#cycle. I sort of thought I couldn’t have those sorts of honest conversations because I’m so conflict averse. but I had to remind myself

[icterid-rubus]

Man this open communication thing is great.

[tennessoui]

So I love your keeping up with the Skywalker/Kenobis au😍!!! It's adorable and it makes me so happy to read aaaand I wanted to ask what you think Satine's reaction is to Obi Wan basically getting himself a husband two kids and a dog like 2 months after she's left him? Like if they randomly ran into each other and Obi Wan is with his whole family and is carrying Leia, while holding Luke's hand and Luke is holding the dogs leash, while Anakin is I dunno monologing about something as he usually does

hi!!!! thank you so much for the prompt i love it <3 I thought a really long time about this prompt because I kind of knew what I wanted to do but I also didn't want to throw satine's character under the bus to accomplish it because i think from what Obi-Wan's told us about his marriage she's completely justified to want a divorce, so she's not necessarily a jealous ex in this snippet. But she's sort of angry, which i feel is fair!! i also (for reasons we will hopefully see tomorrow) changed your 'two months' to '3 years', so this happens 2 years after the Skywalkers move in, which is one yearish after the divorce! mostly because Something Else happens about 2 years after the Skywalkers move in and I have an ask cooling in my inbox asking about That that i want to answer tomorrow and these two felt like they fit together

(big sigh)(2.5k)(this is Obi-Wan's POV so its a bit pretentious and also a bit sad)

It’s a very strange thing, what the body remembers but the mind forgets.

“Obi-Wan?” A tentative voice asks from his left, and he knows that voice intimately. That voice had been at one time the most beautiful sound in the entire world. That voice had been what he heard before going to sleep, what he waited on tenterhooks to hear upon waking. He’d heard that voice cry, scream, laugh, gasp, moan--he knows that voice, and for a second his body responds the way it always has to that voice.

Butterflies erupt in his stomach and he turns to look at Satine for the first time in almost three years.

“Satine,” he says and clears his throat and tries again. “Hello there.”

She smiles delicately, as if she’s unsure of her welcome. Obi-Wan’s never seen Satine shy, but he supposes he’s never seen how she acts around her ex-husband.

He surreptitiously glances to where Anakin and the twins are standing in line at an ice cream truck. It had been a nice day, so they had bundled the kids and the dog into Anakin’s car and gone to the city park with loose ideas about kite flying. Perhaps a picnic.

Perhaps twenty yards from the parking lot, Leia had spotted an ice cream truck from her perch on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and the twins had successfully convinced Anakin to make a quick pit stop on their way up the park’s central hill. It had been a very easy sell. The sweet tooth is most definitely inherited, and nothing Obi-Wan really shares, so he had taken Chewie and gone to sit on a near park bench, graciously pretending not to hear Anakin tell his children to let the old man rest.

That had only been five minutes ago.

“Would you like to sit?” Obi-Wan asks politely, gesturing to the part of the bench he’s not taking up.

“If you have the time,” Satine responds just as politely. Obi-Wan wonders if this sort of false veneer of courteousness is putting her teeth on edge as much as his.

Do you remember how you left? Would you like me to recall the amount of things thrown by you, or would you like to do the honors? He imagines saying.

Only if you would be so gracious as to recite the long list of things you called me, he can imagine Satine responding.

That sort of conversation would be better than this. More honest. It’s a strange hurt, to realize you’re lying to the person you used to think you’d always be truthful to.

“Oh,” Satine says when Chewie immediately starts sniffing at the hem of her dress. “Is this...your dog?”

Obi-Wan fights the urge to wince. He had. Well. He had been quite against getting a dog when they’d been married. Or a cat. Or anything, really. He had vehemently protested the idea of a pet.

Of another living thing in their house.

“Ah,” he says. “Yes. His name is Chewie.”

Satine pets him with just the right amount of pressure to have Chewie tilting his head eagerly for more. “Chewie?” she asks incredulously. “I always figured we would have to name any dog or--child after some sort of literary figure.”

Obi-Wan pretends he doesn’t notice her hesitation. He has to pretend he doesn’t notice her hesitation. “I originally wanted to name him Dante,” he admits instead. “Leia compromised down to Danny, but I just couldn’t do that to the poor dead man.”

“Oh,” Satine says and then she’s quiet. Obi-Wan can just imagine the sort of things running through her head. He would deserve all the mean-spirited barbs she could throw at him now. He reminds himself that he understands that.

I hadn’t thought you knew how to do that, he imagines her saying. Compromising, I mean.

Or, does the dog hair everywhere drive you as crazy as you used to say it would?

Or, perhaps worst of all, how much has your library of dead mean kept you comfort these last three years?

Instead she gently strokes the dog’s head and refuses to make eye contact with Obi-Wan.

“You look well,” he says, breaking the silence first. He thinks she’s probably put in enough work in speaking first for a lifetime.

“Thank you,” Satine responds, tucking a piece of her ash blonde hair behind her ear. Obi-Wan catches a glint of a ring on her finger from the action. He doesn’t know if it was purposeful or not, doesn’t blame her either way. It’s been three years. Their lives are their own now. There’s always going to be those years where they...converged, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure he regrets them. He might never regret them, no matter what he thought shortly after the papers were mailed in.

After all, he’d never have met the Skywalkers if it wasn’t for the divorce.

“You as well,” Satine says, crossing her ankles. It’s her version of a fidget, Obi-Wan thinks fondly, and then wonders if he’ll ever forget that sort of information.

He smiles. “Yes, I’m...well.” He coughs and glances over to the ice cream truck. Leia waves at him from where she’s curled into Anakin’s chest, very near the front of the line. Anakin and Luke are looking at Obi-Wan with almost the same expression of pinched worry. Anakin most probably because he knows who Satine is. Luke because the boy has gotten quite possessive of Obi-Wan’s attention in the last few months.

Obi-Wan smiles slightly to let them both know that he’s fine. “I’m very well,” he tells Satine, turning back to her.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” she says, and it sounds like the most honest thing she’s said this entire time.

“Thank you,” he responds, and that’s the most honest thing he’s said today too. He knows she won’t understand exactly what he means, but it feels nice to say it anyway. Thank you for the years we were happy. Thank you for leaving before we could really start hating each other. Thank you for the divorce. Thank you for the Skywalkers.

There’s very loud footsteps on the pavement and then suddenly a blond blur is clinging to Obi-Wan’s knee.

“Obi,” Luke says very reproachfully.

Obi-Wan automatically fixes the boy’s fringe. “Yes, little one?” he asks, very, very aware of the way Satine’s posture has shifted from almost relaxed to preparing for battle.

“Daddy wants to know if you want anything. He says they have those pop--pop--cycles that you like.”

Obi-Wan switches his attention away from Luke so that he can raise a very scathing eyebrow at Anakin, who shrugs as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He had most certainly told Anakin that he was fine and that he didn’t want to spoil his lunch. Sending Luke over had not been a friendly check-in. It had been an invasion.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan tells Anakin’s son. “I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”

These words seem just as foreign to Luke as they did to his father, because he squints up at Obi-Wan before shrugging and clambering up into Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Who is she, Obi?” he asks, not quietly at all.

Obi-Wan sighs. And then resists the urge to sigh harder when he catches sight of Satine’s pinched face.

A thousand conversations rush back to him.

“My career has to come first, Satine.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“A child? At my age?”

“It’s Obi-Wan, not Obi.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, dear. Our lives would change. Fundamentally. We’d have to compromise, we’d have to figure out a way to be there for them whenever they needed it. I know people manage. But would we?”

“Don’t--”

“I’m sorry, darling. I don’t want children.”

“Don’t call me Obi.”

He understands perfectly why Satine looks as if someone has just fed her half a lemon. He does.

She’s run into her ex-husband at the park and settled in to have a civil conversation with the man, only to see that he owns a dog (which he had been against when they were together), has a child (Luke isn’t his, of course, but he can understand the confusion), and lets that child call him one of his most hated nicknames.

“Obi?” she asks, which is probably starting out small, something he is very grateful for.

“Who are you?” Luke asks more forcefully, gripping onto Obi-Wan’s shirt with his little hands. Of all the times for the boy to decide to speak up to strangers--

“I’m Satine,” Satine answers graciously. And then, “Who are you?”

“Luke,” the boy says, far less graciously. “Obi lives with us.”

“Us?” Satine asks, mostly to Obi-Wan. “You mentioned a...Leia earlier?”

“My sister,” Luke interrupts before Obi-Wan can, perhaps, explain the situation. “We’re twins.”

“Twins!” Satine gasps in a way that’s most definitely pointed and directed at Obi-Wan. “Obi, I hadn’t known you had twins!”

“I…” Obi-Wan starts to say that he doesn’t, but the twins have started shooting him very hurt looks every time he corrects strangers on the fact that the twins aren’t actually his. He’s mostly stopped correcting people now because Luke and Leia’s betrayed expressions are really, quite frankly, works of art.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice interrupts him to his right. It’s a familiar voice, one that he’s heard as he falls asleep, one he’s heard first thing in the morning, one he’s heard cry and yell and gasp and laugh, one he thinks to himself might just be one of the most beautiful sounds in the entire world.

Without his permission or even his consent, butterflies erupt in his stomach and he turns from Satine’s rigid expression to Anakin’s slightly manic grin.

“Anakin,” he says, standing immediately with Luke cradled in his arms.

“We got you the red popsicle because Luke never came back,” Anakin says, thrusting the icy treat forward as Leia tries to clamber on the bench to hand Luke his own chocolate-covered cone.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, all thoughts about his appetite for lunch pushed out of his mind by the size of Anakin’s smile. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Anakin ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck, his face turning red like Obi-Wan’s popsicle. Obi-Wan thinks he’s never been this hopelessly endeared in his entire life.

“I should be going,” Satine says suddenly, standing up. Obi-Wan is a bit ashamed to realize he has forgotten her in the wake of the arrival of the Skywalkers.

But he knows he should not leave like this. They deserve more than this stilted sort of interrupted conversation.

Gently, he sets Luke on the ground despite the boy’s protests and chases after his ex-wife.

“Satine, wait,” he pants as he catches up with her.

“What, Obi-Wan?” she asks, voice strained and eyes a bit wet. “What else do you want me to see? What else is there left? I get it, alright. I get it. It was never you--it wasn’t--it wasn’t that you didn’t want pets or kids or--or all of it. You just didn’t want them with me. It was me. All along.”

She turns away, wiping frantically at her eyes. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he’s ever felt worse.

“No,” he insists, reaching out to touch her forearm, painfully aware of how public they are right now. “No, you’ve got it wrong. It’s not...it was never you. It’s just…”

He pauses and tries to find the words to describe the past three years of his life. That first year of despair and hopelessness and isolation. And then the way Anakin and his children had crept into his life like a summer sunrise in the dead of winter, unexpectedly and then slowly and then all at once.

Obi-Wan shrugs helplessly, at a loss for words. There’s no way to describe something like that to someone who hasn’t experienced it. “It’s just…them.”

Satine takes a few moments to breathe before she turns to face him. She’s smiling and it looks mostly like a grimace, but he’ll accept it as more than he deserves.

“Oh Obi-Wan,” she says, laying a hand over the hand he has on his arm. “You always had so many rules.”

Obi-Wan fights the urge to bristle, reminding himself that Satine has the right to say anything she wants to him today and the amount of hurts they’ve dealt each other still probably wouldn’t be even.

It takes him completely by surprise then when she hugs him. He hugs her back automatically, blinking stupidly further into the park.

“I’m glad you’ve found your exceptions,” she whispers to him as she pulls back with a sad smile.

“Satine,” he says, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with that and falls silent. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his bearded cheek.

“Glad to know I can still make you speechless,” she tells him wryly.

“Always,” he promises her, and she laughs. Obi-Wan is suddenly struck with a sort of gut-wrenching realization that she used to be his best friend as well as his wife. He had lost both in one fell swoop.

“I think I just put you in a world of trouble,” she smirks, tilting her head back down the path. “Your partner doesn’t look very happy.”

“He’s not my--” Obi-Wan starts to say and then decides fuck it. He shrugs. “It was nice to see you again, Satine. I hope. I. I really am glad that you’re doing well.”

Satine smiles and squeezes his hand once before letting go. “You too, Obi-Wan. You too.”

When he gets back to his family, Anakin is staring intensely down at his shoes, while Luke and Leia are glaring just as intensely up at Obi-Wan.

“Who was that?” Leia demands immediately.

“Satine,” Luke relays to her, as if the word means one hundred terrible and tragic things.

“An old friend,” Obi-Wan corrects. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I just...I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Did you?” Anakin asks, strangely intent as he looks down at Obi-Wan’s face.

“I did,” Obi-Wan tells him. It sounds like a promise. Yes, seeing Satine had been a peculiar twist of fate, but it had felt like a goodbye. To her. To the last vestiges of their marriage. To the man he had been when he had been in love with her.

The realization feels like it should hurt, but it doesn’t. Instead of ruminating on it though, he holds his hand out to Luke’s sticky fingers. “Shall we?” he asks, as Anakin falls into place on his other side, Leia held firmly in his arms. “It’s a fairly large hill, are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes!” Luke insists enthusiastically, all thoughts of the blonde woman his Obi had been talking to immediately forgotten.

“Perhaps by the time we get to the top, we’ll be prepared for lunch,” Obi-Wan tells Anakin wryly. The other man laughs, but his eyebrows stay pinched. Obi-Wan has the strangest desire to kiss them smooth, to lean over and kiss Anakin’s face until he’s blushing and laughing and light as he knows he can be.

But it’s very obviously not the time and place. Such a step forward needs both a proper time and place. After all, you may have multiple loves of your lives, but you only ever kiss each of them for the first time once. And Obi-Wan is pretty sure he’s only got the two; he’s not looking to mess this one up.

[hotchley]

For your 500 thing: 4 from the angst list with Hotch and anyone else, platonically? I like the prompts you've chosen too. Very angsty haha

Hehe thank you! I chose Reid, because it worked so... yeah. This is not to be seen as me infantilising Reid or as H Crit because it's not. People say things they don't mean when they're hurting. There will come a time when Reid doesn't hesitate and Hotch forgives himself. It's just not written here.

It went over 1.5k... let's just ignore that. Umm... Set sometime between Nameless, Faceless and Haunted. There's no real comfort.

4: "shut up! please. just shut up."

Trigger Warnings: past child abuse, intrusive thoughts, references to canon-typical events and violence

read on ao3!

With hindsight, moving Spencer to the same hospital as Aaron was not the smartest idea the BAU had ever had. Not when traumatic and painful events caused them to react in opposite ways. When Spencer was hurt, he didn't stop talking, so terrified that if there was even the slightest indication that he was weak, everyone would leave. And when Aaron was hurt, he completely shut down, still scared that making his existence known would lead to hurt.

But at the time, they had only been thinking of Derek. He had been running himself ragged, trying to manage the BAU in Aaron's absence, and caring for both his teammates who were in different hospitals, because he was coincidentally, the only person that either of them would listen to.

Perhaps they were more alike than anyone gave them credit for.

So Spencer was moved into the same room as Aaron, because when the team came, they came to see both of them, and it was apparently good for the two patients to socialise with each other and try to maintain their bond. At least, that was what everyone said to them. In reality, it was just easier to only have to have certain conversations once. Especially the ones about Foyet.

Because even though both of them would be out of the field for a while, and had lost so much of the independence they prided themselves on, the situations were not the same and they never would be. Spencer had been shot in the leg trying and succeeding in saving a man, and the perpetrator had been arrested. He had gotten justice.

Aaron had been stabbed nine times in his home, the place he had a right to feel safe in, by a man so evil that there was no chance of ever reasoning with him. Foyet had gotten away, and he'd taken Haley and Jack with him. The only people Aaron seemed to live for, were gone. He hadn't gotten any sort of closure. Nobody seemed to understand that, because everyone kept saying him and Spencer could relate to each other. But they couldn't. And he was sick of hearing it.

But he tried to hide that bitterness. Spencer wouldn't have been shot if he had been there. He would have been the extra set of eyes needed to finish the letters, and they would've worked it out sooner. They would've all been fine, if he had done anything other than frozen when the bullet wedged itself in the wall beside his hair, close enough to make his ear ring painfully. His anger was irrational, and the result of trauma. Everyone else understood his emotions were all-consuming and overpowering, but he didn't. To him, the anger and resentment were just another sign he was becoming his father.

He wasn't. But he would never allow himself to believe that.

Spencer knew that his and Hotch's situations were different. That Hotch blamed himself for what had happened to Haley and to him. That Hotch was hiding how he truly felt, probably to protect him. That things were going to explode sooner rather than later. He just didn't know how much sooner than expected it would end up being.

Rossi had swung by in the morning, and that visit had set Aaron on edge. Rossi was trying to help, he was, but his method of doing it wasn't helpful. It never had been. Not for someone like Aaron, who needed something that was not his best friend telling him how the BAU had been fine without him. Or how the children seemed to be fine. Or how victims could recover.

When Rossi left, Reid took the crutches beside his bed and hobbled over to sit in the chair that he'd vacated. They had both been encouraged to try and be mobile without going beyond their limit. Only Spencer had listened.

"If you want him to stop talking, you can always tell him," he said gently.

Aaron turned away. "He's just trying to help."

"But he's not. I think we can all see it."

"Spencer, I don't know what you're trying to do but-"

"I don't care if you resent me. I care that you're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Really? So if I asked you whether or not you resent me, you could look me in the eye and say you don't? If I asked you whether you blame yourself for my injury, you would say no, and mean it? If I asked you who was responsible for Haley and Jack going into WitSec, you would say Foyet? If I asked you how you feel, would you say hopeless and angry? Would you?" He snaps.

Aaron stares, and Spencer feels the heat rise to his cheeks. Hotch is still his superior.

"I'm sorry, that was out of line."

"No, it's- you're right. I am lying. But-" he swallows, unused to being so vulnerable, especially with someone like Spencer, "I have to. Lie that is. I can't be honest. Not about this. Not with these feelings."

"Why? You've been put through horrific trauma. I think you're entitled to feel like shit. I feel like crap."

Aaron looks at Spencer, in all his hopeful innocence, and understands the subtle invitation to be honest for once in his life. To let someone else save him. To have a normal conversation, with no ulterior motives or secret conditions. To have someone just care for him because they love him, not because they want anything in return. It's that final realisation that makes him take a leap of faith.

"Because if I let myself feel the anger, I will never stop, and then I will never be any better than my father." The words taste like failure, and he hates himself for saying them as soon as they leave his mouth. Who is he, to do this to a subordinate? To make someone else take responsibility for his issues? He wants to take the words back as soon as realisation dawns on Spencer, but he can't.

All he can do is close his eyes, and pretend he is somewhere else where whatever comes next cannot touch him.

"You know those thoughts don't determine who you are," Spencer says, and nothing about his tone has changed. He still cares about Aaron. Aaron, who has to blink back tears because he always forgets how many terrible things this boy has seen.

He tries to tell Spencer to stop, that he doesn't deserve to be called a good person, but the words won't come.

"I can tell you don't believe me. Well let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a FBI agent that panicked so much during their gun qualification that they failed. And the man that had been practicing them, who had every right to lash out, just nodded and asked if it was his fault. If there was anything he could do to help. And then he trusted that agent with his life. Without hesitating," Spencer said. It felt like he was talking to Henry.

Aaron needs him to shut up. He cannot hear this story. It is his life, so he knows how it ends, but he cannot hear that ending right now. Not when the loss of his family is still so raw and painful. Not when it consumes his every waking moment.

"And after the case was over, he raced to the hospital, and he stayed in the waiting room until his son was born because he refused to leave his wife for a second longer than necessary, even though she had given her blessing multiple times for him to go save people. She said that he changed more nappies during his paternity leave than most men do in their lives."

"Spencer-" Aaron manages to say.

"Abused children can break the cycle. They have broken the cycle. They continue to do so. You said that once. Do you remember? You told Vincent Perotta that not every victim goes on to become a killer. Because some grow up to catch them and you are one of them, you just-"

"Shut up! Please. Just shut up." He doesn't mean to shout. He doesn't mean to make Spencer flinch. He doesn't mean to sound angry. He doesn't mean to say the words. He doesn't mean to do any of those things, but he does, and he won't ever forget how terrified Spencer looks.

He did that. He did that, with nothing more than his words, and he cannot believe what he has done, but he has, and it's a terrible thing. And everything Spencer just said has been disproved. Everything.

"I'm sorry," Spencer whispers, turning away.

"No. No, please don't be sorry. You've not done anything wrong. Spencer, look at me. Please. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. Don't lie to me."

And Aaron has lied about enough. He won't lie anymore.

"I am sorry," he says, even though it won't ever be enough.

Spencer smiles slightly, but then he goes over to his own bed. He closes his eyes, and pretends to sleep. He carries on pretending when Aaron walks over for the first time in three days, and kisses his forehead, much like he always does for Jack. He carries on pretending as Aaron sighs, and whispers an explanation too honest for repetition.

Aaron truly is sorry. Spencer truly does forgive him. The words are never said again, not to him, but that's the worst part. No matter what either of them do, Spencer will always remember and hesitate, and Aaron will never forget or forgive himself.

[animeyanderelover]

I'd love to see prompt 116. “I love you more than planned.” with Tobirama and a Uchiha darling. Maybe where Hashirama insisted that Tobi should spend some time and befriend some of the Uchiha clan members for the betterment of the future of the village?

Uchiha darling and Tobirama is quite loved in here.

Warnings: Yandere themes, blackmailing, bribing, threatening, possessive thinking

Prompt 116: “I love you more than planned.”

“I think I heard you wrong?! Did you just insist on that I should give him a chance?! That guy just insulted when confessing! I mean, I didn’t expect anything else, it’s Tobirama after all. But Mito! That could never work! My family would never allow it! They still hold a small grudge against the Senju clan!” The red-haired woman listened calmly to your words. “And you? What do you want?” You gave her a quirked eyebrow. “What I want?” “(y/n), I understand that this situation might be a bit conflicting right now and for Tobirama it was a surprise as well. But he can’t change his feelings and decided to try to accept them. I think to break the cycle of dislike between his and your clan an Uchiha and a Senju would be a perfect example on that things can be different.” You scoffed. “Yeah, sure. If his brother wouldn’t have forced him to befriend a few of my clan that guy would have avoided us like the plague.” “And you knew that and still became friends with him?” You bit your tongue. She did have a point. “Okay. Maybe I like him. But only as a friend! Nothing more! I deserve better than his sassy ass and big mouth! This guy is too...too much! I don’t wanna keep hearing his remarks about my clan! And also, I-I just can’t really believe that he fell supposedly in love with me. To be honest, when we sometimes start arguing and get all heated up I can’t help, but feel like we’re being too harsh on each other. But no one of us really stop because we want to be mean to each other. That’s a distorted way of friendship. And I don’t wanna imagine how it would be if the both of us would be in a relationship. That could end in a massacre. Sorry, but I want things to stay as they are right now.”

“For goodness sake! Tobirama! Let it go!”, you yelled angrily at him, ruffling your hair frustrated which was by now all messed up due to grabbing it so often. You felt like ripping it out due to frustration. “Then listen to what I have to say! You’re just avoiding me since that talk you had to Mito!”, he shouted back, looking just as livid as you. This was so frustrating. Why did you have to have this conversation with him? You did admit that you had started to avoid him after your talk with Mito, wanting to sort your feelings out and needing time about how to handle this new information. But of course Tobirama’s string of patience had worn fast thin. And that had led you to this situation. Shouting and cursing at each other. “Don’t you get it?! I just don’t feel that way! Get that through your stubborn thick skull! Give me space!”, you angrily pushed him away, wanting to run out of this situation. You had already gained enough worried and amused looks from the passengers and weren’t willing to start throwing a show just because this man couldn’t handle a rejection. “Stop acting like a sulky boy and handle this like a man! That’s ridiculous Tobirama! It would never work! And you should know that too. You’re the one who never liked my clan in the first place and now you have the authority to tell me you love me? You gotta be kidding me.”

He was seething, you knew that. Sometimes you had troubles believing that he and the Hokage were brothers because they were like two different sides of a coin. Hashirama was peace loving, friendly and energy whilst Tobirama was impatient, temperamental and harsh. And that was the reason why you didn’t think it would work. Put someone like him with a hothead like you together would make an explosive combo, one for which you didn’t have the patience to endure. But he stayed quiet, clenching and unclenching his fist. “This is stupid.”, you cursed under your breath and turned around, wanting to let a little bit steam off. “Is it so hard for you to believe that I love you?” That made you stop in your tracks, slowly turning your head around. He had sounded polite. Well, he still sounded angry, but he didn’t shout anymore. “You seriously ask me why I have troubles believing that? Reflect on your actions to my clan and you might be able to understand why I have a hard time believing you would fall for me, an Uchiha.”

“Do you think I’m happy about this? Do you even know how I felt when discovering my feelings? I thought that something was wrong with me. Our clans used to kill each other on the battle field before this village was built. And I never fully trusted your clan. Never. You won’t even believe how pissed off I was when my brother insisted on me befriending some from your kind. But I guess he didn’t see it coming that I would end up falling for the damn Uchiha who I managed to become friends with. No one did. Me neither. But I can’t get rid of it. So if you would just put your pride away for a moment and try to understand how I feel this might have not to be that hard.” You didn’t know what to respond to this, giving him a doubting look whilst crossing your arms in front of your chest and tapping your finger against your biceps. As weird as it sounded, you could somewhat sympathize with him, understanding what a blow for his ego it must have been for him when falling for you. He was just confused on how to act on his feelings. You let out a sigh. “Listen Tobirama, I admit that I feel flattered by all of this. But try to see it from the logical side. Our clans wouldn’t handle it too well if we should ever start dating each other, not to mention that I don’t think we would have our peace. We’re too similar to each other, too prideful. I just feel like the dynamic between us could be either very good or very shaky. And I’m not in the mood to endure a constant up and down, not to mention that constant shouting sessions would give me too much of a headache. We both deserve someone who can help us calming our ass down a bit. That’s what I feel at least.”

It became quiet between the two of you, Tobirama glaring with a mix of anger and hurt at you. “I’m sorry Tobirama. I just feel like staying in a friend zone is the best for both of us.” You slowly stepped backwards, not breaking eye contact with him, hoping to be able to leave him here without him trailing behind you again. “You know...Brother knows how much I love you. That’s why he and Mito convinced me in the first place to confess to you. Not to mention that I had enough trust in you to open up about my feelings.” He had mumbled those words more quietly out, making you almost feel a bit bad. “You’re lucky to have someone like him and Mito in your life. They’re both great people.” You tried to sound as comforting as possible, not wanting him to have another outburst of emotions. “And I hope that you’ll be able to get over this someday. Even though your an asshole, our friendship is still important to me.” With these words you finally turned around and quickly walked away from the scene, leaving a silent Tobirama back. “Hopefully Hashirama will be able to help him digesting this. If not I’m in trouble.”

That same night Tobirama couldn’t really fall asleep. He had never been someone who had slept much due to preferring to work until late at night. He just couldn’t, the argument between you and him playing over and over again. You were right, he could understand from where you were coming from. He himself had almost felt disgusted in himself when finding out his feelings for you. How couldn’t he after everything that had happened? He had killed your kind back in the days of war and had never trusted your clan, especially after Madara had left the village and had tried to kill his brother. It had been another proof for him that your clan was possessed by the evil. It had been a miracle for him that he had managed to make friends with you in the first place. You were the only one from your clan who had endured his outbursts, fighting fiercely back to defend your clan and push him back into his place. You had proved to be quite the challenge for him, never backing down from his threats and insults and instead always standing tall. He guessed that this was one of the things he seemed to hate and love on you at the same time. You always stood for what you loved and believed in. You were passionate, strong, smart and stood true to your ideals and words. You were stubborn, snarky and always had a sharp comment which you gladly spit out. Tobirama didn’t even know when it had happpened. When he had started being more mean simply because he didn’t know how to act on his feelings.

In the end it hadn’t mattered anyways. You had rejected him which stung more than expected. He hadn’t expected that this would have such a big impact on him. He had drowned himself in work today, trying to get his mind off. But it hadn’t been from much use and Tobirama couldn’t remember the last time when he had felt so...wretched. This wasn’t like him at all. He had seen death so much back in the war, he had seen his friends and family die and had managed to somehow stand strong. It had been his duty to stay strong and avenge all the people he had lost. And you weren’t even dead. You were still here. But you were lost for him in another sense, still here, but out of reach. That was a new way for him to lose someone. And he didn’t like that. Whom should he blame for drowning in such a pathetic state of his mind? His brother? You? Or himself? He could almost hear your mocking voice if you would see him like this. For some reason he needed to think of something you had told him one time before when the both of you had talked about the topic rejection before. “Drowning in self-sorrow is no way to handle a rejection. You gotta take it like a shinobi does. If I would get rejected I wouldn’t give up. I would fight for their heart until they realize that I’m the only one for them. I would do everything in my power to change their mind. I won’t accept it if someone would miss me. Not like someone would ever reject me.”

Fight for them...Do everything in your power...Not accepting it. And with one swift movement Tobirama was suddenly up, your words still swirling around in his mind whilst he walked to the small office in his house, pulling out a few files he had in one of his drawers. Files about you and your family. He didn’t even know why he had those in the first place in his house but in that moment he didn’t care that much. What mattered was what stood inside of them. Informations. Informations which could be used against you. For a brief moment he stopped, reflecting on what he was about to do. This was actually wrong. Criminal. What would his brother think if he would find out about this? This made for a short moment hesitation wash about him, slowly retreating his hand which had been about to grab the file. “Don’t you get it?! I just don’t feel that way!” He froze. “Get that through your stubborn thick skull!” His hand twitched, feeling a bitter feeling raising up in him and the still so fresh stinging of your reaction tingling up inside his core. What he was about to do wasn’t fair, it was downright wrong and would ensure huge troubles for you if he would use something against you or your family. But you hadn’t played fair as well. You had rejected him and not even given him a chance. In some sense he actually only did what you had said yourself to do in case of a rejection. Doing everything in his power to help you realize your mistake.

He almost felt amused whilst reading the file about your family, taking greedily every information in he hadn’t known so far and already starting to plan possibilities about how to use those informations against you. If someone would have told him a few years ago that he would go as far as being ready to blackmail an Uchiha just so he could make them stay by his side he would have labeled that person as crazy. But now he was there, sitting in his office and going through every information he possessed about your close ones. You would come back to him. You would realize that he was your only option. And if he had to reach that goal by ruining your whole life and those of everyone you loved so be it. “Well little Uchiha,”, he spoke to himself in a slightly amused, slightly angry voice,”I love you more than planned.”

[unhealthyfanobsession]

The Hit List

This is based on a head canon I posted a couple days ago- just couldn’t get the idea of Nesta having an Arya-Stark style hit list; mostly crack and pure fluff if I’m being honest 🤷‍♀️

Cassian and Nesta have lived together for 137 years as of last Saturday. Maybe he should be embarrassed that he has been counting, but when one lives with Nesta Archeron one gets used to ensuring that they are always prepared. The woman has an infallible memory. Cassian knows every date that is of any consequence. He knows the day that her mother died because she always shrinks into herself just a little bit on that day, even after all of these years. He knows the day that they met, the day that the war ended, and the day that their mating bond snapped into place. He knows the day that they got married in a tiny little ceremony that consisted of only them plus Elain and Azriel- even Rhysand and Feyre weren’t present- and he knows the day that she finally, finally allowed herself to admit it to everyone that they had gotten married. Cassian knows everything about Nesta Archeron. He has spent 142 years learning every single piece of her (yeah you can do the math on how long it took him to convince her to move out of that damn run down apartment).

There is nothing about Nesta Archeron that could surprise him at this point. He can read her moods in the tense of her shoulders before she even wakes up in the morning. He can tell whether or not she will be amiable to seeing other people by the firmness or reluctance of her lips against his before they eat breakfast.

Cassian knows Nesta.

He does.

Really.

So why is he crinkling his brow in confusion as he stares at this tiny, ancient looking piece of parchment that has fallen out of her drawer.

Nesta is nearing the end of her cycle and he was sent to this particular drawer (his favorite if he’s being honest, but that is not the purpose of this moment) to fetch her new undergarments as she curses and tries to get out of their bed in the next room.

If it were even a day earlier Cassian would forget the paper. He would sprint into that room and tie her stubborn ass to the bed if he had to. She never rests long enough on her cycle, but this should be the last day so nothing bad will happen if she insists on taking herself to the bath.

Cassian is far too intrigued by this discovery to pay the subtle grunts any attention. The paper looks like it has been folded over and over again, uncreased and re-creased. It looks old, and coming from him that is saying something.

Cassian thinks that maybe he shouldn’t open it, but... he and Nesta don’t keep secrets, so surely if she had one then she would hide it better than shoving it under all of these scraps of lace in her underwear drawer. He smoothes the paper out carefully and his brow only creases farther as he reads it

Hybern

Old bitch Queen

Stupid Glaring Queen

White Queen

Old Fae Queen

Tomas

Beron

Jurian

Tamlin

Devlon

The last 3 names are deeply faded, clearly having been written in lead and then scratched at. Not scratched out in the way the others are, with a single black line through them, but... erased? Or attempted to be erased at least.

Cassian rubs his thumb along the final line, trying to feel the deeply faded and worn through section of the paper. The writer clearly wrote and then attempted to erase this word several times. It only takes him a minute to figure it out.

Rhysand

Cassian has never been so confused. None of these names seem to fit together in any way that he can make sense of. The Queens, he has to imagine refers to the mortal Queens from the war, and Hybern is explanatory enough- but what do 3 High Lords have to do with any of that? (Well... 2 current High Lords and a “woefully” usurped loser that no one will miss). Not to mention a resurrected human, the Lord of Windhaven, and some poor male named... Tomas?

Cassian shakes his head and does what he always does when something about Nesta confuses him. He walks right into their bedroom and asks her.

“What is this?”

Nesta lifts her eyes from the sheets, hands still gripping at her abdomen as she glares daggers at him.

“The fact that males don’t have to go through this torture is proof that the cauldron has always been an insufferable prick” she growls.

“That’s what I love about you, Nes” he grins that infuriatingly charming lopsided grin of his “you could wish that you weren’t in pain, but no no- instead you wish that I was as well”

“That stupid mating bond does claim to pair equals” she grimaces

“Oh so now it’s stupid?”

“If stuck me with you, didn’t it?”

Cassian laughs, moving closer to the bed with a wicked grin “I didn’t hear you complaining last night as I took that pain away in the only way that ever seems to work” he winks

“Hmmm” Nesta considers idly, reaching out to pull him onto the bed beside her so that she can lean her back against his chest “I suppose you do have your uses.”

Cassian chuckles, running a hand through her hair “what is this?” He asks again, holding up the parchment.

Nesta pauses for only a second before shrugging “it’s my kill list”

“Your what?” She said the words so casually, as though she was informing him what she wanted for dinner that night.

“I should think that the words ‘kill list’ are rather self explanatory”

Cassian pauses, looking down at the female that he thought he knew so well.

They are literally connected together. How could he not know what a bloodthirsty little minx his wife is? Well no, that isn’t accurate. He did know, he just didn’t know that she wrote it all down so literally and physically.

“Rhysand’s name is on this list”

“No it isn’t” Nesta shakes her head in annoyance “I erased it last year after he built that garden and named it for Elain” she shrugs “he’s one of the rotating players. Every few years he does something to get his name on the list but then usually he acquits himself within the decade.”

Cassian only nods, long since learning the pattern of Nesta’s speech that indicates when she is finished speaking on a matter and will not give it any more of her time. Of course, he also knows exactly the right buttons to push in order to make her keep speaking, but... now isn’t the time to play one of those cards. Nesta and Rhysand have always shared a tenuous relationship at best, so he supposes that her erasing his name from the kill list is probably about the greatest level of affection she will ever show the High Lord.

“Who is Tomas?” Nesta’s entire body tenses in his arms and Cassian’s mirrors her exactly one second later.

Oh.

Him.

“I’m glad that he is crossed out” Cassian grits through clenched teeth.

Nesta sighs “not nearly as satisfying an end as some of the others I’m afraid. So much time passed that one day I realized it would be impossible for him to still be alive, so I just crossed his name out” she shrugs.

”why does that old Queen still draw breath?” He grins a little, enjoying the strangely morbid conversation as he moves his hands down to gently massage her lower abdomen. She lets out a little moan that he assumes means some of her pain is subsiding.

“Every day that she lives is her punishment” Nesta grins this time, and Cassian sees it as she lays her head back against his shoulder “she wanted to be young and beautiful forever. Now she is an immortal old crone. If I never cross that name off I’ll consider it a type of victory entirely its own”

“What about Devlon, Jurian, and Tamlin?”

Nesta scoffs “they’re all on thin ice, but...” she sighs, an annoyed sort of huff “Tamlin did save Elain in a way and Jurian was playing doubt agent. And...” she pauses “you speak well of Devlon in comparison to the other Illyrian lords so he remains in the safe zone...for now.”

Cassian just grins a little, hands continuing their careful ministrations “I love you” he murmurs into her hair.

“I love you too”

Cassian pauses, straightening up a bit and pulling Nesta with him as he does so.

“Wait” he narrows his eyes “have I ever been on this list?”

Nesta curls her lips into a teasing smirk and gives him the most innocent little shrug as an answer.

Cassian chuckles, resting his chin on top of her head “as long as you always erase it”

“I use a lighter lead when I want to put you on it” she turns over in his arms so that she can look up at him “easier to erase. No smudges”

“I do believe that is that most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Nesta” they both laugh as Cassian leans down to capture her lips in his own, and suddenly Nesta’s cramps don’t seem quite so bad.

[dailydnp]

British YouTuber, presenter, and author Daniel Howell offers a practical yet poignant look into mental health – his own struggles held up as a mirror for anyone else going through the same – in his book You Will Get Through This Night.

Written in conjunction with psychologist Dr Heather Bolton, the book is an amalgamation of Howell’s own experiences and Dr Bolton’s expert perspective combined to create a reading that feels like a personal attack in the best of ways, forcing you confront, embrace and then overcome your perception of your own mental health.

Best described as, “a practical guide to taking control of your mental health for today, tomorrow, and the days after,”  You Will Get Through This Night takes readers through Howell’s mental health journey, wrapped in his trademark sense of humour and nuggets of wisdom that urge them forwards in their path to a healthier mindset.  

Speaking to 1883, Howell describes what pushed him to write the book, learning to question his normal, how upbringing and culture impacts one’s perception of mental health, the role that a sense of humour plays in getting the conversation around mental health started and more.

Was there a particular moment that solidified your decision to write this book?

I think it was just realizing the power that every single person has to tell their story and break down the wall. Because with mental health, it’s the thing that every single person has a universal experience of. And yet, we all like to go, ‘I’m fine,’ when we’re completely having a meltdown on the inside and it was me opening up, not because I thought it was a nice idea just because I thought I had to open up about what I was going through with my depression, my sexuality. I went through 27 years of terrible mental health, without even realizing that you’re not supposed to be that way. It’s the idea that we all think we are broken, born in a certain way and doomed to feel that way forever, and that’s fundamentally wrong. I thought I’d like to write this book because other people may see themselves in it, notice that they relate to something, and therefore maybe there’s something about themselves that they need to work on. I literally I just wrote the book that I wish I could have read, because for me it was a struggle to even find the resources and the advice I needed.

You’ve mentioned in the book, that you never questioned your symptoms and that you were taken aback when the doctor said you were suffering from depression. But where there moments before that you started questioning this perception of what was normal to you?

I think it became my normal to feel bad all the time, which sounds dramatic but it was me. I thought it was all to do with my choices, age, environment and my job. But mental health is deeper than that, it’s something deeper and it’s something that you can actually have a positive effect on, which is what I wish I knew earlier, and it only happened when I got to a point where I was struggling, so much that I couldn’t even function day-to-day. In my mind, there was either nothing or there’s crazy. I thought you just have to get over your problems or you are totally crazy, which is so ignorant but that’s just not the truth. So, I went to a doctor and he said I think you might have depression and that is a real thing. And there’s lots that you can do about it. It’s about just understanding everything to do with how your thoughts and feelings work, the relationship between your biology and how you interact with the world physically. It was such a slow and painful journey to learn all of that that I thought, I’m just going to put it all in here and the idea is that for someone who picks up this book, they can go right in. I’ll put it up on the shelf and then when I need to read it, I’m going to pick it up and open it  again. So, I just wanted to be super practical.

I really liked this quote in the book “breakdown can be breakthroughs”. So, when was the last time you can think of that a breakdown led to a breakthrough for you?

Every other week, like you know, all of us. It’s just human instinct to try and stick through it and ignore the problems especially with work. It’s a great excuse to lie, “ I know I feel bad but I’m really busy.” And it goes like that until things get way too intense. For me, there were moments where I felt I simply cannot keep going in my career or day-to-day life or try to pretend like I’m funny, until I deal with the fact that I’m gay. And though there was this terrible feeling like “have I hit rock bottom?” But the thing with any obstacle is that it stops you from going in the wrong direction and when you are forced to turn around usually it means you’re confronting the truth for the first time. Usually if someone has a breakdown, if you hit that wall in your life, that point where you absolutely can’t keep going until you turn around and something scary is going to be waiting, it means you’re going in the right direction. When you have these moments of confrontation, instead of procrastinating or running away, if you face it then it’s hopefully better days ahead.

Speaking of procrastination, you talk about burnout and the five-minute rule in one section. How do you strike a balance between not procrastinating and getting things done, but also not overworking yourself?

The human concept of work is very strange and it’s just one of those great examples of something that we’ve all brainwashed ourselves to see a certain way, to put value on certain things that are ultimately probably not great and inevitably lead to another dramatic moment of self-destruction and procrastination, which are both associated with so much guilt and shame.But in reality it’s not because I’m lazy that I don’t want to start this thing, it’s probably I’m terrified of starting this thing because I know that it’s important, I don’t want to fail at it. So, think of the five minute rule as ripping the plaster off, because it’s always the fear of starting. That was me, writing this book and feel like I’m not in the mood to do that, but then moment I start then I’d just write for consecutive hours. Again, it’s just snapping out of the mindset that you’re probably on, which goes I’m doing this because it’s important, and I have to do it. You probably don’t have to do it, you’re probably just running from something else. So, whether you are procrastinating, you think you’re lazy, or  you’re telling yourself that you have to put up all of your issues to deal with whatever you’re busy with, you need to flip it around and look at it, not just from in healthier way but in more honest way. I’m not going to cripple myself with guilt and shame about procrastination but I’m not going to over work myself.

You’ve also written about how one of the worst things you can say to someone going through depression is to get over it. What’s the hardest of trying to get people to understand that it isn’t something you can get over?

I think you cannot underestimate how profoundly ignorant most of the world still is about mental health and that’s not people’s fault. It’s just that science, education and culture has just not been doing the right thing even if science recently has come a long way. We’ve got hundreds of years of stigma that come from. Breaking down the barriers, by being honest, with someone one-to-one is a great way to do that. And it just telling them “I’m not going to pretend that everything’s fine. I just want to tell you that, I feel that way.” And for a lot of people who say they don’t understand depression, anxiety etc, if just say I feel bad and I want to do something about it, people usually empathize with it. I also think lot of people want not take it seriously when other people say that because they feel like where was their help when they needed it? I think that the human nature is usually to feel almost jealous that someone else is asking for help or sympathy and they want to get better but you have to talk back to that voice and say maybe this is an opportunity for me to finally, be honest about how I might have been feeling the whole time. Because at some point you have to break the cycle.

Though you’ve said how you can’t underestimate how ignorant people can be, there’s a section of the book where you talk about how you uploaded your video, “Basically, I’m gay,” and braced for negativity. But that you were surprised by all the positive responses. So, what’s the most recent instance you can think of where you were pleasantly surprised by humanity?

Something that anyone that has to admit something, they’re going through and has in common, whether that’s something that’s come out as gay or someone just admitting that they’re just really stressed or feeling very anxious, is feeling like they have to constantly explain themselves. This is just an example of how you can be afraid of what people will say but when you’re really just honest about something that you’re going through, people usually relate to it on a day-to-day level. Whenever I talk to someone about mental health or sexuality, who may think its weird at first but as I describe my thoughts and feelings, they may relate to it even if they aren’t going through exact same thing as you. For me, a year after coming out and I still have that conversation on a daily basis. As a teenager, I had that deathly fear, that I couldn’t tell anyone because it would be terrible, but now I realize that actually most people are just scared. They aren’t inherently hateful; they’re just putting up that wall because they think that being vulnerable leaves them for attack. But actually, if we’re all vulnerable we’d be a lot happier.

Speaking of vulnerability, you touch upon your upbringing in the book and how it sort of taught you to keep a stiff upper lip. When did you start learn to be vulnerable and what was the biggest challenge with that?

Being a young British man, going to an all-boys school or the comedians that I looked up to on TV – everyone was so cynical. It was about trying to be as like edgy as possible and like act tough, and not show this vulnerability in case it’s seen as weakness. I think that I carried this perception all the way into my mid-20s, it seeped into every part of my personality. A lot of the stuff that I made, when I was younger, had this cynical edge to it and it was only when I started to get more followers from around the world that I began people started questioning that cynicism. At first, I’d go “this is British humour,” but a few years later, I just started to reflect about the way I was about myself and realized it was a bit more than a joke have, I actually started to let this self-hatred and the lack of empathy towards how I feel sort of eat me up. I think because only because of the people who have followed me over the years, giving me a reflection of who I am through how they’ve perceived me that I’ve been able to break free of my default programming.

About your sense of humour and how you kind of make sense of how you’re feeling through jokes, have you ever felt misunderstood -particularly given the cultural differences of your audiences  you just mentioned – like you’re trying to make light of something that a lot of people suffer from?

Yeah, there’s  a weird line and there’s lots of conversations these days about what you’re allowed to joke about. What the difference between talking about something, being comfortable with it and almost glamorizing it. But I think if the biggest problem with mental health globally is people don’t even want to admit that they’re wrong. And that they don’t even know that they were wrong. A bunch of people joking about how depressed they feel could be a  good thing because they have at least taken the first step. So, I think it’s good that people can joke about things in a way that breaks the ice as long as they all know, in the same way that my book might make them feel very personally attacked that just behind that joke that you put up to protect yourself, there is something that you should work on. Even if it’s painful, that it will make you happier.

You mention celebrating small wins in the book. What win are you celebrating today?

I have just moved house and I have a toilet that doesn’t flush yet. But I managed to stick a coat hanger, inside the toilet and to make it flush. I just got my own toilet to flush, and for me, that’s such a miracle. It was a perfect example of how we take so many things for granted in life, whether it’s something huge to do with your health, the state of the world, your privilege. But I now have a flushing toilet and everything else felt easy. I can handle it because I got some perspective.

You also touch on the importance of inner circles in the book. , When was the last time, you personally reached out to bring someone into your inner circle and do you remember how you did it?

I am so awkward and awful at making friends and it’s something that usually, I’ll have one of those breakdowns where I go, “I have no friends.” The next day, I’ll wake up and DM people, out of every three people I DM two-point-nine will just ignore me and I will be very embarrassed. But then one of them will  say “ yes, in two and a half weeks, we will go get a pizza.” And you only have to succeed a couple times ever to make friends that you hopefully will see more than once. I know from experience, it can be embarrassing, painful and not fun to try and reach out to new people but you just start adding one person, every two years until you have a friend group.

While working on this book, I know you consulted with a psychologist for it, aside from your lived experiences. What did you learn about mental health while looking at it from an outside, expert perspective?

I think one of the biggest revelations for me while writing this book is realizing how much of it isn’t a logical thought in our head. So much of mental health is controlled by our body, and the physical things that we experience. It’s about just how we breathe, how much light, and fresh air. And the problem is in our modern world, our brains are looking at everything as a threat. As soon as you realize actually, humans are not as complicated and mysterious as we think, we’re just little animals trying not to get murdered. It was freeing to know because that meant we aren’t born with this magically broken consciousness, that’s just doomed. It definitely made me look at mental health for what it is rather than the mysterious fog of pain that I thought it was for the last 10 years that I had absolutely no control over.

You’ve said that you’re obviously not done with your mental health journey, but where are you on that journey at this moment in time?

I’m doing a lot better than I was simply because I can understand what I feel, and why, and that it’s normal now. And I honestly feel like that’s 90% of it. Most people don’t ever question their lives. If they spend too much time, feeling overwhelming you stressed or if they worry too much and they’re just not enjoying life day-to-day. But just knowing that there’s something you can do about, it gives me enough hope. From writing the book, I know everything I can do to get better.

Finally, what’s one question no one has asked you so far that you wish you were asked?

I think it’s just how do I convince the other people in my life to take mental health seriously?  I realized from writing this book and now, talking about it that the biggest problem I have is that most people simply do not think the conversation about mental health, or mental health,  applies to them because they’re fine. So many people think mental health is only something for people that have crippling depression or serious anxiety disorder, but it’s just how all of us, think and feel all the time. If you have bad self-esteem, if you worry about everything, if you have a way of looking at the world that’s really negative and you expect the worst, then  you might not need to immediately have an intervention with a psychotherapist, but you need to understand your mental health. Even if you read this book and say you are totally fine, then you still need to know this stuff so you can understand why you are fine. There will be a point in life where you need to make yourself feel better and mental health isn’t about waiting until you snap, and then picking up the pieces and going on medication. It should be about knowing how to keep yourself healthy and happy so that you don’t have a breakdown. Everyone has mental health, and that’s the thing that I wish I could just shove into everyone’s faces.

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

avatar state/cycle

Written for Day 3 of @aangweek! Read here on AO3.

~*~

3. avatar state/cycle - someone has drained the color from my wings / broken my fairy circle ring

Toph couldn’t explain the feeling.

The sand in the desert alone had made it thrice as hard for her to discern anything about her surroundings, so if Toph was honest, she had next to no idea of what happened when Aang learned who’d stolen Appa. Wind and sand had bitten at her face, she recalled, and dug into the corners of her eyes. Sokka had grabbed her arm, pulling her backwards and yelling for everyone to run. Other than that, it had all been… imperceptible.

There had been power in the air, though. Power that had crackled over her skin like lightning, burning a hole through her chest. So Toph may not have known the details of what was happening around her, but when Aang spoke with the voice of a thousand ancient, aching souls… Her blood had run cold.

And yet, not even two minutes later, the roaring wind had died.

Toph didn’t understand. Maybe - Maybe part of her was afraid to. To learn the source of such raw strength, raw energy. But she needed to know. She owed Aang that, at least, didn’t she? Because it was her fault. Hers and hers alone that the sandbenders had stolen Appa.

But Toph didn’t dare ask Aang himself. The guilt gnawing at her insides only worsened whenever she was within a few feet of her friend. She’d nearly asked Sokka, but a thought had occurred to her moments before she’d readied herself to approach him.

Toph… didn’t remember Sokka grabbing his little sister while they were in the desert. This recollection - or lack thereof - led her to conclude that maybe, just maybe… Katara had been with Aang. If that was true, then she’d know better than anyone what had happened after Appa was stolen.

Asking Katara was harder than asking Sokka, though, for reasons Toph couldn’t quite place. Reasons she didn’t want to place.

But Toph willed herself to ask. She was an earthbender, after all - she had to face her problems head-on, because they weren’t going to disappear on their own. They would only grow heavier and heavier and heavier on her back until she squared her shoulders and threw the weight off of her own accord.

Toph waited until a night where Sokka and Aang were asleep already. Katara was usually the last to fall asleep, anyways - something about her connection to the moon - but Aang tended to stay up with her. Not tonight, though. He’d passed out seconds after collapsing next to Sokka. Such timing had worked out in Toph’s favor.

She crept across their camp with light footsteps so as not to wake their friends. Katara wasn’t far away - only ten or so feet from their weakly flickering fire, her back against a large rock that crested out the ground. If the purring Toph heard was any indication, the waterbender was petting Momo, too.

Toph lowered herself next to Katara, unsure of how to initiate a conversation. Thankfully, her friend had it covered.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Katara’s voice was quiet. Gentle.

Toph shrugged. “Could’ve. Chose not to.”

Katara chuckled. “Alright. Care to share why you’ve chosen to stay awake, then?”

Toph’s mouth went dry. All thoughts of preparation and readiness went out the window as she was struck with a paralyzing notion - what if Katara blamed her for Appa being stolen, too?

There was a pause. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” Katara hastily reassured her. “I just…” She exhaled. “I’m here to listen if you need it, okay?”

Toph licked her lips. It was now or never. “I - I have a question, actually,” she managed to say without her voice cracking. She flexed her palms, tension already rising in her body. “What… What happened in the desert? With the sandbenders?” She took a deep breath. “With Aang?”

There was another pause, this one longer than before. Toph might have feared Katara had walked away if she hadn’t been able to feel her friend through the large stone they both still rested against.

Katara sighed. “You must be talking about the Avatar state.”

Toph frowned. “The what?”

“The Avatar state. Did your parents not tell you about it when you were little?”

Toph snorted. “The history of the Avatar wasn’t exactly covered in my personal schooling. My parents were more worried about my ability to walk in a straight line without slouching.” Not to mention no one in her household had expected the Avatar to resurface. As far as her parents had been concerned, the Avatar had never existed. They were nothing more than a legend of the less fortunate.

“Oh.” Katara grimaced. Toph could hear the expression in her friend’s voice. “Right.” She shifted, causing Momo to release a low mrp. “Well, the Avatar state is like… the Avatar at their most powerful,” she explained. “They have access to the knowledge of all the previous Avatars, so they can perform incredible feats of bending with all four elements, even if they haven’t mastered certain elements themselves yet.”

Toph nodded. “So… Aang went into the Avatar state when we met the sandbenders?”

“Yes, exactly.”

That explained the sheer power weighing in the air, fizzing over her skin like static and threatening to paralyze her. And the voices. Those must have been the voices of past Avatars, channeling their power and their rage through Aang.

Toph’s brows furrowed. “Okay. I… I think I understand.” She bent earth beneath her right palm, just to give her body another task to focus on besides the anxiety clinging to the back of her throat. “But what actually happened then? When he went into the Avatar state?”

“What do you mean?” Katara asked, puzzled.

“I” - spirits, why was this so hard for her to articulate? - “I couldn’t see out there. There was wind and sand and energy and -” Toph cut herself off with a helpless shrug. “And fear.”

So much fear. Maybe hers, maybe Aang’s, maybe both.

Toph’s fingers curled into the ground. “I guess… why Aang went into the Avatar, what that means, is what I don’t get.”

“Oh.” There was a note of recognition in Katara’s voice. A sort of… acknowledgement, maybe, that hadn’t been present before. Whatever it was, Toph was grateful for it.

“I think I understand what you’re asking now.” Katara chuckled. “Although I’m struggling to figure out how to explain the Avatar state without using too many visual details.” She bumped Toph’s shoulder with her own. “Telling you his eyes and arrows started glowing blue doesn’t mean much, does it?”

Toph snorted. “No, not really.”

“I figured.” Katara hummed, contemplative. “Okay. Think about it this way.” There was another mrp as Momo was presumably disturbed from his slumber once more. “The Avatar state is… an instinct. Sokka would probably call it a defense mechanism.”

Toph frowned. “Wait. If it’s an instinct, how does Aang control it?” When she’d first learned earthbending from the badgermoles, her instinct had stopped boulders from crushing her, but she’d also sent them flying every which way. Did Aang -

“He doesn’t,” Katara said. “Not really. The Avatar state activates in moments of… need, I guess?” She sighed. “It’s hard to explain. Whenever Aang is under some kind of intensity, like - like emotional or physical stress, the Avatar state might be activated.”

“So it’s kind of… to protect him?” Toph thought back to the descriptor of a defense mechanism. It sounded like the Avatar state was almost a shield. A reaction to some form of pain. Which meant in the desert, he’d…

“Yeah, protection is a good way to describe it!” Katara laughed. “Though it’s the most offensive defense I’ve ever seen.”

Katara’s words entered Toph’s mind through a haze. In the desert, none of them had been injured. Tired, yes, dehydrated, sure, but not injured. Which meant for Aang to have entered the Avatar state…

It must have been because of emotional pain.

“Anyways,” Katara continued after a pause. “I’m only guessing at this point, but I think learning what happened to Appa just… overwhelmed Aang. So his body reacted in response. Tried to protect him from his own emotions.”

Momo started purring again. Toph guessed Katara had resumed her gentle petting of the lemur.

“When Aang found Monk Gyatso’s skeleton at the Southern Air Temple,” Katara whispered, her voice laced with a quiet grief, “he… he had the same reaction.”

Toph swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not cry. “So it was sadness, then,” she said when she was certain her voice wouldn’t waver. Devastation. “Anger.” Rage. “Fear.” Terror.

Toph clenched the front fabric of her tunic. “Just… hurt.”

There was a pause. “Yeah,” Katara confirmed. Her tone was almost… mournful. “He’s already lost everything, and now -” She cut herself off with a sharp inhale. Toph didn’t need Katara to finish to know what would be said.

Now Appa’s gone, too.

Toph couldn’t stop a tear from slipping out. She rubbed it away, praying Katara would interpret her action as one of exhaustion instead of guilt.

But maybe Katara was crying, too. The silence meant Toph had no way of knowing.

“Come on,” Katara finally said. “We should get to bed. We’ll be travelling on foot for now, so that means we need as much rest as we can get.”

Toph flinched. “Right.” But before Katara could stand up, Toph grabbed her arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For taking the time to… talk with me.”

Katara smiled at her. Toph didn’t need to see to know that. “Anytime.”

The next morning, Toph awoke at the crack of dawn. After a more restful night than she’d had in days, perhaps waking earlier was to be expected. Even better, Twinkle Toes was already up. Based on the heat in the air, he’d started cooking breakfast for them over a new fire, too.

Toph marched over to Aang’s side and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. She ignored his startled yelp, instead squeezing him tighter. “We will get Appa back,” she whispered. “I promise.”

A beat passed. Aang wrapped his arms around her in response. “Thank you,” he murmured. His own embrace tightened. “I know we will.”

Toph was never going to let him feel such a hurt again.

~*~

it was not intentional but i think there's some major katophaang vibes from this ficlet, lmao (i have no regrets). i hope to see you tomorrow for day 4 - dance. thank you for reading!

[kittyprincessofcats]

RWBY Volume 6

So, I pretty much binge-watched this one in a few days because I really needed to know how things go on after Volume 5 and it was just so good! Lots of messy thoughts to come!

[There will be spoilers for RWBY up to Volume 6 in this post (duh). Please don’t leave any spoilers for anything after Volume 6 on this post, or I will block you.]

Thoughts under the cut because this ended up getting a little long.

- The character short for Adam was really cool! It was cool to see how the White Fang began, to see Sienna, Ghira, Ilia and Adam in action, to see the irony of Sienna being a mentor to Adam and encouraging his ways when you know he’ll end up killing her, and to see a glimpse into Adam and Blake’s past relationship (and how the stuff he said to her was textbook emotional abuse). However, I do have one criticism, and it’s something that really bothers me: There’s a continuity mistake with Ilia’s age. Let’s think about this: Ilia was always implied to be the same age (or around the same age) as Blake. In the part of this short where Ghira was still leader of the White Fang, Ilia appears and doesn’t look younger than in canon. But we know Ghira stepped down at least a few years ago. If Blake is meant to be a teenager in volume 1… there’s just no way Ilia could have been there and already been an adult. She’s supposed to have still been a kid when Ghira was leader, unless she’s at least a few years older than Blake – which I don’t think she’s meant to be? Yeah sorry, this kind of stuff just bothers me. I get that timelines can be hard to keep track off, but that was a really obvious mistake and it ruins my immersion a bit.

- I loved the whole opening fight on the train and just seeing team RWBY fighting together again.

- I’ve got to say, I do feel bad for Weiss: After everything she went through to leave Atlas, she now suddenly has to go back there. I mean, that must suck.

- I’m a bit sad they just but Ilia on a bus, but I get that her main conflict is pretty much over and they had to go back to focusing on the main characters’ quest. I still wish we’d have at least gotten a scene of her interacting with the other members of team RWBY, though.

- I really liked Ilia and Blake’s goodbye at the train station, though. (And the whole “wrong tree” moment with Neptune really made me laugh 😂)

- Also just wanted to say I love Ilia’s new outfit (and the fact that she has spots on her belly – this is really important information, okay?)

- There’s a certain irony in the Faunus becoming more accepted because they STOPPED Adam’s attack on Haven.

- I think Jinn and the whole concept of how asking her questions works is super cool.

- I totally get why everyone’s pissed at Ozpin both before, during and after Jinn revealed his and Salem’s backstory. He has been hiding an awful lot from everyone, even after promising not to anymore, and he actively tried to stop the team from finding out the truth. Plus, the whole fact that he doesn’t have a plan for defeating Salem and is potentially risking everyone’s lives for nothing. (That said, can they not take it out on poor Oscar, please? None of this is his fault.)

- Oscar fighting Ozpin from within and telling them how to summon Jinn was a really badass scene. And I feel super bad for Oscar overall. Not only is he kind of at war with someone who lives in his brain now, but he also just found out that he’ll eventually only become a part of Ozma. And on top of that, people are punching and blaming him for stuff that’s not his fault. That’s super harsh.

- I’m kind of glad Cinder’s alive, because as I said, I was hoping they’d develop her more and make her a more interesting villain… but I don’t feel like this volume did that. Right now, she’s still pretty superficial, unfortunately.

- And now, time to get into one of the highlights of this volume for me: Salem’s backstory! Because holy shit, that was one hell of a backstory! When I said back in my post about volume 5 that I hope Cinder’s alive because I would like to see them make her a more interesting villain, I didn’t expect them to do just that, but for Salem. I love villains that are interesting, but I didn’t expect Salem, the literal big bad of the show, to be the interesting one here! I am pleasantly surprised by this, though! (And just to be clear, because some people love to misunderstand this: When I say “interesting”, I don’t mean “She has a sad backstory, this excuses everything she’s doing”, I mean “She has a sad backstory, this makes her more compelling as a villain”.)

- So, about that backstory: Do we all agree that the gods are major jerks, or what? I mean, initially not bringing Ozma back to life was fair, death is a part of life, they can’t upset the balance, I get that – but making him repeatedly disintegrate in Salem’s arms after she just thought she’d gotten him back? And then making her immortal just to make sure she couldn’t be with him? And then killing ALL of humanity just because of the actions of a few? But still not letting Salem die? And then bringing Ozma back after all (because now it suddenly doesn’t ‘disrupt the balance’ or what?) and kind of tricking him into that whole relics task because he wanted to be with Salem? The god are jerks, I rest my case - and I’m not sure if bringing them back is a good idea.

- Also… I get that she’s like… evil and all… but am I the only one who thought Salem got way sexier after jumping into the pools of grimm? Is that just me? Because damn… I’m kinda into that version of her. (Come on, she’s a sexy goth witch and I’m a simple lesbian, what do you expect?)

- So yeah… in an unexpected turn of events, Salem might be one of my favourite characters now? Oops? (*insert obligatory ‘this does not mean I condone her actions in any way’ disclaimer here*)

- I feel super bad for Salem and Ozma’s kids, though. I hate kids getting hurt in media in general. (I imagine the grief over them stayed with Ozma forever. And I like the theory that he gave the original four maidens their powers because they reminded him of his daughters. In general, I don’t consider him to be the bad guy in this backstory at any point. His only mistake is not being honest with the people who are helping and protecting him in the present.)

- I am now convinced that this entire show has to end with Salem and Ozma dying. That’s the only way all of this can end. Salem will have to either be killed somehow or learn the lesson the gods tried to teach her and die. Ozma will have to fulfill his task and die as well – either through Oscar dying with him (😢), through only Ozma dying but Oscar getting to live without him, or through the reincarnation cycle ending and Ozma/Ozpin recognizing that Oscar is going to be his last life. Something like that would be my prediction.

- Speaking of interesting villains: This volume also did a great job with Emerald and Mercury! With those two, I’m actually hoping for a redemption now. (And Hazel is a great guy as well. The fact that he was willing to take the blame for their failure at Haven to protect Emerald and Mercury is something I really respect.)

- I also I want to say I find Tyrion super entertaining.

- It was great to see Neo again! (I’ve gotten so used to Chibi!Neo it was almost weird to see regular Neo again.) Her fight with Cinder was EPIC.

- (I basically feel like this volume did a great job on all villains except for Cinder. But hey, maybe that’ll still happen.)

- This was an interesting volume for Qrow. On the one hand, I get why hearing Oz’s backstory drove him into a sort-of depression and made his drinking habit worse and I feel bad for him, but from the point-of-view of Ruby and the others, it must have also been super frustrating that the one proper adult in the group couldn’t keep it together and everyone else had to keep doing the hard work.

- Maria is a super cool and epic character! I really hope she sticks around with the team for Volume 7 because she’s amazing and I love her. She was super badass in her backstory (that moment where she lost her eyes was painful just to watch), I love the fact that she was Qrow’s hero growing up (and that he based his weapon on hers!), that we finally met another character who has (well, had) silver eyes, and that she’s that funny, cranky, but also wise old lady now who mentors Ruby and is just super funny all around. Good stuff, I hope we see more of her!

- The Apathy are the creepiest grim yet. The whole concept of them draining you of your will to live without you even noticing is just SO scary – I love it, but I’m also low-key terrified. The crew’s trip to that farm estate could have easily gone very wrong. Pretty much nothing but Ruby’s silver eyes even worked on them. I like how those episodes set the whole thing up – Team RWBY having emotional conversations while they were in the house, everyone having doubts (which makes sense at that point in the story, so you don’t really question it at first), and then the sneaking realization of what’s going on. Also, the guy who sealed in those Apathy grim in in the first place was just so dumb. How could you think that was a good idea? Good job getting everyone killed, dude.

- I’m glad this volume gave us more on Ruby’s silver eyes! I like that she finally got to use them before the season finale (though I loved that joke on RWBY Chibi), and I also like that she first used them to protect Blake. (I don’t ship them as much as Bumbleby, but I feel like Ruby and Blake’s ship/friendship is super underrated.) It was also nice to learn more about how the Silver eyes work in general and how they came to be. (If they came from the god of light, I’m assuming all the people with silver eyes are the descendants of Ozma’s past lives? TV Tropes kind of helped me out here: Apparently if you freeze the picture where you see one of his past lives with his kids, you can see the kids have silver eyes.) People with silver eyes being hunted also comes as no surprise to me, that’s kind of what I was assuming already. (Which raises the question: Just how did Summer Rose die?) Also, interesting fact that they only work on the Grimm...

- That moment where they reunite with JNR in Argus was really sweet. I also loved the design of Argus as a whole.

- I LOVE Saphron, Terra, and their son!!! I love that we got to meet one of Jaune’s sisters, I love that we got some more LGBT+ representation, and their baby is adorable!! (I loved that scene of everyone cooing over the baby. Also, that moment where Ruby realized Jaune and Saphron were siblings. Also, that moment where the baby helped them distract the guards by crying.) Basically, I just love the Cotta-Arcs. (Also, I just want to say that Saphron is super pretty.)

- Cordovin and her two goons are hilarious. I mean, I also hate them because they’re overly patriotic Atlas-people and Cordovin was racist to Blake – but they’re also super freaking hilarious. Every little line of Maria and Cordovin’s beef with each other had my dying with laughter 🤣 (mainly it was Maria’s lines that had me dying with laughter).

- That whole scene with the statue of Pyrrha was such a tearjerker 😢. First the leaf, then the sad music, then Jaune talking to that red-haired lady (I’m guessing she’s either Pyrrha’s mom or sister?), and then Ren and Nora joining and giving Jaune a pep-talk 😭 😭. I think this was a really important moment for Jaune, not just to get closure, but also to stop blaming himself and putting himself down. I’m glad Ren and Nora told him they don’t want to lose him too, and that the red-haired lady said she’s “glad Pyrrha was surrounded by such amazing people”. Gosh, now I’m tearing up again writing this 😭. I miss Pyrrha 😭 😭.

- I love Oscar’s new outfit. It was time for him to finally drop the farm boy look.

- I love how Jaune is so down for crime that his plan is just “They only let Atlas airships though, so we steal an Atlas airship.” I mean, makes sense.

- I think their whole plan to steal the airship was super cool and although I get why things can’t be that easy in shows like this (and I love that we got the showdown with Adam), I still kind of wish it had worked just because it was a really cool plan and everyone had their part to play in it. Heck, even the baby got to help (and it was awesome)! But yeah, Adam just had to ruin everything, nothing new there.

- So, about Adam: First of all, he’s a major creep for victim-blaming Blake (again) and stalking her. I like how creepy his behaviour is from a story-telling perspective (and from an angst-loving “I like seeing my faves suffer” perspective), but his story was getting a little old, so I’m not too sad they killed him off now. It was a good point in the story to do it. (That said, holy shit is he a creep! “I wouldn’t have to be doing this if you just behaved”? Wow. I get that he’s meant to be abusive and controlling; that’s the point of his character (and like I said, I’m here for the angst), but… yikes, poor Blake.)

- And then we had Blake and Yang’s rematch with Adam. EPIC STUFF. First of all, I like that Blake was able to hold her own against him for a bit (and same for Yang later). I also love the whole dramatic setting by the waterfall and the fact that Blake lost her coat (this is important, okay? it symbolizes vulnerability – and also it just looks cool), the scar on Blake’s belly (from their fight at Beacon, right?), the face reveal of Adam – I just love how all of this was set up in such an epic, dramatic way. But the most epic moment, at least from the start of the fight, has got to be Yang just jumping down there with her motorcycle hitting Adam and that amazing music. I’ve said before that Yang is just too cool for words and I will stand by that. The fight itself was epic too, though I was so stressed the whole time I couldn’t completely pay attention. Blake and Yang fighting Adam together was definitely the best part, though. And I loved the irony of Yang’s metal arm saving her. In general, I like that Yang and Blake got to fight and defeat (and kill) Adam together because he’s been a demon for both of them, and I like that they clarified they’re doing it as equal partners. “We’re protecting each other” was a nice callback to earlier when Blake tried to reassure Yang she’d protect her, and to even earlier when Yang was protecting Blake at Beacon.

- Let’s talk about my other highlight of the volume: Bumbleby! Because sorry not sorry, there’s no way you can deny their romantic subtext anymore at this point. Early in the volume, there’s the conflict of things being weird between them, and Blake not knowing how to deal with her guilt and thinking she needs to protect Yang (and do stuff like getting her bag down for her) – while Yang feels insulted by this and thinks that Blake sees her as being incapable of doing anything now that she lost an arm. Then, when Blake first leaves to disable the comms, they give each other those really sweet, loving looks. And of course, it all leads up to them confronting their nightmare together, holding hands, and declaring that they’re protecting each other. Add Adam’s jealousy to that (He was making comparisons between himself and Yang and asking “What does she even see in you?” – that’s not a sentence you just say to your ex’s friend) and you’d have to be willfully ignorant to not see the subtext. And those soft moments after the fight just killed me: Blake breaking down crying, Yang immediately running to hug and comfort her, Blake’s promise not to leave, Yang reassuring her and wiping away her tears – I LOVE hurt/comfort stuff and I’m so soft for these two! They love each other so much!

(Pretty much the only downside of all this is that a few major parts were spoiled for me in advance. Look, it’s pretty impossible to follow lots of blogs that post wlw ships and not see that picture of Bumbleby holding hands, or the one of them hugging (or the one of them killing Adam) at some point. So yeah… I’d seen all three of those pictures before and knew this would happen. But it was still really nice to see it all come together and see how we got there!)

- The fight against Cordovin and her giant mecha was also pretty cool! It reminded me a bit of the Legend of Korra finale. Ruby going inside the arm canon was an especially epic moment. And I also liked that small moment when they were flying on the Queen Lancer and Ruby had her arms around Weiss’ waist (a bit of White Rose, yay!).

- I like that moment when the Grimm attack and the team first realizes they just destroyed the only thing capable of stopping them – but to be honest, that was mostly Cordovin’s fault. She brought out that mecha for something it wasn’t meant for and started the fight that attracted the Grimm in the first place. Also, how exactly did she think the people of Atlas would take it if she had actually hurt Weiss? So yeah, most of that mess was on her, tbh. I’m glad she at least came though to help in the end, though.

- Back to Bumbleby: Honestly, the strongest romantic undertones weren’t even in the fight with Adam or directly afterwards for me, but in the last episode when they’re all on the ship together. So, Blake is blaming herself for the plan going wrong, and Yang has an arm around, her, still half holding her and reassuring her. And then – and this one really gets me – Ruby hugs Blake and gives Yang that knowing look over her shoulder while Yang suddenly looks away shyly. They’re communicating without words and Ruby totally knows what’s up. She’s basically saying “So you and Blake, huh?” and suddenly Yang – YANG – is feeling shy. This isn’t subtle. And then later Bumbleby hold hands again and look at each other like that… they’re in love, I don’t make the rules.

- And finally, we of course have Ruby’s epic silver-eyed moment in the finale, which was AMAZING. I loved all the flashbacks and how they’re drawn pictures and not just stills from the episodes, I love how the memories of her friends motivate her, I love how much of Penny there was in there (bit of Nuts and Dolts, yay!), I loved seeing adorable little!Yang, and of course the first look at Summer Rose! (I still want a Team STRQ backstory episode at some point.) Also, the music during that scene was so good!

Gosh, now I’ve talked for way too long again, but there was just so much to say about this volume! Long story short: Loved it, can’t wait to continue! (I know exactly 1 major spoiler for volume 7 because it was unavoidable on social media, but that’s it. And it’s a spoiler I really didn’t mind knowing, so…)

[gentlemen-of-lies]

Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 3

Making friends with a bald man on a bicycle

(Next chapter) (Chapter 2)

————

Curt had heard about Bletchley Park, not much to spark any sort of special interest, but he knew it held a significant role in the war, breaking German codes, and even developing brand new technology. So he was quite excited to see it in action.

Unfortunately, his expectations were dashed almost as soon as they arrived. According to Owen, while Bletchley was still part of the British Intelligence, it stopped its code breaking in 1946, after the war had ended. And was really only used now for training certain workers, such as teachers, or air traffic controllers. Andrew Hayes was one of the trainers, not a very a cool role in Curt’s opinion. Was he even part of MI6? Apparently he had used to be. Not a Bletchley worker, although his girlfriend had been, but a spy during the war, his German coming in handy. Now his German only came in handy if he so happened to train a German to be a teacher, which he never did. And Curt was now realising why Hayes was a suspect in the first place. MI6 had essentially dropped him as soon as the war had ended, keeping him on only while it was convenient for them.

They didn’t even enter the building, Owen said there was no need for Hayes to accidentally spot them, as it may blow their case. He said it was better to wait until they saw him leave and then keep an eye on him. Their viewing spot was on another bench, round the corner from the building’s main exit and entrance, a good area to observe the entire front driveway, but still keeping out of sight from those leaving and entering. Curt shuffled around in his seat.

“Stop fidgeting,” reprimanded Owen. Curt glared at him.

“I can’t help it, those clothes you gave me are too tight.” Curt had opened up the duffel back once he’d returned to his hostel last night, and had found a white collared shirt, and a brown jacket, much neater and cleaner than his own clothes.

“They look fine.”

“Doesn’t matter how they look, they feel like plastic.”

“When you’re undercover, it does matter how it looks, and your comfort means nothing. Get a hold of yourself, Mega. You’re the one who has to follow Hayes. If he catches me, he’ll know what’s happening immediately.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re following the right person.” Curt raised an eyebrow, annoyed at Owen’s clear conviction that Curt was useless as a spy. Well, he’d sure show Owen. He was determined to solve this case himself, and rub it in both Owen and Cynthia’s faces.

While they waited, Curt observed his immediate surroundings, seeing the green spaces and the gated entrances. He wasn’t one to ponder the past, or be sentimental in any way, but he couldn’t help but think about all that was achieved here during the war, and seeing how soon it had come crashing down. It went from breaking top secret codes, to teaching middle aged men how to land a plane. From the best mathematicians in the world, to people who simply needed a pay check. It certainly made him think about the unpredictability of his own job, how soon things change, how different one day is from the other. It wasn’t a thought he was particularly keen on entertaining, so he brushed it aside.

Besides, he had spotted a suspect. Not Hayes, but Lawson. Lawson was exiting the building from a different direction, out of sight from Owen. Curt followed the man with his eyes. What he really wanted to do was follow him properly, but Owen would never let him. So he tried to keep him in sight as long as possible, maybe work out where he was heading. It was impossible of course; he could have been heading anywhere. All he managed to mentally note down was that Lawson was cycling down a road joining from the other side of Bletchley.

“There’s Hayes,” alerted Owen. Curt pulled his eyes away from where Lawson had rounded a corner, and fixated them on their new target: Andrew Hayes. He was a rather short man, bespectacled, slightly balding. Didn’t look like much of a threat, if Curt was being honest, but then... those who didn’t look like a threat were usually the opposite. Or at least, they were in his experience.

Hayes placed a black briefcase into the front basket on his bicycle, and began to ride away. Owen nudged Curt to stand up.

“Quick, follow him. But don’t be too obvious.” Curt gave him a disbelieving look, about to say something, but Owen pointed firmly at the receding figure, and Curt had no choice but to jog to catch up with the man, slowing down as soon as he could in case he was spotted. How was he supposed to follow a man on a bike without running? Or at least speed walking, both of which would arouse suspicion. But luckily for him, Hayes seemed to be taking it easy, just a nice afternoon bike ride on the rare days of sunshine, so it wasn’t long before Curt could comfortably walk behind him, at a safe distant, and not lose sight of the man.

Curt was expecting Hayes to go straight home, so he wasn’t sure what his plan of action would be afterwards. He couldn’t exactly spy on him in his own home. Maybe with a bit more experience he could, but at the moment, he didn’t want to risk screwing anything up.

But thankfully, the man stopped at a café, parking his bicycle outside and as Curt watched, he went to the counter to order something, and sat down at one of the neighbouring tables. Even better, the café was practically full. Curt had a plan of action.

He waited a few minutes before entering the café himself, ordered a coffee from the girl behind the counter and went over to Hayes.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked, pointing to the chair opposite from where Hayes was sitting. Hayes looked a little bewildered at the imposition, but he gestured at the chair, signalling that it was free. Curt sat down.

“You’re an American?” Hayes asked.

“Yeah. Just arrived here a few days ago.”

“How are you liking it?”

“Weather’s not great, but the people are swell.” Actually the people either ignored him or “took the piss out of him”, a phrase he’d picked up from Bill the receptionist. But he certainly didn’t want to insult the country of the guy he was supposed to making friends with.

“That’s good to hear.” The waiter came over with Hayes’s coffee, along with a jam tart he’d also ordered. Hayes thanked the waiter, and turned back to Curt. “So how come you’re here anyway?” Curt couldn’t believe his luck: Hayes was a talker. Usually he had to work to get any information out of someone, especially a stranger.

“Visiting family. My mom’s side is British.” Wasn’t true of course. His mom’s side had never even left the state, let alone the country. “This is the first time I’ve been though, my job got me travelling...” Curt hoped Hayes would take the bait.

“What’s your job?” Bingo.

“Before the war I worked as a travel writer for a newspaper. I’m finally able to get back to it.”

“You’re lucky you got your job back. I lost mine, work as a teacher now.”

“What was your job before?”

“Oh, just a government position. Nothing too important.” Curt’s coffee finally arrived, and he took a sip of it before continuing. He had to keep Hayes talking, long enough for them to strike up a proper rapport.

“How come you lost it then?” Hayes didn’t respond right away. He took a bite out of his tart.

“Not sure, if I’m honest. The war turned everything on its head.”

“Did you fight in it?”

“No, I still kept my position. Helped the effort of course, but I wasn’t a soldier. What about you?”

“Sure, I fought in it.” Curt hadn’t stepped foot on the battlefield, but Hayes didn’t need to know that. Frankly, it was a good opportunity to make himself look cool. An opportunity he had no intention of letting go. “Of course, our soldiers did a lot of the clean up, but I fought in a few battles.”

“Well, that’s awfully brave of you.”

“Why thank you, sir.” Curt noticed his American accent becoming... extra American. It was a tip he’d soon picked up for himself. The more American you sounded, the more people were intrigued. Especially the ladies.

Curt was about to continue, but all of a sudden, he spotted someone outside. By some pure trick of fate, Lawson was wandering down the street, wheeling his bike beside him. The bike seemed to have a puncture, an observation confirmed by Lawson heading into a bike shop that stood just across from the café. This was Curt’s chance.

He thought of Owen. Owen would be pissed. But what did he care? He didn’t even like Owen. And besides, he was starting to get suspicious- not just of Lawson- but from Owen himself. Why was Owen so adamant that Lawson wasn’t a suspect? What sort of spy ruled out anyone just because of a gut feeling? Curt had a duty to follow Lawson. Owen couldn’t get pissed at him for doing his duty.

“I’m going to have to say good day to you, sir,” Curt said to Hayes, tipping an imaginary hat for added effect. “’Fraid I must get going, gotta deadline to meet. But it was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too.”

“You here often? I wouldn’t mind catching up now and again before I head back to the States.” Curt thought he might as well do something he was ordered to do. No point in losing a connection to one of the suspects.

“Um, yes, I come here after work every day.”

“Well then, I hope to see you again.”

“And you. You can tell me all about America. Fascinating place, I’ve heard.”

“It sure is, and I’d be happy to talk to you about it.” He tried to wrap the conversation up as soon as he could, not wanting to lose sight of Lawson. He didn’t know how long he’d be in that shop for. Should he enter the shop? Or simply hang back, follow him when he had exited onto the street?

“Are you alright?” Asked Hayes, suddenly. Shit. Curt’s mind had wandered off and he’d forgotten to continue speaking.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll be going then.” Hayes nodded in acknowledgement, probably getting sick of him by now, which wasn’t what he had intended. Curt turned around, handed a five pound note to the lady at the counter, tipped the waiter, and left the shop. The little bell by the door tinkling as he did so.

He didn’t want Hayes to spot him hanging around, so he ducked into the nearest alleyway, still on the same side of the street as the café, waiting for Lawson to come out. He had to wait some time, checking his watch every so often, tapping his feet impatiently. When Lawson did make an appearance, what was he going to do about it? Strike up a conversation? Follow him home. Perhaps he hadn’t thought this through so well.

But he didn’t have time for a self-evaluation, as at that moment, the door of the bike shop opened and Lawson stepped out onto the pavement. This was it.

There was no opportunity to bump into him, start up a friendly interaction. Curt had no choice but to simply stray behind him, his head bent low, walking on the opposite side of the street. Lawson didn’t have his bike with him, so it was a little harder to stay out of sight. He wanted to at least find out where Lawson lived. Even if he didn’t yet make any sort of move, he could always return at a later date with a proper plan in mind, and perhaps even convince Owen to let him trail the guy.

The walk wasn’t too long. Lawson lived down a road lined with flats, his flat being in one of the first buildings coming into the street. Curt couldn’t do much else except note down the street name and the building number, but after a few minutes, when Lawson was safely inside, Curt walked up the front steps, hoping to find one of those signs, markers, whatever they were called, that had the surnames and flat number of each resident.

Indeed, the building did have said sign. But weirdly- suspiciously- Lawson wasn’t listed. Only by process of elimination could Curt work out that Lawson lived in flat 2B. It was the only flat not listed. Good piece of information, Mega. You’re doing well.

He could easily trail Hayes and Lawson without Owen finding out about the latter.

Curt smiled to himself. He’d solve this case, no doubt about it.

[aellynera]

Somewhat Worse for the Wear (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Reader)

SOMEWHAT WORSE FOR THE WEAR (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Reader)

(when i started writing this, i did not know it was National Tequila Day, but i guess it worked out? just another of my moments of my brain shouting that i needed to write this. bottoms up!)

Word Count: 2876(ish)

Summary: There are reasons why you should not drunk text. But there are also reasons why you should.

Warnings: Some language/suggestions. Alcohol consumption.

(((note: Pope’s texts are in bold. Your texts are bold and italic.)))

Hey.

...Hey.

What are you doing?

You were out with some of your coworkers, after an incredibly long and stressful day (and a horrible week, to be honest) and you were finally able to sit, have dinner and margarita, and vent about the trials of the day. You were chatting and laughing and talking about nothing in particular and having a much-needed night out. You were actually feeling happy, which you hadn’t felt in a hot minute and it was wonderful.

And then you found yourself answering Pope’s text. Dammit.

Why had he even texted you? Wasn’t he in Brazil, or Colombia, or...well...some other country far to the south of where you were now? The last time you’d seen him had been right before he left. He’d come to your apartment to say he was leaving, that he’d taken another mission, that he had to go and it was important, that he just wanted you to know. Which was fine, really. Except for the part where you’d stupidly thought that maybe your friendship with an extra side of carnal knowledge might actually evolve into something more. But this was Pope, who were you kidding?

Since he’d disappeared, he had only texted you three times. On your birthday, then that Christmas, and then the following birthday. No calls, nothing else. Just those texts and you had never replied. You had thought about it. You had thought about it, about him, so many times since he’d left, but you could never bring yourself to actually respond or reach out to him. Until now.

Out to dinner.

Oh. Hot date? :)

No, just coworkers. Long week.

He had told you he was leaving. You’d told him that sounded nice and to be safe. He’d asked if he could see you when he got back. You’d asked if you could talk about what had been going on between you for the past year. The answer to both questions was deafening silence that swirled between you, heavy and uneasy. He had looked away, somewhere over your shoulder, off to the distance with his jaw set. No words. So you asked him to kindly fuck off, and to his credit, he did exactly what you asked.

That was two years ago.

And now he was texting you and with a single word ruining your relaxing unwinding dinner.

Can I see you? I miss you. :( :( :(

And you were answering him. What were you thinking.  You told yourself it was just the surprise of seeing his name pop up on your phone, and it would be rude to just ignore him. Right? Your eyes scanned the room and narrowed at the bartender; totally his fault. He was making these margaritas way too strong and you were almost sure he was using the top-shelf to make a house drink, that bastard. Yep, totally the margaritas

And what was with the emoticons? Pope was most definitely not an emoticon kind of guy. You weren’t generally an emoticon kind of gal, either, but he started it.

Aren’t you like, in Colombia or somewhere? ;)

A winky face? You sent him a winky face. You considered crawling under the table to die of embarrassment at yourself, but you were already getting weird looks from your friends. Were you that distracted? Obviously. Because you sent him a winky face.

A few minutes passed in blessed silence, then your phone went off again.

Nope. Come on, let me come see you. I’ll buy you all the pussy you want.

Your friends gave you oddly concerned looks when margarita shot out your nose onto the table in front of you. Damn that burns…

EXCUSE ME?!

Drinks! Pussy ass drinks! That freaking girly fruit shit you always liked. Not talking about actual...unless you…

Santiago Garcia, are you drunk?

...no?

No, as in actually no, or no as in, I’m holding a bottle and most of it is gone.

The second one. More or less.

You sighed. You should never have picked up the phone.

Have to go, Pope. Please, just don’t do something dumb like drive.

Or send me more texts, you thought as one of your friends asked if everything was okay.

You nodded rapidly and mouthed that everything was fine, and quickly went to send a final text reply to Pope. A split second before you could get your words on the screen, another message popped up.

I love you.

That was not what you were expecting. Or needing to hear right now. Or had any idea how to deal with, so you just pinched the bridge of your nose, shot Pope a final message, and then shut off your phone.

Goodnight, Pope.

*****

It had been a few weeks since that night Pope texted you those three little words that you were not expecting to hear, and since you were fairly certain he was drunk, you let the whole thing slide. To his credit, there had been no more messages waiting when you turned your phone back on. Life continued, basic and normal.

Until tonight.

You were sitting in a bar on a Friday night after another very, very long day at work. You were kicking back and letting loose with your friends, finally getting a chance to let all the stress of the day (and the whole week, again, to be honest) flow out of you as freely as the liquor was flowing in. You were singing along, not necessarily badly but definitely loudly in the way that only alcohol can enhance, to the cover band currently up on the stage.

And then, after more than your fair share of tequila shots and a rousingly intoxicated sing-a-long of Pour Some Sugar on Me, you decided that texting Pope would be the most fabulous idea in the whole entire universe. Your phone was in your hand before you knew it.

Hey handsome.

I miss you and I wish you were here so I could bounce quarters off your ass.

Hey cariña. I’m sorry, what are we doing now?

You looked down at your phone and cackled hysterically even as your face flushed with heat. That...wasn’t exactly what you meant, but now you were having a very difficult time getting the image of Pope’s ass out of your head. Dammit. And, well, at least half of you hoped he wouldn’t reply, the other half hoped he would, and most of you wasn’t expecting him to.

But of course he replied. It was Pope, after all.

Lololol oops I mean wish you were here we could play quarters. Kick your ass.

Uh huh. What number shot are you on?

How did he know you were doing shots? Oh, right. You were now remembering that time when he said some dumb shit and you decided accepting his shot challenge was an incredibly brilliant way to shut his ass up, and the next thing you knew, it was a scene out of Raiders of the Lost Ark with a mountain of empty shot glasses and a mostly empty bottle of John Crow Batty between you and then you’d stumbled out into the parking lot and gone into the alleyway and...well. He knew you liked shots.

Irrele...Iverant… dunno haha.

Are you okay?

M fine. Out with friends. Shots.

Yeah honey, I got that part. Do you need me to come get you?

Nope. M good. Gonna uber home. No worry.

Okay, if you’re sure. But if you need me, you call me and I’ll come to wherever you are, no questions.

In a plane?

Sorry honey, what?

You’re in Braz..Colomb...wherever. You just gonna walk? Need a plane!

You were sure you could hear him laughing. Could people really laugh through texts? You could see him shaking his head with that bemused half-grin on his face. He had that look a lot around you, but especially when you had too much tequila. You were funny when you had too much tequila. He was funny when you had too much tequila.

You had definitely had too much tequila.

No, I’m not in Colombia anymore. Told you that last time.

Ohhhh. Did he? You couldn’t really remember that part. You were starting to remember other parts of your last conversation, though.

Sorry about last time btw. 

Huh. Was he? Were you? Your head was swimming and your brain was woozy and it felt like you were inside a washing machine with an unbalanced spin cycle. You no longer felt any real control over your fingers and what they were typing. You were definitely feeling like you needed to...to… - stop texting, stop texting, stop texting - you brain chanted. You were very willing to ignore it.

Ok so no planes. Fuck you Santiago I wanted you to make me fly.

...are you sure you don’t need me to come get you?

I’m sure. Gonna call that uber. Think too much tequila.

Ok. Hey, do me a favor, text when you get home? So I know you’re ok. Please?

You could do that. You could definitely do that. Maybe. Would your phone still work when you got home? Maybe it only worked here in the bar, or whenever you had some booze. You definitely weren’t going to have any booze when you got home so maybe your phone would just...stop working? You weren’t sure how much of anything worked right now.

Too much tequila.

Cariña?

For a fraction of a split second, your agave-addled brain caught up to what your fingers were doing. Suddenly you felt queasy and groaned, flagging down one of your friends and only having the fortitude to possibly mumble something about getting a ride. They nodded, calling for your ride as you typed one more message, then shut off your phone and threw it into your bag.

I love you, Santiago.

*****

You ended up not texting Pope when you got home. Hell, you don’t even remember getting home. You remember your friend calling the uber, you sort of remember leaving the bar, you kind of remember actually getting in your ride, and you ever so slightly remember actually getting into your apartment. Fortunately for you, you also remember that the uber driver was also someone you worked with in the office and a trustworthy person, so getting home in one piece wasn’t ever a problem.

Staying in one piece once you got there wasn’t either, as you promptly passed out face down on your bed. You woke up in the same place, in the same clothes, vaguely smelling like a distillery. Sitting up proved to be your worst idea in at least the past several hours and you crashed back down onto your mattress, groaning.

As you fell forward (the motion doing having no actual benefit for the throbbing in your head) the mattress gave a little bounce and your phone fell out of your bag, which had ended up lying on its side up by your pillows. Grabbing it, you opened one eye to turn it on and check the time. Why was it off? Oh, right, the fuzzy edges of your memory from the night before said, you’d turned it off at some point...maybe at the bar? In the uber? You could recall very little. Until about two minutes later when that evil little piece of technology beeped an extremely uncalled for series of pitched tones and all your new messages loaded.

And then you saw it all and remembered everything.

Your head was throbbing mercilessly as you forced yourself to read through all the messages. Quarters. Shots. Airplanes. Offers of assistance. Pope’s ass. Telling Pope that...dammit.

How much tequila did you drink?

Pope had sent you six messages since you’d told him...that. Wincing, you read them quickly.

Hey, you get home ok?

I hope you’re ok. Please just let me know?

Cariña? Honey?

Please don’t make me send in the cavalry to check on you.

One tequila two tequila three tequila fucking call me.

That’s it, I’m coming over to check on you. No arguments. I need to know you’re not like drowning in a puddle of half-digested Patron or some shit.

The time stamp on the last message said he’d sent that particular one twenty minutes ago. No, no, no, you did not want him coming over. How did he even know where you lived? He spent the last two years in the jungle somewhere, it’s not like you sent each other postcards. There was still time to call him off. You summoned any bearings you could pin down and sent him a text.

Hi. I’m fine. Hangover. Don’t need to come over. Sorry about last night.

That should be direct and to the point. Pope always did appreciate a direct approach.

Too late, I’m in the parking lot.

Fuuuuuuuck.

You dragged yourself over to the window, peeking out through the slats in the blinds. Sure enough, you could see him - the back side of him anyway, but you’d recognize that backside anywhere - leaning into the back of his SUV. You let the slats snap back into place and faceplanted back on the mattress. Was your headache getting worse?

Really I’m fine. Feeling sick. Gonna be in the bathroom all day.

Coming into your building now.

Pope, seriously.

At your door.

Sure enough, you heard a light knock. Dammit. Santiago Garcia was officially the most annoying, most persistent, most frustrating, most caring and loyal person you’d even had the (mis)fortune of knowing.

You still weren’t going to open the door.

Come on, cariña, open up. I come bearing gifts.

He was just on the other side of your front door and he was still sending you texts. Of course he was. He probably thought it was hilarious. Part of you had to admit, if the roles were reversed, you would think so too.

I don’t want anything from you, Pope. I want to go back to bed.

Not leaving until I see for myself that you’re ok.

Santi, please. Can’t do this right now.

You thought you knew him well enough that, if you really insisted, he would leave you alone. And you knew he normally would have done what you asked; he’d done so before, left when you asked. And it had been two years since he’d listened to your directive and today, frankly, he wasn’t having it.

Baby, let me in or get ready to call the cops on me, because I can and will pick this lock.

He would, too, that asshole. Growling in frustration, you somehow made it to the door without too much swaying and tripping, turned the lock and the deadbolt. You pulled the door open and the vaguely surprised look on his face dissolved into a grin. He was biting his lip trying to hide it. It wasn’t working.

Your hair looked like a very cranky bird had taken up roost on top of your head. Your eyes were ringed in black from where your mascara had rubbed away and a smeared streak of eyeliner ran down your left cheek. The right side of your face had wrinkled indents from where you landed on the mattress and spent the night on top of your rumpled comforter. Your eyes were bloodshot and puffy and the expression on your face could only be described as pissed off and exhausted.

You were beautiful.

He handed you the bag in his hands, then took his phone back out of his pocket. You just blinked at him in confusion until your text alert went off again. Rolling your eyes, you reached for your phone and sighed.

I brought you ginger ale. And also a burrito from that place you always liked, the one around the corner.

You opened your mouth to make a snarky retort, but Pope shook his head and nodded towards the phone in your hand. You tilted your head in an approximation of really? and he just raised an eyebrow in response. You rolled your eyes - ow, that hurt - but did as he was indicating.

How did you even know where I live?

Figured you probably didn’t move. But asked Frankie just to make sure.

Gonna have a talk with that boy about giving out my personal information. Pendejo.

Pope laughed softly at that and picked up his phone again. The corners of your mouth turned up slightly despite your best efforts.

I also brought you a giant bottle of Excedrin and a sleep mask. And I’m really good at giving hangover-curing massages. What do you say?

You wanted to say no. You wanted to close the door in his face and pretend that every text you’d exchanged over the past few weeks was a bold-faced lie. You wanted to believe that the man standing at your door was just an illusion and the real one was still somewhere deep in the jungle, far away from your house and your heart.

But none of that was true.

Dammit.

You stepped aside to let him walk in the door, and as he did, he opened his mouth to say something to you. But you closed your eyes and shook your head for just a moment, then his phone dinged and he looked down at the display.

;)

~end~

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Ten

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of dubious medical procedures. Stay safe!]

Saying that she was in over her head would imply that, at some juncture, she had not been. Backhand couldn't recall a time when she hadn't been struggling to reach the damn surface. 

  There was so much. An entire underground compound, sprawling and winding like a rabbit warren, filled with synths and the scientists who seemed to style themselves as their betters. 

  Shaun had been the worst part about it all, if she was honest. The knowledge that it hadn't been ten years she had lost, but sixty ...and the now-elderly Shaun's bemusement at her emotional response to the child synth he had been leading her across the Commonwealth with was like a slap in the face. 

  The fact that he had the gall to suggest that she should take over the Institute once he had passed on was infuriating in its own right. Vega wanted nothing to do with any of this. She obliged him to the bare minimum. He wouldn't permit her to leave until she fully took in ' the wonders of the Institute ', everything that 'he' had built, so it was with a reluctant heart that Backhand agreed to think about the choice.

  She didn't hate the Institute. It was odd to realize that, but at the end of the day what she truly hated was the way Shaun had continued to hoard all of the advancements they had made. The lives that could have been saved, the differences he could have made in the Commonwealth-!

  Time passed strangely away from the reign of celestial bodies, simply separated into 'work cycles'. 

  Vega apparently spent the entirety of her first work cycle after arrival watching synths be created, the woman observing perfect bodies emerging disoriented from their vat of red liquid. The scientists overseeing the operation, after briefly introducing themselves, all but ignored her. For that she was grateful, because the process was equal parts fascinating and horrifying in its minutiae. 

  "Hello." One newly-formed synth said, sounding dazed when they addressed her. "I'm...new here?"

  She wanted to cry at how confused the synth looked, she wanted to cry because she knew the life they would have down here. She didn't even have the chance to offer them a word of encouragement before they were spirited away to be properly calibrated.

  Shaun came across her in the Robotics lab, her arms wrapped around her knees as she just... stared . "Ah, Mother. You will tax yourself mentally if you keep this up." Her son, who was now older than her by over forty years, scolded her in that insincere, saccharine manner. Backhand was reminded of Nate every time she heard Shaun speak. Even though he couldn't possibly have any memories of his father, his patronizing tone reeked of the casual superiority Nate had displayed in and out of the courtroom. "I have brought one of our coursers to escort you back to your room, Mother. If you would please cooperate with him."

  "Hello ma'am." The courser intoned as she looked up. "I am X6-88. It is an honor to meet the woman who helped to create Father." He was tall and dark-skinned with narrow shoulders, his body wholly sheathed in the courser uniform to mask whatever bulk he might have. He wore mirrored sunglasses, even down here. 

  Backhand thought of the courser she had to kill to tear the chip out of it and her heart dropped. X6 must know about the courser. What if they had been friends? She hesitated on that thought. Were the synths down here even permitted to form those sorts of attachments? Curie, Sturges and Nick were her only real exposure to non-hostile synths, and all of them had their own personalities, likes and dislikes. Well, Sturges wasn't entirely certain as to whether he was a synth or not, but he believed he was and that was good enough for Vega. Did synths who were still under Institute programming actually have the capacity to create those bonds with one another?

  "X6-88 is one of our finest coursers. Due to your combat history and... affinity for getting into scuffles, I assumed being in the presence of another combat-minded individual would help to put you at ease." Shaun's shrug was almost uncouth , as if he didn't particularly believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Backhand knew that the real reason he was giving a courser babysitter duty was because he didn't trust her not to meddle where she shouldn't. "The majority of the Institute is dedicated to much more lofty goals than synth retention, but why wear out the wrench with a job the hammer can perform?"

  Backhand slowly got to her feet. "Very kind of you to think of my needs." She remarked, praying her voice wasn't too flat. She had yet to get used to how Shaun spoke to the synths. Or rather, how he spoke around them. Despite his insistence that they call him Father, the elderly man treated them like objects. Tools , or furniture items. These were living, breathing, thinking beings, reduced down to nothing more than careless analogies of hammer, wrench and screwdriver. It was heartbreaking. 

  Shaun simply inclined his head, the smile on his face more of a simper. "X6, I expect you to treat my mother with the utmost courtesy. She is, after all, the future of the Institute. During the work cycles following her rest, please escort her around the facility." 

  "Of course, Father." X6 replied immediately, his face and tone entirely devoid of emotion. "If you'll follow me, ma'am."

  Backhand obediently followed X6 back out of the manufacturing laboratory, quickening her steps so she could keep up with the courser. He seemed to realize his legs were longer than hers a split second before she drew up alongside him, the synth slowing abruptly. Backhand ended up in front of him by half a step, chuckling a little as she paused and then fell in beside him.

  "Sorry, my fault." She apologized. 

  X6-88 was silent for a moment, and then muttered, "that is foolish, ma'am. Why would you be sorry about something you have no control over?" Backhand hummed, trying to think of a way to explain. X6 quickly tacked on, "not that I'm questioning you, ma'am. I know questions are unwelcome."

  Vega tilted her head, giving the man a confused look. "Unwelcome?"

  "Father has instructed us not to ask questions. He says they will disrupt you settling in." The courser answered bluntly. 

  Backhand laughed, but the noise had no humor. "I've been disrupted for months , X6-88. You can ask me whatever you like."

  "How did you do it?" X6-88 whirled on her, his tone and posture suddenly hostile. "Z2-47 was incredibly skilled. Deadly. Effective. And yet you killed him."

  Backhand nodded slowly, and she heard X6's gloves squeak with how hard he clenched his fists. 

  " How ." The courser demanded.

  "I...I don't know if I'll be able to explain it in a way you can understand." Backhand replied quietly. "Was Z2 one of your friends?"

  "I-!" X6 jerked to a halt, seeming to realize that he had raised his voice. "My apologies if I have given you the wrong impression, ma'am. I merely sought to...find the weakness you must have exploited." He practically growled through his teeth, "I meant no offense."

  "No no, you didn't offend me at all." Vega said sincerely, nearly putting her hand on his arm in a comforting manner before she reined herself in. "It's just not a conversation I would want other people to hear. Um, is my room…?"

  "We only have a short ways to go. You will explain it to me there?" X6-88 asked curtly.

  "I'll do my level best." The longest seconds in the history of man slipped by as the courser studied her from behind those sunglasses. "It's not that I doubt your intelligence or anything, I'd be an idiot to doubt your intelligence." Vega tried to elaborate after the silence grew uncomfortable. "I just don't know if I'll be able to...get the story to make sense."

  "You are allowed to do as you please, ma'am." X6 said, his voice back to that monotone. 

  Backhand shook her head ruefully. "Never mind. C'mon, before somebody gets uptight that you're looming over me."

  The courser took a hearty step back at that, his brow furrowing. "It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable, ma'am." 

  "X6, I was in the army. You're going to have to do a lot more than that to make me uncomfortable. I'm more concerned about what someone might do to you . You know, if they think you're trying to threaten me."

  X6-88 was silent for the remainder of the walk to her quarters, which turned out to be just as sterile as everywhere else. Backhand felt extremely awkward, afraid that she would get dirt on the pristine white furniture.

  She settled gingerly into one of the chairs, gesturing to indicate that X6 should sit as well. He did so after a moment, perched on the very edge of the chair and leaning towards her. 

  Vega clasped her hands in her lap. "X6, has there ever been anyone in your life that you wanted to protect?"

  The courser responded without hesitation. "G5-19." Backhand squinted, trying to figure out why she knew that particular--oh. Oh . But X6 wasn't done. "They were efficient at performing their tasks. Helpful. Useful. An asset to the Institute." He tilted his head at her. "And weak. Poor at combat."

  "You would have done anything to keep them safe?"

  "I did everything that I could." X6-88 said sharply. "I was ineffective in the end, however."

  "Take that feeling and multiply it tenfold, and that's how I felt about Shaun. I knew that I would do everything I could to get my child back. Even if it meant I would have to take down an Institute murder machine." Backhand explained. "There was nothing to exploit, I promise. Just a sad mom's desperation to find her son. Z2-47 gave as good as he got." 

  "I find it very difficult to believe that you employed no underhanded tactics." X6 remarked. "G5 was taken via the use of a pulse grenade, so I assume you must have used something similar."

  "A pulse grenade?" Backhand asked incredulously. "Who the hell were you fighting? "

  "It was a group of raiders that found one of our salvage teams. I was away on another assignment, so I was not physically present." X6's hands gripped down on his thighs. "Had I been there, I assure you things would have played out differently." He muttered.

  "Oh no." Backhand felt a rush of sorrow, and then felt ridiculous. Untold hours ago, she had been standing in Sanctuary Hills, certain that the relay would do absolutely nothing and she would be back to square one. And yet here she was, inside the Institute, listening to a courser talking about losing someone. 

  "I am under the impression that the raiders must have tortured and killed her. Even if she did not die immediately, there is no possibility that someone as weak as her survived on the surface for very long." If Backhand didn't know better, she would have sworn that he sounded grieved. "I asked to be spinally recalibrated and have her memory removed from my processes but my request was denied."

  "Why would you want to-"

  "G5-19 is a distraction." X6-88 growled. "As a courser, I am not permitted distractions."

  "But they denied your request." Backhand repeated.

  "Correct, ma'am."

  "I don't understand why they would say you can't have distractions but then also refuse to remove them." The woman mused, resting her chin in her hand as she thought. "What's the spinal calibration process like?"

  "All synthetic cerebrospinal fluid is drained from the body, wiped of signature and then reinserted via a series of lumbar, thoracic and cervical injections." X6-88 elaborated curtly. "Posture is also corrected during the procedure, as the vertebrae must be properly aligned in order for the fluid to redistribute as intended."

  Vega got a little queasy at his description. "I'm going to assume this isn't a painless undertaking?"

  "It is extremely painful." X6's tone was flat, giving no indication of his feelings on the matter. 

  "But you would have gone through that, just to-"

  "I am an effective instrument of the Institute. If I remove distractions, I am even more effective." X6 interrupted her. "G5-19's memory does not make me more effective. Therefore it is useless to cling to it. I made the mistake of mentioning how distracting I found their memory, and Dr. Ayo wished to study the effects over a period of time. So my request was denied." The leather of his uniform made a soft noise as he shifted in the seat. "I do not prefer one over the other, but if I am not as sharp as possible, there is always an enemy willing to exploit that crack in my armor."

  Vega extended a hand and the courser stared down at it blankly. "May I?" The young woman asked, deliberately keeping her voice even and soft. X6 glanced at her over the tops of those impregnable sunglasses and Backhand was startled to see that his eyes were in fact a light, steely gray.

  "Why?" The synth queried.

  "I'm a tactile person. A lot of times I feel like it's easier to make my point if I'm connected to the person I'm speaking with."

  "I am a tactile learner as well," was all he said in reply. X6-88 didn't move, warily watching her. 

  Backhand relented after a moment, clasping her hands in her lap once more. "I just want you to know that sometimes memories aren't a bad thing, or a distraction. Like with me. Memories were all I had to get me here." She explained pragmatically. "They were my sole, driving force. I was going to get my baby back."

  "Now that you're here, and you can see all the wonders of the Institute firsthand, was it worth it?" X6-88 asked sharply. "Or would it have been better if you woke up without recollection, just another nameless Vault dweller? Can you honestly say you're better off having been reunited with your son?" He challenged her, " especially since you were under the impression that he was still a child via the ruse facilitated by Kellogg and S9-23?"

  Backhand, reeling from the courser's impromptu interrogation, nearly missed the flicker of confusion that twisted his features. She tried to formulate a response, wondering all the while why he was so bent out of shape over her being tricked.

  "I...I meant no offense, ma'am." He said slowly before she could reply. "I am not supposed to ask questions. Why would I ask so many?" He seemed troubled, muttering about needing a full calibration as, " this is getting out of hand ."

  "Look," Backhand said finally, corralling her thoughts into some semblance of order. "I can admit that I don't have all the answers. Despite what every human down here says, we're not actually all-knowing beings. But if you have questions, questions that other people can't or won't answer, I can always take a crack at 'em." She offered.

  "Ma'am, are you implying that our brilliant minds may be keeping information from me?" X6-88 said, a slight uptick in his tone indicating his incredulity.

  Vega held up her hands in an attempt to appease the courser. "Whoa whoa, I'm not saying anything like that. I'm just saying that if you feel like you're not getting the full story, you can ask me. After all, I'm a wellspring of firsthand pre-war knowledge." Her smile turned wry as she recalled Danse's words to her. "A relic, if you will."

  …

  X6-88's first question opened as a statement, oddly enough. "You do not like it down here." The courser observed as he watched her. 

  He had been like a dubiously-benevolent shadow throughout her stay, the work cycles ticking away as she soaked up the Institute's fluorescent ambiance like a sponge. "You're right." Backhand replied. No use denying it . "I don't."

  "Why not?" 

  She leaned silently on the railing overlooking the atrium for several long minutes. "I don't feel like I deserve it, I guess." She admitted softly. "I'm not made for a place like this. Hell, I didn't even feel like I deserved my spot in the Vault. Only reason I went was because of Shaun."

  "You would have died were it not for the obligation you felt towards your offspring?"

  "Well, when you put it like that …" Backhand chuckled sadly. "In a way, yes."

  "Explain."

  "I'm not a good person, X6. Back in the war, I...there's stuff I'm not proud of. I let people goad me into doing things that were out of character for me." She tried to keep it simple, a little less messy than her piecemeal recollections. "I didn't deserve to have a baby. I didn't deserve to have that second chance, that life outside the military." She stared off into space, her eyes unfocused. "I had no one else to love, so I poured all of the affection I had into caring for Shaun. I didn't have a lot after the divorce, but we had a house and food."

  "Divorce?" X6-88 sounded curious. "What were you divorced from?"

  "My husband. Shaun's father."

  "Oh, Progenitor Nathan." X6 mused. "Father has no memory of him."

  "He wouldn't. Nate wanted nothing to do with him." Vega murmured. 

  "I cannot fault him. Infants are highly unsettling." The courser said bluntly, making Backhand burst out laughing. "Ma'am, please attempt to control yourself." 

  "Of course, of course. I'm sorry, X6. I just...the way that you said it, and you being what you are, I couldn't keep my composure." The woman wheezed, grinning up at him. 

  "I'm afraid I don't understand your amusement, ma'am."

  "Well you're this deadly killing machine and yet something so innocent is something you find unnerving." 

  "I am...unused to their noise." X6-88 explained. "They are shrill. Their hunger cries are akin to torture."

  " Oh ." Backhand didn't bother trying to hide her smile. "I guess that would be a problem for you. Back before the war, there were kids everywhere . More chances for people to uh, get used to their racket."

  "That sounds like a nightmare." 

  " Everything about pre-war sounds like a nightmare to you." Backhand retorted petulantly.

  "You are correct, ma'am." X6-88's mouth curved up ever so slightly at the left corner. If she hadn't been watching, she would have missed it. "Children and heights are loathsome to me and from what I learned via browsing archival data, the pre-war world was rife with tall buildings and wailing infants." He cocked his head to look at Backhand over his sunglasses, his expression downright human . "Mankind's ivory towers and dreams of the future did them very little good."

  Backhand suddenly took note of the death grip the courser had on the railing of the balcony. 

  "G5-19 enjoyed children. She was very weak." X6 remarked reluctantly, like the words were being dragged out of him. "I still don't know what she was doing on surface detail. She had never expressed any interest in the surface. She was a simple maintenance synth."

  "I notice that you refer to her as 'she'. The rest of the coursers just call the other synths 'unit'." Backhand pointed out.

  "Another fault of the memories I am plagued by. Speech processor issues. I assign gender due to some form of...error in how I perceived her." X6 shrugged. "Doctor Ayo does not believe it is detrimental for the time being." 

  "Do you think it's because she was a real person to you?" Yikes, too direct , Backhand realized as X6-88 stiffened up. "I mean, because you got to know her. She obviously had some kind of personality that left an impression on you." She tried to amend. The courser was already in turmoil over the memories he didn't want to keep, it wasn't her place to pry.

  "She was weak." X6 seemed to default to that as a descriptor for his... friend , his brow furrowed. Backhand resigned herself to that being the end of the conversation, and then, "she was weak like you are, ma'am."

  "Like me?" The woman asked, surprised. "I don't think I understand."

  X6-88 nodded, his stony expression far from encouraging. "She wanted to help, even if it was detrimental to her. Constantly working. Truthfully, her disregard for the work cycles was what put us in touch in the first place. I was sent to find her when several jobs turned up as incomplete and I located her in a supply closet, fast asleep." He sighed heavily. "I was supposed to reprimand her and send her for recalibration. I still don't understand why I didn't. I even lied and said that I did." 

  The honesty of his admission was unsurprising to Vega; all the synths in the Institute seemed to have very few qualms about telling the truth. She imagined that must be part of their programming, so the scientists could maintain their grip on the synths that vastly outnumbered them.

  "She asked to be transferred from Facilities to Bioscience. She wanted to help, even after her request was denied. She spent all of her free time in Bioscience." His gloves squeaked on the metal bannister. "Then one day I came back from an assignment and she was...gone." He actually sounded pained now, the most emotion she had heard out of him yet. "It was a break in my routine and I do not cope well with such interruptions."

  Translation: I'm sad and I'm not allowed to be , Backhand theorized privately.

  "I would greatly appreciate it if you would not do the same." The courser said abruptly, turning to face her. "Take care of yourself, ma'am. You are, after all, the future of the Institute."

  "X6-"

  "I am being given a new assignment in the following work cycle and will no longer be responsible for you. So I will reiterate my suggestion to you." He said sternly. "Take care of yourself."

  Backhand didn't have the heart to tell the synth that a suggestion and an order were two different things. "Alright." She replied. "I'll do my best, if you promise to do the same. And I...I hope that someday you'll find that friend of yours."

  "Doubtful. But I appreciate the sentiment, ma'am." X6 inclined his head, and then departed. 

  …

  With X6 out in the field, Vega felt like she could finally get down to business. She had a veritable laundry list of to-dos, and she had no idea how long she had even been down here for. 

  There was sneaking into the old branch of Bioscience for the serum to cure Virgil. It was surprisingly simple despite the security measures, to the point where Backhand was almost suspicious .

  Then there was the holotape Sturges had given her to scan the Institute network, easily managed. " I'll be makin' copies of it. I imagine my boy Johnny D. will be mighty interested in what the suits have been up to, and then of course one for your friends in the Brotherhood ." He had informed her right before she had relayed, pressing the tape into her hands. 

  Next there was a bit of a...pet project. X6 had mentioned that his friend (alive and well, unbeknownst to him, functioning as Curie's new body) had expressed no real interest in the surface to the courser, and yet had somehow ended up on a salvage patrol. That sounded like a scheme. A well-meaning scheme. It was possible that there was a scientist sympathetic to the plight of the more self-aware synths.

  Her gentle inquiries put her back in touch with a scientist by the name of Doctor Alan Binet, whom she had met during the first work cycle she spent in the Institute. He worked in Robotics, supervising the creation of synths from the ground up.

  He was delighted to exposit upon his theories of synth cognitive capabilities. The good doctor had apparently witnessed synths experiencing REM sleep, and that fueled him to study their behavior even closer than before. Because if they could dream, why couldn't they have a soul as well?

  But strangely, he seemed adamant in the stance that he would never release the synths to the surface, stating that it was a living hellscape. Backhand couldn't exactly refute his claims either.

  Vega left Robotics stumped and defeated. If not the man who was performing social experiments with the synths, then who?

  She left it alone for the time being, moving on to her last, arguably most important objective. 

  Convincing one Doctor Madison Li to take up her Brotherhood mantle once more.

Part Eleven

[astoldbycrimson]

For You Only

Summary: You always dreamed of how his lips felt against yours. What he tasted like. And everything else that he was hiding beneath that helmet. With a special loophole, you finally uncover the secrets.

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x f!Reader

Warnings: sweet wholesome, tooth-rotting fluff and maybe a tiny bit of spice

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

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

There had always been an unspoken bond between you and Din. After you'd saved his life back on Dathomir, you convinced him to bring you along. Spinning tales of how great of an asset you could be, but also pulling at his honor strings, knowing he was indebted to you. Having witnessed your strength and cunning, he was inclined to oblige your little request. 

You started with minor chit chat here and there, but mostly communicated through fighting. The Mandalorian definitely admired your skill and witt, especially how you could disarm foes with your acting abilities. No one anticipated this blind woman to be a force user, especially not a trained jedi. 

Yet you proved yourself useful time and time again. And the more you two fought together, the more drawn to you Din had become. You had told him your secrets and showed him your scars. In turn, he shared the struggles he faced and the pain he endured. Why he put on the helmet and why he couldn't take it off. But most importantly, he had shared his true name with you.

Conversation turned to companionship, which ultimately drove you into uncharted waters. Given your backgrounds, there hadn't been a time or place for love. So the entire concept was foreign to you both.

You started with small touches here and there. Knuckles ghosting the skin near a wound as you tended to it. Your bare fingers would brush gloved hands as Din piloted the Razor Crest. Or you'd carefully caress the cold steel of his helmet. Simple touches, but deep inside you wanted more.

You never tried to remove his visor or cast light on his shadows. Never digging for secrets he wasn't ready to share. If nothing else, you knew how important being a Mandalorian was to him. You knew the consequences of what removing his helmet would bring, so you never dared, no matter how badly you wished to taste his lips.

But that's what it meant to love him. You knew what you signed up for. The helmet. The armor. The weapons and the fighting. It was the Way. Everything had been made very clear to when you started this journey more than a cycle ago. Loving a Mandalorian was never meant to be easy. Was it even supposed to happen in the first place?

You always told yourself you could handle this forever, the way things were. Because being with Din was enough. Knowing that he loved you. Being able to share this adventure with him. Traveling amongst the stars, fighting, loving. Longing...

The way things were wouldn't stop you from dreaming though. Of wondering how his face felt beneath that carefully crafted helmet. Was he cleanly shaven or hiding a beard? Scarred? Or dimples? You wondered what sort of hair he had. Was it carefully cut or a mess of unruly curls? Would he groan softly as you ran your fingers through it?

And his lips. Oh how you dreamed of those. Were they soft and round? Or chapped from him biting back words and hidden desires? And, Maker, how did they taste?

Above all, you dreamed of your future together. Maybe, one day, he'd be willing to retire and it would all come off. That you could settle down somewhere and find peace. But for now, you could be content with just being by his side and loving him.

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

"Does it bother you?" He quietly asked one day, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hmm?" You questioned absentmindedly. 

Din was silent a moment. "...The helmet?"

"Well it's not as though I could see your face either way, Din. You could be absolutely nude and unless I caressed you, I'd be none the wiser." A teasing smile.

He sighed. "...That's not what I asked." While he was usually quite serious by nature, even this surprised you, making you straighten in your seat.

"I'm sorry…" After a moment of silence, you continued, "If I am being completely honest, I… I'd love to caress your face as I do your helmet. To knot my hands in your hair and… taste your lips..." A sigh before you went on. "But that's incredibly selfish of me. You took an oath, so I understand the helmet… and the armor… must stay on." Your cheeks were flushed pink and you avoided looking in his direction.

Even at that angle, in the dim light, Din saw the blush spread across your cheeks. How beautiful you looked in that moment. His heart was hammering beneath his armor and he was worried you could hear it. That you could just look at him and see the blush creeping across his cheeks, even beneath his helmet.

Minutes passed before he realized he hadn't opened his mouth to respond. His silence had you worried. Had you crossed the line? Was he upset by your words? The silence was deafening and the air in the cockpit was threatening to strangle you. So you immediately excused yourself to make dinner, rushing out before he could stop you. 

Din started to beat himself up after you rushed off. But there he sat, replaying the conversation in his mind. Were you aware of how badly he wanted you to feel him without his armor? To expose himself so fully to you, the woman he loved? To share the secrets he had carefully hidden beneath the weight of that helmet?

But he couldn't shake what else you had said. It's not as though I could see your face either way. Despite your sensitivity to the force and your ability to map out the lifeforms around you, you were still blind. He could remove his armor and outside of your other senses, you couldn't see anything. If he removed his helmet, you'd never actually see his face. Perhaps there was a way to go about this after all...

With that thought in mind, he practically sprinted from the cockpit, leaving his helmet on his seat, and found you grabbing dishes from the wash unit below. You heard his approach and prepared to speak, but you soon found yourself pinned to the wall, dishware clattering to the floor. 

Your first instinct was to think you were in danger, that someone boarded the ship while you were in a daze. But any alarm raised was immediately quieted as you felt warm lips press against yours. You didn't think twice before wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing closer. When you felt thick, soft locks beneath your fingers, you couldn't stop yourself from tangling your hands in them.

His hands raised to cup your face as he got lost in the kiss. How wonderful it felt to practically steal the breath from your lungs. To finally lose himself under your soft touch. Din wanted this. He needed this. To be held and kissed and loved so completely by you. Maker, he hadn't realized just how starved he was until he tasted your lips.

Everything about this told you that you were dreaming. Surely you'd been knocked out or even killed upon impact, like the ship had crashed. This was too wonderful. How your lips fit together so perfectly. How everything felt so right. Like fate was playing in your favor.

But it felt too real. The cold steel of his chest plate flush against your skin. The tightness in your chest and the air slipping from your lungs as you were kissed so passionately. So desperately. As though you only had moments left.

You stayed like that until you needed air and Din pulled away. He was positively entranced by the sight of you when he opened his eyes. Rosy lips, gaze half-lidded, and tinted cheeks. The element of surprise definitely made the moment even sweeter. 

It took you a moment to return to reality, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. And you were certainly startled by what you felt beneath your fingers. The soft hair and the heat of flushed skin. A warm, ragged breath on your face. Sweet and inviting. But no cold Beskar steel...

You released your grip on him and nearly leapt out of your skin. "Din! Your helmet?! What're you… what about..? The Way...? Your people! I thought... You… you or'dinii! I didn't want you to… to throw your life away for me!" You raised a fist and brought it down against his chest plate, insulting him in his own language. Of course you had wanted so desperately to kiss him, but now you were panicked by the thought of it. By the aftermath of this one impulsive action.

"Shhhh, cyar'ika. Calm down." His hand covered your fist and he kissed your forehead. "You can't see my face, right?" 

It took you a moment to find your words again. Your thoughts were pulling you in a thousand different directions. Lost between excitement and anger. Fear and arousal. Fantasy and reality. "Well, no, but…" you finally managed to say.

"Then no rules have been broken."

At first you were confused. Then you remembered that he technically couldn't allow anyone to see his face. And, well, you couldn't see a damn thing. Now you were catching on. "So... we're fine? You're fine?"

"It'll be our little secret," he whispered into the shell of your ear. You were shuddering at how he sounded without the modulator. His smooth baritone had you reeling. And the feeling of his warm breath against your skin... how could he be so perfect?

You raised a shaky hand to caress his cheek, adrenaline having scorched your nerves. Stubble tickled your palm and you felt him smile. That gave you courage and soon your hand was exploring his entire face.

Din's jaw was angular and he had high cheekbones. His skin was warm and smooth, aside from the prickly stubble lining his chin and upper lip. There were no notable scars. No wrinkles. His hair wasn't too long. Cleanly kept. And there were curls. Soft curls.

"Handsome," you whispered before cupping his cheeks and pulling him into another kiss. You fully planned on using this loophole to your advantage.

[burnedbyshoto]

And They Were Roommates

modern!AU - Part One

Part Two ⋆⋆  Part Three

todoroki shouto x female roomate!reader

Synopsis: When you need a roommate, you should have included on a no-boys-allowed policy.

warning: implied smut... making out... ((this is my first time writing like this so be warned))

word count: 2,613

A/N: so this is honestly my first time writing in this type of way, and it wasnt requested, so does this make me a pervert??? i don’t know, anyways this was supposed to be uploaded so long ago but i had a busy day, please forgive me!!!! this story is also one for smut, fluff, and angst

It had been officially two days since your old roommate had moved out on account of her getting married, and while you were happy for her, you were upset about being told about this ceremony the night before the wedding. You were a working individual, you had big dreams that entailed you working with a set income, benefits, and perks, but to obtain that you needed experience. So, at the moment you were working minimum wage jobs that tired you to the bone, and for your roommate to pull out of your decent place without at least a two-week notice left you desperate for a roommate.

So you turned to Craiglist and posted an ad for the spare room, despite the fact the mass majority of people you knew protested; there was absolutely no time to be picky you justified when rent was approaching. Over one hundred people answered your post, most of which were creepy old men, but you had narrowed it down to three individuals who seemed polite through the initial communication. And all were confirmed girls, except one, but again, you weren’t really sure if they were a man or not.

So while you were scheduled to meet your final interested individual thirty minutes before you had to leave to work, you prayed this person wouldn’t turn out to be the complete psychos the other two succeeded to hide through prior messages. Finally, at exactly the time you had requested the applicant to come, you heard a knock on the door. Placing down your folder, you walked over to the entrance and you flung open the door, you froze. It was a man, a handsome man, who stood outside your door when you flung it open. After moments of hesitation, and a brief introduction on his own half, you invited him in and retreated to the kitchen table to conduct the interview.

You hesitated as you looked at the man in front of you, he sat there calm, composed, and almost intimidating as he answered all your interviewing questions with total eloquence. Shifting in your seat, you brushed a strand of hair out of your face as you cleared your throat, “So, let’s wrap up this interview?” You breathe out as you returned to your question sheet. “Do you care at all that I’m a girl?”

“I’m only seeking a place to sleep at night, and relax when I don’t have work,” The man explained, “You’ll probably forget I’m even here.”

Your lips purse as you nod, “Well, uh, Todoroki-san, you’re actually really overqualified to be my roommate... I didn’t think that was going to be possible given I placed an ad on Craigslist, but the room is yours if you want it!”

“I’ll take it.”

You grin at the man--Todoroki-san--who was now your roommate. Quickly you went through the documents you needed him to read and while trying to leave said, “The only thing I request is that you are respectful of my things when I’m not here.” You smile slipping the spare key into his palm. “Like you, I’m very busy with my own occupation, and because now you’re legally bound to the apartment, I’ll leave you here!”

You gather your things as you watch Todoroki look down at the key in his hand as you’re already halfway out the door, “I’ll be back late, no need to wait up!”

Thus began the quiet relationship you had with Todoroki Shouto.

⋆✭⋆✭⋆⋆✭⋆✭⋆

When you had returned home that night, the clock in your kitchen was showing that it was two in the morning, and you sighed, why were minimum wage jobs such an abomination? You went to the bathroom and saw that the areas where you detailed in a paper that belonged to Todoroki being filled up, and while you knew you were roommates now, you hadn’t expected him to have been finished unpacking so soon.

After you finished taking off your makeup, and of course brushing your teeth you tip-toed away to your bedroom making sure to be quiet until you had entered your room. Taking off your work clothes, you changed into a big, old, t-shirt you had stolen from your ex but never pursued to return, slipped into bed and fell asleep.

When you woke up the next morning, it was ten a.m. and you groaned as your body ached from your stressed day at work. You slid off your bed and walked out into the quiet apartment, your eyes training on the sunlit living room, but seeing no roommate, you walked to the bathroom and got ready for the day out.

While you weren’t going to explicitly state you were out long, by the time you had gotten home Todoroki was still not home, as you noticed his room door was open. It made you pout, while you were unsure if you two would be friends, you definitely wished to get to know your roommate better. You decided to sit on the couch, hoping that with your sleep schedule he would come back while you were still awake, but it was only wishful thinking as three a.m. came around and you were retreating to your room. So began this endless cycle.

Todoroki was always home when you worked all day, or you were home when he worked all day, or your personal favorite: the two of you worked all day and would stumble into each other way too late at night to make conversation only for one of you to be gone early that following morning. To be honest, it was really irritating because you found your roommate to be sort of hot, and besides, the fact is he lived self-sufficiently and always took the trash out for you guys, so you wanted to get to know Todoroki.

It was now four months since Todoroki had moved in with you, four months of having rent on time, four months of three-second conversations and you were weary of it. You walked into your apartment at an early hour of seven in the evening, an unusually early time for you to get home on Friday evening. Your boss had asked you to work the morning shift instead of the closing shift, and so, after working almost ten hours you were glad to be home. Unlocking the door, you kicked off your shoes by the entrance and slipped on your slippers, “I’m home.” You shouted out to what you thought was an uninhabited apartment.

“Welcome home.” An indecisive reply came from the kitchen. You yelped in embarrassment covering your mouth as you shuffled to the kitchen where Todoroki was preparing himself dinner.

“Um, hi?” You said cheeks flushed as you straightened out your white button-down work shirt.

“Hi.”

The two of you stared at each other in this weird silence before you nodded, “Well, I am going to go shower, I had a really long day at work and I kinda wanna get those negative microorganisms off me?”

Todoroki chuckled before he nodded in agreement, “I get it, do you want me to make you a plate?” He said indicating down to the sushi he was preparing.

“I’ll take two rolls.” You sigh gratefully before scurrying into the restroom feeling embarrassed by the physical state you were in.

You took a quick shower, washing your hair, quickly shaving areas you needed to shave as apart of you Friday ritual, and soaped down your body as you finished within a whopping seven minutes of showering. Wrapping the towel around your body, you walked to your room and closed it behind you.

Unsure if Todoroki was working tonight, given you had left the apartment before him, you decided to put on some leggings, a bra, and a sleeping shirt because there could be a chance he was leaving soon. You knew he worked at some fancy and rich business and was always being called in at the weirdest times. Maybe he’s a drug lord, you can’t help but think.

Going back out, you saw that Todoroki had left you a plate of three sushi rolls for you and you grinned as you sat down in front of him. “Thank you for the meal, Todoroki-san.”

“Of course, y/l/n-san.”

The two of you sat in silence as you ate, neither one of you really know what to say. You despised it, you wanted to know more about your handsome roommate, so as you saw him getting ready to retreat to his room words emptied out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Would you like to drink with me? I’ve had a hard last four months and I just wanna...forget it tonight?”

He stops, turning face to look at you with interested eyes, “Depends, what do I get out of it?”

Your mouth drops, unsure if he was being serious about the implication of those words, “W-What--”

“No, sorry, I was trying to make a joke. Um, I would actually like to have something to drink.”

You nod your head blushing as joy overcomes you, standing up and going to your stored away liquor you pulled out a gold brand tequila and two shot glasses as it seemed you ran out of wine, sake, and soju. “Okay, I only have tequila.” You inform Todoroki who is now sitting in the living room with a stack of cards.

“Cards?”

“I figured we could play drinking games? If you want?” Todoroki says and you laugh nodding your head in agreement.

“Okay, Todoroki-san, explain your game.”

So basically, Todoroki explained to you strip poker, but with a drinking catch to it. You could refuse to strip by taking a shot, but of course, being drunk would make things harder as the game goes on and if you continue losing.

“Alright,” You mutter as Todoroki deals out the cards and you pour the tequila into the shot glasses, “I hope you're ready to lose badly, Todoroki-san.”

⋆✭⋆✭⋆⋆✭⋆✭⋆

You were drunk.

Todoroki was drunk.

The both of you were missing your shirts, your socks, and cheating Todoroki had removed his jacket off as well. Or was that because he had grown hot, you couldn't remember anymore.

The poker game had long been abandoned as the two of you could no longer remember the customs of the game in your moments of intoxication, and were now on a game that permitted you to learn more about each other. Confess to an asked question, or drink up!

“Okokokk, shut up!” You screamed, throwing your head onto Todoroki's lap as Todoroki teased you about your anime crush. “You promise you won’t-won’t tell a soul?!”

“I don’t know, having a crush on Prince Zuko is something everyone goes through,” Todoroki says as he downs a shot because why not, you're both already drunk and following rules just wasn’t happening anymore.

“Okay, I’m not saying your wrong, but I-I-I would marry him if he was an actual person, so there.” You tried to stick out your tongue, but upon doing that you couldn’t feel your face. “Is mah tongue out theresh?” You asked.

Todoroki got really close to your face as if he couldn’t see your tongue which worried you on the fate of your appendage but eventually nodded. “I see it!”

“Okay, MY TURN FOR QUEsTION!” You just about roared as you got close to Todoroki’s face in an attempt to make him sweat. “Why did you wanna move in with me?? Y-You’re so successful a-a-and my ad was on lists of Craig?! You could seriously buy me.”

You watched as Todoroki chose to throw back two shots instead of answering you, which made you slightly sad because so far, he wasn’t answering anything too intimate. “Because I wanted a new place, and you are so pretty.” He confessed looking at you with his heterochromia eyes and you froze.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and your heartbeat starts hitching up.

Turning to the tequila bottle, you fill up your shot glass and down it hoping the additional liquor would give you the courage you needed to answer a blunt question, “Please?”

The word left your lips but the two of you just gawked at each other, and before you even knew it you were leaning over towards him and you pressed your lips gingerly to Todoroki's. Suddenly, this fire immediately shot through your body at the slightest touch made you choke back a moan.

The two of you broke apart, your drunken eyes communicating the amount of denied emotions, attraction, and just pure drunken desire between the two of you. So there was no irregularity when your lips came crashing together again, this time with an uncontrollable passion.

Your lips mashed together, teeth occasionally clashing together as the alcohol severely dropped your ability to kiss ordinarily. You were on your knees and Todoroki was sitting as your tongues came and danced together in a way that made your toes curl.

Before you knew it, Todoroki had you dragged onto his lap, his hands firmly keeping you in place. Your arms wrapped around his neck at a snail's pace, as your hips slowly began to grind onto Todoroki's crotch. Your heartbeat was hammering away as Todoroki’s grip on your hips tightened immensely, a slight hiss leaving his lips as you managed to finally roll your hips voluptuously over his forming bulge.

You giggled as you left his lips to trail open mouth kisses down his neck all while your hips kept rolling up and down Todoroki’s bulge. However, it seemed that Todoroki was not enjoying the lack of control as he roughly brought your lips back to his own, his teeth biting down on your lower lip as he pressed your naked torsos against one another and a moan escaped your lips.

With one hand on your ass encouraging you to continue grinding your hip against him, and the other on your back to keep you pressed together, he began trailing kisses down your neck. You gasped as he sucked gently on the base of your neck, your hips paused momentarily as liquid fire seemed to form in your lower belly, your head was thrown back as he placed multiple hickies down your neck.

“T-Todoroki,” You moan out, a fire now lit in your stomach as he flips you over so that you're on the floor, the coldness of the wood enhancing the fire that you felt wherever Todoroki was touching you. “Please...”

With Todoroki’s hands firmly planted on your waist, your grinding nevertheless proceeding, he gazes as you, before a smirk graces his features. “Please what, y/l/n?”

You lick your lips suddenly feeling feeble, you were a top, and here you were being stimulated into being bottomed, “Please fuck me...” You whisper as you easily sit up and took off your bra, going in to kiss Todoroki again.

Your lips connected, as your bruised lips dragged across one another in a new frenzy as you stood up.

You felt extremely giddy as you stood, Todoroki bending slightly to allow you to continue making out as his hand grasped your breast, a finger delicately touching your aroused nipple, You let out another lewd moan as you feel Todoroki picking you up, and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, your fingers tugging on his hair as he stumbles into the hallway.

“Your room or mine?” He asks against your lips.

“Mine...”

And as the door opens, he gets in and slams it closed as he pins you against the door and you moan as the pool of heat in your belly intensifies.

"It seems like someone's already wet..." Todoroki whispers in you ear, and you pull him closer so that your lips skim his ear.

“Then do something about it...”

ahahahahahahhahahaha so, um, idk if you guys like it, if you dont there wont be more parts cuz im embarrassed, if not youre not getting any real action until later!!!!! now say it with me, prince zuko is everyones crush!!!!

[ardenttheories]

I don't expect a super serious answer from this, but I'm just curious. in a perfect world, how would hs^2 be written? do you have any particular headcanons or plot lines that would be interesting to explore? I understand the hesitation in answering a question like this, because other people might try to discredit your critiques under the guise of "well its not ur headcanons so that's why ur mad". anyways, just curious because I respect your perspective and ideas

In complete honesty? The first thing I would consider vital is a diverse team of people - genuinely diverse - to consider every point of representation with. I’m talking people of different races (to avoid the anti-black coding of Gamzee), with mental illnesses (to avoid the ableism in both Gamzee and Dirk), with different gender identities (to more accurately and healthily portray Jade, Roxy, Vriska, June - any character we could feasibly want to make trans or nonbinary), with different romanticisms and sexualities (so that we could write genuine MLM and WLW relationships without falling into homophobic pitfalls; to avoid biphobic stereotypes), and overall, with different traumatic experiences and triggers (so that we could more accurately gauge what triggers would need to be tagged and how to go over them in an appropriate and respectful manner).

We could never be 100% perfect, but with a team like that, we could at least get close to it. 

Additionally, I’d bring back either fan prompts or closely listen to fan theories and conversations. Homestuck^2 was touted to be written with the fandom in mind; to consider the direction we were asking it to go in, while basing it around a general barebones structure. I’d want to make sure we were including as much of that in as humanly possible. So, if a fan theory seemed like it’d fit into the story? I’d want to include that with the rest of the text; if the fans liked a specific character? I’d want to try and include them more often. Little things to show that we’re listening and that we’re writing the story WITH the fans - like how early Homestuck used to be.

On an actual storyline basis, I really do love the concept of Meat and Candy; that there’s one timeline that goes off the rails and one that is very rigidly stuck to a track. I wouldn’t want to change that concept entirely, but I would want to make it more palpatable for people to read. 

This would mean, for me, absolutely getting rid of anything to do with Yiffany. I’d completely replace that with Dave and Jade having a child together via ectobiology; how Jade has to raise their child in Dave’s absence after he goes missing, how that affects her, who she turns to for comfort and help. 

I’d want to focus Candy more on that feeling of helplessness and dissociation. On John feeling adrift in a world that doesn’t quite connect with him, that doesn’t entirely feel real; how that would affect his relationships, his friends, his family. In this timeline, all of the rebellion stuff would be completely background to the interpersonal connections everyone has (the things that supposedly don’t matter, as is the point of Candy), with much more emphasis on how useless and frivolous the whole war is. It’d get to a point where nobody actually knows why they’re fighting anymore except for the fact that they are, and that even Jane, who started it out of a genuine fear for the human race, is getting tired of it, is losing resources, is starting to realise that she’s drifting away from her own child. 

A truce would be garnered, started by Jane who just very much wants to reconnect with her son, with Karkat taking on the role as troll emissiary. It features long talks in a large, empty room, pouring over papers, where Jane admits that she doesn’t actually know what anyone is up to these days, how long it’s been since she’s seen her husband, since she’s seen John, and Karkat quietly confesses that it’s been several years since he’s seen Dave or Jade, and that he misses them both. 

After that, a lot of the content of Candy would focus on healing. They would get back to their happily ever after, even though some things would never be the same, and there would still be inconsequentialities. It would also correspond with John coming to the slow realisation that he really doesn’t need a plot to be happy at all; that just because it doesn’t matter to the overarching story doesn’t mean it can’t matter to him. 

The Candy timeline, therefore, would close early; it would fade from our view just as Dirk feared, but it would be happy and content, and free from any further meddling. I’d essentially want to enforce this idea that, yes, we can still have happy endings - even if they aren’t “full of meaning”. They can still be satisfying.

The Meat timeline, on the other hand, would have a significant focus on Dirk and his attempts to continue the plot. I think it would be fun, admittedly, if nothing went the way he thought it would. That after all of his villany and his acceptance of destruction in order to facilitate something he thought would be better, he actually just lost complete and utter control. 

The plot isn’t something that he alone can continue. It’s created with character conflict, with motivations and rises and falls and losses and gains; trying to recreate SBURB, to try and restart the cycle, isn’t what a plot needs to be. It isn’t what he thinks it will do. 

I’m unsure if you’ve seen this recently, but there’s been a lot of fanwork around the Lord!Jake English idea that went around several years back (when people saw the Caliborn sona). Now, this I’d want to put into it. 

Jake, fed up with being stepped on, walked over, hurt, suffering from the trauma of being completely and utterly ruined by Dirk, absolutely flips shit. He chases after Dirk to seek revenge, to cut short whatever bullshit he’s trying to do, and therefore much of the comic becomes this constant back and forth with an increasing fear for Dirk the closer Jake gets as he traverses Paradox Space.

It’s very much clear that when Jake arrives, Dirk will lose. There’s no question about it. Nobody suggests that anything else will happen. There’s several arguments on Meat’s Earth C over whether or not they should try to stop Jake, or let him stop Dirk - and whether or not Jake will calm down afterwards or continue his rampage. 

In the end, Dirk fails. Jake catches up to him, and just before he hits the killing blow, the entire thing goes dark. Our narrator dead, the plot abandoned; there is nothing more to see. This I would want to use to enforce the idea that, yes, plot can still be satisfying as hell and still have integral moments and be heavy and harsh - but it can also end in a way that leaves open questions because that shows that it isn’t the best ending you can get. 

And then we jump back to Terezi, using her Seer powers. Both timelines have been her trying to use her powers to See what’s in store, where she should go, what she should do. She’s still floating through Paradox Space, looking for Vriska, and as such she’s met with this... sort of internal dilemma. 

She knows, now, that the chances of her dying out here are high. She also knows that even if she does survive, she’s pretty much never going to see Vriska again anyway. She knows there’s a chance at a happier relationship with John, and that the only way she can get that is if she somehow manages to make a timeline where Meat and Candy merge together at once. 

So, she flies back. She manages to arrive on Earth C the day of John’s big decision, and interrupts him before he can go to the picnic. Through their dialogue, John gets it stuck in his head that, hey, there’s something BIGGER out here that you need to do, but you need to do that amazing thing again where you make a third Choice.

When John arrives at the picnic, he decides to eat some of the pumpkin instead - to which you might be thinking, what pumpkin? The one he put there, of course, using his retcon powers.

So we start on the Pumpkin timeline, written entirely in the 1st person narrative from John’s POV. It’s a completely biased interpretation of what’s going on, but it’s honest to John’s own thoughts and feelings, too, allowing everyone to act the way they usually would do without any influence, but still having a narrative touch. 

It shows John actively fighting to free the timeline from Dirk’s and Alternate Calliope’s narrative controls, those little hooks they’ve planted in it since time began, with a lot of back-and-forth as the two talk to John through the narration (which, he hears their voices as thoughts in his head). 

John attempts to free them both from their own biases and chains, encouraging Alternate!Calliope to leave the space she’s isolated herself in and join Earth C while convincing Dirk to undo the bullshit villain schtick he’s on (and that plot or no plot, there’s still a reason worth living for). 

It’d be a timeline filled with references back to original Homestuck (and funny quips from both Alternate!Calliope and Dirk along the way), a lot of morality discussion, plenty of theorising on narrative control and arcs and the placement of plot and fluff in a satisfying story, and have plenty of representation and romance and hints towards kids, too (such as nonbinary RoxyJaneCallie, DaveJadeKat, aromantic Jake, JohnDirk [because I couldn’t stop myself, honestly, with how their Classpects work so well hand in hand], and definitely RoseMary being the first to adopt a child that they absolutely do not call Vriska). 

It’d fill plotholes the fandom wants to be filled, and it’d have drama, of course, in the form of figuring out a way to destroy Lord English that doesn’t inherently lead to the Candy timeline. But it’d go back and forth between the heavy, plot-filled moments and the slower, relationship-based moments, with more humanising and development of Dirk and Alternate!Calliope and John as rounded characters.

That’s the best my tired mind can come up with right now. It’s something I’ve daydreamed about a lot, actually; how I’d rewrite Homestuck^2, or what my own ending to Homestuck would be using it as a foundation. I hope it makes sense! It’s a fun little thought experiment, honestly.

[catte-bard]

A Reluctant Heart to Heart

A long needed conversation is finally had between the Exarch and a certain Warrior of Darkness.

@ffxiv-writers​

What was Elidibus’ plan? What did he hope to gain from all of this? 

The Ascian’s movements perplexed the Scions greatly. Mostly because it didn’t seem like he was doing anything of harm. Going around slaying sin eaters and naming people Warriors of Light. It all was rather...innocent. 

Which made his actions all the more suspicious considering the goals of the Ascians. The Emissary certainly had not had a sudden change of heart. And whatever he plotted, they tried their best to hinder it where they could. 

All on top of trying to get the Scions back to the Source. Figuring out which had more priority was a difficult task. The Ascian could not be left alone to his scheming. But time was also running out for the Scions—they needed to get back to their physical bodies soon.

It was exhausting worrying about so many things at once. Bellona’s mind was in a constant cycle of anxieties. The Scions, Elidibus, the Source…It was like a cacophony of noise trapped within her mind. She couldn’t focus.

She couldn’t sleep.

After tossing and turning in bed for bells, she finally gave up and accepted defeat. And her restless mind led her outside the Pendants. There was a nice clearing near the inn where children liked to congregate to play. In the daytime it was filled with their rambunctious laughter, but at this late hour it was quiet and peaceful.

It was here she found herself wandering, the sweet scent of the fruit trees wafted over her as she walked under them. A clear night sky hung above, twinkling stars peeked through the branches and the full moon cast a gentle glow over the city.   

She looked up, searching the glittering sky as if it would somehow yield some hidden knowledge to her. Yet, it did little to quell the growing anxieties within her. Bellona shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. 

It was always one thing after another. It felt like fate was trying to break her. Just when she thought they had their respite, just when she thought they finally had a happy ending...A new villain rose to add another chapter to this long and very grueling story.

Elidibus wanted their attention here on the First. But why? Did he know about the Scions’ condition? Was there something happening on the Source he was trying to prevent them from stopping?

“Out for a late night stroll as well?”

She jumped at the sound of another voice, not expecting to meet anyone else out here at this late hour. Hand over her racing heart, she turned to see the Exarch standing behind her. The last person she expected to see out here at this time. Especially, since the man seemed to have been pending most of his time in the Crystal Tower of late. 

“I’m sorry,” He chuckled, seeing that he had taken her by surprise.“I did not mean to frighten you.”

“I…” it took her a moment to shake off her surprise. “It’s fine...What are you doing out here?”

“I decided to take one of those breaks Lyna is so often pestering me about.” He smiled and looked fondly at the night sky. “I was on my way back when I happened to spot a certain Warrior of Darkness still up at this late hour.”

 She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

Bellona shifted uncomfortably; unsure of what to think of his sudden company. She had certainly not asked for it. But he walked right up to her as if invited. If she were being honest, she never had much patience for the man’s presence. Preferring to keep him at arm’s length. Now was of no exception.

“Ah.” He looked back down at her.  “I must say it’s been awhile since we last spoke like this hasn’t it? You don’t come by the Crystarium as often these days.”

“I’ve been busy.” She simply muttered, shaking off her initial surprise.

“Quite so.” He agreed. “These days I’m lucky to only catch the slightest glimpse of you before you run off to tend to some other business that has suddenly come up. It’s honestly enough to make me think the Warrior of Darkness has been purposely avoiding me.”

Silence. Even the chirping crickets seemed to stop on their song, as if sensing the tension. And the man simply watched her expectantly, waiting for some sort of excuse.

Of course, the accusation wasn’t unfounded—because yes she had indeed been avoiding him. And his awareness of the fact made her feel like a child caught in the act of doing something naughty. Suddenly, the cool night air didn’t feel so refreshing anymore. 

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Now of all times? When so much was already weighing on her mind.

She wanted to be left alone with her stewing. There was nothing to talk about.

However, he did not seem to heed her dismissal. “You’re still angry at me aren’t you?” He let the words hang there for a few heartbeats. “You still blame me for what happened...I understand that, but avoiding the subject isn’t going to make it worse. We’ll have to talk about it eventually.”

She looked away from him, crossing her arms. “You lied to me and nearly got me killed. There’s nothing we need to talk about.”

The man made a pained expression at that. “I lied to protect you. It was for your own good.”

“My own good?” She whirled around on him.  “You don’t get to decide that for me. You’re not my bloody father—and even he hasn’t right.” She snapped. “That’s not a good enough excuse for what you put me through. What I had to suffer!”

She hadn’t wanted to talk about this. She had been fine with letting it rest where it was. But fine! If he wanted to drag this stupid thing up, so be it! 

Again he winced. The harshness in her tone was so accusing and cold. It made the still very fresh wound of guilt ache within his chest. “I never intended for you to get hurt.” His ears pressed flat against his head. “I cared. I hated to see you suffer.”

“If you hated it so much, why did you still let me go through with it?” The Warrior countered back. “You saw what the Light was doing to me. At any moment I could have lost control. And yet you just pushed my onward.”

She could still remember the pain she had been in. The corrupting Light devouring her very being. Fighting against her, struggling to break free from within her. Even now there were times when she thought she felt the Light still burning under his flesh. And it made her wonder if the Wardens’ taint was completely gone…

Was that supposed to be for her own good? Is that what he called protecting? It seethed at an angry boiling deep inside her. 

“I pushed you because I believed you could do it. I knew that as the Warrior of Light you would rise victorious in the end.” He firmly told her. “And if you faltered, I would be there to help you. I knew what I asked of you was dangerous but I was never going to let the Light consume you. I was never going to let anything happen to you—”

“And yet something did happen!” Bellona shot back. “Did you even know what you were doing when you dragged me here? Did you even think all the risks through or did you just make a gamble and hoped I didn’t let you down halfway through the task? Maybe in your own mind what you thought you were doing was good but in reality it was reckless and selfish!”

Reckless and selfish? 

The words stung. But it also sent a prickle of exasperation through his chest. That wasn’t fair. Why was she trying to frame him as the villain here when he had tried so hard to be a friend?

He had wanted to be civil about this. He had hoped for a calm conversation. But if the Warrior of Darkness wished to bared fangs then he would return it. He would not be bullied and cowed down like a pitiful old man.

He bristled. “I am selfish? For what? Saving you?” He snipped, incredulous that she could ever imply such a thing. “Would you rather I never had interfered? Left you and the Scions to die to the Empire’s Black Rose? Done nothing while the world’s greatest hope died? If we are to going to resort to name calling then may I point out how very stubborn and ungrateful you’re being right now?”

He had managed to leave her speechless.  And he would be lying if he said he didn’t take delight in her stunned expression. She wanted to say more—so much more. He could see it in the way her lip curled up. The way she trembled with her hands clenched into tight fists. However, she just glared and shook her head. She turned and stormed back towards the Pendants. 

“I don’t have to deal with this. Not from you.” She growled. “There are more important things to focus on.”

“Is that how it is to be, Bellona?” He called after her. “You are allowed to yell at and bully others but when they do it to you it’s too much? Is this how the Warrior of Light truly acts? Like an immature child? Is this how you will defeat the Ascian—by throwing a tantrum? I had higher expectations.”

But perhaps his words had cut a little too deep. For Bellona suddenly whirled around and flung herself at him with a yell.

It caught him completely off guard and the two of them crashed into the ground. Bellona pinned him down, her strength surprising him. For though she appeared scrawny looking at a glance, the young Miqo’te was anything but!

Get off me. He wanted to snap, but he had trouble bringing words to his lips with Bellona knee rammed into his stomach. Gods, the woman was stronger than she looked!

He grabbed at her wrists in an attempt to pull her off him, anger burning in his chest. Honestly, he had not expected the woman to physically attack him in such a way. Did she really despise him that much?

Even back then in the days of NOAH the two of them never got along. But all that came from it were petty arguments and childish insults. There was never any true animosity burning between them. At least...that’s how he remembered it.

Warrior of Light or not, he would not be a punching bag to anyone. He tensed himself to fight against her but held back when he saw her face. That look... He’d seen it before. 

Long held back tears glistened in her eyes and he suddenly saw her fury for what it truly was. An anger driven by sorrow and frustration and fear. He’d seen it in the eyes of many people who came to seek refuge within the Crystarium—those who had lost so much.  Angry and mourning and so full of distrust that the only thing they wanted to do was lash out. 

And he found his own anger and frustration melting away. She was angry at him—but she was also angry at so much more. And here it was spilling over after being bottled up for so long.  

He let his grip slacken, releasing her wrists. “Go on then.” He whispered and let his arms fall to his sides. “Do it.”

Through the anger in her expression he saw her confusion. 

“That’s what you want isn’t it?” He solemnly said. “I’ve hurt you terribly, haven’t I? And I know no mere apology will ever fix what I’ve done to you. So take your anger on me if you must; it’s nothing less than what I deserve…So strike me, beat me until the pain has left you. I will not stop you.

He felt her hands trembling, her grip tightened. For a moment, it did look like she was going to hit him. And he braced himself for the blow. However, instead she gave a frustrated sigh and abruptly let him go.  

“Get up, G’raha...” She grumbled as she stepped away from him.

The man stared at the sky above, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Slowly, he sat up, absently rubbing the back of his head. He looked up to see Bellona had paced a few films away. Her arms crossed and her back towards him. Angrily trying to wipe away at her tears and stifle her sniffling. 

His ears drooped and he looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry…”

Bellona shook her head. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

His shoulders slumped. “No…but I just want to fix things. And every time I try to apologize you push me away. So tell me,” He groaned, “What do you want? What am I doing wrong?”

She was quiet, taking a few more moments to compose herself. He longed to go to her and offer some sort of comfort but thought better off it. He didn’t have the right to.

Sighing, he stood up and dusted off his robes. “I know that perhaps you will never forgive me for my deceit—for putting you in danger. And I truly regret hurting you like that. But I was doing what I thought was right.” He firmly told her. “What I thought would save the world...as well as it’s greatest hope…And if given the chance to start over, I would do it the same again and again.”

Bellona finally looked at him, meeting his eyes and seeing the burning resolve in them. She snorted and shook her head.

“I really wish you wouldn’t look at me like that…” She finally spoke.

The Exarch cocked his head. “Like what?”

“Like I’m perfect…”

“I wouldn’t say perfect...but I do think you are one of the most amazing people I have ever met.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “You know when you say stuff like that, you make it difficult to be around you.”

He frowned at her in bemusement.

“Do you want to know why I really can’t stand you?” She finally spoke. Her voice soft but there was an edge to her tone. “You only ever care to see me as the Warrior of Light. As some dauntless hero. Not a person. Not just me.”

The Exarch bristled at that, going red in the face. “That’s not true!”

“For gods’ sake, G’raha!” Deep within she knew it wasn’t fair to use his name like that. She knew what it did to him. But she needed him to listen. “All that you know about me has been from embellished tales and stories; you’ve admitted it yourself! Stories passed down from star-struck individuals that paint me as some indestructible hero.”

Her heart was pounding within her chest and she could feel herself trembling. Her throat ached with something between anger and sadness. “And then there’s the way you look at me or speak about me to others. It’s this strange fervent way and it’s clear I am not a person to you but a fairie tale.”

Her words seem to have struck something for he looked almost hurt—guilty. 

“I...had no idea that showing my appreciation for your deeds was so bothersome.” He eventually said, the dejection heavy in his tone.

“There’s a difference. Appreciation is fine, but what you do isn’t appreciation it’s...it’s worship!” She looked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Bellona shook her head. “Idolizing someone is not the same as caring for them, G’raha. Being someone’s friend isn’t putting them on a pedestal.” 

The weight of her words fell on his shoulders with the weight of a thousand tonzes. They were crushing and he even found himself breathless as he struggled with his own words to say.

 “Perhaps, you are right and I am foolish—nay you are right. I have been holding you to unfair expectations…” The man mumbled “But I am trying Bellona. I am trying to make things right. But I can’t learn what I’m doing wrong or what I need to work on if you keep pushing me away! So just tell me—tell me how I can make it up to you?”

He waited in silence. Waited for an answer. Waited for rejection once more. 

He could see the deliberation in her eyes. 

Seconds ticked by. Minutes. And finally she seemed to decide something.

“I want you to promise me something—swear an oath. Break it and I will never forgive.” Bellona told him, suddenly looking rather serious. “I don’t know what Elidibus is planning but I know that I might have to face him alone to stop it. When that time comes I want you to promise me you won’t interfere. And neither will you let the Scions interfere—getting them home is what matters more.”

“What?” The Exarch frowned, perplexed by the request. But also wary of what she was trying to ask of him. “No...Absolutely not. You’re asking me to abandon you and I will do no such thing!”

“Your duty is to the people of the Crystarium—to the people of the First.” Her expression hardened. “Their safety is more important than my own. They need your protection, not me. Trying to protect me is what made a mess of things in the first place.

“If you really want to make things right then you’ll let me do this on my own. And even if it ends with me falling by the Ascian’s hand I’d rather it be me than someone sacrificing themselves for me. So please,” Her voice was tight with emotion, “do this one thing for me.

The Exarch was stunned, words of protest caught in his throat. What could he say?

“You know the Scions would never forgive me if they knew I agreed to let you do this…” He said, hoping to deter her. 

And he saw it briefly. The fear in her, the uncertainty. 

“G’raha...please.” She squeezed her eyes shut. And her voice trembled with a vulnerableness he had never heard from her before.

That was unfair. To hear his name on her lips, being spoken in such a desperate way. It sent a twinge through his heart.

And she knew it too. Knew what she asked of him. To possibly let go of the hero he had worked so hard to save in the first place. 

It was selfish in its own way. 

For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other. Until, finally...the Exarch yielded.

“Very well,” He said with a heavy sigh of resignation. “I swear...” 

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 158

Chapter Summary - Danielle and Diana look after Lucy and talk over a few things. 

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine. All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade 

Tom could not help but erupt in laughter at the picture that was sent to him, so much so, people around him looked at him startled, for which he had to apologise.

Emma had been gone for four hours from her home and in that four hours, she had contacted Danielle eight times to check on Lucy, which Danielle informed him of but not in a snide or ridiculing manner, merely a comment in general conversation. To settle Emma's anxiety at being away from her eight-week-old daughter for the first time exceeding two hours, Danielle had taken to taking pictures of the infant to send her mother to show Emma just how calm and relaxed her daughter was, leaving out the fact that Lucy did have a good cry for herself at realising that though she knew the smells of the two women that were caring for her, neither of them were her mother but she settled in the end, thanked mostly by Danielle's idea of the muslin cloth that Emma had used earlier and it having Emma's smell. She also changed her shirt to one she told Emma to wear the day before so that she could settle Lucy better, it seemed to have worked, Lucy was content overall. For all of the pictures, Danielle had a method of telling the time on-screen to show Emma that she was okay. Some of the pictures were of Lucy sleeping or drinking a bottle of expressed milk Emma had left. One was one that Emma had actually sent Tom of Danielle and an awake Lucy both looking at the television, the cycling race on with intense focus on their faces. That one made Tom worried about Danielle's issue with maternal urges. She looked entirely comfortable and content in the picture. But there was one picture, which, going by the message that accompanied it was done entirely in jest, of Lucy, looking a little startled and looking to the side with a still image from the raptors in the kitchen scene from Jurassic Park as the background. It was so ridiculous and silly that it was hilarious, causing Tom's loud laugh in the Wimbledon centre-court food tent that earned the worried looks from those around him, including a momentary startling of the royal bodyguards. Emma enjoyed the picture also, apologising to Danielle for being such a worried but Danielle dismissed her and told her she was more than happy to give her peace of mind.

Danielle, for her time, was spending time watching her cycling, dealing with Lucy and cooking some food to freeze for Emma and Jack since Jack was working full weeks and Emma was still learning to juggle Lucy and her home. She showed Diana the picture she altered that she sent Emma resulting in her erupting in laughter that Danielle knew well was almost identical to the way Tom laughed, something she loved, him having clearly gotten it from her.

She used Lucy's naps as times to sort of few things she knew Emma wanted sorting in her home, including putting up a shelf. As she did so, Diana looked at her almost in awe. “You are a very capable woman, I would not have been able to do that in my day.”

“My Mam was forced to know a lot because Dad would be working the most of the time, especially in the Spring,” She explained as she screwed in the piece of wood in. “And of course, I was there with her, so I learnt a bit from her.”

“What do you think she would make of all of this?”

Danielle sighed. “They'd be really excited. She'd have rung everyone and anyone. Dad and she would have probably come over for a few days because of it. Dad insisting on going for a whiskey with Tom, of course, and I would have her here talking about the finer details of things with us.” Her smile fell slightly and she bit her lips together as she thought of her parents and how they would be elated at her and Tom getting engaged. “I am really going to miss having them for this. This is the first big thing that not having them here for it will hurt. I mean, moving to England was a big thing, I know but I'd probably never have done that if they had been alone and I did it to her away from home. Plus my getting my career, as great an achievement as I know it is, was not like a college graduation or anything, marriage and a family were the ones I felt that if they happened, would be the hardest and being honest, knowing I don't have them for it really hurts and is the only thing I feel is missing from this wonderful event.” Tears began to well in her eyes. “I am so grateful to have you and Emma, I swear but…”

“Don't worry, I understand,” Diana assured. “I have the honour of being here for my girls’ weddings, and for my two granddaughters, I cannot imagine how lonely it feels to not have your parents here sometimes, I wish you had them but not having them here now brought you to our family and gave my daughter a true friend, my son a partner who truly loves and appreciates him and me a lovely neighbour and soon-to-be daughter-in-law.” Diana hugged Danielle close to her, Danielle almost gripping her too tightly. For a moment, Danielle felt like she couldn't let go, Diana said nothing but held her, knowing that Danielle required the contact. It was when Lucy informed them that she woken again that Diana rubbed Danielle's back for a moment and pulled back. “You are an incredible young woman, Elle Hughes and we love you so much. Knowing that you and Tom are taking this step together is wonderful and we are so happy for both of you. We always saw you like family, this only makes it official.”

Danielle said nothing as she went and got Lucy out of her cot, talking gently to her as she changed her, making her smile as she cleaned the mess she had made of herself and bringing her to her grandmother, who had used the time to ready a bottle, curling Lucy against her as she did and loving the smell of young baby against her, knowing it would do her hormones no good yet loving it all the same.

*

“All alone?” Tom turned around to see Benedict smiling at him four feet away.

“Apparently babysitting a goddaughter is far more interesting than tennis.” Tom beamed at his friend, embracing him in a hug. “How are you?”

“Good, how were the few weeks on the south coast? You look as though you went on holiday to the Caribbean. And if Danielle is that excited to mind children, there's two more she can look after any time she is willing.” He smiled.

“Don't say that to her, she already adores those boys. She is wondering when she can spoil them again, apparently, Christmas and birthdays are not enough.”

“You'll have to just bite the bullet and give her one,” Ben joked.

“Not yet.”

“Again with 'yet’, I suppose if you want to do it the conventional way, you're still a few steps off that.”

“We're going through them though.”

“You need to get a ring on that finger, that's the next one.”

Tom could only laugh at Ben's words. “No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do. I mean, Sophie and I did it a little skew-ways but...what's with that grin?”

Tom only continued to grin widely. “Are you and Sophie free any time this week?”

“We have a few things on, would a breakfast work someday, usual place?”

“No, not public, ours.”

“Wait, she's not pregnant, is she?” Ben inquired in a low voice.

“Not that I am aware and going by the swim she did yesterday, I don't think she is aware either if she is.”

“Then why the privacy?” Again Tom smirked. “Tom?” Tom's grin increased. “You've asked her, haven't you?” Tom gave a slight nod. “And?”

“She said yes.”

Ben's face went through the several phases from shocked to elated before he embraced his friend tightly. “Congratulations,” he whispered. “I…fucking hell, congratulations.” he chuckled.

“Thank you. You're the first to know outside of families.”

“Luke?”

“Tomorrow, face to face.”

“Mum's the word,” Ben promised. “Sophie will be delighted. I’m thrilled for you both. How is Danielle with it all, especially with that weird Irish thing of waiting so long?”

“She’s good, she seems incredibly happy with it all, we're talking about next summer,” Tom explained.

“That’s a long time.”

“A year is long in some respects, short in others. If that's what she feels comfortable with, then I am more than happy to wait. Just having her agree is enough at this stage. She…”

Benedict chuckled heartily. “It's great to see you this happy, Tom, it really is,” he clapped his shoulder before the tannoy informed them that the match was starting. “I had best go, I told my father I would be quick. Where are you?”

“Royal box.”

Ben laughed for a moment. “I bet Elle got a kick out of that. We will arrange breakfast one of the days do, check if Thursday works.” He declared as he walked to the stands to watch the match leaving Tom to grin before turning to take his seat.