#So really that’s why I’m not using any of my precious sympathy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Names and Faces

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Word Count: 6,477

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

It goes like this:

Nobody wants to separate Anakin from the children in his care until they know more about why he’s here. The gamble paid off, to some degree, and he thanks the Force that it did.

He hasn’t felt that cold in years.

He knows the logic of why the Mandalorians he’s fallen in with aren’t doing anything yet. He’s an obvious Jedi, and they don’t know why he’s here or what he’s doing. Hedging on the Mando’a and the cultural obligation to childcare hadn’t been anything close to sure, but it was... enough. He got lucky that these Mandalorians leaned on those obligations, at least to the point of keeping them all in the same room. He can sense that much, even before he opens his eyes, and he has to be grateful.

The looming hypothermia had probably nudged things in his favor.

Anakin opens his eyes to a guest room of a cell, something well-furnished and cozy, but definitely not meant to be something he can escape from. His saber is gone, and there are Force-nullifying cuffs on his wrists, and he’s pretty sure they’ve taken his--yep, vibroblade’s gone.

Fuck.

His body doesn’t want to move, and he’s still shivering a bit, but he’s mostly back to normal. When he sits up, he notices that there is, in fact, only one Force-nullifying cuff. They detached his arm.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep and tells himself it was probably medically necessary. Large pieces of metal aren’t great for maintaining homeostasis. He’ll get it back.

Probably.

“Ah!”

The voice makes him jolt, and his eyes fly open.

Two cribs, one much bigger than the other. Both are occupied. The larger one has bars, and through it...

“Snips,” he breathes, lurching to his feet and then crashing to his knees, about as graceful as a newborn eopie.

“Bah!”

“Just--just one second,” Anakin grits out, grimacing as he tries to pull himself to standing again. The fact that he’s down an arm doesn’t impact him much, but the shakiness of his legs is... a problem.

“Owwww,” Ahsoka coos with an exaggerated grimace, reacting to his pain with the innocent sympathy of a toddler. She looks, what, two? Maybe? He’s not sure if there’s anything particular about how Togruta babies age. She’s too young for words, clearly.

“I’m fine,” Anakin assures her, even as his heart sinks. She’s Ahsoka, clearly, he knows her in the Force and it can’t be anyone else, but her memories...

She recognizes him, but that’s not saying much.

He manages to get over to the chair next to the crib, but doesn’t trust himself to take her out right now. The snow and the mess of a fight before that haven’t been kind to him. Instead, he just sticks his hand through the bars and lets her grab at his fingers.

He can’t help but smile, really. She’s adorable, and she’s so damn happy to see him.

“Skyguy!”

“Oh, so you are talking,” Anakin says, part of him relaxing just a tad. “I was worried.”

“Mine,” she stresses, patting at his wrist.

“Yeah, your Skyguy,” he says. So she remembers... some things, at least. “And you’re my Snips.”

She squeals and yanks on his hand, just enough that the Force-suppressing cuff clanks against the bars of the crib. “Sky, Sky, Sky!”

Oh, she’s precious.

“You having fun?” he asks, filling the air with words faster than his head can fill with doubts. “Has everyone been nice?”

“Mmmmm,” she grumbles, falling to her butt with a huff. “Doc!”

“Oh, a doctor?” he asks, wondering at his own tone. He never expected to be one for baby-talk. “Was the doctor mean?”

“Cold!” she tells him. “Cold here!”

She taps at her chest, right where someone might check her heartbeat or breathing; the metal would be cold, and also necessary. He doesn’t fault anyone for it. Considering how poorly Anakin had fared, he’s just happy they’re all alive and mostly fine.

He doesn’t know what year it is. He knows he’s not in the year he should be. He’s vaguely aware of the name Jaster--one of the Mandos had said it while bringing him in--but he doesn’t know when Mereel’s reign ended and Fett’s began. He does know both are supposed to be dead.

Has Anakin been born yet? Has Ahsoka? Hell, has Obi-Wan?

Can he give out any real names?

A series of small, upset noises start coming up from the other, smaller crib.

He stands, but Ahsoka clings to his hand and refuses to let go. He can’t pry her off, not without his other arm, but he pulls away with quiet reassurances that he just has to check on... on...

Her brother, he says, aware that there’s more than a slight chance someone has the room bugged. He’s a Jedi in Mando custody. They aren’t stupid, and neither is he.

Obi-Wan’s the most likely to have already been born. Having the same name and face will draw attention, will cause questions, but... he can’t just rename his master like a recently-adopted pet. That’s just... wrong.

Anakin’s less shaky than when he first woke up, but he still has no way of safely picking up the kids. He reaches into the small crib, something twisting behind his sternum, and tickles under Obi-Wan’s chin.

The baby--the infant--looks up at him with wide eyes, too blue for the Obi-Wan he knows, but full of wonder and--

Love, the Force whispers through the cracks in the effects of the cuff.

“Love you too,” Anakin whispers, though he wonders if Obi-Wan would really feel like this as an adult again. Babies love easily, he thinks, and he’s the only adult that Obi-Wan knows right now. Maybe it’s just chemicals.

He stands there for longer than is probably a good idea, with the state of his body, but he can’t help it. Obi-Wan keeps grabbing at his finger and kicking with tiny legs, and sticking a tiny, tiny fist in his mouth as he tries watches Anakin.

It’s all Anakin can do to mutter a stream of meaningless nonsense as he struggles not to cry. He’s always had too many emotions, and right now he’s the only person these two can rely on. He’s the adult.

The door whooshes open.

“The medic said you were awake.”

He knows that voice. He closes his eyes and doesn’t turn, because there are a million feelings in his chest and he’s not sure which one is going to come out first.

“Sky?” Ahsoka questions, likely feeling his worry. “Issokay! Good!”

No, she wouldn’t have the mind to recognize why this familiar face she knows as friend is quite the opposite.

Anakin turns away from the crib, and smiles. “Mando.”

“Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” the teenager in the door says. He’s not wearing his bucket, but the rest of his armor is in place. Anakin would peg him as younger than Ahsoka was, before. Not by much, but... fourteen, maybe fifteen. The face is painfully familiar, and stays utterly neutral as he answers the question Anakin didn’t ask. “We found your Ident card after you passed out.”

Cool, so, Anakin definitely can’t change his name.

“Are they yours?” the teenager that will one day create an army says.

“They have no one else,” Anakin tells him. It’s true enough. Still, he gets the feeling that’s not what Fett’s asking. “They’re family.”

Jango squints at him. “I was told Jedi can’t have families.”

Anakin’s mind flashes to Padme and the fantasies he’d long harbored of children born free, and tears himself away. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t think of who he’s--

“Jetii!”

Anakin’s head snaps up, and he realizes he’s shaking. Fett’s not neutral anymore, just... concerned.

“I’m fine,” Anakin spits out, and leans on the crib behind him. He can hear the little ones whimpering. He has to pull his thoughts in and bundle them up into something that won’t hurt the incredibly Force-Sensitive babies behind him. “I’m--I’m all they have. They’re all I have. Are the exact words important?”

Fett doesn’t grimace, exactly, but his expression isn’t pleasant. “I guess.”

Anakin waits to see if there’s anything else coming, but no. Just an awkward silence. He holds onto his frustration, but it still gets the better of him.

“What are my chances of getting my arm back?” he asks.

“Hm?”

Anakin waves what’s left of that arm, the tied-off sleeve flapping about. “My arm. If you don’t want to give me mine back, can I at least have some kind of placeholder? I can’t pick up the babies without worrying that I’m going to drop them.”

“I can ask the medics,” Fett says. He stares at Anakin for a little more, and then asks, “Aren’t you going to ask about our plans for you, or...?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you already would have,” Anakin mutters. “Right now, these two are my only priority. I’m more likely to keep them safe and alive here than I am if I try to break out. I can be patient. I would also assume they wouldn’t have been left in a room with me, alone, if any of us were in danger of medical complications.”

Fett flushes and turns. “I’ll tell buir you’re up and active. There’s a nurse droid in the hall, I can have it handle feedings until you get an arm.”

“Thanks,” Anakin drawls, aware that he’s a little bitchy right now, but not in any mood to temper himself.

He settles himself on the floor next to Ahsoka’s crib, lets her play with his hair while the nurse droid feeds Obi-Wan, and then feeds Ahsoka herself. Anakin thinks he could probably pull the droid apart for an escape attempt if it came down to it. He hopes it won’t be necessary. He’s barely existing in the moment as it is. The droid asks Anakin if he needs anything, and he... shrugs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps some non-perishables,” the nurse droids suggests. “Ration bars, for if you are hungry before one of the Mando’ade returns.”

Anakin shrugs again. “Alright.”

He ignores the droid after that. He’s only mostly cut off from the Force by the single cuff. He can’t blanket his Master and Padawan in his own Force presence, try to make them feel safe and calm with the fact that he’s here and ready to protect them, but he can monitor them. He can meditate, even if it’s not the way he prefers to do it. He doesn’t have the strength for moving meditation right now, but a regular meditation... he can do that.

He needs to do that, because no other stress relief option is available to him right now.

Anakin lets himself feel the babies fall asleep, the two of them radiating contentment and warmth. He lets himself trust that, for the moment, he doesn’t need to worry. He lets himself sink into an absence of thought, and then the Force guides him deeper still.

“Anakin!”

His eyes fly open.

This is not the real world.

This is not the room-cell in the Haat Mando’ade base he’s managed to stumble across.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, a smile hidden in a beard and worn laugh lines about his eyes. The right age, the right size, reaching for him and--

There’s only a moment’s hesitation for Anakin to process, and then he sprints forward and yanks his Master into a hug.

“You’re good,” Obi-Wan mutters to him, rubbing his back as they both sink to their knees. There’s a click of bootheels against the empty white not-space that they’re in, and Ahsoka buries herself into their sides. Anakin pulls her in a little closer too.

They stay that for longer than is maybe necessary, but Anakin’s stress levels are sky high right now, and he needs this. A hug, even one that’s technically only taking place in his head, is important.

“Sorry, Skyguy,” Ahsoka whispers. “Thinking in the real world is... really hard right now.”

He pulls away from the desperate hug he’d started them off with, rearranges things so he’s leaning against Obi-Wan, lets Ahsoka lie down with her head in his lap, on her back and legs stretched out across the white nothingness.

“I don’t know what happened,” Anakin says. “I mean, Sith stuff, probably, but... we’re in the wrong year.”

“I’d wondered,” Obi-Wan admits. “I thought it odd that I couldn’t feel the clones, but I only have so much energy to think right now...”

“Please tell me there’s a way to fix it,” Anakin begs. “I can’t be the adult, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even been born yet, that’s how far back we are. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t just bang around making bad decisions without you there to pull me back and--”

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan tells him.

“We’re in the Force,” Anakin says, just a little hysterically. “We don’t need to breathe!”

“Actually, I think we’re in your head,” Ahsoka says. She’s pointing and stretching her feet like a dancer, but looks up to grin at Anakin like the little shit she is. “You’re the only one whose brain is big enough right now.”

“Hey,” Anakin complains, putting his entire palm over her face as revenge. She giggles and swats him away. “That any way to talk to the guy who taught you how to kill five guys in one move?”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and runs a hand over her montrals, smiling when she wriggles and makes a little chirruping noise.

“She’s not wrong,” Obi-Wan says. “Though the phrasing was unfortunate, it does stand to reason that as the only person without the brain of a toddler, you’re hosting. Our minds can’t handle the strain of our own selves, let alone sharing space.”

“Infant.”

“Hm?”

“Ahsoka’s a toddler. You’re an infant. Maybe six months.” Anakin grins, just this side of brittle. He doesn’t want to joke about a problem he can’t fix, but what else is there? “You’re the literal baby of the lineage now.”

Obi-Wan sighs over the riot of Ahsoka’s laugh. “Of course I am.”

“It’s okay, Master,” Ahsoka assures him. “Skyguy’s gonna take care of us until we can fight again.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, grimacing slightly. “I am sorry for you being put in such a position, Anakin. It’s certainly not an easy one.”

Anakin wishes he could say that his immediate reaction isn’t a sense of hurt, a you don’t trust me, a you don’t think I can do this, a you’re disappointed someone else wasn’t here to handle things instead.

He wishes he could make that claim and have anyone believe him, but they are in a shared meditation, and in this moment there are very, very few secrets. He does not make the effort to hide his reaction in time, and Obi-Wan catches it.

Anakin turns away as Obi-Wan’s face fills with surprise and horror. “Anakin--”

“Can we just pretend you didn’t feel that?” Anakin asks, and flinches when Ahsoka pops up from where she lies and scurries around to hug him like a vise. “Can we just pretend I’m not--”

“Dear one, there are very few people I would trust as much as you in this,” Obi-Wan says. “Those who match up are largely the people who helped me raise me when I was actually this age.”

“Being completely reliant on your padawan isn’t--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, cutting him off there. “I can trust you to care for me in ways that don’t just come down to making me a useful general again. I already trust you to risk your life and safety and freedom to see us survive, given what little I remember of that storm.”

“You handed yourself over to Mandalorians you knew nothing about so we’d be safe,” Ahsoka mutters into the fabric somewhere over his ribs. “That could have gone really badly, and you still did it because you were worried about us.”

“We trust you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling Anakin to his chest and resting his chin on Anakin’s head. “We know you.”

“You don’t even know what happened in the storm,” Anakin mutters. “You were asleep.”

“I caught enough listening to the doctors,” Obi-Wan says. He runs a hand over Anakin’s head and through his hair. “You did well, Anakin.”

Anakin wonders why they don’t do this in real life. Obi-Wan doesn’t usually hug him, let alone cuddle. Maybe it’s because they’re all stuck in too much truth in this shared meditation, and the other two are currently stuck in child bodies that crave physical affection in ways they don’t realize they’re expressing in here as well. Maybe it’s the stress.

“What even can you hear?” Anakin mutters, still in Obi-Wan’s arms. Ahsoka giggles at him, nuzzling into his side in a way he doesn’t think she’d ever let herself, normally.

“We can’t really think in the real world right now,” she muses. “Only when we’re sleeping, and probably when we’re meditating once we’re bigger. If I try to think too hard, my head hurts worse than that time Ventress got me in the head with the back of her saber.”

“Everything takes up more space than it should,” Obi-Wan adds. “It’s... all of my senses are bigger and brighter and take up more of my attention, but they aren’t very clear, really. They’re just more. I can’t focus on anything, either, except... well, the feedings.”

Ahsoka makes an annoyed noise. “The whole diapers and bottles thing is really embarrassing, by the way. Only here, though, I barely notice when I’m awake because...”

“Because you’re a toddler,” Anakin says drily.

She huffs. “How would you feel if you were stuck like that?”

That’s fair.

“I don’t remember much,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “But part of me recognizes familiar things, even if I can’t quite make the connection.”

“Was that Fett, earlier?” Ahsoka asks. “Because I thought I saw a friend, and I pretty much forgot the face as soon as they left, but--”

“It’s Fett,” Anakin confirms. “But I guess that’s good to know? You saw his face and your baby brain just assumed it was one of the clones?”

“Pretty much.”

“And we know we trust you,” Obi-Wan adds, and tightens the hug when Anakin stiffens. “Anakin, I can barely understand the world around me at all right now. It’s like being on the painkillers that don’t knock you out but leave you saying only the most ridiculous things that come to mind. You have a general understanding of what’s going on, but all your emotions are too much and the room spins, you can’t stay on one track mentally, you can’t remember what you’ve done and what you haven’t--”

“You can’t control your bladder,” Ahsoka mutters, just a touch spitefully.

Obi-Wan grimaces and nods. “An unfortunate commonality in the experiences, yes. What I was aiming to address, however, is the fact that I only remember a very few things with any reliability. Most of my adult mind, so to speak, appears to be stored in a stasis form in the Force itself, because the infant mind can only handle the barest edges of who I am. But what that infant mind knows, and what I remember thinking once I have some sense of my full self in sleep, is that there is no one I react to as positively as you, Anakin.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Ahsoka interrupts, “but can’t because he’s trying to be a serene Jedi Councilor who definitely doesn’t break the code, nosiree, is that we don’t remember much about ourselves when we’re awake, but we remember you, and we know that we love you, Skyguy.”

Anakin stares at her, and then twists around to look at Obi-Wan instead.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka croons. “Stop being emotionally constipated. We’re literal babies right not, which sucks, but we’re like 90% emotion. Tell Skyguy.”

“Yes, er, Ahsoka was not incorrect,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his beard and refusing to meet Anakin’s eyes. “I, that is to say, we...”

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka says, a touch sharper than she might have dared if not for the reversal of their ages.

“I do love you, Anakin, and it’s one of the only things my child mind knows consistently.”

The Force does, in fact, sing with the truth of this. It circles them like a delighted tornado of emotional reality, pulsing like a coat of positivity.

Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder and hugs him as tightly as possible.

“Oh! Oh dear, I--Anakin, really, this isn’t news.”

“Master Kenobi, you’re allergic to actually talking about your emotions. Let him hug you.”

“Anakin, I’ve raised you since you were nine, it would be nearly impossible for me to not care, why are you--”

“Master Kenobi, stop questioning him!” Ahsoka whines. “It’s affirmation time.”

“Ahsoka, have you been spending time with the mind healers again?”

“I was a teenager in a warzone and also Barriss bullied me into it for my own good.” Ahsoka shrugs. “I learned some stuff. You two should have gone, too. You were more karked up than I was.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan scolds.

“What are you going to do, spit up on me? You can’t exactly make me run laps, Master.”

“Both of you shut up,” Anakin mumbles, and tries to push as much of his own affection as possible into a little ball of feelings that he can just drop on the two of them while he’s still in his own brain and not somewhere he can’t touch the Force. “Just--just shut.”

Apparently, Anakin’s feelings are a lot, because Ahsoka bursts into tears and Obi-Wan zones out so hard Anakin starts worrying about him.

They’re in a mindscape, a thing that he didn’t really think happened, but does. He shouldn’t have to worry about his--

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling him in tighter. “Why did you...”

“Skyguy, I don’t think you planned on putting in the part where you worry about nobody loving you back as much as you loved them,” Ahsoka says, raw and uneven. “Because, uh, we got that? Skyguy, that’s really wrong!”

Oh shit.

“No, you were... you were not supposed to get that,” he says, just a little strangled. “I am so sorry, that wasn’t--”

“Be our dad.”

Anakin stares down at his Padawan. She stares determinedly back.

“What?”

“Fett asked if we were yours, and you edged around the question by saying we were family, but he was asking if you were our dad. I’m guessing you didn’t want to claim that when we couldn’t agree to it, so I’m telling you now: do it. Adopt us the Mandalorian way or whatever. You were already my older brother, basically, this is just a step sideways in how we talk about it.”

He stares at her a bit more. He doesn’t have words, and his emotions are such a cyclone of conflicting thoughts that he’s surprised the Force hasn’t tossed him out.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be born, but if I am, then I need a name so I don’t have the same one as future me,” she says. She takes his hands, holds them tight and leans in close. “You’re going to be raising us anyway. The Force already made it clear there’s no fixing this, we tried asking while you were unconscious, it wants us to grow up the long way. You’re going to be our dad. Just make it official. Make me a Skywalker.”

Anakin sits up straight, looks her up and down, the determination and affection and--

He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “Master?”

“...yes, Anakin?”

“I know she said ‘we’ and ‘us,’ but I’m not letting anyone speak for anyone else. Not for something this important.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, and then rearranges himself to something a tad more formal. He takes one of Anakin’s hands in his own. “Anakin, we’ve been family since you were nine. This is just redefining the terms. We can adjust as we go forward, but for all intents and purposes, the majority of the time, I will be that youngling in the cot. For all intents and purposes, I will be your child, and... and I would be honored for you to make that official.”

“Even if it breaks the Code?” Anakin presses.

“All is as the Force wills it,” Obi-Wan says, almost but not quite overriding Ahsoka’s, “This doesn’t break the Code.”

They both turn to look at her. She shrugs. “What? You guys are always arguing about it and Skyguy was married. I went and did some digging about what is and isn’t allowed. This adoption would be skirting the edges of some rules, since we should be taken to the creche to be raised in a communal manner, and official adoptions are discouraged for reasons relating to later padawan stuff, but since the Force is also insisting we stay with the Mandalorians, I think it qualifies as an exception and will be treated as such, retroactively, by the Council. You also won’t be able to take either of us as Padawan once that time comes. It does not, however, violate the Code in and of itself.”

“What the hell, Snips?”

“I’m impressed, young one,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile Anakin can feel. “I could have expected to see you in court in a few years, with an argument like that.”

“You knew I was married?” Anakin squeaks.

“Rex isn’t a very good liar,” she says. She then droops. “Or, he wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. He tried, at least, but I caught on. That was against the Code, though. Just so you know.”

Anakin runs a hand over his face, tries very hard not to think about what and whom he’s left behind. He can save that breakdown for later.

He chances a look at Obi-Wan.

He gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“You’re not mad?”

“I knew you and the Senator were close, considering all the kissing you did in the Arena,” Obi-Wan says drily. Anakin isn’t stupid enough to ask how he knows it’s Padme. “I didn’t know you were married, and am a little disappointed you didn’t at least tell me, or consult me before you did it, considering you were still a padawan... but no, I’m not mad. Even if I were--and I am not--we’ve time-traveled, so I’m fairly certain that qualifies as annulment. It’s a non-issue.”

Anakin pushes down the tidal wave of grief for people who haven’t been born yet, and just breathes instead. This is important. This is too important for him to just kriff it up.

“Names,” he says.

“I still want part of it to be ‘Soka,’ if you don’t think it’s too risky.”

Obi-Wan shrugs with a smile. “Almost every time I’ve posed as a Mandalorian, since my first mission with Satine, I’ve gone by Ben. It would be fitting that, now that we’re here and apparently staying, I take the name for real.”

Anakin nods. He closes his eyes, and breathes deep, and thinks that they may be among Mandalorians on a world of snow, but he has the desert in his bones and will never forget it.

“Ahsoka Tano, sister of my heart,” he says, hoping he’s getting the words right, and takes her hands in his. It’ll have more meaning here and now, where they’re both of full mind. He holds her gaze. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my daughter, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Sokanth Skywalker, she who slips through every hunter’s trap, and you are my child.”

She smiles brightly at him, and looks like she might cry. He presses his lips to her forehead. He turns to his Master. He hesitates, because it’s one thing to redefine his little sister, but...

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, father of my heart,” he says, his voice catching where it shouldn’t. He can do this. It’s weird but he can do this. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my son, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Ylliben Skywalker, he who hunts the monsters of the darkest nights, and you are my child.”

The man before him almost laughs, well aware of how absurd it is for Anakin to be the one adopting him, but keeps it limited to just a twinkle in his eye and a quirk to his lips. Anakin presses his lips to his teacher’s forehead.

He pulls both of them in close. Padawan and Master. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

Daughter and son. Soka and Ben. His.

“I’m still gonna call you Skyguy,” Soka says wetly. “But Mas--um, Ben. Ben can call you buir, all the Mandos are gonna love it.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says. “I’m going to be telling you Tatooine bedtime stories, by the way. You’ll remember creche stories as you grow, but these’ll be new.”

“I do believe that would be appropriate,” Ben says, laughing just a touch. “I also think we should perhaps disband this, unless you have something else to address. You’re going to be dealing with two very cranky younglings soon.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have headaches after this,” Soka laughs, rubbing her face against his shoulder. “But it’s okay, we got what we ne--”

“No, shut up, what you do mean, headaches? You said that was only when you were awake!”

“I mean, we’d be sobbing after like three minutes if we were awake,” Soka says cheerfully. “This way, it’s been like... an hour or whatever between all the talking and the hugging and the crying and the feelings, and we’re just gonna be grumpy.”

“Oh my--wake up!” Anakin growls at both of them. “I’m responsible for you now, wake up.”

He ignores Soka’s laughter and drags himself back to wakefulness. Behind him, he feels slight confusion and pain mixed with love and delight. Ben starts fussing.

Anakin drags a hand over his face and groans. He gets to his feet, nods to the nurse droid, and steps over to the cribs.

“Can we put them in the same one until I get my arm back?” he asks. The droid obliges, moving Ben to Soka’s crib. She immediately crawls over to him and envelops him in a hug. She pouts up at Anakin, eyes going watery, and he drops into the chair next to her and offers his hand through the bars. She grabs it.

“You’re going to be trouble for a long, long time, huh?”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he smiles at her. Yes, trouble in spades, his Snips.

He starts telling her one of the fables of Tatooine, the really sanitized ones meant for children her age, before they got to the slave stories and haunt-tales. She falls asleep for real, no Force Shenanigans, shortly after. Ben is dead to the world by that point, making small snuffling noises whenever the blanket tickles his nose.

Anakin knows he’s got the galaxy’s dopiest smile on his face. It’s fine.

It’s a few more hours before someone stops by. He’s used the fresher by that point, helped the nurse droid coax Ben through a feeding, and helped Soka play with the little stuffed eopie they’ve given her.

“They got names, aruetti?”

He looks up and over. “Yes.”

The middle-aged man ambles over, arms crossed. “Jango said you claimed to be all they had left.”

He is. “They’re family. I’ve had a few hours to think it over, now that I’m not getting shot at or dying in the snow. To any system that allows it, I’ll be their father.”

“No chance of returning them to their people?”

Anakin shakes his head. “Soka has none who would recognize her, and I already--I already babysat her regularly, and she thought of me as a brother. It’s an easy next step.”

“And the human?”

“I... the master-padawan relationship is often one that is compared to that of parent and child,” Anakin says carefully. “My own master was like a father to me, and Ben is... Ben is all I have left of him.”

There. Not quite the truth, but... technically not lying.

Ben makes a small noise in his sleep, fussing, and Anakin reaches through the bars to brush his thumb across the infant’s chubby cheek. He smiles helplessly as Ben whines and curls in tighter on himself, pressing a tiny fist to his mouth.

“You’re good,” Anakin whispers. “We’re fine, Ylliben.”

“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” the Mando says. “But I do believe you’re doing what you can for those kids.”

“That’s all that matters,” Anakin agrees, finally looking away from his... his son.

Mine, the greedy krayt in his chest whispers.

“When are you planning on going back to Coruscanta?”

“I’m not,” Anakin says, standing and looking the man head-on. Anakin’s taller than him. That’s usually useful. “I don’t know why, but the Force wants me to stay here, or at least with the Mandalorians.”

“You want me to believe that you support my cause?”

“I don’t know your cause,” Anakin admits. “But I don’t like Death Watch, and I know you don’t either. Nobody on Coruscant is going to know to miss me, and the Force is warning me away from trying to go back. Whatever it is that needs doing, I’m supposed to be doing it here.”

The man steps forward. “Anyone tell you who I am?”

“No.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel.”

Good for you, Anakin thinks, and doesn’t say. “I’m pretty sure you already know my name.”

“I do,” Mereel says. “Wanna tell me how a Knight with a seemingly valid ident card claims nobody will know to miss him?”

“No.”

Mereel doesn’t even blink. “Try that again.”

“It means exactly what I said,” Anakin says. “The ident card is real. My training and rank are earned and deserved and bestowed by protocol. All of it was done at the Temple in Coruscant, but if you phone up the Temple with my name and face, nobody will know who I am.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why,” Mereel grouses. “What’s stopping me from calling them up anyway and asking them to come fetch your hypothermic ass?”

“...the fact that I already offered to help you?” Anakin manages. “I... I did say that part, right? That I’d help?”

“What’s stopping you from wanting to go back? And don’t give me any of that ‘will of the force’ banthashit.”

“I broke the Code,” Anakain says. The words sit heavy in his mouth, but one of his violations is lesser than the other, and-- “I married, and we’re not supposed to do that. She’s... not around anymore, but it still stands that I did it.”

The Tuskens weigh on his mind, suddenly and intensely. He hasn’t thought about them in ages, has always pushed those memories down, down, down, but--

“And they won’t take you back?”

“They might,” Anakin admits. They probably would, with his full title and everything, especially if he told them about the future. “But they wouldn’t let me keep the kids.”

Understanding flickers. “Not allowed kids?”

“It’s not... technically against the code,” he hedges. “But they’d find out about my marriage while investigating my past--” maybe, he’s not sure what kind of investigation they’d justify for a complete stranger of a knight, especially to confirm the future, but if they had a psychometric so much as touch his saber or arm, once he gets those back, there’d be a risk, “--and after already breaking the code by marrying, they’d be far less willing to bend the rules about the babies.”

He doesn’t realize how likely the risk is until after he says it, because he’s just been focusing on staying alive and following the Force, but.. they’d want the kids in the creche. He’s broken the code enough that any investigation they set to prove he’s legitimately a Jedi Knight that isn’t recorded and isn’t in the system is going to uncover something through the Force. They might not let him keep his family.

“What are their names?”

“I already--”

“Jango kept his last name,” Mereel cuts him off. “Did yours?”

Anakin looks the man in the eye, and then attempts to cross his arms in response, to mirror the pose and hold his ground. Unfortunately, he’s forgotten that he’s only got the one arm, which is really kriffing irritating.

“I gave them my name,” he says. “They’ll know where they came from, but they are mine.”

Yeah, no shit they’ll know where they came from.

Mereel’s face twitches, but the man is unreadable in the Force. Still, there’s something in the air... “So, those names?”

“Sokanth and Ylliben Skywalker,” Anakin tells him. He spells it out when the droid asks. He assumes it’s just for the medical data their droids are collecting.

“How well can you fight without your laser sword?”

“You mean unarmed?” Anakin asks, and then smiles brightly and tauntingly and waves his empty sleeve around. Mereel does not appreciate the humor. “Pretty well, but I do better when I have the Force, and am not still recovering from hypothermia. And I’m a fair shot with a blaster, but no specialist.”

Mereel eyes him for a moment, and then nods. “One of my snipers is Force-Sensitive. Never was enough to get more than some basic training in mental shields and the control to not hurt herself, but when we mentioned bringing in a Jetii, someone asked her what she thought. Came by the room while you were unconscious and said she thought you felt sad, angry, and desperate... but that she had a good feeling about where you’d be going.”

“Sad, angry, and desperate?” Anakin repeats, a little offended.

“You act like a veteran, kid,” Mereel says. He shrugs. “Damn near everyone that goes through some kind of war has all that going on. S’normal. You got Kamira’s approval, though, and that means a damn sight more. Keep your secrets for now. We’ll get there eventually.”

No we won’t, Anakin thinks. Out loud, he asks, “So, how much of what kind of work would I have to do to borrow a ship to Tatooine and earn enough to free a slave girl?”

#disaster lineage #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #jango fett #jaster mereel #time travel #mandalore #tatooine #de aging #babies #phoenix files #Anakin and the Jedi Babies

620 notes · View notes

alberivh · 3 years

Note

VEILLE CONGRATULATIONS FOR YOUR MILESTONE YOU DESERVE IT MY LOVE >_< !!!

can i request for first and last letter with childe? T^T childe has so much potential for angst,, thank you for this!! <3

The first and Last

summaries : where childe open his ‘safebox’ after a long time ever since your last appearence in his dream. and because of his undelightful sight of numbness and vulnerable feeling, he decided to read the first and the last letter from you, his dead fiancé.

character : childe x GN! Reader

contains : sickness (implementations of bronchitis), major character death, heavy angst, slight comfort/hurt, over all pure angst, mentions of losing weight.

A/N : hELLO AERI! Thank you very much for requesting this, i hope this suits your liking! (( also please do check aeri’s page @dilucbar for more interesting genshin fic and writing hehe ))

as childe breaks onto the ground of his empty mansion, his numbness began to drown him onto an exhaustion. An empty exhaustion to be exact. A simple pushed-over of his feelings are now an inexistent memory of his, he used to be so bright, but now, What happened to those charming smiles of his? Could it be burned by your ashes? Or did he just simply forgot how to provide his mistakes to love you? He doesn’t know either, All he could felt are just a simple empty tears, scrolling down through his cheekbones. making it seems like he still hide an emotions underneath the crack of his facades.

he drags his body into his bedroom. It’s heavy feelings occurs his way onto his side of the bed, drowning it scents onto his nose. It was pretty messy, full of untidied shirt, fragrance of a dandelion parfume, and most of all, which has always been in a perfect shape and form, covered by a red ribbon, a small box has been in ‘that’ bedside for about 237th days now. The box was an unpleasant sight for him, it was a remembrance for him to realize you were gone and you couldn’t be back. After all death have always craved those who loved him forever and after.

so tonight he decided to open this box. To bring back his vulnerable emotions back. to bring back those glazing eyes of his when he saw you buried underneath the rock of your tombstone. Numb and sorrow are all he could felt, excitement while opening this treasure of his lover pieces are nothing more than a natural hunch of his nature.

The box are full of your handwritten letters you’ve left for him. You’ve always collected the copied of your letter into this old wooden-tile box incase if anything happens to you, he could recollect his memory to remembered you again. ‘In the old days, if you lost your track, find me again through this box darling, sincerely, (name).’ Written in the top of the box instruction. He opens through the first letter of the stockpiles , it was one of your first letter for him. The most memorable one in fact. Written in the most familiar and comforting handwriting he has missed for ages.

to my dearest, ajax.

I haven’t seen you in ages, where have you been? Have you had a good time with the new recruits? Are you feeling well? Do you have any new interest while exploring the inner city of fontaine? AHH I HAVE SO MANY QUESTION FOR YOU, YOU SHOULD JUST BE BACK SO I COULD INTEROGATE YOU MOREE,, I was about to surprised you back then with a classic snzehnayan dish you’ve always craved for, but you know.. you just disappeared to a dust and it make me thinks you are a hallucination of mine, but now i’ve heard you have an amazing time in fontaine, i couldn’t help but smile and feel relieved. i’m glad you had a great time darling, Really glad in fact!

So please do bring me some souvenir as a return of your..compensation for keeping me waiting hehe, i’ll see you soon then!

from, your lover, (name)

It was your last letter you’ve sent to your lover, before childe came screaming on your name at the emergency room, searching for your figure to be embrace in his arm. To comfort you he said, despite the worries and sweats he witness while in his way to check your structure, you’re his fiance after all, He couldn’t lose you for everything, childe is too selfish to expect the best of you.

He remembers when he was feeding you, taking care of you like another baby-sibling of his and still loves you nonetheless. Maybe only childe could do it, he prepared everything for you, leading you with the wheelchair or even hand carry you in one arm if your condition lead you to be more clingy to him. He does it all for you, for you to be happy and stay a little bit more longer than he expected to be. Just for you to be more selfish, so death could wait longer for your arrival.

Bronchitis is the name of the disease, a deadly one in fact. If it were not taken care of, maybe you were already dead by now. Maybe it would be pointless for childe to scream your name in the emergency room, searching for you, anyone but you.

as you were coughing in his arms ; making many form of mucus in your lungs, while he carries you in his shoulder, patting your back so you could feel much more in ease. You feel so light now and you’ve lost so many weight, it worries him to the edge. Though your tenderness have always lingers onto his body, it still stressed him, you’re not supposed to be gone this fast, you’re supposed to be alive and well. Let him die, he is a murderer of the innocence yet he still live long and well. How ironic it is for the sinner to always stand as the first and the last?

“ajax..i’ve prepared so many things for you, these past days..though i would say i’m still scared of letting you go..”

“Hmm..and why is it my love?” , curious and in interest of knowing much more of your recent condition, he asked you straightforwardly. Voice gone anxious and body became colder than before, you find it precious how he always prioritize you over everything.

“i just don’t want to die..i don’t want to..this breathing ventilator sucks..i really want to be with you ajax, i really want to..” you were sobbing in his jacket, hiding your face in his embrace, not wanting him to see the awful side of you for being too egoistic for your own stability.

“just, ajax..if i left you..please take that box i’ve always brought..read the last letter if you’re ready..i loved you…so much..”

you’re lost in the snow, starting your new ways in heaven. Leaving him behind ; alone. even after encouraging you to stay longer than he will, though if he think it again, it was all a bullshit for you to stay. now, he is ready to witness the pieces of you he always wanted to knew, a new pieces of you to be loved again by him. Just please let it be a decent farewell, he didn’t ask for more, but just a decent love and farewell are all he could ask for.

opening in terror of expectation. he found himself to be quite charmed by the appearence of this letter. Sniffs and sobs crawling down to his cheeksbone, making it seems like he was finally reaching his emotions after the emptiness he felt these past seconds.

to, my dearest, ajax.

Ajax, You probably read this when i’m already gone. It might be hard to move on and live another life, still I hope your managing well in your current life, i’ll always look upon you my love. Just please do not harm yourself, i’ve always been worried about you since i lay in this painfully awful bed. So please, would you keep it mind..? i loved you so much that i have no hesitation to continue to love you more in the afterlife. I’m just too selfish for you, for you to withess nor to love.

I don’t think i’ll be able to send you all of my letters for you in this box i’ve always treasured. Though i have certain thoughts to be filled when i wrote this letter. I know i haven’t been a good lover for you, you’ve always taken care of me and i could only nod in gratitude. I really wish the god’s gave me two chance to live with you again, just for myself to stay even if it pains me. I don’t want to die, i don’t want to. I hope i could live another day everytime i sleep in your arms, i don’t want to lose another person because my time has losen up. I regretted this, everything.

And if in another life i could called you by your name again. Please do recognize me as your old lover. Thoug if it meant for me to forget about you, at least those deja vu from our past could bring you back to me. I do not beg for more sympathy from you, you’re too precious for me. You shouldn’t have suffer this much because of me. I loved you ajax. even if it were only the last chance for you to met me again in your dream or hallucination. I wish you a farewell, a pleasing farewell. I couldn’t bare someone to hurt because of their lost, just because i’m not strong enough to stay with you and outlived you.

Ah and remember the souvenir you gave to me from fontaine? i’ve always used it ever since you gave it to me. I don’t know if you realized it or not, but this gift from you have always been one of my comfort, it was the only pieces of you that i could remember when you were not here with me. I have no regrets that i still could hold into it until my death. So take it, it could be the only remembrance of me till the end of the 100 years of your life.

So ajax, know your worth. You are far from perfect yet the sight of you have always been one of the reason i’m alive. Don’t be too selfish to give someone a chance to survive, live well and die well. You’ve always have been my last memory of the lover i clearly love wholeheartedly. Love yourself for me, for you, and for the others who listen to your pleas. Found me again in the afterlife won’t you? I love you.

from, your old lover, (name).

he was crying in tears of hopeless numbness and sorrow. How many times has he been cussing a ‘fuck’ out of his mouth? He doesn’t even know, He lost count. He was crying in the ground, leaving puffy cheeks and eyes behind. your words are too much for him to bare. You are too kind for him, too much for him. The grief of losing you are already too much for him to bare. He doesn’t want to remember you are dead, he just wants to remember how much you loved him. It comforted him, always have been. But now you’re gone, he could only hold into the tiny box of his lovers oath. It’s a curse to be loved by you.

#ajax #tartaglia #childe #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact childe #childe angst #tartaglia angst #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact headcannons #genshin impact fanfic #childe fanfic #childe headcannons #childe x reader angst #tartaglia x reader angst

345 notes · View notes

one-master-to-rule-us-all · 3 years

Note

So Simeon fell in love with Mc (Like every other obey me boy beside Luke) Yay! So how would all the boys react to Micheal storming down to Devildom during a meeting with the brothers and dateables, and pinning Mc to the wall by their collar and reprimanding them for being the cause of Simeon falling from grace cause he's in love with Mc. Mc is just like "?!?!?!?" But how'd everyone else react to that? Thank you!!!

(I'm not totally sure how to write Michael but I'll try! I don't know if you meant Simeon was already in a relationship with MC or just fell in love but never said anything but still managed to fall but I ended up going with the latter. This got long and is probably ooc but I tried)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS! Slight violence

Brothers And Side Characters Reacting To Michael Getting Aggressive At MC For "Corrupting" Simeon

Diavolo had called everyone to discuss how the exchange program was going for them and discuss any possible ideas for it. Simeon was nowhere to be seen though. Solomon and even Luke didn't know where he was or the reason for his absence. When the door opened instead of the angel they were expecting to see Michael barged in. His eyes locked onto you and he headed straight to where you were seated. You were lifted up by your collar and slammed into the nearest wall, "You. Are you aware of what you've done?" you're lowered slightly when you shake your head, "Archangle Simeon. Fallen from grace because of you."

"Michael, this is certainly unexpected. What exactly is this about?" Diavolo steps in with his hand on Michael's shoulder.

"This human, Simeon fell in love with them and has fallen as a result."

Everyone, who were already standing from their seats, went silent.

Lucifer

The last person he thought he'd ever see again. Michael. Pinning one of the exchange students against a wall. And Simeon fell in love with you? The one he deemed was his? Well, no. You weren't his. He never spoke about his feelings to you. So he can't get that upset over it when you weren't really his. All that aside he's going to find Simeon after this. He's probably in a lot of pain...

"Michael, that's enough! They were not aware of this. You don't need to get violent with them. They are not at fault."

Mammon

He was the first to stand up, but Lucifer had to keep him quiet for the sake of not accidentally invoking Michael further. The hell does he think he's doing!? Barging in here and putting his hands on you, Archangel or not he has some nerve! But Simeon... Fallen? And in love with his human? Yeah, yeah technically not his as nothing is established but he's your first man! Why is everyone chasing after you!?

"Oi! Lucifer has a point! Now can you put them down? There's better ways to handle this than putting your hands on them!"

Leviathan

Ohhh boy he did not sign up to deal with this today. Michael's pissed, Simeon's fallen both for you and from grace, and there goes his envy. His competition is his brothers AND now SIMEON? Even if he's no longer and angel he's probably still a better choice than an otaku shut in. He can't handle this. He growls at Michael.

"Get your hands off them..."

Satan

Well this is a mess. And he's also pissed. So what if Simeon's interested in you too? He doesn't like it but if he confesses and you accept then neither his brothers or Simeon can do anything about it. And if not then he won't force you regardless of his emotions. He's in his demon form, all his brothers are, but he tries to speak rationally.

"My brothers are right, they don't have any control over Simeon's feelings and getting violent will only make things worse. Let. Them. Go."

Asmodeus

Oh dear... Simeon. Falling isn't pleasant. It's very, very painful. If he's found later he has some things from ages ago to help with the pain he can use. But Simeon being in love with you isn't a thing he would'e expected. But you are wonderful, aren't you? And he's not opposed to poly relationships if it goes that way. And if not then ah well. He can sit with his unrequited feelings in silence...

"Hey! You're going to leave a mark on their precious skin! Lay off already!"

Beelzebub

He has to defend you. He has to. But violence is what made this situation this bad. But if he's given the word he won't hesitate. The idea of you with Simeon and not him does upset him but he values your happiness more than he wants to be a couple with you. And his concern for Simeon is greater than his jealousy.

"Put them down... MC, are you alright?"

Belphegor

He hates how close Michael's hands are to your throat. Regret washing through him. He can't focus on that right now but... Simeon. Demon or not you'd probably go with him or his brothers. He does feel a bit of sympathy. His fall was a painful one. Simeon's probably experiencing something similar.

"They didn't know... Now get your hands off them."

Diavolo

This is a disaster... If Simeon's no longer an angel what happens to the exchange program? He'll have to sort that out but right now he has to get Michael to put you down. In the back of his mind though he wonders... You are a very interesting person. He enjoys your company and wishes to indulge in it more... Indulge in you more. While it stings he already accepted that selfishness won't be granted to him.

"Everyone is right, Michael. Let them go. We can handle this in a better manner, all I'm asking is that this doesn't get more violent than it already is."

Barbatos

He didn't see this coming... How? He knew Simeon would become interested in you and he tried to prevent anything from happening. So why is he witnessing this? It doesn't make sense. Did he make a mistake? You... He does have a sort of desire to know you better. Simeon likely did too. But neither of them can. That's why this is happening.

"I advise you set them down. It'd be a shame if this were to escalate any further."

Solomon

So his roommate and friend has lost his place in the Celestial Realm. Angels can be quite strict huh? Banished for loving a human. He's not sure he can totally understand it but angels run things differently than humans do. You do intrigue him. He may not fully understand what he feels for you, well he does but he's not fully sure what to do about with it, but he thinks this situation makes you more interesting. All that aside he isn't happy with the way Michael has decided to handle this. He'll find Simeon. Demon or not he has a bond with him.

"Is this really necessary? Surely you can discuss this without getting aggressive."

Luke

Michael... Why is he hurting you? Is that how angels are supposed to handle things? That's not what he was told. But what's going to happen to Simeon? He lost his rank and is probably a demon now but he doesn't want to hate him! He doesn't want to hate you either! Demons are vile beings but Simeon is still better than that, right!? And you had no knowledge of this! He doesn't want to resent you! He won't!

"Archangel... Michael! This-This isn't how angels are supposed to deal with things!"

(bonus)

Simeon

This is bad. This is bad. This is bad. This is bad. His wings... They're gone. He can feel new ones growing in. And what he thinks are horns trying to sprout are giving him a headache. All he can feel is worry as he holds one of his now black feathers in between his fingers. What's going to happen to you? To luke? The exchange program? To him? The Celestial Realm probably already knows. He can't do anything though. He feels like he's being seared from the inside. He can't get up with this pain and he can't think of a plan. Lucifer... Maybe he can help in some way. The pain or the situation either way he needs to find someone.

"Please don't hurt them. Please. Don't hurt them or Luke. I beg."

535 notes · View notes

heniareth · 3 years

Note

I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

---

And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

148 notes · View notes

linkspooky · 3 years

Note

Do you have any thoughts on the Pro-Hero's discussion about Shigaraki and his hatred from chapter 311?

My thoughts are this, from both Jeanist and Hawks utter cluelessness to why Dabi could possibly have turned into a villain despite Dabi just telling them why, on tv, and being next to the man who pushed him into it, and from how all three of them fail to understand how Shigaraki could have been so easily groomed into hatred reflects an unacknowledged shadow for all three of them.

In Jungian psychology the concept of the shadow exists. The Shadow is an unconscious aspect of the personality which is outside of the conscious ego. While our consciousness is mainly made out of behaviors and memories, we judge as positive, and our Shadow differentiates by holding emotions, behaviors, and memories we label as adverse or painful. In a shadow, constructive perspectives might be incorporated, but most of the parts remain camouflaged under the thumb points of low self-esteem ness, anxieties, and false beliefs. "Everyone carries a shadow," stated Jung "and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. To know yourself, you must accept your dark side. To deal with others' dark hands, you must also know your dark side.

In other words, for characters like Enji and Hawks, all of their bad traits define them just as much as their good traits, to be a whole and complete person they have to recognize those bad traits instead of being in denial of them however, both of them choose to only see themselves as heroes.

Anyway, now for something completely different. Let’s talk about batman and the joker. Batman uses Jungian symbolism a lot, of all the heroes he’s the most famous for being a normal person, who dresses in a costume to fight crime specifically in shadowed alleyways, and has a rogues gallery that also consists of mostly normal people in costumes. Batman’s villains are batman. Batman plays with both the relationship between himself and his villains, and also the relatinoship between Bruce and his own Shadow, because his Shadow is part of who he is.

Now the most iconic batman villain is obviously the joker, and he’s a character like All for One who most of the time is just written as a character who does evil for evil’s sake, but more serious looks at the Joker like The Killing Joke which My Hero Academia directly references make this comparison between the two of them. The famous One Bad Day speech is also, notably, an attempt for Joker to connect to batman, to try to explain himself to him.

He’s not just spouting a villain speech, he’s also looking for sympathy and trying to give sympathy, because that’s just what humans do. Because deep down, both Batman and the Joker were normal people once. The connection between Batman and the Joker is that they were both normal people, but one of them became a hero, and the other one a villain, and therefore that potential exists in any normal person.

However, the heroes in MHA still don’t acknowledge their connection to the villains. Hawks and Enji did apologize yes, but what’s also important is their actions after, which is to choose to continue fighting villains as heroes.

It’s been pointed out by Shoto before that what Enji really needs to do to heal his family, is act like a good father, rather than a good hero. However, when given the chance to reach out to his son, he chooses to fight it instead. There’s a reason that the public isn’t reassured by the actions of Hawks, Jeanist and Endeavor and that’s because they continue to keep playing heroes instead of acknowledging what’s wrong. I’m not saying they are good or bad people, both Hawks and Enji have bad sides of their personality that they are almost completely ignorant of. They, like any human being have the potential to be driven to villainy. That’s why Enji can’t reach out to his son, because his brains have still made the connection that he was what drove Toya to villainry.

It comes across in the casualness which Enji remarks upon what AFO did to Shigaraki and the complete lack of self awareness. Enji did the same thing, he had a child for the sake of passing on his quirk, raised that child to hate all might and want to do anything to surpass him, and he even wanted to live vicariously through the success of Toya and then Shoto so everyone would know him as Endeavor’s son. He still only cares about Toya to the extent that his dreams were once resting on him.

So when Enji makes the connection to AFO, he asserts that there must be something wrong with him to do all those bad things, because he’s unaware of the resmeblance between his own deeds and AFO’s. He sees himself as a human being with reasons for his bad actions, he didn’t mean to neglect Toya, he didn’t know what to say to him, he was too guilty and hid from his guilt for so long but he doesn’t allow his enemies to have that guilt. This is a pattern that repeats with Hawks, and Jeanist as well, they can’t understand why people like Twice and Dabi would feel like they have a right to be angry at the society that mistreated them.

Jeanist’s defense is why can’t he just keep quiet about it.

Twice’s last words were hating Hawks and wishing the worst for him, yet Hawks still thinks they were best friends somehow.

Hawks and Twice were not friends, because Hawks chose not to be his friend, and to hurt what was most precious to Twice which was all of his other friends. Enji chose not to be a father to Toya and not be a father. Enji and Hawks are neither heroes nor villains, they are not good or bad, they’re just humans and as humans they have the potential to be both.

In only seeing the hatred that Shigaraki was groomed to have they’re also fundamentally misunderstanding him. The thing is Shigaraki has reasons for his hatred, and not just because AFO forced him to feel that way. It’s not just AFO, that’s what they critically misunderstand, it’s Shigaraki’s experiences with how the society around him has neglected both him and his friends.

That’s something that the heroes can never see, because Shigaraki has been assigned the role of a villain who hates society. It’s not just AFO, Shigaraki can’t be at peace with a society that is designed to reject others.

That doesn’t come from his hate either, it comes from his sympathy with the victims. Just like they only see their own good traits, they can only see the villain’s bad traits. The thing is we have witnessed Shigaraki constantly been challenged on the fact that he only has empty hatred, first by Stain, then by Chisaki, and finally be Re-Destro. We also witnessed the moment he changed.

The conclusion Shigaraki comes to as the result of his arc is that while he himself doesn’t care about the people, he’s not alone anymore, he wants to give the future to the others around him.

That’s why Shigaraki’s actions aren’t driven just by hatred, but also by a deeply broken sense of empathy. Not only is he a crying child himself, he’s also someone who acknowledges the feelings of others. What converted Spinner from being someone who didn’t particularly care about the goals of the league, and doubted Shigaraki in front of everyone to his most loyal follower.

It’s because he came to recognize that this human side of Shigaraki was there. The same way that underneath his mask, Spinner was just a pathetic NEET struggling with his own feelings of inadequacy, Shigaraki gets close to broken people, he tries to protect them, he tries to give some kind of validation to their feelings.

Shigaraki has grown from just hating all of society because it rejected him, to realizing the real reason is because it rejects everyone around him. That means while there’s hatred to his character, there’s also a very selfish and intense love that applies to a small group of people, but the potential for love is still there. Shigaraki reaches out and saves people the same way that Deku does, he tries to do all the fighting himself to protect others just like Deku, it’s just that he’s been hurt again and again and that’s twisted him to act on his worst trait. None of the heroes understand Shigaraki’s love, because they can only see his hate.

It’s not just that he’s been victimized or that he’s a crying child. Shigaraki is constantly compared to a child both in a negative sense as a man child, and a positive sense as a child pure heartedly pursuing their dream, because there is that potential within Shigarkai, to grow up, and grow into a better person if he was given the same chance to atone that characters like Hawks and Enji have already received.

Shigaraki and Deku just like batman and the joker both reflect that in perfectly normal people, there’s the chance for great good, or great evil. For Shigaraki there’s an added level of complexity, that you can still grow into a better person, after everyone has written you off as too far gone. You can still grow to love the people around you when you thought you were only capable of hating.

Enji and Hawks still have the oppurtunity to grow just like that, not as heroes, but as people.

However to truly grow as people they would have to learn to empathize with the villains, especially because they have done wrong things too, Hawks killed because he had to, Enji hurt his entire family. Defeating the villain really is not the solution, because sometimes you yourself are the villain.

In order to fully grow as people they have to learn to see themselves as people, and not heroes. That also means admitting the villains are just as human as they are. If Endeavor is someone who can become better after realizing that he made so many mistakes in the past and the only thing he can do about it is try to do better from now on, then Endeavor’s ending point should be realizing that since he was given that chance by his family, others deserve that chance too, especially his own son. People are not villains, or heroes, Endeavor is just Enji Todoroki and Dabi is Touya Todoroki deep down no matter how they see themselves.

#Anonymous #shigaraki tomura #afo #dabi #touya todoroki #hawks #twice #best jeanist

223 notes · View notes

starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Can’t Avoid The Void | Stiles Stilinski

Request: Could we pleasssssse have a imagine where the reader was void instead of stiles and the readers actions and words shocked them. Like the reader likes stiles but then the void reader is like you know this girl loves you so much she would give up her own life and the story goes like that????

A/N: Not the best, but hope you like it. Sorry for the time that it’s taken xx

A burn hinted at Stiles’ eyes as he watched the shadows loom over your irises. You were being held as a captive; their captive, yet the scenario seemed to amuse the darkness inside of you.

If it weren’t for the duct tape holding your words to a silent vow, it was obvious that you would be showing your humour through violent laughs, hysterical ones that would stab him over and over again through the heart.

However, your pupils remained glued to him, focusing on him as though he were prey. He was human, he was weak. He was the next target that you would torment and stab, whether that be in a mental sense or a physical one.

Your head tilted as the boy dared to step closer, as if you were daring him to do so, compelling him with the once innocent side that had reigned your form.

The pack, Melissa and Deaton were crowded in the kitchen, but Stiles had ventured away. All he wanted was one glimpse of the girl he knew, the one who threatened to beat him with a baseball bat if he tried to put his life on the line again. But she was nowhere to be seen, she was vacant from the premises that he was standing in.

“It was the Nemeton.” He spoke, analysing every instance that had occurred which lead to the Nogitsune taking over your feeble body. “When you saved had to save your mom from the Darach. It was a risk, and you took it because that’s the kind of person you are (Y/N). The best kind, you don’t need to be a werewolf to sense the good or bad, it’s an instant reaction inside of you. It’s a love to know it all, to remind yourself that knowledge is your super power.”

There was an emotion residing on your face. Sympathy, relatability perhaps? He wasn’t sure, but he was keen on discovering what it was.

Stiles walked closer, bending down to where you were restrained against the chair, lightly removing the duct tape from over your lips, careful as to not hurt you, if it was really you.

“Mischief.” You smiled, remembering all the little details of your past. It was what you used to call him in turn of him being unable to pronounce Mieczyslaw.

A breath of relief fanned from his agape mouth as he took in both sides of your face with his hands.

“It’s really you.” But then his hope faded as a smirk sprawled across the bottom half of your doe eyes expression.

“Your sweet (Y/N/N) is in here, but you’ll never get her out. I’ve worn her down, she’s ready to stop fighting.”

A frown settled upon your friend’s face, upset with the news. But he couldn’t believe it, not if he was set on saving you from the imprisonment you were currently in.

“And knowledge isn’t her love.” Void replied, watching the human with a casted gaze. “You are Stiles, she’s smitten.”

It had to be lying to him. If you felt anything, you would have said something. You hated secrets, hence why you began to hate yourself when symptoms of dimentia had began to arise. There were secrets that your mind hid from you, it was haunting, and reminded you of how precious human life really was.

“So am I.” He argued back, letting the creature inside of you know that it was not getting under his skin.

It could twist your thoughts, but it couldn’t tear him away from your side. He wouldn’t leave you to be on your knees at this monster.

“But,” your teeth showed as your tongue ran across their expanse, “she still slept with Malia in Eichen. She still called out to Lydia to save her, and she was so close to finding her in that basement. She still killed another patient who went by the name of Oliver at that mad house.”

“We know the last one wasn’t her crime.” He gulped, blinking away the tears of hurt as he thought of you being intimate with another.

“Maybe so.” The nogitsune agreed, nodding it’s stolen head along with it’s sly words. “But she enjoyed the power, I felt it. She wanted more blood on her hands, she loved not being human. The only human part of her that she loves is you, and it’s so pathetic.”

Air flowed out from between its teeth as it seethed with your voice. “If she could stop me from eventually tearing out your throat, then she would. Because I feed off of pain, and there would be no pain worse for her than losing you, watching as you bleed from a wound and take your last breath.”

“She’s in there, and if we can’t stop you, she will.”

Admittedly, he was doubting what they could do to save you. To stop this monster. It wasn’t a werewolf it was much more complex than that. It was a trickster, and perhaps it was telling the truth, but it was still playing on his emotions.

“You can’t kill me, I’m a thousand years old. I’ve survived ages, wars, hunters, and you’re just a bunch of kids. The lot of you will lose, and I will win at my own game. You can’t outwit a fox.”

“But we can get through to the host.” He spoke, before calling the others into the room. He placed the tape back onto your face, muting any further arguments that you had to share.

Scott walked behind you as Stiles seated himself beside you, nodding to his best friend.

Your body stiffened as you felt Scott’s claws on the back of your neck, nervous to if he saw the plans that were rolling around in your mind.

And not only that, but he could find you, the real you.

#void stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teenwolf #imagine #imagines #teen wolf fandom #teen wolf x you #teen wolf imagine #xreader #stiles imagine #stiles x y/n #stiles x you #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles oneshot #dylan o brien x reader

772 notes · View notes

the-karma-cafe · 3 years

Text

they deserve better :T (warriors of hope comfort n slight byakuya x reader)

A/N: they are,,, just kiddos,,, they deserve,,, better,,,, komaru kin check

The Warriors of Hope sat in front of us, their faces not… sad, exactly, but a bit diminished. Byakuya adjusted his glasses. “I’ll leave it up to you, Kirigiri, but I don’t think they should be left alive.” Nagisa flinched at this, but kept his gaze level and hardened. I felt a pang of sympathy for these kids. They didn’t know… they’re just kids… they…

I placed a hand on Byakuya’s shoulder. He blinked and looked down at me curiously. My teeth worried my lip, “Hey… Would it be alright if I took care of them?”

He grunted in surprise. “What?” He turned, gently grabbing my elbow as my hand dropped from his shoulder. I smiled slightly at the contact. He realized what he’d done and dropped his hands. “It seems like a waste of time to me. Kirigiri?”

Kyoko pursed her lips, eyeing us for a beat. My teeth worried at my lip harder, drawing blood. “Shit,” I mumbled, licking my lips.

She sighed, checking her watch. “That’s fine. Use the collection of rooms in the east wing.” She looked back up, meeting my eyes. “Be careful.”

I smiled reassuringly. “Thank you.” My eyes turned to Byakuya’s worried ones. He held my gaze for a beat.

He huffed. “Fine, do as you wish. I won’t be surprised if I find you dead, though.” He left the room without a backwards glance. My lips twitched up watching him leave. Worry betrayed his true feelings in his rigid shoulders and clenched fists. Nigh impossible to identify to the untrained eye, but to the Ultimate Observer…

I turned to the children. Only Nagisa made eye contact. He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “What are your intentions, demon?”

I smiled and knelt down to his level. “To spare your lives. Is that pursuit not noble enough for you?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Ah,” I looked at the ground. “As cliche as it is, I believe you are misunderstood.”

His brows furrowed in agitation. “You believe WRONG, demon. You’d be better off killing us where we stand.” Kotoko flinched and grabbed at Nagisa’s arm. “Don’t say that! She’ll listen to you!”

I nodded. “No, it’s fine. Everyone should speak their mind. Although I assure you I won’t be killing anyone anytime soon.” I pushed myself up from my crouch and held out my hand to the children. “Follow me?”

Kotoko grinned and grabbed my hand easily. “I hope my room is super adorbs!”

I led them to the east wing, Masaru and Kotoko chatting my ears off. They learned things about me but with all their talking, I heard nothing of their backgrounds. I smiled awkwardly. I didn’t think they’d be so forthcoming. Nagisa and Jataro trailed behind me, less than thrilled about the situation.

We ended up at the east wing and I led them into the main room. Masaru ran over to one of the chairs and hopped into it, laughing loudly. Nagisa huffed something about childishness under his breath. Kotoko held steadfast to my hand. Jataro tugged on the hem of my shirt, “Uh, hi! Is there a uh um art room or something? Duh huh.. Sorry I’m so ugly and annoying and-”

I placed a soft hand on his head. “Hey,” I spoke quietly. He looked up curiously. “Don’t say those things about yourself, okay?”

Kotoko rolled her eyes. “But he is those things. It’s the truth.”

I shook my head. “Please don’t say those things, Kotoko. Being mean isn’t adorable.”

She gasped. “You’re right! I’m soooo sorry! Please forgive me!”

“There’s nothing to be forgiven. You made a mistake and have been corrected. Everything’s fine, okay?”

Jataro frowned. “Why don’t you hate me? Hate me, already! Who do.. I have to make a masterpiece? Of all your friends? Maybe that blonde guy, huh?” He smirked evilly. “I bet you’d really hate me if I killed him, huh? Hate me so much you’d wanna claw my skin off!”

I winced. “I… I would appreciate it if you left Byakuya alone. I don’t want to hate you, please don’t try to make me.” I straightened up. “It takes a lot for me to hate someone, anyway. Obviously, or I wouldn’t’ve stood up for you kids.”

Jataro grinned. “What, do you *like* him or something?”

Pink dusted my cheeks and I internally scolded myself. “Of course. As a.. colleague.”

Kotoko squealed. “I know a girl in love when I see one! That’s soooo adorable! You have to tell him immediately!”

My cheeks color deepened. “Please, Kotoko, I love the enthusiasm but I really can’t.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

I pursed my lips. “Well… we’re recovering from the tragedy in Towa City. Duty comes first and foremost. It’d be selfish of me to let feelings get in the way.”

The room was quiet after that, the children not eager to talk about what happened. I cleared my throat. “Right. I figure individual attention is best? But I won’t force anything. If any of you would like to talk to me, you can find me in the other room.” I smiled easily. “I’d love to talk, but I understand if not.” With that, I left the room.

I closed the door behind me and heaved a deep sigh. This was going to be draining. My phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me. I laughed slightly at my reaction before answering. “Hel-?”

“Are you alright?” Byakuya’s cold voice cut through my greeting. My heart warmed. He was worried.

I beamed at no one, heading into the next room. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Don’t let anyone hear you~” I teased. “God forbid Togami have feelings.”

I could hear him scowl through the phone. “I’m merely concerned for a colleague, nothing more.”

I bit my lip. “Yeah.. just a colleague…” I wish I didn’t feel this way. Things would be so much easier for everyone if I could just stuff my feelings down so far that they’d disappear. Byakuya wouldn’t return them anyway. Sure, he cared if I died but he wasn’t about to ask me about my day or anything.

He was quiet for a second. “….Yes. What is your plan of action for the children?”

I leaned against a wall and raked a hand through my hair. “For now I’m just waiting for one of ‘em to approach me. I don’t wanna overwhelm anyone.”

“That sounds.. ineffective.”

I laughed dryly. “Got any better ideas?”

“You wouldn’t like them.”

I grinned fondly. “You know me so well.”

“We are colleagues, after all.”

“Right… colleagues.”

Another pause. “If that’s all, I’ll be hanging up.”

I bit my lip. “Wait.” It was quiet. He was waiting. Was I really going to ask now, of all times? I frowned. Yes, yes I was. “Am I really just a colleague to you?”

It was quiet again and I immediately regretted asking. What was I thinking?? His answer was only going to upset me and put me in a mindset where I wouldn’t be able to take care of the kids properly and would probably-

“No.”

What? “What?” I breathed, echoing my thoughts.

“You heard me.” He huffed. “We’re not just colleagues. The killing game changed that. I…” he trailed off. “You are at least a friend. A trusted one. I cannot say that for many people.”

I smiled. Friend. That was better than colleague. “Thank you, Byakuya. That means a lot to me. I hope you know that you are… very precious to me.” There was a knock on the door. “Oh, I have my first visitor. Talk to you later?”

“Hm.” He hummed and hung up. I stuffed the phone in my pocket.

I opened the door to see an irritated Kotoko. She pointed her little finger in my face angrily. “I heard you!! Just confess already!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do!” She walked in and sat down in one of the chairs. “You were on the phone with blondie, right? Just tell him you love him!”

I shrugged, taking a seat opposite her. “I wish it were that simple. I’m not as brave as you or Masaru. If he didn’t return my feelings it’d definitely ruin our friendship.”

Kotoko pouted. “So!! Some friendships need to be ruined!”

I smiled. “I’m touched that you care, but I’ll need some time to build up my courage.”

She nodded fiercely. “I’ll help you!”

I worked my way through each of the children. I did make progress. My ultimate always came in handy with children.

With Kotoko, I needed to treat her like a close friend. Trust her with my secrets, take her advice on relationships, agree to let her dress me up later, and don’t ever use the word “gentle.”

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, right? You can head back to the others now, if you’d like.”

She hopped up from her chair. “That was easy! But I could’ve been acting the whole time. I’m the best at that.”

I covered my chest in mock surprise. “Are you? I never would’ve guessed!”

She nodded. “Yes, yes, I know!” She walked over to me and fidgeted with the hem of her dress for a second. “…Can I get something before I leave?”

I tilted my head, confused. “If I have it, I suppose. What’s wrong?”

She looked at the ground. “Can I have a hug?”

A large smile bloomed on my face. “Of course you can, Kotoko.” I pushed up from my chair and knelt down, arms outstretched. She jumped into my arms easily and I wrapped them around her. You’re safe with me, I promise nothing bad will happen again.

With Nagisa, I needed to treat him like an adult. Respect him as an equal, use big words, ask for his input on things, and reassure him that there is no pressure. At one point he demanded that I have higher expectations of him, something I didn’t expect.

I frowned. “Like what?”

He pulled at his hair “Anything! Just, please, expect more of me!” I gently unwrapped his hands from his hair.

“If that’s what you want. Do tell me if it’s ever too much, though, alright? I don’t want to overwhelm you.” I held his hands in my own to keep them away from his hair.

Nagisa searched my eyes desperately. “Promise you’ll expect more of me?”

I nodded. “Of course. You’re very grown up, it’s only natural that expectations of you will rise.” I released his hands and held out my arms. “You’re not obligated to, but some of the others wanted hugs.”

The beginnings of tears formed in his eyes and I pretended not to notice. He stepped into my arms hesitantly. I wrapped him in my arms, holding him close and trying to put as much love into it as possible. I heard a choked sob from my shoulder and smoothed circles on his back.

“D-Don’t tell the others a-about this.” He pushed out.

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With Jataro, I needed to treat him like I wanted him there, which I did. Don’t interrupt him, reassure him that you do not hate him, insist he is not ugly, encourage his artistic passion but discourage killing people. Fascination with gore is fine as long as it doesn’t harm anyone. Introduce him to the concept of horror media.

I pulled up a horror game google search on my phone and held it out to him. “That’s one of the games I was talking about. You’re welcome to scroll through the pictures.”

“This isn’t very true to life…” he frowned.

I winced. “Ah.. not many have seen the things you have, Jataro. Both a gift and a curse, I suppose. Now you can portray things very accurately, but I do hope nothing haunts you later on in life.”

“Duh huh.. I can always go kill again for reference.”

I shook my head. “Please do not. You already have enough references.”

He sneered. “I bet you hate me for saying that, huh?”

“No, I don’t. I doubt I’ll ever hate you, Jataro, and I definitely don’t want to. I’m here for you.”

Jataro fiddled with his sleeves. “Oh… for me?”

I nodded.

“Oh………. Okay.” It seemed to get through to him a bit. “Can I go now?”

“Of course.”

With Masaru, I needed to treat him like, well, a kid. Praise him for his enthusiasm, praise him for his excellence in sports, compliment his leadership abilities, don’t let him hurt himself, reassure him that it’s okay to be scared. At one point, something I said had sent him back to that time and he started punching his arms.

“No! Stop shaking. Weak weak scared-“ His already bruised arms started to get worse. I immediately grabbed his hands. He struggled against my hold. “Lemme go!”

I pulled him against me, holding him. “It’s okay to be scared. You’re not weak. Everything is fine. You’re with me now.” I repeated mantras I had with the other children softly.

It took a couple of minutes but Masaru eventually stopped struggling and threw his arms around me. “Girls are stupid cowards.. shut up…”

I smiled. “I might be a coward, but I’m smart. I know some things.”

His hold on me tightened. “Please don’t leave me… I promise I’ll be good, I won’t make you look like the bad guy again……”

“I’m not going anywhere, Masaru. You’re a good boy, okay?”

He nodded.

I closed the door to their collective room with a soft click, not missing the knowing wink Kotoko sent my way. I breathed out evenly, filled with a sense of accomplishment. I was right to stand up for them. Hopefully, with much time and effort, these kids would get… a little better. That was all I could really hope to achieve.

“Have fun?” A voice called out, startling me. I jumped, glancing around until I saw Byakuya leaning coolly against a nearby wall. He checked his watch pointedly. “You were with them for quite some time.” His unspoken question hung in the air. Did you make any progress?

I smiled, walking over. “Yes!” I came to a stop in front of him, my grin turning coy. “You didn’t doubt my abilities, did you?”

He raised his eyebrows, gazing down his nose at me. He hummed, turning to leave. I scurried after him, fiddling with my fingers. We walked in silence, the voices of the children fading behind us.

I recalled Kotoko’s encouragement. She’d want me to say something right about now. Not to mention, it’d give me something to bond with her over during my next visit…

I cleared my throat, stopping in the hall. Byakuya continued walking, and I almost thought he wasn’t going to stop for me.

But he did.

He glanced back at me, a confused frown prepared. “What.” He quipped. Sigh, he certainly didn’t make things easy.

I took in a deep breath. “I believe there’s a way for me to get closer to Kotoko…” He stared quietly, not catching on to how on Earth this had anything to do with him. “…And I’d need your… cooperation. Is that alright?”

He pursed his lips disapprovingly. “This was your project, (L/N). I thought I made it clear I want no part of it.”

I chewed my lip, not able to keep eye contact. “Can I ask anyway?”

A dramatic sigh echoed between us, but he remained quiet. I met his eyes again. His arms were folded over his chest and he pinned me with an expectant gaze. Now or never. I squeezed my hands together, searching for the right words. “Do you remember our conversation on the phone earlier?”

He nodded wordlessly, but his expression tensed slightly. Likely not the best sign to keep going, but I was doing this for Kotoko. Yeah.. for her… not me.

“Right, of course you do.” I waved my hand around nervously. “Well, it has to do with that. Kotoko, as you probably know, has a soft spot for um… romance. The main thing she wanted to speak with me about was my uh…” I couldn’t physically take holding his gaze right now, and instead focused my eyes on my hands. I cleared my throat. “Relationship with… you. I… I guess what I’m trying to ask is…”

“Quit the bumbling, (L/N), I have places to be.”

I snapped my head up to study him. His tone was snappy and rude but his posture had the slightest note of… anxiety? I hadn’t seen that on him often. Seeing it built up my confidence.

“Right. Sorry.” My eyes wandered his form more, puzzling out his feelings. “My point is, do you mind if I tell Kotoko about a blossoming relationship between the two of us?” He stiffened further, his jaw tightening and his eyes widening. I was quick to explain. “Obviously I don’t expect you to actually date me, but if you could just not deny it in front of Kotoko, that would be-“

“Do you not want to date me?” He interrupted.

I froze, breaking my absentminded analysis to meet his nervous stare. “Wh…”

Byakuya immediately closed off, looking away from me. “Nevermind.”

My heart beat faster. “Wait, no. Are you…” I didn’t want to reveal my hand but, surely he already knew how I felt? He was practically as observant as me. I mustered an awkward laugh. “Is that a rhetorical question? Obviously we both know how I feel about you.”

He frowned, the tips of his ears turning pink. He opened his mouth only to soundlessly form shapes.

I watched his reaction with bewilderment. Did he really not know?? I took a step closer. “Byakuya, are you serious?”

He blinked down at me. “You… have feelings for me?”

“I thought it was painfully clear!” I gave an exasperated laugh. “Perhaps I give you more credit than you deserve.”

He spluttered before me—spluttered! “Well- I… I I had no idea.” His cheeks began to match his ears in hue. “You’ll… be delighted to hear that I feel the same way.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “Holy shit, really?”

He rolled his eyes. “Language.”

I grabbed his hands, yanking him closer to study his face. “You’re serious?”

“How many times do you plan to make me repeat myself?” He looked away from my eyes, his face reddening further.

I smiled giddily, his hands warm in mine. Maybe Kotoko was more observant than I gave her credit for.

Warriors of Hope POV

Kotoko watched them through the glass of the door, squealing when she saw them hold hands.

Masaru groaned, looking away. “Grooosss, why’d you tell her to do thaaat.”

She twirled around, clapping her hands together. “Because they’re in LOVE!! And people in LOVE should ALWAYS be TOGETHER!!!!”

Nagisa also grimaced at the sight. “Here I thought she was a professional. How unseemly… in front of us, no less.”

Kotoko bopped him lightly on the head, ignoring his indignant yelp. “You’re all being just awful! (Y/N)’s allowed to be happy, just like us!”

“You sure warmed up to her quick.”

She frowned, looking over at Jataro. He picked at his sleeves, not making eye contact. “Real bunch of demon-haters you guys are, duh huh… Falling for aaannyyyoonnnee’ss nice words…”

She furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to yell at him or call him ugly but stopped herself. She held her head up, looking down her nose at him primly. “I’d call you mean things but (Y/N) said that’s not cute. So just be quiet!”

Nagisa nodded, his hand white-knuckled on the table. “Well I don’t care about being cute. Jataro, (Y/N)’s risking a lot to give us a new chance. We owe her civility at the very least.”

Jataro frowned, tears welling up in his eyes. “You’re so mean to me.” His lips twitched up. “You hate me, don’t you? I’ll ruin your chances with (Y/N). After all, if there’s one bad apple, the rest are probably m-mmmooollldddyyy too.”

Masaru rummaged through the toys in the corner. “Whatever.” He picked up a soccer ball and grinned toothily. He dropped it onto his knee and tried to toss it to his other. It bounced off his leg but his spirit wasn’t dampened in the slightest as he ran over to retrieve it again. “You like her too, I can tell.”

Jataro huffed and plopped on the ground to draw, ignoring him. He heard rustling in his pocket as he sat down. He frowned, fishing through his pocket for the offending wrapper. His fingers met plastic and he pulled it out. A small orange candy twinkled up from his palm.

Kotoko gasped loudly, drawing his attention. She was looking out the window again, waving wildly. “She’s waving goodbye!! COME WAVE WITH ME.”

The others stood to join her but he did not. He stared down at the candy in wonder, unwrapping it carefully. It was from a company that didn’t have a factory in Towa City.

…It tasted nice. He hadn’t had their candy since before everything went down. He stared down at his violent drawing and crumpled it up, tossing it away. His blue crayon met the paper, drawing something nicer. Kinder. Stuff he used to draw… before. It was nice.

Masaru’s soccer ball collided with his head. “OOOOWW!” Jataro cried out, clutching his head dramatically.

“Ooops! Hehe, sorry Jataro.” Masaru picked up the ball with a grin.

a/n: pff thats as good of an ending as any ^^ hope u enjoyed :0!

258 notes · View notes

vivithefolle · 3 years

Text

Unpacking the Scarring of Marietta Edgecomb and Hermione's Role in it

A lot of the fandom don't really get context when it comes to Marietta.

The popular perception is that she was an a**hole who callously betrayed the DA, and with it, the war effort.

What I think more likely: she had misgivings in the very beginning, and none of those misgivings show up in a significant way again, until the time when she is revealed to be the traitor.

So why are we assuming that those misgivings existed all that time in between? They could have simmered before the surface, surely. But they also could have begun to evaporate away after she saw the camaraderie in the group and Harry's exceptional teaching.

I think its more likely the latter, but this is pure conjecture. A point in favor for the latter is that Umbridge had months in which she could have used any member of the DA to ferret out the information. She knew about it immediately after they formed the meeting, as canonically mentioned. So my burning question is: why did Marietta betray them after so much time? She could have waited till the end of the year, seriously, so that she would have eked out the academic benefits better. She's a Ravenclaw, she should know.

So was she all that willing to betray them?

I think it much more likely that Umbridge blackmailed her by threatening to do something to her mother. And it had gone on for some time. And this is not much different from Xenophilius Lovegood choosing to turn over Harry to save Luna. In fact, it is much more a lighter "offence."

But "familial" love is all right when its Lily and James Potter, but not when its Marietta or Xenophilius. Sure. Its not as if 90% people would choose their families if they had a loving family over a casual acquaintance or a "friend."

Where else have we seen this hypocrisy? The darling Malfoys! Their love for family is often seen as proof for something good being in them, and that they could have been redeemed if they were offered an out sooner. Why not apply this same thinking to other characters who are not, incidentally, proud Death Eaters?

Also, when it comes to blaming someone for the violence: lets not forget that when Hermione implied her face should be disfigured, Harry and Ron liked it. After the thing happened, Harry went as far as thinking that the scarring was brilliant.

Or okay, maybe they trusted Hermione to know better and not scar someone, right? Wrong. She set a teacher on fire, helped to knock him out in 3rd year, petrified her own classmate in first year and stepped over his body. She has imprisoned a journalist in a jar, which, as horrible as she was, she did not deserve. And I'm saying this when Rita Skeeter is kind of the person I hate the most, aside from a precious few others like Umbridge, Fudge and Lucius Malfoy.

So they should have known better than to trust her with something like this. All three were involved in the DA, and this could have been a good chance for Ron to express some sort of checking mechanism and not allow them to get away with it, considering he is the one who is the least insular in the Trio and is shown repeatedly to care about other people, case in point being the Cattermoles. But, instead of that we got Hermione being called brilliant and Harry being an arse about it.

I still think that Hermione deserves most of the blame, but Harry and Ron deserve some of it too. And I have a reason which explains their cavalier attitude towards violence, especially fi towards someone not intimately connected with them, and also explains why this trait is shown a lot more in Harry and Hermione than in Ron.(Note that from the same book, both Ron and Harry express no qualms about Montague's fate. )

So my theory: Harry is fucked up, more than the others, because of his abuse at the Dursleys. Hermione is more well-adjusted, but she lacks the magical background to understand what magic can truly mean, in its effect: she knows the theory but has that emotional disconnect from the first hand effects of magic. Ron is the most sensitive and adjusted, because he has firsthand experience of how cruel magic can sometimes be. Similar to Neville, actually.

But why is Ron also condoning cavalier violence and feeling little to no regret, when he is the most well-adjusted?

Answer: the war came to them much before it did to the other kids. They have been in life-threatening situations every year. That leaves behind, even on the best of people, a fierce desire to protect themselves and their loved ones, and some trauma. We can reasonably assume that this trauma makes them more violent than other kids their age towards people who they think have "wronged" them.

This is not a justification. This is an explanation for them.

As for Marietta: had she betrayed them in the manner Draco Malfoy antagonised them, ie with no regard for their feelings, and simply because he wanted to, I don't have sympathy for her. Still. I would want her to be humiliated an punished, but not scarred, and certainly not after the deed is done, but before.

But, if my head canon is correct, then it was wrong to humiliate her as well as scar her. Punish her, yes. If you found she didn't take Veritaserum or was compelled, punish her. But not with scars, please. And maybe stop her before she does the deed, instead of after?

Rant done. What do you think?

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

Honestly? Bravo, chief's kiss, 100%, fuck yes, absolutely.

It's exactly this. It's great to love your family, but only if you're Harry Potter and your family is dead.

And violent retribution is great, too. Against boys especially. But if you're a boy and use violent retribution against a girl you're evil and must die! A girl using violent retribution against a boy is perfectly ok and wholeheartedly encouraged. And a girl using violent retribution on other girls is fine; they probably deserved it for being girly, gossipy and giggly. If a girly girl mocks you you're allowed to use every tool in your arsenal to make her SUFFER.

Rowling has... a weird, warped sense of morality. It's seen in how Harry is called "gallant" for his Crucio or how Hermione is "brilliant" for carving a word into someone's face. If those were done by Malfoy, it'd be undeniably and rightly called evil. But because it's Harry or Hermione? Eh it's good. If Ron was the one to do it? He'd probably get chewed out and told there were other ways and be made an example to show us how violence is never the answer blah blah blah.

Morality in Harry Potter is very much arbitrary, and mostly revolves around the idea that "nice to Harry = good / mean to Harry = bad". The issue is that Harry Potter also tries to sell itself as a morality tale, trying to teach kids lessons such as "it's ok to physically assault a boy you like if he upset you" and "it's ok to take a terrorist's advice to torture another terrorist! You're the good guy so obviously torture isn't as bad when you're the one doing it!" It's... not a great mentality to have I think? I mean, it's the mentality of many teenagers. We've all had disturbingly detailed revenge fantasies where we cook up awful ways to pay our bullies back in full and with interest. Hell, a lot of those bland, bullshit Independent!Harry stories or Harem!Harry use that mentality by having Harry "ditch evil bad Ron who's done sooo much wrong to me"... legit, I've seen some people on Quora, Harry stans or Harmonians especially, boldly declare "if you get into an argument with your friend, then it's a bad friendship!!!" and I mean... wow, holy shit, and I thought I wasn't good at relationships. All that to say: yeah, we've all had revenge fantasies and disturbing thoughts. Some even make fanfics out of them. But including your revenge fantasies in a children's book meant to be some sort of morality tale for children... um, that is messed up Jo. So, so messed up.

I'm sure that had she kept her editor on board, half the shit Hermione pulls in the later books wouldn't come to pass, because a well-adjusted and reasonable adult would have taken one look at the bullshit Jo made Hermione do and would have told her "okay no, maybe fucking don't". But unfortunately, Jo got rid of her editor during GOF.

#submitted #text post #submission #vivi answers #hermione granger #hermione granger critical #hermione critical #harry potter #jk rowling #ron weasley #anti jk rowling

106 notes · View notes

angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain

A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!

Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.

Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)

Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.

“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”

You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”

The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.

“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.

“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.

“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.

“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.

Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.

“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.

“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”

“And you! Where’s the baby?”

Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”

Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.

He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.

“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”

“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.

Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.

Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.

“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.

“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.

She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.

“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”

“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”

“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”

You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”

In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.

“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.

“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”

You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”

“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”

“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”

“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”

Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.

“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”

If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.

“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”

A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.

“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”

He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.

Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.

“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”

He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.

A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.

“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”

And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.

“Well, lunch?”

Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.

Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.

“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.

Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”

“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”

“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”

“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”

When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…

A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.

“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .

“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”

“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”

Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, course. You?”

“Yeah.”

You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”

“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”

He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”

“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”

You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.

“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”

“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”

The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.

“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”

Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.

You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.

“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.

“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”

A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”

“You’re being arsey with me.”

“Because you said you don’t want kids!”

“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”

“You know I want kids, Tom.”

“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”

“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”

“Tom,” you murmur.

Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.

“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”

“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.

All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.

“Except maybe that.”

You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.

“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”

This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.

“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”

You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.

“Lets just sit, shall we?”

You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.

In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.

The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.

The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.

Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.

“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.

“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”

You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”

“And you. Drive safe.”

“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”

Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.

“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.

“Yeah, and he’s cute.”

“Nice eyes.”

And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.

“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.

“Thanks darlin’.”

You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.

In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.

“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”

You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…

“Really? Y-you mean it?”

His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.

Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.

And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…

#tf #draco malfoy #dracotok #tom felton #tom felton x y/n #tom felton imagine #british toms #felton #tom felton fluff #tom felton angst #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #tom x reader #tom felton x reader #dad tom

394 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

So my finger is actually broken and it made me think about the series where Remus took a stick to the face and Sirius took care of him if you’re willing to do another part to that so I can live vicariously that’d be great

Hey lovely! I’m so sorry for the massive delay on this fic--hopefully, your finger feels better soon <3 Coops and O’Knutzy credit goes to @lumosinlove!

This fic also includes Cap and Logan being brothers, O’Knutzy fluff, and my personal favorite ask of all time:

Anon: We have seen protective Leo in action and he is an absolute badass, but what about the other 2/3 of O’Knutzy. Because gods know they would all protect their fairy gay mother if anyone were to mess with him in the slightest

TW for bruising, swelling, injury

Read the rest of the series here!

“Where is he?” Leo demanded as soon as the door opened. His mother would have been appalled by his lack of manners, but he was too worried to bother with pleasantries. “Is he alright?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Hello to you, too, Knut. Harzy, Lo, how’s it going?”

“Depends,” Finn said. “How’s our favorite rookie doing?”

Logan took a more direct approach and kicked Sirius lightly on the shin. “Move, I want to see my future beau-frère.”

“Are they here?” a rough voice called from the living room.

“Don’t get up, Loops!” Leo shouted down the hall, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Are you feeling okay?”

There was a muffled curse from the other room, followed by footsteps; Leo scowled. “I’m not made of glass,” Remus huffed as he shuffled into the room with an ice pack in his hand.

All three of them hissed in sympathy and Leo felt phantom pain in his nose at the wide bruise across Remus’ cheekbones. “You should go lay down again, dude.”

“You made me soup?”

“You can only have it if you promise to rest.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“Your face looks like someone biked over it.”

“Rude. I’ll call your mother.”

“You don’t have her number.”

Remus shot him a look and turned to the others, who were watching in clear amusement. “Tremzy, a hand?”

“Can’t tell you. I want soup.” Logan ruffled his hair as he walked past; Remus batted him away, but he was smiling. It was even more crooked than usual with the latent swelling, and Leo felt a pang in his chest when he noticed the missing dimples. He looked so…not Loops. “Où sont les casseroles?”

Finn frowned and glanced in the Tupperware. “That’s not casserole, Lo.”

Sirius reached up and pulled a large pot down from the cupboard. “Pots, Harz. You’ve been dating these two for almost a year and you still don’t know French?”

Finn hopped up on the counter. “Keeps things interesting.”

Leo blew him a kiss and received a wink in return, making them both laugh. “Thanks again for bringing this over,” Remus said as Leo turned the stove on and grabbed a wooden spoon.

“Anything for the rookie, right? You look better than last night.”

“Yeah?” Hope lit in Remus’ less-swollen eye; he was still bruised to hell and back, but the puffiness had gone own significantly and a good night’s sleep seemed to have done him good.

“No thanks to the captain,” Finn snorted, swinging his legs until Sirius whacked him on the thigh with a spoon. “I swear to god he was just fucking with us in the groupchat.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “What did you do?”

“I told the truth!” Sirius protested. “I don’t know why they’re all pissy.”

“You were so vague,” Logan groaned. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and scrolled through the texts, then cleared his throat. “Home safe. Re is fine—"

“Get over here—”

“—getting lots of cuddles from Hattie,” Logan continued, ducking out of Sirius’ reach as he read aloud. Leo stepped closer to the stove to let them both run past. “Thanks for the messages. Thanks for the messages? Thanks for the fucking messages?”

“That was pretty vague,” Remus agreed, hiding a smile behind his hand when Sirius finally snatched Logan’s phone away.

“I’m keeping this,” he threatened. “And I sent messages to people who reached out individually with questions, including your boyfriend.”

“Which one?” Logan asked with a smirk.

Sirius shook his head. “Knutty, will you be offended if I kick him out of the house?”

“Eh.” Leo shrugged, still stirring. “He could use some fresh air. Maybe put a bowl of water out with him.”

Logan grabbed a towel and rolled it up, snapping it at Leo’s ass; it connected with a sharp smack and he dodged the second attack by less than an inch. “Hey, cut it out!” Remus laughed. “He’s making me soup!”

“Yeah, Lo, we don’t want to leave the invalid in the hands of Cap’s cooking,” Finn drawled.

Sirius heaved a sigh. “You are all so mean to me.”

“I love you!” Remus said, putting a hand over his heart in mock-offense.

“You don’t trust my cooking either.”

He hesitated for half a second and Sirius spread his hands. “I trust most of your cooking. And all of your baking.”

Leo perked up. “Will you make cookies for us?”

“No.”

“Come on,” he wheedled as bubbles began forming around the edges of the soup. “You know you want to.”

“He made some for the block party two weeks ago,” Remus said with a grin, leaning over to smell the thick steam. “I’m domesticating him.”

“He’s like a feral cat. Once you let him in and feed him, he starts making cookies and never leaves.” Logan slotted himself between Finn’s knees for a cuddle with a devious glance at Sirius.

“I regret knowing you,” Sirius muttered; the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away, and Leo smiled to himself as he pulled a few bowls out of the nearest cabinet. “Soup’s ready?”

“Soup’s ready. Where are we eating?”

“Well, Loops is eating on the couch so he can rest,” Logan said, ignoring Remus’ eye roll.

“I’m fine.” All four of them gave him a skeptical look and he threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Alright, we’ll eat in the living room and pretend I’m on my deathbed. Jesus Christ.”

Leo gave him a playful nudge as he handed him a bowl. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Remus’ face softened and he bumped him back. “This was really sweet of you, Knutty.”

“What was I supposed to do, leave you here alone with only your fiancé and your dog for company?” He looked behind the kitchen island and paused. “Speaking of, where’s my baby?”

“I’ll get her.” Sirius wandered out of the room and they heard the back door open a moment later; after a few seconds of muffled noise, Hattie came barreling into the room in all her long-legged glory. One side of her fur was mussed into bedhead, but Finn dropped down and immediately smoothed it out again as he smothered her with affection.

“Oh, was somebody taking a nap on the deck?” Remus cooed, grabbing a handful of spoons from a drawer.

“I missed you so much!” Finn said, laughing as she licked his face. “So much, precious girl! It’s been too long!”

Hattie wiggled out of his hold and galloped toward Leo—she tripped over her too-big paws and rolled to a stop at his feet with a lolling tongue. “Oh, my munchkin,” he groaned, lifting her into a cradle hold. “Do you think your dads would be sad if I took you home with me?”

“Yes,” Sirius and Remus chorused.

“But I made them soup!” He stuck his lower lip out in a pout and held her closer to his chest. “It’s only fair.”

Logan turned a pleading look on Sirius. “You can’t say no to that face, can you?”

“Someday, you can have a sleepover. For right now, we’re going to eat soup and then make Remus take a nap.”

Leo declined to mention the fact that he had not answered the question and filed that particular information away for later use. For all his bluster and grumbling, Sirius was a softie for puppy eyes of any sort.

They gathered in the living room and carefully balanced their bowls so nobody spilled on the carpet. Remus curled up to make space for Sirius on the couch, while Logan perched on the armrest of Leo’s chair and Finn took the floor; Hattie made the rounds with a roving nose and tried to steal bites wherever possible, to little avail.

“This is really good,” Sirius said after a few minutes of hungry silence, shoving another spoonful of broth in his mouth. “Mon dieu, what is this?”

“Italian wedding soup,” Leo said, breaking a meatball in half. “Mom’s recipe.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re not Italian.”

“Not even a little.”

“You guys are the best, by the way,” Remus said. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“We would’ve beat the rookie up if you asked,” Finn informed him with a casual bite of soup. “Say the word, it’s done.”

Remus shook his head. “It was an accident. He tripped, I came up too fast, and it snowballed from there. Kid’s lucky he didn’t get a skate to the face when we fell.”

Logan blinked at him for a second. “You’ve seen your face recently, right?”

“No, actually, it’s a bit difficult to see my own face,” Remus said drily. “I’m sure it looks worse than it feels.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, but made no comment. Leo wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know that story or not; seeing Loops in any amount of pain was hard enough. “Kind of ironic, right?” he said instead. “After all that time spent fixing us, you’re the one we get to take care of.”

Remus snorted. “How the turntables. Hestia did all the heavy lifting.”

“That Tupperware was heavy.”

“Do you want to tape me back together next time?”

“Don’t try me, Loops, I’ll do it and give you a moustache.”

They bickered and teased for the next half hour, long after their bowls were empty and Hattie laid down with a dramatic huff after her unsuccessful quest. Finally, Remus dozed off on Sirius’ shoulder, which they took as their cue to leave.

“Thank you again, guys,” Sirius said as they pulled their coats on. “This really meant a lot to both of us.”

“No problem,” Finn said with a shrug. “We were worried, and bringing over a little soup was easy.”

“It was good to talk to you both outside of practice,” Logan added, giving him a one-armed hug. “Keep us updated?”

“Bien sûr.”

“See you around, Capsicle.” Leo mock-saluted and Sirius laughed under his breath. “Take care of our rookie.”

“Will do, Knutty.”

Leo maneuvered his container around his seatbelt as Finn turned the car on, trying not to lose another lid down the crack between the console. “I’m glad we did that,” he said after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

“Me, too. Loops still looked pretty rough, though,” Logan said quietly.

The side of Finn’s mouth turned down a tick. “Next time we play the Ravens, that rookie is getting checked like he’s never been checked before.”

Leo’s back cracked as he stretched his arms over his head. “Oh, yeah, Kasey and I already have a plan. That kid is never even going to see the net.”

200 notes · View notes

rosiehunterwolf · 3 years

Note

Happy 100 followers^^

Prompt: Redemption

It can be anything, but I'm really hoping for cousin!Morro.

Tysm! This one was very interesting to write, but I enjoyed it!

on the edge of nowhere

Summary: You can only save those who want to be saved.

As Morro is trapped in the clutches of the Preeminent, being pulled towards a watery fate, his old Sensei offers a hand.

Morro takes it.

But if there’s one thing that he’s learned throughout his life, it's that the path towards redemption is never a straight line.

You can only save those who want to be saved.

Morro knew he didn’t deserve to be saved.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be.

Now, staring out over the mountain, sitting on the edge of the charred remains of his home- uh, Wu’s old monastery- he wondered if taking Sensei’s hand had been the right decision after all.

It wasn’t like he belonged here. What he had done to Lloyd had been awful, he knew- and he was totally not feeling guilty about that at all, the punk deserved it for stealing everything from him- but the point was that Wu’s precious ninja didn’t want him around after he had hurt their beloved leader. He knew Wu would make them accommodate him if he requested to stay, but… Morro didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be Wu’s little pet.

There had been a time when Morro had thought of his sensei like a father.

Not anymore.

There was a distant roar and a flapping of wings. Morro sighed, putting his head in his hands. You’d think that possessing someone and scarring them for life would make them stay as far away from you as possible.

Unfortunately, Lloyd Garmadon was no normal person.

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” the kid said, walking up behind him. Morro noticed how he stopped a few feet away, sticking his hands in his pockets and gazing out towards the horizon, refusing to look at Morro directly.

Not that he blamed him.

“What are you going to do next?” Lloyd asked suddenly. “You can’t stay here forever. This place is in ruins.”

Morro shot him a glare. “If you’re suggesting that I come live with you guys, you can forget it.”

Lloyd looked at him for the first time. “Why would I suggest that? Have you forgotten the last several weeks?”

“You’re the one forgetting. Why you would even get within a mile of me, I have no idea.”

Lloyd’s jaw set. “I’m not scared of you, Morro.”

He snorted. “No, you’re not. I’ll give you that, at least. You may be weak and pathetic, but you’ve got guts.”

“Oh gee, thanks.”

Morro sighed. “Enough with the small talk. What are you doing here, Lloyd?”

“Sensei wanted me to give you this.”

Morro glanced over at him and sucked in his breath. Lloyd was holding out a red kite, embroidered in gold with the face of a dragon. Gingerly, he took it, running his hands across the fabric slowly. It was old and worn, but in surprisingly good condition, without a single bend or tear. It looked as if someone had preserved it.

“Old man actually kept it,” he murmured to himself. Guess he’s more sentimental than he lets on.

Lloyd shot him a look, and Morro froze. “I mean, old man, as in he’s old! Not like, a dad way or anything, that would be weird, he’s not my dad, that would make you like my cousin-” he stopped at the look on Lloyd’s face. “Yeah, I’ll just shut up now.”

Lloyd’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t you ever call me your cousin again.”

“I wasn’t! All I said is that you weren’t my cousin!” “You said it again!” “Oh, so now I’m not even allowed to say cou-”

“Stop!” Morro shot him a toothy grin. “So that annoys you, huh, cousin? Maybe I don’t actually hate it as much as I thought, cousin-”

“Stoppit!” Lloyd slapped his hands over his ears. “I thought you hated me! Do you really want to be part of this wack family?”

“No way,” Morro groaned. “Related to you? I would die.”

“But you’re already-”

“Shut up. I would find a way to die again, because I hate you that much. Besides,” he laughed softly, “We all know I could never be a part of your little group, anyway. You all hate my guts now.”

Lloyd frowned. “Morro-”

“Are you kidding? Do you really soften up at the first sign of a sob story from your enemy? You really are pathetic.”

“We get it. You hate me.”

“The feeling’s mutual, bud. Everyone hates me. I don’t belong with you guys. My mistakes are irredeemable.” Lloyd opened his mouth to reply, but Morro waved a hand at him. “I’m not asking for your sympathy! I’m just… talking. Maybe it will resolve some of those anger issues Sensei always said I had.”

“Morro… you messed up. But you’ve been granted a second chance at life. That’s more than most will ever get. You should be grateful. Don’t waste it.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re right. And I’m not going to get any use out of it here. My place isn’t with Sensei anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

Morro shrugged, standing up. “I dunno. But I need to carve my own path now.”

“Okay, well.” Lloyd looked down at his feet. “Bye.”

Morro grinned at him. “I don’t know how you’ll ever live without me. But uh… yeah. Tell Sensei…” Morro glanced down at the kite, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Um. Tell him I’m not coming back.”

“You’re sure that’s what you wanted to say?”

Ugh, this kid’s habit of meddling in his issues was starting to get on his nerves. “Positive. So, um… I’ll go now.” Eager to end the conversation, Morro turned and began walking down the hill.

“Wait!” He turned, sighing insufferably. “What now?”

“Um.” Lloyd twisted his hands together. “I just wanted to say- no one is irredeemable.”

Morro looked at him. Really, truly looked at him since the first time they had met.

“Fate chose you well.” He swallowed. “Green ninja.”

Lloyd blinked at him, looking taken aback. Before he could come up with some sappy response, Morro turned and began the long descent down the mountain.

He was done with prophecies, done with elemental powers, done with senseis.

It was time to choose his own destiny.

94 notes · View notes

awanderingdeal · 3 years

Text

An unfair race

I finally finished this! This fic is kind of a follow on to Endless Nights. Note: That fic is rated M and contains some sexual content, but you do not need to read it for this to make sense. I wanted to combine Finn talking with Heather, and an aspect of the discussion after that fic, where we talked about athletes in particular using exercise as a coping mechanism, and how this can sometimes turn unhealthy.

Some content warnings for this one: over exercise (if you'd like to skip the explicit description of this, skip to after the first stars, although there are a couple of mentions throughout), food mentions, self-depreciation and mentions of coming out/being outed.

Rating: T

If you feel I missed any content warnings or need to change the rating, please drop me a message!

The characters in this fic are from the sweater weather universe and belong to @lumosinlove

Finn’s entire body ached as his feet pounded against the path once more. His form was sloppy now, shoulders too hunched over and his strides falling without any real control. He forced himself onwards, breaths coming in fast pants, the straining muscles of his quads screaming desperately for more oxygen. And yet, his brain still whirred, obnoxiously loud thoughts pushing their way back to the forefront each time Finn managed to grasp a few blissful quiet seconds. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d passed the statue of the girl and her ducks, the smile on her face that he normally found so comforting becoming more and more irritating with each meeting. As he came to the gates of the park, Finn contemplated going home, but even just the reduced speed had brought the taunting thoughts back with a vengeance. One more go.

***

"H, has her jacket on. Has everybody got their game faces ready, boys?" It had been at least 30 minutes since James had made the joke as they all tumbled from the locker room, yet the sound of bright laughter still rang in Finn's ears.

He watched as Heather tugged her suit jacket more tightly around her, their eyes meeting for the third time in short succession. Fuck. Finn pushed his tongue against his mouthguard, sinking his teeth into the hard plastic. Later, self-inflicted as the need would be, he would complain about the new one he’d have moulded, each guard always feeling slightly different. For now, the rhythmic clench of his jaw was soothing.

Finn forced a breath through his nose, trying not to react too visibly as Heather dipped her head once more to add another scribbled note to the small, black book she carried everywhere. He forced himself to look away, knowing his constant glances were giving away his unease. Whilst Heather didn’t come to every training session, not even most, it wasn’t that uncommon to see her hovering around the edges of the ice, and ordinarily, only the very newest of the team paid any attention to her beyond an initial greeting.

“Earth to O’Hara!”

Finn held up his hand in apology, shaking himself back to the training session. Kasey’s eyes bored into him. It wasn't his usual intense stare, but something more concerned and Finn waited for the inevitable question. After a long few seconds, Kasey's eyes dropped to the puck, passing it back to Finn to take another shot.

The numbers on the clock inched forwards, slow and heavy like the sweet sticky molasses Leo was so fond of. Still, when Coach finally dismissed them for the day, Finn found himself wanting to take another lap. If he could get his thighs to burn enough then his head would race a little less, and it wouldn’t be too suspicious; Finn’s record of being last on the ice was surpassed only by Sirius. Before Finn could really consider it, Leo was next to him, knocking their shoulders together.

“Hey,” Leo cocked his head slightly, hair ruffled from the mask he’d recently pulled off and his pale skin glistening with sweat. He looked as beautiful as ever. Illogical as it was, it somehow made the dull ache in Finn's chest worse. "Everything good?"

"Yeah," Finn tried for a smile. "Busy brain today, that's all." There was no point brushing the question off completely; Leo was scarily observant. He and Logan often joked that he had eyes in the back of his head. Finn had no doubt he had caught the many pucks he had missed over the last hour.

"That sucks," Leo said, scepticism leaking into his voice. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Finn followed his glance behind them to where Logan was tussling with Jackson, loud rumblings of French intertwined with their laughter. "Or Lo, perhaps?"

"I like it when he looks like that,” Finn sighed.

"Mmm, me too” Leo hummed, his features softening. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that change of subject though, Sir. You don’t have to talk to me about it, but please don’t bottle it all."

Finn slumped into his stall, smiling as Leo lifted his hand to press a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Baby,” Leo started, his next word morphing into a stunted exhalation of air. His eyes closed briefly, his shoulders squaring before he relaxed them. He opened his mouth again, the sentence uttered clearly not what he’d originally planned on saying. "I'm going to take my padding off and head to see Lars. I think Loops is sticking around so I can get a ride with him if you two want to go home?"

Finn thought back to the quiet look of concern on Logan's face after he'd got home from his run the previous evening, and to the creased lines of worry at the corners of Leo's eyes earlier. "I think I might go and see Heather," he shrugged.

"Thank God," Logan appeared, wrapping his arms around Finn's waist. "Your runs were getting ridiculous."

"You didn't say anything?" Finn turned in Logan's arms, to rest his chin on top of his head.

"We were going to give you one more day. Leo wanted to speak to you this evening, only I had faith.”

"Oh, fuck off," Leo laughed. "You were just avoiding the conversation."

“I’m offended that you would even suggest that,” Logan burrowed into Finn’s chest. The sweat soaked gear they wore didn’t smell great, but neither of them seemed to care.

Moody huffed as he veered around them, his arms filled with tape. “No canoodling in the locker room.”

***

“As lovely as this chat has been Finn, if you really did just come in to catch up then I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ve got a couple of sessions this afternoon, and a mound of paperwork to complete,” Heather shifted in the forest green bucket chair. They were new since Finn had last been in here, replacing an ugly leather thing that Heather had always complained was too stereotypical. She’d removed her jacket now that she was back in her heated office, the item hung on the back of the door where it rightfully belonged.

Finn, freshly showered and changed, sat cross legged in the chair opposite. He reached forward to grab more pretzel sticks from the bowl on the table between them, puckering his lips as his tongue protested another injection of salt. “You know there is something I could do with your opinion on.”

Despite the reaction being minute, Finn saw the tiny upwards quirk of Heather’s lips. “Go on,” she encouraged.

“It’s dumb,” Finn muttered, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair.

“Thoughts don’t have moral value Finn, it’s what we do with that’s important.” Heather pulled a handful of tissues from a box on the table, holding them out. “Tap away, but please spare the upholstery.”

“Sorry,” Finn grimaced, cleaning his hands of the salty residue.

“No need to apologise, I’m just still a bit precious about the new furniture.” Heather smiled. “Why do you think your issue is dumb?”

“It’s -” Finn tugged at his sleeve. “I can just never be happy with what I’ve got can I? I spent 8 years saying that if Logan could just love me back then I’d never complain again. And now I’ve got Logan and Leo and I’m still not happy.”

“What’s making you unhappy?

Finn breathed in deeply, scrunching his eyes shut. He’d spent weeks stuffing the pain into the tiniest box he could in his brain, and now here Heather was asking him to just - talk about it?

“Finn, look at me?” Finn did as he was asked, lifting his head to find Heather’s kind eyes. “I’m going to reiterate something I’ve said before. You can say anything you want here. It doesn’t matter if it’s selfish or unkind or if you think it’s stupid. Unless I think you’re a danger to yourself or anybody else, then nobody is going to hear about it.”

Finn bit his lip, wiggling his toes beneath his legs. “I get jealous,” he rushed out. “I get jealous of Cap and Loops and Potts and Lily and all those other couples who just get to hug and kiss and tell the cameras how stupidly in love they are.” He paused, the panic of having told somebody matching the relief, but now the words had started tumbling out he couldn’t stop. “I get so angry about it. Sometimes, for the tiniest second, I hate them. All of them.” he whispered, barely able to admit it. “And then I just feel worse. Because I love them too and it’s not their fault. Cap and Loops didn’t even get a choice in the matter. How messed up is it to be jealous of somebody that got outed?”

“Emotions are complex. It is possible for you to have sympathy for Sirius and Remus, whilst still feeling jealous that they now can be more open about their relationship.”

'I don't like it," Finn huffed. The sentence had come out mimicking a toddler having a tantrum. Finn wanted to act like one too, to throw himself on the floor and scream.

“Have you spoken to Leo or Logan about it?”

“No,” Finn frowned. “It would just make them sad and I don’t want them to pressure them. I don’t want them to know I think such horrible things.”

“Okay,” Heather nodded. “Imagine one of them came to you and told you everything you’d just told me. What would you say to them?”

“Wait.” A distressed noise fell from Finn’s lips. “Do they talk to you about this too? Both of them make a comment here or there, but we talked about it not long ago and we agreed that we weren’t ready.”

“Finn, you know I can’t tell you about what I discuss with Leo or Logan.”

“It was worth a shot,” Finn shrugged.

“So, what would you say?”

“I’d say they are entitled to be jealous. I'd say it’s not fair we don’t get to do everything the others do just because the world is homophobic and close minded and can’t imagine the three of us could love each other exactly the same as every other more traditional couple. I’d say that I know they don’t hate Cap or Loops or Potts or Lily, they hate the situation and that’s completely understandable. It fucking sucks and they can be angry about it." Finn drew in a hulking breath, Heather's outline a little blurred through his wet eyes. Each word had sent an aching pain through his body, similar to when he ran, only now he felt like was chasing something cathartic rather than running away.

"Earlier you said what you had to tell me was dumb," Heather said. "Can you explain why you think that it's dumb for you to feel that way, horrible even, but if it were Leo or Logan their feelings are valid."

"Maybe it's not dumb," Finn looked down at his hands, tracing over the freckles there. "But that doesn't change the fact I don't like having those thoughts. Especially when I don't want to act on them. I’m okay with waiting to tell people about us, if we ever do. They're not ready. I'm not ready."

"That’s something we can work on. Helping you to reframe those thoughts, I mean.” Heather slipped her notebook from where it had been tucked beside her and made a note. Finn leaned his elbow on his leg, tucking his chin onto his fist, trying to make his attempts to see the page surreptitious. Capping her pen, she gave a small chuckle, “I’m just leaving myself a reminder of what we’ve discussed. You can always ask what I’m writing, I’m not trying to keep secrets from you.”

Finn sat back, the book no longer quite so interesting now that it wasn’t forbidden. “So? That’s it?”

Heather hummed. “For today. I think you’ve got a lot to think about already. I’ll schedule some more sessions with you over the next few days, okay? It’ll give me a chance to get some new pretzels.”

"Thanks," Finn laughed, then gestured at the empty bowl. "For the pretzels. And the talk."

“That’s what I’m here for,” Heather said. “I’m just going to ask one thing of you before I see you next. Please try to keep your evening runs to a reason-”

“Who snitched?”

“There was no snitching, as you call it. We’ve just known each other for a while now, Finn. And as an employee of the Lions whose job it is to make sure you’re at top playing ability, I don’t want you to injure yourself. As your psychologist, I want you to have healthy coping mechanisms and exercising to that extent is not healthy.”

“I know,” Finn unfolded his legs, stretching them out. They’d gone stiff after being sat on for so long, the sensation coming back with an uncomfortable tingle. “I’ll try to keep the runs in check, promise.” His gaze fell on the closed door, steeling himself to leave. He stood, sending Heather one last smile. It was safe in here, but his boys were out there.

“See you soon, Finn.”

Stepping out of the office, Finn closed his eyes, giving himself a second to compose himself. A rustle of movement to his left caught his attention, startling a little at the sight of Leo and Logan. They sat on the floor, Leo’s hand resting on Logan’s knee where they were hunched to his chest.

“Sorry,” Leo scrambled to his feet, his arm outstretched to let Logan pull himself upright too. “We didn’t want to wait too far away. In case, well, I don’t know, you needed us.”

Finn joined them, immediately finding Logan attached to his side, his familiar warmth exactly what he wanted right now. “I’m okay,” he assured. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it with you guys just yet. I need a bit of time to process, but just you being here makes things better. I’m going to see Heather a bit more too.”

“Proud of you.” Leo flanked him on the other side, taking his hand. Finn didn’t get to be in the middle often, Logan usually claiming the spot, and he felt like he had a kind of shield. “We just want you to be happy. And safe.”

“Can we go home, please?”

“Ouais, home,” Logan agreed.

#finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #heather #sweater weather #coast to coast #lumosinlove #rating: t #cw: overexercising #cw: food #cw: self-depreciation #cw: coming out #cw:outing

72 notes · View notes