His words are heavier now, laden with feeling. “But you will not die. After all this? You should be enjoying your victory. You had me fooled, Brienne of Tarth. You made me believe in honor and justice again. Me, the Oathbreaker, the man without honor. A stunning achievement. You should be proud.”

He doesn’t wait for her to reply this time. 

“I suppose I should thank you. Here I have been wasting my time trying to make a hero of myself, and you have reminded me of what I truly am. It does not matter what I do, my whole life long. I shall always be a villain. The Smiling Knight forever.”

He laughs at it again, and it is awful.

“How is it you are suffering so? Do you mourn your liege lady? Don’t take well to imprisonment? Sore loser? Or do you expect a cruel fate at my hands? Shall I tell you what I have planned?”

She doesn’t mean to speak. The words slip out without her notice, accusingly.

“You stabbed me.”

Jaime seizes her by the shoulders. He moves so suddenly she jerks in surprise, gasping audibly. Before she knows quite what’s happened, he is atop her, holding her down. His lips are pursed in grim determination. But his eyes are wild.

"The neck," he tells her through gritted teeth, his voice lowered, "will kill at the slightest cut. The groin will spit blood to ten paces and empty you in under a minute. The belly - that would kill you slowly. The knee, that long cord at the ankle, you'd live, but you'd never walk rightly again. But here --"

He pushes his hand into her wound roughly, painfully, until his hand is bloody and she is wincing so her face nearly collapses in on itself.

"- this will heal," he finishes, with great emphasis. "It will heal."

He glares at her, wild with worry, completely unable to look away. 

Her mind reassembles itself slowly. Takes in what he has said. 

"I would have-" she tries to say, but he stops her. He cannot help himself.

"You didn't. And now no one we left alive will believe you came willingly. My forces destroyed the Brotherhood, killed their leader, and took you prisoner. When you escape the villainous Kingslayer in the Riverlands you can safely journey North, or wherever decent people go now."

She swallows several objections, her sluggish mind parsing through his intentions. 

He manages to sound accusing and spiteful even as he offers her a lifeline. She cannot understand it.

Escape. He means her to escape. He means to let her go? Why?

"And if I don’t?" she manages to ask.

"We don’t keep prisoners. Do you want to be hanged again?"

She turns her face away from him. That, she does not want. Anything but that.

His hands holding her down grow heavier. The metal hand and the flesh one.

“We will march soon for King’s Landing, and there is no reason I should ever see you again. Is there anything you would tell me? This is your last chance.”

Brienne looks back up at him, as much as it pains her. She owes him that at least.

She remembers the look on his face when the Brotherhood took him. It was not merely betrayal, it was devastation. A wound struck to the core of him, one he would never forgive. She realized then how completely he had trusted her and how badly she had broken him.

She had not thought, in her wildest imaginings, that she could ever hurt him that way. Even knowing she would betray him, she had not known how much he would be injured by it. She shouldn’t have the capacity for that, the power over him. And yet there he was, wounded.

She thinks on it and she looks directly into his eyes, something she has never quite dared to do. Like everything else about him, they are stunning - the green so green, his eyelashes long and delicate and pretty. He is too much for her, she cannot take him in. He is too beautiful, too volatile, too… Jaime. 

She has hardly strength enough to raise her voice, but she spends it here. It is the only thing she wants him to know. 

“Jaime... I am so very sorry...”

Right away she sees that there is nothing she could have said to hurt him more. For a second, he wavers. All around his eyes his face tightens into an expression of deep sorrow. Behind his grass-green eyes she can see the wound that she has struck, raw and bleeding. Then his jaw clenches, and he swallows hard, and he makes himself smile. An awful, painful smile.

“Call me Kingslayer.” 

Then he releases her and rises slowly to his feet. He leaves her alone in the tent, and the nightmare goes on.

[fallenrepublick]

I've had this idea brewing for a while. So, can I request an x reader with Savage Opress? It would be around d the time when Darth Sidious came to Manadalore and before he had a chance to kill Savage, is when the reader, a former jedi who left the order, actually saves him and drive Sidious away. Reader then disappears. Both brothers want to find her now until she is found in the city late at night. Personally, Maul wishes to thank her (wow) and Savage thinks he has found his perfect mate😇

This was really fun to write, because I like writing pieces that put the reader in the middle of events we’ve seen in the shows. It makes me wonder what sort of stuff could have been changed if someone else was there.

Anyhow, I like to think I did this alright. Ah, and I also did my best to incorporate your other request of the reader having Vitiligo. I’m not sure how well I conveyed that, though, so let me know how I did.

You never really understood Maul’s obsession and fear over his late master, Sidious, and as far as you could tell, neither did Savage. Maul was the only one who had really experienced the full brunt of the Sith’s force, which was what was most likely causing intense brooding and long bouts of staring into the darkness encompassing the throne room. You had only heard so much of the power of Sith Lords from various masters back at the temple, though your unexpected “fall from grace” after your love for a certain honey-skinned Nightbrother determined that the path you took was not the one allotted to you by the Jedi, thus depriving you of knowledge that would have been useful in these trying times.

Such was the way of things now, as you and Savage had a remarkably rare moment of peace before returning to duties that would keep you separated until the late hours of the night. He was sitting on a bench in your room with you seated on his left leg, the height difference between you made abundantly clear. One of your hands rested on his chest while he traced the edges of the pale patches marking your arms and face. You always enjoyed when he did it, as if he were intentionally pulling you back to your favorite early memories of your time together, when he took your huge bottle of concealer that you used to cover what you were told to be “abnormalities due to midichlorian complications” from you, and explained that you didn’t need it.

“Our markings are unique to us,” he had said to you, wiping the make-up from your cheeks and neck. “Each line we have is a testament to who we are. You are no exception. These are what gave me pause, made me find beauty in all you were, because each time I see them, I am reminded of every part of you that makes you the woman I love.”

That was then. Now, as you sat with him, fingers drawing lines on your now uncovered skin, you felt yourself growing increasingly concerned at the prospect of an encounter with a deadly dark side user, making your attempts at reminiscing fall flat.

“Is he going to be okay, you think?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy you had built up over the past ten minutes. “He must sense something amiss. He isn’t normally this… depressed.”

Savage sighed, continuing his hand’s movements, yet lifting his eyes to match your gaze. “I want to believe he will be fine. But I feel a growing unease within him. Something is coming, and it will be here soon.”

You stood, taking his hands within your own and pressing your foreheads together. “The darkness that follows him will not hesitate to hurt you, too. If it’s enough to affect your brother this much, I don’t believe for a second that I shouldn’t be worrying about it.”

Something burst through your senses, dragging you out and back to reality. You didn’t know what exactly it was, but the presence was deafening to your mind. The only way to describe the sensation was as if you had given yourself brain freeze directly after eating something incredibly hot. You looked back down at Savage, a grim look replacing the relaxation you had given him only moments before. You began to leave the room, deciding that whatever you had been dreading for a while now had finally made its debut, when your lover pulled your wrist back.

“No,” he said, walking in front of you to the doorway. “I will help my brother. You will remain here until I get back.”

You scoffed. “I’m perfectly capable of holding my own, if you hadn’t noticed. This isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

“If this were any other situation, I swear, I wouldn’t hesitate to bring you. But if what my brother says is true, this Sidious will take advantage of what we have and use it to hurt you. I cannot take that risk.”

“So you really do think it’s Sidious?” You crossed your arms, fearing what would happen if he were right.

“I must act as if it is. I trust my brother’s instincts.” With that, he turned and ran from the room, already pulling his saber from his belt. Thanks, that was comforting.

The situation definitely wasn’t ideal. As it stood, controlling Mandalore was shaky to say the least, and any sort of infiltration, personal or otherwise, would prove problematic if it came down to who was in charge. It was one thing to be the invader, but it was another to be invaded. You paced the room, weighing your options, trying to find any workaround for leaving the room and helping. But it all circled back to that one thing. How much worse would it be if you did try to help them? Would it be worse to be discovered?

Logic might have sufficed normally, but you didn't have to use logic to know that the sound of smashing glass from the throne room was something you didn't want to hear. If he finds me out, he finds me out. You dashed out of the room, saber hilt in hand, the rubber soles of your boots nearly giving way as they struggled to keep up with your speed. Every step felt like the beat of your heart, practically screaming at you not to go towards whatever horrific situation you would find. You might have listened to your heart before, but now your life wasn’t the only one you had to worry about. Debris from the walls scattered the floor when you came in, but where they had gone was no mystery. Using the force to propel you up, you leapt through the gaps and came upon the battleground.

It most definitely was Sidious down there, red sabers clashing with those of the two Zabraks, laughing like a maniac as the fighting dragged on below. Each contact sent out bursts of white light amongst the darkness. Each party was certainly skilled, but there was an amusement in Sidious’s demeanor that concerned you the most. Maul and Savage fought through desperation and the urgent need to kill their opponent. Sidious… was playing with his food.

You jumped down silently, staying out of sight as Sidious managed to separate Savage from Maul, who remained on the higher platform. He sensed you and turned around, surprised at your presence. He wanted to berate you, tell you to go back before something happened. But you were already gone. It just took one last leap of faith. One last attempt to make sure your worst fears were never realized.

And then you were between them, a purple lightsaber blade blocking the two that aimed straight for Savage’s chest. You could sense Savage’s panic behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around.

“Ah yes,” Sidious hissed from beneath his hood. “The defective Jedi. I might’ve known.”

You thrust your lightsaber forward, pushing his blades away from you. “At least I’m not a coward who hides his face behind a cloak,” you growled back.

He came at you, blades rushing, aiming to kill, but you dodged, jumping back, deflecting them with your own saber. Savage tried to intervene, bringing his weapons forward and attempting to fight, but you shoved him back with the force.

You made your choice. The next attack he made, you evaded as well, but took a flip, soaring backwards off of the ledge and using the force to pull Sidious down after you, into the darkness below. Come and get me.

-

Maul’s hearts thudded as he ran down to his brother. Savage stood at the edge of the landing, searching out for any sign of you. Regardless if his brother’s shouts of concern, his thoughts dwelled on your well being.

“Savage, answer me, are you all right?” Maul shook his shoulders with increasing concern.

“Do you see her?” Savage asked, panic lacing his voice as he ignored Maul’s questions. “Where is she?”

Maul sighed, taking his hand off of Savage’s shoulder and peering down into the cavern as well. “It’s difficult to tell. And more likely than not, she wouldn’t have stayed in this area. Sidious is not the stationary type.”

Savage’s breathing quickened, his worry and fear taking over the thoughts in his head. “She saved me… I would have been dead, but she came anyway… But now-”

“But now nothing,” Maul interrupted, turning around and beginning his ascent back to the palace. “We will find her. Your lady is a crafty one, so I’ve no doubt she would have found her way to safety. Besides, I must thank her for what she did. After all, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

Following his footsteps eagerly, Savage hurried to catch up, possibilities already racing through his head. He tried to imagine you again, all the times you told him not to worry so much, your smile warming him to his core. But all he could think of was your absence now. If you had, in fact, escaped, how would you be? What if Sidious had severed a limb? What if you were badly wounded and needed help right away? What if you were unconscious? Savage would never dare forgive himself if anything happened to you. And what if Maul was wrong? What if Sidious had captured you for insurance? Or worse… if he had killed you? Savage nearly collapsed thinking about it. Of course, you could be fine, but his frequent run-ins with misfortune had Savage believing that suffering was inevitable.

The lights of the city blinked in and out as citizens moved beneath them towards their destinations, blocking out the light of the sky above with its pollution. Everyone looked the same to Savage, blank faces and hollow spirits, all blending together with the same patterns of meaningless existence. Not like you. Your radiance had blinded him from the start, but he gladly held onto it with everything he had, knowing that you would be there to guide him as he stumbled.

He normally hated the city, the crowds and noise of the pandemonium seemed pointless and never ending, the artificial lamps and street lights wiping away any stars that you would have seen in the night sky before. But on that night, as he came upon a clearing in the crowds at the opening of a nearby ally, a single star stood alone amongst the chaos, the surface spread across with the markings of galaxies far from reach and the darkness of a thousand cold suns, a cloak encasing, but failing to completely cover the eminence.

He didn’t know what to do. Just the sight of you froze him in place, washing away any words he could have formed before. He came up behind you and took your wrist, holding you carefully as if you were a hallucination. When you turned, your face quickly went from surprise to relief, a small gasp escaping your lips as you smiled.

“Savage,” you whispered, walking back towards him and placing a hand on his chest. “You’re okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said to you, holding your face in his hands. “I was being careless, but if you hadn’t come-”

“I wanted to be there for you, Savage. I knew something would happen, and you know I would never make you face something like that without me. I came for you, because I love you.”

And that thought, that sentence brought him to his reality. That star of his, that light he held that was so much like him, yet so much better, was all he desired. For his hands, the ones that had brought about so much pain and destruction, the ones that belonged to a monster, held perfection.

[alarawriting]

52 Project #28 / Writeober 2020 #8 Haunting: The Court of the Lion King

I returned to the apartment building where Daro and Anzali and I had lived before we went down to the sea. It had not changed in the way buildings change-- its paint was the same color, it seemed no more or less weatherbeaten than before.  The railing on the 3rd floor balcony still sagged.  But it had changed in the way homes change, because it wasn't home any more. Because different people lived there now, filling it with their strange scents, and because I had changed.  The scent of the sea was still in my nostrils. I would never smell the comforts of home again.

Renting the third floor apartment did not present difficulties.  I walked through the silence of the apartment, marveling at its emptiness.  The furniture was still there, the faded rug, the great sagging bed, the tired appliances. But all the personality was gone. Anzali's bright prints had been taken off the walls, which themselves had been whitewashed again to remove our cheery yellow paint.  White is a disturbing color, the color of bones and of drowned skin, pink human and green farla alike.  Even the humans of other colors became gray, in death by water. If I needed to be here long, the white walls would glare in my eyes and drive me mad.  

There was a knock at the door, startling me, and I almost fled.  But it wouldn't be the Lion King, not here, not yet.  He wouldn't know I was back.  I opened the door.

A human greeted me. "Hi there, new neighbor.  I'm Rachael from the second floor apartment. Just thought I'd come say hi. Need help moving in?"

Rachael was chubby – not just by farla standards, but by human – with short brown hair and a squeaky tenor voice. She had pale skin, which she covered with more makeup than most humans, and her chin and brow seemed unusually defined for a female human. "Hello,"  I said distantly.  "I'm Ashmi.  No, I don't need help moving in.  Thanks for asking."

"Oh.  Well, sorry to bother you.  You want to come downstairs for a cup of tea or something? I like to get to know my neighbors.  It cuts down on the insecurity, you know.  Living in a place like this-- well, this isn't the best of neighborhoods, you know?"

"I know,"  I said bitterly, and wondered if this androgynous human knew the Lion King.  I also wondered if I could still drink tea.  I was afraid of my bone-white apartment, and loneliness.  "I'll come downstairs if you want, but I don't know if I'll be able to take tea.  I tend to be allergic to nearly everything."

"Well, come on down. You don't have to have tea if you don't want it.  You're a farla, aren't you?"

I stepped out of my apartment and followed Rachael downstairs.  "You can't tell?"

"You're a bit pale, aren't you? I never saw a farla so white.  I thought you guys were all green.  Not that I think it looks bad, I think you look gorgeous.  At least, I don't know, by human standards or something, but maybe you don't feel good?"

"It's the color we turn when we're away from our Mother,"  I said.  "The Sun.  It is not a well color, and I thank you for your concern, but really, don't worry about me."

Rachael's apartment smelled like cats.  Unsurprisingly, three came to greet Rachael, and another one sat on a moth-eaten armchair and glowered at me.  The cats seemed unsure of me.  Farla generally get along well with cats, sometimes better than with the humans who brought them, and I had always liked them.  These, however, avoided me, and I avoided them.  Rachael noticed.  "Don't you like cats?"

There is one Cat that I despise.  But I wouldn't say so.  These cats were nothing of the Lion King.  "They're all right.  These don't seem to like me."

"That's funny.  Normally they're all over strangers.  What's wrong, guys? You being little bitches today?"  Rachael turned to me apologetically.  "They get like this sometimes."

"I don't blame them."  I took a deep breath of cat-scented air.  It was not quite enough to drown out the scent of the sea.  "Forgive me for my ignorance.  I'm not very experienced with humans, but...  you are a woman, aren’t you?”

Rachael laughed. "Already? That’s great!"

"I don’t understand."

"I’ve been trying."  The human went into the kitchen to put on tea.  "Just managed to get on hormones two weeks ago. This place, well. Not a lot of doctors, and the mail’s not too reliable."

"What do doctors and the mail have to do with your – no. This is none of my concern, I’m being very rude."

"From a farla, I’m okay with it,"  Rachael said, coming out with the tea. “I’m a woman, but I only figured it out for certain a year ago, and it’s taken me this long to get the hormones I need.”

“I didn’t know humans could have an ambiguous gender," I said.

“Yeah, sometimes we’re born with the wrong genitals and hormones, and it can be hard to figure out what we really ought to be. I’m thirty-five. I don’t know if farlae age like humans do, but that’s, like, more than a third of a human’s maximum average lifespan, more than half of how long we usually do live when we grow up in neighborhoods like this. I didn’t grow up here, though, but just a few cities over, not so close to the water, but other than that it’s just like this. So that’s a long time to not know, but I know it now. Gonna start growing my hair out now that I have my shots.”

I doubted the other city was really just like this. This city was different from any I had known. "I see,"  I said, though I didn't really understand most of what she was talking about.  I tried to smell the tea, but I could only smell salt water.

"Do you want something? Some water? I feel bad that you're allergic to tea and all."

What I needed, Rachael could not give me.  Or at the least, I would not take from her.  "That's fine.  I'm all right."  I had not been all right since we went to the sea.  I no longer even knew how many years it had been.  "How long have you been living here?"

"Oh, a year and a half or so.  It's a bad neighborhood, but it's cheap.  You know how it is.  Hard to get work nowadays."

I didn't know how it was, but I nodded politely.  "Yes."

"Now that I’m out, a lot of humans won’t hire me. This is the kind of neighborhood where they’ve got really old, traditional attitudes, you know? And I guess you've got it worse.  Not many farlae here."

"This was a farla neighborhood once,"  I said. "An artists' community.  It was poor, but it had a soul."

"Well, it hasn't got one now,"  Rachael said, with an edge of bitterness in her voice.  "That's just like us humans.  We wreck everything."

"You feel too much guilt.  This may be a human neighborhood now, but its soullessness is not human doing." Panic choked me like seaweed as I realized I'd said too much.  I had lost my old instincts-- I had no way to know if Rachael was the Lion's or not.

"You talk like you've been here before."

"I must go." I got up, hastily.  "I'm sorry."

"Uh, okay. Health problems or something? Or was it something I said?"

"Health problems," I lied.  "Perhaps we'll talk again.  I'm sorry."

***

I locked the door of my apartment behind me.  It wasn't necessary; what I feared could come through walls, and there were no mundane threats I did fear anymore.  But it would disturb me if Rachael came upstairs and came inside while I wasn't watching.  I wanted to be careful of what she might see.  

I thought she was a sweet, harmless soul, if a bit strange.  I would wish to befriend her, another time, perhaps, but not here.  Not where anything might warp under the paw of the Lion.  I could see the signs she'd spoken of now.  This place no longer had a soul.

Once Daro had argued that humans could be rendered soulless, could be enslaved, far more easily than the farlae.  Farlae, he argued, had been created as slaves, and would die free rather than live that way again.  Humans, freely evolved, knew no better.  Slavery was a sporadic thing in their history and was performed by groups of them on other groups, never something their race as a whole had suffered.  So they did not notice being enslaved.  They couldn't see the loss of their souls until after the precious stuff was gone.

At the time I had called Daro racist, but secretly suspected some part of his theory to be true.  Now I knew better.  Farlae had fled this neighborhood because they'd heard of our fate, I thought.  And humans moved in simply by the laws of diffusion, there being more of them on this world than us.  Unaware of the danger until it was too late.  Farlae would notice an absence of farlae, and stay away, feeling unwelcome. Humans, the majority, had no such warning system.

And farlae could be enslaved, stripped of will or soul.  Sometimes the choice was not between slavery or death.  Sometimes it was between two forms of slavery.

I thought I could sleep. But the bed would not touch me. When I closed my eyes and lay down, I felt myself in my ocean bed once more, curled like a child in the womb, the green water penetrating me and washing my thoughts away.  It didn't matter.  I didn't need sleep anyway.

I left my apartment and went to explore the neighborhood by night.  It had changed physically after all.  No one I'd known would have allowed their apartments to become so run-down, let so much trash collect in the streets, or left broken, melted vehicles like mountains of plastic on the sides of the roads.  Aside from me, no woman walked abroad, and I was invisible if I chose. Gangs of young male humans lounged about, predators waiting for prey.  Empty drug vials and used-up dermal patches littered the sidewalks and the paths between the buildings.  

The Lion King's place alone had grown in splendor.  His nightclub, Heaven, looked positively palatial, glittering with light and music. He sat in the center of the neighborhood, with a vast spiderweb thrown in the air about him of parking for aircars. There were no longer any grounded streets leading to his court, and all the buildings that used to stand around Heaven had been swallowed by the glittering fibers of the parking web. From the ground, only someone light as a wraith could climb the web to reach the cars, as I did; the human children down below could see fat, juicy prey overhead, but had no way to reach it. They were driven sullen, reminded of what they didn't have and could never get, made impotent by the Lion. And so in impotent fury they raged against those that had no more than they-- which was why no one walked alone on the night streets, and no women walked at all.

This was what I saw when the Lion King first arrived.  But then it was only a vision in a dream-clouded farla's mind.  I didn't truly know what the Lion King truly was until the day he summoned me to his court.  None of us knew.  I tried to tell myself that, to remind myself that Daro and Anzali's fate was not my fault. I didn't believe my own reassurances at all.

The club itself was the last place I went, that night.  Invisible to almost all, I wandered the two dance floors, peered in some of the upstairs bedrooms and slipped back out again.  Heaven had grown more openly decadent since last I was here, with more bedrooms for the transactions of perversion and vice.  They were no longer hidden away on the top floor, available only to members of the Lion's court.  I saw businessmen cavorting in swimming pools with women who were no more than animated shells, the vivacity that seemed to pour from them as artificial as the sunlamp light that glittered off the pool.  I saw humans and farlae both drugged out of their minds, performing obscene rituals of life and death for an appreciative audience of both races. I saw other humans and farlae voluntarily drinking down hells'brews, filling their bodies with a greater variety and concentration of drugs than even the poor victim-slaves had been poisoned with.  And none of them saw me.  I didn't expect humans to see me, but the fact that I was invisible even to farlae said that the farlae in this establishment were all spiritually dead.

None of this surprised me. It filled me with hate, but hate gave me strength.  I remembered what had been done to me, what had happened to my husband and wife, and why I was here.  I decided to risk finding the Lion King.

***

The topmost floor of Heaven was the Lion King's court.  One could not get in without an invitation, but in a sense the Lion had tendered me an invitation all those years ago.  In any case, only the Lion himself could have kept me out, and he didn't man his own doors.

I saw him on his throne, with four scantily-clad women serving him.  Two were human, one was farla, and one was as he was, part cat. The humans once manufactured other humans with the blood of animals mingled with their own.  Normally cat-humans manifested only with cat-shaped eyes and bodies far more graceful than a typical human body.  The Lion King himself was thought a mutant or a throwback, or else something entirely inhuman, with his features subtly shaped to seem more cat than human, and his curly golden hair almost a mane.  He was feeding from one of the human women as he held her in his lap.  The others were massaging him or stroking his hair, oblivious to the bloody fate of their companion.  Favored courtiers, men and unattractive women, competed for his attention, praising him and giving him information on his business.

He could not speak as he drank, but eventually he released the woman he was feeding from.  She dropped to the floor in a heap, and I shuddered.  In my time, his habits were not quite so open.  I turned and left as I heard his voice.  It was deep and mellifluous, no different than I remembered it, and I feared that my hate would choke me and I'd do something rash.  I hadn't come all this way to throw away my best chance.

***

In the morning, I went to visit Rachael.  My sight of the Lion King had fortified me, and I no longer cared if she was his creature or not.  I needed information.

"Hey, Ashmi!" she said cheerfully, answering my knock in a bathrobe.  "Want to come in and get some breakfast?"

"I'd like to come in, in any case,"  I said, "though I've already eaten."

"Oh.  Well, if you don't mind watching me eat, come on in. I was kind of hoping you'd come in."  She stared at me as I entered the cat-full apartment and seated myself.  "God, you're gorgeous.  I'd give anything to look like you."

"If you would give what I have given, you're a fool,"  I said softly.

"What?"

"Beauty is only a danger, in a place like this.  I need information, Rachael; about the Lion King.  What do you know?"

She swallowed. "Um.  I don't think it's safe to talk about him..."

"It's safe.  No one is listening, I am not an informant, and if you are I don't care.  Tell me what you know about the Lion King."

"I don't think--"

I stood up again, and stared into her eyes.  I let her see a small fraction of what I truly was.  "Tell me."

"Oh, God." She stared at me with fear, not envy, now.  "You're-- you're not--"

"I am not. Yes.  I won't hurt you, Rachael, not unless you keep information from me."

"No wonder you didn't want to eat."  She swallowed again.  "All right.  I don't know much-- I'm too ugly for the Lion and too poor to go to his club.  But I know what everyone in the neighborhood knows. He's not human, for starters.  I mean, more than the way you're-- uh, maybe the way you're not.  Um.  I mean, he isn't natural.  He isn't just a catperson, he's something else. Something else totally."

"Yes.  Something that can strip away a will, or a soul."

"And pretty girls have got to go to him, if he wants them.  He doesn't take them all.  And most of the ones he takes come back, though they don't remember much about what happened, and they're usually not so pretty anymore.  Some of them, though-- some of them don't come back at all."

"How do the girls go to him? How are they chosen?"

"Anytime someone new moves in, his people check to see if there's a pretty girl in with them. They'll probably come to take you tonight.  If there are any remotely pretty girls, they go with the Lion King's men, and they get presented to him in his court.  And if he likes them, they stay there."

"Yes.  It was not the same in my time, but it was similar." A fierce pain beat at me from within. "What of those who won't submit?"

"The Lion King's bullyboys don't give you a choice.  You have to go with them."

I smiled bitterly and looked hard at Rachael.  "You wanted to be my friend.  Yet you made no attempt to warn me-- though you thought I was beautiful, and that must have meant you knew the Lion King's men would come for me."

"I was scared," Rachael whispered, looking down. "If I'd warned you, and you'd run away...  and he found out..."

"You might find yourself walking to the ocean,"  I agreed.  "No, I suppose it doesn't matter."

"Ah--" Rachael looked up.  "Did it happen to you? Did you..."

"When the Lion King first came,"  I said, "I lived in the apartment I live in now, with my husband and my wife, Daro and Anzali."

"Your wife?" Rachael sounded startled, and then nodded.  "Oh, right.  Farlae live with two women and a man, don't they? I'd forgot."

"The Lion King summoned me.  He had less power in those days, but he was less well known as well.  I thought he would be a patron for my art, so I went willingly enough."  I lost myself in memory a moment.  

We had such bright happy lives then, and knew nothing of it.  We had problems with bills, lovers' quarrels, emotional intrigues with the rest of the farla community, and we thought those were troubles.  I was a naive innocent when I went to see the Lion King, thinking he had heard of my art.  But what he wanted was not what I had created.  What he wanted...  was what I was.

The demand was for my body. I knew it went deeper than that. Farlae tend to be more sensitive to such things than humans; it was my soul he wanted, and I knew it.  I refused.  He threatened to kill me, to kill my husband and wife.  I told him that all of us would rather die free than live as soulless slaves.

I looked up, shaking myself free of memory.  "I was a naive fool,"  I said harshly.  "But the Lion King has no more power over me."  I stood up.  "Rachael, I forgive you for not warning me.  But if you tell the Lion King of his danger, or give him or anyone else any information concerning me, I will kill you slowly.  Do you understand me?"

She nodded, shivering. She knew what I was capable of.

***

They came for me that night.

I feigned sleep, lying on the sagging mattress in the semblance of a nightgown, waiting for them. They unlocked my door and shook me, roughly, thinking they were waking me.  "Get up.  You've been summoned to the palace of the Lion King."

So even he called it a palace now.  I looked at them with dazed eyes.  "Do I have time to get into some clothes?"

One of them snickered. "Why bother? You'll just be taking them off again anyway."  They all laughed.

I went with them in my nightgown and my artfully disheveled hair, out to their aircar and from there to Heaven.  They brought me to the top floor, to the court of the Lion King.  And I stood before the creature who'd destroyed my life, and felt the hatred surging in me, giving me strength.  On the outside, I showed frightened, sleep-bewildered eyes, the face of a beautiful innocent.

"What is your name, girl?"  he asked me. His voice was beautiful, rich and deep as the sea.  

"Ashmi,"  I whispered, letting myself tremble.  I looked down at my feet, at the enamel floor, and forced myself to see a reflection.

"Ashmi,"  he said reflectively.  "I knew a farla named Ashmi once.  Years ago...  She looked much like you, but not as pale.  And she gave me trouble.  You won't give me trouble, girl, will you?"

"You should know what happens to those who resist the Lion King,"  one of his courtiers hissed.

"Disrobe," he ordered.

I stripped, letting the nightgown pool around my feet, and turned around for him like a bird on a spit as he ordered me to.  Finally he smiled, showing sharp teeth.  "She'll do.  Take her to my chambers and have her wait."

I scooped up the nightgown and slipped back into it.  Once I was in his chambers, alone, I let it disperse into mist.  I sat on his bed, naked, and remembered our journey to the sea.

He had demanded me, body and soul.  I'd refused, and he'd laughed.  "You have spirit, don't you,"  he said. "Go home then.  Go on back to your husband and wife.  I have no shortage of beautiful women, that I need to trouble myself with you."

And gods help me, I thought I was free.  I ran back to Daro and Anzali, to tell them what had happened, to seek their comfort. I ran up the stairs to the apartment, and into Daro's spotless kitchen, where the two of them had stayed up late, waiting for me.

But as I met their eyes, a compulsion struck, consuming the three of us.  I explained nothing-- I couldn't speak.  All I knew was that I had to go down to the sea and die, and that my loves felt the same way.

We left the apartment, holding hands, and began to walk.  We felt as if we were in a dream, inexplicably shared.  The empathic bond between us had twined around us all, dragging us down together.  Perhaps this was intended to be my private nightmare, and the bond I had with my loves, the linkage between our minds, pulled them down with me.  Or perhaps the Lion King had always intended to send us all. Throughout the night we walked, slowly, in a daze.  The sea was normally half an hour's journey by aircar.  On foot, holding hands and walking with dreamlike slowness, it took us all of the night and most of the next day.  We were exhausted, but there was never any question of stopping.  The sea pulled us with some strange gravity. Hydrotropic, we flowed down the path of least resistance, through the city and out, until we came to a cliff over the ocean.

I felt their love for me, and mine for them.  I felt an overwhelming despair and exhaustion, a hunger for the ocean's balm. We looked at each other and nodded. Then we released one another, and separately we leapt into the sea.

Daro and Anzali were dashed against the rocks at the bottom, immediately.  I fell into a deeper part, cushioned by water, and curled up in green darkness to sleep my despair away.

***

The Lion entered the room, awakening me from my reverie.  "Good.  You've got your clothes off."  He smiled at me ferally.  On him, it was more of a baring of teeth than a smile, and spoke of hunger.  "Lie down."

He removed his own clothes and came to touch me, to cover me with his lightly furred body.  "Gods of hell, you're cold, woman.  What have you been doing, standing on the balcony with your clothes off?"  

"It's a cold night,"  I whispered.

"I'll warm you, then."  His hands had articulated digits, but furred fingers and pads on his palms.  With these paws, he explored my body, finding no body heat anywhere.  Alarmed, he licked at my neck, and when he found the reassuring taste of salt there bit in, drinking what ran through my veins.

What he needed was blood. All I had was seawater.

The Lion King jerked away, spluttering, and stared down at me.  I smiled at him, the same baring of teeth he'd shown me.  

"You knew me," I said.  "Many years ago.  And I gave you trouble."

He tried to back away then. But I grabbed him and pulled him down to the bed, pinning him under my weight, the weight of the ocean.  I opened my jaws wide and let the semblance of normalcy fall from me, showing myself as I truly was-- a skeleton animated by seawater, a demon driven by hate.  He screamed. I dove upon his throat and tore at it, drinking his hot blood as my claws dug into other parts of his body, tearing flesh away.

The Lion's life force was strong, fed by the blood of innocence and whatever demons he served. But my hate was stronger.  He fought me, digging his teeth into my neck once more.  All he drank was seawater.  He tried to drink that, hoping to weaken me, but he might as well have tried to drink the ocean dry.  I drank his blood and it was finite, though fortified with the blood of many victims. I ate bits of his flesh, torn away. As his struggles weakened, I released his neck and burrowed my face into his belly, chewing through the flesh. Drenched in blood, I reached my bony hand into the opening I'd made and clawed through his liver and lungs. Finally I tore out his heart and showed it to him.  He died then.

The air was filled with a rustling noise.  The souls he had stolen from young women, from men, from the neighborhood itself, fled from the punctured hole in his body.  Some were partially consumed, and would never be strong again.  The sight renewed my hatred, though my enemy was dead and his soul bound to the darkness.

For this moment alone I had the power.  I had stolen the life force of the Lion King, and I had within me the strength of the sea and the energy of my hate.  I could have called a tidal wave to destroy Heaven and all the tormentors within. The tormented would die as well, but that would be only a blessing, I felt.  The neighborhood would be destroyed, but there was nothing in this blasted ruin of a hometown worth keeping anymore, was there? Destroy it all and let the survivors rebuild.  Yes.  I felt the charge build within me, and almost gave myself over to it.

But then Rachael would die as well.  And she was an innocent, who had kept her soul, though the paw of the Lion had undoubtedly started to warp her.  She had not warned me, but she'd tried to befriend me, as best she could with her fear of the Lion King.  If I killed her with a tidal wave, I was no better than the Lion King, killing as it suited me.

There would be no tidal wave.  I let the energy fade away.  Let someone else save the city; I had done my part.  I was so tired.

It was time to return to my ocean bed, and to my loves.  I faded away, and let myself turn into mist, carried back to the sea.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

May I request where Haru mom is out of prison I guess. Like she try to take Haru back till she sees overhaul s/o with the kids along with haru. This is where she goes with her plan and try to stalk them. Surprisingly haru mom took Overhaul s/o and Haru and things got ugly. So kaito and kin run back home and tell them what happen. I'll let you decide how things end n.n

Jesus Christ you want TWO KILLING MACHINES in here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could won a trophy at your abilities of maintaining three kids from the yakusa as perfect little angels... even if sometimes they weren't.

Especially the two older ones... Kaito and Haru.

Both being the exact same copies as your husband and Kurono it was quite difficult to control them, but miracles existed. Because these two adored you.

Today you offered to look after them while Chisaki and Kurono were dealing with some things. Both seemed to be hesitant about it, but they were really too busy to argue.

Especially Hari, since he was a single parent and didn't exactly have anyone to take care of his daughter while busy...

Kai of course had to send a body guard, his paranoia was too strong, to accompany you and the kids to the park... a park.

You honestly were already used to it but still bothered it sometimes...

"Look mommy there is a playground on there!" Kaito pointed while Kin gasped in awe.

"Can we go? Can we go?" Your little girl tugged on your shirt, begging with golden shiny eyes.

"Alright. Go have fun!" You exclaimed before you noticed that Haru hadn't moved a muscle. "Ne Haru-chan? Not going?"

"Uh.. yeah is just that... I wanted to talk with you for a moment mrs Chisaki."

You looked in concern at the girl but nodded anyways, looking at the guard and calling for him, asking if he could look at your kids for a moment.

"Its a pleasure looking at Overhaul's kids madam." The guy bowed before following two dark brow haired little deviants.

"So?" Ýou crouched up to be in eye level with her and smiled "What's on your head?"

"N-Nothing much!" She waved her hands before smiling shyly "Is just that I've been thinking on asking something. Kaito is always calling my dad his uncle... so is fair if I want to call you a aunt?"

"... sweety you can call me whatever you want and I would be grateful." You said normally making her giggle.

Seing her reaction was rare but extremely worth it, after all that she's been through, you couldn't budge it. Only fell a extreme pity and concern for Kurono...

"So there are you." A woman voice spoked and those grey eyes of Haru went wide in horror, looking at the figurine behind you.

You took a peak behind you and all of your body tensed at seing the so familiar woman that tormented Kurono's and the intere yakusa's lifes for months... you remember the rage and disgust on your husband's face at having to deal with 'Chrono's mess' as he referred.

You got up quickly and stayed in front of Haru.

"May I help you miss?" You asked coldly whiel she only scoffed.

"I'm here for my daughter bitch. Go bother someone else." Haru gasped before blurting out what she shouldn't have.

"You don't have the right to speak with boss's wife like that!" She placed her hands on her mouth immediately and looked up at you apologetically.

"Ah." The woman cooed darkly before extending her hand threateningly "So I am getting what I had fought for in the end at last... how much will that husband of yours and that arrow haired man bastard will pay to have you two back?"

She used her quirk on both you and Haru and before you could black out you yelled at the kids to run, to get their Chrono and Overhaul... even despite having Haru on your side.

You heard yells before you completly blacked out...

Not this again...

~

"So they're finally going leave us at peace." Chrono sighed in relief as he lowered his mask down amwhile Chisaki checked numbly his phone.

No messages... weird. He told you to send at least one.

"Is my daughter ok?" Chrono asked while looking at his childhood friend, hidding his concern.

Before he could even answer the yells and cries of both his kids startled both of them, Chisaki immediately looking and noticing your absence.

"DAD! IT HAPPENED! " Kaito cried while holding a hysterical crying Kin in his arms.

"What happened?" He growled before kneeling on the ground while Chrono widened his eyes in horror at seing the desperates pleas of forgiveness of the precept.

"THERE WAS A WOMAN THAT TOOK MOMMY AND HARU AWAY!" Kaito cried desperately.

Chrono swore he almost broked his gun with his deadly grip while Kai's eyes went dark as his vision went red.

"... you two go to your rooms and stay in there. Irinaka or Nemoto will be soon on there." He said, calm but still his wrath was evident on his voice. "Now. Kaito, it's a order."

The kid nodded, trying to not just wail in tears like.his three years old sister was doing it.

"M-Mastwr I am deeply sor-"

"I gave you one job. And you failed miserably..." he growled in the most powerful and threatening voice, making the guys shiver in fear.

Chisaki and Kurono walked past him while Kai mumbled angrily that he would deal with him later.

Not many minutes he received a call, demanding some money for the rescue. Chrono eyes went dark as he clenched his jaw in pure hatred at recognizing the voice.

"Count the seconds wrench." Was what Chisaki told her before ending the call, and grabbing his jacket while stepping out of the house with a fuming Hari behind him.

"Please tell me I am allowed to beat the shit out of that prostitute." Chrono growled while placing his mask back on and adjusting his gun.

"Do what you wish." He said, no caring that his gloves were already overhauled.

~

"I guess he only uses you for fucking, isn't that right missy?" She said while lifting her nose up in arrogance.

"Can you watch your vocabulary at leas?" You groaned while trying to calm down the little white haired girl "It's your own daughter in here for Christ's sake. Don't you have a heart?"

The woman laughed bitterly nefore standing uo from her chair and acting her quirk.

"This little shit, was the only thing that could grant me a better future, even if I never loved that men, he was quite good on his experiences and it was even a sweetheart but please-!" She laughed while pointing at you "We are only seeking for one thing to have those two as company right friend? Their power, their money... their glory."

You scoffed "Is this what is all about? Jesus Christ dont ever compare me with you. You're sick."

You cringed whem you noticed that you had used the exact same words as your husband but shrugged off shortly after... it was true after all.

"You think you're soo powerful and the naddest bitch of them all just because you were lucky to get the leader, right?" She grabbed one knife close to her and started to walk towards you "Tic toc for that husband and friend of his."

"... I woild actually recommend.that you didn't did that. For your own good actually." You said suddenly, making the woman laugh in sarcasm.

"Or what? I know you're quirkless so you can't exactly do mu-" she yelped before dodging one arrow coming at her upper arm.

"I warned you." You sighed before you felt the ground trembling as a wave of concrete threw you in the air while Haru on the other.

You yelped at first but immediately relaxed at falling to those comforting arms you were so used to by now.

"Angel, you're okay?" He whispered close to your ear, not even once daring to let go or ease up his hold on you.

The woman tried to grab Haru but ghis time she was shoted on the shoulder as well as a arrow sucefully cutted her left cheek, lefting her like a statue, falling miserably to the ground.

"HARU!" Chrono shouted as he went to his daughter and holded her close to his chest.

"Papa I'm so sorry!" She whimpered on his white hoddie as she cling to him "It was my fault! I told her that mrs (Y/N) was the boss's wife a-and she got the upper hand on-"

"Its not your damn fault ok? You weren't the one who asked for tjis to happen." He picked her up and walked towards you and Kai... not before stopping by a few centimeters away from the woman and whispering to his daughter to cover her ears.

"I shot you with the longest one..." he growled , staring at her dead in the eyes "Not satisfied with the prison? Congrats, because now you will just bleed until you die in this fucking basement." He walked towards you two, Chisaki letting you down bit still holding onto your waist.

"Take her outside for a bit for me? It will not take much." You looked aprehensive at him before looking at your husband.

In his face sayed absolutely nothing, only in his eyes that you could so well read it, was hinted the extreme rage, hatred and the 'I want this person to suffer until they're dead', while he slowly nodded and pushed you with his hand on your lower back outside.

You immediately covered Haru's ears while Chisaki covres yours when the sounds of a gun were echoed.

Hari got out shortly after and thanked both you and Chisaki before scooping his daughter up in his arms.

"No longer she will haunt us flower. That's for sure." He whispered to her after waiting for you two to go in the front.

You felt Kai's eyes on you, checking for any possible injuries but you only assured him with a sweet 'thank you' as you leaned your head against his chest.

You knew that by the way he didn't scoffed heartily at you but instead enveloped his arms to put you close, you weren't getting out of the Shie Hassaikai's house without his AND HIS ONLY company...

[chiisai-fukurou]

About my hiatus :)

Long time no see... It has been a while since I published an article here...

A lot has happened and I think I cannot look at my blog the same way I did... I’ve been to Japan again last December and it was wonderful. I’ve spent a lot of time helping my friends and a lot of time visiting a neurologist for some troubles I’ve had for as long as I could think. It took a lot of time off of my schedule that I had to work hard to get back.

For a long time I had to fight with that feeling of being alien and not being able to fit in. For as long as I could think a lot of things just went over my head and I couldn’t fathom some things that happened around me. I cannot share a lot of things people around me think and talk about. There has been this suspicion that I’m autistic for a long time now so last year I decided to bite the bullet and get an appointment for a diagnosis.

It took 7 month of waiting for me to get to my first appointment. I chose a reputable neurologist/psychologist because I’m not a fan of “I think I have XX and just need a doctor to sign the diagnosis I made myself.” because if you want to improve your situation an accurate assessment of your current status is kind of paramount. I had several, hours long appointments that were quite costly but to me it was worth the time and money I paid for it. It was a very interesting experience too. There is a lot of testing and there are a lot of questions being asked to make sure it isn't something else causing you these troubles. There are a lot of things that can cause similar symptoms that are not autism. So carefully getting to the bottom of things takes time and multiple appointments to make sure that a bad or a good day didn't impact the diagnosis. I had to get a MRT too to make sure it is not brain damage that is causing the symptoms. I’m happy to declare that my brain is okay :) I’m however impartial to the diagnosis of autism/Aspergers.

I’m very happy I did this. The diagnosis allows me to get adequate help should I need it and it helps me understand my surroundings a lot better. The neurologist had a great analogy for my situation too: Autists have a different operating system running their hardware. Stimuli get processed in a very different way and there is no filter or automation happening that could help you with even simple conversations... Hence the seeming inability of autistic people to do smalltalk... Imagine the hell that human interaction can be, having to think of every sentence you say because you cannot do it casually or automatically, not being able to read the mood, knowing that you disappointed or hurt people without any chance of preventing it in the future... To many people this sounds weird and like I’m not even trying... I’m and the Neurologist told me I’m really well adapted but there are limits to how well one can adjust. Basically “normal” people have a social autopilot that handles a lot of things for them and autistic people don’t. We can never really relax in a social event because we get battered with details that we can't filter out. It’s tiring and yet I wish it wouldn't be tiring... because I wish to share things with friends and people. It took some time to get things sorted and deal with this experience.

I’m fine and in some way I felt liberated and happy I finally know what is up.

I had to weed out some connections that caused me grief and think of many things that happened in the past. A lot of things make sense now :)

I had an accident too this year breaking my left arm (;_;) and some stuff on my bicycle... I had a strained neck too... the surgeon didn't want to believe how quickly my bones healed (°_°;) The crack that ran through 75% of my Ulna wasn't visible or detectable anymore after 3 weeks...  The accident happened while I was riding at 40 km/h on my bicycle and touched a curb with the wheels... It happened after a long long day at work right when the whole COVID19 thing started to take off in Germany. I couldn’t get lunch at work and had spend the whole day on water with a empty tummy... I was tired, hungry and worn out. I just wanted to go home and didn't pay enough attention...

Anyway I’m fine now :) My bike is fine again too :)

However because of this a lot of tasks at work were piling up and when I came back I had to do a lot of stuff trying to get on top of things... Because I work at a company that makes medical devices the current situation kind of overwhelmed the company as well... basically we get as many orders per month as we used to get within a year... This is incredibly challenging as our suppliers often can't keep up with the demand but I’m very happy to report that everyone of them is doing their best to keep up and to stay on top of the whole situation :,) I’m happy i can do my small part in saving lives and I think that a company where people stick together and try to do their best in trying times is incredibly valuable :)

Last year, while travelling through Japan, I once again noticed how awful tourist spots have become (-_-) Japan is close to my heart and I like the country and its people a lot. Many tourists behave badly, not out of ill intent but out of ignorance... Japanese value quiet, peaceful and clean behaviour but a lot of tourists seem to be unable to behave this way... They litter, leave toilets behind that are disgusting, are rude, don’t pay attention and seem to think Japan is a theme park. I like this country and I’m saddened that other foreigners tarnish the image of visitors and are taking advantage of incredibly kind people who welcome you as a guest :,( I felt bad that I wrote all those articles that might have inspired this kind of people to go to Japan :,( I want this kind of people to stay at home. You're ruining it for everyone else. My friends cheered me up a lot. Still the sight of drunken tourists puking on Takao-San in Tokyo or yelling loudly in a group at a shrine, throwing their cigarets and garbage on the streets in Kyoto, running through the streets while yelling or necessitating the fencing in of neighbourhood shrines because some dippshit thought it would be fun to put graffiti on them makes me incredibly sad. I’m sorry for the negativity but this has been troubling me a lot.

I received some questionable messages too... I’m a guy but some people seemed to assume that I’m a Japanese girl for some reason... 

Anyway I kind of came to terms with things and will start writing again.

I hope people will become more respectful over time :)

I’m sorry for the rant I put in this article m(_ _)m I felt like I had to get it off of my chest because this has been bothering me a lot.

P.S. if you think autism is caused by vaccines, being autistic is better than being dead or to suffer from the consequences of an otherwise preventable disease. You do not “get” autism, one of the conditions that has to be met to get a diagnosis is that you had to have symptoms right from the start. Things that can cause similar symptoms are brain damage, PTSD, ADHD (you are born with that  too and cannot get it) and certain medications. These however are different from autism in that they have to be treated differently. Hence the focus during diagnosis on making sure not to diagnose one of the other things as autism. I showed symptoms for as long as I can think back. 

I hope you’ll forgive me for my long absence and won't change your attitude towards me :)

I’m still me albeit more confident and accepting of myself since I don't need to pester myself with questions like “why didn't i understand that.”, “Why can't I do that?”, etc. :)

Thank you to everyone who read through all of this :) I wish you a great time with sweet daydreams (^-^)/

[bigskydreaming]

So, for Lightning Crashes, can I ask why you went with the choices you went with? Why Ethan & Aiden? (I was under the impression you didn't like them) Why the whole thing with Kali? What happened in Beacon Hills to get everyone together without Scott by the time the story starts. Why the Chimeras as Scott's primary pack? I just reread all five chapters and I'm insanely curious as to what your thought process was because its insanely addiciting.

LOL I’ll have to tackle this in parts so as it not to get too long, but shorter answers first:

1) Why Ethan and Aiden - this one’s pretty simple actually, as its due to what I often say about rarely disliking CHARACTERS so much as just specific ways characters are written. There’s almost no character I can think of offhand that’s just literally someone I can’t think of ways to write them that I’d find likable, interesting or compelling....pretty much all of my frustrations with characters stem only from them so often being written contrary to that, or even more often than not, like....my frustration or dislike of them is just carry-over from being so fed up with other people justifying, glorifying or clinging to the very things I despise about how they’re written.

*Shrugs* The funny-not-really-funny-so-much-as-just-obnoxious thing about Ethan and Aiden is they always had the ingredients to be potentially interesting and even sympathetic characters. Literally the only thing the show had to do differently in order to make me like them instead of dislike them is....not make them complicit in Boyd’s death, let alone then have that complicity largely dismissed or ignored afterwards.

And since I, like an intellectual, simply choose not to have fanfic ideas where Boyd is dead (with the literal exception being Carnival of Souls, since that one is basically entirely about the various character deaths Scott himself felt a degree of guilt towards as of the time he died in S5, with the point being ‘hey what if these characters got to flat out say, oh no, its totally fucked that we’re dead and there are people who absolutely should feel guilty about that but you are pretty much the only one who SHOULDN’T, so make like you’re Lazarus, get up and go give everyone else hell about this instead of settling for staying in a hell of your own making cuz you think you deserve it)’......

Like, that’s really all it takes. I write a version of the show where Boyd is alive and the twins didn’t do a damn thing to him or the others around for 3A, and I have no problem writing a version of those characters that I like instead. Its basically like making every fic a fix-it fic where one of the fixes being tackled is “how do you keep certain characters from being disliked or hated for antiblackness,” and the plot twist is “don’t write them being antiblack.”

Course, I still have trouble coming up with premises or angles from which to write them in any canon-based story that DOES take 3A into account, because like, it doesn’t matter HOW I write them at that point, the characters I’m writing still contain in their core premise of ‘this is who the character is as of the start of this story’ the fact that they were already complicit in Boyd’s death, and thus there’s no getting around the fact that like, any kind of positive approach to their characterizations at that point in MY mind still carries at least some degree of like....me ‘forgiving’ them for their part in Boyd’s death or deciding that ‘they’ve suffered/tried to make up for it enough’ by that point, and like...that’s just not something I’m remotely interested in writing, because frankly, I don’t think its my place to decide that or that my take on what that looks like matters worth a damn.

But AU Ethan and Aiden who never even met Boyd until Chapter 4 of my own story....they’re more or less just Ethan and Aiden shaped characters with similar dialogue patterns, as far as I view them while writing. 

(Also, it literally was in large part just a logistical thing as well. Like I actually started writing LC back in S4, and part of the whole premise was I wanted Scott to have his own other pack formed from actual characters who I could pull from elsewhere without taking away from the pack that might conceivably have formed in his absence. I made up Diego because having a Calaveras present is literally a plot point to address problems I had with S4 and its (lack of) aftermath, but I wanted everyone else to at least come from the actual show, and there were only so many characters that were actual options at that point. So its more like logistics is WHY I used Ethan and Aiden, but the above reasoning is why I was able to despite my dislike of them on the show, and without the latter - I think at least - influencing how I wrote these particular versions of them.

The thing about the chimera members of Scott’s pack is I actually went back and REWROTE everything as of Chapter 2 and edited the new versions in to replace what I’d had, in order to include them, because like.....you know me and my fixation on smaller/less utilized characters and their untapped potential. I liked all the chimeras from day one because there was so much that could be done with them and once it was apparent the show really wasn’t going to do much with them period, I decided well instead of writing a whole separate fic in order to explore their characters more, I could just integrate them into Lightning Crashes and tackle a whole bunch of werebirds with one stone, y’know? And then I decided ‘oh no, but I love them’ and I realized too late that adding eight additional characters to a story like LC would almost inevitably add another 100K of plot and sideplots, because what is brainpower even, other than a myth or a Tall Tale, y’know?)

The whole thing with Kali is just a mix of plot and personal issues and projection-upon-the-main-character, and its not the first time I’ve written that particular premise nor is it the last. I’ve done it with Dick Grayson fanfic as well of course. Its kinda just a thing with me. That trope I often come back to for non-trope reasons. There’s a lot of complicated reasons for that, some that are of course pretty obvious but others that are less so, and its a bit much to get into in depth. By which I mean, of course I will, I have no filter and that’s been too well and too long established to bother with one now plus the thing about being so casual about when I’m writing my own issues into fanfic means its not like people aren’t going to draw their own conclusions anyway even if I don’t elaborate so there’s not really any real point not to, lolol. Other than time spent doing so, which means I’ll do that later. 

Since now, answering the part about how things worked out differently back in Beacon Hills to lead to the Hale pack forming the way it did while the LC McCall pack formed elsewhere, has inevitably lead to me pulling out the LC file and actually working on it, with the DG story in question as well being open in another window now, because hot tip, the real most effective way to get me to update or add more to literally any story ever is just to get me talking about it. Since it re-energizes me about whatever I was thinking about or wanting to write about that led me to start it in the first place, and also since I’m a perfectionist who ultimately turns to story-telling because I think whichever way I go about writing one IS the best way for me personally to say whatever it is I want to say with one, this inevitably gets me going hang on, there’s a better way to describe what I’m talking about here and its like, via writing the actual story, so hold my beer, gotta go do it right or what’s even the point of answering lololol. Ohhhhh, meeeeee. I’m so deep and inscrutable, honestly what the fuck.