#like seriousy

[nighttimescribbles]

i'm here !! yesss sorry for replying like four days later honestly it's so pretty but we ran out of things to do in the seoul so i've been wasting my energy shopping around :') visiting nami island and one of the famous palaces were the highlights of this trip so far and i dont know what to do to top those two experiences 😞😞 but yess ! omg my tour guide did recommend that but my family wanted to catch the zip line over to nami island so we skipped lunch and spent like two hours walking over the snow.

but no i agree !! sk is on a whole other level with their puppy fashion omg even just trimming the fur around their feet to make it look like irregular shoes makes my day omg i love it so much 😭😭😭 as for the bakeries omg i haven't been to as much i'm afraid i'm losing my taste in sweet foods because the darkest of dark chocolates are my favourites and even then they're still too sweet for me i'll definitely give it a go if something matcha flavoured catches my eye and if it does maybe i'll share a few pictures with you 😊

also i gave that fic a read this afternoon when i was on the train to busan (thankfully no zombies but unthankfully no gong yoo either) i cried then omg but you were right i totally wish i was marrying that zeke it was a lovely read so thank you so much :') i'll have to scroll through your bookmarked fics on ao3 because i'm going through a reading withdrawal

still lots of best wishes for you too !! time has gone too fast but too slow at the same time :') i'll be leaving back to my own country and all its responsibilities in about a weak sighhh

~ 🍬

NONNIE!!! as late as this is i am so happy to be going through my inbox and reading all about your trip! did you get to make a snowman? 😆your vacay sounds like a dream! 😍 nami island is unreal gorgeous, right? did you stroll down to the boardwalk by the river? sooooo kdrama! 😭 and did you say you ZIPLINED over? OMG????? i didn't know that was available! how was it????? 🤩 there's a street with all the street food stalls! did your guide bring you there? did you get to try anything?

@\nathalunalune has plenty of fic reccs! she especially loves @\by-kilian's heartstring-tugging pieces. 😭💔

how have you beeeeen??? 😍

[elyfonart]

Had the pleasure of illustrating a scene from 'What It Means To Love Her' by @rowdyknives, which is an absolutely incredible fanfiction that you should 10000% read!

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

uuh can i get the rusame apology special to go? yes the one with no "sorry" pronounced, that's right. and fries.

[dontcallpanic]

@patolemus tagged me in Not Wednesday WIP - after sharing something SO brilliant I just don't even know what to do with myself! Seriously, go and give it a look see!

And then you were kind enough to tag me again so here's something from the same Small Town AU WIP. This one is specially for you and @cantchangemypast - here is some rare angst/drama so I hope you will both enjoy! <3

__________________________

His cheeks are wet.

He blinks, trying to focus more on breathing than on anything else. The overwhelming sensations have faded and it's only now that he finally feels he can actually breathe again. Slowly his vision clears. The darkness at the corners begin to slip away and he finds himself with his knees against his chest, back braced against the reception desk. Laura is on the floor next to him, her fingers gently curled around his wrist.

There’s still darkness fuzzing across his sight so he can’t be sure, but he thinks, for the briefest moment, that the veins across her hand run black. He blinks again, the darkness is gone. Laura’s fingers slip from his wrist to rub gently across his back.

She’s still counting softly. In, hold, out, hold. Box breathing - he recognises it from therapy.

He thinks absently, that it would be a lot more useful if he could remember to focus on her voice and not on her hand on his back. It’s as distracting as it is comforting but he can’t quite bring himself to tell her to stop.

He raises his fingers to swipe at his cheeks but finds them shaking violently. Instead he drags his forearm roughly across his face.

He has to remember to breathe. Slowly. In. out.

Come on.

Get it together.

Laura’s counting trails off. In the corner of his eye, he sees her lean forward.

He’s reluctant to catch her eye again. Instead he focuses on his knees, his fingertips fussing gently at the faded, almost threadbare fabric covering them.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Fucking panic attacks. Haven’t got anything funny to say. They just suck.”

He feels Laura nod beside him.

“I used to get them all the time – my brother too,” she says softly. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for.”

She hesitates, like she wants to add something and then the moment passes and Stiles is left listening to the sound of his breathing, the rustle of Laura’s hand on the fabric of his shirt. Somewhere in the hotel someone is singing, low and smooth.

His heart and breathing begin to settle and the first flushes of embarrassment begin to trickle through but there’s something calm and contained about Laura’s presence next to him. Usually, he’d be mortified but right now he can’t quite bring himself to feel anything much beyond the hum of his own nervous system.

His fingers settle over his knees, curling tight around them and holding firm.

Get a grip.

“Do you think you can stand?” Laura asks.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Stiles mumbles back, his words missing their usual spark.

He climbs slowly to his feet, Laura’s hand gripping his arm, taking more of his weight than he’d like. His legs are shaky and his limbs feel disconnected – but he’s standing and he’s holding relatively steady.

“Let’s get you to your room?” Laura says, managing to make it sound like a question at the last moment.

“Sure,” Stiles says, hating the way he needs her assistance but grateful for it all the same. “I should be able to walk –”

He trails off, glancing back around the lobby just to make sure he’s got everything. He can feel his brain jolting from place to place, his perception is loose and frayed, snagging on the world around him – some of it useful, some of it not. Laura has his bag, the key is in the pocket. He scans the reception desk one last time. All clear. Let's go.

They shuffle awkwardly towards the stairs, Stiles casting one final look over his shoulder. He's about to look away when he sees it. The blackened prints of his fingertips, burned into the wood.

_______________________

I loved everyone's WIP's so much! There are so many amazingly talented people out there I am just constantly in awe. So um... no pressure tags for the week/month/whenever are: @patolemus @gege-wondering-around @hellameyers @oldefashioned @sonsofmysticimpalasonthrones And whoever would like to share anything! To whoever sees this: I appreciate you all and thanks for making this a lovely corner of the tumblrverse! <3

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Ranulf is by far one of the characters with the most potential that I wish they went more in depth with. He's such an important and prominent character, but the fact that you don't even hear he's been having these nightmares for the past three or so years now unless you get this specific dialogue is such a shame.

I think he's a perfect comedy relief/plot serious balanced character, but the amount of personal information we have about him/his feelings/his life are minimal. We see a completely different side of him when they went to Gritnea Tower in PoR, but it's something we only see again one more time, and that's in this chapter.

It's basically like, he has a lot of depth and personality, but they only sprinkle it very sparingly. I just find that to be so odd considering his importance in both games, and the fact that he's one of the central characters in RD in general (that is, he's even more prominent in RD than he was in PoR, and he was still relatively important in PoR). He's no less filled with characterization than other main characters like Ike and Soren, but we're given it so infrequently that it's much easier to gloss over and not think much about again.

I wish they did more with the other facets of his character, outside of him being one of the most kind, intelligent and empathetic characters (especially among the beast laguz, since the general impression we're given is that the bird tribe uses logic over emotion in comparison to the usually emotional and erratic beast laguz, and those are the two most prominent laguz species in the story).

Like, it's great that he has those qualities, but people get angry. They get aggressive. They get enraged. No person is just a solid funny and nice person, and Ranulf has all of those kind and angry qualities, but they skimp so much on this amazing writing of him. You learn so much about him and what he's been going through from these few brief instances of him becoming angry, but they just don't touch on it enough. They had a chance to continue his first base conversation with Ike and bring it up to him. It would've been the perfect time, because we have this dialogue in their first conversation:

Ike: You can come talk to me anytime you want. Don’t think you’re alone in all this. Ranulf: Heh… What are you, an inquisitor? Ike: A guy’s got to do something between battles. Talk to you later. Ranulf: …

At first Ranulf was talking about feeling bad for bringing beorc into a laguz affair, and then they discuss that Skrimir is giving Ranulf a headache with his behavior. That could've been their first conversation, but then they could've had a follow up based around the end of their conversation (the above). It would've been the perfect opportunity to give us another base conversation where Ranulf does go to talk to him because of these nightmares and all the stress he's been having. Imo the way they end the conversation with "...", makes it sound like there's more on Ranulf's mind than just what he was open about.

If you consider that he's been having nightmares about what he saw at Gritnea Tower for the past few years, then you consider that the laguz all just found out from Rafiel that the Begnion senators started the rumor about the herons to get them all killed, it's reasonable imo to consider that Ranulf is intelligent enough that he may have been starting to put the pieces together.

We learn late into part 3 that Izuka was working with the senators, and I feel like Ranulf's suspicions should've been raised. I don't think it's necessarily bad writing that he didn't catch on, but more of a missed opportunity. The whole situation affected him very deeply and they were very expressive about that in both games, but it's just that we don't see enough of that side of him, as in, we don't see it enough times.

In a way I feel like it also hits harder when you have the fun/funny, friendly, kind person experience something that tragic - witnessing the result of his race having been used for experiments and seeing their rotted corpses. Knowing people see his race as expendable and on top of that, left their carcasses to rot after pure torture. He saw innocent lives that had been taken and after all that horror, not even given any sort of burial, let alone a proper one.

There's also the fact that he's a cat - he has a very good sense of smell, and that's how he realized who the Black Knight was before anyone else. The smell of rotting corpses alone would be a lot to handle, but to be able to smell it better than anyone else in the room would have been absolutely traumatizing.

Again - the fun and funny, friendly, kind person experienced something horrible enough that he had a breakdown over it (and (presumably extreme based on context) subsequent emotional distress for years following). Tibarn and Reyson had their own ways of dealing with it that we were also shown (Tibarn was more much collected about it, and he put his rage into his strength, which Reyson similarly did, versus Ranulf's very outward emotional response), but Ranulf has never been subjected to anything that horrendous through the events of the game prior.

To have it be a one off situation in both games (as detailed as they were at the times they happened) is a huge shame imo and deserved to be expanded upon. It's clearly not something he got over over the years, and may never have gotten over post RD (even if he did feel better about it after killing Izuka or, if you didn't have him kill Izuka, if he felt better about it knowing Izuka had been killed for his crimes by the army Ranulf was part of).

I just wish they went more into detail about his feelings, because they were very powerful and emotional and felt like they should've been a stronger part of his character as a whole. Considering his role in RD is about as important if not more important than Elincia's PoR presence, it's something he really deserved as a central character. I love this battle dialogue because it shows you his raw feelings outside of that good ol' sweetheart guy. We can see something he's been struggling with, and we can see him express that so well in the scene they did give him that it would've been amazing to have more of that.

[the-chaos-crew]

so I might just take my comic thing a little serious (I'm having too much fun with it I was kicking my feet and giggling all day today at school doodling in my notebook)

made some references for Simon and Finn since I wanna stop having to open a new tab and google screenshots of the two- plus I want consistent outfits yk how it be

yes I shaded Simon with cool colors + gave him a blue shirt and scarf

yes I know how evil that is and I will own it

I can't not have fun with his tragic story aight

[jatlokgwo]

urge to talk to transchinese people in chinese vs wanting to be understood

[smallandterriblyafraid]

Same guy

Bonus! (I put my blood, sweat and tears into this bullshit):

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

:/ genloss still sucks. btw

[sapphirefox1995]

RIP me I guess for reading the Vision of Shadows and believing Alderheart should be a medicine cat actually. He’s my all time favorite and looking him up had led to me to see a lot of the same opinions of him being a warrior. Like most of the fandom agrees with that notion. But I never did. I never once wanted that.

And it’s not because I don’t want him to be happy. I think he fits well into the medicine cat role and actually likes it. He didn’t dwell on it as much as Jayfeather, that’s for sure. I’m not sure, based on his morals, that he would even like to be a warrior. He’s far too compassionate to want to fight over a stupid border dispute, and he even rants about how leaders only care about territories.

I know people didn’t like that he became a medicine cat because he’s anxious and fails at his warrior apprenticeship. But I don’t feel like I have to remind you that he didn’t become a medicine cat because he was bad, he did because of his connection to StarClan. And I get the whole “Firestar was connected to StarClan” And there’s an obvious difference between Spottedleaf talking to Firestar and a random kit joining in with the shared moonpool prophecy. I know people don’t like to accept this because of Mothwing and our own hate towards their religion, but it’s widely accepted that being that close to StarClan is half of the job. I’m not trying to discredit Mothwing, but I am trying to point out how the cult tends to work.

I want a warrior with a strong connection to StarClan as well, but sharing dreams with medicine cats that are at the moonpool is not one of those cats!

And his anxiety and slow learning never fully stopped when he switched. He still messed up with herbs. And I don’t think it’s fair to say the medicine cat job is some thing that’s bad, and shouldn’t be an option if a cat wants to be happy.

Not to mention Alderheart genuinely believed that the only reason he was sent to the medicine den is exactly what the fandom says. But in the same book, the first VoS book, he learns it was because he would make a good medicine cat, and his opinion changes. He isn’t longing for the life he wished he has like Jayfeather did when he was an apprentice. The closest thing we got to that was when he was devastated Sandstorm died and got jealous of Sparkpelt when she became a warrior. 

Based on my opinion, as a very emotional and anxious person, someone who related deeply to Alderheart in opinions and actions, I think he should be a medicine cat. I don’t think we should treat being a warrior as the height of clan society. And I think, and I cannot stress this enough, that changing your life goals to fit yourself is not a bad thing! 

I think at the end of the day, fuck Bramblestar for not taking Alderheart seriously and well as never doing anything and making his son feel he isn’t good enough. I do think Alderheart could’ve made it as a warrior but I don’t think it would’ve worked well with his character.

[fellomenking]

...

... Well folks, you know what to do.

Post more naked Morgott.

[cursed-anduknowit]

Oooh~ this neon pen will be my downfall im calling it right nOW

[caruliaa]

the autism swag war thing going going around rn thats like voting for the character with th most autistic swag is annyoing me bc im very veryyy certain its made by an exclus weirdo but like no one is checking abt that or even cares and i dont wana be like "UMM HERES MY EPIC CALLOUT POST FOR THIS PERSON !!!1!!1!!" but its just kinda upsetting the amnt tht no one cared abt ppl being shitty to aro and ace ppl to the point were if i did try to do anything more than make this post about it id def be too scared of people being nasty about it and treating it like its getting upset over something dumb and just. idk im just tired of it

[discountdyke]

idk why but some of yall think that being a trans man makes you nothing like a cis man and then turn around and start attacking women and claiming that women as a class are oppressing men. and idk how to explain to you that this is exactly what cis men do. and that's not a good thing

[artandsomethingcreated]

It isnt that i didnt see where people were coming from about long fic. The responses about not reading anything really long.

But today i was looking for a nice fanfic to read, and i found a long one that i thought may be interesting. I had to back out before geting to far because it was just... boring.

When ever that happens i have taken to forceing myself to read and figure out why i dont like it. And that brings me to why i think people balk at high word counts.

It was boring because it had to many words. To much was said with 5 or even more sentences when it could have been 2 or just left out completely.

I am aware what i have now on my story likely needs to be cut and combined in places.

That there are to many of the wrong words. Places where more descriptions are needed and places where characters get stuck in their own heads.

But despite being at almost 150k words i am actually trying to keep it short.

The problem is i am focusing on charicter development, and well there is so so much there and it is slowing me down lol.

Hopefully what i end up with will not be boring. I plan on asking my beta readers to mark where it drags so i can fix it. But i would rather not bore my friends and make them regret agreeing to this 🤣

[aqua-the-smiter]

Part 2 of being nice to Cato because nobody else will.

Cato Sicarius x female reader Divider by the lovely @squishyowl seriousy I love your dividers SO MUCH Also snuck in a tiny little nod to @moodymisty 's Cato stuff. It inspired me quite a bit Song for the dream and the part with the reader - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-r5DWT0Z-A Song for Cato's musings - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I15sK7dNMOM

Cato hadn't set foot back on the Emperor's Will in years, but it felt like he was never free of the damned ship. He saw it everywhere. Dark hallways would flicker into the lonely metal corridors, every voidship he boarded would make his skin prickle briefly. He found himself drawing up plans for if his vessel was ever lost in the Warp again. What he could do differently to minimize losses.

Even his sleep wasn't safe. Then again, weren't dreams the most volatile, fickle things?

There were no walls. Just an endless, dark room that seemed to go on and on until they hit the hull. It took him ages to walk to it, where it would just stretch on into the blackness until he hit a curve or a corner. The lumens in the ceiling were dim, weak. Their light only went so far.

He was frantic. Running around the seemingly endless room. He could hear things. Screaming, so much screaming. And that infernal music again. The pipe organ, and the singing in a language he couldn't understand. He still couldn't understand it.

He searched and searched. Going in circles. But there was nothing there. The room was empty.

The lumens flickered. There was scratching.

But still there was nothing. Although he swore that was a lie. He felt something there. A presence. Several. Like they were all just out of reach. He couldn't be alone. The only one left alive. There had been more. Not as many but there had been. Wherever he moved, it felt like there was something following him. Something he either couldn't see, or something that didn't want him to see it. Lingering in the corner of his eye, the back of his mind, clinging to the shadows that even his vision couldn't discern.

He could still hear the music, even though he couldn't find the organist. Screaming, begging for mercy in a starless sky where there was none to be found. The scratching again. Then he noticed something.

The floor felt oddly...spongy. Like it wasn't completely solid. Like it was sagging with his weight. It looked like normal metal tiles. But when he stepped on one, he felt it move. Just by a fraction of an inch. Something dark and viscous welled up between the tiles. His eyes grew oddly wet and sticky. The scent of iron filled his nose and throat.

Suddenly, very suddenly, he knew he wasn't alone. He hadn't been alone this whole time.

Slowly, he got to one knee and pulled out his blade. Wedging it under a tile, and using it to pry the heavy slab up. It pulled away easily with a sickening, wet squelching. Strings of liquid clung to the underside. A wave of fetid air rolled out, like cold from a meat locker.

Oh no, he hadn't been alone. Everyone was right here. Right underneath him.

Under the tile was a roiling, disgusting mass of flesh. There were people sunk inside. Melted together. Screaming faces, jaws wrenched wide open in agony. Eyes with no lids, hands reaching up to him. All bare, glistening muscle and sinew. Slick with blood and dripping slime. Groaning in pain. Begging, pleading. For help, or to end their suffering. Who could say?

He wanted to help, but he could not. He knew he could not, not when they were like this. But the guilt crushed him anyway. He could feel the red iron wetness in his eyes dripping out, rolling down his cheeks.

He couldn't save them. He couldn't save anyone. Groping for the tile he had removed, but it had vanished.

A hand covered in broken ceramite grabbed his ankle. Quickly, it was severed at the wrist. Cato jumped back, and stumbled. The tile behind him had disappeared. He looked around. They were all disappearing now. Sinking into the twisting, liquefied horror. He looked around, but there was no door out. He looked up, but there was nothing on the ceiling for him to grab onto. He looked down again. The half rotted faces of his battle brothers stared back up. With a jolt of horror he realized he could recognize them all. They screamed at him, even as they grabbed at his ankles and dragged him off the one remaining tile. He screamed too, thrashing and kicking. Screaming the whole way down.

Cato woke up with a scream. His twin hearts hammered against his ribs, his body wet with sweat.

It was times like these where he was grateful he had his own quarters. He didn't sleep often, but this time the Primarch had insisted he get some rest. He'd wanted to protest, but there had been something in Guilliman's eyes that had stopped him.

Concern.

That troubled him. His out of control mind was getting so noticeable even his gene-father was worried, when he had much more important things to worry about. Not for the first time, Sicarius cursed himself for letting it get to this point.

The worst part about all of this was just how alone he was. He figured he should talk to someone about it, but who could he even go to? Who would actually understand? Calgar was not fond of him. Many of his brothers were not fond of him. The idea of talking to the lord Primarch was so absurd he nearly laughed. He got the feeling that Guilliman was...exasperated with him at times. No, he was alone in this.

A part of him wondered if anyone would even listen to him, or if his earlier arrogance had burned a certain perception into everyone's minds. He certainly still had a reputation. He was respected. Of course, he was still the commander of the Victrix Guard. That alone carried immeasurable prestige. That, at least, he was acknowledged for. His skill in combat, his sharp mind as a tactician. No matter what had happened, he still had that. But that colored things too. Sometimes he wondered if he was even a brother to the other Ultramarines, or if they saw him more as a tool. A good one, but a tool nonetheless. Respected, applauded, but not liked. Some of his battle brothers probably blamed him for the losses on the Emperor's Will. He'd heard as much from gossiping serfs and Astartes alike. And he couldn't blame them, because he did too. He was no Titus, or Ventris. If anything, it felt like his reputation had gotten worse in some aspects. Granted, he had become quieter, and more withdrawn than he'd used to be, but somehow he'd even ended up with the label of a misogynist. That, he had no idea where it had come from. He had questioned it, but the answers he got didn't make sense. Perhaps it was his dealings with one of the Primarch's diplomats? He had been a bit short with her, but that hadn't been anything personal.

It was like two completely different versions of him existed simultaneously. The one his battle brothers and Primarch and everyone else thought they were seeing. The one that everyone projected their negative perceptions onto. And the one he actually was.

He thought back. When had this spiral started? Damnos, maybe. The first crack in his mirror. The first was always the ugliest. It had been humiliating. Maybe that was when the illusion was broken. If anyone had doubted him then, all those doubts had been confirmed, and minds were hard to change. Maybe it was then his brotherhood had been revoked. And when Guilliman's opinion of him had turned, after he heard or read about it. Maybe that's why he kept Cato so close. He knew that he couldn't be relied on anymore.

And if that was the case, why would anyone think twice about him? Why would they care if what they said about him was true or not? Anyone could make up anything and people would just nod along and say "That checks out. I heard he was like that" even though he hadn't been for a long time. That smugness had been burned out of him on the Emperor's Will like poison from a wound. But it didn't matter what he was actually like now. He had been ousted and had been too blind to realize it until it was slapping him in the face. It was a bitter thought to swallow. He could feel it putting down roots.

Why would anyone care about his tormented thoughts, then? About the ghosts that scratched at him when he was alone. The nagging, the screaming, the singing. If him changing had not mattered, why would his pain matter? And he realized right then with horrible certainty that things would never get better.

It didn't matter, he supposed. He felt isolated, although he did his best to keep it under wraps. Something he was going to have to do a better job of, it seemed. Whatever was boiling in his head, it wasn't important. It was his problem, and only his problem. If he could bury it deep enough, then it didn't have to be a problem. He had a duty to fulfill.

Right now, that entailed trying to get back to sleep. As hopeless of an endeavor as that felt. The next time he awoke it was to sunlight and the general noise of the Fortress of Hera.

And to the only music he could stand nowadays.

He looked over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, to see you settling back in a chair after flinging the curtains open. His helmet was sitting in your lap, currently being polished with care. The plume had been brushed out.

"I overslept." He stated, looking at how bright the day was outside. "Dammit!"

"It's ok, Cato." You soothed, reaching out to pat him on the arm. Corded muscle underneath your fingertips. "The...well, the Primarch said not to disturb you."

"He...what? Why? Have I done something to displease him?"

"Of course not. He thought you could do with the extra rest. You've seemed...off for a while."

Well that was certainly true. He ran a hand through his short hair and sat up. "Still, it's bad form."

"I don't know. You haven't been well for a while, Cato." You told him hesitantly.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem so...dull. Lost. Like you're wandering around in fog. Like there's a light in you that's burnt out. I don't really know how to describe it." You wrung your hands. "But you've changed. You're quieter, your temper is shorter. You're only social when you need to be, and you brood so much. I'm...I'm worried about you too. Did something happen on that ship? On the Emperor's Will?"

He cursed inwardly. He'd never wanted to put the burden of his internal pain on you. But he had done such a poor job of controlling himself that even Guilliman had noticed.

You, he wasn't surprised about. You were his personal serf, after all. Moreover, you cared. About him. He wasn't a tool or a faraway, high ranking officer to you. He appreciated that, more than he could say. Still, it wasn't on you to shoulder his problems.

Did something happen? Of course something happened. They were lost in the Warp for five agonizing years. He could still hear the screams of his men and the haunted music when he closed his eyes.

But...

The look on your face was nothing but kind. You had always been a kind woman. Of all his nagging worries and doubts about opening up to someone about the things that wove themselves into the fabric of his mind, he knew for a fact none of them would apply to you.

"Yes. Many things happened on that ship. I still see them when I close my eyes. I still hear them when all is calm. It lingers in the back of my mind, in my waking moments. I hear the screaming and the music. I can find no peace."

It hurt to admit. The longer he had kept this close to his chest, the harder it became to speak about. A leaden weight in his soul. But it felt good to be rid of.

"Oh Cato..." Your voice was a soft whisper. Putting the helmet down, you sat on the edge of the bed next to him and threw your arms around his neck.

He stiffened, and was still for a long few minutes. You wondered if you had done something wrong, before you felt his huge, strong arms wrap around you in return, and pull you tight against his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of your shoulder, and you felt something wet soaking into the fabric of your robe.

You didn't know what else to do, so you just squeezed him tight. As tightly as your slender arms could. Cato didn't make a sound, but you felt his hands clutch your robe.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I am sorry for putting this on you. You do not need my burdens on your shoulders."

"No, it's ok. It sounds like you really needed to talk to someone. How long has this been going on?"

"Too long."

You turned your head and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his temple, then his cheek. You expected him to protest, but he didn't. He let himself be cuddled like a defeated cat.

"Listen, Cato. I...I care about you. A lot. If you don't want to tell anyone else about this, please at least talk to me. You can trust me, I promise. I don't know how much I can actually help. But surely it's better then living with this eating you. Surely? You don't even have to go into detail. Just tell me it won't leave you alone again."

He didn't answer for a while.

"Do you know that I can't stand music now? Any music. Except for yours. I still like the sound of your singing."

That made you blush a little. And you were happy to be able to provide some comfort to him, even if it was something so small.

He removed his head from your shoulder, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your cheek.

Then, after a moment's hesitation, he placed one on your soft lips.

You were surprised, to say the least, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't fill you with joy immediately. You reciprocated it, eagerly, and when the two of you finally pulled apart he had a small smile on his face, despite the fact his cheeks were still wet with his tears.

"Thank you, my lady." Cato said softly, so much more softly than you would have ever believed an Astartes capable of. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Cato. I..." You swallowed. "I love you. I'll be here for you."

He placed a hand on your cheek. It was huge and rough, but warm. You layered your hand over his, holding it against your face.

It wasn't an instant fix to his troubles, but it was something. The beginning of something. Maybe things could finally scab over now.

Maybe Cato could finally begin to heal.