#generally not that expressive but also got anger issues and they have such a fierce way of showing their love youknow

[goldiipond]

underrated dynamic i think abt sometimes is ray and violet. they would be weird gender besties

[dollslayer]

Botanical Interest - Thorns

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: After dating the notable mobster Steve Rogers for a couple months you think you’ve got him figured out. An altercation in an alley leaves you questioning whether or not that’s true. 

W/C: 1995

Warnings: Violence, angst, fluff, swearing

A/N: Holy smokes! I am completely overwhelmed by the love that the first part to this story has received. Obviously, I couldn’t help myself so I wrote a part 2 also as an entry for @stargazingfangirl18 ‘s 5k soft dark challenge! Using the Mob!Au and the dialogue prompt “Oh, Honey, you weren’t supposed to see that”.

If you want you can check out part one here and my other mob fic here! Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

______________________________ 6pm was fast approaching as you began to close up shop for the day. Steve was here to pick you up for dinner and much to your embarrassment walked in on you having a very difficult conversation argument with a very difficult customer over pricing and promotion. Having run your small business on your own for years you knew how to hold your own but you completely froze when you saw Steve enter the shop out of the corner of your eye. 

“I- listen Mr. Andersen, I appreciate all the business that your venues have given me but I can’t afford a raise in advertising prices right now. I’ve been reliable and trustworthy and I’ve always treated your venues with respect. I’ve never been an issue for you, please don’t raise the rate. Wedding season is coming up and I need the exposure.” 

You tried to bargain with him quietly, hoping the music overhead would prevent Steve from hearing but it was a low volume and a small shop. You’ve only been dating for a couple months. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him, especially not at work. 

Mr. Andersen exhaled sharply. You could tell he was annoyed at you for the pushback. “Look, I’m sorry but we can’t be making exceptions every time a business owner comes groveling.” 

Tears stung your eyes, you really did generate a lot of business through Andersen’s venues. They listed you as one of their recommended vendors to their clients, it’s been huge for you. Knowing that Steve was there made this even worse. “If I’d have known you were going to cry like this I would’ve just done it over email I mean really-”

“That’s enough.” Steve cut him off before he could humiliate you any further. He sent a quick text and shoved his phone back in his pocket before pulling himself to his gull height and squaring his shoulders. “You’ve done enough, now get out.”

A scoff from Andersen and a harsh glare directed towards you and he was on his way out of the building. Steve’s phone vibrated but he didn’t check it. Instead he walked over to you and extended his arm to rub your back. 

“Are you okay? That guy was a total fucking prick to you, you don’t deserve that.” Steve consoled you. He seemed calmer than you expected for having just witnessed something like that. You’ve seen him agitated but never upset. Maybe he was restraining himself for you but it didn’t matter, you appreciate him being there for you. 

“I’m fine, I just need to finish closing up shop and we can get to dinner. Just give me a minute” you said as you began to sweep up. 

“Alright, sweetheart. I’m double parked so I’m gonna go to the car and try to find a space.” You nodded as hummed along to the music. 

____________________________

As Steve left the shop he pulled his phone out and checked his text from Thor ‘we got him’. When Steve heard that man talk to you like that he knew you didn’t want him to threaten Andersen and make the situation worse. You were already on the verge of tears so he decided to ask one of his men to hold Andersen out back where he could have a few words with him. 

Stepping around the corner into the alley behind your shop he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He needed to be quick so you wouldn’t find out. He didn’t want to upset you further, he just wanted this guy to know that you can’t treat his girl like that. And maybe he could be talked into giving her the advertising for free.

“So you think you can talk to my girl like that huh?” He questioned. Andersen looked like Thor had already punched him once in the process of restraining him. Thor’s hold on Andersen’s arms tightened. 

Andersen was scared, but not scared enough to Steve’s liking. Before Andersen had the opportunity to answer Steve cocked his fist back and launched it directly to Andersen’s jaw. “Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t know. We’re expanding and we need the money so I have to raise-”

Before the excuse could be finished Steve hit him again. “Stop! Please!” Andersen begged.

Steve chuckled. “No I don’t think I will. I can’t just let people go every time they grovel to me. They’d never learn.” Another punch landed. 

“You’re not gonna raise your prices for her. In fact, you’re gonna call her up in a couple days and apologize by offering her advertising free of charge for all of your venues. Do you understand?” Steve asked coolly. 

Andersen coughed up some blood. “I- I can offer her half price but I can’t just waive the cost like that!”

“Not good enough.” Steve punched him even harder, Andersen was nearly knocked out. Steve thought about the tears that slipped from his girl’s eye and couldn’t stop himself. He struck Andersen one more time with a growl and his head hung limp between his shoulders. Just then he heard the sound of shattering glass behind him and froze, hand still in a fist. 

_____________________________________

Finally done with most of your tasks all you had to do was take out the garbage and empty the vase of leftover stems from bouquets into the dumpster. You opened the back door just in time to see Steve land a brutal punch to Mr. Andersen’s cheekbone. Mr. Andersen’s head fell and it was clear he had been knocked out cold. 

You hadn’t even realized you’d dropped the vase until you felt the shards fall around your feet. You couldn’t look away when Steve looked up at you with wild eyes, you’d never seen him so angry. You felt the way you did the day you met him. Nervous and frozen in place.

His face instantly fell and through his heavy breathing said “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.” He was trying to relax his features as he approached you but you could only take steps back and into the shop like a scared animal being cornered. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest and you couldn’t tell if you were more angry or scared. You held your hands out in front of you and stammered “I’d better.. I need to lock up shop I’ll um, I’ll go”. “Sweetheart wait!” Too late. You shut the back door and locked it behind you. 

You went to your back office and sat down, not even sure where to go from here with this. You two had talked about his work a bit, it wasn’t like it could be avoided forever, you just didn’t think he’d bring it into yours. You weren’t scared of Steve doing something like that to you, you were scared of that look in his eyes. His capability of doing something like that with little thought.

Oh, God, what does this mean for the shop? Mr. Andersen will have you blacklisted. He’ll tell every wedding planner in Brooklyn. Now your heart was hammering for a whole other set of reasons. Too busy spiraling as you thought about it all you didn’t hear the bell of the front door ring. 

A knock on your open office door pulled you out of it and you looked up to find Steve. He wore what looked like a truly regretful expression on his face. You fought the urge to yell at him. You’re an adult, you’re going to talk about this like adults. Let him say his piece. 

He had straightened up, his hands were clean and his jacket was back on. He gave a heavy sigh. “Sweetheart, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m sorry you had to see that side of me, but I want you to know I would never ever do anything like that to you or anyone close to you. I only want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s punching one of my main sources of income?” You snapped. You appreciated the apology but you were getting too worked up in anger thinking about the future of the shop.

He was a little miffed at the outburst and became defensive. “That man disrespected you, disrespected your work. No one talks like that to my girl. That’s how we settle things in my world!” 

“Well you’re not in your mob world right now you’re in mine! And things don’t get handled like that! Do you have any idea the toll that could take on my business? He’s gonna have me blacklisted by the end of the day if he wakes up.” The last words came out a bit broken as you felt more tears build. You were more worried about the business than anything. 

Steve walked around the desk to console you just like he had not twenty minutes ago. He gently put a hand on your forearm. “You’re right. It’s not my world, it wasn’t my call to make and I had no right to react like that. I didn’t even think about that. The way he was talking to you, I just.. I got so mad. You work so hard and you don’t deserve that. Sometimes I forget there’s more than one way to handle things.”

Okay, that went better than expected. This is what made Steve so interesting to you. Steve was funny and sweet and charming as hell, but beyond all that there was this tender heart. He was dangerous but he was also fiercely loyal. He was more than a mobster and he was better than the brute force he used. It’s why you were able to accept that part of him, because it wasn’t his entire life, it didn’t consume him.

“Thank you for saying that,” You said quietly. You looked up to him and could tell that he really did feel bad. “I accept your apology and I appreciate it. But you have to make things right with Mr. Andersen. I’ll pay the new rate but you have to apologize before it’s too late.”

_________________________

Steve was beginning to harbor resentment towards himself for fucking this up for you. Andersen just made him see red, he has such a hard time shutting that part of himself down. You work so hard and care so much there’s just no way he could let that stand. He just hoped to work through it and move on. He really didn’t wanna screw it up.

Steve was much more at ease knowing you accepted his apology. “I won’t like it but I can do that. It’s only fair. Can I make it up to you over dinner? We’ll make a quick stop to the hospital to set things straight with Andersen.” When you shut the door in his face in the alley he had Thor take him to the hospital. He’d call another town car to get home. 

He’ll apologize to Andersen and pay the hospital bill, but you’re not paying the increased rate. No way. Steve will pay him off enough that he won’t be telling anyone about the altercation, either. Win-win in his eyes.

You leaned your head against his shoulder in slight exhaustion and nodded. “Can we forget the reservation? I really want breakfast food right now.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Of course sweetheart, you wanna get takeout and go back to mine?” He felt you nod. “Yes, please”. 

“Let me just order a car and we’ll be on our way. I’m sorry again, sweetheart, I promise I’m gonna make it right even if that guy’s a douche.” You laughed a little bit and wiped the few tears that stayed in your eyes.

“So.... your girl, huh? Is that like some mob slang term I don’t know about? Are we official?”

A smile graced his lips. “I’d like to be, if you would.” 

You smiled back at him. “I might be persuaded with waffles.” 

[funkymbtifiction]

6 vs 9

Thank you for answering my question on Ni and worrying!

I have debated on 6 vs. 9 before, but I’m pretty sure I’m a 9.

Not sure if you want an answer or not, but why not? I’ve got time. ;)

I do see 6 aspects in myself:

Lots of self-doubt and over-thinking. I take commissions as an artist and usually I’m excited to hear about a new commission but then get worried and think I won’t be able to do it / won’t do a good enough job. <- if you are a 9, this could just be your line to 6 and general anxiousness about doing a good job per your (I assume) 1 wing.

Being indecisive when anxious and wanting someone to tell me what to do/solve my problem. <- Hmm, I haven’t talked to my 9 core friends about this a lot, but I do notice some of them consult me in a “this is happening!!!” way and I give them suggestions on what to do, so… I’d say 9s will consult people they trust if they don’t know what to do. Also, did you decide on INFP? If so, indecisiveness is Ne.

I tend to plan for the worst/expect the worst (but hope for the best). <- Pessimism is a human condition. xD

I don’t project, though - I do worry that people may not like me, but I don’t test them to find out if that is the case and I always blame myself for it (i.e if they don’t like me it must be because I’m boring or weird or not emotionally reactive enough). <- I used to do this way more when I was young. I’d send an e-mail, get anxious if I didn’t get a normal prompt response, comb back over what I said searching for anything that might have upset them, and feel anxious for no reason assuming someone is mad at me. I would send out little feelers to see what was going on – quick texts or notes in a friendly tone to see if that generated a response. Now I just assume, when that anxiousness kicks in, that as adults, we’re all busy. But self-blaming is a condition of Fi, and not related to Enneagram type, IMO.

Also, I don’t provoke people to examine reactions. In fact I hate conflict (the classic “raised voices = yelling” 9 issue is true for me; in 95% of arguments I’m the peacemaker trying to find middle ground between other people). <- with me, it depends. I have zero problems with conflict at home or arguing with my parents / family members, but the less I know you and the less I trust you, the more I don’t want to fight with you. It’s true, though, that I have that bratty 6w7 energy that sometimes provokes to get a rise out of my loved ones, which my mother (a 1w9) absolutely hates. It’s hard to shut off, but I try for her sake. Course my father is quarrelsome too, so we’re like a tempest in a teapot sometimes.

I also don’t see many positive 6 aspects in myself:

The ability/desire to build connections and make a security system. <- Interesting. My security is my bank account and having a few people I can count on. It’s not stalking up my pantry, for sure. *cough * weak Si, like what kinds of foods even go together? *cough* Though I work very hard in my family business so we can all thrive, which is a security of its own.

Being loyal to friends and checking in with them to make sure we’re “okay” (I never do this barring an actual argument or something - mostly I ghost people; loyalty is not my strong suit!) <- This is very true of me. If anyone picks on any of my friends, I will get offended and fiercely defend them (even if I have criticisms of them myself). And I do like to stay connected as an extrovert. But following up what I said above, I don’t try to build super close connections as much as I did when I was younger. I’ve realized people have their own lives, and you’re lucky to get their attention at all. But I don’t ghost people. I used to stay in very immediate contact with them.

I feel very little need to connect with other people. My friends are basically my family and in-laws -  about 10 people who I truly trust and would do anything for. I don’t really want more people-related responsibilities. <- lucky little sp-dom introvert. ;) Though I can somewhat relate. More people means more energy going out, and I spend so much of it on my books and hobbies, I don’t have a lot left over. I was laughing with a fellow sp-dom INFP just yesterday about how we are both like “OMG, I have SOCIAL events in October, 5 of them!! I’m going to be so busy!!! Will it be too much???” Chill, girl. They’re interspersed over weeks. Stop over-thinking “invasions of my time!”

Meanwhile, I have many positive and negative 9 attributes:

The core problem of 9, apathy, is a BIG problem for me. Many problems in my life have been caused by not acting, by waiting too long in hopes that the problem will go away, by riding along on easy work (even if it is work I love and is worth doing) and not doing the hard work that would lead to the achievements I really want to make (writing a novel, etc.). I’m not a lazy/apathetic person in general - I can (and do) work extremely hard (I run my own art business and working 12+ hours a day is typical for me). But it’s a mental apathy issue, the quailing at mentally facing hard tasks and ending up doing small easy things that soothe me. <- aww, tho I relate to procrastinating. Being around 9s, it kind of amuses me to watch you self-soothe. Like, shouldn’t you be studying for your math final and not reorganizing the bathroom cabinets? And it seems like 9s can drag their feet even when it’s important until they decide to do it, then nothing stands in their way.

Other 9 aspects/problems I can see in myself:

Being vague - not knowing what I really want and getting frustrated by not having a clear vision of what to do. <- yeah, that’s 9ish.

Suppressing anger and other “negative” emotions because of seeking inner peace/blankness. And if I do express anger (usually in a burst under stress) I feel guilty about it. <- 1 wing, yeah.

Setting up walls between other people and myself because I can’t deal with their emotions. I don’t struggle with the intense kind of “merging” described by many 9s, but I think that might be because I’m Fi-dom and probably sp-dom. But it is still exhausting to handle the emotions, opinions, etc. of many people for long periods of time. <- I need to ask my 9w8 INFP more about this specifically, but I don’t know that she fully merges so much as prematurely (sp-dom) throws up a barrier and says Nope to things, in hopes of avoiding other people creeping into her feelings. And yeah, she finds being around especially temperamental or high energy people difficult, since it’s such a bombardment of drama + her own intense reactions.

Tolerating behavior I don’t like for too long because “they might have good intentions.” Thinking positively of people because believing the worst of them feels mean. <- same for me, Ne + compliant type issues.

I have very strong opinions but I don’t like to argue with other people. I tend to believe that if the truth exists, other people will be drawn to it without my twisting their arm and making them see it. <- that’s nice of you and very healthy Fi-dom. I … will absolutely argue up to a point, then decide it’s not worth my time and pointless.

My motto (good and bad) is often “Let’s wait and see if things improve.” <- haha.

Also, although I do struggle with 6ish self-doubt, when it comes down to it I trust my gut and believe that I know what is best for myself. People can give me advice and I’ll nod and thank them but inside I’m thinking “You don’t know me!” In general I am (or at least appear and strive to be) a cheerful, emotionally stable, positive person. So… I still think 9 gets more points. But honestly, this is one of those things that makes me believe in tritypes because I relate a lot to both of them! Thank you for reading all of this!

Go with your gut. Be a happy little 9. :)

ETA: Regarding relating to them both -- of course you do, 6 is your stress line, so it will show up regularly. ;)

[ouyangzizhensdad]

I just saw a post saying nhs has an inferiority complex and I'm?? Confused?? I always thought he was fine with being weaker in terms of cultivation, maybe I missed something

Hi anon,

I have to say, I struggle as well to figure out where people are getting this from the text. I think, oftentimes, people don't actually pay attention to what the text provides us in terms of characterisation as a whole, but take elements of what makes the character or which happens to them and simply extrapolate how they themselves would feel in that situation as a means of understanding the character. I can easily imagine how a reader would think: wow, if I had low cultivation in a world that values it (and within a clan that values strength even more so!) and a brother who was not only super strong and admired but who wanted me to fit into that role, and then found myself having to fill his shoes after his sudden death, I'd feel some sort of inferiority complex. I think that's the same reason you see so much people insisting WWX has self-esteem issues.

The thing about NHS is that, as a youth, we never saw him value high cultivation or "academic" achievements (not sure how to otherwise call his time at CR but there is probably a better word for it) or brute strength. He's afraid of consequences from his brother for failing at the CR, as we see here:

Although the brothers were not born from the same mother, their relationship was quite solid. Nie Mingjue had always taught his younger brother with extreme harshness, particularly caring for his studies. This was why, even though Nie Huaisang respected his older brother, he was the most scared of Nie Mingjue mentioning his schoolwork.

and here:

Although he didn’t understand a single bit as he listened in class, Nie Huaisang worked as hard as a slave when the date of the test approached. He copied Virtue two times for Wei Wuxian, and begged before the test, “Please, Wei-xiong, if my grade is lower than yi, my brother would really break my legs! Stuff like telling apart direct lineage, collateral lineage, main clan, clan branches… For us disciples from big clans, we can’t even distinguish our relationships with our own relatives, randomly calling everyone who are more than two tiers away from us aunts and uncles. Does anyone have enough capacity in their brain to remember those of other clans?!”

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

[...] . If disciple from a prominent clan forms the core at a later age, it would be a disgrace to tell other people of it, yet Nie Huaisang didn’t feel ashamed at all. Wei Wuxian also laughed, “I know, right? No harm comes from using it.”

The only moment that I can find that could tangentially be used to suggest that NHS has an inferiority complex could be this one, where NHS wants to avoid LXC's questioning about how his studies are going (and WWX picking up on his cues like a good friend to redirect the conversation). However, when you consider the whole context of the scene, it’s not because NHS feels self-conscious but because he’s afraid LXC is going to report to his brother that he’s not working hard at his studies:

Lan Xichen turned to him, “Huaisang, a while ago, as I returned from Qinghe, your brother asked of your studies. How is it? This year, will you be able to pass?”

Nie Huaisang replied, “Generally speaking, yes…” He seemed like a wilted cucumber, looking at Wei Wuxian in a helpless way. Wei Wuxian grinned, “Zewu-Jun, what are you two going out for?”

[...] Nie Huaisang also wanted to join in, but he had been reminded of his older brother as he met Lan Xichen. Cringing silently, he didn’t dare to have fun, “I’ll pass and go back so that I can review…” With this act, he hoped that Lan Xichen would put in some good words for him to his brother.

NHS seems very industrious at finding ways not to have to do anything that relates to cultivation or to leading a sect, and that is linked once more to the fact that he does not want to do these things (so not a case where we could say he’s self-sabotaging because he fears failure):

Lan Xichen took Nie Huaisang’s saber into his qiankun sleeve, “Huaisang has been using the excuse that he left his saber at home. Now he will have no excuses for lazing around.”

or here

“Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang fell at once.

He really did fall to his knees from the terror. He only staggered up after he finished kneeling, “D-d-d-da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue, “Where is your saber?”

Nie Huaisang cowered, “In… in my room. No, in the school grounds. No, let me… think…”

Wei Wuxian could feel that Nie Mingjue almost wanted to hack him dead right there, “You bring a dozen fans with you wherever you go, yet you don’t even know where your own saber is?!”

Nie Huaisang hurried, “I’ll go find it right now!”

[...]

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

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

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

Nie Huaisang, “I’m not going to be a sect leader, though. You can be it, Da-ge. I’m not doing it!”

or here

Nie Mingjue was on the school ground, teaching and supervising Nie Huaisang’s saberwork in person. He did not acknowledge Jin Guangyao, so he stood at the edge of the field, waiting with respect. Since Nie Huaisang was quite uninterested and the sun was bright, he was rather half-hearted, complaining that he was tired after just a few moves. He beamed as he got ready to go to Jin Guangyao and see what presents he brought this time. In the past, Nie Mingjue would only frown at such things, but today he was angered, “Nie Huaisang, do you want this strike to land on your head?! Get back here!”

If only Nie Huaisang were like Wei Wuxian and could feel how great Nie Mingjue’s rage was, he wouldn’t grin in such a bold way. He protested, “Da-ge, the time is up. It’s time to rest!”

Nie Mingjue, “You rested just thirty minutes ago. Keep on going, until you learn it.”

Nie Huaisang was still giddy, “I won’t be able to learn it anyways. I’m done for the day!”

He often said this, but today Nie Mingjue’s reaction was entirely different from his past reaction. He shouted, “A pig would’ve learnt this by now, so why haven’t you?!”

Never expecting Nie Mingjue to burst out so suddenly, Nie Huaisang’s face was blank with shock as he shrunk toward Jin Guangyao. Seeing the two together, Nie Mingjue was even more provoked, “It’s been one year already and you still haven’t learnt this one set of saber techniques. You stand on the field for just thirty minutes and you’re complaining that you’re tired. You don’t have to excel, but you can’t even protect yourself! How did the QingheNie Sect produce such a good-for-nothing! The both of you should be tied up and beaten once every day. Carry out all those things in his room!”

The last sentence was spoken to the disciples standing by the side of the field. Seeing that they had gone, Nie Huaisang felt as though he was on pins and needles. A moment later, the row of disciples really did bring out all the fans, paintings, porcelain from his room. Nie Mingjue had always threatened to burn his room, but he had never actually burned them. This time, though, he was serious. Nie Huaisang panicked. He threw himself over, “Da-ge! You can’t burn them!”

Noticing that the situation wasn’t good, Jin Guangyao also spoke, “Da-ge, don’t act on impulse.”

Yet, Nie Mingjue’s saber had already striked. All of the delicate objects piled at the center of the field erupted in roaring flames. Nie Huaisang wailed and plunged into the fire to save them. Jin Guangyao hurried to pull him back, “Huaisang, be careful!”

With a sweep of Nie Mingjue’s hand, the two blanc de chine antiques shattered into pieces in his palms. The scrolls and paintings had already turned into dust in a split second. Nie Huaisang could only watch blankly as the much loved items that he had gathered throughout the years vanish into ashes. Jin Guangyao grabbed his hands to examine them, “Are they burnt?”

He turned to a few disciples, “Please prepare some medicine first.”

The disciples answered and left. Nie Huaisang stood at the same place, his entire body trembling as he looked over at Nie Mingjue, pupil encircled by veins. Seeing that his expression wasn’t right, Jin Guangyao put his arm around his shoulders and whispered, “Huaisang, how are you feeling? Stop watching. Go back to your room and have some rest.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes brimmed red. He didn’t even make a sound. Jin Guangyao added, “It’s alright even if the things are gone. Next time I can find you more…”

Nie Mingjue interrupted, his words like ice, “I’ll burn them each time he brings them back into this sect.”

Anger and hatred suddenly flashed across Nie Huaisang’s face. He threw his saber onto the ground and yelled, “Then burn them!!!”

Jin Guangyao quickly stopped him, “Huaisang! Your brother is still angry. Don’t…”

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

I'm not saying he didn't have a hard time during the first moment of him taking over a leadership role in the sect after the sudden death of his brother (ultimately we can wonder whether the yiwensanbuzhi persona originated then, as he could have felt overwhelmed and actually didn't have the answers needed for the position he didn't prepare for--or whether it was always a pure fabrication to serve his goals), but I don't think we can chalk it up to an inferiority complex.

In the past, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang studied together, so there were a few things he could comment about this person. Nie Huaisang wasn’t an unkind person. It wasn’t that he was not clever, but that his heart was set somewhere else and used his smarts on other areas, such as painting on fans, searching for birds, skipping classes, and catching fish. Because his talent in terms of cultivation really was poor, he formed his core around eight or nine years later than the other disciples of the same generation as him. When he lived, Nie Mingjue was often exasperated by the fact that his brother didn’t meet his expectations, so he disciplined him strictly. Despite this, he still didn’t improve much. Now, without his older brother protecting and supervising him, under his lead, the QingheNie Sect declined day by day. After he grew up, especially after he became the sect leader, he was often troubled by all kinds of affairs unfamiliar to him and looked for helpers everywhere, mainly his brother’s two sworn brothers. One day he’d go to Jinling Tower to complain to Jin Guangyao, and the next day he’d go to the Cloud Recesses to whine to Lan Xichen. With the two leaders of the Jin and Lan Sects supporting him, he still barely managed to settle on the sect leader position. Nowadays, whenever people mentioned Nie Huaisang, although they didn’t say anything on the surface, the same phrase was written on their faces—good-for-nothing.

And after NHS pieced together what happened to his brother and set out on a path to revenge, I don't see how someone who is so sharp and deceptive and able to reach his goals while hiding behind a facade the entire time would feel "inferior".

[babiesdreams]

Cry for me kim dongyoung

Warnings: death of a character, blood and mentions of violence, mental health issues :]

This is part of the collab with @slightlymore

What shall define a Kingdom’s faith? If war brings hunger and death, Illness and misery, and peace is meant for the weak ones. What is the real goal of a king? Is is power? Trust? Love? Benevolence? Or is it just an infinity war for a land of nobody, while people still die from hunger? If a man cannot be trusted to make the simple task of protecting the kingdom, I shall do it instead.

“I told you a hundred times, you are not going to this war” Your father’s firm voice gets you more and more furious over time. “I don’t care what you want. I’m the future queen. I know how to fight. Let me go to war!” You order him, but he stays still, not allowing a single protest out of your mouth after he says “Take her to her room” Your furrowed brows don’t help to soften his expression nor his heart, and soon you’re yet again imprisoned in your room.

You look into the mirror, cursing over your destiny and tears start appearing in your eyes. “I will go to that bloody war” You slowly whisper to yourself. There’s truly a lot of things you could lose in there, but your father shouldn’t go by any circumstances, he barely recovered from his last injury, going to war was a clear death. And he didn’t want you to do something about it? No way. You weren’t just a princess, you were the future queen, and you were going to fight like one.

So when everyone left the castle in March, you started taking your plan to action. You made every maid of the castle gather around, making a plan together as to how you should get into war. Some of them decided to remain in the castle, one of them pretending to be you. And the rest got their armour from the castle's hidden rooms, along with sharp swords.

Months of practice were required before you could properly leave the castle. So by June, you all got the best horses and rode them across the kingdom until getting to the border with the problematic neighbour kingdom. You ride your horse with grace, hurting the enemies that got on your way. The heavy metal helmet over your head, covered your famous face from the warriors. And when you stop, right in the middle of the battlefield, you are able to notice the amount of blood that paints the ground with a scary shade of red.

You look everywhere, impatient to find your father, hopefully lost in the crowd. But he’s nowhere to be seen, making your desperation grow inside of you. Your allies keep fighting different enemies in different positions around you, which makes you kind of the center of attention, as you’re still not fighting anyone. You notice a strong presence coming your way when you hear horse steps nearby. You lift the heavy sword, easily, compared with how hard it was during your training. The sharp weapon points directly to the unknown figure.

“Have you seen the king?” You ask as low as you possibly can, trying to hide the fact that you were a woman. Your breaths get heavier as time passes by, the thought of being vulnerable in front of the enemy wasn’t really pleasant. “You mean your king?” He says, looking down at the refined decoration over your horse, with your kingdom’s colors. “Yes” You simply reply, analyzing him as well. His horse was slightly injured and the soldier’s leg was bleeding out over the white horse’s skin.

“I haven’t seen him” His tone seems somehow suspicious, but you’re not quite sure if it’s the fact that he doesn’t trust you or the fact that he indeed knew where your father was. “I see you’re injured, I won’t fight an injured man. But I won’t hesitate to fight back if you attack me” Your words come out with anger, kind of losing your manly tone, but still not as high-pitched to make it suspicious. “Let’s not harm each other then” He says, making his horse run into the crowd again.

You get off your dark skinned horse, looking into the animal’s eyes, finding comfort in them, and after a few seconds, you start running around the battlefield, in search of your father once again. It doesn’t take you a lot of time to find his body, agonizing on the ground, while the soldier you left behind minutes ago was standing right next to his body. “DAD” You shouted, running even faster towards him.

You get your helmet off your head, kneeling next to his lying figure, caressing his face, completely covered in his own blood. “Why did you come here?” He asks slowly, sounding almost as a whisper. “Why did you come? You were already sick. We- We have to take you back to the castle, If we are fast enough-” His raspy voice stops you from talking any further. “This is the end. Don’t worry about me, but the kingdom, that’s what being a queen means”

Tears fall down your cheeks, until they are stopped by his big hand, wiping them off. “Dad” You call him in between loud cries. “I love you, more than anyone” He whispers, as his eyes close slowly, losing the last bits of life in him. Your cries get louder, as you hold onto his big cold hands, giving yourself a second to process it. After a while, you get up, slowly, supporting yourself on the ground as you do, and then you lift your sword up screaming “Who killed him? Who killed the king?” Your eyes fix on the bloody ground and, this time with a lower tone you ask “Who killed my father?”

Everyone’s eyes are on you, contemplating the scene, without saying anything nor making a single sound. “I did” The tall boy in front of you says, getting his helmet off. That’s when you realize the man you spared minutes ago, the man you felt bad about, was not only the enemy’s king, but also your father’s killer. “You….” You say slowly, lifting your head, to look at Doyoung’s face, as he breathes in and out, recovering from his battle. “I’m gonna kill you” You scream, lifting your sword in his direction, but a strong arm stops you. “Let him be” Mark whispers in your ear.

Mark was your father’s bestman, always protecting him and the reason why he survived previous wars, so for you, the fact that he was defending Doyoung made no sense at all. “Why?” You ask him, starting to cry once again. “Why shouldn’t I kill him?” Your screams make the boy step back, letting you do whatever you wanted, but the moment your sword touches Doyoung’s neck, making a light cut on it, you realize how you’re unable to do it, even if you wanted to. “I’m not like you” You tell him, getting your sword off his skin.

“Let’s go home” You tell Mark, as you walk away from the scene.

Once in the castle, everything gets cleared out by Mark. “Your father wanted peace between the two kingdoms, that’s why we can’t attack them from now on” His calm voice starts explaining. “How are we gonna be in peace, he killed the king” You protest at his words.

“They don’t know that, and you two…” Something in the way he stops his sentence, scares you out. “What? We two what?” Your concerns can be noticed in the way you speak. “He ordered you two to get married” The boy says, looking down, already knowing what your reaction was gonna be like. “Married?! Are you crazy? I’m not gonna marry anyone and I won’t marry my father’s killer. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“People don’t like to be under a woman’s control” Mark says with a low voice. “I’m the Queen, I’ve been preparing for this moment my whole life, and I don’t need to marry him or anyone to be a good Queen”

“I know that, but they don’t” Mark says slowly. You try to think of the situation, if your father ordered that, there might be a reason. But then, again, he was killed by that boy, that wasn’t a good sign. How were you gonna even appreciate him, he was so… disgusting in your eyes. And people would even expect you to have kids.

The only thing you really wanted was to make decisions about the kingdom, help people, change unfair situations, just be a good Queen, like your father taught you. But you knew how people didn’t like the way a woman could govern a whole kingdom on her own, so maybe he was right and you needed to get married in order to get what you wanted. Also, marrying him meant stopping the war in between the two kingdoms and letting soldiers rest, the economy get better, and in general help your kingdom grow.

“I’ll think about it” You tell him, before you run towards your room. You take off the last pieces of the heavy armor, and look into the big mirror in front of you, recalling the moment of your father’s death. You can’t help but be mad about him. Your father wasn’t a bad soldier, and that boy was injured, he could’ve won for sure. You sigh loudly, letting yourself fall onto your big bed. Your eyes look at the ceiling, as you keep thinking about what happened and how it happened.

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Doyoung’s horse fastly gets closer to the given position. The pact was clear, the king had to die in order to regain peace in between the two kingdoms. Since he killed Doyoung’s father in the previous war, people weren’t so happy about him, but his daughter was seen with different eyes. Everyone admired her fierce yet peaceful personality and her beautiful looks. So the king agreed on having a fake honor death, to let the kingdoms live in peace.

The young boy gets off his horse, slowly walking towards the already injured old man. “Are you sure about it?” He asks, with a low voice tone, and the old man simply nods, not fighting back to the sword’s pain. He falls onto the ground. Pain could be perceived in his eyes, as he tried his best not to scream nor cry. Doyoung kneels down next to him, and grabbing his hand he whispers “Let go, it won’t hurt as bad” But the old man’s pride was over the need for rest. A smile forms on Doyoung’s face, as in his head the image of that man turns into his own father’s last moments.

Heavy steps are heard nearby, making him stand again. When he sees that girl arrive all he can think about is the moment he found his father’s dead body, feeling compassion about the situation, he steps aside. The whole scene passes by pretty fastly, almost like the boy didn’t want to go through that at all. “Let’s go home” He whispered with a low, concerned voice to his best man, who had been watching all along, wanting to make sure he was alright, yet too scared to interrupt.

The ride home felt eternal for both of them. On one hand Doyoung couldn’t stand how Renjun checked on him as if he was some sort of sick man, unable to control his feelings. And on the other hand, the young new princess was battling over sadness and anger, getting a bittersweet sensation after her father’s death.

“So, you already love her” Renjun says, giving up on his never ending questions and letting his back rest on the carriage’s soft seat. “Where does that come from?” He asks, raising a brow to the shocked boy. “Were you even listening?” His offended voice made Doyoung’s blood boil out of anger. “I was, and you just came up to that idea out of nowhere” He defensively replies, getting his handkerchief to apply some pressure over his injury.

“I care about the kingdom Renjun, like my father did” His voice starts off sounding firm and calmed, as it was usual on him, but as the word father comes in, a sad and melancholic tone can be appreciated too. “Okay, I was just saying that your eyes soften when they look at her face” The young boy replies without a single hint of empathy for Doyoung, who simply sighs as an answer.

But it was certainly something growing inside the young King’s heart, something he hardly got to experience throughout his life. Something confusing and fascinating.

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It was finally the big day, and you couldn’t help but curse over your own name, for accepting such a simplistic and unwanted future for yourself, for letting every single drop of ambition drown and disappear in a lake of sadness. Destiny wasn’t your main belief, but certainly this wasn’t made for you.

“I’m just saying that I don’t even appreciate him, I hate that man” You scream to Guangheng, who was the butler assigned to help you prepare for the wedding, while he could also make sure that you wouldn’t run away. “It needs to be done” He replies, with a simple and emotionless voice tone, which makes you return to reality, realize why you were doing this and how you needed to go along with it.

“Hey” Mark enters the room, instantly noticing the heavy atmosphere and comprehending the situation. “Hey, look if you don’t want to do this it’s fine, we can always run away right?” He looks at you for reaffirmation but all he gets is a sad look. “Right?” He repeats, looking at the serious butler now, who replies with a deadly glare that speaks on its own. “You guys are really no fun at all. Look most of the queens marry the old ugly king and get some affairs right after, you got a young decent looking man, I wouldn’t protest if I were you” His words get inside your head, making you mad at him, maybe just projecting the anger you felt about yourself onto someone else, to make the guilt fly away for a second.

“Then be me” You simply reply grabbing your crown and placing it over the boy’s head. Remember the make the guilt fly away thing? Well, it didn’t work.

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“Yes I do” Doyoung’s eyes were truly filled with that something that only Renjun could notice, the way he looked at the girl wasn’t usual on the young king, but for those, who weren’t used to being around him it could be impossible to notice. “Yes I do” The contrast in the girl’s voice, body language and expression, were enough to tell apart the difference between who was being forced to get married and who wasn’t.

The wedding went on as usual royal weddings do, a lot of celebration and happiness, from everyone except the married couple. But the spacious garden of the queen’s castle was lonely enough for her to think and get a break from acting happy. You see, there’s sometimes that sorrow can’t be completely buried under a fake smile. And that’s what the queen was going through, even if she thought the king wouldn’t notice the way her eyes were full of tears, that wasn’t enough to fool him.

She was sitting on an old looking swing, decorated with all sorts of flowers, making it look like another branch of the big old tree it was hanging on. “Do you come here often?” Doyoung’s voice in the distance is the last thing that the girl wanted to hear, since all she was seeking at the moment was peace and silence.

“Go away please” Her forced voice whispers, and even if it’s the softest kind of sound that you could possibly imagine, the boy hears it as clear as if it was his own thoughts, but still he pretends like he didn’t, just to have an excuse to get closer to the girl that he could now call his wife. “That corset might hurt” He points out when he notices the restrictive piece of clothing on the girl’s white dress. “It does, but I can’t take it off” She replies, fixing her sight away from the boy, since every look inside his dark eyes made her blood boil.

“May I?” The boy asks, almost touching the girl’s corset laces. “Sure” She simply replies, making the boy’s fingertips grab the laces carefully as his skillful hands were unmaking the tight hold of the said corset. He tied it in a way that it still looked somehow tight but without the pressure that it implied. “Are you used to working with corsets?” The girl asks with an ironic tone, hiding her genuine curiosity.

“My mother taught me how to tie and untie them” His gentle voice replies, as he sits on the ground, full of soft flowers that almost feel like sitting over a cloud. “Have you worn them?” She asks, turning her head slightly, not enough to look at him, but definitely enough to let him see her face. “I did. It’s a nice protection from swords” His words were genuine, but it sounded unreal.

“You’re telling me that you’ve worn corsets for fights?” The girl asks, with a noticeable doubt tone to her sentence, provoking the boy to chuckle as he nods. Doyoung’s gentle hands slowly lift his shirt, revealing a white corset tied even tighter than the girl’s one. “Oh” The girl just says processing the unusual situation.

After a short but painfully awkward silence, both laugh nervously. “I’m sorry about your dad” Doyoung says with a serious and low voice tone which completely breaks the peaceful atmosphere. “Wow, you really are incredible” The girl says, standing up from the swing and walking away, without letting him protest for a single second.

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You start running only when you’re sure he can’t see you anymore. Tears keep falling down your cheeks as you repeat to yourself how stupid you have been, by letting the idea of the young king being good to appear in your brain. You were by the lake, sitting on the soft grass as your now bare feet touched the freezing water, provoking goosebumps to run all over your body.

“He’s not that bad” Mark’s voice sounded in the distance and you instantly stopped crying, not wanting him to see you being vulnerable. “I don’t care about what my dad said, nor what people think of me. I don’t need a man and I certainly don’t need him” Your voice is firm and steady, not hesitating about the words that have been on your mind for quite a long time now.

“Well it’s too late to say that, don’t you think?” Mark sits next to you, getting his expensive looking shoes off so that he could feel the cold water as well. “Don’t you think people will pity a sad widow?” You ask, finally looking at the boy’s face. His eyes fix on yours, processing what you just said. “You know you could never kill him” His soft voice whispers, as he looks down to the grass.

Your hand looks for the bottle you’ve been working on for the past months, showing it off to him. Mark looks at the glass bottle, and its black content, laughing right away. “If the thought of it makes you feel better, you can work on poison for years, but you know you’re not that type of person”

“But what if I am? What if I want to avenge my father? Can’t I?” The emotions in your voice are more than noticeable, nobody expected you to act like nothing happened, so there’s no surprise in Mark’s eyes when he notices tears filling your eyes. His hand cups your cheek softly, caressing your soft skin in slow motions. “You don’t need to go through this alone” He whispers, getting closer to you as he does.

“I wish we could be kids again” You say, sniffing as you try to get your tears out of the way. “Okay, what if” He says, smiling at his sudden thoughts. “What if?” You ask intriguedly, looking at the boys eyes directly. “What if we act like we did when we were kids, just today, and then we go back to our boring adult lives” You smile at his idea. “Just today” You repeat, grabbing his hand, still on your right cheek and once more, the boy repeats “Just today”

You stand up, untying the knot Doyoung previously left on your corset. Slowly you get the different pieces of clothing off you until you are just in your underwear and just then, you jump into the lake. The freezing water feels somehow warmer, as your body is filled with adrenaline. Shortly after you feel the big splash of water when Mark jumps in, swimming closer to you. “It used to be warmer back then” The boy says shivering because of how cold it was. You laugh at his cute reaction to the lake’s water. “It’s winter you dummy, of course it’s colder” You say, patting his head, as if it would warm him.

“How come you are not cold?” His cute voice asks, almost like a whisper, but this time it’s not because he wanted to, but because he really couldn’t talk louder. You grab his shoulders and pull him closer to you, giving him a hug to help him warm up. His arms grab your waist, pulling you even closer and, slowly he begins to understand the nature of your warmth.

As kids you two would always play around, train, fight, swim, jump, run, but now you were forced to stay in the palace, put on corsets, smile, and “act like a queen” this jump, even the party was the most exciting thing you’ve done since the war finished. His hug tightens, as he thinks about what you had to go through, how you had to forget who you were, and what you loved for something you didn’t even ask for. “Are you okay?” You ask him, feeling how his body stopped shivering a few minutes ago.

“I am” He whispers, caressing your hair with his hand. “You know, I’ve always loved your hair” You laugh nervously, not understanding what’s gotten into the boy. “When we were kids you said it was your pride, and you never let anybody cut it, or touch it”

“You’re right” You say slowly, remembering how you used to be in those times. “And you always tried to touch it, just to make me mad” You add, smiling at the innocent memories. “Until the day you let me” He pulls off the hug slowly, as he looks at your face cupping your cheek with his cold hand. “I hope that the king earns to touch it as much as I did” You smile, getting closer to him. “He will never be like you” You say and the boy only replies with a kiss on your forehead, before he swims away, and gets out of the lake.

“You better get dressed before someone undesirable passes by” He says and, after a second he walks away.

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It was a mix of feelings, a really confusing one. Watching from the distance truly felt like something wrong to be doing, but the way she smiles, has fun, the way she looks at him… That’s all Doyoung was seeking for. It was strange to feel this way for a girl he barely knew, but deep inside he felt like he had known her for his whole life, and having the dramatic story in between them seemed like an unfortunate and cruel destiny.

But when the boy’s hand rests on the girl’s cheek, it is too much for the young king to handle. His blood was boiling from jealousy so he decided to let it go and walk into the party again. The girl’s palace was really different from what he was used to. The boy always lived in his dark Gothic castle that looked more like a giant empty cathedral, always with a lot of rules to follow and ridiculous restrictions to one’s behaviour. But this castle was light, colorful, and you could feel the freedom within every step you took over the marble floor.

Doyoung gets lost in the feeling of that unusual freedom that could have overwhelmed the strongest person in the world, but a gentle touch of a familiar hand, wakes him up from his trance. “How is your married life going?” Renjun asks with a soft yet deep voice, making sure that the question wouldn’t sound too harsh or personal.

“It’s hard to tell a difference, when we barely talk to each other” The boy replies, getting one of the numerous glasses filled with an unknown alcoholic beverage that he took in in a single gulp. “She’s a hard girl to get” The innocent boy replies and immediately Doyoung’s hand is over the boys neck, warning him as he slowly says “Don’t you dare talk shit about her in my presence”

“Calm down” Renjun whispers, taking the older’s hand off his own neck. The looks that both of them exchange is enough for them to communicate to each other how they feel in that exact moment.

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The cold sensation of the water was fastly replaced with a warm one as your body entered the hot bath water, full of rose petals and bubbles. You wouldn’t normally take a bath, since just a shower seemed more than enough for you, but this was on the castle maids, and you couldn’t refuse a special gift like that.

The bathroom was positioned right next to the shared bedroom so when Doyoung entered after the party was over, you could perfectly hear him. In your mind, your plan was already plotting itself, you could try to be nice and offer him a cup of tea with a few drops of poison and after that, the throne would be all yours, no king, no limits, just you. So you, excited for the plan, got out of the bathtub, slowly drying your body with a soft white towel.

The moment you got out of the bathroom, you could feel it in his eyes, the way he stared at you, he was suspecting something from you for sure. “Would you like a cup of tea?” You sweetly ask and he simply hums as a reply. You were now pouring the boiling water over the leaf pieces, making a scented steam go everywhere around the house. You made sure to pour just enough poison to kill him without making it obvious that you did.

He grabs the cup with two fingers, trying his best not to burn himself in the process. “Under any other circumstances I would have let you do this. But I have a promise to keep, therefore, I won’t drink your poison, hope you understand” His sweet soft voice says, as he walks into the bathroom, spilling the tea on the sink. You look at him, both confused and surprised.

“Why aren’t you angry?” You whisper, almost as if you didn’t want him to hear you. “Because I would have done the same thing if I were you” The boy clears out. You can only find yourself speechless, as you watch his body disappearing through the big doors. “I will sleep in another room, until you want to share a bed” He says just before the doors close.

Heavy breathing isn’t new for you, but this time, it feels like you are not breathing at all, your chest hurts, your head gets dizzy and the world gets blurry. You try your best to breathe normally, but all you can really do is cry yourself to sleep. You almost killed a man, the man you married, just to get more power for your own, and you still wanted to think that you were all about satisfying people’s needs.

Dreams are a weird thing to describe and so are nightmares, but it’s obvious you’re in one when monsters appear, or when someone who is dead, is still alive.

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A scream wakes the young king up, and as soon as he identifies who it comes from, he gets even more worried than he already was from the initial shock. He gets his sword and runs over to the big bedroom where the queen was resting, and when he opens the door he finds her bleeding and crying loudly.

He sits next to her before even making sure there’s nobody else in the room. He tries to calm her down, while he makes sure the injury on her dorsal is only a superficial cut and nothing to be worried about. “Hey, hey look at me, everything is fine, okay?” He cuts his shirt off, tying the fabric around the wound to stop the blood from coming out. His hands rest now on the girl’s cheeks, carefully caressing her soft skin.

His firm grip on the queen’s face forces her to look into his dark hypnotizing eyes. Tears slowly drop from her eyes, making two small waterfalls to form on her cheeks. “Who did this?” Doyoung asks and she can only cry harder as she gets into a warm tight hug from the boy.

The situation is still unclear a couple of hours later, now having the whole castle workers in the room makes it look far more serious. Of course, an attempt of killing the queen was a serious topic, but the dense atmosphere created by all the different eyes focused on the queen’s stomach was pretty much useless, except for the anxiety growing up inside the girl’s head.

Yet everyone left with the firm words of the new king, who made sure nobody except him and the queen were now in the room. The cut stopped bleeding almost completely by now and just the look in his eyes could ask the question without the need of words, but he asked it anyway “Who did this?”

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Words come and go in your mind and there’s no actual way to focus on something to understand what’s going on or what people are saying, but his voice, you hear his voice clear and loud, as if it was the only sound in the world. “Who did this?”

But that was not a question you could properly answer. There was no right answer since the root of the problem was nobody’s fault. Yet the carrier of the knife had a name, and that name was yours. So you decide to stay silent and show him the knife you were still holding in your hands.

“I’m sorry” was the only thing you managed to say to the confused looking boy. He didn’t question it tho. He, instead, decided he would protect you in a way you were far from understanding. But let’s not anticipate events.

His body laid right next to yours, his large hands, were posed over your injured stomach, making it feel better. Making you feel safe. But the constant reminder of the moment you went out of control, the moment you harmed yourself without being able to stop it nor control it in any way kept haunting you.

But every thought you had, disappeared with the sound of his voice, his sweet and lovely voice as he started singing an old lullaby. It seemed effortless but, at the same time, he was hitting all the right notes. And just like that the sweet and calmed melody made you fall asleep instantly.

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There isn’t a real connection between strangers, but enemies just have that undertone added to their lore that seems almost right to fall in love with each other. That’s the reason for the thought that enemies and lovers are such similar concepts. Both have that dramatically intense feeling to it. And that’s how the queen felt.

A man that she could’ve been happy to see dead was gently caressing her hair in an empty bedroom with such a romantic atmosphere and she was in fact feeling it. Doyoung, on the other hand, he felt completely different. Since he was a little boy he had been told how the enemies could never be trusted and how he should fight to death for his kingdom.

But for the boy, the idea of hating that peaceful looking girl, as she fell asleep on his lap to the sound of his voice, was something he could’ve never done. He always imagined how he would marry someone like her when he was a kid. But he wasn’t fully conscious of the responsibility that it all implied. It is hard for someone who hardly ever socialized to get into a romantic relationship. And he realized in the moment that he noticed she was a human, who makes mistakes and has stuff to deal with, just like him, just like everyone.

It’s a weird thing to think about when you are lonely, but being next to someone isn’t always like we all imagine, and certainly Doyoung had never thought of it that way. We all picture our perfect partner to be there at all times, to have a perfect life and to be able to listen to our concerns but love is far away from that concept. The level of complexibility implied can be at times suffocating.

But the good part about it is that the boy truly loved her, and there was nothing that could make him feel differently. Therefore his gentle long fingers kept on caressing the soft skin of the girl’s face until he helplessly fell asleep as well.

The morning light brought with it a nice and warm feeling as the sunlight rested gently over the couple. Doyoung was quick to wake up as he was used to strict schedules. His first thought that morning was about the posture he fell asleep to, with the girl on his arms, kind of compromising him and making him hesitate to move. And even with the awkwardness that it implied, he couldn't hide his smile.

Masterlist –requests open–

[sourbat]

Here’s a quick little ficlet where Skwisgaar and Toki discuss the proper treatment and training of yard wolves, and Skwisgaar learning that he isn’t the most reliable pack member of the group.

Rating: General

Warnings: references to “Bookklok” and implied trauma

Read it on Ao3

or just “read more” below :D

A yard wolf mother died at the hands of a stray bullet, leaving behind five young pups. Though Offdensen was a staunch believer of the old saying “survival of the fittest,” Skwisgaar took it upon himself to help raise and socialize the orphans until they were old enough for proper training. There were no complaints amongst the band, and the first few weeks of mostly nursing and playing went by smoothly. Then, during one afternoon, Skwisgaar got wise to a wily pup who was busy attacking and biting his sister’s ear into a bloody pulp.

Skwisgaar silently observed the scene, the larger male nipping and taking advantage of his submissive companion. While some might regard the aggressive behavior as a positive trait, Skwisgaar focused entirely on the female’s obvious signs of displeasure, and the male ignoring her pleas in favor of a quick power high. Carefully and swiftly, Skwisgaar swooped in and grabbed the pup by the snout. With his thumb and forefinger, he closed the tiny jaw shut, then rolled the upset thing onto his back where it tried to wriggle free. Aware of the continued defiance, Skwisgaar applied some weight and forced the pup into place.

As it whimpered and fought to be free of its new submissive position, Toki took interest and broke from the gang’s activities to check on Skwisgaar.

“You ams hurtings him,” he quietly suggested, as if ashamed for even bringing up the issue, or out of fear that the other members of Dethklok might notice their lead guitarist’s less than acceptable behavior.

“Just stoppins him from biting withouts permissions,” Skwisgaar replied while keeping his hold. “Ams more humiliatinks than anytinks else.”

“Nots very nice,” Toki remarked, sounding more offended than the pup.

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. “Sometimes ams not abouts be-inks nice.”

Below, the young wolf’s tail began to vigorously sway, as though it were nervously considering this act by his foster a game. Perhaps he saw Toki and figured he might be saved from the awkward predicament.

Skwisgaar refused to budge. He stared the dog down, eyes chasing and locking with the pups’ whenever it so much as tried to whimper and cry in Toki’s direction. Eventually, after Toki joined the sounds of complaints, the puppy emitted another soft plea, and then went limp.

Toki’s shadow fretted above, finger pulling at the other as Skwisgaar counted down before finally breaking from his fierce glower and hold.

“He doesn’t likes it,” he heard Toki comment.

“He needs to learn to controls himself, Tokis,” Skwisgaar calmly insisted.

He watched the small wolf turn limp and submissive, and finally released his grip. As he had hoped, the pup remained fixed in place, wild amber eyes locked onto Skwisgaar and awaiting permission to crawl back and join his pack mates. Satisfied, he smiled, and backed from the puppy, letting Toki observe the small beast quickly recover and scamper off, tucked tail already lifting the moment he was out of grabbing range.

When Skwisgaar turned, he saw Toki retracting awkwardly before providing an overenthusiastic nod. His eyes, however, were very much on litter, and when Skwisgaar tried to invite Toki close with a smile, earned a slightly dismayed pout instead. He brought a hand to his dusty elbow, rubbing it consciously as Skwisgaar made yet another glance at the pups.

He couldn’t guess what irked Toki so much, so he asked, “Thinks I hurts his snouts?”

Toki’s face hardened. “Thinks you hurts his feelinks when you humiliatics him.”

Skwisgaar found the suggestion amusing, but refrained from being nasty. It would be easy to poke fun at how his rhythm guitarist applied human thoughts and feelings to that of a beast. And was Toki so hurt because he felt sorry for the pup? Did he not witness the damage the young wolf caused?

“It ams better to have his feelinks hurt now,” Skwisgaar stated firmly, “otherwise, he will gets reckless and gets his pack hurts.” He stared at Toki, then turned to watch the pup return to his sister to lick the wounds he had caused. “Sometimes we needs to be hard on the ones we cares about, Tokis. We needs them to be betters,  understands?”

Toki’s head sank. He looked doubtful. Skwisgaar didn’t hold it against him. It was so easy to focus on the present, on immediate pleasures and momentary, fanciful whims. That was all Toki knew. He lived in a world of luxury. It seemed cruel to forcibly keep a pup’s mouth shut, glare at it while teaching it to submit. But it was for a greater cause. The pup attacked a member of his pack. Maybe to Toki, it was nothing more than an accident, but in the grander scheme of things, such rebellious acts would get in the way of the pack’s wellbeing.

A light clicked. It occurred to Skwisgaar why Toki would feel bad for a disobedient pack member. Toki likely saw himself in the animal: reckless, thoughtless and desperate for control. Skwisgaar couldn’t count the times he had to put Toki in his place, remind him who was the lead guitarist, or pull him out of some ridiculous situation that he’d gotten himself into. The rhythm guitarist who wanted more creative control, but couldn’t be bothered to practice more or offer any input during recording. Toki saw himself in that male wolf and empathized with his terrible blunder, reliving those embarrassing times Skwisgaar caught him woefully unprepared.

“Don’ts worry,” Skwisgaar said. He stood up and continued to watch the small litter return to their play. “He wills be okays. He wills…gets over it.”

It sounded far crueler than intended, but there was no going back from it. Skwisgaar didn’t see any reason to, and began readjusting his guitar strap.

“Did you “gets over it” when I humiliatics you?”

The question struck like a hard blow to the gut, mentally upper-cutting an unsuspecting Skwisgaar and leaving him hopelessly at a loss for words.

“No,” Skwisgaar finally managed once most of the memories of the event had subsided. “But dat ams–”

His first inclination was to point out the difference between the two; however, after reliving those traumatic few weeks once more, Skwisgaar withheld from concluding his thoughts.

Though a memory now, the reminder proved its weight and pushed all the air out of him in the form of a heavy, uneven sigh. His composure teetered, and although they were out in the private haven that was Mordhaus’ fields, Skwisgaar avoided Toki and the band in the far distance to hide his immediate reaction. Shaken and misty-eyed, Skwisgaar faced the small collection of wolf pups and homed in on the young male he had disciplined in front of Toki.

Skwisgaar didn’t think he resembled the older male. True, he’d been hard on Toki in the past, and made their shared rehearsals difficult, but that was only because he had high standards.

The pervasive thought lingered, festering the longer Skwisgaar had his sights on the animal. Standards or not, Skwisgaar knew there was more to him berating Toki than he let on. It was years of mediocrity, of performing well below his skill in bands that didn’t go anywhere, of going from band to band, from teacher to teacher, of being told by his last  lead guitarist that his creative input wasn’t wanted, and–

And following that, years of his insecurities and obsessive compulsive desire to stay on top quashing any hope for Toki to step outside his shadow, lest Skwisgaar repeat the cycle again. And where did that get him? A spot in the New York’s Times best sellers, and for all the wrong reasons. Things between the two had gotten better since the books were pulled, but Skwisgaar couldn’t deny that it still haunted him.

All because he couldn’t bear the thought of supporting Toki and letting him play a solo in front of an adoring crowd.

Skwisgaar faced Toki. Nervous, and still recovering from the memories, he grappled the neck of his guitar, letting the strings underneath his grip scrape into him.

“Skwisgaars?” Toki neared, taking him by the arm. “Ams sorry. Didn’t’s means to brings–”

“I learneds my lesson. And…” Skwisgaar stared hard at the ground. It didn’t stop the heat from rising out his face, the pain from constricting his throat. Toki tugged his arm. Slowly, Skwisgaar lifted his head, the hurt in his eyes uninhibited and blaring. “Tokis…I dids not like it whens you humiliatics me.”

Toki shriveled before him. “Skwisgaar, I ams so sorries.”

“Ams ok. I shoulds hab knowns better,” he said, tearing his hands from his guitar to stop Toki from shrinking any further. He fought past the stings of his wounded pride and misguided anger, and faced the bitter truth as best he could. Again, staring at the earth did little to help stave away the pain, but this time Skwisgaar had Toki by his side. Toki was still shaken, but it seemed he knew they both needed some help keeping things together.

With the other’s help, they walked to a nearby and empty table, the litter of pups and a few klokateers trailing not too far behind.

“I should habs been a better members of the packs and lets you plays a solo.” Skwisgaar sighed, eyes rifting from the wolves to his guitar. He had half the mind to play. Something to distract from the pain. With Toki waiting and calming down in front of him, he broke habit and clasped his hands together.

“I will also tries to finds a different ways to train the yard wolves,” he added, feeling the pangs of guilt and tarnished ego subside once Toki’s expression eased into acceptance.

“Okays.”

They made a glance at the pups in the distance. Skwisgaar watched the male he had punished stop and stare at him, then returned to his chase. Amongst the yips and barks, he spotted the quiet female at the edge of the pack, her bloodied ear now drying. Skwisgaar knew he’d have to make it right on her behalf, fix her ear and teach her to defend herself if she was to survive training.

Consequently, he owed Toki the same opportunity for success.  

Skwisgaar drew a finger, and let it glide along one of his strings. As it vibrated a silent note, he willed the courage to face Toki and add, “And…if you gets over freezinks ups, I will gives you solos the next time we plays.”

Toki’s eyes practically glowed. “You means it?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

“Ja. What ams teams-mates for?” Skwisgaar said. He wanted to tack on more, go as far to suggest that he’d try to help Toki face a demanding crowd, but refrained. A history of bad music lessons and bullying, not to mention the remaining members of the band picking up on the fact they’d been away for so long, kept Skwisgaar going too far from his comfort zone. But that didnt mean the idea was off the table. Once he picked up a new method of training, and Toki had proof he wasn’t going to go back on his word, he’d mention the idea.

If he was worthy enough, Toki would accept him as an instructor.

“Thanks you, Skwisgaars!” The embrace arrived quicker than Skwisgaar could defend himself from. Still sitting, his guitar pressed into his chest, and Skwisgaar wheezed a slight gasp while Toki gratefully squeezed the life from him. “I promise Toki will do betters.”

“Ams fine. Just promise not to tells the others I gots… emoskinals.”

Toki broke into a little chuckle, then let go of Skwisgaar. Murderface called for Toki to return to the table and roll the die, and finish his turn. He raced ahead of Skwisgaar, leaving him to the purple glades and perpetual mist that accompanied the fields, but not before sending a final, optimistic glance at his lead. Skwisgaar watched it come and go, like so many others, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this time Toki was going to uphold this promise.

A sharp cry pulled Skwisgaar away from the table, and to two of the young yard wolves fighting and causing quite the stir amongst the litter.

Only times will tells, Skwisgaar thought, then set out into the fog to return to the wolves.

[goldandlights]

Comfort-heavy continuation of this (it completely ran away from me oml) Now also on Ao3

Jaskiers’ other hand is on Geralts back now, aimlessly tracing the knotted scar of a selkimore bite. Something hot and tight and painful twists in the Witchers belly, pushing up his throat.

He does not understand.

A quiet keening sound breaks the silence and only after a moment does Geralt realise that the noise came from him. He blinks, startled, tries to roll away but is stopped by Jaskier who yelps in surprise, clinging to his front like an octopus.

"Woah, hey, what's wrong?"

Hands are on his face, trying to soothe, even as Geralt shakes his head and attempts to twist away once more.

"Shh, Geralt- hey, please look at me. Did I hurt you?"

Blue eyes, wide with worry, meet molten gold. Jaskier must feel the shivers wracking Geralts body where they're still pressed together. The Witchers’ chest hurts. Badly. But he's not injured and it's not the bards' fault.

Mutely, Geralt shakes his head.

"Okay, that’s a relief but -you sure you're alright?"

Jaskier looks very much doubtful. He starts to untangle their limbs and a draft of cold night air reaches under their blankets. Skin that, just a moment ago, prickled with unfamiliar touch now burns with its absence and even though Geralt is aware that this is his fault, that if he didn't behave like a spooked animal Jaskier might have let him stay a little longer, that if Jaskier wants space Geralt must go, he can't stop his body from reaching out.

He reaches forward to tug the bard back in, envelops the other man in his brutish arms and pushes his face into Jaskiers throat to muffle yet another pitiful sound. Seconds until the bard will begin to struggle, until his lovely sweet scent will sour with fear and anger. Geralt feels monstrous as he clutches the other body close, helpless and needy and aching for just another second of contact.

Please. He wants to say. Please and I'm sorry and don't go.

Jaskier freezes for just a moment, a wash of sadness in his scent the Witcher cannot interpret, but then his arms come up again and, miraculously, drag him even closer, skin touching all along the full length of their bodies.

"Jask- ?"

"Shh, I'm not letting you go, you idiot, not after the months it took me to get you here. It's okay, Geralt. I'm not letting you go,"

A leg pushes between his own and invites him to roll them over, covering Jaskiers' lithe frame with Geralts' heavy weight. With a bit of persuasion, the Witcher lifts his head from where he'd been hiding in the crook of the bards' neck and is immediately rewarded with more soft kisses. Tender, praising words spill from Jaskiers mouth.

He cannot fathom what the bard is going on about but at least it's fairly clear that he is not put off by Geralts embarrassing display of clinginess. Quite on the contrary; Jaskiers’ sweet scent, sure touch and calm heartbeat tell Geralt that the bard is still happy to be there, happy to hold this mangled beast of a man in his arms, bewildering as that is.

"If we're gonna do this right, we really gotta work on your ability to express your needs and feelings," Jaskier huffs and gives Geralts bottom lip a playful nip "Unlike a certain sorceress, I cannot read minds... and guessing what's going on in that pretty head of yours is not an exact science, I'm afraid."

Geralts avoids an inquiring gaze. If we're gonna do this right- this? What do you mean?

"You- Geralt. You didn't think I invited you to my bedroll on a whim, did you? Just because it's convenient and there's no whorehouse nearby?"

But why else would you want me?

Another huff, frustrated now. Geralt is being pushed up by a hand on his chest. He goes reluctantly, instantly misses the proximity.

"Geralt look at me."

Blue on gold. Jaskier is frowning, searching Geralts' face for something and seemingly coming up empty.

"You can't be serious. Months and months I've spent trying to court you; the gifts and the dinner invitations and the ballads -the ballads, Geralt. Do you have any idea how many pitying looks I've had to endure these past weeks?"

Well. Geralt had indeed wondered at the recent tone and topic of Jaskiers songs but... it was spring, after all. A time for new love. And, as the bard had explained time and time again, it was important for a musician to "be aware of tends" and "go with the times". Therefore Geralt had simply assumed Jaskier was basing his lyrical choices on the demands of his audience. (And their pouches had come away heavy with coin.)

The general direction of his thoughts must be showing on his face because Jaskier now looks close to despair.

"Really, Geralt! Good Gods, save me from idiot Witchers," he runs a hand through his hair in agitation, making it stand up in funny tufts. Geralt would have liked to smooth it down but is certain the touch isn't welcome.

"So what- what does this mean then?" A new scent, sad like wilting flowers. Jaskier is inching backwards, widening the distance between them. "If you didn't pick up on my- my feelings for you- but still came to my bed... is that all it was for you, a convenient tumble between friends?"

Was it? When Geralt had accepted Jaskiers' proposal he'd not dared entertain any thoughts hopes, wishes of a deeper meaning. Even now he is certain he must be misunderstanding or dreaming. Or maybe Jaskier took a sip from the wrong flask and a Witchers potion is currently eating through his brain.

"You can't want me."

Just like Yennefer and any of the others didn't want him. His body perhaps, but nothing more. They never wanted him to stay.

"Can't? My dear Witcher, if nothing else, I assure you I know very well what I want and what I do not. I've had ten years to ponder this very issue. If you do not return my feelings that is fine. We can forget this ever happened and shall not mention it again. But do not question my sincerity or my agency in this relationship."

His tone is unusually strict and allows for no arguments. Not that Geralt necessarily wants to argue. The idea of Jaskier desiring him as more than a warm body and travel companion still feels... unrealistic. It goes against everything Geralt knows about his place in the world.

But it also fills him with a sudden, fierce longing. Like the ache in his chest from a few minutes ago but worse, a painful tingling from his belly to his fingertips that screams at him not to let Jaskier put any more distance between them.

If he has this chance, and if Jaskier will not allow himself to be talked out of it, Geralt would be a right fool to let it slip through his fingers.

I want you. He thinks, pinned by Jaskiers gaze.

I need you, I don't know what I'd do without you.

Stay.

But the words, though clear in his head, will not come to his tongue. Anxiety twists in his belly. They've not even begun going down this road and already Geralt is fucking it up.

He reaches out a bit desperately, smoothes down Jaskiers messy hair and pulls the bard into a kiss. Hoping to convey everything he thinks and feels through touch, Geralt mirrors Jaskiers earlier actions that had felt so good; presses tender little kisses to the bards' cheeks and eyelids, rubs their noses together in a soft caress.

Jaskier gasps, then giggles, then shuffles closer eagerly.

"Shall I take that as a yes? On the 'returning my feelings' front?"

"Mh-hm."

"Alright, I'll get some proper words out of you eventually," with surprising strength, Jaskier pulls his Witcher back down onto their bedroll, a soft moan leaving his lips as their still naked bodies entwine once more. "But no worries, we’ve got all the time in the world, don't we?"

"Yes, we do."

[ayo-cowbelly]

Maybe - Captain Rex x Reader

*All POV’s will be female unless requested otherwise*

So.... I’m in the mood for angst. This idea has been in my head for days, and I’ve been listening to a lot of instrumental soundtracks lately, which only fueled this (lots of Across the Stars and Burying the Dead). Eventually I decided to just sit down and write it.  Got pretty into italics with this one. It’s kinda long. Also this is the first time I’ve posted something like this, so I hope you like it :)

Part two can be found here!

Y/n: Your name

Y/l/n: Your last name

masterlist

***

You walked the never-ending halls of the Resolute, a neutral expression on your face. Your mental shields were strong, or as strong as they could be. You weren’t really sure if you were fooling anyone. 

Hopefully you were, because if people (namely, other Jedi) sensed your inner turmoil, things could go horribly wrong; after all, Jedi don’t feel this way. They don’t spend their nights crying silently, hoping that nobody hears. They don’t simultaneously curse and cherish their memories with a particular person. Jedi do not have broken hearts. 

Because a broken heart could mean you broke up with someone. And to do that, it usually means you fell in love. 

And Jedi do not fall in love. 

Except... when they do.

*** 

It started two years ago, when the war had just begun. When you had first stepped foot onto the Venator-class starship that would soon become your home. When you met him.  Your captain, CT-7567. Rex. 

“Hello, Captain.”

“General.” 

“Sorry, do you have a preferred name? Seems we should get to know each other a bit.” 

“It’s Rex, General.” 

“Well, Rex, I look forward to working with you.”

“And I you, Sir.” 

That’s where it all started- and eventually ended.

***

The war was hard on everyone. You watched as the people you knew so well started to- well, change. Anakin seemed angrier, Obi-Wan more stressed, and you… you seemed, for lack of a better word… hollow. The men dying all around you, your order seemingly breaking (you were never meant to be soldiers, yet you lead men who had never known anything else), it felt like you were being crushed on the inside. Yet, you had him. 

He was there. 

Whether it was quiet talks in the night, locked eyes in the briefing room, or a lingered touch in a turbulent LAAT/i, he was there. The war escalated and the world changed and sometimes it felt like your soul was on fire with pain- but he was there, until he wasn’t. 

Eventually it really was too much. The war put a strain on an already fragile relationship (Jedi are not meant to fall in love). The threat of you being caught had always loomed heavily on both your heads. You would be expelled from the only family you’d ever known… and he would be court-martialed, or worse- decommissioned. The thought of the man you loved being cast aside and killed for following his heart plagued you with fear. 

Fear was not the Jedi way.

You started fighting. Little things, that sometimes exploded into larger issues. The survivors’ guilt and the stress of so many battles (you never knew what the next day would bring; could one of your names be added to the list of remembrances? You didn’t know… and didn’t want to, ever) made you both edgy and it was hard to discuss it without conflict. 

Your relationship burned bright for so long until it crumbled. 

“So, that’s it then? A year, and then… we’re just… done?” 

“I think that would be best, Sir.” 

“Don’t! Don’t call me that! Not now! Right now, I’m just Y/n, and you’re just Rex. You and me! What happened to that?” 

“It’s not right, General-” “Stop calling me that!” 

“It’s what you are! You’re the general, and I’m the captain. Jedi and clone. That’s all it ever should have been, and it has to go back to that.” 

You were supposed to be the composed one… but your emotions were spiraling and gripped your heart. “I won’t let it.” 

“You don’t get to decide that, Sir.” 

“Rex, I-” You choked out, but couldn’t finish. You didn’t even know what to say. What would fix it? 

You just watched as he put his helmet back on and left your room quietly. 

With your head in your hands, you tried, really tried, to repress the tears- until you couldn’t. 

***

If your Co-General and Commander noticed your changed demeanor, they were kind enough not to mention it. You and Anakin used to have a game, of sorts, of who could get away with the craziest maneuvers on the battlefield without an injury- whether it be jumping out of a flying LAAT/i, taking on a whole droid squad alone, or grabbing onto a rocket droid like a speeder. You and Ahsoka would team-up and tease Anakin together pretty often around the ship. But that all changed. 

You wouldn’t take on as many droids alone- something Kix was probably happy about. The crazier ideas all came from Anakin, the more “sane” (as the rest of the legion would call it) plans came from you. Ahsoka would poke fun at Anakin while you watched with a forced almost-smile. Actually, that forced content on your face was probably your most common expression these days.

Life took on a grayer hue. 

So, you worked on shielding and repressing, keeping your pain hidden until the dead hours of the night. 

***

Were the hallways smaller, now? It felt like it. Every turn, every corridor, no matter where you went, it felt like he was always there. Somehow, you ran into him everywhere, with a shallow nod and the slightest of glances. 

 2 years. Strangers. Friends. Lovers… Then strangers again. 

It was a cruel cycle. 

***

For a while, you had thought about requesting a battalion to lead alone. At the beginning of the war, you had been assigned to co-lead the 501st due to your familiarity with Anakin- both Crechemates and eventually Padawans with your masters as good friends, you spent a lot of time together growing up. The Council felt it would be good to have their resident loose-cannon lead a legion with another, to make sure he didn’t go too off the rails.

 What the Council hadn’t realized was that yes, while you were the more rational of the pair, you enjoyed Anakin’s crazy plans- most of the time. Sometimes, they really were insane, which was where you stepped in. 

A bonus of being assigned to the same legion was that you met Ahsoka. The young Togruta sometimes felt like your own Padawan, and you adored her. She was endlessly curious and brave, and wise beyond her years. And you grew even more proud of her as she grew up. 

Now, she was older, and more experienced- and as she came into her own, you realized you weren’t always needed anymore. Granted, the missions were sometimes shorter and had more solid planning due to having an extra Jedi General around, but your presence was no longer a necessity. Anakin and Ahsoka would do just fine without you. Besides, leading a legion as large as the 501st meant you had to watch more and more clones be taken with every battle. The longer the war went on, the more recruits there were (who seemed to be getting younger all the time). 

And even though it was selfish, with your own legion you wouldn’t have to be around Him all the time. Maybe it’d be nice, to be away from him; maybe you could heal without the pain of it all filling you when you saw him. Maybe.

You could handle your own battalion. You were capable, and more than ready. You knew this, but didn’t necessarily like it. 

***

Eventually, you reached a decision. It was the last thing you wanted, to leave Him; you loved him fiercely, still. Yet, leaving was what you needed. You had to be at your best to lead the troops, and lately, your best was sloppy. It was time to reign in your emotions and gain control again. 

Of course, nothing was final, but the feeling of something ending echoed around you. 

The last time eating in the mess with the men who almost felt like brothers. 

The last time going through a briefing with your Co-General, watching Admiral Yularen’s face fill with exasperation and irritation as Anakin laid out a daring plan. 

The last time you met His warm Golden-Brown eyes in the halls. 

Your comm chirped, and you ducked into an empty storage closet to take the call. You were met with Masters Yoda and Windu’s holographic forms. 

“Something you wanted to discuss, you had, young Y/l/n?” 

“Yes, Master Yoda.” 

***

A week later, you stood in the briefing room with the usual command crew: Anakin, Ahsoka, Admiral Yularen, and Him. 

Deep breaths, Y/n. In, and out. “I called this meeting because I have some… news, and I thought you should be the first to know.” You glanced around at them, swallowing. “I’ve requested to lead my own battalion- and it’s been granted.” Letting that sink in, you continued: “I’m leaving at 0800 tomorrow morning, in my fighter. I’ll head to Coruscant, where I’ll meet the men, and then we’ll ship out sometime next week.” 

Silence. 

Anakin was the first to speak. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I’m getting my own battalion. I requested it a few days ago.” 

“Why?” You heard the growing anger in your friend’s voice and decided to tread carefully.

“Anakin, you don’t need me here anymore. Ahsoka’s more than qualified to lead the 501st with you, and with the war- there’s more and more troops who need leading, and not enough Jedi to do it. But I can, and I have to; It’s my duty. The Council agreed with me.” 

“Y/n, when did you talk to the Council about this?” 

“A few days ago- but it’s been on my mind for a while.” You said gently. You didn’t meet His eyes, didn’t even look over there; if you did, your resolve would crumble. You just kept your gaze on Anakin, occasionally looking to Ahsoka. She looked surprised, and a bit sad, but understanding. Anakin looked… well, it was wise to be cautious of your tone. 

“Do you know where you’ll ship off to?” Ahsoka asked politely. 

“Not yet, but I’ve heard that it might be Cato Neimodia, or maybe Anaxes. I can’t be sure, though.” You looked down. “I just thought you all should know first.” 

“Well, best of luck, General. It’s been an honor.” Admiral Yularen nodded at you, then went out to the bridge. Eventually, Anakin and Ahsoka left too, the latter guiding her Master with a soft hand on his arm. 

That left you and the Captain. Alone, for the first time in weeks. 

“So… your own battalion. That’s… big news,” He said quietly. “I know you’ll do well.” 

“Thanks, Rex,” You practically whispered. “I’ve enjoyed our time together,” You met his eyes briefly, barely keeping the floodgate of emotions at bay. “I’ll miss working with you.” I love you. I love you more than anything. 

He nodded. “And I you, General.” 

***

You left that next morning, with your men watching from the hangar. His presence, the one you had treasured and held onto like a lifeline... the one that got you through the worst of it all, the one you had loved (and still did, so much), stayed behind, slowly fading from the forefront of your mind. 

It’s for the best. 

Maybe you’d start to heal. 

Maybe. 

Fin. 

[stardustryewriting]

A Learning Process (6)

This is the final part

AO3: here

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Combinational Learning

Bakugou hated crying. With a burning passion. His lungs and eyes burned and trying to take a breath seemed impossible. Tears spilling over, out of his eyes and down his cheeks, like a river escaping a dam. It was always, always accompanied by heavy breathing, an inability to draw in breath properly, making it near impossible to talk or even produce sounds resembling words. It always turned into ugly sobbing, him having to clutch something to ground himself.  

Still, he couldn't bring himself to stop. 

Kirishima had walked out on him - thinking Bakugou hated his guts, no less - and there was nothing he could do. He just watched helplessly, frozen in place, unable to do anything. He finally fucked up for good. The worst thing was, he’d seen it coming from the start. He always knew he wouldn’t be able to make it work, eventually he’d destroy even the simplest thing. His friendship with Kirishima. He just wished he could let him know why it was broken now. Not that it mattered anymore.

It shattered easily like glass, and there was a little intrusive thought that had made itself at home in Bakugou’s head, telling him it was always meant that way. As if someone as good as Kirishima really wanted to spend their entire life at Bakugou’s side, friend or otherwise. He knew it was wrong - doomed from the start - the moment he realized what exactly his feelings for Kirishima were. It could have never worked out. 

He wasn’t boyfriend material. He wasn’t even someone you wanted to date, his impulsiveness and general lack at expressing himself more than made sure of that. People usually avoided approaching him unless strictly necessary. Who could possibly want to date him? He wouldn’t have been a boyfriend. He would have been a project. And Kirishima deserved way better than a project. He should have the world. Not a guy with anger issues. 

__________________

The first thing Kirishima had done, after he got safely into his room and locked the door behind him, was block Bakugou on every social media on his device. Which now seemed irrational - surely there were better ways to cope - but back then it was the first thing his mind had provided for him. Create as much distance as possible. Easily said, but they lived next door in the dorms, there was only so much distance to be had. 

The next thing Kirishima did was crawl into his bed, vanish completely under his covers and decide to let his emotions take the reign. He would take whatever his head offered him and then deal with the aftermath later. Unfortunately his head let him have nothing. No crying, no anger, not even the tiny taunting voice telling him that of course, he couldn’t possibly be good enough and he should stop fooling himself. Just emptiness. 

A few stray tears escaped his eyes every now and then and he felt the pressure of more behind his eyes, but for some reason they refused to fall. As if he had been bled empty from all emotions. He just lay there, under his covers staring at his wall - the one he shared with Bakugou, because of course his bed was on that side of the room - and tried to will himself to work through at least something. He came up empty-handed.

He went to Recovery Girl the next day, because despite feeling and thinking nothing, he stayed awake the entire night and he didn’t feel like school. Their resident healer took one look at him and told him to stay ‘home’ and that she would excuse him from school. He took the paper slip to the teacher lounge and handed it to Present Mic, because Aizawa wasn’t there yet, who told him he would hand it over, and wished him a speedy recovery. 

Kirishima felt like scoffing then - as if he had any chance to ever recover from that - but he lacked any and all energy to do more than politely thanking him. Even that sounded toneless and drained to his ears. Judging from Present Mic’s flinch, it sounded even worse for other people. 

He went back to the dorms afterwards, careful to avoid the others, who would start getting ready for their day any minute and collapsed onto his bed again. He stared at his ceiling, distantly wondering, if emptiness was a side-effect of heartbreak. This time he scoffed at his own mind, because naming it heartbreak was a stretch. There was never anything that would warrant this being called a heartbreak. Only his own unjustified hopes, that he should have squashed as soon as they came up for the first time. 

He knew he never stood a chance. 

Because what could Bakugou Katsuki possibly want with him? Bakugou was always in the top three of their class academically and in hero-related exercises. Kirishima was somewhere in the lower half academically and got periodically scolded for rushing into situations without thinking them through. Bakugou had a strong, flashy quirk that would make him the number one eventually. Kirishima would be lucky to not be forgotten, with a quirk as useless as his. Bakugou had the fierce determination to achieve anything he wanted. Kirishima wasn’t even sure he actually belonged in the hero course. 

There was nothing Bakugou could want from him. The realisation should hurt, Kirishima had fully expected it to hurt. He felt nothing instead, like he had the entire day and he wondered if he’d feel nothing forever. 

He wondered if he deserved it, for foolishly getting his hopes up in the first place.

__________________

Bakugou was keenly aware that he hadn’t seen Kirishima all week. When Kaminari had asked - on Monday ten minutes into the homeroom lesson - Aizawa had waved him off, declaring that Kirishima was sick. He left it at that, continuing his lesson on something Bakugou couldn’t remember. Like he couldn’t remember most things that happened that week. 

He did remember Aizawa pulling him out of one of the training exercises, deciding he was too distracted to continue like the others. Despite being wrapped up in his teacher's capture weapon and basically held on display, Bakugou didn’t argue. He could admit when someone was right. He also remembered Jirou giving him the stink eye, and sometimes even the finger, whenever she thought she could get away with it. She got away with it surprisingly often, Iida only lectured her two times the entire week. 

Kaminari, Mina and Sero also kept a careful distance and while normally, being alone didn’t bother him. this time, it made him seriously uneasy. Because it could only mean one thing. They knew what was up. Even worse, he couldn’t be sure how much they knew. Did they talk to Kirishima? Did they figure it out on their own? Was there any way he could get the idiots to spill? Probably not. But while normally, it would make him angry to no end, now he didn’t even have the energy to scream at them. He tried angry glares, but judging from their reactions, they weren’t half as good as he hoped.

This was starting to be a problem. 

It became a real problem on Thursday, when he sat alone on his table, trying to eat his lunch in peace, while avoiding everyone’s stares. He heard more than he saw, the two chairs in front of him being pulled back and someone sitting on them. Usually, he would tell whoever it was to get lost, he wasn’t interested in sharing the table, but he didn’t think he could find the energy for that. So instead, he just gave them a stink eye and hoped that would be enough. It wasn’t. 

In front of him, smiling like he was the embodiment of innocence himself, sat Deku. Next to him, face carefully neutral and his eyes not betraying a single emotion, sat his boyfriend. Bakugou felt like he was in hell already. The two chatted quietly between themselves, throwing glances at him occasionally and Bakugou considered just leaving the table. Or asking where the rest of their bunch was, because surely they would be better company than him. Surprisingly, Todoroki beat him to the punch.

“I told him”, he said, sounding apologetic and Bakugou needed a second to realise what he meant. Their talk. Their fucking talk about fucking feelings that he swore to take to the grave with him and now Deku was in the know. Could his life possibly get any worse than it already was? (The answer was yes, and he wished he never asked the question.)

“Yeah, he did”, Deku confirmed, unnecessarily, because Todoroki may have been a social airhead, but he’d never been a liar. You could trust that much, at least. “You see, Shoto isn’t exactly great with feelings, for reasons”, and Deku managed to say ‘reasons’ in a way that made it clear he would not discuss said ‘reasons’ further, “so I fear he may have accidentally made it worse.”

“No shit, Sherlock. That might have been the most frustrating talk I’ve ever had”, Bakugou spat, familiar anger settling in his chest again. At least that was something. He could deal with anger, he always had. 

“Sorry”, Todoroki said shortly, actually looking a little sheepish.

“Anyways”, Deku interrupted, before either of the two could discuss that any further, “I’m here to offer help. The talk was about Kirishima-kun, wasn’t it?”

That felt like a slap to his face. How did Deku know it was about Kirishima? He never said it, he specifically made sure to never mention a name or even a gender in front of Todoroki. How had Deku figured it out? Was it that obvious? Were the others able to see it as well? Did Kirishima know?

That was a truly frightful thought. What if Kirishima knew, but feigned ignorance as a way of letting him down easy? What if the reason Bakugou hadn’t seen Kirishima in almost a week was not because he hurt Kirishima, but because Kirishima didn’t want to hurt him. Would that be better or worse than their current mess? He honestly didn’t know. He hated it, all the same. 

“How?”, he said, throwing Deku his best angry look, and it really spoke for his current state, that Deku didn’t even flinch. If he couldn’t even intimidate Deku, he must have really lost his stuff. Somehow that didn’t come as a surprise. 

“How do I know?”, Deku asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, “I’ve known you since kindergarten. I know you like to pretend to hate me, but we’ve been friends once. I know you better than you like to admit. And I see the way you act around him. You don’t act like that with just anyone.”

Bakugou wasn’t even upset, he realised, to his surprise. Because Deku was right, Kirishima had been special from the start. Not intimidated by him during the USJ, offering himself as an unwavering horse during the sports festival, coming to his rescue after he was kidnapped. Kirishima was always there, always so reliable, it made Bakugou wonder when he actually fell in love. Because it’s been way before the mall incident, that was for sure. 

It only made the entire thing worse. 

“So what?”, he grumbled, not giving Deku the satisfaction of telling him he was right. He was sure Deku knew anyway. “Even if that were true, how could you possibly help?”

“Like I said”, Deku continued, with the patience of a saint, while also completely skipping over the part where Bakugou attempted to deny his feelings once more, “I know you. And I know Kirishima-kun. Not as good as you do, I’m sure, but good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”, Bakugou inquired, unsure where Deku was going with this, but Todoroki had a self-satisfied smirk on his face that told Bakugou to be cautious. Too bad caution had never been his strong suit. 

“Good enough to know that something went terribly wrong between you two”, Deku answered carefully, gauging Bakugou’s reaction before continuing, “And I wanna help.”

“Bullshit!”, Bakugou yelled, knowing fully well, that he had the attention of the entire cafeteria on him now, “As if I need your damn help!” He stormed off then, not bothering to listen to whatever Deku yelled after him. He wouldn’t even bother with his afternoon classes, he decided, after he made his way halfway over the school grounds. He could deal with missing half a day of classes.

He really needed a break. 

__________________

 Kirishima wasn’t sure how all of them had ended up inside his room. He just knew that Kaminari currently shared his bed with him with half an arm-length of distance between them. While he sat properly with his back to the wall and his legs folded over each other, Kaminari had assumed a position halfway to laying down, seemingly comfortable. Sero sat on the floor, with his back to the bed and his head lying on it, right between Kirishima’s legs and Kaminari’s stomach. Jirou sat on the desk chair, back against one armrest and legs swung over the other. Mina had propped herself up on Kirishima’s desk, arguing with Kaminari over the snacks they brought with them.

It was almost normal. Too normal. It felt like a movie night, like they were just waiting for Bakugou and only the absence of some drama while trying to agree on a movie gave away that it wasn’t actually a movie night and that Bakugou wouldn’t just walk through the door, taking their enthusiasm at being able to start with a disgruntled look and some vague passive-aggressive comment. 

Because Bakugou didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. 

Even after days, it still stung and while Kirishima had avoided any and all talk about their little ‘falling out’ (Kaminari’s words, not his), he got the feeling that his time was up. The gang was there to talk with him and they wouldn’t go until they were satisfied Kirishima was alright. Somehow, he wasn’t happy about that. 

“So...”, Kaminari drawled, after he finally threw the snacks to Mina and everyone else went rigid, when he started talking. Good thing that wasn’t concerning at all. Kirishima was sure he could feel the irony, if he felt anything but numb. “You and Bakugou had a falling out. Care to share?”

Kirishima was sure that Kaminari would look proud of himself, if the situation was any less serious. He thought he saw a bit of pride glimmer through the carefully maintained serious front, but that might have been his imagination. God knows, it played the worst tricks on him, recently.

But, more importantly, did he care to share, as Kaminari phrased it? Or rather, was there anything he had left to lose? He didn’t think so. At least, no one would treat it like some sort of joke on his expense, in this situation. (Kaminari still might, but Kirishima was strangely okay with that.)

So he took a deep breath, tried to straighten his shoulders as much as possible in his sitting position and mentally prepared himself, to say something out loud, that he swore he would only ever say if he actually got over it. He was anything but over it. 

“I have a crush on Bakugou”, he admitted, feeling unexpectedly light like a weight lifting off his chest, “and I think he found out and is disgusted.”

There. That’s it. That’s what has been bothering him all week, even longer than that. And now it was out in the open, all of his friends knew and at the very least it didn’t loom over him in that sense anymore. It still loomed over him in a worse sense, but that was a hurdle for another day. (Or never, if things went Kirishima’s way. But when did things ever go Kirishima’s way?)

“Shit”, Mina declared, which promptly became the general consensus in their little round. Even Kirishima silently agreed, that this entire situation was just shit. 

“What an asshole thing to do!”, Jirou said, looking seriously pissed off and Kaminari agreed with her immediately. Kirishima would have argued that Bakugou had a right not to like him, but he could feel the conversation getting out of control already. So, he resorted to damage control.

“Well, yeah. But I’m fine or I will be. I got though skin, after all”, he joked and at least Kaminari appreciated it, with a little snort and a thumbs up. Sero also chuckled a little, shoulders shaking lightly and Kirishima considered it a win. He would take what he could get. 

“Still! If a girl were into him, I bet it would give him an ego boost”, Jirou argued lamely, trailing off at the end. Kirishima tried not to think too much about the implication of that. He was sure Jirou wasn’t trying to imply anything and it would be unfair to her to have his thoughts run wild with her words. She was trying to help him, not hurt him further.

"Also, seriously, Bakugou? You have the worst taste in men!", Jirou declared, pointing an accusing finger at him. Kirishima would have liked to argue that Jirou didn’t get to judge his taste in men, because she wasn’t even attracted to their gender, but Sero beat him to the punch.

“Can you really judge that? No offense, but you aren’t attracted to men.”

“I’m not attracted to guitars either, but I know a pretty one when I see it”, Jirou argued, effectively shutting down Sero. Kaminari next to him chuckled like he was watching some good show and Kirishima was sure he would enjoy this talk, if he were to enjoy anything. At least they tried cheering him up.

"Well, at least he's nice to look at", Mina shrugged and Kirishima feared the abyss in which this conversation seemed to drift. That was some dangerous territory they were currently trespassing. He didn’t want to go there, not right now. 

“Okay, guys, stay with us!”, Kaminari snapped his fingers for what Kirishima guessed was supposed to be a dramatic effect. If so, it surely wasn’t working. It did get their attention away from considering Bakugou’s general hotness level - off the charts, Kirishima thought and immediately hated himself for it - and to Kaminari, which was a good thing. “What do we do for heartbreak?”

The silence that followed was deafening. So, he wasn’t the only one absolutely out of his depth, which did little to calm him down. Sero looked at Jirou and then at Mina as if he was expecting them to come up with something. Jirou looked around at all of them, clear panic in her eyes. Mina looked way too deep in thought for anything good to come out of this and Kaminari seemed to deeply regret his question. Kirishima honestly didn’t know what to do. 

“Hide stinky cheese in his room”, Sero suggested first, not entirely serious. At least Kirishima hoped he wasn’t.

“Make a new playlist”, Jirou provided reluctantly and Kirishima could see how that would be a comfort for her.

“Scream into a pillow until everything is better”, Kaminari proposed, seeming unsure, but so far it was the only thing Kirishima was willing to try. 

“Movie night and way more snacks than we could reasonably justify in front of Iida!”, Mina put forth brightly. If he were honest, distraction and food coma sounded like actual heaven to Kirishima in that moment. It was quickly agreed upon and three out of the five of them made their way downstairs to horde anything edible they could find. 

“Don’t tell the others”, Jirou whispered, mockingly serious, after the door closed behind them, “but I’m willing to do the cheese thing with you, if you want.” Kirishima smiled, because he didn’t think he could laugh, even if he tried. For the first time in days, he felt something resembling happiness.

Maybe he could be okay.

__________________

Bakugou was absolutely miserable. He mulled over potential ideas, about how he could approach Kirishima, in his head, for hours now. He needed to talk to him again, he knew. Just one last talk, to clarify everything that went wrong the last time - which was everything really - and at least then he’d have some semblance of peace knowing, that that was the only possible outcome. No matter how Kirishima reacted to his feelings, he would take it. Still, he was miserable. 

Because no matter how he looked at it, Deku was right. He would need help. And no matter how often he thought it over in his head, Deku was the best possible help he could get. So, even if every fibre of his being refused to cooperate, Bakugou made his way to Deku’s room, knocking on his door. 

Deku opened, without hesitation, Todoroki in the background looked curiously at him. Great, just great. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself to do something he could never possibly live down. Then, he said the hardest words he ever had to say.

“I need help.”

__________________

Bakugou wasn’t sure what Deku had told Kirishima. Only that Deku promised him he would bring Kirishima outside their dorms, to place out of view for most people. Bakugou knew the place from his morning runs and he was sure Deku knew it from his training with All Might. It was perfect for an undisturbed talk. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it himself. 

Standing under a tree, next to a bench, Bakugou felt himself shiver. It was fairly cold, as spring nights tended to get, but he knew that wasn’t it. He was actually nervous, because he didn’t know how to talk to Kirishima.

He could hear someone chatter, knew they were coming closer by their voices growing steadily louder and recognized Deku word-vomiting like he tended to do, when he was nervous. He took one last deep breath, before Kirishima and Deku came into view. Kirishima froze up when he saw him, and Deku rushed out an apology, before he quickly stormed off. Bakugou took a few experimenting steps closer, gauging Kirishima’s reaction carefully. Don’t make him feel trapped, Deku advice echoed in his ears. 

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima said tonelessly, awkwardly raising one hand to gesture, “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I’m gonna go.” He was turning, slowly, eyes constantly on Bakugou, without ever making eye-contact, as if he was some wild animal, that would jump him. Bakugou repressed the scoff forming in his throat in favor of actually saying something this time. 

“Don’t be stupid”, came out of his mouth, before he could stop himself, and he was sure he flinched worse than Kirishima did. He cleared his throat and tried once more. “I actually wanted to talk.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look Kirishima in the eyes while saying this, so he looked to the bench he gestured to instead, praying Kirishima would understand him. 

He did. Kirishima always had. And Bakugou almost threw it all away.

Kirishima slowly made his way to the bench, still eyeing Bakugou warily. He sat down carefully, like he expected some sort of prank or maybe a joke at his expense and Bakugou’s chest tightened painfully, reminding Kirishima had never looked at him like that before. Never that distrustful. Bakugou took his own seat on the other end of the bench, feeling like he didn’t deserve being too close to Kirishima. Like he never deserved it. 

“Okay”, Kirishima said, stretching out the little word for all his worth and Bakugou realized that Kirishima had about as much clue about this situation as he had. This was doomed to fail. “You being so weird this past week, that was my fault, wasn’t it?”

Bakugou didn’t know how to answer that. No felt as much like a lie as yes did. 

“I’m an idiot”, Bakugou said instead, because he figured it wouldn’t hurt. And it would help filling the silence until he found a way to say what he actually wanted to say. Kirishima didn’t even crack a smile, he just sighed heavily, like he had an even bigger weight on his shoulder than Bakugou did. 

“You know”, he breathed, like he had no energy to actually say it out loud, “usually I’d disagree and defend you, when someone said something like that. But recently, I don’t feel like disagreeing.” It was accompanied by a heavy sigh that made something in Bakugou’s chest ache. He wanted to reach out, but he knew he didn’t deserve to. 

“You shouldn’t”, Bakugou said, as a way of trying to take something off of Kirishima’s shoulders but the other just shrugged, facial expression unchanged. “Shit, this is hard”, he cursed under his breath, but Kirishima heard anyway. And now, he was facing him, too.

“You don’t have to apologize, if you don’t want to”, he said, steadily holding Bakugou’s gaze and Bakugou knew he couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried. Had Kirishima’s eyes always been that breathtaking? That was the worst timing for such thoughts. “I don’t care what the others say, you have a right not to be my friend.”

“I liked being your friend”, he answered, dumbly, not knowing what else to say. Why was Kirishima defending him, if he hurt him that badly? He should be furious, Bakugou knew he’d be furious, if their roles were reversed. He’d be screaming at Kirishima if the other had the audacity to talk to him like that, after everything that happened. Kirishima always had an exceptionally high tolerance for Bakugou’s bullshit. (It made him hope they could work.)

“It sure didn’t seem like it.” Nothing, not a single emotion laced Kirishima’s tone, like he never heard before. That was worse. Bakugou would rather take screaming, would love to have Kirishima scream at him right now. At least that would give him something to work with. It would feel less like Kirishima gave up, already.  

“I suck with words”, he offered, as a way of explanation. 

“You do”, Kirishima agreed easily, “but there is really no other way to possibly understand that.” His tone was still utterly devoid of anything, but Bakugou saw some light reflecting from his cheeks. It took him a while to realize that it was a tear reflecting, that Kirishima had started crying. Kirishima was crying. and he was to blame. 

“There is”, he said, voice heavy with something he couldn’t put his finger on. His hand came up to wipe at his face. It came back wet. He was crying, too, he realized, seconds later. 

“Really”, Kirishima questioned, turning towards him. He was taken aback for a second, Bakugou could only suppose it was the tears. They would have startled him, too. Kirishima composed himself quickly and Bakugou mourned the lost empathy for only a second. He hadn’t deserved it. “What other way is there?”

“I’m -”, Bakugou tried to say, caught off guard by the lump in his throat. He tried to swallow around it, but it only seemed to grow bigger. He could feel his breathing growing heavier, felt himself losing the last of his composure. His pride warned him, to end it now, before he completely lost face. He ignored it.

“I’m in love with you. And I had a hard time coming to terms with that.” 

Kirishima didn’t say anything, despite his mouth being opened wide. His eyes were blown wide, too, but he was completely still, like he was frozen. It may have been due to the tears leaking out of Bakugou’s eyes uncontrollably now. Or maybe it was the ragged breathing turning into sobs, that he couldn’t keep in for the life of him. Or the confession was really just that absurd to Kirishima. 

“I’m sorry”, Kirishima answered eventually, and that was so absurd, that Bakugou was sure he stopped crying for a second to process it. Like his body needed it’s full capacity to work through all the implications the simple statement from Kirishima held. He wasn’t sure what implications it held. 

“What?”, he said, like an idiot. 

__________________

“I’m sorry you’re in love with me”, Kirishima said again, trembling under the weight of emotions he desperately tried to hold back, “I’m sorry it’s me. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted.” He wasn’t even sure what Bakugou had meant, originally, when he said it was hard to come to terms with his feelings. But he was sure it was his fault. It must have been. 

“You’re better”, Bakugou breathed eventually, still crying. Kirishima was sure he misheard. Bakugou couldn’t possibly have referred to Kirishima as something good.

“What?”, he said now, not knowing what else to do.

“You’re better”, Bakugou insisted, something like determination making its way into Bakugou’s eyes. Kirishima knew he would melt at the spot, if the situation were any less dire. 

“You just said you had problems coming to terms with your feelings. Why would you have those, if I were any good?”, he insisted, trying not to look at Bakugou, in case he was right. He couldn't handle a second heartbreak in a single week. He had barely handled the first one. 

“No”, Bakugou yelled, sounding exasperated. Not that Kirishima could blame him. He’d rather not deal with himself either, but unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice. Bakugou could walk away. Kirishima wouldn’t blame him. 

“No, they weren’t problems related to you. I’m the problem”, Bakugou argued, but it sounded hollow to Kirishima.

“You almost killed Monoma because he called me your boyfriend jokingly”, he argued, because that was an overreaction, no matter how you looked at it. And it still hurt, somewhere deep inside, that wasn’t actually that deep. Kirishima had tough skin and nothing else. Nothing at all. 

“That bastard”, Bakugou grunted, looking angry for just a second, before he went back to looking … defeated? Sad? Kirishima wasn’t sure. “He taunted me, and I hadn’t even admitted to myself that I had feelings for you then. He just made it worse.”

“Still”, Kirishima said, just feeling heavier, “That is fucked.”

“No shit”, Bakugou answered, sounding resigned and leaning his head back against the headrest of the bench, looking up at the sky. At times like these, Kirishima always regretted living in such a big city, where you never saw stars in the night sky. They wouldn’t help, not at all, but he’d still like them. 

“Even worse. When I first realized I had feelings, I went and consulted the internet. Big mistake. Then, I went to Todoroki, which was even worse.” 

“You went to Todoroki for feelings talk?”, Kirishima asked, angling his head so he could see Bakugou nod, “That sounds horrible.”

“It was”, Bakugou snorted and Kirishima registered faintly that both of them stopped crying like they were bled dry, “He thought he was going to get a shovel talk. I also know more about his feelings for Deku than I ever wanted.” Kirishima couldn’t suppress the little laugh bubbling up at that. He just couldn’t stop imaging Bakugou and Todoroki awkwardly talking about butterflies in their stomachs and warm feelings in their chests. He saw Bakugou looking at him from the side, eyes big and full of something Kirishima didn’t dare name. 

“What gave you the clue?”, he asked instead, avoiding looking at Bakugou for fear that what he saw was just his imagination playing tricks on him. He couldn’t make it through that.  

“Aizawa”, Bakugou shrugged. 

“Aizawa?”, Kirishima echoed, propelling himself forward on the bench out of sheer shock. Bakugou also lifted his head again, looking at him, one corner of his mouth twitching. 

“Yeah. He gave pretty good advice too. I came to the conclusion I liked you. I also came to the conclusion it wouldn’t work out. He said a lot of things about what the right person should be like”, Bakugou confessed, swallowing heavily and Kirishima felt the stone on his heart, heavier than ever before. 

“You don’t think I’m the right one”, he concluded, because that was where Bakugou was headed with his speech. That was where it was ultimately stagnating. Bakugou would rise the ranks, rise to heights unknown to Kirishima and he would only drag him down. He knew it. Bakugou knew. Better to end it, before it became a problem. 

“I don’t think I’m the right one”, Bakugou said immediately, voice heavy like he was actually doubting himself. 

“I appreciate you trying to let me down easy. But you don’t need to”, Kirishima told him, voice as gentle as he could possibly muster. He could deal with being let down. There was no need to sugarcoat something he always expected. 

“I’m a project”, Bakugou said, stressing the word ‘project’ in a way that let Kirishima know it was important. He still had no idea what Bakugou meant. Bakugou must have seen the confusion in his face. 

“I’m no good with feelings. I have no idea what a boyfriend even does. I blow up at every opportunity, sometimes literally. I have barely any patience. We are only friends because you didn’t get lost when I told you to”, he explained, sounding more stressed than Kirishima had ever heard him before. He was serious, Kirishima realized, he really thought he was the problem. He could barely fathom it. Bakugou Katsuki thought he was the problem. Truly a wild concept.

“I’d have you anyways. I’m stupid like that”, he said, lowly, knowing Bakugou would catch it. They always understood each other somehow. 

“Really?”, Bakugou argued, sounding defeated, “You want someone like me? How would you even introduce me to your parents?”

“As my boyfriend”, Kirishima answered easily, “who I’ve been in love with since the sports festival.” That gave Bakugou a pause for whatever reason. Kirishima wrung his hands, trying not to look too insecure about what he had just revealed. 

“The sports festival”, Bakugou mumbled, suddenly close and Kirishima wondered, in the back of his mind, when they had gotten that close to each other. He was sure they had started out on opposite sides. “Yeah, it was the sports festival for me too.”

Kirishima had wanted to say something about that revelation, but suddenly there was a hand in his hair, on the back of his head and all thoughts just seemed to vanish out of his head. Bakugou was way closer than he sounded, Kirishima could count his eyelashes if he had any brainpower left. He saw lightly chapped lips and the light crevices on Bakugou’s forehead. He felt Bakugou’s breath on his face, as he inched closer. He was about to lose his patience. 

“Can I?”, Bakugou breathed in the space between them, like a secret and Kirishima could do nothing but nod, unable to find any words in the mess that was his head. Bakugou surged forward, claiming his lips. It wasn’t perfect. Bakugou had gone too fast, their teeth clashing a little and Kirishima retreated for a second, before coming back slower. He placed their lips together more carefully, hand clutching into Bakugou’s shirt and Bakugou held his head in both of his hands. 

They separated only an inch, when they had to breathe and Kirishima would bet there was the stupidest happy expression on his face. Bakugou smiled too, seemingly content, before he went in for another, more passionate kiss. Kirishima gasped, caught off-guard by Bakugou’s sudden boldness and Bakugou took the opportunity to get his tongue into Kirishima’s mouth. Kirishima felt him smirk and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

Bakugou let him, joined him even. Then he dove in again, kissing both corners of Kirishima’s mouth before claiming his lips again and Kirishima knew he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling for a while. He didn’t think he wanted to. 

“I’m yours”, Bakugou said eventually, after they managed to separate for longer than just a few seconds to gasp for air. “I’m your problem now.” Kirishima giggled, thinking about how dramatic his boyfriend was and then laughed again, when he realized Bakugou really was that now. His boyfriend. He’d never been happier.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way”, he confirmed and then leaned forward again, to steal some more kisses. He’s waited way too long for those.

__________________

Bakugou loved dating Kirishima. He really did. He would have thought cuddling would bother him eventually, but he could never have Kirishima quite close enough. Not even after almost a year. Everyone else complained about their PDA, but Bakugou only gave them a smirk and kissed Kirishima once more, to shut them up. Life was good, most of the time. 

Rarely, there were times when Bakugou wished his boyfriend was just a little different. No drastic changes just being able to tell the idiots - who had renamed the Bakusquad to the Kiribakusquad without anyone’s permission - to get lost and leave them alone. Like when they had date night, and Bakugou had thought about a great plan to get Kirishima out of his sweatpants after the movie was over and then Kaminari stormed in. He’d really love it if they wouldn’t do that.

“I need some advice on my bromance with Shinsou”, Kaminari said, as a way of opening the conversation and Bakugou thought about how much easier his life would have been, if he could speak about things as directly as that.

“How often did you and Shinsou have sex again?”, Kirishima asked, with a smile that told Bakugou he knew the answer already. Kaminari still mulled it over in his head briefly, looking like he was counting. 

“Six times.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that counts as a bromance”, Kirishima concluded, snuggling deeper into Bakugou’s side and Bakugou tightened his arm around his boyfriend instinctively. Kirishima made a low humming sound, like he always did when he was comfortable and Bakugou could admit within the safety of his own mind, that it was his favorite sound. 

“Just man up and confess”, he told Kaminari, while burying his nose in Kirishima’s freshly washed hair, smirking slightly when he heard Kaminari’s gasp. 

“You”, he said, pointing at both of them accusingly, “don’t have any right to say that!”

Kirishima’s laughter was music to Bakugou’s ears, light and happy, the way Kirishima should always be. It made the entire procedure worth it, Bakugou thought, while pressing a kiss to his boyfriends hair. Kirishima raised his head then, to steal another kiss on the lips and Kaminari scoffed in the background. 

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll go ask Jirou.”

Still, life was mostly great these days.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Communication Issues (Alternative Title: Three Touch-Starved, Insecure, Metaphysical Beings Constantly Misinterpreting Each Other and Yet Somehow Falling in Love)- Chapter One

Ao3,  MasterPost,  Chap.2,  Chap.3

Relationships: Eventual Analogince, implied Moceit

I usually have new stuff up on Wednesdays, Sorry this is late. I hope the length and angst will make up for this slight :) Also, because of how long this fucker is, I did not go in and manually add italics, so you can just. Imagine them there when you need them. 

Warnings: Panic attack (?), overworking oneself, self-hatred and insecurity, Excessive Amounts of Hurt/comfort, eventual friends-to-lovers, slow burn, arguing, crying, angst w/ a happy ending, swearing, creative blocks, mentions of isolating oneself, excessive hugging. 

Word Count: 6,396

What do you do when you find someone crying, and it’s all your fault? What do you say when you hear the muffled sobs and frantic words behind the blood-red door? When you know that, no matter how much you never wanted to hurt him- never wanted to hurt anyone- you still did. Is there anything you can do to fix it, when you’ve spent so long pretending that nothing was broken? When you’ve spent so long pretending that you didn’t care if things were broken or not? 

Well, if you're Logan Sanders, a metaphysical representation of the logical thinking of one Thomas Sanders (and you are, for the purposes of this story), then you book it down the hall in a desperate effort to find someone more emotionally competent to solve the problem. 

The search is short, lasting just to the bottom of the stairs. As soon as your feet touch down on the living room carpet, your haste brings you slamming into just the side you were looking for. Hands wrap around your middle, narrowly stopping you from stumbling over. 

“Geez, L, what’s the-” Virgil doesn’t finish his sentence, his expression wrinkling in concern when he sees your face. He leans down to your level, his gaze flickering over you to search for injuries. 

You take a step back and shake your head, struggling to explain. 

“Roman- I- He-” you’re supposed to be articulate, intelligent, eloquent- but when it comes to feelings, you never are. You never have been. You try so hard nowadays, but God, do you still need help sometimes. Like these times. These confusing, awful times when you hear dear sweet Creativity sobbing self-deprications loud enough to be heard from well outside of his room, many of which are dramatized repetitions of things that you have said to him.

“Is he okay?!” Virgil, bless him, snaps you out of the oncoming mental panic before it renders you any more useless. 

“Physically, yes- as far as I know- but emotionally, well-” you cut off, terrified of choking up. He seems to catch your meaning, though. 

Virgil doesn’t ask any follow up questions. He grabs your arm and the room blurs. Static hisses against your ears and pricks at your skin, this form of transportation being mostly foreign to you. You don’t even rise up, merely popping into existence right in front of Roman’s door. Virgil throws it open before you have the chance to react. 

Roman doesn’t notice the increased population of his room, which is concerning. His back is to the door as he works fervently at his desk, but evidently not making progress, shaking as he is. He’s muttering under his breath, much quieter than what you’d overheard before, but you can hear distinct utterances like ‘unrealistic… overused… disappointment…’ et cetera, et fucking cetera. 

“Roman, what happened?” Virgil’s voice is distorted, loud and quiet all at once. You barely keep yourself from covering your ears. 

Roman clamps his mouth shut mid-wail, his hands spasming in surprise against his desk. His quill drops to the paper with a soft clatter, a sound that echoes about the walls. Then, the only noise left is his staggering breathing.

Slowly, Roman peers over his shoulder at you, eyes puffy and red with mascara practically dripping down his chin. 

A gasp draws from you, against your will, at the sight. 

Roman makes some strangled throat-clearing sounds before trying to speak. 

“Oh, hey-” 

“Nope, none of that,” Virgil is across the room in two strides, effortlessly taking the lead in this situation. You can’t push yourself any further into the room, but you do shut the door behind you. Probably best not to involve any of the more unpredictable sides in what was sure to be an… emotionally charged discussion. 

Roman looks absolutely mortified, jolting up from his chair and backing into the wall like a cornered animal. With distance between himself and Virgil reestablished, he then buries his face in his hands. He trembles like a leaf caught in the wind of fall, and he’d probably crumble just as easily. 

Many times in your life, you’ve wished that you couldn’t feel. You even had yourself convinced that you couldn’t, for a while there. Now, all you wish is to know how to feel correctly. You’re meant to know things, Logan, aren’t you?

“Alright, so I’ve been having a bit of a rough time,” Roman’s voice cracks and wavers when he speaks, “It’s just writer’s block. Sure, I got a tad bit frustrated- but I’ll be back on track in no time, I promise! You needn’t concern yourself with my momentary lapse, I’ll have a new story for you by Saturday at the latest!” 

He’s looking at you. Virgil is standing right next to him, but he’s looking at you, all the way across the room. He’s trying to… appease you? Reason with you? Give you what he thinks you want?

Say something, Logan.

“You need to take a break, Ro,” Virgil’s voice slips back to normal, “C’mon, you’re overworking yourself,” he tries to be nonchalant, but it’s obvious just how concerned he is. You can hardly blame him. When he reaches his hand out, Roman recoils, showing his face enough to see the guilt written across it. 

You need to say something, goddammit. 

“I can’t just ‘take a break’,” he spits, “I can’t stop now. I need to get this done first- I’ll stop when I finally do this properly. So, maybe never, right?” He laughs, horrible and twisted, and he looks at you because he’s really, truly asking you. Is he really expecting you to agree? Is that the impression you’ve left him with? 

You say something.

“This is all my fault.”

Clearly, neither of them expected that. You press on.

“Your worth as a side-” no, not quite right, “-Your worth as a person is not measured solely by your productivity. I know we’ve talked before about the damages of excessive perfectionism, but I know I may not have been effective in ‘showing not telling’ that your ideas don’t need to be flawless. My harshness. My Coldness. I thought I was doing better, but obviously... I was wrong.” Again. 

Virgil looks half-way to anger, but it’s unclear what he’s directing it towards. You aren’t sure of anything right now, really, except for the general upset tugging at your stomach.

“L, no, if this is anybody’s fault- it’s mine,” he turns to Roman, and what. “I didn’t know how hard you were taking all this. Dude, I had no idea. But I owe you an apology, I have for a while, for making fun of you about your insecurity. Like, kind of a lot. Long after you stopped doing it to me. Honestly, I can’t believe that I didn’t realize how much it was actually getting to you.”

“What? Virgil, I truly appreciate what you are trying to do, but I was clearly the one who pushed Roman too far,” you find the courage to step a little closer as you argue Virgil’s point, spurred on by how ridiculous you find this exchange.

“Well, I mocked his sensitivities. This is my responsibility!”

“But you didn’t know you were doing that- I acted like I didn’t care for him, and now he thinks I don’t! I am doubtlessly the one to blame.”

Virgil looks ready to snap back, and you’d be just as ready to retort, but a quiet sniffle alerts both of your attention to the matter still at hand. Roman, standing back against the wall, growing increasingly bewildered. He’s still crying, a surprisingly open display for a prideful trait such as himself, but you get the impression that he simply can’t hold it back anymore. You can see him squirm under Virgil’s and your gazes.

“It- It’s nice, that you both are attempting to take the blame for my failings, but you don’t have to. I can figure this out for myself. Then, I’ll finally prove myself to you, and no one will need to worry about anything. Which is why I need to keep working.” 

“You have proven yourself to me,” Virgil darts from the desk to Roman. He grabs the trait’s ink-stained arm, gaze fierce and unyielding. 

“Why, then,” Roman mutters, eyes downcast, “doesn’t it feel like I have?”

“I never tried to do right by you. Like you did for me.” 

You watch them sway, awkward, and finally, finally push movement into your legs. You step to Roman’s other side, much slower. It probably appears to be deliberate, but in truth you just feel unsure. You place your hand on his shoulder in a way that is hopefully comforting.

“The same, in a different sense, is true for myself. But if you would allow us to make it up to you…?” you aren’t sure where to go from there. Virgil nods, though, granting you a hint of pride. You don’t quite buy it when he says he’s part of the problem, but you’d rather not start any arguments at this particular moment. 

Roman won’t look at either of you for longer than a second, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. Just so he knows that you are, you gesture to your necktie, giving him the tiniest smile. 

He buckles to the ground immediately, a mess of sobs, the both of you letting yourself be dragged along. He clings to Virgil, and you try to keep an arm around him as well. He needs all the support he can get, really. 

“I-I’m so so-rry, I don’t- I-” 

Virgil shushes him and shoots you a deeply concerned look: This is really bad. I’m not letting him go. You rub Roman’s back as he shakes and return your friend’s gaze with a nod: I’m not either. We’re going to help him. Don’t worry. 

The three of you sit there for what feels like hours as he cries, and cries, and cries. None of you say a word, letting him get it all out. You let him hold onto you- you hold him as well, because you’re nearly as dismayed and unsure as he is. 

But eventually, you need to talk. Once he finally settles, his head resting against your collar and his legs splayed across Virgil’s lap, it’s you who gets the proverbial ball rolling.

“You already know that overworking yourself leads to exhaustion, which in turn leads to an overall drop in productivity and quality of work,” Roman’s eyes fill with guilt, but you’re quick to elaborate, “but that isn’t at all my primary concern. I won’t carry on acting like it is for a moment longer, now that I see how it’s hurting you. Hurting you is something I would never intend. You mean so much to me. There are so many arguments I could use to convince you why you need to give yourself a break, but I’ll settle with this: a hypothetical ‘perfect story’ is not worth your suffering, and it never will be.” 

Roman looks up at you, once more crying, so that was probably a very unhelpful thing to say. But he leans into you and hugs you close, recontextualizing his emotional display. Relief washes over you. 

“Thank you, Logan.”

Virgil clears his throat.

���I know I’m not as, um, articulate as Lo is, but- for what it’s worth- I care about you, too, and all.”

You stretch out the arm that you had around Roman’s back, pulling Virgil into the hug. Roman lets out a shuddering breath from where he’s cradled between the both of you. It’s the deep, relieved breath that means the sobbing is through with, leaving only tired eyes and silence. 

It is at this point of alleviated tension that the uncomfortable nature of the floor begins irking you. Like hell you and Virgil would live Creativity alone like this, so after brief deliberation you stand to move as a unit. An amoeba of facets making their way down the hall, in a manner likely comical (though thankfully no one is around to see). Your room is the optimal place to rest, as it eases emotions and calms overthinking minds, even if it is a little chilly. 

You let your fellow traits drop down onto the couch, passing Roman the TV remote. Yes, whatever you like to watch, you inform him. Yes, really, anything, you confirm, waving your hand to conjure some blankets for them. The smile he gives you, though small, is enough to boost your hopes considerably. 

You really can’t fix everything- at least not immediately. But perhaps, with Virgil to fill in your gaps, you’ll be able to make things right for the Prince. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

So looking after this insecure dumbass is totally your job now. Said dumbass, of course, disagrees strongly; he tells you he’s doing better, and thanks so much for the one afternoon of help, Virgil, but he can totally take it from here. You do not give a single shit about what Roman claims, because he is very obviously lying, because he doesn’t want to be a burden. Yeah, as if. 

You’re taking care of that idiot if it kills you.

Thankfully, Logan is on the same page as you (proverbial page, as he would specify). It almost surprised you that he didn’t make himself scarce as soon as he told you about the situation, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise to have him by your side in this. Roman needs all the help he can get, and you can’t think of anyone better.

The pair of you only begrudgingly leave him alone after a sufficient several hours of Comfort Time, retreating to the hall so he can rest. He looked so fuckin’ tired, face a dull red and eyes puffy, but he was smiling. You count it as a temporary win. 

The first thing that you do, naturally, is slam your back against the wall and let yourself slide down to the floor out of sheer emotional exhaustion. 

Logan sits next to you, much less aggressively. It’s a nice gesture, considering how he absolutely despises sitting on the ground and this is the second time he’s had to do it in one day. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He keeps trying to say something, before clamping back down on it. You bump your shoulder against his, telling him that whatever it is, you’re listening. 

“I feel-” which is already a testament to how serious he’s taking the situation- “horrible.”

“Yeah, same- I mean, big mood- no, that’s worse, fuck-” you take a deep breath, hitting your head back against the wall, “I mean, me too. So, at least there’s that, right?” 

Logan shoots you one of his patented Microscopic Smiles.

“I suppose that counts for something, yes.” 

You manage a laugh, leaning even more against your friend. You’ve got a whole contradictory bundle of feelings coiled up in your chest, and it sucks, but also it’s a relief, but also it’s the worst thing ever. You exhale slowly, your eyes falling shut. 

“I don’t wanna leave him alone, ya know?”

“I know. We’ve done all we can do for now, though.”

“I guess.”

“I’m just glad he let us help at all.”

  “Well, assuming we did help. Who knows, we could’ve made him feel a million times worse by confronting him, and now-”

He cuts off your spiraling immediately. 

“But we didn’t. He clearly needed intervention by that point. Besides, If we’d been making it worse, it’s unlikely he would’ve let us stay for so long. Nor would he have accepted your plan of ‘helping him deal with all this shit from now on, no matter what he says.’”

“Right,” you take another deep breath, “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” 

You elbow Logan in the side, playfully. He smiles again, wider and brighter in a way that most others probably wouldn’t notice. It could, from some angles, in the right lighting, possibly maybe be considered a little bit pretty. Not that you think about things like that, of course, that would just be weird. 

You stop leaning so heavily against Logan, only to find how much your back hurts from sitting in the hall. Come to think of it, the hall might not be the best place to calm down from emotionally charged interactions. The only issue is that your room is literally the exact opposite of a good place to chill out right now, and you’re reluctant to move.

“Hey, uh, would it be okay if I- like, my room isn’t the best for times like this, and I-”

Logan’s  already standing, taking your arm to help you up. 

“Come on. I’ll set up the Planetarium for us.” 

“Thanks,” God, you’re thankful for somebody like him. Such a simple word, when you aren’t crazy about spelling out all of the gratitude and nervous tension that lays behind it, and he picks up on the layers perfectly. He gets it- he gets you. 

Things will be okay. 

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

Once upon a time (ha), you felt appreciated. Of course you did, else how would you remember it so vividly? How would you long for it so desperately? Yes, you can safely say that you, Roman Sanders, had once been cared for. But that was countless screw-ups ago, before hundreds of your careless insults, your many vicious words followed by weak apologies and unchanging ways. The distant past of a disgraced royal- one far too imperfect, far too cruel to be forgiven without first proving himself time and time again. 

That’s what you’d thought, anyway. When you expressed such beliefs to other sides for the first time, just a few mornings after said sides comforted you in the midst of a breakdown, they told you it was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard. Direct quote from Virgil. 

It was stupid, apparently, because you were forgiven so very long ago, and you are actually considered to be better now than you were then. It shakes you up inside to think about. In a good way, for once. 

They hover around you almost always, offering you plenty more of those somewhat aggressive reassurances whenever you give the vaguest hint of self-deprecation. You were sure they’d brush it under the rug after those first few days, perhaps even tease you about it, but it seemed that was completely false. It’s been a good week. 

They’re with you this very morning, chatting idly while you wait for the kettle to shriek. You let the drone of Logan’s voice wash over you as you finish fixing your tea. You don’t believe all of their reassurances just yet, but God are you trying. You want it to be true- more than you’ve ever wanted anything- when Logan says their care is unconditional, or Virgil says that he likes spending so much time with you. 

You turn around, the mug in your hands warm against your chest, and stare at the sides on the couch. The three of you are in your corner of the Mindscape; they had already invited themselves in when you awoke. You quite like that they do that- you still aren’t sure how to express that you want to be with them, without prompting. You would feel clingy. Greedy.

“Thank you,” you settle down Virgil, smiling groggily. He waves his hand dismissively. 

“Don’t worry about it, man. What’s on the agenda for today?” 

That’s another thing. It’s not all crying and hugging, Lord knows how old that would get- but they just end up hanging out with you. Sometimes it’s just Logan, if Virgil’s having an off day, or sometimes it’s the opposite, when Logan’s particularly busy, but you really like it best when it’s the three of you. 

That didn’t used to be unusual; you used to spend all of your time surrounded by all of your family (or most, in light of recent acceptances), laughing and joking and working all together. Then, slowly, you stopped, just as things became more complicated for everyone. Camaraderie was a waste of valuable time, time that could be used coming up with ideas that would finally be good enough. They got the hint easily enough, allowing you to isolate yourself until you were perfect for them. 

No, you aren’t thinking about that right now! It isn’t the time to worry about how this will all have to end eventually. You’ll have to think about it soon, but not now, dammit!

You swing back a sip of scalding cinnamon tea, letting it clear both your throat and your mind. 

“I have a wonderful idea for today!” You puff your chest out and straighten your back. In actuality, you haven’t had a ‘wonderful’ idea in ages, but you hope the confident stance will give you one. 

It doesn’t. Logan notices this. 

“I sincerely hope that this is not yet another attempt to ‘cure’ your writer’s block and attempt to get ‘back on task’?” he chides you. You falter, letting the regal pose fall away. Logan tells you that what you need is rest. You do not want to rest. But you don’t want to get lectured, either.

“I do not have any ideas for today. Or in general,” you grind out, the second part tacked on bitterly. You don’t look at them, even as Virgil knocks your elbow with his. 

“Good, that means you can come play Scrabble with us.”

The hesitance must show on your face, because Logan sighs and adds:

“I will allow you to use your original- completely nonsense, meaningless, irrational- words, if butchering the English language makes the game more fun for you.” 

Now that. That is a tempting offer. You really would be a fool to pass it up. 

You might as well indulge yourself this much, for however longer they’re willing to let you. It’ll be a nice memory to draw from when you do get back to work.

 Good God, your ribs hurt. You can’t breathe.

“I’m just saying, you can’t prove that the earth is round,” Virgil claims, staring mischievously across the table at Logan. Logan fumes. It is fucking hysterical.

“That’s ridiculous! Putting aside the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary for a moment, you can literally see the curve of the earth on the horizon!” 

“Uhh, it looks pretty flat to me. I’m not buying your government propaganda, Lo,” Virgil’s very clearly trying not to chuckle, and his resolve is impressive. You’ve already been reduced to unintelligible cackling at their interaction. This exchange has brought the progress on the jigsaw puzzle you’d been solving together to a screeching halt, but you couldn’t care less. 

“What do you mean ‘propaganda’?! This is common knowledge!”

Virgil cracks, bursting into raucous laughter. He grabs onto your arm as gravelly chuckles escape him, the both of you scrambling to keep upright. Logan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Unbelievable. Infuriating. Intolerable, the both of you.”

You compose yourself just enough to stick your tongue out at him teasingly, before hunching right back over into your giggle fit.

Then, you notice it as it happens. The aggravated expression etched across Logan’s face shifts, but he keeps staring at you. It’s inscrutable, and also weird. 

“What’re you looking at?” you challenge, voice broken up by subsiding laughter. You turn your head to Virgil, as if to say wow, what a nerd, huh?, only to find him staring at you with much the same expression. 

“Guys? Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Anxiety amends.

“I’m sure we were both just caught off guard, is all,” Logic adds, his attention redirected from you to the carpet hastily.

“In a good way, though. It’s nice to see you smile- ugh, that sounds so weird, I just meant- it’s been a long time since you’ve. Done that.”

You blink, taken aback, only to feel the dull ache in your face. You reach a hand up, pressing a finger to the corner of your upturned lips. It really has been a while since you’ve laughed like this, hasn’t it? 

A selfish, malicious creature that stalks around in your chest tells you to stop smiling. If you’re happy it means that their job is done, then you’ll be all alone again. Is that what you want, Roman? 

You almost listen to it. Before-

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you said just because Roman laughed, V.”

“Nah, you never forget anything, O keeper of memories,” Virgil flicks a puzzle piece at Logan, smirking just enough to show off his sharp teeth. 

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he flicks another puzzle piece. Logan’s face twitches in what is either a barely suppressed smile or a grimace, but likely a combination of the two. When Virgil finally aims a piece to hit his face, he snaps, throwing little bits of the jigsaw back at the anxious trait.

“Wow, L, you’re really just throwing away all our progress like that? Tsk, tsk.”

“I will end you,” he lands one smack on Virgil’s nose, earning a hiss. The puzzle continues to be destroyed by their squabble. 

You don’t think you could stop yourself from beaming at them, even if you wanted to. Toothy, confident, amused- oh, how you’ve missed this.

How you’ve all missed this.

 It hits you with the swiftness of a bullet, right when you least expect it. You’re just sitting in the living room, idly sketching as you half-watch TV with Patton beside you on the couch. You offer a laugh when he pipes up with a pun based on whatever’s on screen, but your mind is far elsewhere.

You’ve got an idea. A really good one. 

You’ve filled up a page with mindless doodling while the thought was still forming, for fear of jumping on it too suddenly and losing the inspiration, but you find it solid as you continue to mentally examine it. Perhaps a bit overeager, you flip the page, scrawling excited concept sketches across the thick, rough paper. The details flow and evolve in your mind’s eye, and it becomes something of a struggle to hold back your creative aura from infecting the common area. 

That confident smile, one you’ve been wearing more and more often these past few weeks, graces your face once more. The semi-subconscious expression brings a memory from just nights ago: Logan told you that your face was built to wear such a grin (‘Speaking architecturally, of course,’ he cleared his throat awkwardly, ‘The form that you’ve chosen for yourself is suited to it. Objectively.’). 

You find your smiling widening, just as it had when he first told you. 

So caught up in your art, half-listening to Patton, and also vaguely following along with the show he’s watching- you don’t even glance up when Virgil rises up and seats himself at the arm of the couch. It’s the way he huffs a laugh at something Morality says that first catches your attention, and suddenly he’s got all of it. 

“Virgil!” 

He grimaces at the volume, tilting his head to look at you. 

“Something got you excited, Ro?” 

“I’ve got a story! That is to say, I’ve got a premise, but also characters! Look- it’s- come here, let me show you what I’m drawing, it’s easier than explaining,” you chatter happily, shuffling your way to Virgil’s perch. You hold your sketchbook out to him and jump into explanations.

The drawing is messy, and not nearly finished, but it’s you and it’s good and it’s new. It’s a scene- heavily annotated to explain some of the more abstract concepts in the image- depicting an ent-like creature towering over a young woman, who holds a flower crown up to him. You tell Virgil about the story based around the two, some of the major plot points already planting themselves in your brain. You inform him that it just came to you, and you’ve got so many different ideas for what these two will do, what will happen to them, and how they’ll get out of it all. When you look up from your rambling, all the excitement slips off your face. It’s replaced by awe. 

Virgil is grinning, showing a good deal more of his fangs than he usually likes to, enthusiasm dancing in his eyes. You’ve never seen him emote that much ever, not for any purpose. You would be lying if you said that those huge chompers weren’t at least a little hot. 

“Okay, I totally wanna hear more, but pause for a sec. I gotta get Lo, ’kay?” And with that, he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, pausing only to toss the sketchbook back to you. You twist around, eyes wide with shock, to find Patton smiling softly at you. 

“You saw that, too, right? Or have I gone mad?” you ask him, earning a chuckle.

“I think Virge is proud of you,” he shuts the TV off as he talks, moving to stand, “I am, too! It sounds really cute!”

“Thank you,” Patton arches up to stretch, tossing the remote down on the couch. “-Er, where are you off to?”

“I think I’ll let you three have the living room, to talk all about your story.” 

“I’d hardly mind if you wanted to hear about it!”

His eyes dart to the side, an awkward smile stretching across his face. His noticeably pink face.

“Oh, I- I was planning on spending some time with Jan today. I was about to take off, anyhow.”

“Aah,” you start sketching again, if only to spare Patton your wolfish grin, “Well, if you’ve already got plans.”

He gives you a tiny wave, sinking out immediately. Thus leaving you alone with your thoughts. Fuck. 

It crosses your mind that- now you have an idea to work on, an idea you’re proud of- your slump is over. The creative block has been cured. Logan and Virgil won’t need to coddle you anymore. 

Your hand ghosts over the paper, and for a second you consider tearing it up. Pretending you lost the spark, pretending you need more time and help and companionship. Guilt rises in you at even the thought of being so selfish, the doubts and worries overpowering your former giddiness completely. 

You can’t imagine anything worse than that brilliant smile Virgil gave you turning to disappointment, if you pretended to lose your inspiration. Or the disdain that would surely flash in Logan’s eyes at having his work interrupted for absolutely nothing. Plus, if you did so, what’s to stop them deeming you a lost cause and abandoning you anyway? 

If you’re being honest, you need approval more than anything. And dear God, it is so close. You have to tell them, and hold on to whatever scraps of praise it earns you before the three of you revert back to normal. You’ll fall back into seclusion, as that seems to be one of the few things you’re good at, and they can actually get back to their own existences. 

There’s a whoosh behind you. You spin around, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. 

“Well hello there!”

“I want to hear about your story,” Logan cuts straight to the point. You couldn’t care less about his bland bluntness because he is watching at you in a way so unbearably fond. They both are. You push your reservations down and present him with your sketches, diving into what you’ve come up with so far (plus a few extra points off the top of your head, which isn’t an uncommon method for how you develop plotlines). 

When you’ve finished, not quite as exuberantly as earlier, Logan continues with the theme of surprising the fuck out of you that this day has established. 

He settles a hand on your upper arm, but really he might as well have swept you up in a hug. You blanch, the touch fuzzing up your brain, just like it has been doing so often now and God you don’t want to lose this. 

“I told you so,” he sounds playful.

“What?” you question, vaguely dazed.

“I think that L’s saying we were right about you just needing a break. Seems like the rest cleared up your burnout pretty well,” Virgil loops around to your other side, patting your shoulder awkwardly. 

The euphoria from being touched is broken once you actually manage to process the words.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I'm- I'm so excited to get back to work!”

Logan removes his hand and you burn cold. 

“No, you aren't,” you hear his confusion, like he's trying to unravel why that could possibly be and wow you are not as good an actor as you’d hoped. “What's upsetting you?”

You try to say that it's nothing, but your voice pitches up embarrassingly. You clear your throat, but you can't make yourself maintain eye-contact anymore.

“Dude, you can tell us what's up. Are you just overwhelmed?” Anxiety is worried and caring in a way you didn't know he was capable of and it hurts worse because you don't know how to tell him that you're just selfish. But you knew this was coming- and you aren't going to make these two waste their concerns on you any longer. The problem has been solved, Roman, get that through your skull! 

“I- I suppose I'm just- I’m lamenting the end of this. It’s unimportant.”

“You are upset about the end of your writer's block?” Logan tips his head to the side and gives you a bemused look. Frustration stabs at your skin.

“No! That's a good thing, obviously it's a good thing- I'm saying that I'm going to miss… I mean, I'd gotten used to spending time with you. The both of you,” Virgil's eyebrows shoot up, Logan squints at you, so you backpedal like there's no damn tomorrow.

“See? It was stupid, I know I can't always have all the attention, any-”

“You're right, that is stupid,” Virgil cuts you off with a grumble. You must deflate visibly, though, because his voice softens, “That you think we aren't gonna hang out with you, I mean.”

You feel something. You think it’s hope. It almost feels foreign- unbelievable, even. 

“What?” a murmur, too small and doubting for you to associate with it, though it must be yours. Pathetic.

Logan leans forward, as though he's studying you. Good God, who let him be so tall?

“Were you under the impression that we were going to cease contact with you once you resumed productivity?”

“Wha- I mean- when you say it like that it sounds… bad.”

“It would be bad. It would also be incredibly manipulative; being kind to you only so as to get you back in working order, rather than being kind to you to provide genuine help.”

Virgil nods his agreement.

“Yeah, you aren't getting rid of us that easy, Romano.”

You recall the first Big Conversation you had with the two left-brained sides. They'd insisted to help you, despite your lack of understanding in the beginning why they'd do so. Similarly to that talk, this is filling you with an almost painful fondness, almost too much to bear.

“But, you already helped me, just like you said you would!”

“Why did we help you, Roman?” Logan inquires, in a way that makes you feel like you should know the answer. You do not. 

“Because you were worried about me?”

“Why would we be worried?”

“Because you… felt bad for me?”

He groans, tapping Virgil on the shoulder. The anxious facet rolls his eyes.

“You're our friend and we care about you, stupid.”

You clear your throat, attempting to say that you knew that (even if that isn’t entirely true), but Logan interrupts you. 

“In case it wasn’t clear why, allow us to explain: one, as I’ve stated before and will likely state again, we don’t value you for your ability to create alone.”

“Two,” Virgil cuts in, “You’re, like, fun to be around. Way less stiff than us, and honestly we probably need that.”

“Three, we were never opposed to being around you even before the- this. You claimed to like being alone. And I’ll admit I’m not the best with subtext.” 

Virgil looks ready to add a fourth. You don’t let him, waving your hands wildly. If you verbalized what you meant to convey, you’d definitely start sobbing, and that’s just embarrassing. Thankfully, Anxiety seems to pick up what you’re laying down, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You take a few breaths and try to pretend that you aren’t being watched like a hawk.

Aaaand you’re already crying. That’s probably the point of no return, isn’t it? 

“Ha, and I thought that you two weren’t the sentimental ones,” the effect of your teasing is ruined by how much your voice wavers, “You’re just big softies, aren’t you?”

Logan’s expression is caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

“You are quite literally sobbing? How are we-”

“Shut up,” you retort. The effect is once again ruined when he comfortingly pats your back and you absolutely fall against him. 

“Wow, again? You’re really set on making a habit out of this,” Virgil hovers uncomfortably apart from the set of you, eventually landing on wrapping an arm around you. And it’s so him, that you can’t help the little chuckle that breaks through your crying. You really have been doing this a lot more than you’d like lately. 

“I- I’m okay,” you stammer, “I’m good- this is- just- I’m relieved. Why am I crying? I’m happy!” 

“It’s alright, man.”

“Yes, take as long as you need.”

You tear yourself away from them, scrubbing at your eyes, but grinning all the same. Your skin burns, you’re shivering, but you’re sick of clinging to them and crying and the desperation that tugs at you. You feel so many things, but there’s one that’s overpowering, one thing that’s so familiar and has been so distant. It’s a blur, a mash, but it goes something like this:

The people you care about, that you work so hard for- they aren’t going anywhere. No conditions. Logan repeats it plenty, Virgil shows it to you quietly, but only now-

Now you believe them. You feel looked after. Cared for. If you’re being bold, you could even say loved. 

You feel secure. 

“Thank you,” for being there, staying there, helping you, everything. You can’t thank them enough for everything.

Virgil shrugs. 

“You’re worth it.”

[ouyangzizhensdad]

what’s ur opinion on the whole ancestral hall thing because I’ve seen many takes on how wangxian were in the wrong and how jc was right to be mad but I always thought that his anger during that situation stemmed from a place different to that of what everyone seems to think 😶

Hi anon,

I do not hold all the cultural knowledge to be able to be a definite resource wrt how wangxian’s behaviour would have been perceived “in-universe”. So take my thoughts on the topic with a grain of salt, and please do not mind that I will focus more on what can be found explicitly in the text itself. 

My understanding from what others have explained is that bringing to the ancestral hall someone who’s not from the “family”, in this case LWJ, is generally disrespectful. Considering WWX’s inner thoughts, where he’s literally asking JFM and Yu-furen to witness their bows, I think that perhaps WWX was so caught up in the fantasy/idea of LWJ as his future spouse that he might not have registered as much how, in the current situation, LWJ was not family. 

It does however make me pause a little that, until JC’s appearance, the narrative does not seem to present the situation in such a manner that we might think that it was extremely presumptuous of LWJ to kneel alongside WWX, and accompany him in burning incense. Considering that LWJ is known to be someone who is very proper, and that WWX is not unaware of the rules of propriety (even if he does not always follow them), I do find it interesting that there is no hesitation from either of them. 

To make up for his thoughtless words, he lit up three more sticks of incense. Just as he raised them above his head, still apologizing in his mind, it suddenly got darker beside him. He turned to find that Lan Wangji had also kneeled down beside him.

Now that they were in the ancestral hall, for the sake of courtesy, of course he had to show his respect as well. Lan Wangji also took three sticks of incense and, sweeping his sleeve to the side, and ignited them using one of the red candles. His movements were proper, and his expression was grave. Wei Wuxian tilted his head to look at him, his lips curving upward almost uncontrollably. Lan Wangji glanced at him and reminded, “The ashes.”

The three sticks of incense that Wei Wuxian held had been burning for quite a while. A bit of ashes had already accumulated at the top, close to falling off. However, he still refused to insert them into the tripod, instead saying, “Let’s do it together.”

Lan Wangji didn’t object. And so, each with three sticks of incense, the two of them kneeled among rows of tablets and bowed down to Jiang Fengmian and Yu ZiYuan’s names together.

Once. Twice. The movements were exactly the same. Wei Wuxian, “That’s it.” He finally placed the incense into the tripod.

In the end. Wei Wuxian glanced at Lan Wangji, who’s kneeling as properly as ever beside him. He put his hands together and uttered in his heart, ‘Jiang-shushu, Yu-furen, it’s me again. I’m here to disturb you two again. But I really did want to bring him here and show him to you. Let the two prostrates we just did count as prostrating* to the Heavens and the Earth, and to the Father and the Mother. Please help me reserve the person beside me for now. I’ll owe you the last prostrate for now, and find some chance to make up for it in the future…’

I am not certain as well how WWX having left the Jiang sect affects his “right”  to be there. JC does seem to suggest that, as an “outsider” who was, still according to JC, “kicked out of the sect,” WWX doesn’t a have right to be there. I cannot tell whether that is an entirely fair assessment due to my lack of cultural knowledge, since JC demonstrates that he is not above bending the truth to fit his own narrative (ie when he says that WWX was kicked out of the sect when we already know at this point in the narrative that this is not what transpired). 

However, it is also important to keep in mind that a character’s anger, just like real people’s, is not always motivated by rational concerns or that these rational concerns might become entangled with other grievances, some of which might not be as motivated. JC’s initial reproaches directly indicate that he considers it a faux-pas at best and an insult at worst that WWX decided to come and take LWJ with him.

“Wei Wuxian, you really don’t take yourself as an outsider, do you? You come and leave whenever you want. You take with you whomever you want. Do you perhaps still remember whose sect this is? Who’s the owner?”

This is reinstated a little bit later:

Wei Wuxian threw him a sideways glance, speaking in a calm voice, “I’m only here to burn some incense. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

Jiang Cheng, “Burn some incense? Wei Wuxian, are you really that dense? It’s been so long since you were kicked out of our sect, and here you are taking unwelcomed people with you to burn incense for my parents?”

That being said, it is interesting to note that WWX calls these remarks “vulgar“ and “obliviously malicious”. Now, the question is, is it because he’s fiercely protective of LWJ that he takes these words so badly or because in this case it is transparent that JC is intentionally overly spiteful? 

Oher reproaches levelled against WWX, or the two of them, also have nothing to do with them burning incense in the ancestral hall. Indeed, JC brings up grievances he still hold against them, some of which we know are not exactly fair. As well, his own insecurities and issues fuel his anger, something directly acknowledged in the text.

Jiang Cheng mocked, “Look how forgetful you are. What does unwelcome people mean? Then let me remind you. It was because you played the hero and saved Lan-er-gongzi, who’s standing beside you right now, that the entire Lotus Pier and my parents went down with you. And that wasn’t enough. With the first time, soon comes the second. You even had to save Wen-gaos and drag my sister down with you. What a person you are! What’s more, you’re even so generous as to take the two to Lotus Pier. The Wen-gao’s strolling in front of my sect’s gates; Lan-er-gongzi came here to burn incense. You’re here on purpose to remind me, to remind them.” He continued, “Wei Wuxian, who do you think you are? Who gave you the face to take whomever you want into our sect’s ancestral hall?”

Wei Wuxian knew that Jiang Cheng had to settle this with him no matter what.

For Lotus Pier’s destruction, Jiang Cheng thought not only that Wei Wuxian responsible, but also that Wen Ning and Lan Wangji were responsible too. He wouldn’t give a friendly look to either of the three, let alone when they were walking right in front of his face at the same time inside Lotus Pier. He was probably infuriated.

[...]

“Jiang Cheng, just listen to yourself. What are you saying? Is it appropriate? Don’t forget who you are. After all, you’re a sect leader. Insulting a renowned cultivator in front of Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen’s spirits—where is your discipline?”  

 His original intention was to remind Jiang Cheng to at least hold some respect for Lan Wangji. However, Jiang Cheng was the most sensitive. From those words, he managed to make out the notion that he was not fit to be a sect leader.

Of import to the context of the scene, JC suggests also that WWX insulted the memory of his parents by “fooling around” with LWJ in Lotus Pier, suggesting that their hug (and romantic feelings) “dirtied their eyes and contaminated their peace”. He spells it out once more, a little bit later. 

Jiang Cheng pointed outside, “Mess around outside however you want, whether under a tree or on a boat, hugging or otherwise! Get out of my sect, get out of anywhere my eyes can see!”

Especially so because we get the contextualisation from the narration (one of the few times we are told things that WWX cannot be privy to) that JC had been following them for a while, stewing, until he exploded.

At once, he was almost certain that the two really were in that kind of relationship. He could not turn around and leave, yet he did not want to say a single word to the two, so he continued to hide himself as he followed them. Every single look and movement that passed between them seemed different in his eyes. For a while, the shock, absurdity, and slight disgust that he felt combined to overpower his hatred. It was only after Wei Wuxian brought Lan Wangji into the ancestral hall that the long-suppressed hatred was awakened again, devouring his courtesy and rationality.

I’m too tired to go check the original chinese to see whether the translation conveys well the connotations of the text, but like... “absurdity”, “disgust”, “hatred”, “devouring his courtesy and rationality”: as a writer, if I wanted to show that a character was engaging in a bout of rightful anger, that’s certainly not how I would present their emotional and mental state before they lashed out. 

Now, WWX is not blameless for the situation, as he is quick to react both because of his over-protectiveness of LWJ and his own insecurities regarding his feelings toward him, which make him loose his cool and start the escalation that JC is too happy to continue 

Wei Wuxian raged, “Hanguang-Jun is only my friend—what do you think we are?! I warn you. Apologize right now—don’t make me beat you up!”

Hearing this, Lan Wangji’s expression froze for an instant. Jiang Cheng laughed, “Well, then I’ve never seen ‘friends’ like that before? You warn me? Warn me against what? If you two had the slightest trace of integrity left, you shouldn’t have come here and…”

Seeing the change in Lan Wangji’s expression, Wei Wuxian thought he felt insulted by Jiang Cheng’s words. He was so angry that his entire body was shaking. He did not dare think about what Lan Wangji would think after being shamed like this. The rage from his heart rushed to his head as he threw out a talisman, “Have you had enough yet?”

The talisman was both fast and powerful. It exploded at Jiang Cheng’s right shoulder, causing him to stagger. Jiang Cheng didn’t expect Wei Wuxian to attack so suddenly. His spiritual powers hadn’t recovered completely yet, either, and so the talisman hit its target. Blood seeped from his shoulder as disbelief flashed across his face. Zidian immediately unravelled from his fingers, lashing out with sizzling light. Lan Wangji unsheathed Bichen to block the attack. The three began to fight inside the ancestral hall.

To me the text seems to suggest, as you did, that JC’s anger and lashing out is not actually about the incense burning in the ancestral hall in itself--that he let his hatred overpower any sense of courtesy and rationality, as the narration suggests. It is easy to ponder whether JC would have been that upset if, when he had gone to look for WWX, he had not found him being happy in LP with an ‘outsider’ like LWJ, but on top of it all, acting like he is in love with a man. Would his reaction have been the same if he had just happened upon them kneeling in the ancestral hall? Would his reaction have been the same if he still did not blame WWX, and so many others, for all the misfortunes that ever befell him and his family? As well, one could also easily wonder how in a similar situation a character who is not as prone to anger and flying off the handle like JC would have reacted to the same actions.

TLDR: I do not have the have the cultural knowledge to tell how much “in the wrong” the characters were, however I think it would be disingenuous to suggest based on what we are presented with in the text that JC’s reaction was 100% motivated and rational, particularly since the text literally includes the line “the long-suppressed hatred was awakened again, devouring his courtesy and rationality.”

[supergay-supergirl]

why supergirl season 5 was actually good: sort of an essay

This has been sitting in my sticky notes for months and I figured now that I have a Supergirl blog, I can actually post it.

People love hating on Supergirl Season 5. And I get it. I admit that it had a lot of problems. But I did like the season overall, and there's enough out there about Season 5’s problems, so here is a post about some things that were great about Season 5!

1. Lena’s Arc

Apparently everyone hates how this was executed, but I really liked it. I like how 5A allows her to scheme and lie and altogether explore the darker (Luthor) side of herself, because only after experiencing what she’s been afraid of becoming can she fully come to know herself. I like how in 5x07, she gets to scream and cry, to express to Supergirl how much she’s hurting, and how betrayed she feels. I like how in 5x13, Kara finally accepts that Lena joining Lex was not her fault, and that she didn’t deserve to be manipulated (“From now on, you’re accountable for your own actions.”). I like Lena’s growing obsession with erasing human pain through 5B and the fact that we know exactly where her motivations come from, and we feel for her because we’ve seen how much pain she’s in herself -- but at the same time, we can still oppose her ultimately villainous actions, which leads us to hope for her redemption. (A lot of this is due to Katie McGrath’s stellar acting as well.)

I love how the season shows just how much Lex’s continual abuse and manipulation affects her, and shows her standing up to him at the end. I wish they had focused more on Lena instead of pushing her aside in favor of Lex in 5B, but overall I liked how they expanded on the Luthor sibling relationship from Season 4, even if it was missing some of the complexity of the previous season. And finally, I love the way Lena fights so hard to regain Kara’s trust in 5x19 (and succeeds!). It felt like there was more of a balance between the two starting from 5x13, where previously it had always been Kara apologizing and trying to gain Lena’s trust.

2. Supergirl’s New Look

PANTS. PANTS. PANTS. PANTS.

For Season 4, Kara the Reporter got a more professional wardrobe as she began to mentor Nia, and the switch to pants feels like the same thing for Supergirl. It completes the transition from “young adult” to just “adult.” It may have been reasonable to call Kara a “girl” in Season 1, but by now, she is an adult woman, and I’m glad that her wardrobe reflects that.

I was opposed to Kara’s bangs at the beginning of the season, but they have definitely grown on me. Like the pants, I think they mark an important change in Supergirl’s character, one that is better appreciated by the audience than the characters. Now, when I rewatch previous seasons, I think, “Wow, Kara looks so different now.” I didn’t think that when I rewatched episodes after Season 4. The bangs are a way to identify Adult Kara as having changed a lot from how she was at the beginning, and like the pants, I feel like they complete her transition into adulthood.

(But are the writers expecting us to believe that nobody who knows Kara would be suspicious that Kara and Supergirl got bangs on the exact same day? Seriously.)

3. Eve Teschmacher

In Season 4, Eve Teschmacher was a brilliant, eager-to-please young woman who (whoops) turned out to be evil. And she was great. But I was dissatisfied with her betrayal because it came so out of the blue, and it was a complete 180 without much buildup at all. Season 5 gave her the humanity that she was lacking, first with her mom, then with her desperation not to have to kill. Not to mention, some pretty badass fight scenes.

4. J’onn’s Swagger

J’onn’s storyline in Season 5 is not nearly as deep as in Season 4, and I see that as a good thing. Season 4 J’onn was wonderful and necessary, but in a season that has a lot of strong development for Kara and Lena, it was nice to have a relatively static character who’s at a good place in his life. Season 4 let J’onn discover the man he wanted to be, and David Harewood brings a new confidence to Season 5 as a result of that. It’s fun to watch him strut around in his supersuit and say normal things as if they’re great proclamations. It’s nice to see the happy, healthy adult relationship between him and M’gann. The easy trust they have with each other causes them to act more like they’re married than dating, as opposed to the younger characters who are often caught up in relationship drama.

5. Kelly Therapy Face

All the characters need a therapist, and they finally got one! Well, Kelly is technically a psychologist, which I believe means she could be a therapist but is not necessarily? I don’t know things. Anyway, it’s nice to have a calm, supportive presence in the group, and this effect is helped by Kelly Therapy Face. Kelly Therapy Face is the face Kelly makes when she’s listening to you talk about your problems. Kelly Therapy Face and her generally calm presence bring down the interpersonal drama of the group and solidify the idea that all these people are growing into full adults, with adult relationships and adult responses to issues. Their emotions are stabilizing, they’re building stronger support systems, and they’re gaining a better understanding of how the world works and their places in it.

This is more of a Season 4 thing -- this season really didn’t give Kelly the screentime she deserved -- but I also love how even though Kelly acts as a source of support for others, her own fear and trauma are rarely glossed over (see: the end of 5x05). This gives Kelly a humanity and realistic quality that many emotional-support characters don’t get. It also shows the key difference between Dansen and Sanvers: whenever Alex and Maggie had conflict, they swept it aside rather than working through it, leading to their eventual breakup, but when Alex and Kelly have conflict, they listen to each other and try to fix it. In accordance with their adult-ness, Alex and Kelly also seem to be in agreement that it’s okay to have conflict in their relationship (“And I might not know every little detail about you yet, but I know you,” 5x02).

6. Reality Bytes

Calling attention to violence against trans folk, exploring Dreamer’s dark side, and showing the strength of Kara and Nia’s mentor-student relationship in one episode? Just. Yes. Either Nicole Maines was projecting a lot or she’s a really good actor (probably both), but either way, as a trans person, I felt this episode on a personal level: the anger, fear, and frustration at knowing that your community is being targeted and the people you’re supposed to trust (i.e. the police) are probably not going to do anything about it. Additionally, Kara and Nia’s conflict in 5x15, and the fact that Kara compares Nia’s experience to her own, is a great marker of how far Kara has come. In Season 1, Supergirl felt a similar anger and hurt when villains sought her out, but by now, she’s more at peace and can offer Dreamer reassurance and comfort.

7. Brainy’s Plot

Brainy’s storyline in Season 5 is nice because it manages to remain stable as an important, but secondary, plot. It enhances the sense that there’s more going on than we realize and gives us a view into the scheming of the villains, while not taking over too much screentime or audience brainspace.

8. Jon Cryer

As annoying as it is that the writers gave up a lot of Lena’s screentime to Lex, Jon Cryer’s performance in Season 5 is just wonderful. He can go from acting totally in control to screaming in a matter of seconds. Lex Luthor is witty, assured, and charming in a weird way. On the other side of his personality, he is a madman who cares about no one’s interests but his own. Jon Cryer’s acting manages to package all this great but conflicting writing into a brilliant, awful, occasionally sympathetic villain who has more than his share of awesome (and terrifying) scenes.

9. Alex’s Grief

I like that Alex gets to let go of her emotions a little this season and express herself. Especially when Jeremiah dies before 5x16, Alex has a really tough time (and a mention of her possibly drinking problem! Expand, please!). She tries to escape from the pain of real life through virtual reality, but eventually realizes that she has to face her pain rather than avoid it, which is a major theme of the season. What’s great about 5x16 and the next couple episodes is that the other characters allow her to grieve. They could have told her to get over it and see all the happiness in the real world — it would have fit with the theme — but instead, they support Alex as she grieves. They listen without judgement when she expresses her anger that Jeremiah left and forced her to take care of Kara. Kara and Kelly are (mostly) understanding when Alex doesn’t want to go to Jeremiah’s funeral, and when Alex arrives late at the end of the episode, Kara lets her know how much she appreciates that Alex came at all. Throughout her life, Alex hasn’t had much opportunity to be herself and express her emotions, an idea that’s repeated over and over again starting from her coming-out arc in Season 2 or even earlier. Now that Kara can for the most part take care of herself and Alex has a good support system, she finally gets the opportunity to be vulnerable.

10. Andrea Rojas’s Moral Ambiguity

Is Andrea good or bad? Neither. She’s a person who wants love, success, and money, who does sketchy things to promote her company but also fights fiercely for her father and cares about the safety of her technology. Before Andrea, Lena was the main morally ambiguous character, and she could be categorized as “playing for her own team.” However, Andrea goes a step further, crossing into a territory I would call “not playing a game at all.” She’s just a human being trying to have a good life, and that causes her to do good things, bad things, and everything in between. In a show that often accentuates the difference between heroes and villains (“Don’t let them down by stooping to his level,” 5x15), Andrea is a reminder that most people aren’t good or bad -- they’re just living their lives.

TL;DR: They’re all adults now and Lena needs a hug.

[thetriggeredhappy]

74 for speeding bullet😍

aye aye captain. (warnings for severe sauciness but a fade to black before anything more happens. free of sauce up until the line break in the middle)

#74: Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap.

“Is this your way of hinting that you want attention?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow at the Scout that had just deposited himself in Sniper’s lap right there in the middle of the common room and looking down at the magazine he’d just tossed to the floor from out of Sniper’s hands.

“It’s my way of tellin’ you that you forgot,” Scout corrected, and that was when Sniper realized that Scout’s glare was a lot less pouty and dramatized than usual, and had some very real irritation underlying, and he realized that he might be In Trouble.

“Uh,” Sniper started, already frantically searching his brain for whatever he forgot. “Well. Er. The thing is. That. Well. That’s the thing. Um.”

Scout let him stammer for a few more seconds before sighing hard through his nose. “Six-thirty? My room?” he prompted impatiently. “Like, every week? For the past three months, unless you tell me you’re busy? With something more important than the fuckin’, the bi-weekly issue of—“ he looked over his shoulder at the magazine on the ground, “Of generic Australian hunting magazine?”

“Oh god,” Sniper managed. “It’s Saturday.”

“Yeah. It’s Saturday,” Scout deadpanned. Over Scout’s shoulder, Sniper could see Heavy and Medic exchanging a pointed look over their game of chess, and Engineer trying and failing to muffle his laughter, burying himself further in the notebook he was writing in.

“Um.” Sniper lifted his arm to look at his watch, and his eyes widened. It was past eight PM. “How long were you… waiting?”

“An hour and a half,” Scout said, expression tightening, and Sniper felt like he’d swallowed his own kukri. “Then I went to try your camper. Then I was gonna go to the kitchen to get something to eat because I was hungry but I was gonna wait until you showed up then we could both get something to eat. And on the way to the kitchen, there he is! The man himself.” Scout looked pointedly down at the plate that was sitting on the table just to one side of the chair Sniper occupied. “Having eaten already.”

Some amount of the intense, lava-hot guilt burning its way out of his chest and into his face must have shown, because Scout only glared for another few seconds before he softened, the anger giving way to just hurt.

“I got worried,” Scout murmured, much too quietly for anyone else to eavesdrop on the two of them. “I thought something happened. It ain’t like you to forget stuff. Don’t scare me like that.”

“I’ll, er. I can cook you something if you’d like,” Sniper managed, voice a little choked. “To make it up to you.”

“That’d be a good start,” Scout acquiesced, relaxing slightly. He leaned in to give Sniper a kiss, which Sniper returned, also relaxing slightly at the show of affection, fierce and crowded with concern as it was. When they pulled back again a minute or so later, Scout had apparently calmed down enough to make a joke. “Oh, you motherfucker, you had mac and cheese too, didn’t you? God damn it.”

“There’s more left,” Sniper assured quickly, hands squeezing at Scout’s sides briefly before he tugged upwards, encouraging Scout out of his lap.

Scout led the way towards the kitchen. As Sniper passed by him, Engie commented quietly, “Boy’s got you whipped, son.” Sniper did not argue that point.

He heated back up the extra mac and cheese, even going so far as to fire up the toaster so Scout could do the ridiculous thing he liked where he’d butter toast and put the mac and cheese between the slices to eat like a sandwich. Sniper didn’t get it, but it was one of the younger man’s favorite meals. Apparently it reminded him of home. Scout, meanwhile, mostly just took to sulking a little ways down the counter. He brightened a little bit when Sniper finally set food out in front of him, and his mood visibly improved as he started wolfing down his meal. He only slowed down about halfway through the second sandwich he’d made, and Sniper felt the guilt reverberating around his chest again, because wow, Scout had clearly been really hungry.

“Y’know why I’m extra mad?” Scout finally said, breaking the silence between bites of macaroni sandwich (or, as he’d unfortunately named it, the Maccy Sand). “I was really excited to show you a surprise.”

Sniper blinked. “What?”

“I had a surprise for you. And you fucked it up because you just, you didn’t show up.”

“What was it?” Sniper asked.

“I dunno if you deserve it now,” Scout said petulantly, taking another significant bite of his third and final sandwich.

“C’mon, Bilby, please?” Sniper asked, more earnest than he usually allowed of himself.

Scout looked him up and down. “We’ll see,” he finally decided, and went back to eating.

-

Once he was done eating and Sniper had rinsed off their plates, they moved to Scout’s room, where it became immediately obvious that, in Scout’s increasing stress, he’d started cleaning up to try and get his mind off of things. Sniper took a cautious seat on Scout’s actually-made bed, and Scout promptly moved to sit in his lap again, legs perpendicular to Sniper’s.

“Scared the hell outta me,” Scout muttered, kissing Sniper hard to emphasize the point. When he drew back again, that frown had returned. “Don’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Sniper said, honesty in his tone and in his face and in the way he squeezed at Scout’s hip where he’d put a hand to keep him stable.

“I know,” Scout sighed, and leaned in to press his face into the crook of Sniper’s neck. “Just… damn it. I had plans and everything and now I can barely remember them. I’m all frazzled.”

“For the surprise?” Sniper inferred.

“Yeah. I… it’s gonna take me a minute to remember what all I wanted to do.”

Sniper was starting to get a little confused about what the surprise was. Nevertheless, he stayed quiet and still to let Scout think, even as the other man kissed his way idly up the side of Sniper’s neck, ending at his temple.

“Okay,” Scout finally said, kissed him on the lips briefly. “Okay. So there’s a surprise.”

“Right,” Sniper said.

“And you’re gonna look for it,” Scout said next. “You’ve gotta find it.”

Sniper looked around the room, deciding that the task would probably be infinitely easier since Scout had apparently cleaned. “…Right.”

“So we’re gonna play hot or cold so you can find it easier.” Scout added.

Sniper laughed. “Right? So it’s a gift, then?”

“Yeah, sorta. You’re gonna love it. Or… or maybe not, I dunno. I hope you’ll like it. Anyways.” Scout kissed Sniper again, still briefly, before he moved to sit next to Sniper instead of across his lap.

Sniper stood up and moved to the center of the room after a moment of consideration. “Ready when you are,” he said.

“Cool. You’re cold.”

Sniper thought for a moment, then took a few steps towards Scout’s closet.

“Ice cold.”

He paused, then moved over in the direction of the dresser.

“Still cold. Hypothermia. Frostbite.”

Sniper rolled his eyes, taking a few steps towards where Scout was.

“Warmer. Warmer,” Scout intoned.

Sniper nodded, moving to walk to the bedside table, taking a knee.

“Warmer, but not hot,” Scout said quickly.

Sniper raised an eyebrow at that, moving to look under the bed now.

“Still just warmer.”

He looked up at Scout, eyebrows furrowing.

Scout was grinning. “Hotter.”

He felt a grin pulling at his own face, and he moved to shove Scout down, leaning over him in a way that would be menacing were they not dating.

“Hot,” Scout laughed.

“You are,” Sniper agreed, and that just made a Scout laugh more. “Is it you?”

“I’m not a surprise,” Scout tried and failed to deadpan, startled into giggles as Sniper assaulted his neck with ticklish little kisses.

“But you are an absolute treasure,” Sniper pointed out, pulling back enough to press a kiss to Scout’s rapidly-reddening cheek.

“True,” Scout agreed. “But no, I’m not the gift. Close, though.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow at him, shifting to get a bit more comfortable in the way he was leaning, a hand finding its way to Scout’s side.

“Hotter.”

A moment of consideration before a Sniper grinned, that same hand tugging on Scout’s shirt to untuck it before migrating beneath to deliver a pinch to his nipple under his shirt.

Scout gasped, arched despite himself. “C-cooler,” he said, voice wobbly. Sniper pinched at the other one for good measure. “Still cooler—Snipes, why do I feel like you’re messin’ with me?”

“I’m not messing with you, I’m playing the game,” Sniper defended, pinching the first again and laughing at Scout’s enthusiastic yet frustrated reaction for a moment before he relented and his hand returned to Scout’s waist, then tentatively slid down towards his hip.

“Warmer,” Scout said, and was he flushing further from Sniper’s messing around, or was he getting embarrassed? To test Sniper’s growing theory, his hand skipped down to Scout’s thigh, then just above his knee. “Colder again, I think.”

Finally Sniper just moved to rest his hand on Scout’s lower hip, looking at him knowingly, and Scout was flushed clear up to his ears.

“Hot. Burning hot,” he self-corrected, and Sniper only hesitated for a second before he moved to pop the button on Scout’s pants.

His breath mysteriously disappeared. He quickly moved to try and pull fabric down and away to get a better view of what he was looking at, and once he was sure his eyes weren’t decieving him, he looked back up at Scout.

“Found it,” Scout said weakly, managing a tight smile, reaching down behind himself presumably to adjust the way that the—the goddamn lingerie was sitting on him, maybe for comfort.

For a moment, the euphoria gave way to that knife-like guilt again. Because Scout had waited around his room for well over an hour, sitting around and almost definitely worrying about whether Sniper would enjoy his gift, and Sniper knew he was impatient on a good day and would damn near tear his own hair out on a bad one, and for over an hour he’d sat around hungry and self-conscious and waiting and eventually worrying and fearing the worst and—

“Gorgeous,” Sniper said the moment he caught back up with the present moment, hand smoothing down Scout’s flank again, and the nervousness disappeared from Scout’s expression slowly over a few moments. “A bloody beaut, look at you. Get—get out of these,” he implored, pulling meaningfully on Scout’s baggy uniform pants.

He got up to allow Scout room to get free of them, and suddenly it occurred to him—had Scout been wearing those all day? He’d have to ask later. In the meantime, Scout pushed and pulled him to maneuver him so he was sat against the pillows at the headboard before straddling him again, wearing much the same expression he’d worn when he’d done so earlier that evening, but this time with a very different subtext, with his shirt hanging down to tantalizingly hide the gorgeous view from him. “Sitting around all day excited to show you this, and you forget,” Scout muttered, echoing Sniper’s earlier thought process.

“Sorry,” Sniper repeated simply, throat dry, having a hard time keeping his eyes away from the place where he could just catch sight of lace below that shirt if he really craned his neck.

“I’m still kinda mad at you,” Scout seemed to decide aloud. “So y’know what we’re gonna do now?”

“Hmm?” Sniper managed, voice threatening to break.

Scout smirked, tilting his chin up. “You’re gonna make it up to me.”

[teaandcrowns]

Whispered Truce

Chapter Five: Diplomatic Solution, part ii

(beginning)

_____________

The moon rose, half-full and shrouded behind drifting, ephemeral clouds. Two shadows slipped through the streets, their movements driven and in tandem.

Zuko followed close behind the waterbender, a host of questions crowding the back of his mind. Now was far from an appropriate time to ask any of them, but he had no issue in pushing them aside. He could feel the anger rippling out from her in steady waves, and felt them echo within himself. When he brought her to the last house, he hadn’t quite known what they would find, just that quite a few of the trails he’d been following during his time in the town converged there. She’d told him she wanted to find the cause of the sickness sweeping through the denizens here, and insinuated she—and presumably the Avatar—would be leaving the area soon. While he hadn’t been looking for the source of the illness like she was, he suspected that somehow the corruption he’d been trying to root out and the cause of the illness were intertwined. He had no evidence of a connection, just a gut feeling, but the Blue Spirit didn’t speak, so he avoided having to explain himself.

Luckily, his instinct about her had been right: even though not related to her goal, she immediately pursued this new avenue. With admirable fervor, he silently noted, still following in her wake.

She turned down a set of narrow alleys, then stopped suddenly. Zuko’s quick reactions were the only reason why he didn’t barrel straight into her, but he saw what had frozen her in her tracks.

Before them lay the still body of a woman, with half-unrolled scrolls scattered haphazardly on the ground around her. Though it was dark out, the ground beneath her was even darker, confirming the waterbender’s guess that she’d been killed. Zuko’s mouth pressed into a taut line as the girl in front of him stepped forward. He heard her make a soft, sympathetic noise when she crouched by the body, and she reached out one hand to gingerly close the woman’s eyes. Her head bowed as Zuko walked past them to the open storehouse.

The inside was as much of a mess as the scrolls strewn about the ground around the woman, with torn open sacks of rice spilling their contents across the hard floor. There were other broken jars of fermented foods, filling the enclosed space with an unpleasant tanginess that threatened to turn Zuko’s stomach. He was glad more than ever for the barrier of his wooden mask, even if it couldn’t keep the stench out entirely.

While the waterbender was still occupied outsides, Zuko picked through the storehouse. While there were sets of shelves that held all the food in the front part of the little building, they also concealed a second set that were designed to hold scrolls. Half of the compartments were empty, so he picked one at random and partially unrolled it to skim its contents. It was a record of exports and the accounting for the percentage of profits made that went into the town’s general fund as well as were sent off to the Imperial coffers.

“I don’t think you’re going to find anything helpful,” the waterbender said, her carefully even voice coming from the doorway.

Zuko looked up.

“Whoever killed this woman probably got what they wanted already.”

The despondency in her voice tugged at the bottom of his lungs. He knew the failure she felt like an old friend. She was probably right, but something kept Zuko from setting aside the scroll in his hands and dismissing the rest. Maybe, he could determine just what the mayor wanted from export records a five years old. He looked back down at the scroll again, studying the characters and numbers like they would whisper their importance to him if he listened hard enough.

When he didn’t move, he watched the waterbender join him out of the corner of his eye. He picked up another scroll and unfurled it. It was the exports from another year—mostly the same items, even—and again, the percentage of those profits that were kept for the town’s fund and the percentage that was sent to the Imperial coffers. Before he discarded that scroll, some of the number caught his eye. They weren’t exactly the same—which he expected, as taxes and costs fluctuated from year to year—but something about them didn’t seem entirely right to Zuko.

Again, he picked up another scroll, this time handing the first two off to the waterbender, ignoring her questions. There was something here that was wrong. He went through several more scrolls of exports, until it all at once clicked into place in his mind. His eyes widened a little, and he turned one of the scrolls over and snatched up a charcoal pencil from a compartment that held writing supplies rather than scrolls, and did a few quick calculations. The waterbender leaned over him, close enough behind the curve of his shoulder that he felt the heat coming off her and smelled the slight salt from her hair. He shuffled that unintended observation aside and focused on the scroll again. The mayor was skimming from both the town fund and the Imperial coffers. This was recent, though—three scrolls that had been from a decade ago were more consistent in their distribution. Then, suddenly, six years ago it all started to shift. There must have been a change in mayor. Zuko would bet good gold that the present mayor orchestrated the removal of the old one—maybe even permanently. His gaze flicked from his calculations to the body of the woman lying outside. She must have discovered the same thing that Zuko did.

If he could piece this together from just a couple scrolls, he couldn’t imagine what kind of damning evidence had been in whatever scrolls the assassin took. Zuko rolled up the scroll he’d written on, then glanced back to the waterbender. Beneath the translucent veil she wore, he saw her mouth set in fierce determination. Appreciation welled within him, that he didn’t have to figure out how to explain what these numbers all meant to her and waste time.

With a sweep of her dark robes, she straightened, the scrolls he’d handed her clutched tightly in her hand. He stood as well, watching her, waiting to follow her lead. It was a strange compulsion that settled naturally in his chest, deferring to her in this moment.

“It’s not an answer to the sickness,” she said, her voice tight, “but we have to do something about this.”

He nodded. Now he moved first, and she was immediately at his side, easily keeping pace while still letting him lead. The shift in deferral from one to another between them was unspoken and unquestioned. Even without him saying anything, he got the sense that she trusted he knew where he was going. That felt like a good sign to Zuko. Maybe that meant the rest of the Avatar’s group would accept him—at least in some capacity—to train the Avatar firebending. Of course, a sharp voice in his mind reminded him, she didn’t know who he was behind the mask. She could just as easily attack him as not once he revealed his identity.

Minutely, Zuko shook his head. A bridge to cross when he came to it.

He wove his way through the dark alleys of the town, toward the market. If the waterbender following him questioned where they were going, she kept quiet about it. Zuko stopped in the deep shadow of a building just on the edge of the open market square. A soft rustle of fabric heralded the waterbender joining him. He looked back at her, then pointed to a building almost entirely across the square—the hawk mews.

Though the veil obscured her face, he could still see her expression scrunch. “Messenger hawks?” she whispered, and he could see her slide all the moving parts into place in her mind. “You’re going to send these to—”

She never got to finish her sentence, as the sound of footfalls crunching on the dirt street reached Zuko. He stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, the lifted gloved fingers to her mouth. As one, they both pressed further against the wall of the building they stood beside, willing themselves to become just another part of the shadow. A few moments passed, and then a pair of guards passed by. Fortunately for Zuko and the waterbender, the guard furthest from them was the one carrying the torch, and neither looked at their hiding spot as they passed by.

Zuko waited several moments longer, until the guards vanished from view, before lowering his hand from the waterbender’s mouth. He nodded to her, and they both rushed across the open square. They had to be quick, as there was no cover between the building they were at and the messenger hawk mews. But, they were also fast; Zuko found himself appraising the waterbender’s speed with appreciation. He knew she could be quick, of course, from their fights in the past, but he’d never worked in tandem with her. It was surprising how well they worked together, he mused as he started toward the lock on the door to the mews. The waterbender cut him off before he could reach it, guiding a small orb of water to encase the metal lock. She breathed on it and it froze. He took his cue and slammed the pommel of one of his dao down on the frozen lock, effectively shattering the mechanism inside and popping it open.

The sound of it scattered into the night, but before anyone could think to look at the source, they slipped inside and shut the door behind them. They wouldn’t be here long.

The second floor was the topmost floor, with the remainder of the building taken up with nooks for hawk nests. Zuko searched only momentarily for a volemouse to entice a nearby hawk down onto his arm. The claws from the raptor dug immediately through the cloth and into his skin, but he pushed back the pain with a clenched jaw and fed the hawk the carcass while he handed the scroll to the waterbender. She took a little longer in her search for a tube large enough to fit all four scrolls they’d gathered, but eventually she found one and attached it to the hawk’s back harness while it finished its treat from Zuko. He motioned to the stack of ribbons, then pointed to the black ones when she reached them. Zuko watched as she secured all the scrolls to one another with the black ribbon, then held the hawk steady as she worked the bundle into the carrier tube, leaving a length of the ribbon hanging out.

She opened the shutters of one of the windows as he followed her, and then sent the hawk flying out into the night. He leaned on the wooden pane for a moment, watching the hawk spiral up and then vanish into the dark sky. His arm throbbed from where the claws had dug in, and he felt wet trail down toward his wrist, but it didn’t matter. This was the best he could think to do for these people, though even that didn’t guarantee a better replacement once the mayor was ousted by officials—and it certainly wasn’t going to happen quickly. But, it was one problem hopefully solved.

“That’s done,” the waterbender said softly, echoing his thoughts. “But, what about the illness? We still don’t know what’s causing it.”

Silence stretched between them. He hesitated, unsure of what to tell her. A niggling instinct in his gut whispered that the mayor was also linked to the sickness, but he had no real evidence of that, and no real inclination if it was true or not.

A creak crept up the stairs from the door below, and they both froze, breaths held, listening. At the sound of heavier steps from someone trying to be quiet, they both surged into motion. Without sparing much thought, Zuko leapt through the window. It was on the second story, but it wasn’t so high up that he couldn’t salvage a landing. A quick glance up told him the waterbender had the same thought, and she was in the air seconds behind him. They both hit the ground rolling, then were sprinting toward the safety of the alley shadows as soon as they regained their footing. It struck him again how easily they worked together, as if this had all been planned between them, or that they had the same protocols to fall back on.

Zuko slowed, intending to stop and reassess, but the waterbender didn’t follow suit. She kept moving past him, and he had no choice but to follow. Well—he did have a choice, but discovered that he wanted to follow, anyway. Even if he hadn’t been trying to join up with the Avatar’s group, he’d started this thing with her, and wanted to see it through. Zuko wasn’t in the habit of leaving things unfinished.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that she was headed back to the records keeper’s storehouse. He could guess why; he, too, felt a pang of guilt for leaving the woman’s body there like that. Traditionally, Fire Nation citizens had a funerary pyre, but simply setting her body on fire didn’t sit right with him. The family should decide when to hold that particular ritual.

While the waterbender did what she could to clean and reposition the body, Zuko searched the storeroom again, only this time for cloth or something they could use as a shroud. There was no way he was taking this poor woman back to her family home and just deposit her, as is. He would never be able to live with himself.

After a few moments’ search, Zuko found a stack of cheesecloth. He pressed his lips together. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could find. He glanced back at the waterbender, and saw her holding something in her hands with reverence, like a delicate object that would shatter if she handled it carelessly. What it was, he couldn’t begin to guess, so he turned back to his own task and gathered a sizable armful of cheesecloth. As soon as he moved it, though, a stench rolled out from the space he created that threatened to roil his stomach enough to make him retch. He dropped the cheesecloth and coughed, taking several steps away.

“What is it?” The waterbender’s attention snapped to him immediately, and she was on her feet.

Instead of replying, he lifted on arm to cover the nose holes of the Blue Spirit mask and did his best to not breathe in too deeply as he inched back to investigate. Coming up to where he was, the waterbender gagged a little on the smell now lingering in the air, and covered her nose and mouth.

“Did something spoil?”

It almost smelled like rotten food, he had to admit, but there was something… off about it, as well. Spoiled food other than meat usually had a particular stench, and meat had another that was solely its own, and this didn’t truly smell like either. Airways covered as best as they could be, Zuko approached the space where he’d gotten the cheesecloth. There was a partially opened jar, only a little bigger than his hand, sitting in a nook behind the remaining cloth. He reached out and sealed the lid, then picked up the jar. It trailed the awful stench with it, despite being closed, and and turned the jar to see if it was labeled.

“Nam-Pla?”

The name rolled oddly off the waterbender’s tongue as she read it, but Zuko recognized it immediately. Of course—he’d seen similar jars in the kitchens of the palace and on his ship: it was a common fish sauce used in a variety of Fire Nation foods. But this—this was definitely not how it was supposed to smell.

“Something’s wrong with this,” he said, his voice scraping both from disuse and the powerful reek he’d been subjected to only moments earlier. The waterbender started and looked up at him, her eyes wide and fixed on his mask.

“I didn’t know you could talk—” She shook her head and cut herself off. “You know what? Now’s not the time. We’re running out of night, and we still have more to do. Is this what’s rotten?”

“It… doesn’t smell like rotten food should. I think it’s something else.”

The more he spoke, the more curious and calculating her eyes on him became. Zuko felt his cheeks flush behind the mask, but there wasn’t anything for it, now. He’d opened his mouth because it was more convenient than scrounging around and writing down what he wanted to communicate. Besides, she was right—they didn’t have much time left before dawn.

“Let me see.”

He handed it over to her, then watched as she set the jar on the ground, then cautiously held her hands on either side of it. Her eyes closed.

“It’s… oily,” she murmured. “Is it supposed to be oily?”

“It’s supposed to be thick,” he said. “Fish are oily.”

She frowned. “This isn’t thickness from fish oil. I know how that feels, and this is different.” Her hands drifted up and down the length of the jar, and he imagined she was slowly manipulated the little water that might still remain in the sauce. All at once, her eyes flew open and locked onto his mask. “This has been poisoned!”

Now it was his turn to be startled. “How can you tell?”

The waterbender worried her lip, and he tried to not let his gaze linger on her mouth. “It’s… hard to describe. It feels different. We have a lot of fish sauces and fish-based oils in the south, so I can extrapolate what this is supposed to feel like, and there’s been something added to it that doesn’t…” She paused again. “It feels like it’s diluting the purity, I guess is the best way to put it? It feels wrong. I can’t explain it any better, I’m sorry.”

Zuko crouched opposite her, one knee lower than the other, to look down at the nam-pla jar. Realization flooded his face, eyes widening. “The illness.”

He looked up from the jar to the waterbender at the same time she did the same, reflecting him. “That’s why so many people were getting sick. I bet this came from a bigger batch that was all contaminated.” Her brow furrowed. “But, it smelled so bad. Why didn’t anyone catch on?”

“It was open,” Zuko explained. “I bet it reacts to prolonged exposure to air. This sauce is soup base—”

“So it would be cooked fairly quickly, and then the rest would be stored away again,” she finished for him. He nodded. “This was lucky.”

It was very lucky, Zuko thought. If they hadn’t come back here, if he hadn’t found that cheesecloth and decided it would make do for a funerary shroud—there were a lot of factors that had been left up to chance, and fallen in their favor.

The waterbender gathered the jar and got back to her feet; Zuko followed suit. She looked back out at the body of the woman, lying with her face up, and her arms folded carefully over her chest. Zuko watched the waterbender’s mouth set into a taut line, her jaw resolute.

“Come on,” she said to him, not sparing him a glance. “Let’s take care of her and then deal with this poison issue.”

He had no idea how she planned to get word out about the nam-pla being poisoned, but he followed her back out of the small storehouse, bringing the cheesecloth with him.

[digitaldreams0801]

Alitia Character Info Dump

I feel like doing another one of these, so here’s more Alitia character stuff since I love talking about this cast of characters in particular: 

- Tanith hates sitting still. She can’t do it since she feels unproductive when not doing anything. She gets really jittery when forced to stay in one place for a long time. To remedy this, Jin decided to buy her fidget toys, and he keeps them all over his office. Zylphia has a few in her office that managed to travel between Angelwood and Alitia. Tanith keeps them in specific places around her room and plays with them often. Her favorite is a spinning disk that she keeps perpetually moving with her air magic. 

- Luce’s secondary weapon of choice is the bow. Lewith taught her how to fire a bow over break between her first and second semesters at Alitia, and Luce is getting better quickly. She has the natural talent for using weapons that Altina does without the manifestation and can pick up nearly any weapon and learn how to use it after a few weeks of proper training. She can also use daggers and gauntlets, though spears and axes are taking some extra time for her to master.

- Fromir is terrified of Minerva because of his rocky relationship with his father. His father was the previous head of Sierra, and he passed down the position of headmaster to his son. Fromir’s father was incredibly intense on him, constantly pressuring him to be perfect, and it took a physical and mental toll on Fromir over time. Minerva’s occasional anger issues remind Fromir of him, and he hates it when she grows snappy as a result. 

- Minerva’s anger problems are the result of her wings being torn out. When her magical core was disturbed by the forceful removal of her wings, she became somewhat unstable, and her magic is somewhat volatile because of it. Minerva’s hair catching fire is the primary outward symptom of her wing loss, though she is far more snippy than she ever was before due to the forceful removal of her wings screwing with her magical flow. 

- Minerva and Leviathan have a sister named Brynn. Minerva is the oldest (older than Brynn by two years and Leviathan by four) with Brynn falling in the center of her and Leviathan. Brynn is a passive aggressive and manipulative person, wrapping everything behind a seemingly perfect smile. Brynn and Minerva have never gotten along due to Brynn’s petty nature clashing with Minerva’s stubborn attitude. Leviathan tends to avoid Brynn, not having enough time for her toxicity. 

- Leviathan used to attend Sierra. He entered the freshman year just after Minerva graduated, though he had to clash with Brynn a few times due to their being in school at the same time. Minerva entered a year early at Sacred Heart (she was sixteen) while Brynn entered early two years later at Alitia. Leviathan was the only one to enroll on the regular timeframe, and he saw Brynn often because of it. 

- Brynn is a magical elitist, for lack of a better term. She strongly believes that wings belong on women while they shouldn’t be with men, a traditional belief on their planet of Pyre. Minerva was cut off from the family after the removal of her wings after years of rocky arguments with their parents. Leviathan asserted his position after being accepted into Sacred Heart and left of his own free will after creating his own wings with his shapeshifting magic and leaving. 

- Dawn hates feeling better than everyone else. After years of being treated as superior to most people, she grew to resent those who placed her on a pedestal, believing that she should be treated as all others are. She also hates blatant manipulation after years of people wanting to get close to her for the political power she possesses. 

- Octavia gained her radical beliefs regarding leath equality from a revolutionary leader named Briyana Frazier. After sneaking out of the palace, Octavia met Briyana by chance, and Briyana told her about the horrors leaths endure each day. Octavia immediately decided that she wanted to help and began planning for revolution when she was given the throne while still maintaining a facade of perfection that her grandfather would approve of. 

- Many things about Magia society closely resemble Earth because of where Starlight and Moonlight came from. They were born on Earth before creating Magia as a place for all magical or misfit people. The calendar year is the same because of this, and the sun remains called the sun. The same applies to the moon. 

- The birthdays of the Second Camaraderie members are as follows: Luce (June 19), Iris (December 13), Sophia (June 21), Sylvia (May 7), S.M. (October 21), Helena and Carys (November 11), and Tanith (December 16). All of these birthdates are known to be accurate save for Tanith. Instead, her birthday is the day she was adopted by Zylphia and Jin since the true date is unknown. In honesty, the day is in September, though nobody is aware of such. 

- The Sealed Ones in the Starlight Camaraderie are all connected to given zodiac signs, a tradition for Sealed Ones. Dawn is Tauros, Cryon is Capricorn, Jin is Leo, Minerva is Scorpio, Fromir is Aquarius, Altina is Gemini, Zylphia is Virgo, and Caius is Sagittarius. This leaves Cancer, Pisces, Libra, and Aries unoccupied. They are the first generation to not have a Keeper of Moonlight due to Ragnor’s treachery in starting the War of Starlight causing him to be deemed as impure and unfit by the gods. 

- Nebula has an uncle figure by the name of Omen. He and Karver have been friends for years since the two of them both attended Sierra the same year as the Starlight Camaraderie. While Omen isn’t related to Karver or Nebula, he is fiercely loyal to them both. They never associated with any members of the group since Fromir was a few years younger than them, instead keeping to themselves. 

- While he was attending Sierra, Leviathan was nothing short of a terror. He constantly played pranks on Fromir’s father using his magic, gaining him something of a reputation as a troublemaker. However, there was never enough evidence to prove that Leviathan was behind it, so he never got in trouble for it. He graduated at the top of his class, though Fromir’s father was not happy about it in the slightest. 

- Leviathan would later learn about Fromir’s father treating Fromir poorly after the two of them got together. Leviathan expresses often that he does not regret his pranks in the slightest, claiming that Fromir’s father fully deserved everything Leviathan gave him. Fromir laughs such off to hide his silent agreement. 

- Leviathan grows somewhat close with Nebula after he and Fromir begin dating. Both of them love to prank Fromir, so they became fast friends when they realized the prank potential of shapeshifting and illusions. Fromir has not had a moment of peace since they began to tag team with their already impressive prank skills. 

- Originally, Minerva had scholarships to both Alitia and Sacred Heart. She had already earned her Isolis as a dark mage by that point, but she still considered Alitia until she learned Brynn had plans of going there. As soon as she learned that, she jumped aboard the Sacred Heart train. This was for the best given that Brynn would grow up to harass her endlessly when they crossed paths at the Millennium Six. 

- Dawn is very good at persuading others. She likes to pull out huge puppy eyes when she wants to get others to agree with her, and nobody is immune to it. The first time she tried those ideas on Cryon, he immediately caved despite his stubborn nature because he couldn’t stand to see her looking so sad, even if it was an act. 

- In order to properly communicate with each other through language barriers, all mages and leaths are given a long-lasting translation spell at birth that allows them to understand each other in a common language. This prevents misunderstandings by giving everyone a common ground to start a relationship from. 

- Fromir was unanimously decided as the precious child of the Starlight Camaraderie. He’s two years younger than the rest of the group, but they all would do anything for him. Even Minerva, who still intimidates him some, would light someone on fire if she thought it would keep him safe and happy. 

- Cryon grew up on Amity with his single mother. She was a leath who escaped the grasp of Iago shortly after his birth, and she did everything for him. Cryon loved his mother dearly leading up to her death. She died a year before he set out to attend Ridgeview, and he vowed to press on for her sake. This was when he took up mercenary work, getting him noticed by a teacher of Ridgeview who offered him a scholarship. 

- Michaela also attended classes the same year as Minerva, Cryon, and the rest of the Starlight Camaraderie. She tended to run with a different crowd and didn’t openly associate with them often, preferring to keep to herself due to her introverted nature. 

I think that’s all I have in me for now. That was a lot of facts, after all. Anyways, stan Alitia, thank you very much. 

[myfandomrambles]

Maya Hart Character Analysis (Expanded)

Facts:

Kermit was an extremely neglectful father. He eventually abandoned them completely when Maya was about 6

Befriended Riley by running through the windows around age 5 or 6 and stayed friends throughout the show

Her mother, Katy, was emotionally neglectful, putting her emotional issues, fixations and jobs over Maya's needs

She grew up in a lower socioeconomic class then her friends

Befriended and became deeply connected and protective of Farkle at a young age

Struggled in school academically and behaviorally

She latched on to the Matthew family. Going to their house as a sense of stability going there for food and basing her schedule on theirs.

Openly expressed fear around being inadequate and broken. Also expressed hopelessness.

Befriended Lucas, expressed romantic interest in him later on which created an emotionally complicated situation with her friends.

Formed a strong connection with Shawn Hunter, bonding over a history of feeling abandoned and neglectful parents.

Shawn married her mother and adopted her.

Developed a strong crush of Riley’s Uncle Josh. He was old enough for the relationship to be inappropriate by a maturity gap.

While undergoing a lot of personal change she had what was perceived as a kind of identity crisis around trying to be more like “Riley”.

Expressed a stronger sense of hope near the end of the show.

Her parents had a toxic possibly abusive marriage 

Analysis:

Maya Hart loves her friends more than anything, has a habit of getting into trouble, and loved art. She was also deeply shaped by her father’s abandonment and her mother’s emotional neglect. She struggles with a fear of abandonment, anger, a sense of disconnection and views herself as a fundamentally broken person. This is established right away in Girl Meets World (1x01) she assumes Cory think she is not good enough for Riley and believes thinks he would be right to think that. Maya says on more than one occasion that she doesn’t get her hopes up, and doesn’t view the future as good. In Girl Meets Forgiveness Project (2x23) we see how much guilt, anger, self-blame and shame Maya had based on her Father leaving her and having not been there for her before he left

Maya is generally over realistic she believes her view of the world should be down to earth, practical and this often ends up as negative. This comes in a large part from her mother’s continuous inability to accept reality. Katy calls herself an actress when this has never been her job. We see how this affects their relationship and stresses Maya out in Girl Meets Maya’s Mother (1x07) and Girl Meets Master Plan (1x18). In Girl Meets I Do (3x11), she describes the aftermath of her father leaving them, “Just ‘cause I could always hear my mother crying in her bedroom. I’d try to go in and stop her from crying… but I couldn’t.” The fear of having to go through that again with the person who is meant to watch her falling apart, slows her ability to enjoy and move forward during Katy and Shawn's wedding.

However, her impulsivity and creativity often bump up against this practicality when she feels vulnerable like in the first episode or Girl Meets Hollywood (3x18) or when Riley and she get themselves wound up in some kind of scheme like in Girl Meets Farkle's Choice (1x19) or Girl Meets STEM (2x26). Her identity is linked to a fundamental level to her relationship with Riley. In Girls Meets Upstate (3x06) Maya explains how Riley’s family gave her a sense of safety and that she sees protecting Riley as her job. Maya pretty much always takes Riley's side even when she doesn't agree with her perspective. When Riley wants to take away the bay windows in Girl Meets Bay Window (2x29) Maya is deeply unhappy at the idea of losing this and multiple times through the show while she tries to be chill and realistic but when Riley tries to change their relationship she tends to get very emotional. In Girl Meets Yearbook (2x12) Maya tries hard to prove to Riley that they need her for who she is even dressing up as her, Maya loses herself in that identity though wanting to be things that Riley is that she doesn't know how to be.  

Maya is deeply protective of all her friends. The hard exterior she uses to protect her own friends allows her to not usually be as affected during fights like in Girl Meets Riley Town (2x17). With Farkle, Maya has a very "only I can pick on him" kind of approach, being very upset when others treat him badly but enjoy teasing him with their other friends. He is flirty with both her and Riley and they generally don't mind, Farkle also doesn't really mind when they like anyone else and dating Smackle himself. He considers them his girls stating he loves them both Maya seems to take great comfort in this. They are pretty different in a lot of ways but in general play off each other well balancing a lot of the others fears, a good example of their relationship is in Girl Meets Money (2x27) when she helps him understand that not having lots of money is fine because she knows how to be happy with what she does have.

Lucas is also one of the few people who can go toe to toe with her in trading jabs and sarcasm. He's not easily bothered by her and this annoys Maya a lot. In the beginning, I think it's trying to push him away to some extent as he drops into their life quickly and Riley and Farkle keep him around. He gains Maya’s trust through showing her he will protect her friends and him showing Riley and Farkle kindness. Their trading of jabs becomes a lot more friendly. She develops a crush on Lucas, later on, it's confusing as Riley also a crush on him. It causes a lot of emotions and confusion between all three of them. Maya later works out that her emotions were confused with overlapping feelings for him, Riley, and Josh Matthews. This is also tied to the plot about Maya's identity confusion.

Maya's relationship with Smackle is friendly throughout the whole show. They are never particularly close but they do like each other. She and Zay hit it off pretty well both being rebellious, she helps him put his focous on his friends. Her relationships with the other Matthew's are also deeply important. Cory acts as her first real father figure, and Topanga fills in a lot of the mothering gas Katy left. She cares for and likes Auggie a lot, but tends to have the same blind spots as Riley sometimes sees him as a bit annoying or doesn't take him into account. She also has a deeply moving scene of Ava helping her through her parents' breakup.   Her crush on Josh, in my opinion, is a bit unhealthy. While there are only four years between them they have a huge maturity gap. When they meet he is a junior in high school, Maya is middle schooler essentially a child though he doesn't explicitly say he likes her but does call her pretty. In Girl Meets Ski Lodge (3x12/13) he does return Maya's romantic affection which is creepy, he is in college and she is a freshman in high school.  From Maya's point of view, it's a natural crush on someone too old but because it ends in a "someday" I think is not a good way for her to move forward. It comes across too close to waiting until she's legal, and can stop her from fining a different partner. I also think this shows an odd pattern, her other major crush being Lucas neither of them is people she could have. They are also both very linked to Riley while not inherently bad it's interesting.

Shawn and Maya become close quickly, Riley notices that she and Shawn might be experiencing similar problems and quickly forces them to see this too. Riley was correct they both experienced abandonment, poor parental relationships and live in comparably low-income situations. They realize their the same, in the context of these shared histories and in reacting to it as being hyper-protective of their friends, impulsivity and anger. Shawn lets her know that he wants to stop anyone from growing up like that, and through his actions lets her know he wants to make explicitly her life better. They form a father-daughter relationship culminating in his marrying her mother and adopting her. Shawn helping her and caring for her I think is one of the pivotal aspects of her rising self-esteem and eventual ability to say “I’m not giving up hope just yet. I just got it.” in Girl Meets Hurricane (2x9)

In the third season Maya makes some real personal strides her outbursts decrease in severity, she starts preparing her relationships and does better in schools. However she also shifts her presentation to an “un-Maya” way, the others frame it as “becoming Riley” in Girl Meets Triangle (3x05), Girl Meets Upstate (3x06), & Girl Meets Real Maya (3x07). There is some truth, but there is also a kind of troubling implication that there isn’t internal personal growth that can come from multiple influences. I think the others probably are worried by the smaller changes she makes like say her clothes, but that Riley sees this in Maya doing better in school and behaviour I think is a little bit of Riley's own insecurity showing through. In Girl Meets True Maya (3x07) when Maya describes her impulse control as a version of Riley, this is slightly sad as the "good" in her for some reasons can only come from Riley and not be an integral part of who she is. Maya was able to have positive growth because of the influence of everyone, her friends at school, the Matthews, Shawn, and her semi-repaired relationship with her mother. Another huge aspect of this was her starting to have closure with her father, and being older. Maya is a deeply headstrong girl who loves fiercely and finds a lot of comfort in art. She shows quite a bit of growth and starts to work through her trauma in a semi-realistic model, though it would be important for her to continue to address head-on. Maya works hard to grow up and is an amazing friend and family member.

ADHD:

Trouble focusing

Struggles in school

Impulsive

Excess energy

Strong emotional reactions

Hyperarousal

RSD

Distracts easily

Hyperactive

Feeling broken

Hopelessness

Feelings of abandonment

Low self-esteem

Empty feeling

Trouble regulating emotions

Trouble with identity

Acts out because of feelings of abandonment and being inadequate

Fatigue

Oscillates between strong emotions and lack of emotion

Depression:

Feeling broken

Hopelessness

Feelings of abandonment

Low self-esteem

Empty feeling

Trouble regulating emotions

Trouble with identity

Acts out because of feelings of abandonment and being inadequate

Fatigue

Oscillates between strong emotions and lack of emotion