#as someone who cannot fathom having that amount of faith in anything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

siennahrobek · 3 years

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Obi-Wan could smell it before he even thought of lowering his shields enough to feel it. It is the tangy and coppery smell of blood. The Temple is drenched in it and even though it no longer flows, he can nearly see it flowing down the columns and steps, once beautiful and magnificent. Once home. There is fire and blood, smoke that fills his lungs until he feels he can no longer breathe.

There are corpses everywhere he turns, he cannot escape the sight. The clones had not done anything with the bodies, they had just shot elderly, sick, teachers, children and younglings, in the back and moved on to shoot another and another and another. His stomach was rolling in continuous waves and his feelings are nothing but nauseous.

He has seen many battles, many fields strewn with bodies of both the enemy and the innocent. Has seen his own men across these fields, fighting to protect those who cared very little for them. Fighting and dying in defense of the innocence on the planet they happened to be on, shielding them from mortars and blaster fire. Countless shot, blasted, crushed, ripped apart, fallen. There are few horrors he has not seen and witnessed.

But it has been many years since he last witnessed a place so soaked with the demise of so many children. But this time, this time, there is no one left to keep on.

Obi-Wan is drifting. Drifting through the halls, an aimless and futile search for survivors. The clones are good at what they do, battle and war. They carry their orders well. They do not leave survivors. They never left a single droid unbroken and operational on the countless battles he has fought alongside them with. He does not understand. He thinks he never will.

It does not escape his eye, however, that some bodies did not sport the death wounds of blaster shots. Many had been beheaded or relieved of any number of limbs. The cauterized wounds a lightsaber makes.

Someone led the troopers into the Temple, someone they trust and someone the younglings thought they could trust.

A jedi.

There was yet, another traitor.

Obi-Wan travels deeper and deeper, letting his feelings guide him. There is nothing left, he finds, only the feelings of horror and betrayal lingering. The oppressing cold of the dark side. It screamed at him, a mournful wail. Perhaps it is suitable, he thinks, if he died here, if he wandered so deep, became so lost, he could not return. The thought it almost appealing, he thinks, because this must be what his destiny is. Something so lonely and terrible that only he would survive it, because, in the end, for some reason he cannot fathom, he is the one who continues to stand, continues to survive. He is nearly to his knees, leaning against a cold stone wall when he hears it and in the beginning, he is not entirely sure that it is not his brain playing tricks upon him. Because if the sound is true and real, nothing would be the same. A hushed sound brings him back to his senses and he reaches out, hesitantly, carefully. Something reaches back. That sound changes his life.

There are survivors. A gaggle of children huddling behind a clone with askew armor and a lightning scar over his head. A tiny horned head pops over the top of it, little hands gripping the armor and eyes wide with curiosity. The clone went to cover it but upon the younglings cry of joy at the sight of the jedi master, his shoulders roll and with the motion, so does the tension. He somehow expects a battle, an enemy. Obi-Wan can relate.

Firework, the trooper supplies. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize him and the clone barely knows who Obi-Wan is either. As the younglings cry and try to grab hold of the jedi they know, Firework spill out. He does not understand what is happening. He knows about as much as Obi-Wan does. He does not understand why his brother have done something so awful, so cruel, so out of character.

He thinks something must be wrong. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he can think about it right now, so he does not. He just stares at what is left, down at the bodies that are wriggling to get close to his presence, as if he can offer them some amount of safety. He is uncertain what he is able to offer. Out of ten thousand, it is not much, but it is something. It is everything.

It is hope.

He leads them to the communications and information hub for answers, for something else. He contacts Bail Organa on the way, his only known ally, and requests for a bigger ship. They have more cargo to smuggle now. The senator seemed relieved at the prospect. Firewok glances at him, cautiously. He doesn’t know who to trust, especially when it comes to the government, to the senate. Obi-Wan can relate.

He relays a message to any surviving jedi to not return to the Temple.

The darkness and tyranny has risen, the Republic, fallen.

That time is gone and passed. A future that is uncertain, no longer safe.

There will be challenges, trust, faith, friendships.

There will be a new hope, he assures.

He really does not know who he is trying to convince. The children listen, quiet and attentive but once he is done, all of the questions bombard him. What is happening Master Kenobi? Where will we go? Why are our loved ones dead? Why are our loved ones killing us?

He does not have the answers for them.

Instead, he directs Firework to lead the children out of the Temple, sneakily and quietly and away, as Bail’s awaiting ship approaches to take them far from this place. He tells him there is something, one other thing, he must do, and he will catch up for certain. There are security tapes near everywhere and he has accessed them. He must know.

“It will only bring you pain,” a voice, a little Tholothian youngling, declares, her voice mournful and sympathetic, but it is too late. The recording plays and his heart twists, his chest lumps together and he can no longer breathe. Because, of course, he knows that face. He knows that face, but he does not recognize those eyes. Those yellow eyes.

Anakin.

He doesn’t refute it. Not with a youngling around. Not when she witnessed the horror. Who is he to question her trauma, just because he does not want to believe it? Perhaps, if she had not been there, he would have muttered denials. Because it seemed impossible. Anakin was capable of a great many things, but he never would have thought that he would slaughter children. Not this.

He doesn’t say anything else on the matter. He just stares as his beloved apprentice, his beloved brother, kneels at the feet of a Sith Lord, declaring himself and pledging himself to the Master. Anakin was always so concerned about becoming a slave to anything, Obi-Wan supposed the young one hadn’t realized he had just walked into it willingly. “You must go with the others,” he says instead, his voice cracking and somehow, it has become hoarse. Unusual, considering he has not been screaming or crying or even talking that much as of late.

“You must come with me,” she replies instead.

“There is someone I must warn,” he counters, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can catch up. Somehow, he knows who he must warn but he wants nothing to do with it, not really. She will not believe him.

“You can call her,” she adds, patiently. He wonders if she knows who he is thinking of. She almost acts as though she does and perhaps it is true. They had never been one for subtly. Anyone could know rather easily. “There is no one else we can trust. Please.”

He nods but his mind is full. How can he not? “I apologize for my inadequate behavior,” he says in express regret, tone quiet and subdued. She takes his hand, curling her fingers around his larger one, and starts to lead him away from the recording, playing on a loop. It will stop automatically in a few minutes; he realizes but he cannot summon the strength to turn it off. He can hear a few sounds, but little else from it. “I do not know what I am thinking.”

“It is okay,” she assures, squeezing his hand, gently. The touch grounds him, brings him back to the present. He is tired, he knows, but not enough to cease action, not enough to stop moving forward. “But you survived. You are everyone’s best hope to survive too,” she points out, shuffling closer to his side. “Our only hope. Help us.”

“I have survived,” he agrees, although his voice is rather bland. He isn’t sure exactly what she is saying he has survived. It could be any number of things. Conflict, war, pain, death. He still wonders why him, out of all people, all beings, that keeps surviving these things. But then again, he does know, doesn’t he?

Infinite sadness, a nonexistent wind whispers.

Right, he thinks. He hadn’t lost everything yet. He has not yet become a near powerless, lonely old man in the desert.

Life had more to take.

Firework had been on the verge of absolute panic upon discovering the youngling’s absence when they got to the docked ship. All of them were aboard and he appeared ready to dive back into the horror scene that was once their home. Obi-Wan nearly could swear the clone nearly fainted in his relieved sigh when he saw the two of them, hand in hand, approach the ship. Bail had a rather large air craft waiting for them to rendezvous with. No one knew what would happen know and they looked to Obi-Wan for answers.

How could he tell them that he didn’t have any? Not one?

Obi-Wan, after getting the children to sleep, called Padme. It isn’t a pleasant conversation, and it drags out, no matter how many times he tries to excuse himself. She has questions. And once again, he does not have answers. He warns her of Anakin, of what he has done and what he could do. She does not believe him. But there is something there that she does know, he just can’t read it through the call. He lacks surprise at her disbelief, she is even more blind to Anakin’s faults than he is, apparently.

But Obi-Wan knows the truth. He just cannot convince her of it. He suggests she get help, a lot and fast, if she wants to survive her pregnancy – the jedi cannot help her now. This she is surprised by although Obi-Wan doesn’t know which part. Is she surprised that he knows about her pregnancy, or did she not believe the jedi would have helped her? It does very little to matter.

They are gone.

He musters all his sympathy.

But everything falls away when a little mirialan youngling comes to him for comfort. The child is scared and unsure and does not want to frighten anyone else with his own fear. He wants to be strong for them, to help Obi-Wan and Firework in what way he can. He tells Obi-Wan this, staring up at him with dark eyes, green skin flush but determined and steadfast. Obi-Wan just stares, his eyes and gaze softening; everything about him tempering. Because at this point, he has no lost everything, not as of yet. He still has something to hold onto, something to live for, to love and cherish and protect. And he will, the jedi vows.

Obi-Wan’s resolve strengthens to near nothing he has felt before. It is invigorating somehow. His arms lose the ache of use to hold the child to his chest with warmth coursing through the surface of his skin. His heart intensifies, beating in time with the youngling’s own. He feels it, so does the child. They stare. The soreness in his legs cease significantly, as the will to lift him up continues to rise. He no longer feels the need to collapse, his legs no longer feel like they will collapse underneath him, unable to support his weight. Because now, he can support the weight of them all. He will continue

He will continue until he has nothing left. Until his bones crack and shatter, until he can physically no longer stand or sit or go gone. Until his heart gives out and his mind can take no more. Until he can no longer see with his eyes, see with his senses, see at all. Until he can no longer smell or taste or touch. Until he can no longer sense, danger, the force, the love and care that they have for him, and he has for them. Until his memory is long gone, and he cannot remember even how to breathe. Until he can no longer teach and protect and love. And then he will continue, beyond, still.

None of it mattered because he will continue, always, consistently, never with falter. There will be no giving up. If only for them. His love is not finite, and they will know it, he vows.

Somehow, someway, they end up in the medical facilities on Polis Massa as if they are meant to be there. Perhaps it was the senator’s droids that contact them, maybe it was the will of the force guiding them, perhaps it was even just plain coincidence. He does not know. But standing over her, surrounded by jedi survivors, jedi children, trying to keep her from dying, while holding her two bundles of light, he does not remember how they got here. And of course, as it all comes to be, he does not care much either.

They are beautiful.

And his jedi children, his strong and incredible jedi survivors, were trying so hard to keep Padme alive. They pull and pull, no matter how much she tries to withdraw. Obi-Wan does not know what she saw or what happened when she went after Anakin and confronted him, in any capacity. He cannot imagine that it had been good or productive, especially considering the state she is in and her lover’s absence. But she could not be so selfish to give up her life because of him, because of one man that gave up everything else in hatred and power, not when she had two innocent babies that needed her. He would not let her. She may not have cared for the genocide and murder of his people and his children, but Luke and Leia are two that are hers.

In the end, they do keep her alive but do not know when she will awaken. The doctors say she is exhausted and weak and needs a lot of time to regain her strength, if she is even capable of it at all. Obi-Wan nearly wonders why, a little, because how can she be so exhausted and weak, so ready to give up when she knows, when she knows that she has children depending on her. But, in the end, he supposes, it does not matter. What is done is done.

He gathers up his gaggle of younglings in his arms and praises them for their good work. He tells them how good jedi they are, and he is infinitely proud. He will always be infinitely proud. They beam and love and he just wants to bask in their light forever. After everything they had been through, the intense horror of their people’s genocide, they are still so light, so strong and so remarkable.

They are amazing.

Bail himself eventually makes his way to them soon after. From then on, it is just them who does most of the planning. Bail seems to be the Jedi’s nearly only ally as of currently, at this point. The war had done a number on them, the propaganda, even more so. But it is the new emperor’s statements and rise that really seals the jedi’s fate once and for all, at least, for now. They believe him, somehow. They all believe that the jedi are traitors, that they are evil, power hungry monsters. That their children deserved to be slaughtered in their beds. Never before has Obi-Wan wanted to truly commit to a move of sai tok on a person.

Ideas are bounced off between the two of them, as they search, as they plan. One thing is for sure – the Empire cannot continue to stand. They talk about what is next for them, for Obi-Wan and the younglings. Bail offers to take Padme, to their healers and doctors so she can rest and heal. For now, he can hide her away until she awakens and can make a choice on what she would like to do next. He offers to take Luke and Leia to raise as their own until Padme can do it herself and Obi-Wan hesitates.

It is not that he does not trust Bail, he thinks, especially after this, Bail is one of the few that he continues to trust, continues to in a galaxy where everything and everyone is against him and his people. He has no doubt that Bail and his beautiful wife would do a magnificent job raising children, even ones such as them. He knows Bail well and he has come to know Breha as well. They are quite wonderful people that he will continue to care for. But Luke and Leia are highly force sensitive. One could be hidden perhaps, quite easily even, but the two of them were bound to feed off one another’s emotions as they grew, eventually. They are twin suns.

In the end, somehow, he relents. They negotiate and compromise and once more, perhaps it helps that Bail can and is willing to hide all of them away. It helps that he is willing to hide them in the mysterious and remote mountains of his home planet, a place to treacherous to travel, it would be likely that only a jedi could really find passage. It may be right under the emperor’s nose but Obi-Wan has a feeling that this can work.

He is right.

It helps that Bail makes it clear that he will continue to help them.

They leave the medical facility quickly, in fear of who may chase after them, but their talks continue. He plans to start work in the senate, in the government, in the galaxy, immediately. He, Padme, and several others had already started a movement before this had happened, that could be turned into something of a rebellion. It would be slow coming, but it will come.

Bail nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Firework when he and Obi-Wan go into the ship with the younglings. He was nearly killed by clones when he had stopped at the Temple the first time, in the midst of the genocide. He was saved by a padawan. But after a conversation, it is agreed – there is something horribly wrong with the clones. No one is certain that what has happened to them is their fault. Bail promises them, he promises Firework, holding his hand to secure his words and his vow, to look into the issue. Perhaps kidnap a few to test and understand what can compel them to turn on the jedi. A few out of millions would hardly be amiss, Bail says. Little does Obi-Wan know at that point, Bail is already scheming to steal the 212th Attack Battalion back for him.

Breha is as kind and beautiful and strong and amazing as always. She is more determined and steadfast as ever in her support of Obi-Wan and his people and somehow, someway, has already started searches out for any surviving Jedi, to find them and bring them to their new home. He presents her the twins of Luke and Leia, and she tries not to fall in love with them immediately. She probably does not succeed, as Obi-Wan had not succeeded either.

She promises to do all the things Obi-Wan recommends when it comes to rearing the children so sensitive to the Force and tells him he can visit whenever he wants or needs. She even tells him she will bring him to their new home and place when he would request. She is willing to do virtually anything for the betterment of these children, Obi-Wan realizes and even questions about keeping them together and not with others of their kind. He offers her a few reading materials and some tips. She gives him the most secure comm link that is around for the two of them.

The trip to their mountain hideout is as treacherous and dangerous as Bail had warned him, but in the end, being a jedi was nearly the only way to get there without getting themselves killed. And Obi-Wan was right, it was the perfect place to hide away from the Empire. Alderaan itself might be close and suspicious in the Empire’s purview but not only was this place, carved deep into a mountain so remote and difficult to find, it hid them away, physically and spiritually.

It would need some cleaning up, but it was mostly untouched for however long it had been since the ancients had left it or died out. It was beautiful and although everyone is a little hesitant, he thinks and they think, they can somehow, someway, eventually call it home.

They stand in the grand fall after the third entrance, where the walls swallow and the ceiling reach high up, held together by study columns. They are all holding one another. The littlest ones in the adult’s arms and tucked against their chests, the others holding hands tightly, as if they release one another, they will disappear forever.

And then, it is just a lone jedi master, a single clone, and a gaggle of children.

And until the Empire was dead and gone, until the people in power no longer thought of his people as traitors, monsters, and evil ones, they are forced to run and hide.

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labyrithian · 5 years

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About Hikaru no Go

I’ve been rewatching this series and the usual feelings and thoughts came to mind whenever I get to episode 47. When Sai becomes upset that Hikaru isn’t letting him play much anymore. I try to resist looking at the comment section, because I know what I’m going to see.

Everyone always talks about how they feel so bad for Sai, that Hikaru is being selfish. I'd beg to differ, it's Sai who is being selfish and jealous. He's angry that, as a ghost, he can't participate in life like Hikaru can, and he's taking it out on Hikaru by letting his bitterness show during their interactions. Instead of talking to Hikaru about his concerns, he's very abrupt and rude with Hikaru (Not responding to him, simply giving angry looks and telling him to do things). Hikaru may be a bit thoughtless with his words sometimes, but he is a young boy. Sai is an adult who has technically lived through 2 lifetimes already, he should know better. Also, lets not forget that this is Hikaru's life and career we are talking about, not Sai's. Sai is dead, but, as a ghost, he's not ready to accept it. It's not an easy situation. This is Hikaru's life, not Sai's. It's sad for Sai, but his life ended a long time ago (and by his own hand). Sai is a ghost, and, like most depictions of ghosts, he is envious of the life that Hikaru has. In the end, I think it's really unfair and selfish that he took such an important part of Hikaru's career from him (A fact even Sai himself admits). I get that everyone loves Sai, but you shouldn't look at this situation in such a one-sided way.

Sai is going through something very difficult here, he's realizing that he is a ghost. His life is over and he's no longer part of the living world. He may have realized this earlier if Torajiro had protested his taking over his life as a Go player (It seems to be he either wasn't as interested in Go as Hikaru is. Or maybe he just let himself be bullied by Sai, which is implied to be the case by Sai in episode 49 . Again, very selfish). This is hard for him, and I feel very sorry for him. But that's no excuse for him to become angry at Hikaru simply for living his life. Hikaru has every right to be excited about life and proud of his accomplishments. I'd bet, had a ghost possessed Sai as a child, he would react in exactly the same way as Hikaru has. Maybe even worse, Sai seems like he loves Go too much to have allowed some spirit to play through him.

Some argue that Hikaru is ungrateful. Let me put it this way, how often do parents call their children ungrateful? Adults nurture and care for children everyday, teach them what they need to know in life. But, once that's over, a child will always leave in order to start their own lives. Some parents resent this, some think of their children as a new chance to live out their own dreams. That is how I see Sai. In his sadness over losing his game and being banished, he chose to end his own life, ending his own ability to continue to play the game he loves so much. He can’t play anymore, so he uses the people he possesses to play for him. Like that overbearing parent who forces their kid to play sports or pursue ballet because they themselves suffered an injury and can’t do it anymore. Hikaru may love Go now, but Sai made it clear in the beginning that he wanted Hkaru to play regardless of his own interest.

He may love and feel very proud of Hikaru, but it’s partially because he is LITERALLY living through him. A parents job is to teach and guide their children, not live through him. Sai may not be Hikaru’s father, but he’s a very parental figure to Hikaru as I see it. Especially given that we never truly see Hikaru’s father, only hear him (I feel like that has to be on purpose in order to cement Sai’s role as the male role-model in his life). Also, Hikaru’s actual parents are often shown to have very little faith in him, which may be why he shows just as little regard for them. In the end, Sai was very lucky to have Hikaru, someone who no only also loves and has great potential for Go, but who cares about him enough to let him take such an important game in his career from him (The game being his introduction into the world of pros. His game with Toya Meijin). (Though I remain adamant that he shouldn’t have had to in the first place and Sai was wrong to guilt him in order to get what he wanted).

Sai is also very self-centered. He believes he was brought back because he was the closest to the Divine Move. He can’t think of any other reason for it. He even calls out to God to ask why would he be brought to Hikaru. It genuinely takes him a long time to realize that maybe, just maybe, the reason he brought to Hikaru (A child with massive amounts of potential for Go) is because he was meant to teach him. To help someone else, who is not him, reach the Divine Move. He cannot fathom that it is not himself who will play the Divine Move. In fact, it is only after this realization that he passes on. That can’t be for no good reason.

Hikaru is not being selfish. Just because you do something for someone does not mean you are owed anything. Least of all when it comes to kids, your own included. Sai may have taught Hikaru about Go and nurtured his love for it, but that does not mean Hikaru owes him anything. Especially when that something involves Hikaru’s own life.

That being said, I’d like to say that I do not dislike Sai as a character. Hikaru is my favorite character (Just look at all that character development, he grows so much and I love it), but I have a lot of respect for Sai. He also undergoes a massive amount character growth. In the end, he did let go and realize his true purpose. He was sad, but who wouldn’t be. Sai is an awesome character who i love very much, but he’s not the perfect pinnacle of goodness that people tend to want to depict him as either. And honestly, I wouldn’t love him as much as I do if he was. Perfect characters are just boring.

Sorry for the long post, episodes 47-49 never fail to get me all steamed up. this is something that has always bothered me about this series/fandom. I thought it was about time I wrote about it.

#Hikaru no Go #Fujiwara no Sai #Shindou Hikaru #thoughts about a ghost simply coming into a young boy's life #possessing him #then expecting him to do what he wants #despite the fact that this is not about his life any longer #because he is dead #and this is that boy's life #not his #That being said #I am still very sad for him and his situation #Sorry #I just get very strong feelings about people trying to live through someone else #Especially when it's through children #but also he's a ghost #so it's a very hard situation

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faemoria-arch · 4 years

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a supposed kiss prompt except . . . woops 1800 words of making out for @hamartio

as expected , he returns to his home later than she does this night , && makes not a single detour from his workshop despite the nearing dawn . she has rarely witnessed more desperation in a person's eyes than the one jayce has to return here after attending such events : a gala , he had told her , hosted by the giopara itself . the city's poster boy is held to expectations to attend all 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓻 of flaunting spectacles so far as she's seen even finds ways to enjoy them && their company on occasion but the particular way his jaw tightened && focus drifted when speaking of this one had offered plenty evidence to its particularly acrid nature .

less expected is that he does not make it far past the entryway before freezing in his tracks && letting his gaze linger in empty space . from her typical seat on his workbench she can see the subtle fidgeting of his hands at either side , leading tooth to recognize one of many tells that he is lost in thought . so toothiana pushes from the table to transition effortlessly into a hover to approach , at which she ushers him forward enough for the door to automatically close now that nothing is in the way .

she spins him slowly by the shoulders && it seems enough to bring him a little more attentive . on the streets of piltover && through the pipelines of zaun she is quite certain what she must look like 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓹 edges && bared teeth that the memory queen hardly bothers to disguise as a smile ;; a frenzy of colours && animalistic instinct wrapped up in the facade of graceful poise while she thinks to herself how strange all these people are . toothiana isn't certain what she must look like to him , here , except that it is probably different because it feels different ( 'though never entirely ) .

likewise when she lifts his chin && looks at him now , away from a cacophony of city-life && countless layers of 𝓼𝔂𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓼 , she sees a very specific hue of exhaustion in which the time of night has little bearing ;; a man subject to relentless scrutiny while simultaneously being looked through like glass , both by the city he loves with such devotion . perhaps they are similar in that regard , for all the love she once held for civilization && its people , && perhaps she is a culprit . her forehead presses against his brow as if to say she won't contribute to that this night . she sees him 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓵𝔂 && understands there is a difference between loneliness && being alone .

it is such a small motion for his lips to press against hers that it is nearly unnecessary to move at all . the gesture is chaste in practically every manner , except that it lingers a moment too long as such before he seems to come to his senses && pull away . && she is left with the taste of him ( faded cologne && aftershave , coffee && coolant sometimes , a pleasant faint tint of copper , always . ) but also wine on her lips ;; the amount of someone who had spent the night politely drinking what was expected of him && not a drop beyond what would make them improper for flaunting in front of influence . certainly not enough that it can be faulted for the decision , && so the kiss would be harmless , in theory .

but the look on his face screams apologies before the words can leave his mouth , && even then the tips of her fingers reach his lips before they have a chance to . && it is , in some way , 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 to her that after all these months he still believes he would ever be able to get so close would ever be able to kiss her , to do anything to her were it not something she 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽𝓵𝔂 allowed .

&& so they have passed the question back && forth too many times to count in a look , or a gesture , assurances && restraint but this time toothiana does not ask .

' trust me , jayce , ' she says .

her hand lowers to press lightly against his chest , && she leads him to back up until he pushes against the chair at his workbench . when he takes his seat she joins to tower over him with her knees at either side of his legs , but she does not sit . the weight of her much smaller body remains propped by her arm with her hand pressed right below his collar , where she can feel the rise && fall of every breath && a heart racing beneath her palm .

the vastaya’s eyes burn violet even in artificial light , but despite the undoubted role of authority she steps into so naturally , toothiana 𝓵𝓾𝓵𝓵𝓼 in acting further . she wonders if he is accustomed to this from any of the recreational company he occasionally spends a night with . not through jealousy of which she cannot even fathom feeling on behalf of someone who has never been , to put it simply , 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼 in any sense but a simple gauge of comfort ;; a question to whether the look of surprise that has yet to fall from jayce's face is out of displeasure or a moment needed to catch up , or perhaps it was too overwhelming after the day he'd finally escaped from , or something else entirely .

her free hand rises to cup the side of his face , thumb gliding over the contour of his cheek . a 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 that it is only the two of them here now , && that there is something unique in being unraveled by the fingers of someone who sees him like this . toothiana can practically hear a flurry of his thoughts by watching him : his cool-blue irises scan hers for clarity , his shoulders relax && his lips part &&;; && finally the crowning reassurance is the way jayce leans his head more into her palm , brushing his lips against the crease of her fingers && murmurs .

' i do trust you . '

a hum of contentment && she leads him to face forward again , capturing his mouth with languor control && frustrating reservation . there is no 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 for it anymore . she can tell now that he would match a more ravenous enthusiasm at her lead . but it is something to savor when so much else in this city cannot wait to rush ahead . the memory queen will forget nothing of course ;; not the scent of being so close or the taste of his mouth or the shiver that runs through her when she feels rough working fingers brush over her waist where feathers border skin . she would like to ensure that he remembers just as well .

as always there is impossible precision to the work of her hands : deadly talons finding ways to navigate against delicate cloth && buttons to unfasten his jacket without so much as a glance to what she is doing nor lost attention from the work of their mouths . when he leans forward in his seat to aid in pulling the clothing free of his arms , toothiana's back arches tantalizing in kind , never allowing their bodies to actually press together . she revels in his dawning awareness of just how little contact there is ;; how even the 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓵𝓮 amount of time between taking away his jacket && having to move his hands again when she finishes with his vest && tie is still taken to hold her with a growing desperation felt underneath his efforts of calculated restraint .

the faequeen runs her tongue over his teeth && she smiles against his mouth as though daring him to try the same with much deadlier fangs . when he very aptly does not , she nips his lower lip with just enough pressure to draw a bead of blood && licks it away with just as much 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 . a line crossed , it would seem , in expecting him to remain so pliant as she catches his wrists at the start of him unbuttoning his dress shirt .

toothiana lifts her head away from his with a small tilt ( far too innocuous && aloof in expression for it to even be an attempt to convince him of anything ) .

' are we losing our patience ? '

' you're being intentionally . . . agitating , ' he retorts , breathless . but to her pleasure jayce relaxes his hands && moves them back to her waist when she releases them .

&& she gives another hum , with no effort to deny .

' i imagine there is plenty for you to gain from being on the receiving end of that . i also think . . . ' she continues so casually 𝓽𝓸𝓸 casually leaning over his chest again && allowing her lips to brush against his ear with every word . ' . . . that another day i might actually test the limits of that so-called ' agitation ' . i will tell you exactly when you can touch && taste && even look or maybe i won't let you at all , even if you beg && show you how rewarding it is to willingly give someone else complete control over every aspect of your gratification . '

she is satisfied by his response && lack there of . the energy she can feel radiating from his skin . the racing pulse she can hear drumming from his entire body and the breath he’s yet to release .

' but that is not what you need 𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 , is it ? '

it is more statement than question . her hands run up his chest , && then her nails suddenly dig into the fabric of his shirt , dragging down to tear through it with a perfect rigor that has the tips of her talons scratching against his skin as she does without enough force to bring him to bleed . the effortlessness of it all is a stark reminder of how easy it would be to 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓱𝓲𝓶 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼 just as well ;; that every moment jayce ever allows her teeth near his throat the way she has them now is in faith that she will not 𝓻𝓲𝓹 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 . && it is a faith toothiana intends to utilize to both their benefit . delicate , demonstratively lethal fingers trace up the contours of his torso , painting a picture of his frame && muscles without having to look at them for now . she enjoys feeling his responses enough , noticing the patterns of his breathing && the efforts to keep himself at least moderately under control . she finally settles into his lap and simply pressing against him after so much anticipation earns her a modest groan , almost 𝓰𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓵 -like , breaking his silence && making her feathers bristle && wings twitch ever slightly .

‘ ah . instead , tonight we will settle for seeing how loud i can get you to make that sound . ‘

#[ this suffers from . hm . how to explain it .#i started writing it as something that could be responded to . then it became a drabble .#so it is so one-sided in focus that it feels like you're supposed to flip the page and read the exact same scene from jayce's point of view #but nope it's just a very tooth-based perspective of him being wrapped around her finger for his own benefit #y'know . like a sub . ]#» เอกภพ ; an old magic ‚ sharp and unforgiving #» สายใย ; hamartio | the energy of attempt is greater than the surety of stasis; you can be carved anew by the details of your devotions .#mature //

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 14: Loose Ends

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Nothing, I Think Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Sofie, Fritjof, Andsvarr Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, Mystery Arson, Pushy Senile Professors, Loki Forgot The Rules Summary: The Horse Returns!

A tent in the encampment had burned down in the night. No body was found, so it was hoped no one was inside at the time, but every single thing within had been reduced fully to ash, or little lumps of melted metal and glass.

For as intensely and completely as the tent had burned, the fire hadn’t spread at all. It was a small miracle within the tragedy. The plot was cleaned up, and a newcomer set up their tent in its place.

No one came forward as the owner of the tent.

Sofie made sure to greet the new campers, offer them assistance and guidance. She also made sure to quietly confront Fritjof on the way back.

“I know nothing more than anyone else.” He insisted. “Some people don’t know how to fireproof their tents. It happens. With all the fires around here, it should have happened sooner.”

“Doesn’t anyone know who that tent belonged to? They might have tried to hurt _____. I know you don’t like her, but-“

“I no longer have anything against her. She is chosen. So be it. She spoke the truth before. So be it.” That last was delivered bitterly. Most of Fritjofs friends had left the camp after Heimdall and Loki’s brief appearance a month ago. Gone home to do some soul searching or find something else that catered to their exclusionary beliefs. The few that remained from ‘that side’ of the camp had mostly withdrawn to figure themselves out. For once, they were quiet.

But Fritjof’s tent was near to the one that had burned, and it was hard to believe that he didn’t know who it belonged to, when he made a habit of interrogating everyone who came to the camp about their faith.

“They might have left with the others.” He suggested. “Some proved faithless, and left everything behind.”

“But not you.”

He shrugged. “I was tested. But the gods are here. It doesn’t matter anymore what shape they have taken this time. They are real, and they are here once more. The wisdom of our ancestors will return to us. That’s the important part. Isn’t it?”

Sofie nodded. “I think so too. Here, come help me distribute apples to the newcomers. They’ll want to know what we have seen.”

*****

“You’ve found the animal? Where?” Loki asked the stablemistress.

“Wandering the fens. Some children found her while they were out berrying. She’s lucky to be in one piece, but she seems to be fine. Full of berries, most likely.”

You would want to know that the horse had been found, and in good health as well.

“Was anything else found?”

“No, I’m afraid not, your highness. She was still wearing the same tack she left with, but nothing more than that.”

“Oh well. At least we have her back.”

Two probable dead ends. At least there had been no loss. The horse had returned, and the burned tent had caused no harm. He would be venturing out later with a handful of Einherjar to look over the things that had been found at the crime scene.

Your injury was healing significantly faster than usual for a human, due partly to the advancement of their medical facilities, and due partly, he was almost certain, to his touch. The more he had carefully stroked your back, the more the pain seemed to recede, the more you had curled up on yourself-probably in relief.

He had bid you to rest, and given Ansdvarr a few friends to help watch over you, making sure there was food for you when you woke. You seemed so subdued. It must be the amount of energy it was taking to heal yourself. He waited until you were asleep to take his leave. He just wanted to be sure.

He met his small entourage just outside the city, and they all traced their way across the idyllic landscape, to the little copse of trees. The remains of his ill-fated picnic were still strewn about the area, though some small animal or another had made off with the food.

Loki instructed one of the Einherjar to gather things up, then he followed the sergeant in charge of investigating the area to what she had found.

“There are two areas of interest, your highness. This is the first.” It was little more than a blanket draped over a low branch to create a simple shelter. A small bag full of food wrappers and an empty canteen were the only other items. They didn’t look Asgardian in origin.

“These are all Midgardian in make.” The sergeant confirmed. “It seems some mortal was making camp here, but from the debris blown into the tent, I’d say they haven’t been here for a few days. At least as long as it’s been since you brought your woman out here.”

“She’s not my woman.” Loki said quickly. You would probably take offence at that. “She is a guest. We are watching over her due to a magical anomaly. You were shown her hand with everybody else.”

“Ah. As you say, your highness. Forgive my assumption. But this is not the only thing out here. This way.”

She led him all the way to the other end of the patch of trees, to another tent. This one was more spacious, and far from being a hasty shelter, was properly set up and staked down. It was well camouflaged, and inside were a variety of things.

More interestingly, there appeared to be a mix of Asgardian and Midgardian items. The tent was clearly Asgardian, but the blankets and pillows were from Earth. It all came together to form a sordid picture.

“Hm.” Loki said. This probably should have been expected.

“Indeed.” The sergeant agreed. “It appears to me that this is evidence of one of our people and one of theirs…cohabiting. At least occasionally.”

“It’s not illegal…”Loki said.

“I wonder if perhaps it should be.” The sergeant mused. “Mortals are…well, they are mortal. They are fragile and short-lived. All such unions are doomed to a sad end.”

“All things die.” Loki said simply.

“Of course, your highness. But we don’t even allow them within the city. Even this relationship is kept secret, hidden away from the eyes of others. What happens when it eventually bears fruit? What happens to those children? Where do they live? Do we keep them away from one of their parents? Sire, I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

“Calm yourself sergeant.” Loki said. “We have been ready for this since my brother first set foot on this planet. Beyond that, the king and I, as well as the entire council, have been planning and debating for this very eventuality. And it is inevitable. They are too much like us for these unions not to develop.”

“Have you grown fond of them, your highness?”

Loki gave her a long, flat stare.

“Er, forgive me.” She said, fidgeting. “That is not my place.”

“My feelings on the matter are meaningless in comparison to what is best for the people. If there is nothing else here…?”

“Not that we have found.”

“I say we leave everything where we have found it. Set someone to watch this area and report any activity. Everything has been recorded? Good. I want a copy delivered to me, and I wish to be notified first with any new information.”

Returning to his horse, he noticed that the dishes had been placed back in the basket, his discarded cloak and blanket folded neatly, and secured to his saddle. He could see your blood on the blanket. It made him want to tear it. Even if the stain could be cleaned, he probably wouldn’t ever use it again, nor would he want you to wear his old Sleipnir cloak again, even though he’d had it altered for you. It would be bad luck to let it touch your shoulders once more.

Perhaps he really should teach you what a pauldron was.

*****

“Look, I’m sorry, but he’s not here.” Andsvarr told the old skald instructor. “You’re going to have to wait until he comes back. Did you have an appointment?”

“Yes.” The old teacher huffed. “Some youngster tried to tell me it’d been cancelled for some trivial investigation, but I’ve had this planned for months, and my whole class has been waiting as well.” He gestured at the small gathering of people behind him, each holding a notebook and an instrument.

“Oh. But he’s still not here. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“You could let us meet with the Midgardian woman. She’s part of the lesson plan. My students need to become familiar with mortals; their flaws and virtues, so that they might properly write them into verse.”

“We definitely cannot do that, milord.” The supplementary guard interjected. “We have strict orders to keep anyone from seeing her. She is convalescing.”

“Wait.” Andsvarr said. “If you’ve been planning this for months, how can _____ be a part of the lesson plan? She’s only been here for one month and a little more.”

The instructor glared at him, crossing his arms. “Are you sassing me, young man?”

“No sir. Only doing my job.”

“Well so am I. And if you don’t let us in, I’m going to take my complaints straight to-“

“To me, Beli?” Loki said. “I am right here. What have you to say to me?”

“Ah, your highness! Just who I wanted to see! We had an appointment.”

“Which was regrettably cancelled due to an unfortunate assault against a guest of the Crown.”

“-And I have brought my class all the way here to meet with your mortal visitor.”

“Who is resting after her injury.”

“And these smart fellows won’t let us pass!”

“On my orders.”

“And so I was just telling them-what?”

“My specific orders, Beli. No one other than myself or the king can come in here. Your appointment was cancelled. That means it cannot happen today. Because someone tried to kill our only human. And now she must stay in bed and rest.”

Poor old Beli. He’d been one of Loki’s teachers, for music and sagas. He’d been Thor’s teacher, and Heimdall’s and Frigga’s. He seemed like he’d been around since the dawn of Asgard, yet he was as inflexible as the golden spires, and seemed unable to fathom that plans could change.

The door behind them all opened, and you peeked out.

“Aha!” Beli said. “Behold class: a human!”

You shrank back.

“No, no, come out young woman. It is a woman, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Loki said through gritted teeth. “I believe I have indicated that several times.”

You slipped into the hallway, obviously intrigued by what was going on, looking around at all the instruments.

“So loud out here.” You whispered. “Is something wrong?”

“She looks sick.” One of the students said.

“Well, what did you expect? She got stabbed.” Said another.

“It’s just a stab.”

“Not for a mortal, it isn’t!”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Loki said. “Go ahead and go back inside. I’m sending them along now.”

“Now, just a moment!” Beli said. “Since you’re both out here right now, why don’t we-“

You took that moment to collapse. A gasp rose from the gathered students, which quickly became clapping as Loki easily caught you.

“Beli. Esteemed teacher. Let us compromise. Your appointment is…postponed. Good afternoon.”

Loki scooped you effortlessly into his arms. You were so light. You would always seem light, no matter how much you did or didn’t weigh. He swept into his rooms, kicking the door closed behind him, leaving poor Andsvarr and his friend to take care of the musician class.

He laid you down on your sparse little bed, noticing with alarm the coldness of your skin. This wasn’t just because of your injury, or the energy it was taking to accelerate the healing.

“I was gone too long, wasn’t I?” He said mournfully, gathering you up into a sitting position next to him. He’d been miles away from you, for almost the whole day. He should have known better than to do that! You were injured; the detrimental effects of the link between you clearly reacted harshly and more swiftly when you weren’t healthy in the first place.

“Gone too far away, and for too long. Oh, you poor thing.” He wrapped one arm around you to hold you up, tenderly stroking your back. Had it been frightening, feeling the incapacitating sickness creep up on you again? He’d barely noticed it.

You shuddered in his arms, so he wrapped the blankets around your shoulders.

“Well, we’ve found out some possibly interesting things, but nothing solid, I’m afraid. We will find who did this, however. I promise you justice.”

You shivered again, but remained quiet. Loki wasn’t even sure you had heard him. He laid you back down, tucking you in and waiting until your breathing became slow and even before leaving your room.

These simple little acts of care were reassuring to him. He had cared for an entire kingdom for several years, he could do the same for one mortal woman. He could do this.

#loki x reader #marvel fanfiction #loki (marvel)

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jotunnkyn · 5 years

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Shower thought induced long rant on perception of self, mental illness, and ableism below the cut. Gets a little personal and preachy.

Those of you who are not mentally ill to a degree which impairs your ability to function “normally” in society likely have no idea how often “That’s not healthy!” gets slung about in a demeaning fashion.

And the thing is, we know. Most psychotics, people with personality disorders, and similar things understand perfectly well that we’re not healthy, thank you, but if you wouldn’t suggest that someone with cancer take a kitchen knife and carve the tumors out of themself, don’t suggest that someone struggling with mental illness just stop acting mentally ill because it doesn’t line up with your idea of health and that makes you uncomfortable.

This is especially bothersome in regards to harmless coping mechanisms. Someone plays a lot of video games? Has to carry their phone on them at all time and checks it more often than you believe is acceptable in any given space? Gets upset if separated from a favorite stim toy? Connects deeply and personally to a fictional character or non-human creature? Identifies as multiple different individuals piloting one physical body?

If that makes you uncomfortable you should shut up, straight out. Taking away what’s keeping an unhealthy person relatively grounded as compared to how they would be without the things they’ve developed to cope isn’t going to make them any healthier. If you, as a neurotypical person, have drawn the conclusion that someone is unhealthy while they’re doing their best to handle their own problems, I guarantee you that you can’t fathom how much worse they’d feel and subsequently, justifiably, behave if all of that stuff they’ve developed over time wasn’t in place.

Yes, where possible, a person should also be seeking professional help, but unless you personally are willing to pay for that to happen, or if you know them well enough and are willing to guide them in the right direction for financial, emotional and mental assistance, don’t suggest that they do so, otherwise you’re going to look like a condescending jerkass.

If you do this, hands down, it is not coming from the kindness of your heart or out of concern for them. It’’s coming from a place of ableism, and you may not realize that unless you take some time to reflect on why you’re uncomfortable. Of course, some people realize that they’re being dickheads and that they don’t care and choose to bully easy targets anyway, and for those people, I don’t think there’s any help. They’re the lowest of the low and we should all aspire to be better than that.

I, personally, was diagnosed in my early teens, so I have an advantage over many seriously mentally ill people in that I accepted my conditions before I got too old and set in my ways. Since diagnosis, I’ve dedicated incredible amounts of time to introspection and reflecting on the difference between what I feel, what I think, and what I believe. I think of myself as an incredibly self aware individual. I know that I experience delusions. I understand the difference between fiction and reality even though I’m inherently inclined towards escapism and blurred lines.

I have schizophrenic symptoms. I have mood swings. I have narcissistic tendencies. I also have dissociative identity disorder which results in multiple personalities (each with separate thoughts, feelings, likes and dislikes) and memory loss. Those things wouldn’t go away if I just “acted” normal, as I have tried to do in past. It would just be acting, and it would inevitably come to a head and I’d have a psychotic break, again, as I have in the past. Even when I am medicated and speaking with a therapist, which I cannot currently afford to do, financially or mentally, I am not and cannot be “normal” or “healthy” because these things do not just go away no matter how badly I want them to. How badly neurotypical strangers want me to be “normal” does not even factor in.

If a friend is concerned, I’ll listen, but I won’t, and cannot, change for them. I can only try to learn to cope better. Like anyone else, a psychotic person is a constantly growing and changing individual. My coping skills are better than they were five years ago. Looking back ten years plus, I barely even recognize who I was, but I have a suspicion that most every fully developed adult feels that way about their late teens and early twenties.

Because I cannot change these things about myself, and because I cannot afford the treatment that I would need to ground myself more than I’m currently able, I’ve allowed myself the most effective and least harmful coping mechanisms I’ve discovered in the long period of time that I’ve been aware of how my mind works, or, often, doesn’t work as intended.

I express the different facets of myself openly with close friends, but keep it subtle and use one agreed upon name with strangers and acquaintances. I express those different facets of myself best through writing and self-inserting into fiction. (Which I understand is and treat as fiction.) I have a kinblog, and while I do identify with and sometimes as my kintypes, I understand that kinning is not literal. Some people believe that it is literal. Those people are valid because that belief is what they need in order to cope with whatever they’re going through, and if anyone bullies them for that I will stomp them with my hooves. (Neither the hooves nor the stomping are literal, physical things.)

I’m not a spiritual or religious person, in fact I do not believe in the supernatural to any degree what so ever, although I do accept the vague, if unlikely possibility of anything. Someone relying on a personal delusion, or faith, if you’d prefer to call it that, is no different from a person relying on Jesus to get them through tough time, except that they do not have the church at their back to protect them.

Which was damning just a short time ago, because if someone confessed to believing something without a basis in literal reality without the backing of the church, they were institutionalized, tortured, and often lobotomized. Again, the mentally ill are easy victims, far more likely to be victims than antagonists, and if you’re uncomfortable with them when they’re not doing anything harmful to anyone, you’re reinforcing the same thinking that allowed those horrible things to happen to innocent people.

If God is real only to those who believe, then God is real. If a person exists only in their own mind, that person is also real, and should be acknowledged, then treated with the same respect as anyone else. If someone says they’re a man, they’re a man. If someone says they’re a woman, they’re a woman. If someone says they’re a dog or a comic book villain or a ghost, then, yeah it’s weird, but it’s also not hurting you, so that’s what they are.

Don’t listen to the media when it paints us as antagonists. Don’t follow in the footsteps of your Cool Mutual who thinks otherkin are cringy and laughable, because they’re probably mentally ill and coping with something very serious. Think for yourself, then re-think again if that’s really the kind of person you want to be.

#mental illness #Otherkin #actually dissociative identity disorder #tw delusion mention #tw religion mention #tw medical malpractice mention #tw bullying mention #actually schizoaffective #actually narcissitic

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prettyfunkyunorganized · 7 years

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Daughter Series - Hanzo pt. 2

Finally have a new post for you guys! Can’t wait ‘til my boss gets back and I can go back to my regular schedule.

But anywho, have 2,700-ish words of Genji helping Hanzo man up.

More Daughter Series: Hanzo, McCree, Reaper, Soldier 76, Genji, Roadhog

Hanzo installments: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

Masterlist

It had been two weeks since Mirra had spat at Hanzo and brought him to his senses, and things were going well. Relatively. He had made a few more comments that caused Mirra to glare at him, but now he was quick to apologize or explain, and she was quick to wave it off. They were getting better, slowly. Hanzo still felt incredibly rigid around her and Mirra couldn’t seem to look at him for long, but the tension was easing. Somewhat.

However, interactions between the two of them were far from natural and being near her was still a struggle for Hanzo – no matter if it was just walking past the young woman in the hall or talking one-on-one atop the roof. They both had a penchant for climbing and enjoying the evening air. Having the distractions of nature about made him feel more comfortable when spending time with her.

There would be no chat under the dimming sky tonight though, rain had been hammering down for days, making everything a sloppy mess. As Hanzo gazed out the window, he realized he was a bit relieved that he wouldn’t be running into Mirra this evening. He instantly felt guilting for thinking like that. She was always welcoming and patient and gentle with him, yet here he was hoping she would stay away from him. He made himself sick, cursing in Japanese under his breath.

“What has you in such a foul mood, brother,” Genji’s voice came from behind him, making the archer swivel around.

“Nothing,” Hanzo lied.

“Ah, of course. I often find myself snarling in our native language too, just to make sure I haven’t forgotten any of the words,” Genji teased.

Hanzo rolled his eyes and sighed as Genji laughed.

“Come now,” his little brother pressed, leaning against the wall, “you have seemed to be in higher spirits lately, what has changed?”

“It is nothing to worry yourself with,” Hanzo insisted, folding his arms across his chest.

Genji was still staring at him intently, but shrugged eventually. “If you say so.”

They were both quiet, watching the lightning flash through the clouds. Somehow it was easier for Hanzo to spend time with his brother than it was to be with Mirra, even after everything that had transpired between the two men. Again he felt guilty.

“McCree getting under your skin again,” Genji asked.

“What,” Hanzo frowned. “No. The man may be annoying, but I do not allow him to occupy my mind. He is not worth it.”

Even with a visor covering his face, Genji still had a powerful laugh. The sound gave Hanzo a small amount of peace of mind – his little brother had found a way to be happy again, he was thankful for that. “McCree would be so disappointed to hear you say that! I believe he enjoys making you scowl, for some reason.”

“You have made an interesting choice in befriending him,” Hanzo said, nearly scolding.

“We have been through much together, and he is always there to make me grin,” Genji said fondly.

Hanzo grunted. “Perhaps it takes time to acclimate to his ridiculous costume and bizarre way of speaking.”

“I admit, it was months before I adjusted to his drawl,” Genji chuckled. “If it is not our resident cowboy bothering you, did Reinhardt give you another headache?”

“No, well, yes, but that is beside the point,” Hanzo said pursing his lips.

“Lena overwhelming you?”

“No.”

“Winston trying to get you fitted for an Overwatch uniform?”

“No.”

“Mercy questioning you about the leg prosthetics?”

“No.” People seemed to leave Hanzo alone these days, as if they all had finally realized he was most content when on his own. He did not need a ‘welcome wagon.’ In fact, the idea made him cringe.

“Well then,” Genji said, clearly testing the waters, “if none of them are bothering you, it must be . . .”

Hanzo’s eyes squeezed shut.

“It is Mirra then.”

Genji was constantly asking about how Hanzo and Mirra were getting on. It was beginning to wear on the older Shimada’s patience.

“Everything is fine, Genji.”

“You are hiding behind your oversized collar, Hanzo,” his brother snorted.

“It is cold,” Hanzo snapped.

“Maybe you should not have shaved half your head,” Genji said. Hanzo couldn’t see the mischievous grin on his brother’s lips, but he knew it was there.

“Must we discuss my appearance again,” Hanzo moaned.

“We can talk about your piercings, or you can talk about Mirra. Your choice.”

“I had the bridge done first – ”

“Hanzo,” Genji said slow and disapproving. The other man rubbed the back of his neck in response.

“There is nothing to say, brother,” Hanzo muttered wearily.

“Has something happened? Was there another argument?” Genji was no longer relaxing on the wall, but standing firm by Hanzo, running a thoughtful finger down his metal jaw.

“No, nothing has happened. In fact, we have not spoken for a few days.”

Genji hummed curiously. “I see. Is that the problem? Have you been hoping to speak with her?”

Hanzo swallowed hard. “Not quite,” he said hesitantly. Genji just kept looking at him until his chest heaved and he let out a long breath. “Just the opposite actually.”

“I do not understand,” Genji said in a more tense tone.

“Forget I said anything,” Hanzo said, turning to head down the hall, but Genji grabbed his shoulder. The feeling reminded Hanzo of that night in Hanamura, making him shiver.

“Brother, please,” Genji said softly, “you told me a short while ago you wanted to be better for Mirra. It will be difficult to do that if you continue to run away every time you think about her.”

Something akin to a growl rumbled out of Hanzo’s throat as he resigned to the truth of his brother’s words. “You sound like your mentor,” the older Shimada grumbled.

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Genji said, likely smirking. He knew it was not meant to be flattery. “Now, you say you are pleased that you have not seen Mirra recently?”

“Not pleased,” Hanzo said, trying to mull over his feelings – he was not used to this sort of thing. Keeping things buried was much easier for him after years and years of repression. “I was more . . . relieved?”

“Relieved, you say. Do you find being with her difficult?”

Genji never used to be the responsible one. Never. Now he was trying to help Hanzo be a decent father. It made the elder brother feel incredibly incompetent. “Not difficult, more . . . ”

“You do not need to censor yourself while speaking to me, Hanzo. I am not here to judge you. At least not about this. The hair, maybe, but not this.”

Hanzo gave him a dirty look, but knew his brother meant well. He had always been good at calming people down with a quip. Mirra was, too. The two of them were close. Happy. “Then, yes, Genji, I find being with her difficult. Immeasurably so.”

“Is it truly that bad?” Hanzo nodded. “Why? What about her is causing you so much distress?”

“It is not her,” Hanzo said heavily, “she is not the problem. She never has been. It is me, as always. I have no idea what to say to her, how to act, why this is so unbelievably hard.”

“I do not believe this is supposed to be easy, brother. You did not become a parent in the typical way – you did not have months to read ‘how to’ books or have a nurse to answer your questions. Instead, you had a nearly full grown woman thrust into your life. This will not be like trying to maneuver around the other members of this team, she is your daughter. There is the potential for a profound connection between the two of you. Whether or not that connection forms will be up to you, because Mirra is clearly trying to build one.”

“I know she is,” Hanzo said with a slow nod. “Mirra is constantly forgiving me for my abrasive ways, I cannot fathom why she continues to do so.”

“Because she cares,” Genji said chuckling, “deeply. And not only because you are her father, but because she likes you as well.”

Hanzo was not used to hearing that word yet: father. It still shook him. So much so that he almost missed what Genji had said. He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“About what?”

“That she,” his voice caught, “likes me?”

Genji laughed, his head rolling back. “That is exactly what I mean – Mirra likes you. She enjoys your time together. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Hanzo said incredulously, “of course it is! We are exceedingly different people, and she is much too good for me. I find it hard to believe she can stand me, much less anything more. You should not read so much into things, Genji, you could very well – ”

“I am not making assumptions,” Genji defended himself, “she told me that was the case! Not two days ago!”

“I . . .” Hanzo’s brow furled even more. “She did?”

“Grief, brother! You may not be the most charming person in the world, but you are still a man who has many experiences in common with Mirra. You were both traveling alone a long time, you both struggle with your past, you both are trying to become someone you can be proud of the despite voices from your childhood telling you that you are doing everything wrong. I believe Mirra feels a sense of solidarity with you.”

Hanzo had never thought of Mirra and himself like that. He had always seen her as a bright, intelligent, selfless young woman whereas he was a regretful, unstable, bitter man. But they had both lived as nomads, running from people and memories and daunting expectations. Their circumstances and upbringings were very different, but their internal conflicts had plenty in common.

“I suppose there is some truth to that,” Hanzo mused quietly.

“You are trying, brother, and that is admirable, but you must be patient as well. I have faith that in time things will become easier for you and little Mirra. She is giving you a chance, and you must give yourself one as well.”

“Give myself a chance,” Hanzo asked.

“A chance to succeed. A chance to recover from the failures you feel. And, perhaps most importantly, a chance to be happy. You are the only one here who wants yourself to be miserable, Hanzo, Mirra and I just want to see you heal.” The air of calmness Genji had about him continued to surprised Hanzo. His little brother was no longer a wild, immature, carefree boy. He was twice the man Hanzo had ever been.

“I will do my best,” Hanzo said with a sigh. He could put aside his nerves and apprehension for Mirra, he owed her that much. In truth, he owed her infinitely more.

“Your best is all Mirra hopes for,” Genji said gently. “She has been in the lab all day, pouring over some old blueprint Winston is having troubles with. I imagine she could use a break.” He snorted again. “Much like you, she has a tendency to work herself ragged.”

“You want me to interrupt her,” Hanzo said skeptically. If Mirra was devoting herself to something, it must be important.

Genji put his head in his hand and groaned. “I was hoping you would go check on her, make sure she is not exhausting herself, but I should have known better. You were never one to recognize the value of taking a break.”

Hanzo sunk into his jacket again. “Oh,” he murmured awkwardly. “Of course.”

“Just go see her,” Genji laughed lightly. “At the very least she will be glad to see you, and you can say you made an effort today.”

Hanzo’s gut still twisted with worry at the thought of seeking Mirra out, but the feeling had lessened. Knowing that she enjoyed his company had brought him the slightest moment of joy, and made him realize just how much he wanted Mirra to like him – or at least not hate him anymore.

“I will go see her,” Hanzo said determinedly.

“Good!” Genji squeezed his brother’s arm reassuringly, “Could you do something for me, though?” Hanzo nodded. “Would you not tell Mirra I sent you? Please?” The younger Shimada sounded guilty.

“Why,” Hanzo frowned.

“I may have told Mirra I would stop interfering with the two of you,” he said hesitantly.

Hanzo smirked. “Struggling to keep your word?”

“Excuse me for being invested in the well-being of my family,” Genji said sarcastically. That was more like the little brother Hanzo used to know.

“We are both lucky to have you,” Hanzo said softly.

“You are lucky to have Mirra too, now go to her,” Genji insisted.

Hanzo turned and left his brother at the end of the hall, hoping this sliver of hope would hold out. The archer poked his head into the lab and saw Mirra sitting at a messy desk cluttered with diagrams, books, and sticky notes. The two large computer monitors were covered in a myriad of small application windows about engineering, physics, and some experimental science that was beyond Hanzo’s understanding. There were two plates and a bowl on the floor beside her as well as two mugs – evidence she’d been here all day. Hanzo arrived just in time to see Mirra lay her forehead on the desk and wrangle the elastic from her hair. She groaned tiredly as her hair flopped all over the papers before her. Unlike Hanzo, every bit of her was expressive, even her curls. Sometimes it overwhelmed him, but he mostly found it fascinating. She was a marvel.

With a few quiet steps, Hanzo was at his daughter’s side, trying to find something to say other than, ‘eating at your workstation is not good for you.’ Maybe he was getting a bit better at this.

“Mirra,” he said hesitantly.

Her head jerked up, and she looked at him wide-eyed. They both flinched backward, but Mirra smiled a fraction of a second later and laughed. “Hey Hanzo,” she said rubbing her face, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I apologize for frightening you,” he said, almost flushing.

“Don’t worry about it,” she responded with a stretch, “I’ve been pretty distracted today.”

Her eyes were red and rimmed with dark circles. “How long have you been studying this,” Hanzo asked.

“Since last night.”

“You stayed up through the night?”

“No, no, no,” she said quickly, “I went to bed for a few hours, but I got up early again because I couldn’t get this stuff out of my head. I don’t think I’m making much progress though.” She slumped into her chair, eyeing her work dejectedly. She looked defeated.

“Perhaps a break is in order and a beverage with less caffeine,” he hinted as he spotted an empty coffee pot by her side. “Not that I mean to reprimand you! I understand your desire to keep working, and your determination is commendable.”

Mirra grinned at his flustered expression. “Thanks. You’re right, though. I probably should lay off the coffee, or I’ll never be able to get to sleep.”

“I have some tea that might help you relax, if you are interested.”

“Umm,” she wavered, looking over the piles of research she’d collected.

“A small reprieve might give you a new perspective,” he suggested tentatively.

She turned back to him and smiled, “That sounds like a good plan. I don’t have a single idea left at the moment,” she said ruffling her hair. The way it puffed out and bounced made Hanzo think of his mother – the overly traditional old matriarch would die of shock if she knew she had a curly-haired granddaughter. He did not miss the tyrannical woman.

As they sat across from each other in the mess hall, letting their tea steep, chatting about the strangeness of living with such an eclectic group of people, Mirra began to look less stressed. Her smile was more authentic, and her eyes weren’t drifting toward the lab every few moments. For once he felt like he’d done something completely right, even if it had taken him a while to actually do it. She looked happy, and it made him feel the same.

#mine #writing #overwatch #hanzo #genji #mirra #drabble #overwatch drabble #my drabble #daughter series

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burningblake · 7 years

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Snowbarry fanfic

The Start of Something | Read on FF.net

Description: "Cait?" he asks her quietly, having no idea what he's doing. "Do you ever think about it?" My take on how Barry finds out about the shapeshifter that kissed Caitlin and what follows from then on. One shot. Snowbarry. AU Season 1.

Episode 119 - 'Who is Harrison Wells?'

The little crowd in his lab gradually thins; Cisco, Eddie and Joe all head for the exit, until it is only him and Caitlin in the room, standing with their backs at the sinister proof of Wells's false identity. Her gaze is on the broad window on the far wall, her lips parted in shock. He half-turns toward her and presses his lips together.

"Caitlin... I'm sorry. I know this is difficult for you to accept..."

"All these years I've trusted him", she whispers. "I can't believe he's been deceiving us all along". She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. "I was so naive."

Barry shakes his head with force.

"No, you're not", he defends. Caitlin looks at him. Barry takes a step in her direction. She backs ever so slightly and he stops in hesitation, examining her. She's calmer than before, at the lab, but it's like a restrained terror, rather than a lack of it.

"We were all deceived", he continues in a softer, controlled tone. "You can't blame yourself. No one could have known. "

"You don't understand, Barry. Before... I didn't want to believe you. I was so certain about Wells's innocence, I was willing to visit him at his house and have a heart to heart conversation. Now I realize how idiotic that would have been."

"It's not idiotic to have faith in your friends. Your faith has helped me believe in myself countless of times, Cait. It's an amazing quality to have the courage to stand up for your value. It's not your fault that some people don't share them."

Caitlin smiles warmly, the light of the streets reflecting on her eyes. "Thank you, Barry. You really know how to make me feel better."

His eyes squeeze into a smiling expression. "Well, I might know you better than you think."

She chuckles softly and her angelic beauty captivates him for a moment. She's so... peaceful. He doesn't want to lift his eyes. After a while, he realizes he's staring, because Cait smiles awkwardly and looks away.

"Umm.. We should get going. Cisco will be waiting for us", he says, his fingers lightly brushing her elbow.

She doesn't flinch back this time, but he can feel her muscles tense. He drops his hand and catches her gaze. She gives him an awkward, guilty smile. This time, he's determined to figure out what her problem is. He blatantly searches her eyes.

"Every time I touched you today" he starts in a low voice, "you curled away. Is that because of the situation with Wells or have I done something wrong? Because if it is the latter, I need to know, Caitlin".

She meets his gaze, and wrinkles her nose. "I'm sorry". Her voice sounds clean and rational for once. "It's not something you did". She hesitates. "While you were unconscious, Bates... took your form, and thinking it was you, I told him about the serum. Anyway, I think he wanted to distract me from it, because he kind of tried to... seduce me". She spills the last words in a rush. She stares at him with eyes wide-open.

"He tried to- Oh". His gaze falls on her lips. He tries to pull it away, but it only results into an awkward flicker between her eyes and mouth. He wasn't expecting that answer.

The silence stretches for a few seconds. He can't fathom the look in her eyes. They are hesitant and... guilty.

He strokes his cheek, wrinkling his nose. "You slapped me", he recalls.

"Sorry for that", she says, drawing her lips to the side.

He gives a hearty laugh and soon she joins in. His heart expands in his chest, stretching its muscles. It feels so oddly satisfying to share a laugh with her. He shakes his head, eyes growing serious.

"When I was fighting with him at the airport, he changed into you", he says in a sober voice. Caitlin's eyes round up in attention.

"I was confused at first", he continues. "I mean, I was almost certain he'd go for Iris. I was prepared for that. But when he changed into you instead, I was surprised. And completely disarmed. I thought he did it because, well, you're the most innocent-looking person I know."

Caitlin smiles.

"It was extremely difficult to fight you. I never thought he had assumed that you and me-I mean, not that I'd never consider you as someone I could - or wait, that actually sounded weird". He covers his face with his palm. Caitlin intervenes before he embarrasses himself further.

"It's okay, Barry", she smiles. "I know what you mean. And he wouldn't be the first to assume there's something between us. But we know that both our hearts are already taken".

He stares into her eyes for what seems like hours, until his gaze falls to her lips. Suddenly, he cannot help wondering what it would be like to taste them. The way she discarded the notion of a romantic relationship between them... It sounded as if she's considered it at some point. And hasn't he? Sunderly, she has opened a Pandora Box of possibilities he's been avoiding to consider. What if...

But then, she is right.

Their hearts are already taken. And now Ronnie's back.

Caitlin clears her throat and nods toward the entrance.

"Shall we?"

Barry tries to reset his mind. He waves his head. "Yeah", he breathes, before they head out.

Episode 120 - 'The Trap'

"He's in the time vault!" Cisco shouts. His voice is already a memory in Barry's mind, as he fills the lab with streaks of red and gold. The wall is drawn apart when he arrives. Wells's wheelchair is stranded at the middle of the room. He steps in carefully, inspecting the room for signs of the speedster. His gaze freezes as it passes over the colorful screen occupying the entire wall opposite him. He gawks in shock, his feet easing forward without his consent. Clips-private clips-of him and his friends play on a loop. Iris with Eddie in their bed, him and the rest of the guys gathered at his lab at the police station or Joe's house or S.T.A.R. Labs.

"It was all a set up. We thought we set a trap for him but he set a trap for us", he mumbles, his eyes skimming over the videos. He stops short and draws his gaze back, not sure he's seen right. Caitlin's hands are crashed on his chest, as he devours her lips. He frowns, but he cannot give it much thought because Wells has been watching them and that means he knows exactly where-

"Oh my God. Iris!" He speeds out of the vault.

He sits on the stretcher where he's had Caitlin check his health so many times in the past. His knees are tucked into his arms as he shakes back and forth nervously. There's a dim light in the lab, mainly from the computer screens and the machines in the room.

He's failed again. He keeps failing. Still, it's worse this time. Because he actually had a plan, he had a clear chance to vindicate his father. And not only did it fall flat, but it also cost him a friend. Eddie is kept God knows where. He doesn't know how many more times he'll have to lose before he hits the limit of desperation, but he feels like he's flirting dangerously with it.

"Hey, Barry, we'll find him, okay?" Cisco reassures him, sitting behind his computer. "Stop swinging back and forth like a psycho", he scolds him. Caitlin puts a hand on Cisco's shoulder, her gaze casted worriedly at his direction.

"Barry, we did everything we could. We couldn't have known that Wells was watching us", she tells him softly.

"That's just it, Caitlin!" He grips her eyes desperately. She flinches at his tone, but there isn't enough room in his soul to fill with guilt. He feels like his anger and disappointment has consumed him. "There's always something. Whenever I think I might be one step ahead, something happens out of my control that puts me two steps behind instead. I can never win. No matter how fast I run. It's not enough!"

Silence drops in the lab. Cisco and Caitlin both look like he just delivered them a punch. It's actually more than that. A mixture of pity and disappointment. It doesn't faze him. It only fuels his anger. It's like he's flipped over a well of bitterness and he can't stop until all the contents are out.

"Every metahuman we caught, every bad guy we put away, it was with Wells's help. Without him, we're nothing. We don't stand a chance. I know you want to believe that we're a team and that we can beat him together, but the truth is", he stands on his feet, "he created us".

He speeds away, chased by his demons and the expressions on his friends' faces. Now that all the bitterness is out, he's filled with nothing but a void in his chest. And he thinks it's funny, how emptiness weighs the most.

He runs and runs and runs. Far away from everything. Far from reality and sense. He needs to put it all back. To think.

After about half an hour of running to Star City and back, guilt finally catches up with him. He stops dead in his tracks and heads back to the lab.

Cisco's only there when he arrives. He doesn't turn his head to acknowledge his presence. He only jolts slightly in his seat. Barry hesitates at the entrance.

"Where's Caitlin?" he asks.

"I don't know, maybe you should go ask our creator", Cisco scoffs.

Barry sighs and walks to the front of him. "I'm sorry, Cisco".

He doesn't look up. Instead, he stares at his hands scraffing the surface of the desk.

"You know I didn't mean anything of that", Barry tries again.

Cisco snorts. "Certainly didn't look like it", he mutters.

Silence stretches between them. Barry is devoid of words. Cisco's right. He was completely unfair to them. No amount of anger is an excuse for him to treat his friends like that. Cisco finally huffs and rises from his seat to level his gaze. His eyes bare no hint of the bitterness that marked his voice just a minute ago. Instead, they're reaching out with understanding.

"It's okay, I know you didn't."

Barry nods with gratitude.

The emotion doesn't live long on Cisco's expression. His eyes spark. "Now instead of being an ass to your friends, go get some rest and come back tomorrow so we can start working on this as a team", he reprimands him. A smile flickers on Barry's face. He nods with compliance, happy to be back on normal terms with his friend.

"Thank you", he says earnestly.

"Yeah, yeah!" Cisco brushes him off with his hand. Barry's smile broadens as he heads to the entrance. Cisco's voice though stops him for one last time.

"Oh, and you need to apologize to Caitlin as well".

The night has wrapped around the city, replacing the hustle of the day with a stagnant quiet. He looks up at the tall apartment complex that rears before him and takes a deep breath to gather his courage.

He presses the bell and waits, tapping his foot nervously on the floor. The last time he's been here, he was carrying her drunk through the front door. The memory teases the corner of his mouth with a smile. The door buzzes open, bringing him back to reality. He quickly fixes his features, remembering his purpose here.

He flies up the building. She's waiting at the threshold when he arrives, leaning on the frame with hands folded across her chest. She doesn't look mad. But neither welcoming. Her expression is a mix of cold and mild disappointment. Or is she just tired? Should he have left it for the morning? Suddenly, he's standing all awkward there at her door, having no idea what to say or do.

"Uhh sorry I can come tomorrow if you're..." His voice trails off, waiting for her response.

She rolls her eyes. "It's okay, Barry, you can come in." She opens the door a little wider and steps aside.

He follows her awkwardly into the living room, passing his hand through his hair and fixing the hem of his shirt. He gets the chance to observe her as they walk. Her golden locks shower her shoulders and touch the skin around her neck. She's in her night clothes-not the cute pajamas he'd seen her in (well practically dressed in) the last time-these ones are a deep midnight blue and their texture looks pretty smooth with multiple folds.

They take seats on opposite sides, both leaning forward and crossing their hands over their knees. He realizes it's his queue to talk.

"Caitlin, I'm...I'm sorry. What I said to you was not fair."

"It is not me you should apologize to, Barry." Caitlin holds his gaze sharp, shaking her head. "It's yourself. All this time I've watched you surpass yourself again and again to help others, to bring justice. I've watched you face difficulties and grow from them. You-inspired me, Barry. You taught me how to be strong. And now for you to believe that all of this was the doing of a madman, that without him you're nothing? How does that honor you or anyone who's put their hopes and trust in you? How is it fair? "

Barry stares at her, feeling lost in her words, her eyes, her mouth. He nods.

"You're right," he says. He ties his gaze on the floor. "It's just that sometimes it feels like I'm never gonna win, that I'm never gonna be fast enough, that he's always going to be one step ahead." He shakes his head with devastation.

Caitlin hooks his gaze. "You've only lost when you've let yourself believe it."

He wants to let her words calm him, but his failure is too fresh to let him. Caitlin rises on her feet and comes to sit beside him. Her perfume enthralls him. He looks at her, befuddled by their sudden proximity.

"I've known loss and felt pain in my life," Caitlin started. "My father, then my fiancé. For a while, I felt that I would never be happy again, that life would always take from me. I chose to close my heart, to become cold to the world. That way I would never have to lose. But then I met you." She smiles and her eyes glimmer.

Barry's breath catches. Her beauty is mesmerizing. His cheeks burn a little. The thought comes uninvited. The shapeshifter. The fact that she kissed him, but not really him. His eyes fall momentarily to her lips. What is he doing? He scolds himself.

"...and you showed me how to laugh at life, how to turn my back at pain and stand up again. Because that's who you are, Barry. No matter how many tragedies and setbacks you meet in your life, you always keep hoping and make other people hope as well."

Her words melt his heart. There is dampness in his eyes.

"Thanks, Cait."

She tilts her head. "You're welcome."

He remembers that first month of knowing her. He'd found her a little intimidating back then, because her eyes were cold and she never responded to any fun. He recalls the first time he saw her smile, laugh with her heart. It had taken away all his senses, like a rock cracking to reveal a gem inside.

Suddenly he realizes the silence has grown and he's still looking at her. Caitlin wipes her palm on her thigh. He wonders if he's making her uncomfortable. Is she still affected by their kiss? That single question opens up a dangerous path in his mind. How did his kiss make her feel? Well, not his, but still. Is she feeling uncomfortable because she liked it or because it was awkward?

His frustration grows. Why is he having all those questions? Why is he suddenly curious about her? Is this some kind of a whim? Should he let it pass? Let the night dawn? Sleep on it?

But it doesn't feel like a whim. It feels like... He drinks her in, this time exploring her in detail. Her angelic curls are tucked on one side of her neck, her skin glows under the pale light in the living room, she's gnawing on her lips, her pupils drawn to the corners of her eyes. So he decides to no longer fight his feelings. He lets all the chaos in at once. And his eyes adjust to a different shade of her. The sensual, secretive woman full of secrets and hidden emotions. He realizes he's inhaled, but never exhaled.

His thoughts flash through his mind. When he falls into pace with reality, only seconds have passed. Quiet has consumed the walls of her apartment. The night is pitch black and soundless outside the window, like the space vacuum.

"Cait?" he asks her quietly, having no idea what he's doing.

Her head snaps and her lips part in bewilderment as she absorbs his face.

"Do you ever think about it?" he asks her, letting his gaze drop to her lips.

"Think about what..." her voice trails off as she reads his eyes.

He expects her to give him a sign, jump away from him or...lean in, but she just stands completely still. He looks up into her eyes. They're stretched out in surprise, wavering between his gaze and his mouth. That's all the confirmation he needs.

He leans in and softly takes her lower lip into his mouth. Her breath shudders, along with his. She has a keen taste, like the air after a storm. He can't cut himself away from her. He presses his mouth further into hers, letting his instincts take control. Her mouth opens under his and it takes all his restraint not to moan. His lips close over her warmth and moisture and her cool breath feathers his skin. Her light touch traces his arms upwards. He places his own hand at her waist and pulls them them both flush against each other, straightening up his body. The movement breaks the connection momentarily.

They stare into each other's eyes, Cait's hands on his shoulders, both out of breath. The second time he dives in and devours her lips with thirst, opening his mouth to let his tongue find hers. She ties her arms around his neck and presses herself closer, lifting herself a little off the couch. This almost drives him nuts. He grips her waist and pulls her onto his lap, her legs settling on either side of him. She burries her fingers into his hair and deepens the kiss with teeth and tongue. He feels as if a wild creature has woken within her. He's never seen this side of her, only glimpses.

He kisses her until he's lost every other sense, until midnight has turned to dawn and until kissing her is the only way he knows how to breathe.

They fall asleep on the couch, legs tangled and chests crushed.

"Barry, I don't regret it," says Caitlin the next morning. Her voice breaks the serenity and he turns his head to her, surprised to find her awake. Her head's on his arm and her beautiful, clever eyes are serious as they roam his face.

She must have sensed his tension. He inhales, stretching his limbs-which does interesting things to their bodies- and tosses around to face her.

"Neither do I," he says playfully.

She laughs and pushes him on the chest, which makes him laugh, too. The mood carries with him, until his soul feels light and soft like a feather.

"So what do we call this?" Cait asks.

He stares at her, still smiling, and thinking.

He's found happiness at an unlikely stage of his life. And he'd never expected to find it here. He was so blind. And now he realizes why.

Iris had been his only love since childhood. She wasn't his, but he was hers. And letting himself feel something for anyone else felt like betrayal. He cannot believe how much this single contract with himself had blinded him.

"Are you okay?" Cait asks, a shadow crossing her features.

He smiles, nodding. He reaches out with his thumb and rubs her cheek.

"Let's call it the start of something," he says and leans in to kiss her again.

A/N: Thanks for reading. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments! This is my first attempt to write something for the Flash fandom. Hope it is received well

#snowbarry #the flash #snowbarry fanfic #snowbarry fic #fanfiction #ff.net #writing #caitlin snow #barry allen #mine

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jamspai-blog · 6 years

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Shingeki No Kyojin Fanfiction: Prologue [Part 2]

Unfortunately, I myself do not have the exact answers to these incisive questions. As much as I would like to inform you of the best ways to retain happiness, I am afraid that this is just another thing that I am unable to provide. You would think that after all of this attempted wisdom I just spewed, I would have the answer to at least one thing. I am sorry for that.

But if there is something that I do know, it is that we must locate beauty wherever we set foot upon. There will always be a lavish patch of light stitched somewhere within a blanket of darkness. Always. There is no such thing as darkness without light. You just have to search for it.

Now although I may not have answers, I do have faith. The amount of faith you possess may waver from mine, or you may have an entirely contrasting faith altogether. That is irrelevant. But as long as we believe in somebody or something, whether it be a higher power, a materialistic item, or even yourself, I believe that we can accomplish both anything and everything. I know I previously stated that where we end up is most important, and while that is still true, we must never forget where we came from, for that is what will meld us into the driven individuals we will soon become.

My time may be limited here, but I write this in the hopes that you will soon discover this measly journal I have left you with. There is a generous number of entries scrawled within, so if you are able to bring yourself to the end of this one, then I highly recommend taking a quick glance at some of the others. But take your time. Nobody is asking you to absorb yourself within it all at once; that would be asking too much. I tend to ramble and unleash the truest forms of my thoughts, so I give my deepest apologies if some of these writings are a bit long for your liking. Do not worry, though. If you are to never read this, I will never live to know. It appears that Death is making his visit at last and since I have made him wait long enough, it would be rude of me to keep him waiting any longer.

Perhaps you are wondering how I am holding up right now, how I must feel in my last moments before Death nimbly whisks away my soul.

To put it simply: there is a boisterous yet tranquil ambience that indulges in my surroundings. I would like to say that I am not fearful right now...but maybe I am. My brain and my heart are on two opposing sides of a polychromatic spectrum; they have traveled down two incompatible trails. You see, my brain is calm. It emits a sense of acceptance and is thoroughly prepared for its demise. But my heart feels otherwise. It violently hammers inside of my feeble chest, oblivious to its arrived expiration date. It cannot fathom the fact that all of my memories, not to mention the microscopic neurons that dance along my various axons and gracefully leap from one synapse to the next, will be shut down and locked away into an eternal limbo that they will never be able to escape from. I cannot blame my heart for feeling this way. After all, it is immensely dispiriting to watch somebody's creative intellect and involuted thought processes go to such waste. My ideas, they will only dissipate, without ever being implemented as something phenomenal. The line will cut short here, transfixed. I truly endure sorrow for my timid heart.

I believe that we all have a specific wedge in our heart designated to holding a palpable kind of fear, one that is dedicated to the unknown, the unpredictable. It is a bustling cluster of clashing emotions and defeatist assumptions, impeding our sights, minds, and hearts. A deadly concoction of apprehension and anxiety, every nerve ending in our body is laced with anticipation. The whirl of fear swarms around us and hurriedly closes in the distance between us, cradling us into an aggressive chokehold. The bundles of fog turn into hands and refuse to let go. We are paralyzed.

It is slightly demoralizing to realize that most of our fears stem from the mind itself and not from what physically lies in front of us.

Once it sinks in that I am finally gone, you must understand that the world will continue to spin at the listless pace it always has. Frost-covered grass will still languidly turn into snow-laden fields as an indication of a new season approaching. A scarlet sun will still gleam against the horizon of a sky banded with prominent hues of orange and pink as it makes its descent in a perfect trajectory along the earth. The wind will still whisper soothing lullabies into the stiff night air as it moves the trees and flowers with its delicate voice, liquid like honey. Despite me no longer being here, everything will continue to move forward. The streets will remain unrestrained with the loud cries of adolescence reverberating off of every brick wall. People will steadily laugh and create unforgettable memories with their loved ones. Happiness will pursue.

Life will move forward, but perhaps your mind will not. It may be perforated with a solemn silence, possibly even rage, albeit temporary. 'Why?' You might ask. 'Why are these people not grieving like I am? How do they have the audacity to smile and be happy at a time like this? Did somebody not just die?' I know you too well. I am certain that these are the questions running through your troubled head at this very moment. Well, you see, my precious child, if you take the time to view things from a logical perspective, you will then become aware. Remember what I said about the fine line that sits sharply between our emotions and the overall purpose of our existence. Do not let it become dim.

These people did not know me. They do not know me. They never will know me. So of course they are not saddened by this tragic turn of events. Death befalls us when we least expect it to. It is an occurrence in everybody's life, and it just so happens that today is the day it comes by us. Yesterday was somebody else's day, and tomorrow will yet again be somebody else's day as well. Yesterday, somebody grieved. Tomorrow, somebody will grieve. But today, it is your turn. I would like to apologize beforehand since there are not many people that you can share your grievances with.

Every individual has their own set of grievances. Some sets are favorably small while others are larger and more heart-rendering. We cannot judge either set so quickly. For those who have not had much to grieve over, it should not be a surprise to see them become upset over something that you consider as minorly upsetting. The same way that for those who have had a great deal to grieve over, it should not be a surprise to see them not even flinch at the idea of something you consider majorly upsetting. Neither person is overly sensitive or heartlessly incompetent. It all comes back down to the circumstances in which they were raised, along with the experiences they have grown up with. We should learn to treat emotions like we do skills. If somebody has a talent for creating art at the age of thirteen while somebody else has more mediocre abilities even though they may be older, it is most probable that the thirteen year old has had more practice over the years. If a thirteen year old is not unnerved by death compared to someone who is much older, is it not because they have most likely had more experience with death in the first place? Personally, I find it to be common sense.

In this city, we are accustomed to making choices swiftly and without haste. It is more of an 'act before you think' kind of deal, otherwise you might be lying dead in a soot-stained alleyway if you take the time to think first. But when you do get a free moment, take the time to sit down and reflect. Every action you make, every step you take, there is a reason behind it. Make sure you know that reason and can stand behind it and accept it for what it is.

As humans, we make mistakes. Bounteous mistakes. We never really know where our choices are going to lead us. I sometimes have the impression that everything happens for a reason while other times, I am more inclined to the impression of 'you get what you give'. Especially in a world as corrupt as this one, infested with man-eating Titans and where every moment is filled with volumes of unpredictability, there is much room for mistakes to be made. But a mistake made does not necessarily mean that one is at fault. Alas, my own mistakes have landed me in an unpleasant location, left to rot away with my dignity. If I could go back in time, I would. Regret is a terrible feeling.

So please.

My dear Maika.

I have but one wish for you.

The world has had its beginning, but it has yet to meet its end. Too much has gone into the making of the molecular structure of atoms and particles for you to let it all deteriorate. As far as we know, time is infinite, therefore, our efforts in mending the broken parts of the world we currently live in are infinite as well. And to mend, you must find freedom.

I wish for you to find freedom.

That is ultimately the biggest picture.

I will not tell you to never give up, to love yourself, or to stay strong. I am sure that you are already aware of that. But what I will tell you is that I have faith in you to accomplish those things. I have faith that you will find your reason for living and that you will find what will help you become the best possible version of yourself that you could possibly be. Just remember: whatever that may be, never forget that all in all, you are loved, and you can conquer anything that you want, no matter where you come from and no matter how high you are reaching.

Good luck.

I will be waiting for you when your time has finally come.

And I hope that you can find it in yourself to forgive me for not being able to provide you with enough love and care that a child should properly receive from their mother. I promise to do better in our following lifetimes.

Until we meet again.

Mother.

#Y’all #Lol #Why am I always so dissatisfied with my work #???#Idk man #I guess I will only improve with practice #I’m on spring break rn so I should technically be doing fun stuff that relate to my hobbies but wait #Ahahaha #It’s currently 2 am and I have to wake up at 6 for soccer practice tomorrow #Shingeki No Kyojin #Fanfiction #I have too much homework ;-;

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loverunsdeeper-blog · 7 years

Text

What the first month post affair discovery was like.

AS OF RIGHT NOW I HAVE DECIDED TO STAY AND TRY. However my feelings seem to change by the hour, so I really don’t know what will happen in the end.

I cannot begin to tell you the amount of pain I have been feeling. If you are here reading this and thinking or dabbling in starting an affair either emotional, physical, or both... I ask you to stop. The amount of pain you will put on your spouse is worse than any pain they may ever feel, and once you have inflicted this pain, you cannot take it back. It has been a little over a month since I found out about my husbands infidelity. I have felt like I am no longer in control of my emotions or thoughts. My emotions go from optimism to on the ground crying my eyes out in front of seriously concerned neighbors. When every day is torture, you begin to create a false sense of happiness because you literally cannot take the pain anymore. I pretend the affair didn’t happen some days, and can have a few hours where life almost seems normal, then something comes on the tv, or in a song, or anything really... and I’m back on the floor sobbing. I have felt like such a failure as a mother because I have neglected the affection my son so desperately craves. All I can do is take care of his necessary needs, and turn on television so maybe he can ignore mother crying on the couch. If you are in the same position I am in, I ask you to try and be selective about who you confide in at this time. I have told my parents... not by choice... but my mom knew the moment I picked up the phone that Saturday morning that something wasn’t right and she has a way at picking the truth out of a person. I have told my least judgmental friend, who is going through a second divorce as we speak. Surprisingly, she is the first person who thinks I should stay in the marriage and work it at. In her words... “Guys like David don’t come often. He truly is sorry. He is a good guy who did a very bad thing.” Thanks Meagan, but at the moment I can’t exactly see David as a ‘good guy’. I made a stupid mistake and told my very dear, but very feminist, ‘girl power’ college best friend. Needless to say my conversation with her was more of the, “OMG. GET OUT OF THERE. I AM COMING TO GET YOU RIGHHHHHTTTT NOW. You can’t seriously be thinking of trying? Once a cheater always a cheater! You still look great. Lets get you a new Boo.” Seeing as I am trying to see if I can possibly forgive what seems unforgivable ... I don’t want someone who doesn’t support my decision to try and work something out having too much to say to me right now. I really am that fragile. As embarrassing as it sounds, I really do believe my opinions can be swayed like the wind at this moment. While I love my girlfriend to pieces, I know now is not the right time to catch up. Maybe in a few months.

Husband has been trying his best to be a better man. I can tell he's putting an effort, which would be commendable, if every action he took didn’t look like ‘sucking up’ to me. Of course he would be trying now... after all... I know. Affairs are fun and exhilarating, I hear, but when you have the possibility of losing your wife and son, any man would be on damage control. Some days I welcome this new change and think we really can move past this, and then it seems like right after the good day comes a bad one when the sight of him makes me sick. I am ashamed to admit that even when I hate him, or have feelings of anger, hatred, resentment... I secretly wish I didn’t know about the affair. I wish he would scoop me up in his welcoming arms and make me feel beautiful again. Now he can't, however. Anytime he tries to tell me I’m beautiful, I say (or think at the very least)... “If I was so beautiful, then WHY would you lust after another woman? Telling her SHE was beautiful!” When he tells me he loves me it is even worse. I get so angry.... HUSBANDS WHO LOVE THEIR WIVES DONT HAVE 2 MONTH AFFAIRS WITH THE WIVES BEST FRIEND. I really don’t think that is a law set in stone, but seriously... in my obviously clueless little mind I cannot fathom how someone can love their spouse but sleep with another. Like how could he even get it up? That is a question I asked. He said he barely could... I replied with... “WELL YOU GOT IT UP ENOUGH TO HAVE A DAMN PREGNANCY SCARE!” Yes... I thought it was odd my husband of nearly 4 years brings home a box of condoms. We aren’t trying to have kids, but we have been pretty good at the whole “pull out” method. How hurt do you think I was when I found out he WASNT using a condom with his mistress, but with his wife? He says it was guilt, but I secretly wonder if it was so I would have no chance (or slim if the condom breaks) of me getting pregnant... so he could choose between the two without a pregnant wife... HOWEVER... he even went so far as finishing inside of his affair partner... She could have gotten pregnant! Thank goodness she couldn’t, but how can someone be so irresponsible... and think nothing of his wife or child and how an illegitimate child would affect them?

Needless to say, every time I think I take two steps forward, I take 10 back. I look at my son, and see how much his father means to him, and I don’t want to break up his family... but how can I stay with a man who did this to me? I also feel ashamed. Our society puts a lot of shame on the betrayed wives who stay in the marriage. I have read and heard over and over that the only respectable thing to do is leave. My own loving mother, who is pushy but also a firm believer in letting her children make their own choices, told me that she's sorry I have such low self esteem. Ouch. That hurt... a lot.

Believe it or not, I think staying and leaving are both nearly equally as hard. If you leave, you are closing all hope of a future with that person. You are forever declaring that holidays with the children will be split, and that someone who once meant everything to you, was now the “ex.” You are going to have to watch the man or woman you once married eventually move on and date or marry others... perhaps even have children with them. I have learned from my mother, who has been married twice and her second husband happens to be my dad.. that you never really get over your ex. My mother will never admit it, but when they are in the same room she is physically ill and wants nothing more to either run or get his attention. That seems very sad to me.

If you stay... Well, you are just about the weakest woman who ever lived, or so society says. However staying is, in my opinion, equally as challenging and maybe even more so. In both staying and leaving, you have to deal with pain and heal your wounds. With leaving, you are far away from the triggers and can start a new relationship where cheating has not taken place. Lets not kid ourselves, however, because we could always be cheated on by the next man or woman. Just because you leave your cheating spouse, doesn’t mean you will find a faithful man or woman. Like I said in a previous post, if I had a million dollars and was asked if David would have ever cheat, I would have betted it all and lost. Staying means you don’t get away from the eyesore of a spouse, and are forced to try and deal with them day in and day out even when you feel like screaming at the sight of him/her. David sometimes brings joy when he comes home after a long day, but then later I am ashamed at feeling it. Why do I even care that he is home? The man that made me a broken woman. I AM ASHAMED AT ADMITTING HOW BROKEN I TRULY AM. Women are supposed to be strong. We are mothers after all. Mom can’t fall apart, she is required to keep everyone else afloat. I am trying my best to move on and forgive, but today, as it changes everyday on how I feel... I feel the future is bleak. I don’t know if I can let go of the pain, and move on with him. I feel as if I am healing with him because I can heal in my home... my safe space, but really healing so I can leave him.

I can’t write anymore today. I’m too upset right now.

For any of you feeling the same. I am seriously sorry. God bless you.

#cheater cheating betrayal marriage relationship affair infidelity heartbreak postaffair forgiveness lettinggo

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