#or that the deflect does work but it requires a much finer sense of timing

[gwarden123]

I still don’t... There’s something I don’t like about the way enemies are grouped and move around the map, particularly the soldiers, particularly in their own bases. I don’t know. It’s not like the enemy placement in any of the other Dark Forces or similar games were all that realistic. They just didn’t feel quite so like they were dropped at random across the map. Only a few of them have any kind of patrol path too, so the bulk of them are just standing there waiting for you to come close enough to attack them. I think maybe the lack of officers doesn’t help either, again, particularly on bases. It’s like only enlisted men exist. And the occasional lone special operative who is just there and isn’t coordinating with other forces to achieve a defined goal. I don’t know. I’m nitpicking, I guess. It just doesn’t feel like a real place. It doesn’t feel lived in.

[the-years-between-us]

Lamplighter

Summary: Stella gets a call from Reed directly following the final episode of The Fall S3. (Stella Gibson/Reed Smith)

Chapter Index 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Warning: This story contains references and descriptions of self-harm. NC-17.

AN: Thanks as always to @therobbinsnest, @mobygirl21, and @misshadley!

Chapter 4

The muscles in Reed’s legs are tired, overexerted and tinged with sweet soreness, the kind that begs to be stretched. She arches her back, lengthening her body, feeling the pleasant tension dissipate into the sun warmed room.

It’s 10:30am and they've accidentally slept in, lethargic after staying up so late. Upon seeing the time, Reed’s first instinct had been to worry, she’s used to having responsibilities after all. The padding of little feet or the impending wail of an argument usually lurking imminently behind the shelter of her closed eyelids. But not this morning. This morning she can linger in the fluffy comfort of her bed without the niggling fear that someone small needs her attention. In some ways it feels like she’s missing a limb. Another stretch proves she’s not, all limbs accounted for, and then she fights the guilty feeling that tells her to feel selfish for having this. It’s a habit she’s trying to break. Beating herself up for needing certain things - anything - for herself. The cycle of self-incrimination, bearing burdens and wearing guilt, it’s all part of this self-inflicted wound she’s been trying to clean. She’d convinced herself that it was ‘nothing’ for too long, put a bandaid on it, expected it to heal on its own. And she’s a doctor. She should have known better.

So she resolves to let go of that guilt for now, she tells herself there’s no other choice. It's part of the treatment she’s prescribed herself. Sometimes it feels counterintuitive but she knows that it’s the right thing. The medicine is harsh but the alternative infection had grown unbearable. And she tells herself this for the hundredth time this week alone, her own silent mantra.

Then she chances a glance toward the space next to her, the one Stella occupies dozing in and out of sleep. All at once, a second wave of worry breaks over her barely conscious mind. Because it’s late and Stella probably has things she needs to do. What if she’s been waiting for Reed to wake up? Too polite to leave inconspicuously? Trying futilely to wait for her get up like an active adult should, even on the weekends. It’s not like they know each other’s schedules or routines but 10:30am seems alarmingly late.

Before her anxiety snowballs into an avalanche, Reed halts her thoughts and takes a deep breath. Examine the situation.

Everything appears fine. In fact, almost better than fine.

Stella’s awake but not by much. There's no rush in the drowsy blink of her eyes and it’s a relief but also remarkably strange. For some reason, Reed imagines that lazy Saturday mornings are totally out of the realm of possibility for Stella. But the evidence in front of her speaks for itself. Stella makes no pressing effort to remove herself from their sleep-disheveled nest, no energetic toss of the sheets or swift gathering of clothing. There’s even a sleepy smile as she sees Reed notice her. Reed reflects the gesture back because it’s almost impossible not to, and then lets her eyes drift closed. There’s probably some fear lingering in the shadows of her lashes, fear that doesn’t need to be there, fear that Stella doesn’t need to see.

Looking up at the ceiling, Reed sees alternative scenarios play out before her. More likely scenarios. How this morning might have been riddled with excuses, all of them wrapped up in vague assurances, shifting eyes, and tight non-smiles. Cracks lining the thick frozen surface of Stella’s glacier stare, trying and failing to mask the acutely obvious logic swimming there.

Don’t let it mean so much. It was always going to be like this.

Stella would never say it but it would be there all the same. And she would keep things unemotional and clean. A fact of life like any other, something to accept and put behind you. Promises to see each other soon, Keep me posted on how the job goes, when they both know it’s the last time they’ll speak, at least for a while. Reed sees it so plainly as if it’s already happened. It’s almost painful how undeniable the likelihood of a rejection from Stella Gibson seems to her now. How clearly it manifests itself on the blurry ceiling.

“What're you thinking about?” comes Stella’s hearthside voice, rough and balmy from the morning hour. Reed vanquishes the assaulting vision, lets it waft away like smoke, curling upward into nothingness. That’s all it is. Nothingness.

Letting her head tilt towards Stella, Reed’s met with the same icy blue eyes, less cold than her imagination paints them. They're inquisitive and more awake than a few moments ago, beaming into her, asking questions. Stella lays on her side, rumpled sheet tucked under her arm, hair a bit of mess splayed over the pillow. Somehow she still manages to look glorious. Reed wonders if she’s simply made different, stitched together with some celestial thread, elegance sewn into her bones. Stella for star.

“Nothing,” Reed answers untruthfully and it sounds small even to her own ears.

There are some things that you just don't say to people. And Reed’s learning that there are even more things that you just don’t say to Stella. Being honest right now would require violating one or both of those things. I’m just wondering why you’re still here is decidedly not the thing to say. So nothing is.

But Stella is perceptive, it's one of the things that makes her good at her job, so of course she sees the lie. The smoky film hanging in the air, residue left behind by unwelcome thoughts, she sees it all. And Reed tries to give her a smile but it doesn't work. It so sadly doesn't work and the probing nature of Stella's gaze freezes over a bit more, solidifying.

Reed doesn’t want to lie but the truth seems useless and needy, thoughts she’d like to un-think. And she needs to distract herself or she’ll shatter under the intensity of Stella’s steely stare. This is so foolish of her because she’s woken up to a beautiful woman who’s still very firmly in her bed. The same woman who gave her three distinctly memorable orgasms last night and it’s ridiculous because Reed didn’t even know she could come three times in one night. Now she’s forcing a scenario upon herself that hasn’t happened, making it a mountain in her mind instead of enjoying the peace of simply being here. What a shame, ‘here’ is pretty fucking great and she’s wasting it.

A heavy sigh, closing eyelids. Let it go.

“I was thinking…” she starts before opening her eyes anew, “How nice it is to sleep in. Nowhere to be and no lovely children demanding breakfast.”

“Mm,” Stella hums in response, eyes softening a little in attempt to accept Reed’s deflection into lighter territory. Her hand finds Reed’s lying between them and Stella runs the soft pads over her fingers over Reed’s, studying their structure, thin but strong, skilled and slender. “Breakfast doesn't sound so bad.”

Stella’s delicate fingertips continue playing, lacing up and down, and it feels incredibly cathartic. Here and there, her trim nails brush lightly over Reed’s hands, sending chill bumps up her spine, across her shoulders and down her arms. Just like that, Reed senses her worries receding, slipping away into the murky depths from which they came. Every tender stroke, the sensory pleasure of skin on skin, relaxing.

Is it intentional? That perceptive nature of Stella’s, purposefully calming her contemptuous mind? Laying her fears to rest, telling her she has nothing to worry about. Because Stella’s touching her soothingly, and apparently she wants breakfast, she wants to stay. Maybe Reed just hasn’t woken up yet, caught in that in-between, not ready to encounter reality.

“It doesn't sound bad at all.”

Stella hums again looking at Reed with bright eyes, a gossamer smile whispered across her lips. Reed can see her intentions woven in the seductive fabric of her irises. And then her fingers abandon Reed’s as she slips her arm over the dip of Reed’s waist.

“In fact,” comes her low voice. “I’m rather hungry.”

Leaning in, Stella kisses Reed’s throat sending her fraught mind tumbling down an entirely different path. Shifting her weight, Stella positions herself over Reed for better access and the sheet slides unceremoniously down Stella’s back. A few strands of blonde hair tickle against Reed’s neck before Stella tucks them safely behind her ear, eyes catching Reed’s as she does so. And in the brief spell of connection there, Reed can see Stella evaluating her, gauging her mindset and whether or not this is working, if distraction was the appropriate tactic here. Reed’s not entirely sure if it’s the right thing to do but it feels good. When Stella’s mouth is on her she feels so good. Everything else filters into white noise.

Apparently satisfied, Stella dips down to kiss her clavicle, soft and then not so soft. Reed lets her fingers glide through Stella’s hair with that same feathery touch she’d just enjoyed so much. And it must be welcome because Stella makes a small noise - not quite a moan, not quite a hum - something like an unconscious sigh in the back of her throat that translates into a gentle nip of her teeth. Immediately, Reed feels herself flush as her heart begins to race and Stella tempers the bite with her tongue.

Moving a bit lower, Stella traces wet kisses down the valley of Reed’s breasts. And then she stops at the cue of an interrupting growl, the rumbling of a stomach gone too long without food. And Stella lifts her head to look at Reed, a genuinely amused expression lining her lips.

“Was that you or me?”

“I don’t know,” Reed laughs a little and Stella’s head collapses downward in mild defeat. God forbid uninteresting requisites like ‘three meals a day’ get in the way of the finer things in life.  “Maybe we should get some proper food in us before this goes any further.”

“Might be wise,” Stella says, placing a single lingering kiss to Reed’s breast bone before pulling herself up into a sitting position. She glances around as Reed extracts herself from the bedding. “Seems like most of my clothes never made it upstairs.” Reed tries not to grin at the memory.

“I’ll find you something,” she says walking toward the dresser. “Options are limited though. I got rid of a bunch of things during the move.”

“Anything’s fine,” Stella says getting up and heading towards the bathroom. “Just leave something out and I’ll be right down.” With that she disappears behind the door as Reed sifts through her pajama drawer. Not much to choose from. None of it looks remotely like something Stella might wear. So she throws on a tank top and pair of loose cotton shorts, and leaves out a few things for Stella on the bed before heading downstairs.

On her journey, she's met with several pieces of stray clothing. Even though there's no one home to care, no one here to witness the aftermath of the scene they've made, Reed can't help the furious blush that spreads like wildfire over her cheeks. An instinctive hand drifts to her face, a vain attempt to cover it. Jesus Christ, it looks like a hurricane ripped through the hallway.

Perhaps one had.

She puts a few things right, hangs her coat, stores her purse away. Then her stomach makes itself known again and damn, she’s starving, probably should've eaten more last night. The clothes will have to wait.

Reed busies herself in the kitchen, putting on coffee and scouring the fridge for adult appropriate sustenance, anything beyond cartoonish cereal or yogurt tubes. Luckily, Reed eats like she's taken a nutrition class or two, so they've at least got some eggs and fruit in the house, some multigrain toast that'll have to do. As she pulls everything out to prep, setting it on the counter, she hears the telltale padding of footsteps.

“Looks like we properly enjoyed ourselves last night,” Stella says rounding the corner, probably taking in the wreck of strewn clothing all over the floor.

And the coffee’s just finished up so Reed removes the pot and grabs a mug. She’s about to say something about the mess they’ve made when she looks up and stops abruptly, thankfully not spilling mid-pour like an idiot. Because she's almost 100 percent sure that she looks like an idiot right now, gaping at Stella, coffee pot in hand, unable to produce a coherent thought.

“What?” Stella says noticing her stare, a hint of concern edging her voice.

Reed realizes what she's doing and snaps back to pouring coffee, a self conscious smile masking her embarrassment. “Nice outfit.”

“You left it out,” Stella responds.

Truthfully, it's nothing more than an oversized t-shirt that Reed's never looked at twice. It's actually her husband’s from college and she'd only kept it because it's absurdly comfortable. Comfortable and soft perhaps, but not sexy - she would never use the word sexy to describe it. And yet Stella still manages to wear the shit out of the old tattered thing. It hangs from her lean frame, practically drowning her, and somehow it looks like the best thing Reed owns.

What the ever living fuck.

“I know - uh…” Reed says handing Stella the steaming mug that's taken far too long to make its way into her hands. “It just doesn't look like that on me. Or anyone, frankly.”

Stella accepts it with a knowing smile and a gentle, “Hush.” Then she props herself against the counter next to Reed, mug cradled to her chest, long t-shirt barely covering the tops of her thighs, and peering at the assortment of food.

“Scrambled okay?”

“It’s fine. Can I do anything?”

“Um, there’s bread for toast if you want it,” Reed suggests nodding toward the loaf sitting next to the fruit.

The next ten minutes pass in some domestic alternate reality, Stella sipping coffee in that fucking t-shirt while Reed hovers over the stove and plates their meal. It strikes Reed as strange, moving through this ritual with someone not her husband. Butterflies and blatant ogling had long since left their morning routine and she finds it so odd to have that back with anyone, let alone Stella. And it’s not that Stella’s drastically different in this environment, milling about her kitchen in morning-after wear. If anything she’s exactly the same, ethereal yet incredibly human, and Reed envies the cool ease in which she seems to navigate her surroundings.

For no particular reason, they eat standing at the counter. Caught up in conversation, it just happens, an organic decision that lends itself to that ‘thing’ between them. She’s had it with few people in her lifetime so it’s hard to identify. Something like a natural intimacy. It was there from that first crime scene and has followed them to autopsy bays, trashy bars and now kitchen counters. Always present even during these mundane but necessary hiccups like breakfast. Nothing has changed. And yet for Reed everything has changed.

When she’s with Stella, they seem to vibrate in the same corners of the world and everything feels the same.

They finish eating and there’s a bit of cleanup but it’s not too bad. Reed rinses the dishes and then leaves the rest of it in the sink, reasoning that she’ll get to it later. No use wasting time on it now. Not when Stella’s back to leaning against the counter and looking at her like she's got a secret, and that secret is all the ways to make Reed weak.

And it's not fair because Reed’s confused, she doesn't know how the rest of this is supposed to play out. She still can't pinpoint why Stella’s not racing out the door. Even cordially, even with every intention of seeing her again. And Reed can't help it but something inside of her, call it intuition, is telling her that something is amiss.

Not only that, but Stella had spoken of some shopping she'd been putting off and fully implied that they could make a day of it together. A day wandering about London with Stella Gibson. Shopping. It sounds like the sort of thing she might see in a foreign film and never experience in real life. And sure, it's not that big of a deal. But their rapport had been built on fighting monsters in the dark, not sleeping in and breakfast and shopping. This side of Stella feels almost more intimate than sleeping with her, a glimpse behind the veil. And maybe Stella’s simply not as distant in relationships as Reed might have anticipated. Not that they're in a relationship, no she can't think like that, not when she has no idea what this is. Fuck.

Perhaps Reed’s just too self deprecating, too eager to believe that her presence alone couldn’t hold Stella’s interest.

Either way, she can’t shake the looming feeling that something’s not right.

But then Stella’s lightly tugging at the loose fabric of Reed’s shorts, vying for her attention with a rather alluring glint of blue. So Reed drifts in front of Stella, yielding to the unspoken request, hands floating to the sides of Stella’s t-shirt. She tries not to smirk as Stella continues toying with the hem of her shorts. And Reed admires the curve of Stella’s silhouette beneath the thin cotton, brushing her thumbs in long strokes over Stella’s ribs until there’s a slight wince.

“Sorry,” Reed says, a little startled because somehow she’d forgotten about the harsh blues and purples that marred her porcelain skin. It was dark last night but Reed remembers seeing it, remembers trying to assess the healing without being noticed, remembers trying to convince herself that there’d be a time to talk about it. Spector. Everything he’d done.

Before they’d first met for dinner, Reed had spoken with Rose and heard about the awful way Spector’s case unfolded. Amidst the chaos of moving to London, she’d felt incredibly guilty for her absence. But it was nothing compared to the guilt she felt upon seeing Stella’s injuries, nothing compared to reading about it the next day after a quick google search. Accused Strangler Attacks Two Officers. There hadn’t been many conclusive details, just that Stella and Tom Anderson had sustained non-life-threatening injuries during the attack and were being treated at Royal Victoria Hospital.

With so little to go on, the possibilities running through Reed’s mind remain endless. How far down the drain had things gone after she left? What if something truly horrible had happened? But Reed tries to remind herself that she’s seen Stella’s body. Bruising aside, she seems fine. Physically fine, anyway. No reason to continue jumping to conclusions, no reason to push.

Maybe it’s selfish but Reed still wants to ask her about it. Wants the reassurance that nothing had been broken beyond repair.

“It’s fine,” Stella says. “Think we just got a little carried away last night.”

“Shit,” Reed whispers. Her eyes clamp shut, immediately remembering how rough she’d been with Stella when they’d come back. Could she have really been so stupid? Completely lost her mind at the idea of getting Stella undressed? “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it.”

“Don’t be.” Reed opens her eyes glancing up at Stella, unsure whether or not to believe her. “I liked it.”

And then Stella’s giving her that look, the one that makes her pulse race and sends heat tearing through her core. It’s pathetic how quickly she melts under this particular look, how quickly she loses herself to its pull. Maybe that’s why she’d acted so careless last night. And it’s no excuse but Reed’s willing to cut herself a break because Stella’s moving towards her, which means most of her thoughts will be useless in a matter of seconds anyway.

For the second time this morning, Reed allows Stella to distract her from restless thoughts with a coaxing brush of her lips. In Stella’s defense, Reed is easily swayed, too easily swayed and more than willing to be lost to the nuances of this particular distraction. Her hair for instance, and the way the unruly blonde strands tousle away from more orderly curls. It’s so different than the short tufts of brown hair that she’s grown accustomed to. And her smell, Reed’s not sure that Stella even wears perfume but something about the smell of her is so distinctly feminine in a way that’s different from her own. Fascinating. Enticing. Then there’s the strength in Stella, the force of her touch that’s not always rough but definitely confident and definitely there in the press of her body, the swipe of her tongue. Even now as Stella pulls her closer, hands on Reed’s hips and sneaking up the hem of her tank top.

Afraid to hurt her, Reed doesn’t exactly return the force of Stella’s touch. She keeps her hands at Stella’s face and her neck, gentle caresses. It’s definitely a contrast to heat of Stella’s mouth working against her own and the pressure of Stella’s hips pressed invitingly against her. And Reed can feel Stella pushing her, asking for more. So Reed skims her hands down to Stella’s breasts, palming them lightly and Reed can feel her sigh into their kiss, relief and frustration. Stella rolls herself against Reed with intent, pushing herself into Reed’s hands before dragging her teeth adamantly against Reed’s lip.

Then Stella’s breaking their kiss, pressing her hand to Reed’s against her chest and saying, “You’re not going to break me, you know.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she assures, still breathing heavily. After that wince earlier, Reed’s not quite buying it. “I’ll tell you.”

“You didn’t last night.”

“Sometimes a little pain isn’t the worst thing.”

As much as Reed hates to admit it, Stella has a point and hearing her say it is a turn on. But the fact of the matter is that Stella’s still injured and needs to heal. The doctor in her knows how painful bruised ribs can be and the more Reed thinks about it, the more angry she gets with Spector, the more angry she gets with herself. It’s a slippery slope into the dredges of overwhelming concern and distress over the fact that she still doesn’t know the whole story.

But Stella’s looking at her like she’s a lifeline, a mixture of arousal and something a little desperate that Reed immediately hates. For a brief moment she thinks she might understand what’s off, what’s bothering Stella. Spector. Maybe she’s projecting and maybe Stella’s fine but for a split second, Reed swears that she just knows. But then it’s gone and Stella’s tugging at her seductively, reeling her back in and Reed wonders if she’s imagined the entire thing. And if she could bring Spector back and administer bodily harm, she would, that’s how much she hates whatever the fuck was in Stella’s eyes. Because Stella’s the embodiment of confidence and Reed loves that about her, aspires to find it in herself. Nothing, especially not that asshole, should be able to interfere with that.

“Sit,” Reed says simply, falling back into the moment as she steps back a bit. And Stella’s brow furrows momentarily so Reed nods to the counter behind Stella and repeats, “Sit.”

Eyeing her with a combination of curiosity and anticipation, Stella reaches behind her and sits easily on the smooth surface. It makes her taller than Reed but not by much and Reed thinks that might actually make this perfect. And then Reed wishes she could stop time. Just for a few seconds so that she might find a way to capture this moment, preserve it and keep it somewhere secret, tucked away and safe. Because the image Stella presents so demurely on the counter, bed hair and bare faced, it’s somewhere along the lines of fantasy and reality, converged and distilled into absolute arrest. A beautiful snapshot of life that Reed would like to always remember. And so fucking sexy. This t-shirt is really doing it for her.

Memory secured, Reed steps forward into the crux of Stella’s legs and greets her with a searing kiss and a firm grip to her thighs. If Stella wants a little abandon, Reed will attempt to give it to her without threatening her wounds. And Stella shows her appreciation, pulling at Reed’s jaw and assaulting her mouth as Reed runs her hands farther up Stella’s legs. Then Reed’s fingertips make it all the way to Stella’s ass without encountering anything, nothing, no underwear. Good. Convenient.

Smiling into their kiss, Reed pulls back to arrange Stella’s hips closer to the edge of the counter, tugging the hem her new favorite garment out of the way. Stella spreads her legs wider and breathes into Reed’s hairline, hands roaming over her shoulders, palming her through the flimsy material of her tank top.

And then Reed’s mouth is at Stella’s pulse, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin there as her fingers find the slick warmth of Stella’s folds. There’s really no point in teasing her, not when all Reed wants to do is absolve her of these recent weeks. Reed takes a breath, a moment to draw on her own sense of determination. She’s getting less nervous and more confident, she knows that she can give Stella what she wants but it still takes a minor personal pep talk.

A few swipes over her wet clit leaves Stella a flurried mess, panting in Reed’s ear and yeah, she’s feeling pretty confident. Stella’s fingers splay and pull Reed closer, warm breaths of gratitude pressed along her hairline. It makes Reed think that this might not last long because Stella’s humming, eager and ready for anything she’s willing to offer. So Reed easily pushes two fingers inside of her and it’s like velvet heat. Having touched herself, she knows she should expect it but Stella is just so incredibly soft, so soft and warm that Reed can hardly comprehend it. This angle makes it surprisingly easy to adjust her speed and pressure and Reed uses the leverage of her body to anchor her hand. God, it's incredibly erotic fucking her like this. She could get used to the idea of finding all the ways to make Stella unravel.

Then she feels Stella freeze before she hears it.

The distinct call of “mum!” Creaking door. Soft thud. Shuffling feet.

Heart pounding, instinct kicks in and she pulls her fingers from the slickness of Stella’s heat, stepping back just in time for Stella to lock her legs shut as Charlotte rounds the corner, followed by Jane.

“There you are!” Charlotte says beaming and then very quickly shifting focus to Stella. “Who’re you?”

Reed feels most of her organs plummet through the floor as she glances toward Stella. Much to Stella’s credit, she tries to smile and looks relatively unshaken if not suitably fucked, lips swollen and knees shut together.

“What on earth are you two doing here?” Reed asks with a vain attempt to keep her voice light and neutral. And her fingers are sticky with Stella’s arousal so she wipes them quickly on the cotton shorts, tugging them down and trying not appear alarmed. Reaching for her youngest, she tells herself to act natural as Stella slides off the counter to stand beside her.

“Dad needed to drop us off early,” Jane says, eyeing Stella warily as Charlotte latches onto Reed’s leg in a hug.

“Very early, huh?”

Heavier footsteps follow.

“I tried calling-” Daniel says rounding the corner before halting abruptly. His eyes zero in on Stella, on her state of undress. He looks back to Reed then back to Stella. A table tennis match of emotions plays out across his face as he takes in his surroundings. It might be comical, the stunned look, the entire situation at large, if she wasn’t so absolutely fucking mortified. What kind of sick reality-

“Are you mad?” Charlotte asks worriedly, looking up at the grimace on her face.

“No, baby, I’m not mad,” Reed says giving her a reassuring squeeze.

God, this is a nightmare. She needs the girls out of here, she needs Stella out of here, she needs to know why the hell Dan’s dropping them off a day early. He's barely had them for 12 fucking hours. And she redacts her first answer because yes, she's very mad. But she needs everyone upstairs and out of earshot before she can decide exactly how mad.

“Listen,” Reed says, bending down to Charlotte’s level. “This is my friend, Stella,” she explains in her best ‘mom promises there's nothing wrong’ voice. And christ, Stella’s never going to speak to her again. “Why don’t you take you her upstairs and show her your new doll?”

“What were you guys doing?” Jane asks looking around and shit, suddenly it feels like there's underwear scattered literally fucking everywhere.

“Jane, take Charlotte and Stella and go upstairs.”

“But-”

“Now.”

There’s a moment where Jane decides how defiant she’d like to be, how far to push her limits.

“Fine,” she huffs, walking from the kitchen as Charlotte trails behind her, eyes big with worry.

Reed sends her the most genuine smile she can muster. “I'll be up in a few minutes,” she says and then a whispered, “I’m so sorry,” to Stella who tiptoes around to follow the girls. And she just shakes her head with an empathetic tilt, Don’t worry about it.

Don’t worry about it, what a joke.

Once everyone’s down the hall, Reed turns her attention back towards Dan. His face is currently redder than a cherry tomato, acrimony and distress carving a harsh line in his brow. She hears the girls tread up the stairs and waits a beat to make sure she won’t be heard. And once they're fully out of earshot, she braces herself, says a prayer that she doesn't start crying out of anger or embarrassment. It could go either way at this point.

“Let’s start with: when exactly did you try calling?” Reed asks, trying to keep her voice level.

“I tried your cell 30 minutes ago! And I texted you.”

“What about Lydia’s landline?”

“Tanya, I don’t have time to call every number in the book when there’s an emergency,” he says spitefully and fuck him, yes he does. If she doesn't answer the phone, he sure as hell better call every number in the goddamn book before attempting to leave their children anywhere.

“What if I hadn’t been here? What would you have done? Just dropped them here?”

“I would’ve figured it out.”

“Sure you would have,” because that's his answer for everything. Something empty and pointless that sounds decent after the fact.  “What kind of emergency could be so important that-”

“It’s a client emergency.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Don’t.”

“Dan, you can’t ask to take them for the weekend and then change your mind. I need to be able to count on you when you say you’re going to take them.”

“It’s an emergency!”

“It’s not an emergency,” Reed admonishes. If she could count the number of times he's missed something for a client emergency. There can only be so many emergencies before it comes down to a matter of priorities, plain and simple. “‘Someone’s in the hospital’ is an emergency. This is just typical.”

Even as she says it, she knows it sounds bitter, she can hear it in her voice. But truthfully, she doesn't care. She's given him leeway and she's given him chances, partly because she feels so terminally at fault for being the one to split up their family. His guilt trips work on her and she wishes they didn't. So most days she bites her tongue and tries not to argue with him. But not today because he fucked up his first time taking the girls this badly. Like ‘letting them walk in on her fucking someone’ badly.

“Forgive me,” he starts out condescendingly and oh boy, this should be good. “Forgive me if I don’t have patience for a lecture from you of all people. You clearly don’t give a fuck about me or this family anymore.”

“Excuse me?!” Dammit she's yelling. He's getting to her and she's losing her temper. This can't happen, she's stronger than that.

“Is this the real reason we’re all moving? Why I’m looking for a new job? So you can live out some lesbian fantasy while the rest of us wait around for you to get it out of your system?”

First, she gapes at him. Mouth open indignantly, ready to fire off a string of words that undoubtedly start with “fuck” and end with “you.” But that's childish and she doesn't need the girls to hear her so she takes a deep breath and reigns it in, tries to compose herself.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” she finally settles on, her voice a step from shaking. But Dan’s not as cognizant of his volume as she is, and he's ready to unleash a lot of pent up emotions on her.

“Then what did I just walk in on? Who the hell is that? I mean, christ, she’s up there with our kids. Do you even know her?!”

“Stella has absolutely nothing to do with this!”

*

“Why are my parents fighting about you?” Jane asks slightly upset and more than a little confused by the strains of arguing that they're hearing upstairs. Thankfully Charlotte is occupied, sifting through her overnight bag and looking for a doll as they sit in the girl’s shared bedroom.

As soon as they'd come upstairs, Stella quickly grabbed a pair of pajama pants sitting out on Reed’s unmade bed. Afterwards checking in with the girls had overridden the part of her brain screaming that this whole situation was the most absurd thing that could have possibly happened. And now she sits on the floor, waiting patiently for Charlotte to find her doll while Jane barely attempts to disguise the fact that she's listening for snippets of her parents fighting.

“Sometimes grown ups fight over one thing when they’re really upset about something else.”

“So they're fighting about you even though they're mad about something else?”

“I assume.”

And it's not a lie because none of this is really about Stella. It's about change and responsibility, hurt and commitment. In the end, she has nothing to do with those things, naked in Reed’s kitchen or otherwise.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“A lot of things about being a grown up don’t make much sense.” “A lot of things about being a kid don’t make sense either,” Jane pouts before perking up at another round of heated words drifting through the ceiling. Thank god Charlotte's so engrossed in her task that Stella only has to really worry about one of them.

“You’re very smart.”

Jane smiles a little at the compliment and then takes a moment to really look at Stella. Guarded brown eyes form a window into which Stella can see gears spinning, some serious analysis and attitude at work. “So you’re my mum’s friend?”

“Yes, we used to work together.”

Stella can't blame Jane for being suspicious of her, it might be alarming if she weren't. Even if the twelve year old didn't fully understand what she saw downstairs, she's getting old enough to infer certain things. Maybe not a full picture, but one where passive excuses and obvious lies don't cut it. And Stella remembers her conversation with Reed over the phone a few nights ago, listening to her regale the traumas of a rather intense interrogation with the children. The prospect of trying to explain similar things to Reed’s girls without her consent makes Stella’s stomach twist.

“Why are you in pajamas?”

“It got very late,” Stella starts, trying not to smile at the sharp intent behind Jane’s question. “And your mum was kind enough to let me sleep here.”

“Like a sleepover?”

“Something like that.”

Mulling this over, Jane continues to openly stare at Stella, even as she seems to come to terms with her answer. Stella hasn't been observed this intently by a child in a long time, and it's only fitting that she should be in post-sex attire on top of it. Briefly, she feels more self conscious than she had downstairs.

“I love sleepovers,” Jane finally says rather matter of factly. “But my mum never lets me have them.”

“She does too,” Charlotte says, attention divided between the two of them and her doll, which she's now priming for show.

“Hardly ever.”

Charlotte’s arranged her doll’s hair just so and officially deems her fit enough to show Stella. The little one pridefully points out this and that about the doll, who has blonde hair and seems remarkably skilled at bending her flexible plastic limbs. Stella ‘ah’s at all the right moments, only about half understanding the tidbits of information being babbled in her direction. And then she notices Jane actively tuning them out as a few more choice words filter upstairs.

“Jane do you have a favorite?” Stella asks her, hoping to fulfill her end of this arrangement by distracting the girls until their parents are finished.

“Yes she does,” Charlotte answers when Jane ignores her question. “It’s Jade.”

“Why don't you come over here and show me Jade?”

“I know what you're doing,” she responds looking directly at her now, sass and aggravation both in full gear. “You just don't want me to hear.”

Stella waits a moment and susses the child out before she explains, “I don’t think your mum would like it.” Jane listens but isn’t convinced and Stella continues with a bit of universal information, “And it’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

“I wouldn’t have to if they’d just tell me the truth,” Jane says heatedly but her admission is colored with dejection, and Stella knows the feeling. She remembers being that young and understanding so little. She remembers not being able to make sense of the life surrounding her in all of its glory and humility, beauty and gore.

“I know it’s frustrating,” Stella tells her quietly. And she's about to deliver an untruth that she knows this situation requires. “But it’s only because they love you.”

“That’s what they say.”

“That’s because it’s true.”

*

“How long have you been seeing her?” Dan asks, crossing his arms and widening his stance like it gives him more of a right to speak to her this way. Men.

“That’s none of your business.” “If she’s going to be around the girls it's my business,” he says indignantly.

“She wouldn’t be if you’d spent the weekend with them like you were supposed to.”

He gets quiet and looks fixated on her left shoulder, something intense and tumultuous forming in his mind. His voice is low and even when he asks her.

“Were you having an affair?”

It’s a fair question. Especially considering the fact that she'd almost slept with Stella before the split. But she hadn't so she could answer this question truthfully and live with herself when it was asked.

“No.”

He nods harshly, succinctly and stares at the floor for a long while. Apparently he believes her. Or maybe he doesn’t, she can’t say for sure, but he’s certainly weighing his next move. And there it is, his eyes. The ones she’d fallen in love with. Pleading and puppy dogged, large and wanting. They’re staring into her and it’s like watching a home movie on VHS. Archaic and out of date. Nostalgic all the same.  

“Tanya, I’m trying,” he implores. “I want to make this work.”

And it would be so easy. It would be so easy to fall into this trap, the one that’s allowed her to stay with him for this long. That mask of caring, the one that says ‘I’ll do better, forgive me.’ She can’t take it anymore.

“Stunts like today - dropping the girls off out of nowhere, saying that I missed your call… It doesn’t feel like you’re trying. It feels like you’re making excuses.”

“What do you want?!” he says and it’s booming, the kind of volume you get at a sports event. “I’m looking for a new job! I’m looking for a place down here. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Just be there for them, it's that simple,” she says softly, trying to bring the conversation down to an appropriate decibel. “I don’t understand why that’s such a hard concept to grasp.”

He hangs his head a little and Reed watches as Stella’s lacey underwear catches his eye. He blinks hard and looks away, taking a moment to collect himself. “Look if this is something you have to do, I’ll find a way to get over it.” He’s looking at her now, directly and rationally, and she worries this might be her downfall. Because anger is one thing and logic is another. “But you made a commitment to this family and we should at least try to make it work. The girls deserve it.”

It stings her somewhere deep inside, somewhere where the guilt she harbors over the entire situation festers and grows. The girls. What the girls deserve. She’s gone over it so many times in her head and it’s what’s kept her from leaving a thousand times over. It’s unsustainable, this idea of staying together just for the sake of their children.

“Please don’t tell me what the girls deserve. Please don’t do that. Not when you’re breaking plans with them.” “God dammit none of this would be happening if you’d just let us be a family! I didn’t do that Tanya, you did.”

“Leave.” It comes out low and gravelly. She’s done with this, she’s done going over what’s been done and what’s been said. It’s not part of her prescription, it’s not part of moving forward. “I’m not having this conversation with you again. Not right now. Not when you have such pressing client emergencies to get to.”

There’s a long few seconds in which he looks at her, eyes drilling into her in a way that feels intensely uncomfortable. But she doesn’t flinch and she doesn’t look away. She has nothing to hide. Well, not much, anyway. And when he realizes that the conversation’s come to an end, he takes one last lingering look around, observing the mess, observing Reed.

“Might want to clean up before they come back down,” he says bitterly before turning around, making his way back down the hallway and towards the door, closing it a bit too hard as he exits.

He doesn't say goodbye to his daughters.

Reed takes a few moments to breathe, tries to let the angry energy slip away with each exhale.

It’s a mostly failed effort.

But she won’t let him ruin this day. Far from her initial imaginings, it’s still her day to claim and claim it she will.

So she gathers the discarded clothing in her arms and marches upstairs to deposit it behind the closed door of her bedroom. Then she goes to the bathroom and takes several deep breaths, splashing cool water over her face as she braces herself to face Stella. There are some things that you just can't come back from and this feels like one of them. Why can't she have anything?

Terrified, Reed slips quietly out of the bathroom and approaches the cracked door to the girls’ room, a sliver of light bleeding into the hallway. She pushes it open gently and sees that Charlotte and Jane have very specifically lined up their favorite dolls all in a row with each of their best accessories. Her girls seem enraptured in explaining the intricacies of each doll and the relationships they all have to each other. Reed’s heard it countless times.

And she sees that Stella has thrown on a pair of fleece pants with a plaid pattern, a holiday gift from her husband two years ago. She’s sat down purposefully before the lineup listening as best as an adult can to the rapid back-and-forth of her children enthusiastically rambling over each other. Reed owes her big time, it seems like she may never be able to dig herself out of this woman's debt.

Then Charlotte notices her peeking with a wide toothy smile, “Mum! Come play with us!”

“Inside voices,” Reed says softly at her youngest’s shriek of excitement. And she ventures further in the room as Stella turns looking over her shoulder. She doesn't look like she hates Reed forever. All things considered she looks entirely normal, that's a good sign. “How's everything in here?”

It's a question mostly directed at Stella but Jane quickly replies, “We’re showing Stella how to play.” As if the wide arrangement of dolls wasn't clue enough.

Reed settles herself on the edge of Jane’s bed and teasingly asks, “Is she any good?” Stella gives her a subtlety admonishing glance and Reed just grins.

“We haven't started yet, come play with us and you can be Delia,” Charlotte says quickly as incentive.

Reed laughs a little, somewhat mystified by how unaffected they all seem up here. Then as if on cue, Jane’s asking, “Did Dad leave?” And reality quickly hemorrhages into their world of make-believe. And everybody’s silent, looking at Reed with big eyes. Well, except for Stella, who's politely looking down, a small attempt to give her some space if she needs it.

“He did.”

“He didn't say goodbye,” Jane says quietly and there's a small note of hurt in it.

“I know, I'm sorry. He was in a hurry, remember.”

“Yeah,” she says. Charlotte looks at Jane trying to gauge her reaction, she usually takes note from her sister on how to feel during these situations. Reed’s not sure if she's glad of that yet. But then Jane’s perking up. “Did he tell you about the V&A? He promised you'd take us.”

“What’s this now?”

“He promised to take us to see the Hollywood dresses at the V&A. And then when he was dropping us off he promised you'd take us instead.”

“You want to go to a museum?” Jane nods. Reed’s always been proud to have bright and inquisitive children but she never honestly thought they’d ask to go to a museum for fun. “Charlotte you too?” Charlotte looks at Jane and nods enthusiastically.

“They're supposed to have the costumes from Titanic!”

Ah, bingo. Jane’s newest obsession with epic romantic films, specifically Titanic. And Jane’s never expressed too much interest in boys yet but Reed wonders if she’ll have a love sick teenager on her hands before she knows it.

“Stella can come too!” Charlotte adds. “And then we can finish our game.”

“Now wait a minute, girls-”

“She said she would play with us.”

“Stella's a very busy person with a lot to do. Maybe she can play another time.”

“But then she'll miss the V&A!” Jane wines. “It's going to be so fun! They’ve got so many dresses!”

“Please!”

Never underestimate the energy of an 8 and 12 year old during their post-breakfast sugar stride.

Gracious as ever, Stella sits patiently with a warm smile, allowing Reed to take the lead on this one. And yes, Reed can envision the way her girls might gravitate towards Stella, because doesn't everybody, but she certainly wasn’t expecting this level of interest. Then again, she’d offered to play. And they fall almost immediately in love with anyone willing to indulge their games. She hadn’t considered that. Then again, she hadn’t considered most of how this morning would unfold.

“Why don't you let me and Stella talk for a minute in the hallway, alright?”

Reed gives the girls a pointed look as Stella gets up and then there's a quick, “Behave,” before shutting the door softly behind her.

“First of all,” Reed says turning to her and leaning her shoulder against the wall. “I am so sorry,” she whispers. Before Stella can say anything she’s hurriedly adding, “Second of all, you absolutely do not have to placate them. Don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.”

Stella looks at her with understanding eyes that glitter with amusement.

“Breathe.”

“I'm so embarrassed.”

“Don't be.”

“How can you say that?”

“Well I'm the one who practically exposed myself to your children,” says pulling at the ends of her t-shirt and there's a hint of laughter in her voice. Thank god for that. “Not an ideal first impression.”

“I'm so sorry. I don't know why he's like this, I don't know why I expected this to be any different than-”

“Shhh,” Stella says running her palms over Reed’s arms. Her touch is so calming, why is it so calming? Why do things seem to make more sense through her eyes? “Everything's fine.”

“How are you so unphased by this?!” Reed practically bursts because it's just unnatural. It's unnatural to be so lovely and perfect and calm when the world is falling apart. “Why aren't you running from this flat? I live here and I want to run!” Stella chuckles and Reed goes on, “Seriously?”

Stella shrugs, smiling at her. So Reed takes her advice and breathes because Stella must be doing something right, and at this point it wouldn't hurt to listen to her. And after centering herself a bit, she opens her eyes and is met with Stella's inviting beauty in full force. It's no wonder her children are already in love with her. The mesmerizing way she manages to command and comfort in the same manner as a winding river or steady breeze.

“Sounds like they like you.”

“They're charming.”

“You say that now,” Reed teases, lacing her fingers through Stella’s and for a split second she feels drastically younger, immature and unaffected by the madness of the outside world. She wonders what this day would have been like if the last 20 minutes simply never happened. What it would be like to spend the day with her. And perhaps that's not totally lost but it'll be a much different sort of day than the one she’ll never know. “Listen, you're welcome to come but please don't feel pressured.”

“Would it be better for you if I didn't?”

“No - I mean, you want to?”

“There are worse things to do on a Saturday.”

“What about shopping?”

“There's always tomorrow.” Reed looks bewildered.

“Okay.”

*

“Was it everything you hoped it would be and more?” Reed asks Jane as they all sit contentedly with their lunch in a cafe a few blocks from the museum. It's quaint and trendy, which seems to be the theme these days. Small cafes with a variety of organic healthy options and unique coffee blends, as if anyone can really tell them apart. Little trinkets and small plants decorate the tables and walls, meant to give it that homey feel and Reed likes it. Must be why they keep making them all like this.

Jane takes a comically large bite of her sandwich and Reed anticipates that she’ll only eat half. And she probably should have let her daughters split one considering how large they are, but she likes to give them the opportunity to finish if they're hungry enough. A rare occurrence with this much food but it happens. Thankfully Jane minds her manners in front of Stella and doesn't immediately jump to answer until she's finished chewing. In the meantime there's some vigorous nodding.

“I liked Dorothy,” Charlotte says. “Even though the red shoes weren't as sparkly as I thought.”

“They're very old,” Stella points out. “75 years, remember?”

“Yeah, that's as old my mum.”

“Charlotte,” Reed says trying not to laugh. “Since when am I 75?”

“I don't know… How old are you?”

“Not that old, finish your lunch.”

Stella’s eyes laugh at her from across the table as she forks through her salad.

“Stella how old are you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curious.”

“Charlotte,” Reed scolds her.

“What did I say wrong?”

“Nothing.” Stella replies simply. “I'm 41.”

“That's old.”

Reed pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I'm sure it must seem so.”

“You don't look that old,” Jane says eyeing Stella curiously.

“Thank you.”

“I hope I'm pretty like you when I'm 41,” Charlotte says.

Stella raises her eyebrows trying to suppress an amused grin.

“Alright, that's enough you two. Leave Stella alone.”

“I was just being nice!”

Reed holds Stella’s eyes for a long moment, the words help me shooting from her eyes with a subtle shake of her head. Stella can't help but laugh, and it’s a real one.

The girls finish up their food without much more embarrassment on Reed’s behalf. And as they leave, Charlotte takes Stella's hand without giving her much choice in the matter. Her youngest is obviously enamored with Stella and seeing them together suddenly gives Reed pause. Because Charlotte takes to a lot of people, so it's not entirely out of character. But this is Stella.

For the most part, Reed can handle the unwanted visions of how she might end up hurt in all this, hurt falling for someone who doesn't ask to be fallen for. And as much as she kids herself, she'd probably started falling for Stella the moment she saw her. But her children are another matter entirely. Reed’s not blind, Stella's the dangerous kind of alluring that pulls you in and asks for nothing. And when it's gone you're left wondering why you felt so entitled to any sort of claim in the first place. It’s the kind of dangerous that doesn’t go well with children, with commitment.

Maybe she’s just being overprotective.

Under this new lens, Reed looks for signs of discomfort in Stella. Perhaps she should tell Charlotte not to cling. But as she looks on, Stella seems fine with the new charm dangling playfully around her wrist. She listens intently as Charlotte twists and talks, bouncing as the four of them walk down the street. And she’s entirely herself, as she is with anything, somehow perfectly Stella and somehow perfectly not. Because Reed’s watching her with a child, her child, and watching Stella with children is something else.

Then Jane looks up at her questioningly, and Reed realizes that she’s gone a bit quiet under the weight of her thoughts. And now her daughter’s eyes look up at her, searching to see if something’s wrong. Reed gives her a smile.

“Did you have fun?” she asks her softly, grabbing her hand with a gentle squeeze.

Jane nods and looks to Charlotte and Stella, eyes lingering and then turning back to Reed. “Stella’s nice,” she observes quietly.

“She is. Do you like her?”

Jane nods a little less enthusiastically, a little more thoughtfully. “Is she spending the night again?”

Reed has to bite back the rush of fear at her daughter’s question before realizing how innocent it probably is. “I don't think so,” she says trying to gauge whether or not Jane’s upset by her answer. But her eldest seems entirely willing to accept either option, nodding slightly in consideration. “She'll probably want to go home. I don't think she was expecting such a hectic afternoon with you two.”

Jane laughs and Stella looks over at her, a gentle smile settled across her face. And Reed is happy.

A/N: Yo I am so sorry for the delay between chapters. Writing is actually super difficult for me so it takes a LOT of time to get this stuff out. Hope that anyone following this story will find it worth while to stick around. Much appreciation to those who have kept with it xoxo

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Character writing meme for my two favourite Dalish boys! Also if you're in the mood to make an extra effort, how about you put in one/some misconception(s) about them, meaning things people tend to assume about them, but which would end up depicting them out of character?

Okay these got really long, so I’m just gonna pop most of the main concepts + misconceptions under the cut

Varlen

Hope - So much of Varlen’s character revolves around the idea of hope, and the belief that, in the end, everything he has been through will mean something. Plenty of people want to tell him he’s wrong to think that, but the fact is that he needs to, or he’ll never make it. When he is at his lowest, it is hope that pulls him out of it, because he chooses to believe that things will get better. It can be hard - so hard - to get to that point, but once he’s there he grabs it with both hands. 

This is largely where his sense of ‘optimism’ stems from, and why he struggles to get along with people who are macabre or pessimistic about everything. If he can’t believe that the future can be brighter than the present, then what’s the point in fighting for it?

Uncertainty - The times when he lets go of hope often coincide with uncertainty rising up and drowning him. This aspect of his character is mostly associated with the self, as Varlen has never felt like he particularly fit in anywhere. He was never the worst, but never the best either, and for most of his youth he refused to push himself for fear of failing. So, he slacks off. Makes a name for himself as lazy and undisciplined, so that no one expects anything from him, and therefore he cannot possibly disappoint them. 

This uncertainty also spills over into his relationships, and it is never the other person’s fault. He is convinced his lovers will leave him once they grow bored of a ‘pretty face’, but hope keeps him trying to make the most of what he has. There are even moments where he is convinced that his sister doesn’t need him, and that he is just a burden, standing in her shadow as she rises above him. 

Vanity - It’s undeniable that Varlen takes pride in his appearance. It’s one of the few assets he believes he actually has, and one of the easiest strengths for him to play to. His hair is always well-kept, clean, and shining. His brows are always in check. Even when Varlen is taking a nap up a tree, he makes sure to be lying in a way that is just the right balance of relaxed and posed to appear flattering. It takes a very long time for him to allow anyone to see him in an unkempt state. After combat, his first instinct is to make sure the people he loves are okay, then wash the blood off his skin and out of his hair. Varlen also enjoys indulging in the finer things, like silks and luxurious baths, and just feeling pampered. He struggles with ‘roughing it’ while travelling (a.k.a. he complains. A lot.). 

Deflection - Varlen’s primary self-defense mechanism when he is feeling upset, attacked, or afraid. He is a naturally light-hearted kind of person, prone to joking and keeping the mood relaxed, but that makes it hard for him to cope in situations that are serious or that require a lot of him emotionally. His natural instinct is to downplay - to make things easy and carefree again - and remove himself from that difficult moment. After all, he does not want people to see him as a burden, and he genuinely believes that being anything other than pleasant will result in that. If there’s a problem, Dorian generally has to sit Varlen down and almost force the truth out of him, and when it arrives, it arrives in a flood.

Emotion - Varlen is emotional. He feels deeply and often, and often believes that to be some kind of weakness. When he looks at others; warriors or leaders who can stare at the aftermath of their orders and forge ahead; he can’t help but feel that is the kind of person he needs to be, but is incapable of being. The fact of the matter is, he’s not afraid to cry around those he trusts. He’s not afraid to be moved by what he sees, hears, or experiences. The idea of tranquility is beyond horrifying to him, because not being able to feel, or to empathise with others, would take away so much of who he is, and he’s not sure what would be left.

MISCONCEPTIONS

Varlen is inept - no, Varlen is not inept. He is not the mega-ultra-talented-slayer-of-all-things protagonist, but he is not helpless. He wins. He also loses. There are times he can stand on his own, and times he needs to rely on others to help him get there, and there is nothing wrong with that. He is young. He is learning. He is not an “all or nothing” kind of character. Continuing this theme is the idea that Varlen is intellectually inept. That is also not true. Just because he tries to be happy doesn’t make him stupid. Being kind isn’t the same as being weak.

Hanin

Restraint - The concept of restraint plays a big part in the entirety of Hanin’s character, from his fighting style to his interactions to his personal attitude. He is all about control. Having overreached and suffered greatly for it in the past, he is now incredibly cautious of how much leeway he gives himself. In battle, he is powerful, but aware of every move he makes. In relationships, he will not give more than he dares, which often is not much. He rarely takes risks, and certainly not the kind that are solely for personal gain. People say he is afraid of being happy, but that’s not entirely true. He fears finally reaching for happiness and having it slip through his fingers, because each time he has, it has been taken from him.

Cold exterior, warminterior - Ask anyone, and they will say Hanin is cold. Calculating. Uncaring, even. And to outsiders, that would absolutely be true. He does not give away much of himself, which includes his innermost thoughts and feelings. However, he is not incapable of getting attached to people - just wary of it. Josephine, and the Dawn Squad, can certainly vouch for his inner warmth, and how deeply he truly cares. Outsiders would say he pushes his squad incredibly hard, and that is why they improved. But those who know will say he saw them each as people, with individual needs and doubts and fears, and that the first thing he did was meet them where they were, not where they should be. It does not come naturally to him - he is not a nurturing person - but the fact that he tries regardless speaks volumes about how badly he wants to care.

Duty - A pretty easy one, really. All of Hanin’s life has been defined by his duty to different groups - first the healers who raised him, then the clan as a Watcher, then the Inquisitor, then his squad. Hanin cannot see himself without duty, because he cannot imagine a life without some driving purpose. That was why, when he was waiting around at Haven and uncertain of what to do, he ended up instructing recruits. He just can’t be without a goal or motivation. When he is left to his own devices, he can fall into deep depressive episodes, so he always keeps himself feeling busy, useful, and needed.

Strength - To many, Hanin embodies physical strength, and that is undeniably a form of strength that he values. But he also places value on strength of will, strength of character, and strength of belief, however it may manifest. Many people forget that. For example, he sees incredible strength in Josephine, so far from her family, so in control of such a volatile aspect of the Inquisition’s affairs. He sees great strength in Darren, for continuing on even though the path has been so much harder for him than the others. He sees strength in Connors for getting up every morning after losing everything.  

Blame - He blames himself to everything that goes wrong. Even when he had no direct impact, he will blame himself for not being there. He spent so much of his life training and perfecting himself and his abilities that things going wrong can only mean he did not do a good enough job. That he slacked off somewhere, or missed something vital along the line. He cannot accept the idea of fate, or Varlen’s sense of hope. He believes things will only get better if he makes them get better; that he must be active rather than passive. Basically, he places this ridiculous burden on himself that he would never dream of placing on others, and he suffers greatly for it.

MISCONCEPTIONS

Hanin is a Universal Dad - this is just not the case. He cares deeply, but not broadly. It took him a lot of trial and error to find what each member of his squad needed from him, and it was an emotionally exhausting process for someone who is so used to spending his time alone. He is not there to fix everyone’s problems - he can’t - and trying would do everyone more harm than good. There is slim to no chance that he would go out of his way for anyone who is not directly under his command, or otherwise closely linked to him (like Riven, Varlen, and Josephine). He just does not have the time, nor does he have the inclination. As said before, he is not naturally paternal. It is something he works on and learns throughout Inquisition, and it stems from his responsibility to his squad. He cares about them. He cannot “fix” everyone.

Find Kael Tabris here

[naruto-oc-critiques]

Oritsu Koishi Review

OVERALL: I apologise if I have come across blunt in this critique, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t rant or over complicate things so I tried to focus on what needed to be changed. Truth be told there isn’t anything really bad about Koishi! You mostly just need to develop some things a bit more, and rethink some of the major parts of her history. I hope this review helped you, and good luck in the future c:

——————-

Name: Ōritsu Koishi (Royal/Pebble)

Gender: Female

Age: 29

Time set in: Next-Gen (SAILOR: I’m assuming you mean she’s 29 during Boruto’s time?)

Birthplace: Tea

Lives in: (SAILOR: The land of?) Tea

Appearance: Koishi is a very elegant woman, always sporting the latest in noble fashions and a modestly designed yet expensive set of jewelry. She prefers dark red lipstick and various shades of blue for eyeshadow, as she has since she was young. Her hair, a very dark green, is often loosely tied at the bottom to keep it together, unless she is attending an official function or diplomatic meeting, in which case she wears it up in elaborate styles. (SAILOR: I advise against the dark red lips and blue eyeshadow together as it is a bit out of fashion. It goes against the notion of her keeping up with the latest trends, but it could work if she was trying to bring back an old trend or was traditional, I suppose? A lot of Asian cultures these days prefer natural looking makeup, but seeing as this is Naruto (and its difficult to really place a time period for naruto in terms of fashion) colourful makeup could work in the setting. I recommend checking out sites like pinterest to find a the style/colours you want for your OC’s makeup, or even research feudal era makeup for Japan/ect.)

Family: The Ōritsu family is a large one. Koishi has several cousins, though she is an only child. Her mother died several years ago in a missing-nin ambush. Her father is a traditional but kind man who doted on her and now happily spoils his grandchildren.

Koishi is married to a Toki Arihide, though both kept their last names. It was a political marriage above all else, though there is fond affection in their relationship.

She has two children, a nine year old daughter named Kichō and a two year old son named Taro. She has twins on the way, a girl and boy she will name Megumi and Ihyō. (SAILOR: Could be a bit more fleshed out, ie her relationships with the other family members, what political boon they gained from marrying her to Toki, ect. You’ll need to think of a reason why her family/mother found themselves within a missing-nin ambush. Were they targeted? If so, for what reason? And did they succeed? Keep in mind that missing-nins are rare as Hidden villages tend to be quite ruthless in tracking them down, because they become shameful to the village’s image. Keep in mind that in the anime, Toki is the name of the Ruler of the Land of Birds and a member of the Shinobazu. It’s much of a problem seeing as she, Toki, the Shinobazu and the Land of Birds is anime exclusive, but so is the Land of Tea.)

Occupation: Noble diplomat for the Ōritsu family.

Rank: Civilian

Friends: She has numerous friends from noble circles, though as she travels to various villages she has friends in many other places.

The closest non-noble friend she has is Rock Lee, who she first met when she was 13. Whenever she’s in Konoha she makes a point to spend time with Lee and exchanges frequent letters.

(SAILOR: Again, some more detail could help. What kind of people are her friends? Is she close with them, or does she know them purely for expanding her connections? Being friends with Rock Lee is fine, though I’d be interested to know what they write about to each other or what they do when they meet up.)

Personality: Growing up noble, Koishi learned to love the finer things in life, and to be delicate and demure. Though her friendship with Lee has led to her being slightly more boisterous, she is still restrained in many of her actions. Unfortunately, growing up noble has led to her being extremely snobbish. She scorns those who don’t try to make the best of themselves and has no problems with ordering the “lesser people” around as she sees fit. She’s a very high maintenance woman. (SAILOR: I like that you’ve included how her interactions with Rock Lee have changed her. I’m a little unsure in regards to her snobbiness. Do you mean she’s snobby because her upbringing made her use to luxury? Or snobby in the sense that her experience/relationship with Rock Lee and the high expectations of her upbringing has given her a no-nonsense attitude in regards to those who don’t give things their all. Good balance so far of good qualities and flaws.)

Being in charge of the contracts for the family business, she has a very good head for politics and negotiation and rarely shows negative emotions where others can see. (SAILOR: Good skill to have. Is there anyone in particular she will let her guard down in front of?)

She adores rich, flavorful foods, though her absolute favorite is matsutake mushrooms. Tea ceremonies are also a relaxing hobby for her, as is reading, though the highlight of her life is her children. Bitter foods are something she cannot stand, and if there’s a hint if bitterness in a dish she’ll immediately refuse to eat anymore of it. She also dislikes how long it takes to travel from place to place and often wishes she could move as fast as ninja.

Her biggest fears are bandits and harm coming to her children because of who they are, as assassinations and kidnappings are real threats to the family.

History: The Ōritsu family uses a secret technique to make permanent, solid chakra strings that they weave into cloth. They can absorb the chakra in the cloth at will, refilling their chakra but destroying the cloth in the process. Combining regular weaving with their technique they can create cloth that channels chakra. Due to their supplying of this cloth to the ninja villages, the Ōritsu are a very wealthy and noble family.

Koishi never received actual shinobi training. Like the rest of her family, she was taught to channel chakra, discovered what her affinity was, then tutored in fighting defensively with that alone.

When Koishi was 13, she was kidnapped and forced to weave chakra cloth with very little rest for several weeks. Because she didn’t have any chances to regain chakra, her captors kept her going with bitter chakra pills. By the time she was rescued her chakra coils were severely damaged. She was brought to Konoha so Tsunade could heal her, which was where she met Rock Lee.

They became friends and though Koishi eventually returned home to finish healing in private, whenever she’s in Konoha they spend time together. Taro loves his Uncle Lee, but Kishō thinks he’s embarrassing and tries to avoid being seen in public with him.

When she was 17 she was married to another noble, but through agreement neither attempts to interfere with the other’s lives, as both families are powerful and unhappiness in the marriage could cause problems.

Abilities: Koishi uses tessenjutsu with chakra metal fans she channels fire chakara into. She is a decent manipulator of the flames, using her fans to make it change direction at will. Like the rest of her family, she is a skilled chakra string creator. She rarely moves during battle if she can help it, instead she travels with two guards/escorts who deflect and shield her from attacks while she fights.

She learned the very basics of taijutsu from Rock Lee, though she doesn’t have the build to make use of it.

(SAILOR: Alright so I’m going to talk about her History and Abilities together because they’re relatively connected. I’ll go through the chakra side of it first though.

I’m going to be honest here. The self defense is plausible, but the chakra part feels a out of place. To weave permanent strings into cloth is likely impossible. In the cases of canon, chakra disconnected from the user will almost immediately (if not eventually depending on the jutsu) wither away, because it no longer has any source maintaining it. Assuming it worked; there is also the question of how one would reabsorb the chakra. For the Oritsu clan to sell it to Konoha, the average ninja would have to be able to absorb it, not just clan users. So you would have to come up with a plausible reason as to how that’s possible too. Secondly, I don’t believe it would be viable for Koishi to learn that level of nature transformation if she is not a trained ninja. While it might be possible if a trained ninja taught her; I don’t think Hidden Villages would be alright with their soldiers arming citizens with lethal techniques. I wanted to go through this part first because I feel like Oritsu clan’s technique wouldn’t work and therefore couldn’t be their source of income. I think that Koishi as a civilian character doesn’t need these techniques, and that her history would function a bit more if they were simply a wealthy clan. And if her clan was wealthy she could afford to hire ninja or at least trained individuals to assist her, it wouldn’t be out of place in the Naruto universe. Also, It would still make sense if she was kidnapped and you could find some other ways she was damaged that required Tsunade to heal her. Alternatively, she could be simply staying in Konoha to visit a relative that had something severe and still meet Rock Lee. Still your idea of them bonding while under care is rather cute so I understand if you don’t want to change it, it’s not a bad idea. So really, I think that if you want Oritsu to have a technique like that, you will need to make them a shinobi clan or else the idea becomes too far fetched. Koishi could still be a civilian (civilians in shinobi clans do exist naturally), but at least then there would be a plausible explanation as to how she becomes so adept in the skills (though if you want to keep them, I’d advise revising them and researching a little more into chakra).

Review by Mod Sailor