#torn between two options…. one is more my past one my present

[katerina-marie]

The Tragedy of a Duality

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader and (Past) Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6, Chp 7 (Final)

In the present, you are a sorcerer and the cherished wife of the Honored One. In an era long gone, remembered by only one, you were ordinarily human and the beloved bride of the King of Curses. How fitting it would be, in an evening of destruction, to have your heart torn in two.

Content: JJK Universe and Canon Events (tho tweaked to incorporate reader), Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Ambiguous ending, Violence, Death, Female reader but left descriptively vague, No use of y/n, True Form Sukuna in the past, Itadori Yuji is Sukuna's vessel in the present but nothing inappropriate b/n reader and Itadori as the vessel, Innuendos, Allusions to + Vaguely described sex so avoid accordingly. Will add more CW to each chapter if needed.

WC: 4.4k

A/N: A bit of a bridge chapter/transitive chapter, if you will.

Chapter 3

The distance between your village and the next largest market isn’t terribly far, but it still takes up a good portion of your morning on the best of days. When the sky begins to grey and thunder rumbles closer and closer, you know your trek is about to become even longer. The smell of wet earth and crisp air is always pleasant to you, but nothing about continuing a journey in robes that are heavy with moisture and cling uncomfortably to your skin sounds enjoyable, so you divert from the road onto a lesser traveled path. 

Sanctuary from the rain under the cover of thick trees is your only option, so you wander and weave between them, cognizant of your general location but unaware of exactly where you might be. Droplets of rain occasionally splatter against your cheek as the sky opens up, and you can hear the droll of it against the foliage above you. Thankfully, you remain mostly dry, and you continue to walk slowly and hum to yourself while waiting for the weather to turn. 

After a few minutes, you spot a bunching of trees that seem different from the rest, and upon closer inspection, excitement runs through you when you realize they bear fruit. You inspect the trail behind you and then side to side to ensure you are alone before hurrying over to one. It takes two or three attempts of you leaping from the tips of your toes before you are able to snag a pear from the lowest lying branch that is still almost beyond your reach. You rub it against your sleeve before taking a bite and relishing in the burst of sweetness on your tongue. You finish it rather quickly and are reaching for another when a voice from behind startles you. 

“Do you have a habit of stealing fruit that doesn't belong to you?” 

When you spin around, your face is contrite and your hands are held up innocently in front of your chest. You are ready to entreat the assumed owner of the land for forgiveness until your eyes fall onto who stands before you, and any logical words die in your throat. You immediately fold yourself into a bow and stare at the ground while you brace trembling hands on your thighs. 

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord.” 

Weeks ago, news of the being that usurped the ruling of the lands you live in reaches your small village. People whisper words of horror and fear about the monster that Ryomen Sukuna is. You know of his second pair of arms and the extra eyes that sit under the first ones. His size and strength set him apart from anything else, but it is his viciousness and ruthlessness that strikes terror in the hearts of anyone who goes near him. The description of him is something out of a nightmare, and the sight of him proves to you the truthfulness of what you hear. 

“You may rise,” Sukuna tells you, but you are slow to stand back up, afraid to find out what happens to those who steal from the King of Curses. You keep your eyes downcast out of respect, but you can still see the white of his robes as he stalks toward you. 

“Am I so repulsive that you cannot bear to look at me?” 

You let out a squeak of alarm and fling your eyes upwards, and you aren’t sure what to make of the interest coloring his face. 

“No, no,” you say placatingly, “that is not it all.” You pause before adding “my lord,” hastily. 

Sukuna laughs, and it is deep and dark from somewhere in his chest. He prowls nearer to you, and you gulp in trepidation. While the image he makes is as intimidating and heart-stopping as you know him to be, there is something otherworldly and enticing about him. The white fabric of his robes are edged in blue and they split open across the great expanse of his chest. You follow the black tattoos from where they trail down his jaw, loop over his shoulder and then continue down his torso. They compete with the muscles of his chest to steal your attention. 

“Tell me,” he muses, finally coming to a stop just an arms length away from you, “what brings you to my new estate?”

Your heart drops to your feet and you blanch. “Your estate?”

“The edge of it, to be exact, but yes—my estate.” 

You contemplate whether making up some pitiful excuse could earn you mercy, but the thought of getting caught in a lie and the punishment that would follow has you choosing truthfulness.

“The r-rain,” you stammer. Sukuna looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue, and you step back in wariness. He pursues you, and his feet land in the place yours had just been. “I was on my way to the market in the town north of here when it began to rain.” 

Your hands flit about in front of you before gesturing towards the sky, and you note curiously that while Sukuna’s main set of eyes follow the path of your hands, the ones lower trail over your figure before settling on your face. 

“The trees would keep me dry while I waited for it to stop, but it seems I also felt a bit hungry,” you finish, and your arms flop ineloquently back against your sides. 

In an effort to appear deferential, you quickly clasp your hands over one another in the front of your stomach and hope that Sukuna can’t see how tightly you clench the fabric of your robes between your fingers. He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he weighs your words, and you cast furtive glances over his shoulder or to your feet, anywhere that isn’t his eyes and the intensity of them. They are predatory in their observancy, and you would worry for your life if they did not trace the dip of your collarbones or linger at the curve of your bottom lip.

“How about you return with me?” he offers, and you jerk your gaze back to him. “You may wait out the rain in the comfort of my home and I will repay your company with a meal.” 

No amount of critical thinking produces a plausible answer as to why Ryomen Sukuna is inviting you to his estate. You do consider your own mortality and how vulnerable it is in his presence, though you suspect that bringing you along to his home only to kill you would be excessive and unnecessary. In a similarly frightening, but shockingly alluring alternative, Sukuna could intend to make use of your company in a more salacious and carnal manner. Or it could be as simple as sharing food with one another and filling the time with conversation, maybe giving you the opportunity to deduce a possible explanation by the end. Either choice carries with it problems and difficulties to a varying degree, but the thrill of what is not yet known urges you to acquiesce.

To maintain some sense of propriety, you pretend to ponder his request just a little longer and let your focus flit about to the scenery around you, avoiding Sukuna entirely. From the way his eyebrow quirks upwards and his hands twitch at his sides, you suppose he has caught on to your teasing. 

“I might find that agreeable,” you say, and that draws a sly smirk from him as his eyes flare wide. He moves toward you, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “However, I would like to request another pear before we leave.” 

Sukuna doesn’t say anything, but he takes two large steps forward until his chest skims yours. You tip your chin up to keep a hold of his eyes as he stretches an arm above your head. 

“Whatever you desire,” he croons, and when his hand appears again before your eyes, an unblemished green pear is trapped between his forefinger and thumb as he holds it out to you.

---

In the coming weeks, you are summoned back to Sukuna’s estate with some regularity after the first time he invited you in to ply you with food and drink while he peppered you with questions about your innocuous life. 

A being appears at your door with white hair cut short and an odd strip of red around the back. You have to come to know them as Uraume, unsettling and uninviting in their demeanor, and they hurry you out each time with nothing more than a placid remark of, “it is Sukuna-sama’s request.” 

This time, when the weather is a little warmer, you find yourself in the middle of an expansive garden. It stretches farther than your eyes can see, overflowing with abundance, and when Uraume vanishes after telling you Sukuna will arrive shortly, you take the time to study flowers and plants you are familiar with and wonder at the ones you are not. 

“Why is it no surprise that I find you enamored by common weeds?” 

Sukuna, as you have come to learn, makes no noise that alerts to his sudden appearances. His voice usually sends your heart racing and a gasp is ripped from your lips, though you gradually become used to the slight shift in energy that precedes him. As time passes, you might startle less and less, but until then, you give him an unimpressed look over your shoulder for the way he grins because he scared you, and for the mild insult.

“And why is it no surprise that you would think so lowly of them?” When he narrows his eyes at you, you smile coyly and bow your head just slightly. “My lord.” 

Sukuna is by your side and offers a hand when you begin to rise from your knees. Once you are steadied, he crosses his arms and tucks them back into his sleeves. 

“They are suitable decorations, I can admit, but that is the extent of which I appreciate them.” Sukuna lowers his head to peer into your eyes, and there is something playful and teasing lurking in them. “My interests lie in other more…invigorating pursuits.” 

You cut your gaze from him, shifting a little to be back in reach of the flowers, anything to escape the underlying insinuation of his words and the way they make you flush hot. The sun is also warm on your back, and it is anyone’s best guess as to which is responsible for the way a bead of sweat drips down your neck.

“I acknowledge your opinion, but I do not happen to share it,” you tell him. You turn your back to him completely to brush your hand over a bush of varying colors. “Some of these are medicinal. Others have a pleasant fragrance that I tend to enjoy.” 

You pause and pluck a particular flower from the bunch before facing Sukuna again. “And others simply serve no other purpose than being a beautiful sight to behold.” You lift your hand in front of his face, and cradled in your palm is a blossom the same shade of pink as his hair. 

It delights you to see the way he fights a grin, and in a move that you do not perceive as normally characteristic of him, Sukuna plucks the flower from your fingers and slots it delicately behind your ear. His hand lingers to dance over the apple of your cheek, and when his thumb catches on your bottom lip, you bat your lashes at him coquettishly. 

It is a powerful look you have discovered. The last time you pulled it from your arsenal, you had nipped a piece of fruit from Sukuna’s proffered fingers and let your teeth scratch over the joint of his knuckle. He kissed you breathless there after, and you yearn for it again now. 

It seems to be successful. Sukuna’s hands cup your jaw and tilt your head up. A second pair of arms wind around your waist to drag you against his chest, and your eyelids flutter closed on their own accord when you feel his breath whisper over your lips.

“Tempting,” he says, and a chuckle comes next. Your eyes snap back open, and he taps your mouth when it turns down into a pout. “Worry not, I have a proposition for you.” 

Your expression switches into one of inquisitive interest, and while waiting for Sukuna to continue, you twine your hands into the belt that keeps his robes tied shut. 

“Wed yourself to me.”

---

Two pairs of elaborately decorated ceremonial robes lie discarded on the floor. The storm clouds outside darken Sukuna’s bed chambers and you can hear errant drops of rain hit the ground. Your belly is still full from the celebratory feast that took place after your wedding, but now a deeper satiation makes your body languid and warm. 

You twine your arms under the pillow that cushions your head and stretch lazily against the bed. Your back is exposed to the cool air and it pricks at the drying sweat on your skin. Exhaustion is lowering your eyelids and sleep is beckoning. Before you get there, the side of the bed dips.

“Did you miss me while I was gone?” Sukuna murmurs, though it is playful and unserious. “I have returned to you now.”

A damp linen cloth drags over your lower back and legs before you can answer. You shiver at the chill it leaves, but the warmth of Sukuna’s hand follows behind to chase it away. The gentleness of it is a stark contrast to just earlier when you were under Sukuna and at his mercy to how his hands squeezed, and grasped, and kneaded your body. 

A breath of laughter escapes your nose. “How can I miss you when you were only gone for a moment?” 

Sukuna’s hands freeze and he grunts. “Cantankerous wife,” he mutters. But you smile into the pillow at the affection in his voice, and when he resumes his ministrations on your body, you let the feeling of his hands and the pattering of rain lull you into sleep. 

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

Four days pass before you see Itadori Yuji again. 

Much like the afternoon following the incident, you spend the rest of the week proctoring the training of Fushiguro and Kugisaki while Satoru keeps Itadori hidden away for whatever it is that he and Nanami have him doing. You hear bits and pieces from your two students about how Itadori seems to be faring well despite the circumstances, and that the three of them are getting along just fine. 

The scant details are enough to keep your worry mostly abated, and in the spirit of the approaching weekend, you release them from their training a couple hours early. Kugisaki is effusive in her rambles, and you barely catch whatever plans she describes as she hurries off. Fushiguro is much less excitable in his expression of gratitude and departs with a simple bow of his head. Their opposing personalities warm your chest with affection and leave you with a tranquil lightness as you head back to your shared office with Satoru (his insistence) to catch up on reports while you wait for him to finish his day’s work. 

Through the window at your back, the setting sun casts looming shadows into the room, and you have to shake yourself awake as you feel your eyes grow heavy. There is a knock at the door that breaks your concentration from the computer screen in front of you. When you look up, Itadori is standing ramrod straight in the doorway. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are wide, but the expression on his face is friendly. 

“Hello, Itadori,” you say as you lean back in the chair situated at your desk, and he waves at you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yup, everything’s fine.” Except Itadori’s voice is strained and he makes no move to step into your office, nor turn back to walk down the hall. Instead, he rocks on the balls of his feet and shoves his hands into his pockets. You purse your lips and fold your arms across your chest as you watch him expectantly. Itadori blinks back at you. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” you prompt him. Itadori shakes his head, leaving you at a loss, but this time he walks forward and sweeps his eyes across your office. He shuffles to the towering shelves on the right wall and looks closely at a couple books before meandering across the room to pick up various knick knacks you have sitting on a hutch. Your eyes follow him the entire time, and you notice how he quickly moves his focus away from various photographs of you and Satoru over the years that you have pasted on a corkboard hanging on the wall. 

With a sudden spin and jerky movements, Itadori finally comes to sit in the—in your opinion—unsightly black sofa that Satoru placed in the middle of the office and just a few feet in front of your desk so he would have something to nap on when he felt the urge. From it, all Itadori does is look at you. You glance at your computer, unsure what to do, and when the silence starts to feel awkward, you tap your nail against your thumb as you rack your brain for what to say. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?” you ask. “Or if you’re not comfortable sharing with me, I’m happy to call Nanami or Satoru for you.” You’re already reaching for your phone where it sits next to you on your desk when Itadori blurts out a hasty “no!” 

Your hand freezes, and when you look back up at Itadori, he’s rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, and his knee bounces rapidly. “So, how did you and Gojo-sensei meet?” 

The question catches you off guard, and you stammer as Itadori awaits your answer. It crosses your mind that the boy might simply be lonely and looking for some company now that the school day is over, but it’s nearing evening on a Friday, and you expect him to be finding a way to celebrate the incoming weekend. Just to be certain, you raise your brows in question, and even though Itadori grimaces briefly like he wishes he could take back his request, he nods at you in encouragement. 

“Uh, well,” you start, blowing out a breath and clasping your hands together. “He and I were once students at the school here together…”

It’s not as if you haven’t heard about “the Honored One” before. You’d be hard pressed to believe that anyone in the jujutsu world could have existed presently without knowing of the infamous white-haired sorcerer. Of course you know of his talent, how he is considered the strongest, and you suppose such a title would allow for the level of arrogance he is known to carry. More so, you’ve been subjected enough to the whispered giggles and gossip from the other girls in your school to know that Gojo is—objectively, of course—as attractive as he is powerful, though you didn’t view that bit of information as anything pertinent. 

When Geto Suguru spends two months at your school that was hours and hours away from his for some assignment, you find yourself paired up with him and thus privy to the details of his life as the two of you spend time getting to know one another. You resist asking him about Gojo Satoru in an effort to preserve your dignity, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you give in just a couple of days into the partnership. To your utter shock, as the two of you are walking back to the dorms after a training session, the first thing to pop out of Geto’s mouth about his best friend is to call him a “monumental pain in my ass—affectionately, of course.” 

The words come out warmly, but they cause your jaw to drop nonetheless. Geto laughs and proceeds to tell you everything about Gojo Satoru that you have never hoped to know. He’s goofy and surprisingly awkward at times. His constant craving for sweets is borderline child-like and more akin to an addiction than a simple preference. He sometimes uses too many Digimon references in a sentence, and even Geto can’t always figure out what he means.

When the laughter dies down and the two of you stop at the doors of the dormitory, Geto’s face goes somber and his smile is weak. “Satoru can be a lot, but…he is the biggest burden to himself, and I wish it didn’t have to be that way.” 

Now, half a year later, when circumstances move you to the Tokyo school, Geto Suguru looks mildly embarrassed as he walks you through the gates of the campus. The high bones of his cheeks are mottled red, though that could be explained away by the bitterness of the winter winds, but the hand that’s not carrying one of your duffle bags squeezes at the back of his neck as he chuckles nervously. You drag a suitcase behind you, another bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re grateful that Geto was willing to greet you outside the school to help you get settled in.

“I know I already kind of warned you about him, but I promise he’s actually harmless, if not a bit overly playful.” 

“Trust me,” you say amusedly, “I remember what you told me about Gojo Satoru.” 

“Yeah, well,” Geto mutters, “it’s a whole other thing to hear about Satoru versus actually experiencing him in person for yourself.” 

You roll your eyes and are momentarily perplexed about how lovingly Geto disparages his best friend, but before you can question him about it, someone enthusiastically calls his name from across the grass, and the both of you look ahead in the direction it came from. Gojo Satoru waves erratically before breaking into a jog, and Geto turns back to you with a pointed widening of his eyes. 

You ignore him in favor of watching Gojo eat up the ground with those long legs of his, and all those details come flooding back, even the ones you didn’t care to focus on. The blue of his eyes are breathtaking and unnaturally so. His height makes him lanky, and you figure that time will fill out the rest of his stature, but it doesn’t take away from the charmingness of his boyish grin and the fact that the girls at school are right; he is handsome.

“Suguru!” he exclaims in a greeting once he comes to a stop in front of you two, and Geto nods at his friend. He turns to you next, looking down at you over the rims of his darkened sunglasses, and the smirk on his lips gives you butterflies. And, maybe, you’re a little awestruck because he really is pretty and those eyes of his are unnerving, but you don’t particularly care and—

And then Gojo Satoru opens his mouth and the bubble bursts.

“Ha! He said that?!” Itadori crows, and he throws his head back in unabashed laughter and grasps at his chest. 

You giggle along with him. “He certainly did, but luckily,” and you pause to lift your left hand and wiggle your ring finger so the metal on it gleams, “things worked out just fine.” 

Slowly, both of your laughter disappears and you each look in different directions around the room to fill the silence. The clock next to your door says it’s nearly seven, and the grumbling in your stomach has you considering leaving Satoru to fend for himself in favor of finding yourself a meal. However, Itadori doesn’t make a move to get up, so you let go of your hopes for takeout and shake your computer awake with your mouse before typing away again at your nearly complete report. You’re happy to let the boy sit in companionable quiet if that’s what he needs.

“That was a nice story,” Itadori says a few minutes later, and you are so intently focused on your work that you’re startled into remembering that he is there. “Thank you for telling it to me.” 

  His hands slap against his knees and he springs up from the sofa, and you’re stunned by his abrupt departure. He’s nearly out the door when you finally find your tongue, and the firm way you say his name has him stopping in his tracks. You wait to see if he would respond, but when he doesn’t, you repeat his name a bit more gently this time. 

“What is it?” you coax, and when he turns, his facade of unbotheredness falls, and his face is tired in its place. The sight breaks your heart a little. 

“I don’t mean to waste your time,” he says regrettably and wrings his hands together. You shake your head to reassure him as his shoulders fall dejectedly. “He wanted to see you, is all.” 

The meaning of his words don’t strike you right away, and Itadori raises a hand to tap at his temple. Understanding hits you like a truck when you realize he’s referring to Sukuna, and your mouth falls open.

“Sukuna was really adamant about it for the last couple hours. He’s finally quiet now,” he adds, “so I guess…” 

Itadori trails off with a nonchalant shrug, and you find it entirely too casual for what he just said, but he seems unrattled by the request from the being inside of him. 

“Oh,” you breathe out, stupefied and way too tired to formulate a sensible response or thought. “Well, uh…okay?” 

The laugh that makes its way out of your mouth is a touch disbelieving and maybe a little unhinged, but it pulls a bigger smile out of Itadori, and he uses a hand to gesture vaguely over his shoulder as he begins to take a couple steps backwards towards the door. 

“I’m going to go find Fushiguro and Kugisaki,” he tells you. “I’ll see you and Gojo-sensei next week!” 

Now that you can see the tension has left his body and he appears lighter in mind and spirit, you’re content to return Itadori’s wave of goodbye as he hurries out the door. Once you hear his footsteps fade down the hall, you slump back in your chair and throw an arm over your eyes. 

The King of Curses had wanted to see you, even if only through the eyes of his vessel, so much so that it seems he was willing to pester him into doing his bidding until Itdaori finally relented.

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

A/N: Chapter count got upped by one, but it should still all come out in a timely manner. We'll get a part 2 to the Reader/Gojo flashback in the next chapter :)

Taglist (open): @kalopsia-flaneur

[nikkiandroses]

It’s starting to feel like I can look back at what I went through and see her as someone else. Someone I never knew yet know everything about. Maybe it’s because it’s less painful to remember what happened from her point of view so my mind forces it out to where she almost seems like a child I had but didn’t. A rose with a thorn but the thorn is only a ghost. I can’t see her as me. Maybe it’s the many years in between her and I that seems to separate us as two strangers. Years that simply don’t seem to exist in my mind. And yet I know logically they are there. Trying to merge us back into one person seems to make everything more painful… as if the events are happening again at the present time but now we are both going through it. Perhaps it would’ve been better for her to let dead things rest. But for me I need to know. There a sense of remorse for not being able to understand the why from everyone who had thier share. A hatered for my family for never having acted or questioning or even raising me to understand that I should’ve talked to them. And an even deeper hatred of myself for feel that insatiable loathing towards people who didn’t receive a “child psychology for dummies” manual after leaving the hospital late February of 2002.

I feel torn and a mix of distraught and furry for her yet I can’t seem to feel the same way for me. I see her face in the mirror and old pictures but I don’t recognize that girl as what I have become. A self-loathing mess who pushed all those heinous moments away only for them to resurface once a new life was put into her hands. Only when I look into his wonder filled eyes do I see that little girl I couldn’t save. Only when I feel his fragile little body snuggle into mine for warmth in the morning do I see her begging for attention in the only way she knew how.

Whether it was ruining her pale skin on her arms or struggling to get the last two hair bands off her throat when she had actually started struggling to breath at age 9. Or weather it was lashing out and turning the things she’d been through onto others because gods know she had to put those wretched moments somewhere other than her mind. Maybe if she hadn’t been through it all I would have the faith my parents always wanted us to have. But what kind of god preaches to be thankful for trials and that someone as kind and benevolent as he would only put you through what he knew you could handle.

What kind of god decides a young girl like her could handle such things. What kind of god decides a child can handle being touched the way she was. What kind of god can watch a child make attempts of such a tragic act 12 times and still think she could take more. Part of me has always wanted to believe knowing it would make my parents happy. But I just cannot fathom out my love daughter and trust into a god who could do let such things happen to such an innocent child. She didn’t deserve that.

None of those children out there deserved what happened to them for simply trusting a family member or not being taught the reality of such things. Yet no child should HAVE to be taught these things to be safe. What kind if god would allow those wicked monsters to do anything they want to children. Why punish a child for someone else’s urges. Why let a child burn so the villains can stay warm. Some say it’s because of agency, that they have a free will. But how could you let a young being suffer because you chose to give people the option.

If the Bible was correct and Lucifer wanted to take away free will, doesn’t that mean these things wouldn’t happen. But Christ offered all the glory to you and in your thirst for your own power and ego, you chose to let good and innocent people suffer through truly wicked things. At the prospect of your own glory, you threw away every chance of keeping your “beloved children” safe.

I had never through confronting these memories of a past I cannot fathom as my own could bring up so much more than just the individual tragedy of that girls childhood. And yet here I sit tears and wrecked breathing, wondering why Why if god was real would he let this happen. Does he not love me? I know my parents love me because of the way they would do anything to protect me. So does he not love me to have let these things happen?

We are taught that in exchange for undivided faith and loyalty to one being we would receive gifts of lavish immortality and happiness without end. It simply doesn’t feel like love to me to be given these things without any real proof or evidence of the love my parents give. No protection for bad things. No safety from these people who prey on young for their own sexual gratification. No hugs goodbye or kiss goodnight. No comforting words of “you are enough”. Only an empty promise of things that have yet to be proved.

So I look down upon that little girl who loved to folded paper into complex boxes and animals. Who love to sing and dance in the kitchen to the phantom of the opera. Who loved dresses that would twirl like Cinderella’s and toy jewelry that glittered like stars in the sky. Who learned to ride a bike on her own and could read books far beyond her grade at such a young age. Who’s favorite desert was is snickerdoodle cookies and square ice cream. Who cried at the sight of her mother tears and studied her father’s face while showing him a song, craving to see any sign of enjoyment of such a simple tune. The girl who wanted to be a blacksmith and designer, painter and singer, electrician and author. The girl who used to be blonde with freckles and with crowns made of branches from the weeping willows in her grandmothers backyard. Who always seemed to be pulling up her pants because they never seemed to fit. The girl who would’ve traded $20 for a root beer flavored dum-dum without a second thought and I wonder.

What happened. Why did she change so much. How on this hell ridden planet did something so small, gentle and strong, turn into someone as bruised broken and fucked up as me?

Me who can’t stand wearing dresses or skirts in fear of being looked at wrong. Me who still yearns for verbal affirmations that my father enjoys the same things I do or thinks I’m cool but still can’t voice that need. Me who no longer folds origami or dances around the kitchen in a soft cream colored dress that had ruffles lining the skirt in layers at the prospect of looking like a fool. Me who still hurts when I see my mother cry and still searches for purchase on the feeling that It’s “not that bad” when I know it is. I no longer have freckles or blonde hair, but sometimes I wish I did. I wish I could still have every career in the world but I can’t. I still write books but they will sit in my Google docs collecting dust until the day I die. Me who still wishes I could dress like a princes and be pampered sometimes but feels in debt over simple gifts. Me who still loves snickerdoodle cookies and could eat square ice cream everyday but I live to far away now. Me who no longer seem to have the creative nature to make accessories from flowers and tree branches. Who no longer need to pull up my pants after losing the childlike figure and grown into a woman. Who now who give a lot in exchange for $5 if it meant being able to buy that little bit of extra food on the table.

I wonder what happened and yet I know what she went through. That little girl who I can’t seem to see as myself anymore.

I know what happened. But I still only wish.

[showmethesneer]

What pissed me off so much about We'll Always Have Summer-- 

and not just because i was already a Jeremiah stan since the first book-- is that Belly repeatedly said she was choosing Jeremiah. She was coming to the decision that Jeremiah was who she wanted to move forward with. She made that decision over and over. She said it.

"Conrad has my past but Jeremiah has my present and my future."

"I chose to walk away from Conrad. I chose the boy who would never walk away from me."

Like over and over she makes this decision. And she still ends up with Conrad anyway. It's not like this book was a love triangle (i hate those anyway) where she was torn between two men and didn't know what to do; she kept choosing Jeremiah every time and there were moments where Conrad was agreeing to that decision too. The whole book was Conrad and Belly letting go of each other until the last part and i just.. hate that.

I think with To All The Boys, the conflict between choosing Peter and choosing John Ambrose was very much about how you don't have a choice in who you love. If you just can't help being in love with someone, the better and frankly perfect other option being put right in front of you can't change that. So Lara Jean chose Peter because she couldn't not choose Peter.

But with this... Belly made a very mature assessment that Conrad would always have a piece of her heart but that didn't mean she should be with him. And then she repeatedly chose Jeremiah. Until the very end when he couldn't accept that her reality was she couldn't evict Conrad from her heart entirely as she said she had-- because you literally can't do that-- but she wanted to build her life with Jeremiah.

And that killed me. Because it's like even when you make a clear and conscious choice, even when you make it repeatedly, it doesn't matter.

I hated the time jump between the 2nd and 3rd book. I hated not getting more of Belly and Jeremiah's relationship before the big fight and sudden proposal. I hated that this book cheated me out of my favourite ship by having it be all about them planning a rushed and ill-advised wedding. But most of all i hated how no matter how many times Belly chose Jeremiah, she still fucking ended up with Conrad. Worst possible follow up to the amazing 2nd book in my opinion.

And i hated when Conrad said "he's marrying my girl" when he dated Belly for 6 months and made her feel horrible about it, whereas Jeremiah was her best friend and dated her for 2 YEARS. She's nobody's girl. She's her own girl. But if anybody should be marrying her, I'm leaning towards the one she had a longer and more satisfying relationship with.

And I'm not forgiving Jeremiah for sleeping with someone else when they were broken up and never telling her about it. I don't support his sudden marriage proposal while they were fighting. I don't like that he couldn't accept that Belly would always have feelings for Conrad and was still choosing him.

But i also just don't like the plot of this book altogether. So I'm not even holding those things against my boy, I'm holding everything against the book itself. I think Jeremiah's love for Belly was portrayed better throughout the trilogy. Both as a character expressing himself and from a writing standpoint. And i think it's best summed up in a line Conrad himself says about him, "He's not a serious guy but believe me, he's serious about her."

[animeomegas]

So... another hc for little Sasuke (sorry this one became too specific, you can change it however you'd like to :)

After a rather harsh session (just cuz Itachi wanted to give that a try ) he kinda can't walk without his knees giving out the other day and while his alpha was making breakfast in bed for him and Sasuke wanted some help with his homework(or just wanted to spend time with his brother) while alpha was finally out of the room. And while Sasuke enters the room Itachi was trying to get out of the bed to check out where his alpha was, Sasuke just witnessing him collapsing and with that panic(thinking his alpha broke his big bro's legs) rushes to call mednins. And Sasuke known as a rather smart kid so mednins thinks the worst case scenarios and rushes to the house with him.

Just imagine the awkwardness when adult parties figure out what was the reason of all the panic.

(Ahh, this is the best thing ever, I love it so much, thanks for sending it in! I changed a few little bits, but I hope you still like it!)

Okay, so, Sasuke has been… annoyingly good at playing cockblock over the past month, and Itachi and his mate are a little…pent up.

But last night, Sasuke was with his team doing an overnight training exercise, and Itachi’s parents were attending a social dinner that ran late into the night.

And… well, Itachi and his mate certainly took advantage of the empty house. And all the pent up energy made both parties… kind of feral. It was a lot rougher than normal, let’s just say that.

In the morning, Itachi is predictably very sore, and his alpha offers to make breakfast in bed for them both so that Itachi can relax and recover at his own pace. Neither have anything to do today, so they could even spend the whole day in bed. (As long as Sasuke was too tired from his trip to protest violently, of course.)

So, Itachi’s alpha is downstairs whipping up some food, but Itachi’s glasses are all the way over on the dresser… And he can’t read the book he wants to read. Well, they’re only a few metres away, Itachi should be able to grab them just fine.

Itachi scoots to the edge of the bed and then pushes himself to his feet, just in time for Sasuke to come barrelling into the room with no warning.

…

“Ugh,” Itachi grunts, legs giving out as he collapses onto the ground.

Sasuke, having come in just fast enough to see it happen, gasps and runs forward towards Itachi as fast as possible. His brother is hurt! Wait… Where is his alpha? They…They hurt him, didn’t they?!?! Did they break his legs?!

“Brother! I told you this would happen!” Sasuke shouts, already on the verge of tears because he wasn’t there to protect his older brother. “Mother! Father! Come quick, Itachi’s hurt!!”

“Sasuke! Quiet!” Itachi hisses, very aware that he’s currently half collapsed on the floor, only wearing a long T-shirt. “I’m fine, get out of my room and don’t barge in without knocking!”

“But-But-“ Sasuke blubbers, stepping closer. “But they hurt you! You have bruises everywhere! How can you defend them like this! You’re not fine!”

Itachi blushes a bright, humiliated red as Sasuke points out all the ah… marks… on his skin. He starts trying to climb back onto the bed, holding down the shirt to preserve what’s left of his modesty.

And then things go from bad to worse.

His parents’ footsteps come racing down the hall. Sasuke must have woken them up with his screaming.

Itachi thinks that death might be the best option right now.

“Mother! Father! That evil person! I told you! They hurt Itachi!” Sasuke cries, latching himself onto his mother’s dressing gown. “He can’t walk and he’s covered in bruises.”

Itachi can do nothing but watch as both their gazes scan him from head to toe. The ‘bruises’, the fact he can’t walk, the state of undress, the fact that the house was empty last night… They’re not stupid. He can see that they’ve figured it out. Itachi can’t think of a more humiliating situation than this.

His mother looks torn between amused and horrified, and his father looks like he’s seen a ghost and is about to faint any moment. All Itachi can do is avoid their eyes and hold his T-shirt down as far as he can between his legs.

The awkward silence is broken by the arrival of his alpha.

“Hey, what’s going on up here?” their voice cuts through Itachi’s wishes for death and brings him back to the present. “Itachi?”

He watches them enter the room, breakfast tray in hand and survey the situation. They quickly slide the tray onto their side of the bed and hurry over to Itachi, slipping off their dressing gown as they go and draping it over him so cover him.

Itachi doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see a dressing gown, and he slips it on as fast as he can.

“Don’t touch him!” Sasuke’s voice interrupts them. “I’ll never let you touch my brother again!”

Sasuke immediately launches into an attack against Itachi’s alpha. Thankfully, there’s no way his alpha would lose to a newly minted genin, and they easily manage to defend themselves without hurting him.

“Sasuke! Stop it!” Itachi orders, finally finding his voice. “They didn’t do anything wrong, you’re being ridiculous!”

“No!” Sasuke argues, still kicking at Itachi’s alpha. “Iruka sensei said that, even if you’re in a relationship with someone, they aren’t allowed to hurt you because it’s still illegal!”

“I promise I didn’t hurt your brother, Sasuke, please calm down,” they try to diffuse the situation.

“No! I-“

“Enough!” Fugaku roars, clamping a hand down on Sasuke’s arm. Some colour had returned to his face by this point, but he still pointedly avoids looking in Itachi’s direction. “No fighting in the house. Go to your room and stop bothering your brother.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Fugaku pulls Sasuke out of the door despite his fighting. “And you two," he turns his attention on to Itachi and his alpha when Sasuke has been successfully removed from the room. “If he starts asking questions, you will be the one to explain it to him.”

He leaves, and Mikoto follows behind him, shutting the door, but not before shooting Itachi a wink.

This is the worst day of his life.

The door slams shut and there’s silence again.

Itachi’s alpha gingerly lifts Itachi off of the floor and back onto the bed now that the spectators had left.

“Do you think if you hit me very hard, I’ll forget this ever happened?” Itachi asks, burying his glowing red face in his hands.

“If I hit you that hard, Sasuke would have a point, and we can’t let that happen,” Itachi’s alpha replies mildly, slipping into bed beside their mate.

“I feel so humiliated,” Itachi whispers, moving his face from his hands and burying it in his alpha’s shoulder instead.

“I know,” his alpha whispers, face pulling into a small frown. “But it’s okay, we didn’t do anything wrong. Your father has been asking for grandchildren lately, so he has no room to complain, and your mother didn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s worse,” Itachi groans. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay,” they agree, stroking his hair idly. “Have something to eat, you’ll feel better.”

[merakiui]

Frostbite

yandere!childe x (gender neutral) reader art credit - GNSN_FA on twt cw: yandere, blood, minor gore (lacerations), unhealthy behaviors/relationship, mentions of death/hypothermia, fighting

It’s borderline animalistic, the way you cling to warmth and life like a starved, neglected hound. Your fingers stiffen in a vain attempt to flex—to successfully grasp your sword like a true warrior. The furs that were once draped over your body are ragged, torn to shreds from a dangerous battle between the elements and him. There’s no mistaking the excitement that lights his every nerve like bulbs hanging from a Christmas tree, coated in the maddening swell of potent bloodlust. If surrender was an option, you would have done it long ago.

Even then, you’re certain he wouldn’t give you such a benevolent chance no matter how hard you were to beg and plead.

Your breath materializes like a phantom in front of your face, a cruel reminder that you’re still breathing in a battered body. Your fingernails are chipped, blood running down the tips from an icy struggle, but you refuse to succumb to the cold. Instead, you allow yourself to be swept up in his electrified stare. 

“What’s the matter, comrade?” There’s a wry smile pulling his chapped lips apart, showcasing flawless teeth aligned in a perfect face. Despite the brutal wear of this current fight, he’s still handsome. And that makes you sick. “I thought you said you’ve gotten stronger. If I wanted a real battle, I would’ve challenged one of my subordinates and that’s nowhere near as fun as this!”

Keeled over in the snow, your lungs burning with each rattled inhale, you struggle to meet his eyes. The deathly chill of the Snezhnayan climate claws at your exhausted form like the porcelain fingers of a skeleton. You might as well surrender to the freezing temperatures. After all, the frostbite is far kinder than the fighting machine looming over you, the toe of his boot nudging your trembling self. 

“I... I am strong,” you manage to say before the dangerous wind pierces your throat like a dagger. Like the icicle Childe’s wielding, a happily convenient reaction between Hydro and Cryo elements. You cough and crimson paints the snow. “Strong. I’m strong.”

“Then get up.” There isn’t any warmth in his tone. Cold like ice and devoid of his former playfulness. Under all of that nonchalance, a fierce, chiseled warrior lies in comfortable wait. When his eyes trace your hunched form and he spots the blood that dribbles past your lips, practically freezing as soon as it makes contact with the frigid air, those dull hues widen. Surely he’s hit a weak spot, a vital organ or something close to a fatal blow. He wonders for a brief moment if you’re afraid of death. “You’ll freeze if you don’t move.”

A flash catches your attention and then there is the flow of suffocating water. Sharpened blades of ice surround you on all sides, nearly scraping your arms, so you force yourself onto unsteady legs. Internally, you’re searching for a way out—for a way to give up before you bite off more than you can chew. This sparring match wasn’t your request, but you had been a fool to accept, having been so certain of your strength and wit. But you aren’t accustomed to Snezhnaya, whereas Childe has spent years of his life here: training, learning, and fighting until he was worthy of the Tsaritsa’s praise. 

With sloppy movements, you cut through the ice as if it’s butter, eternally grateful for the sharpness of your trusty sword. You can’t tell when this fight will end, but you hope an opening with present itself. As soon as it does, you’re running as far as your frozen legs will take you. Like a feral beast who fights desperately against the unfair hands of the Grim Reaper, you stumble forwards, slashing blindly at your target. He’s thoroughly amused with your struggle, having seen this sort of desperation many times before on the battlefield.

It’s a depressing thing, knowing you’ll be destined for failure and yet you still push onwards. As if that will turn the tide of this battle in your favor. Childe almost admires your persistence, but it isn’t all that special. He’s seen it all before but not quite in the way you portray it. Your despair is far more delectable than that of any low-ranking Fatui soldier. Childe could bask in this for eternity and he’d never grow bored. To have you by his side as his punching bag—it excites him just a little too much. 

Naturally, the more he spars with you, the more he’ll grow accustomed to your attack and defense patterns. A strategy is only worthwhile if it rakes in victory. No matter the cost. No matter how many fall and grovel, begging for their pitiful lives. In a way, his moral compass is rather skewed. He supposes that makes him a bad person, but he’s never been one for the hero role. 

Childe taps your shoulder and you whirl, slicing upwards with your sword. The blade cuts the air, not the torso of the man who jumps back with such deadly precision. The expression he’s wearing haunts you: a wicked smile, pupils blown wide with the thrill of life and death, and a blooming bruise from where you managed to hit him in your earlier scuffle. In any form, he looks good, be it blue and purple, red and pale, or even frozen stiff by the very ice that reacts to his Hydro abilities. You can’t stand your weak heart, as you’re well aware of the face he’ll bear tomorrow. Friendly and disarming, a total opposite to the grinning madman twirling water-turned-ice blades like they’re circus batons. 

Like always, you’ll return his kindness because you’re a fool. Because you like the soft, wholesome Childe that cares lovingly for his family—the side he’s displayed in rare instances that glimmer beyond the gilded portrait of a battle-hardened soldier. 

You fall hard on your back, landing in the thick snow with a wheeze. There is no warmth on the battlefield. Only pain, suffering, and the certainty of death. You push yourself to get up, but your muscles won’t move, too heavy and sore. You know you’re strong—you’ve faced many opponents before and you’ve lived to boast of your successes. You can beat Childe. You have to if you intend to avoid fights with him in the future. 

“Well, this is upsetting.” He’s frowning now, idly tapping the crystalized water while he circles you like a sharp-toothed predator. “Didn’t expect this to end so quickly.”

Liar. You already know I can’t beat you, you want to say, but the words escape you. Not yet, anyways.

A sneer splits your dry lips and blood trickles down your chin like a woeful river. You don’t need a mirror to witness the damage. 

“Teucer won’t like this,” you say, staring up at Childe with dead eyes, hoping to prod at his weak spots. If the mention of his brother affects him, Childe doesn’t let it show.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he retorts, brushing aside such a possibility with ease. 

Right. Because you expect me to put myself back together like a toy. Of course, almighty Childe, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya. 

“Well.” You pause to exhale and pain shoots through your side. Through your bleary gaze, you can see a deep laceration. Blood stains what’s left of your attire, and you move your rigid hands over the wound to prevent anymore blood loss. “Congrats. You won.”

“You’re giving up?” Bewilderment flashes across his face for an instant before it melts away into an emotion you can’t place. Anger? Sadness? Is he unhappy with this win? 

“What does it look like? I can’t possibly fight with these injuries.” 

It hurts to speak and you wish he would just stop. If he could accept the outcome of this battle, this wouldn’t be such a problem. You’d be able to patch and heal yourself up before your condition gets any worse. With the chill seeping into your open cut, harshly kissing slick, wet blood, you doubt you’ll make it inside before passing out. Vaguely, you recall the unfamiliar stages of hypothermia. At worst, if you stay out in this fatal weather, pinned like an entomologist’s butterfly under Childe’s monstrous gaze, you’ll freeze to death. At best, you’ll escape, build a fire, and warm up to the best of your ability. Weighing your options, you’d rather lose a finger or a toe as opposed to your life. 

“You can fight.” His blade is at your throat, the pointed tip niggling into your jugular. It’s more of a threat than a warning, a means to spur you into action. “You’ll never get stronger if you’re always running away, comrade.”

Your life has some value; Childe just can’t see that. In his eyes, a fight should be seen through to the very end, even if it’s marred in death and destruction. Yet here you are, choosing to abandon your pride. That must have some strength in itself, right? You hate his face, his childish nature, and the fact that his everything is making you reconsider. You’re doomed to fail if you continue to push your frostbitten body past its natural limits. 

“I...” The blade slices along your throat, a mere surface wound. You can’t feel the sting or the sticky blood that spills out like flowing tears, having become as numb as a fish-eyed animal near extinction. “Childe—“

You don’t want to hurt him and he knows this. It twists his insides like a knife in flesh, turning and turning until organs pop and leak into soupy conflict. The blade leaves your throat and another harsh wind blows between the two of you, glacial and prickling. He distances himself, tracking your form in case you happen to move. You’ve stopped shivering at this point, lying flat on your back and staring up at the dark sky. Snowflakes cling to your lashes like the hands of death, pulling you closer to an invisible grave. 

“You can fight.” Is that desperation in his voice? You almost laugh at the idea. He’s not a desperate man; he doesn’t need to be when he has it all. “Get up, comrade.”

“I think...I’ll stay here,” you whisper, your heartbeat irregularly slow. You’ve never counted the beats before, but now it makes for a fun distraction. “Good job, Childe. You’ve definitely...”

Gotten stronger.

You possess strength, just not the type Childe wants to experience firsthand. He has no use for a lonely, unseeing corpse. And when your eyelids flutter, closing upon a face that reflects frozen death, he releases a sigh. His blade falls at once, landing in the snow with a thump, and he bends down to gather your fallen frame in his arms. Somehow, whenever he spars with you—whenever he’s within touching distance—he feels alive. As if you’ve breathed meaning into his frostbitten soul, warming the cold beast that lurks and pounces at the sight and smell of fresh bloodshed. 

If he’s learned anything, it’s that there’s always going to be room for improvement. You just need to train more, and he’d be over the moon to fight you until it’s your blade slicing through his skin. In the meantime, though, he’ll have to kiss color and life back into your monochrome world of death and despair. 

As the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, it’s only fair if he repairs the damages done to his favorite toy. Break, repair, and repeat. A cycle befitting a messy relationship and an even messier slew of choices. Rinse and repeat, like waves licking up a carcass bound to the shore. 

Come morning, you’ll be shiny and new, ready to sit by his side for another leisurely ice-fishing outing. Childe isn’t known as the greatest toy salesman for nothing, and you’re just barely scraping by with each battle scar and bandage—courtesy of such an illustrious, experimental toy salesman. 

[babydaddyleorio]

Can I get a Angst oneshot of cherry number 5 and Gender Neutral reader please if you want or can.

(I hope I did this request thing right)

Have a good day or night stay safe and happy pride month!

Happy pride!

Cherry had done everything in his power to cover his tracks so that nothing could ever be traced back to him.

He had made sure to shield his body in an all black cloak with a mask across his face as he snuck off the palace's grounds, he had given himself an alias whenever he chose to skate since It was forbidden for royals to do so, and he even met with his lover in the most discreet places that no one should have been able to find. He had done everything imaginable to ensure that nothing could ever tarnish his name, and yet somehow, all of his efforts were now seemingly futile.

“Are you ready to talk?”

Cherry scowled deeply as his eyes fell on the bothersome man in front of him, trying his best to maintain his composure and awareness. The man in question was no other than his right hand and he had so rudely barged into his office, demanding Cherry’s attention to discuss an important matter that just couldn’t seem to wait. Ainosuke Shindo, Adam for short, stood beside the chair opposite of Cherry with a grin that can only be defined as devious adorning his lips.

“There have been rumors circulating amongst the servants, rumors of the Lord escaping the palace late in the night.” Adam tauntingly paced around the office with his hands clasped behind his back and Cherry’s eyes vehemently trailed him as his accusing words began to register. “They say you’ve been sneaking off to duel commoners in skating tournaments, knowing full well that the practice is strictly forbidden.”

Adam paused his movements and sharply turned himself to face Cherry. He slowly lowered his body down to grip the edge of the desk dividing him and Cherry, a grimace now present on his face.

“Does any of this ring a bell to you, your Highness?” Adam asked forcefully and Cherry simply reached over to grab his fine china, calmly taking a sip of his Chamomile tea before answering the arrogant man towering him.

“No, I am afraid that does not ring a bell.” Cherry answered while blankly staring and Adam laughed dryly under his breath at his obvious lie.

“Is that so?” Adam retorted before taking out a manila folder and dumping the contents of it all across the desk’s surface. Cherry remained unscathed as the laminated documents fell before him and he slowly glanced over them, squinting his eyes once he realized they were all pictures.

Pictures of him to be exact.

“These photos here tell a different story, Lord Cherry.”

“What is it that you exactly wish to gain by doing this?” Cherry asked, his voice becoming slightly annoyed as he pushed the pictures of him participating in the local tournaments away from his view.

“End your acquaintance with Y/n.” Adam declared while leaning closer to his Lord, but Cherry only narrowed his eyes in response.

‘Ah, so that’s what this is all about.’ Cherry thought to himself as he took note of Adam’s request.

Adam had never liked that you and Cherry were having romantic relations with each other and he so desperately wished to end the entanglement as soon as the secret relationship sprouted. Adam viewed you as mere filth and didn’t believe you had a worthy enough status to ever be seen with the likes of Cherry. Adam gritted his teeth just thinking about you being together, partially because he knew Cherry could have better and partially because that spot you had in Cherry’s heart should have been his.

“You must have lost your head, Adam.” Cherry glowered menacingly and leaned himself closer as well, so close that there were just mere inches between the two. “Mind your place.”

“End it, Cherry.” Adam demanded coldly, losing all the formalness he had prior to this moment.

“And if I don't?” Cherry challenged with a raised eyebrow, frowning deeply as he continued to stare down Adam.

“Then I will have no other choice than to leak these photos and ruin your entire career.” Adam spat with his fingers gripping the wood so tight that his knuckles turned white.

Cherry closed his eyes at the unfavorable situation he had found himself in. He could have continued to protest against the incriminating evidence, but Adam did unfortunately have the upper hand right now. Cherry sighed loudly before slowly glancing back up to the fickle man awaiting his response.

“Very well.”

“Really?” Adam blurted incredulously, shocked that Cherry actually agreed to his terms.

“Yes, I will end my relations with them.” Cherry affirmed, although the weight of those words left a bitter taste lingering along his tongue.

“Excellent.” Adam exclaimed before turning on his heel to leave triumphantly but not before gathering the photos up and taking them with him.

Once Adam was completely gone, Cherry loudly banged his fist against the table, causing the warm tea to spill across his desk. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration as he considered the stakes at hand and wanted nothing more to strangle Adam for even pulling a stunt like this. Cherry was torn between protecting his current position of power or choosing the love of his life and it seemed like the former was gradually becoming his only option.

“Carla, send me a carriage.” Cherry hastily commanded into the air before pushing out of his seat and storming out the door.

X

“Y/n, open up. It’s me.”

Cherry waited a few seconds before hearing your feet shuffle against the floor and multiple locks turn in unison.

When you finally opened the door he saw that you were all dressed and there was a suitcase standing behind you. Cherry raised an eyebrow in question and wondered where you could be going at such a late hour.

“Going somewhere?” He asked curiously while taking note of how stiff you looked standing in the door frame.

“Yes.” You responded curtly, voice more distant than usual.

“Where to?” Cherry tried to pry further, now even more confused that his suspicions were correct.

“Away.”

Cherry’s lips frowned at how dismissive you were being and he tried to step closer into your home, but you blocked him before he could get the chance.

“Cherry, I think It is time we end this.” You blurted out loud and Cherry froze in his spot once he heard those words leave your mouth.

Wasn’t that his line? He thought to himself as he saw the indifferent expression blanketing your face. Cherry wasn’t going to go through with Adam’s demands and he had actually come here to make It clear that you would always come first, although now that you’ve said you wanted to depart, he wasn’t sure If his plan still was in motion.

“For what reason?” Cherry asked insultingly and you avoided eye contact with him before continuing.

“It is for the best.” You whispered and Cherry got in your face, latching his fingers onto your chin so you could look into his furious eyes.

“Like hell It is.” He swore, glowering down at you. “What has caused this sudden change?”

“Dammit, Cherry! We just aren’t meant to be together!” You shouted and to Cherry’s ears It sounded as If you were trying to convince yourself of that statement as well. Once you realized your emotions were beginning to get the best of you, you took a deep breath and tried to ignore the tight feeling growing inside of your throat.

“I got sent a letter.”

“A letter?” Cherry questioned in confusion, wondering why that mattered now.

“Yes, and It stated that I have 24 hours to evacuate the premises before drastic measures would be put in place.” You confessed and Cherry raised his eyebrows in surprise before anger gradually consumed his being.

“On what grounds? Where is it, let me see!” Cherry demanded and tried to move past you but you blocked him from entering again.

“They had pictures in there as well.” You hissed while furrowing your eyebrows deeply. “Pictures of us together.”

Cherry felt himself begin to see red, seething at what was happening to you and him.

“So what? That’s just it now?” He voiced bitterly and you started to laugh at his questions, not realizing that tears had begun sliding down your cheeks.

“Yes, this is the last straw! I am sick of going through this, Cherry.” You exclaimed with a frown before turning your head so your eyes were no longer on him. “It’s best that you leave now.”

“I refuse to leave until we sort all of this out.” Cherry protested, moving his hands to try to wipe your cheeks but you swatted them away just before he could touch you. Cherry angrily clenched his fists and flared his nostrils before moving himself into your face.

“Didn’t we get in this relationship knowing that they wouldn’t approve of us? So why now, why are you so scared now?” Cherry was fuming as he shouted those words at you and you flinched once you heard how strangled his voice was becoming.

“It is different now, since when did you not care about your career as being our Lord? If word got out we were meeting, It would stain your image and legacy as well as have you seen as a dishonor. Are you really willing to risk throwing it all away for a mere relationship?” You challenged although the tears that were still falling steadily from your eyes betrayed how you were trying to come across.

You swallowed thickly before moving your eyes to Cherry’s face, staring at him solemnly through your blurry vision.

“Is our love really worth that much to you because it doesn't mean shit to me anymore.” You yelled and Cherry abruptly moved back at your outburst, too speechless to say anything in return.

You shut your eyes and squeezed them tightly before stepping back into your home.

“Goodbye.” You mumbled and slammed the door in Cherry’s face. Cherry stood on your porch with a far away look grazing his face and stayed motionless in his spot with his gaze never leaving your door. Cherry didn’t remember how long he stood there in the cold night, but he did remember the sudden feeling of his lips quivering as he felt his heart being broken into a million pieces.

When Cherry finally stormed back into the castle, he furiously and desperately looked for Adam. And when he finally saw him, he rushed to the man and roughly grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer so that they were face to face.

“What did you do, dammit!” Cherry yelled with tears building up in his eyes, his hands shaking drastically since your distraught face stayed ingrained in his mind. Cherry was a mess without you, he already missed your comforting voice and the beautiful smile that you wore whenever he held you close to him. Cherry’s cheeks suddenly rose as his mouth slowly parted and tears poured from his eyes at the thought of never getting the chance to have that again.

Adam looked down at Cherry since he still had him in grasp, and he couldn’t help the smirk that fell on his face as he realized that he had won. Adam listened closely as the grandfather clock on the wall rang loudly to signal a new day, a day where you were no longer in the picture.

“I just made sure you stayed true to your word, my Lord.”

[jamiedc-they-them]

Forgive and forget what happened in another time (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: After the incident with the Doctor, Daisy and Jemma see how much it hurt you and do what they can to help, but there is only one person who can really help. Fitz

Leopold Fitz, that name used to make you feel safe, happy, protected. A name of a brother figure, of a best friend.

Now, it was a name of danger, of hurt, of caution; of someone who once meant the world to you, but now a complicated thing. That was the what the name brought now. 

Your hand went to the wound he had caused you, a bullet wound; the scar being patched up by Jemma, who had been doing all she could for you. 

“Knock knock.” You heard Daisy said a your door swished open, there was no knock that was a lie, only the words and swoosh of the door to alert you of her presence in your room. 

You quickly put the shirt down, covering the scar, but you saw her eye go to where it would be on your front (your back was to her, you had turned your head to look at you, even then you only saw her from the corner of your eye) and her smile was sympathetic. 

She had her scar too, running her hand along the back of her neck.

“Hey.” You greeted, trying to sound like you both thinking about the same thing.

“Hey.” She parroted back, trying to do the same thing. 

You cleared your throat, fully turning to your friend and crossing your arms, “So, what’s up?” You asked.

She suddenly remembered why she was here, “We’re gonna be landing soon, gonna need you there with me.” She said, giving you a smile, one you mirrored. 

She hated this, seeing her sibling in pain like this; she hated that your brother figure hurt you both. 

You had found where his ship was after interrogating one of the crew, all you had to do was get to it. 

As you walked, with Daisy leading, Jemma grabbed you by the arm and held you back, “Y/N, if this is it, then --” 

“Now’s not the time.” You said, trying to get her to release you so you could just end this journey. 

“When is the time?” She pressed; you looked at her in the eyes, this journey had made her go to dark places, but she was still the caring soul you met all that time ago.

“Not now,” You said, removing the hand, “Besides, if it is him...then he’ll be with you, and Daisy can do the talking for me.” 

You entered the part of the ship you needed through the ceiling, with Jemma leading the way. You found the pod, and you waited with baited breath. She looked to you and Daisy, two of her best friends in the whole world who had followed her out here for this one moment. 

Her face dropped when she opened it...nothing was there, only some blood. 

She stayed in the pod for a bit, breaking down. You, meanwhile, sat in the commons room, alone, and you allowed yourself to admit it. 

You were happy that he wasn’t. 

And part of you hated yourself for it. 

“Y/N,” Jemma called out to you, you looked up to her, “I need you for something.” 

That was a bit of a stretch, it was more of a team meeting, and something she had spotted on the pod, writing. 

In a language she knew apparently. 

You and Daisy were trying to keep the rest of you guys in check, and at the same time get Simmons to see that you would not survive this trip. 

She, however, saw it differently.

She, however, pulled the lever and sent you deeper into space, chasing after a translation.

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

Jemma knew, she knew that you were pissed by that option; and as much as she defended it, she saw the toll all this was taking on you. 

But, this was her husband, she wasn’t going to just leave him stranded, even if the chance of finding him was small. 

“Y/N --” She said, having a moment alone with you before they went to the city of Kitson, a place apparently only the worst people would go. 

“Don’t.” You were firm with your words, and she could detect the bite. 

“Y/N, please --” Again, she couldn’t finish. 

“You had no right!” 

“I have to find him, Y/N. You would do the same if it was Daisy, me, or anyone else.” She couldn’t stop the words, her goal of finding her husband stopping her from seeing the consequences of her words.

Those consequences came when your eyes widened, almost at the audacity of the words said, before you let out a humourless chuckle, “‘Anyone else’ hasn’t shot me while I’ve tried to free my sister from his split. I get it, not fully in his control, his trauma too, but what about mine, Jemma? You expect me to just move on from it? Sure, Daisy’s done better, but --”

“You don’t need to compare yourself to her, Y/N. You’re making your own progress, I promise…” She was torn, and you could tell. 

“Whatever, let’s just go, ok?” She could tell things were a bit icey between you both, but she knew that you both still cared for each other, even during this time. 

You went to Kitson, yourself and the two girls getting high as a kite in your search, “Co-come on, Y/N...We need to find our british friend.” Daisy said, holding onto your hand and bringing you through the crowds. You had no idea where Jemma had gone, part of your brain wondering if she was real…

If what Fitz had done was real. 

She was, as you found out, being brought onto the floor in a crawl as you went under the table to find some solace from the people.

You observed the surroundings, eyes wide as you blinked a few times, but you swore you saw a man in a suit, a beard and an emotionless expression on his face staring at you a few times in the crowd, but each time you just shook your head and he was gone.

A blaring ‘dolphin’ noise brought the three of you out, it was a signal. But Chronicoms were on your tail, so you both looked to Jemma, assuring her that - despite your states - you could handle them. Jemma looked to you and smiled, glad you still had her back. 

She went, and you and your sister got to work, Daisy spinning on the table and you throwing glasses at the trained opponents. It was funny, how you both almost reverted to how you were before all this - you throwing glasses in a bar fight - and her distracting herself during a conflict and having fun with it. 

With that cleared up, Jemma had news for you. 

“He’s alive.” She told you, and she knew where to go. 

Your search led you to a Chromicom ship, or rather the ship. But, you saw him for the first time --

Not the doctor who had hurt you and your sister --

Not the man who had a split and lost for a moment to his demons --

But your best friend, your brother. Jemma’s husband --

Leopold Fitz.

Daisy was all but ready to make do on her threat of Fitz being hurt again, she’d tear the ship apart. She knew this wasn’t the Fitz that had hurt her, had hurt you. 

You were willing to do a lot of things to get him back, but forgiving him would be another thing. 

You had tried a runner, only for you to find yourself surrounded; you and Daisy were more than ready to fight --

But Jemma stopped you; you couldn’t quite focus on her words, your heart racing as you saw the tears in Daisy’s and Jemma’s eyes. 

This was a goodbye between you three siblings. 

Jemma then looked to you, shaky smile on her lips, “Y/N --” She wanted to say something, anything to help make this better. But she couldn’t think of anything. 

Her youngest sibling was hurting, just as much as her other younger sister. 

You brought her into a hug, one she returned, no other words were spoken; you both just hugged. 

Then she was gone, and you were going home with a member gone, maybe forever. 

As you went home, Daisy found you in your room, she sat next to you, not saying anything but she knew her presence would help. 

Hell, it had helped her, she knew how you both worked. You were her best friend since birth, brought up together in the orphanage. Now, you were more hurt than you were before. 

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

Still, you went back to earth, the ever present image of Jemma Simmon walking away, to whatever her fate held, was etched into your mind. 

You felt Daisy’s gaze on you every so often as you got closer to home. Still, no words were spoken, just the gaze of, not concern, just care. Was she worried? Yeah, but she knew displaying that to you would only make you go further into your hole you had dug for yourself. 

Still, you disembarked and found yourself now in a new situation, a new trauma; Phil Coulson had returned...sort of. 

It was him in the physical form, just not the...mental form? Still, it threw yourself and Daisy, just how seeing Fitz (the older version you cared for dearly) threw you earlier. 

You and Daisy walked away, trying to ignore what you had just seen. It didn’t, however, work that way. 

You instead ended up on the man’s (Sarge) truck, going to stop someone known as Izel, you didn’t care who she was, just that she was a threat to your family. 

So, on board you went. 

He pulled you up to the front, Daisy giving you a pat on the shoulder for encouragement as you went; you gave her a smile before entering. 

“So, smiley tells me you went off to space.” He said, wasting no time it seemed. 

You nodded, “Had a little trip, sure.” 

“What for?” 

“It wasn’t for you, if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

He scoffed, “Trust me, I might have an ego, but not that high of one. What were you really looking for?” 

“Why do you wanna know?” 

“Snow’s...difficult, but I’ve known her long enough to know when she needs to talk.” 

“You offering me a shoulder?” 

“A cold one. But you seem to be more open than your sister. All she wanted to talk about was me.” 

“She’s always been inquisitive.” 

“And you're sensitive.” 

“Was.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Wow, he was not stopping. 

“I will when you do.” He smirked. 

And he did, just to spite you it seemed; he opened up about Izel and his past; how his planet was destroyed and how revenge and hate drove him. 

He lied at one point, saying it was love, but he quickly said it was the hate that drove him instead. 

Love drove you, you knew that, but also fear. Fear of who Fitz would be.

Sarge looked at you, eyes almost daring you to open up; Daisy caught the look, quickly brining the attention back to her and away from you. She hated it, the look in his eyes, the amusement he got from causing you that discomfort. 

Then he was gone, he was out and you were barreling for a tower filled with Shrike (little bat things) that would infect everyone. 

Sarge was gone, and you were going to slam into the tower with a nuke. 

Deke did what he could to try and defuse it, but was unsuccessful. 

Daisy looked to you, seeing you only staring at the bomb that would now surely take your life; you looked devastated. Her eyes softened as she took one of your hands in her own, she gave it a squeeze, a silent “I love you.” 

Then it all went black…

Only, you woke up. You woke up to Daisy over the bomb with her powers making it go back into the bomb. 

She took care of the shrike too, vaporizing them as they entered. 

Then...then he entered. Leopold Fitz…

It was different seeing him in person, actually seeing him. 

Deke had hugged him.

Daisy smiled, as did May. 

You did, a small amount; he looked like his innocent self, not the beared man who had hurt him. 

But he was still there...always there deep down. 

You had a party, and he smiled at you; you lifted your bottle up, but your smile wasn’t as full as it used to be. 

You left early. 

Then you were forced to work together, looking into what made Sarge...well, Sarge, as Daisy spoke to him. 

She let it all out, the vitreal, the anger at this situation. Fitz chanced a look to you, seeing how you kept your distance, didn’t look at him. 

“Y/N...are you ok?” He asked; Jemma even paused what she was doing to look over at you in concern. 

You gulped, just hearing his voice made you go back mentally, “...Yeah, fine.” You said, trying to hang tough. 

His hand hit your shoulder, and you flinched away, slapping the hand away. He ignored the pain, he just kept his hands up and took a step back. 

“...I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” You said, walking away, ignoring Jemma saying your name softly as you left. 

You went back to your retreat. You felt the place shake, but you just hid yourself more. You couldn’t do this, your hand went to your wound as you felt the burning from it when you were shot. You heard the broken of “NO!” From both Daisy and Jemma. You --

You felt a hand on your shoulder, a soft one and yet you still cried out at it. The hand stayed, however, and you felt yourself be pulled into a hug. 

“I got you, Y/N...I got you.” It was Daisy, and you felt her tears hit you on the top of your head as you sobbed. 

You stayed like that for a bit, with you just sobbing into her as you took yourself back to what would have been your death had...had Jemma not acted so quickly. 

Jemma, the woman who had been by your side this whole time, along with Daisy of course. But Jemma never forced you into anything about the topic, she respected your boundaries. 

“Is...is he?” You started to ask before you hiccuped.

“He wanted to wait...but he understands if you don’t --”

“No, no I wanna see him...It...I can’t just ignore him forever.” You said, Daisy still holding you close.

“Ok...ok.” She said, kissing you on your head before helping you up and bring you to the door.

She opened it, and you smiled at your brother. Not the doctor. But Leopold Fitz, the man who hadn’t lost to his demons. 

And he smiled back softly. 

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

Daisy gave you a hug before departing on her mission, and that left you with Fitzsimmons. Jemma stood on one side, Fitz on the other. 

You stood as a united trio as you watched the mission occur. 

“Y/N, I...I’m sorry.” You let him finish this time. 

This time, you also looked at him, “It -- it wasn’t you.” 

“...I know. But, I still did it.” He said, not wanting to let himself of the hook.

You nodded sadly, “We fixed the timeline...We saved you, we’re all back together now...I’m sure we’ll get there with us, anyway.” 

He smiled, he knew you would, and he hoped dearly that he would. 

Jemma smiled, glad you were starting to heal. 

Now though, without knowing, it would be a while before you would see your friends again fully...

[jamesholden]

I just wanna rant about Naomi for a bit ok i wanna talk about Naomi.

Dom always talks about how Naomi is torn between two worlds, much like Dom is being a mixed race Black woman facing a world that questions where she belongs. Naomi makes herself a home, makes herself an identity based on her past and her present and her passions and her care and her love. She is a character who forges her own identity because she’s torn between those she has and it’s just.... ugh it’s such a beautiful and sad and ugly and fascinating journey to watch.

I’ll start in S3. Naomi left the Rocinante because she started to see pieces of her past that she was trying to leave behind. She left because she’d done something for the Belt, for her people, and wanted to keep doing things for them because her son was out there among them. Until the pieces of her past began to creep up on her on the Behemoth, too. She left the Behemoth, somewhere she had been happy for months, but where she likely faced scorn for being part of an Inner crew that didn’t always work “for the Belt”, to rejoin that crew, a mixed family, who encouraged her to be whoever she wanted to be after all they’ve been through. Not a Belter. Not an Inner. But Naomi, because that’s who she is to them. Naomi Nagata, part of their family. Not Naomi Nagata, Hero of the Belt.

Then there’s Ilus. She’d never go to Earth to live with Holden, and he wouldn’t ask her to. They live in space, in the Belt, her home. Anywhere they go she could face more of the same questions of her identity, the same insults to her choices and loves and family. So she wanted a place where they could live that could be their own. Not Earth, not the Belt, but theirs. She faced scorn for that, too. Naomi is someone who explores all options, and if one exists, she’ll try it. But that choice is ripped from her, too. She can’t survive in the gravity well, and her hopes of having a home of her own making with the family she loves are dashed. Her hopes of further forging her own identity are dashed. Even with the support and care and understanding of those she loves, it’s a painful reality and it still hurts to think about and see played out on screen. But she’s not loved because of where she lives, or can live. It’s barely a blip of drama or cause for concern to her partner. Because it’s always been her he loves, and not what she can give him, unlike some people she’s had in her life before they met.

And then there’s Marco and Filip. Tonight’s episode puts that final piece into place. She’d hinted at it in the past, with Holden and Drummer. Likening Holden to Marco. Telling Drummer she was afraid she wouldn’t let her go. Because she was once in love with a man who was a romantic, and idealist, a fighter, who used her and her work and her devotion to get what he wanted. To meet his goals. And when she realized what he did with her work, that he killed hundreds of people with her code, she tried to leave. And he hid her son from her in the hopes it would quiet her or bring her back into the fold. It didn’t. It drove her to an extreme that she realized wouldn't change anything. So she left. Left her life and her son behind because everyone in her life sided with Marco and helped hide her son from her. Eventually she took a dead end job on the Cant, where she met Amos, Holden, and Alex. And started her journey to find out who Naomi Nagata really is and what she stands for.

When I look at all the female characters we love, that we call “badass��, I see a few things in common. I see leaders, warriors, fighters, all. I see people loyal to their nations, their factions, their people as a whole. Avasarala, Bobbie, Drummer, they are all leaders, fighters, warriors who fight for their homes and their people. They’re ideals, characters we’ve longed to see more of in media for years. Naomi, too. Naomi is badass, always has been.  But she’s badass in ways that people might not always consider under a “badass” banner. Badass in smaller ways. 

She’s smart, thinks out of the box to solve problems and doesn’t let anyone get in her way when they try to stop her. She sticks to her principles, even telling off her loved ones when they push her too far or go too far out of her expectations themselves. She keeps the crew centered on a moral goal, reminds them to fight FOR the innocent, not against them. She saves as often than she’s saved, if not far more. She sees the things the people around her don’t, and says them when needed. She fights tooth and nail for her family, and will risk her own life to save them. She doesn’t fight for a nation, but she fights for her people, her family of four. She jumps into hard vacuum without any protective gear on to get to a ship meant to be a trap for her partner, to try and stop it. Because her family was taken from her once, Marco took her family from her once, and she won’t let it happen again.

Naomi doesn’t fight for a cause, she had to make difficult, unthinkable choices, she’s helped kill people, she left people she loves for walking paths she can’t, she’s hurt people she loves to help people she left behind, she does things we don’t agree with. But to me that makes her beautiful. She has so many layers and facets and her arc is so clear and defined and her past is what points her that way. She’s badass and complex and absolutely, I think, the most interesting and my favorite character in the series outside of my hyperfixation attachment. I love her. I’ve told Dom this before. She really is my MVP of the series as of S5 and Book 8.

I just hope as her story continues to unfold in S5 that more people talk about it and create about it and come to remember her as badass and amazing as she’s always been. Because Naomi is such an incredible character on page and screen and she and Dom deserve all the love we can give them.

[prismadog]

I kinda had a suggestion for your au,

So if you don't want to read it, this is your time to delete this ask,

But yeah, maybe Xornoth hasn't been completely corrupted when Scott's people sends them to the nether

As in like, he is definitely very corrupted and evil, but it's not too late for him to become human again

And then [insert something involving Shrub] happens and he is presented the choice of becoming human again and unlocking all the power of exor, at the cost of turning away from his humanity forever

why wouldn't I want to read a suggestion? I love talking to people! and I'd love to hear any feedback, comments, or suggestions!

ooh...I love this idea so much already!

I haven't thought too much about the end game yet but I have thought a bit about pre-exile Xornoth and it's pretty much what you said: maybe they're not fully corrupted and there's a chance for him to return to his former self.

EDIT: this is a quick message from after typing out the below post. I somehow ended up coming up with an end game, idk how that happened but it did. it's not exactly like you suggested but I hope it satisfies well enough. I really loved your ask btw.

also, this is fairly long so I'm putting a "keep reading line below". I think I might have also sort of written a story here? like, I meant for this to be just a little response but...it's not. it's practically a story for how things will go down. obviously, it'll need work, but it's a start!

.

pre-exile chance

my thoughts: there was one moment when Xornoth really questioned their actions, questioned their blind faith to Exor, questioned how they became a monster when all they wanted was to be the beloved hero that their brother Alinar is.

that moment, it was when they were banished from their home, but before they were exiled to the Nether. the people wanted them gone and they turned to their brother for help, they wanted Alinar to keep the people from banishing them. the moment where Xornoth questioned everything was when Alinar turned his back on them.

they moved to the caves and questioned every single little thing they've ever done - where had they gone wrong? why wasn't Alinar proud of him? maybe...maybe everything they were doing wasn't so good after all.

I believe that if when Alinar had found his brother again, if he had asked Aeor for aid in saving his brother instead of banishing them for good, there would have been a chance for Xornoth to return to his former self. but no, Alinar had to go and remove that chance entirely from the equation and exile his brother in the Nether.

* I'm using the Clash of the Great Stags as reference for that part above. I'm leaving Conal & Alinar's canon story as history for the AU versions, though, there might be a tweak or two in the future, who knows?

but. after reading your suggestion and having a good long think about this...maybe there is still a chance, even after Alinar turned his back on his brother.

so...I'ma gonna hash things out here.

.

hash out chance

we the fans know that there's going to be some form of "final battle" between the rulers and Xornoth - the same will be true for the AU as well. it'll be Xornoth, Sausage, Joey, and Shrub against everyone else - though, for Shrub, she doesn't want to fight, she doesn't want to see anyone get hurt, she just wants everyone to get along. but she knows that no matter what she does, everyone will end up at the final battle, ready for war.

but before that, there's a lot of moments where, like in canon, everyone is trying to find a cure for the corruption plaguing their lands. Shrub is no different, except, she pushes more towards a cure for people, for the demon themself.

Katherine, Scott, and Gem are more than willing to help her find a cure - they don't really know why Shrub is so insistent on curing the demon, she only ever vaguely tells them her reasons, but they're still going to help her because they're her friends.

during this, Scott will talk to Aeor, wondering if there is a way to cure the corruption at its source - the demon - without shedding any more blood.

Aeor, I know he's supposed to be a good god, believing in peace and equality - and he is a good god, but...I don't think he would want to resolve things between him and Exor peacefully. in the story I linked, he pretty much jumped right into a fight with Exor without hesitation

so, that being said, I don't think things would be any different even if his champion was looking for peaceful solutions. I believe Aeor would want Scott to take up arms against Xornoth and fight for him, to end the corruption once and for all.

Scott would be reluctant of course, torn between his god's wishes and helping his friends. so, maybe he does both - he'll try to help his friends find a cure for the demon but he'll also prepare for the inevitable final battle.

Shrub and her friends work tirelessly trying to find a cure, making several different potions, and each one Shrub takes home with her and gives them to Xornoth. they're reluctant to take the potions but they'll do anything for their gnome, even if it means turning their back on their god and giving up all the power Exor gifted them.

so, Xornoth tries every different potion given to them, even though not a single one has any effect on them, until all options are completely eliminated and the rulers run out of ideas. at that point in time, there is no other choice except war - war between the gods, between their champions, between people who were all once friends but are now on opposing sides.

maybe this is where Shrub breaks completely, at the moment when the others give up. maybe she begs them to keep trying - just one more potion, that's all we need, the next one will be the right one, I just know it, please keep trying, please don't give up yet, we have to keeping trying.

they'll question her on why she wants the demon cured so badly, they'll question despite knowing that she's only going to dodge every question asked.

but this time. this time Shrub doesn't dodge. this time, she stops giving vague answers and she stops telling lies that leave her with a pit in her stomach. this time, she breaks. this time, she tells them the truth. this time, she tells them the story of her life, her connection to the demon and how Xornoth is like a father to her - tending to her injuries, telling her stories, teaching her so many things, but most of all, loving her unconditionally.

she begs their forgiveness for lying to them for so long, begs them to help her find a cure for the only family she's ever known, begs them to not give up yet.

the other rulers would obviously be shocked, some might walk away feeling hurt and betrayed, some might come to Shrub and accept her as the child of the monster that plagues their lands. those that do accept her, they comfort her and she comforts them. they might all keep trying to make a cure, despite how hopeless it seems - they've already failed so many times, what more can they do?

Xornoth would have the same thoughts - what more can the rulers do? everything they tried, every potion made, has failed and it's just going to be more of the same. so, they make a decision, the demon seals their fate, the demon makes the call for war.

they go into the final battle reluctantly, knowing that there's only one true way to cure them and wishing that it didn't have to be with their death. they go into that battle hoping their little Shrub - their sweet, kind girl who showed them a better way of living - will be okay when they're gone. they know that her friends will be there for her so she should be okay, she can survive.

the two sides face off. no one wants to fight. Shrub, though she stands on the side of the rulers, is torn between her friends and her family. everyone there knows that the speeches given by the rulers of the Overworld are a poor attempt at staving off the inevitable.

Xornoth wants to be the one to throw the first punch, to get the ball rolling, get this fight done and over with, but they see their gnome, their beloved child, staring at them from across the battlefield, and she's crying. the battle hasn't even started and yet, she's mourning their death.

they don't attack. they stay their hand. they stand down. they move forward, hands up and open, free of any weapon, and walk gladly towards their demise. no one moves, all are still as the demon approaches, the usual sinister grin replaced by a grimace of heartache.

the demon stops before them, before their little Shrub and before the elf that looks so much like the brother they lost. Xornoth kneels at their feet, they say their parting words of love to their gnome, then they bow their head and tell Aeor's Champion to make it a quick death and please, if you could do me one favor, please don't let Shrub watch, please don't let her be here.

Shrub tries to go to her father's side, tries to beg them not to do this - there's still time, we can still find a way, please don't do this, please don't give up. Katherine and Gem hold her, embrace her in a way that her eyes are shielded from the bloodshed that's soon to come. they look to Scott, he's the one with the powers of a god that can rival the demon's darkness.

Scott is shaking where he stands but it's not from fear. he stands before the demon, above the monster that's terrorized his friends, and in his hands is the weapon that will strike the final blow and end everything. he had thought for a long time that Alinar was right in his actions, following the path Aeor laid out before him, banishing the only family he had to another world.

but standing here, knowing what he knows now about his friend Shrub, what he knows about himself as Aeor's Champion and about his past life as Alinar - he knows that Alinar made the wrong choice, he knows that there is a better way.

Scott, knowing that his next action is going to displease his god, drops the blessed weapon given to him and says - No. he kneels before the monster and says - You will not die today. he embraces the brother he never knew and says - We will find a cure.

this is where Aeor has a choice to make - enact justice on the crimes committed by Exor - or forgive his sins.

the Stag God follows his Champion's lead and chooses forgiveness. he stands before his own brother and chooses to end the war they've fought for eons.

with this, the corruption dies around them and Conal is freed. the demon melts away and an elf emerges from its remains. Conal embraces their brother come back to life and relishes in the life he's been gifted.

Shrub breaks free from her friends and practically crushes her family - both her father and Scott - with an embrace of her own. she cries enough tears for the both of them, though, Conal comes pretty close to out-crying their child.

and with that, the war is over, the demon is defeated, and the Overworld can live in peace once again.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Echoes of the Past" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

What probably gets debated the most in the fandom is the legitimacy behind King being the King of Demons. Some believe that there's truth to his statement, while others, like me, like to think that he was just some stray Eda picked up off the streets. Either option seemed likely, especially since Season One never gave an answer that leaned one way or the other.

Then here comes the writers finally answering the question of who King is in episode THREE of Season Two! Because, again, they don't waste time on giving fans exactly what they want.

Fans wanted answers behind King, we got 'em, and analyzing what those answers mean requires going deep into spoilers. So if you haven't checked the episode out yet, I highly recommend that you do. Trust me, it's worth seeing.

Now let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Luz Experimenting with Spells: Hey, look! More proof that Luz isn't an idiot like some people flanderize her to be!

But, seriously though, this is a perfect little thread to introduce into the story. Luz collecting knowledge from Lilith's old books and past work she and Eda made adds to Luz's intelligence while also providing a believable explanation for how she gets new spells. It's also nice to see that she has this little notebook (or spellbook) to help see what works and what doesn't. It's a level of experimentation that proves her dedication to becoming a witch while also exemplifying how she isn't stupid. Occasionally reckless, sure, but you can't say that the person who figured out an invisibility spell through showing her work is also an idiot.

Francios with a Knife: How did Francois get a knife? I don't know. But the fact that a random knife plopped out behind him with little to no explanation is funny, and I will not hear otherwise.

I don't make the rules. I just abide by them.

Luz’s Invisibility Spell: I breezed past this, but I honestly love this invisibility spell. More specifically, I love that there's a limiter. It can turn you, objects, and people you're in contact with invisible, but only as long as you can hold your breath. It helps make the spell something the characters can't always rely on, which is appreciated. Because if it works as long as they concentrate, what's stopping them from sneaking into Belos' castle and assassinating him in his sleep? It's a smart way of explaining why they can't always rely on something, despite how insanely useful it is.

Luz: Let's gush about Luz some more, shall we!

"Echoes of the Past" is another episode that has Luz on top form. She is constantly supportive of King, even if Lilith has a point in the dangers of indulging his fantasy as a powerful tyrant. Doing so would cause more harm than good, especially when King finds out Luz doesn't believe him, but her going along with it was all done with the best of intentions. Luz doesn't want to hurt her friend, and even if she did in the long run, she still makes up for it by helping King learn more about his past.

And, as another reminder, Luz isn't stupid. She's the first to say they should leave when it's clear how dangerous the castle is and is quick to figure out there should be more at the top. Luz is a loyal and caring friend who's also guarded and intuitive when the situation calls for it. This episode understood that, so here's hoping other fans will too.

Lilith: Yeah, she's still growing on me.

I feel like this episode shows a better idea of Lilith's place in the group more than the past two. She's a person who's obsessed with knowledge and learning but considers herself above the jovial nature of King, Luz, and definitely Eda. Therefore, she acts as the perfect catalyst for what jumpstarts this week's adventure. It doesn't surprise me in the slightest that she almost instantly dismisses King's claims due to considering herself more knowledgeable than everyone else. Still, I like how she's willing to believe King once she finally sees evidence that seemingly proves he really was the King of Demons, to the point of referring to him as "her lord." Hooty does the same thing, but it comes across as him fearing for his own life and choosing to be friends with someone who could maybe kill him in an instant. For Lilith, her newfound respect comes from the desire to learn more, and it's that desire that makes Lilith an enjoyable character to me. It's adorable to see, and it has some comedic flavor in moments like when she dismisses everyone else and their emotional revelations to take pictures of the carvings around her. I'm sure she'll cause some controversy like other characters with rushed reformations, but for me, I'm more than ok with her addition to the main cast.

More of Lilith’s and Hooty’s Friendship: HOW DOES THIS WORK!?

ON PAPER, IT SEEMS LIKE IT WOULD BE A BAD IDEA, BUT IT F**KING WORKS!

HOW?!

WHAT BLACK MAGIC DID THESE WRITERS USE TO MAKE A RELATIONSHIP SO UNEXPECTED COME ACROSS AS SO ENDEARING AND ADORABLE?!

And where can I get some for my stories...just asking.

But seriously: HOW?!

Hooty Making Himself Portable: Ah, yes. The classic bit where a character does something horrifically grotesque off-screen, and we have nothing but character reactions and sound effects to imagine what happened between shot A and shot B. It's an oldie, but given how hard I was laughing (mostly because of Luz's gagging), it's still a goodie.

Eda’s Portable Bathtub Boat Thing: I mean...I was expecting Eda would use something to catch up with the others, but...that thing...well...I mean, I'm still laughing just by thinking about it. That should tell you how well executed this joke was.

John Luke: ...I'm gonna go ahead and add him to the list because HOLY S**T was this guy disturbing! From his design to his movements to even the sounds he makes when moving, everything about John Luke screams as something that will stay in kids' nightmares for a while. Now, this might seem like a complaint, but to be honest, I'm more than alright with how creepy John Luke is. I highly doubt adult viewers will consider John Luke scary, but I guarantee he'll terrify some of the youngins that this series is aimed for. And that's fine. It's good to creep kids out a little bit with something somewhat scary, as it might introduce them to more good horror stories later in life.

Plus, the reveal that John Luke was only a guard for King is pretty solid narratively speaking. You can see how John never really meant to hurt King aside from one accident when Eda escaped with him. If you want to read into it, I guess it might be questionable to tell kids that something that looks dangerous is secretly nice, but that's really nitpicky, in my opinion. John Luke was a fantastic threat that is designed and animated well, with a solidly executed twist. Some might hate what he presents, most will fear him, but we can all agree on one thing: His theme is awesome (can I get the track for that, please)!

King’s Backstory: Finally, at long last, we know who King is, thus putting an end to a year-long debate. And I fully mean it when I say that the writers gave the best possible answer. Because in a way, everyone was right. Yes, King was just an animal that Eda decided to adopt, like the nature-loving hippie she is inside (She's got the hair for it). However, while he may not be the King of Demons himself, he is still the son of someone who deserves that title. So while he isn't the King, there's a chance he might be the Prince. Once again, there's no direct answer, but given how the writers came up with something that pleases everyone while still providing more questions for debate, it acts as a brilliant move, in my opinion. So whatever answer we get next, I'm sure it will be just as perfect.

Baby King:

My heart was not prepared for that level of cuteness!

King’s Breakdown: NOR WAS IT READY FOR THIS LEVEL OF SADNESS!

But in all seriousness, a HUGE round of applause to Alex Hirsch for his performance in this episode. He expertly captured the raw emotions of shock, anger, betrayal, and sadness that King must have felt when finding out that everything he believed he was is a lie. It's one of those moments where I don't hear a person voicing lines in a booth (or wherever the hell VAs are voicing characters nowadays), but instead hear a living person being emotionally torn apart. It was heartbreaking seeing King so vulnerable as he's so guarded with his emotions. Seeing him like this adds so much more layers to a character that many would mistake him as a cute, comedic animal sidekick. But just like with Luz, there's more to him than people will tell you.

“I don’t even know what’s real or fake anymore!”: I'm just pointing out this line because I believe it's what convinces Luz to help King learn more about who he is. Hell, not knowing what's real or fake is the main reason why Luz got sent away in the first place, so I feel like she can relate to King when he's in a similar predicament.

Hooty and Lilith vs John Luke: This was just a cool scene with some epic moments of dodging John Luke's attacks and some funny ones, like how Hooty said the word "pain." It's a ten out of ten that I would rewind to watch again.

King’s Other Horn: I'd question the logistics of how a horn that got broken off when he was a baby still manages to fit perfectly in the present...but it is neat symbolism of King accepting his past and letting it be a part of him, so who cares?

(The fact that the colors of the broken-off piece don't match the rest of the horn is nice attention to detail as well.)

WHAT I DISLIKED

It's a Little Too Predictable: I pretty much figured almost every little twist the episode offers. But, I'm willing to say that's because I'm in my twenties, and I've seen enough stories similar to this one, so I'm more likely to know what will happen. The little monsters watching this will see it for the first time, so they'll most likely get more surprised than me...And that was my only complaint about the episode...which is more of a personal problem than an actual issue...I guess that means it's perfect.

IN CONCLUSION

"Echoes of the Past" is an easy A+ in my book. It gives lore and backstory that furtherly develops the characters that episodes like this should. It also tells a tragic story about King that still sprinkles in a few good jokes every now and again to lighten up the mood. Sure, there are some nitpicks I could mention (how did King remember his own birth?). But when the good stuff is done so well, what's the point of dwelling on small, insignificant issues? This is still a phenomenal episode that flew past all expectations I had for it, and it continues the winning steak this season is having so far.

(But that's still three home runs in a row. Meaning that a stinker is coming. Ooiee, is it coming!)

[canonicallysoulmates]

I watched ep 6 of The Book of Boba Fett yesterday and I still have a lot of thoughts about it so I'm just gonna ramble.

At first I wasn't sure how I feel about this ep cause on the one hand I absolutely loved how much Luke content we got it filled me with an unexpected amount of joy and glee, I love that we got to see him train Grogu and him running with Grogu on his back was a great reference to the original films, at the same time I was a little torn on his characterization because I just don't know if Luke Skywalker of all people would really follow and teach this rule of no attachments and make Grogu choose between returning with Din or training in the ways of the Jedi; it seemed kind of OOC to me.

But here's the thing I'm a surface level fan when it comes to Star Wars so I'm not sure if it is OOC or not. So I went looking to see what other fans are saying and gain the perspective of people who are more knowledgeable than me and I saw some really good points being brought up that I hadn't considered the first being what attachment means in the Star Wars franchise. I will reblog some posts that explain this more properly than me but my simplified understanding is: lack of attachment in the Star Wars universe doesn't mean lack of love, or lack of connection and bonds. You can still love, you can still wish to protect those you care about but do so freely, do so unconditionally and selflessly don't grip on to them so tightly that it drives you to madness; part of life and loving someone is that eventually you'll have to let go. I'd argue we saw an example of this in this episode when Din didn't insist on seeing Grogu and giving him his gift, it broke his heart to walk away but he wants what's best for the kid and if seeing him again is going to hinder his path, is going to hurt him in some way then he'll walk away.

Another thing I saw pointed out is the mention in the previous ep of Tarre Vizsla, who was both Mandalorian and Jedi. And then in this episode we see Luke telling Grogu about balance. So, I don't wanna jump the gun and get angry at this show when they're clearly setting something up to be explored in s3 of The Mandalorian- and actually as I'm typing this I am remembering the posters that were released at comi-con, one was Grogu with Luke and the other was him with Din who had the Darksaber and that matches so perfectly with what's being set up in these past two episodes.

And now after reading those points and thinking about it I feel much better about the way that Luke was presented in this ep, and I see the end not as Luke making Grogu choose but giving him the choice to choose his path and letting him know in general that he does have options, that he can choose his own destiny and he doesn't have to be a Jedi if he doesn't want to be while also letting him know what each path entails. Seems a lot more loving when one looks at it that way- although I still don't like how it was worded in the script 😅

The other thing is while I am loving the content these past two episodes have given us cause I love Din, I love Grogu, I love Luke, I also feel bad for some of the fans because I know Boba Fett is an iconic and beloved character, and some were really excited to see him get the spotlight, and that didn't happen. I am greatly enjoying getting The Mandalorian content, it's making me super excited for s3 but I've also been on the other side of the coin. I know what a slap in the face it can be to have a show completely ignore its supposed to be main character, and this show does it in not one but two episodes this one stinging probably even more because even though Boba appears it's only for maybe less than a minute, he doesn't speak, and the show is stolen by Din in the corner. And I get that these shows are supposed to be interlaced or something but this isn't interlacing, connecting storyline this was putting two episodes of The Mandalorian into the series. Which again, I don't mind I've actually really enjoyed it but I do understand some fans anger and dissapointment on the series as a whole.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not So Golden Opportunity (BAON)

Summary:  Usually Stretch likes getting packages in the mail, but there is always room for an exception.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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The knock on the front door wasn’t much of a surprise, not when it came at delivery o’clock. Stretch always had packages coming in, everything from equipment for the lab to a new t-shirt that declared he was a ‘Karaoke King’, there was always something for their delivery person to drop off. At any given time, there was enough cardboard stored in their garage waiting to get dropped off at recycle to make one heck of a box fort, and that was on his list to do with the neighborhood kiddos one of these weekends.

So, the knock on the door? Not a surprise. What they were delivering on the other hand—

“uh, wow, thanks, marty,” Stretch said, a little dubiously. Marty let out an agreeable honk and meandered their way back to their little mail truck, leaving Stretch standing there with an enormous armful of flowers from an unknown source. Couldn’t be from Edge. Sure, he’d given flowers a few times, but Edge was more of an in-person sort of guy when it came to presents.

Welp, there was only one way to find out, wasn’t there. Time to get his Velma on and look for some clues.

Stretch carried the massive thing inside and plunked it down on the coffee table to give it a closer look. It was actually a very nice floral arrangement, even Stretch could see that and he didn’t know shit about flowers or décor. Tiny sprays of white, bell-like blooms and ferny green things surrounding several huge blooms of golden flowers, the likes of which Stretch hadn’t seen in years, not since they were Underground.

Hm. Golden flowers.

The card had Edge’s name on it, but Stretch didn’t bother sneaking a peek. Mystery solves, there was only one person who would’ve had this delivered to their door and he probably made it with his own fuzzy hands. The real question was why that asshole was having flowers sent to his husband, thank you, and the only way to find out if he needed to start making plans to yank out hunks of fur with his bare hands was to ask, with the minimum of simmering jealousy possible.

“babe?” Stretch called. Edge was in the kitchen, making preparations for their new cupboards to be installed next week. “hey, c’mere a minute!”

He’d expected Edge to be pleased, he did like his flowers, heck, maybe even excited in that adorably subdued way he had, and much as Stretch could have done without any surprise packages from Ass-gore in their house, eh, he’d deal with it if they made Edge happy.

The last thing he anticipated was for Edge to stop cold halfway out the kitchen door, the fleeting expression of disgust crossing his face quickly shifting to blankness. Edge wasn’t exactly the most emotive guy out there, but Stretch was pretty good at reading his facial version of charades and right now there wasn’t so much as a twitch of the eye socket or a curl of his mouth as he said, low, “Please put that in the garage.”

“the garage?” Stretch repeated doubtfully. He looked down at the extravagant display of floral dominance in his hands and wondered if he’d heard that right. “you sure?

“Yes, because someone might notice if you put it right into the trash.” That blankness cracked, a little, enough for Edge to snap out, “Just get it out of the damn house!”

Yeah, okay, got that message loud and clear, especially since Edge was starting to look a little glowy around the hands, like he was considering a little impromptu, and violent, floral rearranging. Stretch grabbed up the offending bouquet before it could end up as target practice and shortcutted out into the garage.

Like the rest of the house, it was neat as a pin, no oil stains on this concrete floor and all the tools neatly put away on the pegboard. In the back corner was the motorcycle, shrouded in drop cloths and waiting for Edge to be able to take it out for a spin again. Didn’t seem like putting the flowers anywhere special was part of today’s theme, so Stretch stuffed the thing into the furthest spot, away from Edge’s car so he wouldn’t have to see it when he came out on his way to work tomorrow.

Job successfully achieved, Stretch dusted off his hands and teleported back inside. Edge was already gone from the living room, no surprise there, but he hadn’t gone back to the kitchen. A quick, not-at-all-frantic search found him sitting out on the front porch and that wasn’t really a surprise, either. But the cigarette in his hand? Now that blew past surprise all the way into flabbergasted shock. Far as Stretch knew, Edge hadn’t bummed a smoke in months, his general attitude towards smoking was distaste with extreme prejudice. It took a helluva lot for him to give into the urge for a quick fix to a nicotine craving. Whatever his issues were with the flowers, whether it was the gift or the person who sent them, they were bad.

“babe?” Stretch asked, cautiously, still hovering half in the house. As worried as he was, he wouldn’t push, ready to leave if Edge wanted to be alone.

Edge only shifted the cigarette to his other hand and patted the concrete next to him in silent invitation. A little relieved, Stretch came out and sat down. He dug his own cigarette out of the crumpled pack and the two of them sat hip to hip, quietly smoking. Overhead, the sky was endless sea of deep blue broken only by the occasional streak of a puffy cloud. A nice day, too nice for the unspoken questions hanging heavily in the air, but Stretch didn’t ask them. Edge would talk when he was ready and if he never was, welp, that was fine, too. Edge wasn’t the only one who could be supportive, Stretch was more than willing to take his turn under the weight.

It wasn’t until Edge tamped out his cigarette in the ashtray Stretch kept out on the porch that he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Edge said finally. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“i think i’ll live, babe,” Stretch replied, dryly, “the wounds were superficial.” He gave Edge a gentle nudge in the side with his elbow. “you okay?”

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t pushing, thanks. Besides, it was a stupid question, because the answer was obviously going to be a ‘yes, fine’ and that’d be it.

Except that he didn’t get the obvious answer he expected.

“Not right now,” Edge said. His sockets were half-closed and instead of their yard, he seemed to be looking miles away. “I will be.” They sat in silence for a while longer, Stretch watching people walking by, waving as required and leaving Edge to his thoughts. He was lighting a second cigarette when Edge finally spoke again, softly. “Golden flowers.” The faint hitch in his voice could’ve meant nothing, if the person he was sitting with didn’t know him so well. “I haven’t seen real golden flowers in years.”

Stretch considered that. “i’m taking it they weren’t sorely missed.”

“Hm?” Crimson eye lights briefly flicked his way. “No, not at all. I hate the blasted things.”

Stretch only took a long drag and exhaled slowly, blowing a smoke ring up into that blue, blue sky. He didn’t ask or urge him to talk, simply being there if he chose to. And Edge did, slowly, as if choosing every word with care. “The only place in Underfell where golden flowers grew was the king’s chamber in New Home. My memories of that place are…not pleasant.”

Not pleasant. Yeah, like lava is a wee bit warmish or the Titanic sprung a little leak. Indisputable truths: water is wet, the sky is blue, grass is green, and any meeting with the king of all Monsters in Underfell was not pleasant.

The explanation made perfect sense, really; if Stretch’d had a minute to actually think about it instead of dividing his attention between ditching the flowers and then finding his wayward husband, he probably would have figured it out on his own. Perfect sense, yep, and that was why Stretch was torn between temptations. First, to grab Edge and hold him close, to keep him there in his arms and do whatever it took to chase away any of the mental ghosts that were creeping in, to be the protector for one damn time. And then there was the equal temptation to take that little flower arrangement on back to the source and see if he could find any handy place to stick it, because right now, he was ready to cram it so far up someone’s fuzzy buns that they’d need their dentist to help get it loose.

But Edge wouldn’t appreciate either of those options. All Stretch could do here was sit here, be here, and hope it was enough.

Stretch was so lost in his thoughts that he startled at the touch of a gloved hand as it settled gently over his bare one, sharp fingertips blunted by fabric lightly stroking his own. “He didn’t know, love. He mentioned to me in passing that he’d started working on floral arrangements again for the summer and that he’d be sending them out to Embassy employees, and I completely forgot.”

Trust Edge to know exactly what direction his thoughts were headed, right off the grid and into a little righteous revenge. Didn’t help that the things Stretch wanted to say to that excuse weren’t exactly helpful. Things like, Asgore should have been able to guess, homey reminders were only good for people who actually liked their past home, and maybe a reminder to pay some fucking attention to anything besides his own personal popularity contest was in order. Or how about suggestion for a visit to emphasis the whole ‘we don’t send my husband any gifts without pre-approval, asshole’.

None of those options were actually useful and either might actually get him banned from the Embassy this time, so Stretch kept ‘em to himself and only said, “i know.”

Then he let out a squawk as that gentle touch on his hand turned into a firm grip around his wrist and he was abruptly yanked over into Edge’s lap. He barely managed to put out his cigarette before it landed anywhere unpleasant. It took a little creative, and occasionally blatant, wriggling to get situated but in the end, he was settled across Edge’s femurs and snuggled in. His own hands were perfectly G-rated, Edge’s only slightly less so but it wasn’t like anyone on the street could see the hand he’d slipped under Stretch’s sweatshirt and settled over his sternum, right where his soul would manifest if he summoned it. Neither of them did, not yet, not out here in front of the broad daylight and the neighbors. The barest suggestion was enough for right now.

“I’m all right,” Edge murmured, and the warmth of his breath against the curve of his jaw was a tempting distraction. But Stretch wasn’t gonna forget to hand over a carefully selected piece of his mind to Asgore the next time he saw him.

Next time fuzzy ass wanted to send a present, he could stick with a gift card.

-finis

[blu-joons]

Lonely This Christmas ~ Mark Tuan

You sighed as the time passed seven, once again Mark had left you at home alone, despite his promise he failed to show up on time, leaving you in the dark of the apartment, the only thing lit up, the lights wrapped elegantly around your Christmas tree.

Before you knew it, a hot tear rolled down your cheek, quickly wiping it away, refusing to let him get to you. It wasn’t what you signed up when you agreed to spend Christmas with Mark, you wanted to be able to enjoy the holidays and spend time with each other, not spend it alone.

You couldn’t sit in the apartment alone for much longer, seeing all the smiling faces of people outside the window continued to eat up at you for leaving your family alone at Christmas, Mark might have made you feel miserable, but you weren’t prepared to let Christmas do the same to you.

Much of Seoul still remained a mystery to you, but one place that didn’t was the nearby park, you’d spent hours there together with Milo, or enjoying serene dates together, picnics, games, these were the times when you treasured Mark the most.

You sat yourself down on one of the benches, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, the cold temperature was something you hadn’t quite prepared yourself for on your way out of the door.

An hour later, Mark finally appeared home, confused by no sign of light in the house. He called out your name once, twice, three times, but was met with an eerie silence. As he switched on the main light, he caught sight of your bag on the coffee table, looking on the back of the door however, your coat was not to be seen, your shoes not on the rack.

Instinctively, his hand pulled out his phone, dialling your number. You’d not mentioned to him about going out, but it was dark and cold, he was desperate to know where you were and if you were safe. A groan escaped him as he was greeted by your answerphone, hurriedly sending you several texts to pick up his call before dialling once again, only to met with the same response.

Meanwhile, tears fell down your cheeks as your phone vibrated in your hand, every part of you held back on accepting the call, trying to come to terms with how hard Christmas was becoming for you.

Beside him, Milo barked, causing Mark to look down at him. With yet another unanswered call, his options were limited, picking up his dog, wrapping him in the fleece you’d bought as part of his Christmas present last year, attaching his lead to him.

“Do you fancy a walk?” He questioned, knowing no response was going to come from his pooch.

He turned the light off, walking back down the stairs of the apartment block and into the cold. His free hand was quickly stuffed into his pocket as he tried to call you once again, checking to see if you’d read any of his texts, which of course, you hadn’t.

Your head became heavy as you sat in your own daydream, couples and families alike continued to walk past you, wearing smiles that you could only dream of wearing, sharing a happiness you wished you could have matched.

You hated being so disappointed in Mark, but let down after let down was tiring you out, he didn’t deserve your tears nor to see you upset, but your strength was very quickly slipping away. The two of you had been distant for quite some time living your separate lives, but Christmas was supposed to be the catalyst in bringing you back together again.

Footsteps trudged behind you as you sat, the bark of a dog brought the corners of your mouth up into a smile as you remembered how Milo used to bark at you.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Your head remained staring forwards as a figure sat beside you on the bench, keeping a small distance between you both. Mark was torn between emotions, he hated that you’d left him so worried, yet he was just so relieved to have found you.

He bent down and picked Milo up, your eyes rolled having realised the bark must have come from him, as Mark placed him between you both.

“It’s cold Y/N, you shouldn’t be out in this weather,” he scolded, desperate to bring your eyes to turn and face him. “What are you even doing out here? Why weren’t you at home? Has something happened?”

You bit down hard on your lip to try and stop anymore tears from falling, “you bailed on me yet again Mark, something else came before me, I didn’t know what else to do.”

His arm reached out to hold yours, flinching at just how cold you were. Within a heartbeat he’d taken off his winter coat and draped it over your front, taking both your hands in his to try and warm them up, breathing into them.

“I’m sorry, I should have called and told you.”

“It’s not just today though Mark, is it? We’ve been like this for months, it’s Christmas in a couple of days and yet I feel like I’m celebrating all by myself, I could be at home around my family, but instead I’m sat in an empty apartment all by myself.”

His head nodded, kicking himself for being so thoughtless, he knew that the two of you had been having a hard time with being so busy, but he had failed to see just how badly it was bothering you.

Your head slowly turned to look at him, as a tear rolled down your cheek. His hand moved away from yours, using the pad of his thumb to wipe it away quickly. Your cheeks were red, tinged with a sting from the winter, breaking his heart.

“Please don’t cry because of me,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what else to do anymore Mark.”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling your face forwards, pressing his forehead against yours. Your tears quickly began to freely fall, catching the ends of Milo’s tail as he curled in between you both.

“Do you have any idea for how long I’ve been looking forward to Christmas with you? To be able to make all these memories together,” you stuttered, “I’ve sat here tonight and dreamt of being able to have even half of the amount of fun all the people in the park are having.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, pressing his lips against the tip of your nose, “I don’t know what else to say except for I’m sorry. I’ve been an idiot for treating you this way, it’s Christmas, and you chose to be here with me, I should make it special for you.”

He still remembered the moment you told him your plans for Christmas, how quick he was to hug you with excitement, all the plans he’d come up with things the two of you could do, but none of those things ever came to fruition.

“Can we just go home and talk some more? You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here any longer. I’ll draw you a bath, make us a hot chocolate, and then we can talk about how we’re going to enjoy the rest of the build up to Christmas,” he suggested.

“But you still have work?”

He chuckled with a shake of his head. “If you think for a second I’m going back to work before Christmas then you’re crazy, there’s no way I’m spending any longer away from you, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

His own cold hands wiped underneath your eyes, ruffling the fur on top of Milo’s fur where a few of your tears had fallen. He then stood up, offering his hand out for you to take, standing you up from the bench with Milo’s leash gripped tightly in your hand.

“How about we go to that Christmas market tomorrow?” You proposed, passing Mark his jacket back, only for him to place it back around your shoulders.

“Whatever you want to do, we’ll do, the rest of the week is all for you,” he smiled, beginning to walk back along the path to his apartment. “Maybe we could invest in some mistletoe, I think you deserve a few kisses from me after all this?”

“I would never say no to mistletoe and a kiss from you.”

---

Masterlist

[chalkrevelations]

WELL. Episode 3 of Word of Honor.

First of all: If you are NEW or JUST VISITING, this is a re-watch, so there are SPOILERS not just for this ep, but for the ENTIRE SHOW. A lot of them, actually. Scroll away and come back later if you haven’t seen all 36.5 eps and want to watch it unspoiled.

So, this ep feels a little disjointed. I don’t think it actually is, not in the way the back nine are a speedrun where the writing starts to feel like it’s thisclose to coming off the rails, but it feels like it, in that we’re now getting a double handful of threads thrust at us that are only just starting to be woven together into a plot, and it’s the kind of hot mess that any fiberwork looks like before the pattern starts to show itself, particularly when you’re using 15 different color threads from jump. There’s generally a major theme or issue or overriding concept that stands out to me in each ep that, you may have noticed, gets primacy of place in these reactions, but honestly, y’all, I really struggled to figure out what that might be for this episode, because a lot of this, on re-watch, strikes me as groundwork for later developments. Wen Kexing gives us an “as you know, Bob” speech about the Amory and the Glazed Armor, we meet approx. 3.2K new characters, and I feel sort of like I should start keeping a chart of who’s supposed to have a piece of the Glazed Armor and who actually does have a piece of the Glazed Armor, but it’s already so confusing that it might be too late.*

ANYWAY, on re-watch, I can absolutely see the value of spending Eps 1 & 2 on introducing us to Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing and getting us pulled into their orbit, because then we have scenes we’re already invested in to maintain our interest as the background politics begin to frustratingly play out with a bunch of people we don’t know or have any investment in yet. I mean, y’all. I forgot just what an ill-tempered gremlin ZZS was in these early eps. He is so fk’n put out that these people will not let him drink himself to death in the gutter in peace! Or, you know, in occasional Nightly Nails Torment. And the exasperation from both ZZS and Chengling over WKX’s antics – both of their faces are priceless in the scene when they discover he’s the one who’s bought out all the rooms at the inn. I literally lol’d. Again. Even knowing it was coming. All of this interaction is so delightful. This is actually the ep that provoked my very first WoH keysmash flailing Tumblr post and inaugurated the “wen kexing’s thirst is practically a third character” tag. I guess the biggest throughline for this ep is that we can continue to see how everything changes when we know about their previous relationship – things like WKX’s insistence that they have a “deep bond through fate” take on additional layers of meaning rather than just sounding like some dude who’s trying to pick you up at last call. Interesting that ZZS describes WKX at one point during their push-pull conversational dance as “like a wretched soul that keeps haunting around.” You mean, like a GHOST? Like a Ghost Valley ghost? Like the almost forgotten memory of a past life ghost? ZZS wants to know why WKX keeps following him around, and it would be nice if WKX would just come clean, but that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

ZZS, re: Chengling: I do my best to ensure what was entrusted to me.

WKX: :makes (already! in ep 3!) yet another in a series of bad decisions not to say anything about the fact that he, himself, was in fact entrusted to ZZS:

Show: Here’s the first of many helpings of heartache to come. EAT IT. EAT IT ALL.

(Me: Well, here’s another AU idea: What would the course of this relationship be like if WKX flat-out asked ZZS what ZZS’s relationship to Four Seasons Manor was, and bare-faced claimed sanctuary as long-lost shidi Zhen Yan at this point? Because I bet there are plenty of ways that could actually go wrong. Not to mention the deliciousness of just watching them navigate a relationship shift that sudden. I feel like, at this point, WKX would have to be actively confrontational about it, would have to throw it in ZZS’s face – it would need to be something he did in the heat of anger, in order to have this pushed out past all of his fears. Like, you say that, but where were you when I needed you? Also, you think so, well what if your responsibility actually turned out to be the TERRIFYING GHOST VALLEY MASTER, what then, huh? And ZZS, still pretty actively suicidal over all of his failures, having to deal with what’s now being presented as YET ANOTHER FAILURE.)

Also, the theme of “knowing” (zhiji, the one I know) is starting to slide in sideways – we’re seeing a lot of back and forth between them asking about seeing the other’s “true face.” WKX says that he’ll tell ZZS what he (WKX) wants from him once he gets to see ZZS’s true face (LIES, it’s going to take a lot longer than that). ZZS asks to see WKX’s figurative true face, and WKX looks kind of sad and contemplative as he warns that it may be unappealing or terrifying. So, you know, we’re starting to poke at all the softest, most tender places and the issues that are going to stab me repeatedly in the heart for the rest of the show. We’re also already seeing the way Xiao Chu just layered in references throughout the script when she wrote it that call back to each other – it’s like almost any line of dialogue references three other lines of dialogue (and that’s without even getting into all of the literary references that I’m missing because I don’t have cultural context). You get things like WKX’s little speech right at the end that it’s hard to tell a ghost from a human, which on its face might be referring to the two “ghosts” that were coming for Chengling that he took care of and act as an admonishment to ZZS not to be so quick to assume they’re actually from Ghost Valley, but it also refers to WKX, himself, and specifically lays the groundwork (“someone wearing a ghost mask is not necessarily a ghost”) for his conversation in a later ep with ZZS when he asks if ZZS thinks he’s a good person, and also calls back (“someone who looks human may not be human”) to the line from earlier in this ep, itself, when WKX tells ZZS that perhaps WKX’s true face is terrifying. And so we get a nicely little wrapped package of the dichotomy of WKX and his issues. (As a somewhat related aside, A-Xiang’s little face when Zhou Zishu says all of the ghosts of Ghost Valley are full of evil (at 6:55). D: This reaction is obviously for herself, but also may be the first time she acts as proxy for Wen Kexing, as well.)

What else, what else?

So, nobody has a good opinion of the jianghu. WKX is going to be constantly all, “You killed my father, jianghu, prepare to die,” but ZZS also goes off about how it’s just about greed, hatred and ignorance, and yeah, I guess he’d have a pretty bad impression of it, when Prince Jin and Tian Chuang seemed like a better option than the pressure he was facing, trying to keep Siji Manor Sect alive back in the day. We talk a lot about WKX’s childhood trauma, because it’s so awful and right in our faces, but I don’t know how much we actually talk about the fact that ZZS was a teenager not much older than Chengling when he inherited a sect and tried desperately to keep it from being torn apart by the rest of the jianghu. I think we see some bitterness come out in the first few episodes – frankly, in this ep, he doesn’t seem to make much of a distinction between Ghost Valley and the rest of the jianghu. Also interesting that the metaphor he uses about the jianghu’s and Ghost Valley’s greed for the treasures of the Armory is “reaping without sowing,” given what we find out is actually in there in Ep 36.

We see our metaphor of light get pulled out again – this throughline strikes me as more like beads on a string than a thread, at this point, but maybe I’ll notice it more on this second time through … Anyway, WKX’s comment at 9:11 that it’s almost dawn is notable. Indeed, but is it because your plan is beginning to work and you can see the destruction of Ghost Valley and the jianghu coming down the pike, or is it because you’ve found your shixiong?

I notice WKX has color-coordinated ZZS and Chengling in the robes he bought for them, has already grouped them together, marked them as belonging to each other – he’s already subtly treating them as each other’s family. The show, with a particular lack of subtlety, also will have ZZS there to wake up Chengling from nightmares later in the end of the ep, as Chengling calls out for his dad in his sleep.

OK, Deng Kuan is the guy in charge of the Yueyang sect contingent that arrived in time to see the Mirror Lake chaos in Ep 2 and has taken charge of cleaning up the bodies in this ep. I actually overlooked him, pretty much, the first time around, but here, he’s already got Shen Shen yelling at him (in a completely ridiculous fashion) for not getting there in time to save the Mirror Lake Sect, so he’s just going to be a punching bag through the whole show, apparently. Shen Shen is wu-di, fifth (little) brother, and he refers to Chengling’s dad as si-ge, fourth (older) brother, so Shen Shen appears to be the youngest of the Five Lakes sworn brothers, leading me to believe that some of what makes him so insufferable through a lot of the show is baby brother syndrome. Also, Shen Shen and his group find the Soul Winding Threads of the Hanged Ghost … supposedly. I mean, the Hanged Ghost was the guy who we saw get got in Ep 1, soooooo …. (remember these Soul Winding Threads, btw).

*This got super long so I’m’a put this last bit under a cut, but I did try to start a running tally of who’s holding a piece of the Glazed Armor:

Each of the Five Lakes Alliance sects is supposed to have a piece of the Glazed Armor, yes? So, as of the end of Ep 3 (hierarchical bro-titles are from didi Shen Shen’s POV):

- Yueyang Sect, led by Gao Chong (da-ge) - presumably still has his

- Tai Hu Sect, led by Zhao Jing (er-ge) – presumably still has his

- Danyang Sect, led by Lu Taichong (san-ge, presumably) – apparently the sect has already been attacked off-screen (by “Ghost Valley?” and WHEN?), as we learn in Ep 3 that Lu-zongzhu has been killed and his remaining two tiny disciples have fled to the protection of Ao Laizi and Tai Shan Sect, one of the lesser sects, and are believed to have taken Danyang’s Glazed Armor with them. We learn this from Tao Hong, Lv Liu and Begger Gang Chief, but I notice that Gao Chong only mentions the Mirror Lake massacre as the precipitating event for the Hero’s Conference and total war on Ghost Valley – he doesn’t even mention Danyang Sect, so does Five Lakes not know about this yet?

- Mirror Lake Sect, led by Zhang Yusen (si-ge) – Zhang-zongzhu killed by “Ghost Valley” in Ep 2, Glazed Armor “missing” and speculated POST EP 2 to have been taken by Ghost Valley (but will turn up in a few eps, thanks to our little Goldbean)

- Dagu Shan Sect, led by Shen Shen (wu-di) – presumably still has his

And then we move to:

- Tai Shan Sect, led by Ao Laizi – in-world speculation is that he now has the Danyang Glazed Armor. We do see him near the end of the ep with the two tiny Danyang shidi, where he makes the intriguing comment that he’s going to follow their shifu’s last wishes and keep their Glazed Armor from falling into the hands of the Five Lakes Alliance, so what exactly was going on between San-ge and his sworn brothers at the time of his death? This group also is apparently being pursued by Shen Shen to get their Glazed Armor, and they make him sound awful. You need better PR, Shen Shen.

- Ghost Valley – POST EP 2, speculated to have taken the Mirror Lake Glazed Armor (FALSE)

NOTABLY, “Ghost Valley Master” set a lot of this chaos in motion in Ep 1 when he claimed that Hanged Ghost (who got got a scene earlier) had stolen HIS piece of the Glazed Armor, although he shouldn’t have a piece (supposedly) until after Ep 2, when he’s believed to have taken Mirror Lake’s. So, what piece would that be, exactly, Terrifying Ghost Valley Master? You wouldn’t be lying in pursuit of chaos would you? (Somewhere, WKX gasps theatrically behind his fan, and he doesn’t even know what motivated it, this time.)

[bluescluelessly]

Can we see Obi-wan getting the hugs he deserves? (preferably gen)

[Rating: T] || [tw: slavery mention]

For once in his life, Obi-Wan Kenobi is eager to get to a medbay. As Ahsoka breaks off to speak with the Togrutan Governor, he splits off with Plo and Anakin's group, following them as his former padawan and his fellow council member discuss the reconstruction and relief efforts the Republic will be making.

He keeps a smile on his face, his shoulders up, back straight, and barely listens. He gives his input where it's asked for, nods approvingly at what they say, and then at the first break in conversation, he begs off. "Ah- you two certainly have things handled from here. I think Helix might kill me if I don't have have my shoulder looked at, so if it's all the same, I'll leave you to it."

He gives them both a quick nod and farewell, then follows the steady stream of clone troopers and (former) Togrutan slaves towards the medbay on Plo Koon's flagship. As he walks, he recognises several refugees who were direct victims of his attempts to 'help'. He averts his eyes after that, unable to bear the weight of the guilt he feels for their suffering.

At least no more will suffer for his attempts to make things better. But that isn't true, is it? The great and terrible General Kenobi, bringing peace to world after world by force. He goes where the war does... or perhaps war follows hot on his heels.

No. Focus. Mind clear, eyes ahead.

His posture goes rigid, eyes fixating forward and catching on the nearest Togrutan victim. She's limping, clearly struggling to walk...

She needs help. He could go up to her, offer her his good shoulder to lean on--

The ghostly buzzing of an elecrowhip stings his ears, and he flinches irrationally.

He has to duck into an empty hallway for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning against a wall. The cold durasteel against his forehead helps, mostly.

He must get ahold of himself.

Why can't he move past these feelings? Why won't the Force accept his guilt, let him release it. Why is it so different from last time?

He's been a slave before... he remembers it, if only vaguely. A month spent on bandomeer, an explosive collar 'round the slight neck of his 13 year old self.

It hadn't hurt so much, then.

What makes this encounter so different? What-- no, don't think about it, don't think don't thinkdon'tthink---

Obi-Wan stays there for a moment, frozen as he's torn between trying not to think and trying to force himself to move past this moment. He still needs to get to the medbay.

It takes longer than he would like to admit to collect himself. Once he has, Obi-Wan leaves the hallway, rejoining the procession to the medbay. Meditation and rest, that's what he needs. He'll be fine once he has that.

Meditation and rest, that's all. Right foot, left foot. Keep going, down the hall.

He almost doesn't notice when he reaches his destination, eyes downcast. He's just become part of the flow of people around him, head down, feet dragging as exhaustion creeps in on him.

The only tell that he's entered the medbay is the sight of the threshold as he crosses it, and the sound of gruff clone voices guiding people where they need to be.

Finally, his head lifts, and he takes in the sights around him.

Dozens of Togruta are scattered around the room in varying degrees of distress. He feels tears begin to sting his eyes as he sees a man laid face down, still as death while a medic cleans the electrolash wounds on his back and lekku. The wounds must hurt terribly to be touched, but the elderly Togrutan simply doesn't have the energy to flinch as each lashing is sterilized and then covered with a bacta strip.

His eyes fixate on that one man, frozen to the spot. He doesn't move, not until he feels a hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch from the suddenness of it.

The clone who touched him immediately lets go, seeming shocked by his reaction. "General Kenobi, sir," the man says, and Obi-Wan belatedly recognizes him as Wolffe, Plo's Commander. "Are you here for medical assistance?"

It takes Obi-Wan's brain a second to catch up to the present. "I- er. Yes. My shoulder--" he cuts off, which he knows is unlike him. Glancing around the room, he hedges slightly. "It can wait. You have more pressing injuries to tend to."

"Nonsense, sir." Wolffe says, jerking his head to indicate that Obi-Wan should follow him before he walks along the medbay. "We have plenty of beds and hands to go 'round. I'll get you settled and a medic will take a look at your shoulder. Anyways, I know Helix would have my head if I let you sneak away the one time you voluntarily come to a medbay, sir."

The point makes a tense smile crack across his face. Clearly, his medical officer has a reputation even outside of the 212th and 501st. "Commander, don't tell me you're scared of Helix," he manages to tease.

"Scared?" Wolffe asks, the brow of his blinded eye arching judgementally. "That maniac took down half a dozen droids with just his medkit once. I'm terrified, and frankly, sir, you'd be wise to fear him too."

Obi-Wan remembers that. The infirmary tent was ambushed, and by the time Obi-Wan got back to assist, those in the tent had it handled already. Between Helix and those troopers who were still conscious and able to shoot, the ambush was soundly reduced to scrap metal.

Hm. Perhaps he should be more wary of igniting his medic's ire.

"... point taken, Commander Wolffe." Obi-Wan responds, letting himself be led to an empty bed.

There are still plenty more open, so as Wolffe said, his worries of taking up someone else's space are unfounded. Obi-Wan winces as he pulls himself onto the bed, making his shoulder light up with pain. He brushes off any offer of help however, his heartbeat jumping irrationally at the prospect.

Once he's settled on his bed, Wolffe calls over a free medic, and then bids him farewell, moving on to the next person in need of help.

His wounds (far more extensive than just the shoulder, but nothing critical) are quickly cataloged by the junior medic, then he is given some water and told to relax.

He doesn't, not quite.

It's downright impossible for him to really calm his mind, but he is exhausted. After several stretches of time spent staring listlessly at the ceiling and not thinking, Obi-Wan manages to fall into a restless sleep. (... With the aid of the water and a couple pills left as an option to him.)

°|●*.•

When he wakes again, there is a hand on his back, shaking him.

Obi-Wan jolts, involuntarily shuddering at the touch before he forces himself to be more awake. He's still in the medbay, the smell of bacta and sterilizer gives that away. His face is wet, though. Did they need to put bacta on--

Oh, no, those are his tears.

"Obi-Wan," a voice he recognizes as Anakin's cuts through the fog of his sleep-addled mind.

He manages a grunt, then rolls on his back and props himself up using his good shoulder. His other still hasn't been tended to, so he can't have been here that long.

"Anakin?" He greets, quickly wiping the tears from his face. He must have been crying in his sleep-- nothing new, at least in recent times. He's not sure exactly what it was for, but it isn't hard to imagine. There are plenty of tearworthy tragedies in this room alone.

There's a little bit of awkwardness as Anakin appears to have difficulty finding something to say, so Obi-Wan helps. "I thought you'd be busy still. I know there's still so much to do... I apologize for slacking."

Anakin shakes his head quickly, looking like he wants to reach out before thinking better of it, given how Obi-Wan flinched as he woke. "There's not much, really. Our part is pretty much over, we're just supposed to rest and recover." He pauses, unsure. "Are you okay? You were crying."

The older Jedi's shoulder begins to ache, so he pulls himself up to sit properly and lean against the headboard. He hasn't had a chance to change-- his clothing is still torn, and smells of the filthy mineshaft, and smoke.

"I'll be fine," he promises, eyes downcast as he prays it will be true. "There is so much pain in the force, I can't quite help a few tears." That is far from the true reason, but he hopes it is enough to satisfy Anakin's curiosity.

“A few tears,” Anakin repeats, voice oddly flat. His shoulder twitches in another aborted attempt to reach out. “Obi-Wan... you were sobbing.” The elder Jedi’s gut drops as he listens. “You wouldn’t wake up, they called me here to see if I could help.”

It’s only then that Obi-Wan notices the pair of medics hovering nearby. He feels a sudden flush of embarrassment. Stupid. How could he be so idiotic as to sleep in such a public place, knowing he would have nightmares?

He should have gone back to his quarters first...

Only, the 212th is still several hours away, and he was so exhausted...

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, fighting the ridiculous urge to hug himself. He is a Jedi Master, a Council member.

Anakin is shaking his head. “What? Why? Obi-Wan, are you sure you’re okay?”

He isn’t. “You shouldn't have needed to cone down here to wake me up. I... I'm alright. It was just a nightmare."

"Master," Anakin starts firmly, and moves a little closer, feeling bold. "First of all, I was gonna come see you anyways, so you didn't... inconvenience me, or whatever ridiculous thing you're thinking. Second, if you're hurting, I don't care what work I have, I'm gonna come to help you."

Obi-Wan's knee-jerk reaction is to think about how very against the code that is. Worryingly so. But that thought is quickly overridden by the warmth he feels upon Anakin's declaration of loyalty, of unconditional friendship.

What did he ever do to deserve a padawan with such a gentle heart?

Obi-Wan relaxes a bit, for the first time in days. "... thank you, Anakin." He finally responds, letting out a breath he feels he's been holding for weeks.

"I mean it," Anakin insists. "No thanks needed." He pauses, and Obi-Wan thinks he can sense a faint buzzing from Anakin's mind.

He can tell his former Padawan is trying to send him reassuring, comforting feelings through the force... he's radiating protective warmth like an emotional space heater. If Obi-Wan felt ready to share the state of his own mind, he would be basking in it.

As it is, he keeps his mind and force signature firmly closed off.

No need to show Anakin the horrors within.

As Obi-Wan struggles to think of something to say, Anakin appears to grow impatient. He clearly has questions, and he's never quite been the type to hold off on them, regardless of timing.

"Master... I don't..." he stops, having difficulty phrasing his question. "I mean. You don't cry... ever. What happened? What was your nightmare about? If... if you're okay with talking about it."

Obi-Wan almost laughs, but the sound sticks in his throat, becoming a choked noise.

What was he crying about? Look around, Anakin. The answer should be obvious, he wants to say.

He doesn't, though. He knows they've been in similar situations before, rescuing the citizens of Ryloth, for one. He didn't cry then, so why would now be any different?

Anakin's last concession sticks in his mind, though. Is he ready to talk about it? Can he bring himself to?

No.

Force, no. He can't even think about it.

His hand flutters awkardly as he struggles to find a place for it, resisting his urge to hug himself. "I... not right now, Anakin."

It's not a never, though. Obi-Wan knows... intellectually he knows that Anakin would understand. That, of everyone he knows, Anakin, a former slave and fellow Jedi, would understand the damage done to him. He may even have suggestions for how to help.

"Okay," Anakin hides his disappointment to the best of his ability. Obi-Wan appreciates the attempt, even if he sees through it. "... when you're ready, Obi-Wan. I'll be here, whenever you need me to listen."

The assurance brings a wan smile to Obi-Wan's face. "... I'll find you when I am, dear one."

No one can make Obi-Wan feel quite as safe and at ease as Anakin does.

The younger Jedi beams at the promise, moving a little closer. "Since you're not in a talking mood, want me to tell you how my part of the mission went, Master?"

The change of subject is a releif. Obi-Wan nods readily, happy to listen to Anakin's impromptu and likely dramaticized mission report.

He listens with rapt attention as Anakin goes through all of what he considers were 'the fun parts', making jokes and blowing quite a few details out of proportion.

It takes Obi-Wan's mind off his own experience, and he finds himself smiling along as Anakin finishes his story. By the end of it, Anakin is sitting on the edge of his bed, his thigh pressed along Obi-Wan's through the sterile sheets.

"Hey, Master?"

The epithet draws Obi-Wan's attention, and he nods to indicate Anakin shoukd go on.

Anakin is... a little hesitant. "Is it okay if I touch you? I wanna give you a hug, but not if it'll make you uncomfortable."

The question makes Obi-Wan's heart swell, and he finds himself nodding even before he consciously decides. "Anakin... yes, of course. I think we both could use one, after this mission."

Once again, Anakin beams, his force signature liked a supernova of happiness as he surges forward, wrapping his arms tight around Obi-Wan. "Yeah. And good, because I'm not letting go anytime soon, old man."

Obi-Wan ignores the pain in his shoulder. It's nothing compared to the warmth and security he feels right now in Anakin's embrace. He feels... cared for, loved, appreciated. All of the things that slave camp stripped from him.

It's gonna be okay, he realizes. This will pass, because he has Anakin here to help him make things right. When they're together, no challenge is too great, no problem is unsolvable.

Just as he's relaxing into the hug, getting comfortable for the duration, he hears quick footsteps and a gasp.

"Masters!" Ahsoka greets them cheerfully. "I just came to see how you're doing-- I didn't know it was hug Master Obi-Wan day! Can I have one too?"

"Get in here, snips," Anakin says, lifting an arm to make space for her.

"Always room for one more," Obi-Wan agrees more mildly, also making space to accommodate their padawan.

Ahsoka doesn't need to be told a third time; she squishes herself tight into the embrace, hugging both her teachers with all the strength in her limbs.

"We should hug more often," she says decisively.

"Definitely," Anakin agrees.

And well, Obi-Wan woukd say he's outnumbered, but he would agree either way. "We should," he responds softly, hugging them both a bit tighter.

They're a family, and he couldn't ask for a better one.