I've come to the conclusion that loving young royals doesn't mean I can't be critical about it, maybe especially bc I love the show so much I have such strong feelings about it, good and bad and I can love parts of canon and agree with it and appreciate it but I don't have to love it all. I have accepted that it's okay if I don't accept the ending and I don't have to force myself to support it. It's okay to not agree with all of canon and it's okay to not side with all of the creators' intentions/views. Loving a show doesn't mean you have to take everything the writers say on face value and that's the only version that is allowed to exist. Canon isn't everything and fandom is about curating your own experience that makes you happy and not miserable. You don't have to dismiss canon in every aspect and ignore it entirely, that's certainly not what I want but there is a fine line between being canon respectful, allowing some parts to exist and sometimes, yes, you just have to say "fuck canon" and move on for your own sanity and wellbeing

idk why people think Miguel and Peter are the perfect father figures like they’re the worst ESPECIALLY MIGUEL HES SO VIOLENT

ionkno ima be honest miguel... Miguel might be my Tio. (not in the 'papi' way, he literally my uncle)

A RANT where I get progressively angrier and more confused at Miguel and Peter B.

[Peter B. Parker Hater Club]

Like....I can't defend him in anyway cause like my GOD, I've seen Peter fighting Green Goblins less violently. Miguel was being brolic as hell on a child.

But I like think that like...day to day.. he isn't as much of a (number of words that might be a bit too vulgar).

I...I don't know how to feel about him. Because on one hand we have the logic hints that he is normal most of the time - based on how people treat him. But we don't see that at all.

We never get to see Miguel OR the Society just exist and I don't think we will in the next movie cause there's no time plot-wise but considering what Miguel truly believes I'm like - maybe you just need to be put on ice for a minute. Look at yourself, you look insane.

I'm HOPING GOD IM HOPING that theres a scene where Miguel gets to Miles and just stops and is holding Miles down and now that Miles can't leave he just begs Miles not to make the same mistake he did, because he believes the even if Miles saves his dad - his dad will die anyway when the universe collapses (like Gabbie did).

just so we can see some range or like self-reflection from him. Because..if he's so guilty about Gabbie I assume he self-reflected a lot so he uhhh needs to do that...again.. right now.

And like....that's not how that works but it's like telling a flat earther that the earth is round. Until they go up and see it, they will have an argument for everything you say.

I trust Spider-people, and I trust them to be able to call out a evil person so I'm like...the Society is run so well, ALL of these spider-people can't be stupid - we know Insomnia Peter, we know Hobie. Hobie was there before Gwen so like...Miguel must've been, not bad enough for him to refuse??? I guess?????

I really have no idea about Miguel's character and it's a long movie so I understand not getting alone time with the Society but I'm like..

At WHAT point does Miguel stop and be like "What the fuck am I doing?" AT WHAT POINT DOES JESS OR PETER?

It's like.. (k now I'm mad) You're an ADULT!! And Miguel yeah I know it's a trauma response but standing there at that platform with dozens of people watching you. How is that not like waking up in a cold sweat!!

And realistically speaking - Miguel what are you gonna do? Forreal what are you gonna do?

Okay, so you lock him up and his dad dies. What about his next canon event. Some canon events you have to be active in. Like what if his canon event is marrying his MJ - what, are you gonna MAKE him marry her. What if his canon event is meeting Dr.Otto. What, you gonna make Miles work for him.

Even if this canon event happens it's not like Miles is gonna co-operate for any others??? So what is the goal?!?!?!

That's why I'm like nah, Miguel cannot be like this all the time. He can not be this blindly stupid because what he's doing is DUMBBBBBB

Im gonna be real even if a Spider-person had caught Miles, Miles would've tried to explain and be like 'please let me go', and because everyone else doesn't have the drive like Miguel, they'd probably be like "Oh shit, ok go on kid."

BUT PETERRRRRRR FUCK THIS DUD OKAY I HAVE A QUESTION

In the scene where he's like 'hold the baby' to Miles and his watch goes off- do you think he was purposely trying to give Miles up? Because that's what I thought. Someone the other day suggested that it was an accident and I was like "???"

NO MA'AM. No, Ma'am.

I always saw the scene as this:

Peter B. KNOWS Miles isn't gonna take off while holding MayDay. He's not, Miles not going to kidnap a baby.

So Peter is continually pestering Miles to hold MayDay, to get him to stay in while place, while he intentionally alerts them of his location. However, Miles won't take MayDay, and Peter's watch goes off.

Because Miles isn't holding her, his hands are free, and he can escape.

That's what I got from that, no?

Or you mean to tell me Peter's watch went off by itself? Maybe, but then what was with the 'Hold My Baby' shit? Why wouldn't he take 'no' for an answer?

He was using MayDay to trap Miles. Like are you fucking kidding me.

Wow, betraying his trust again AND manipulating him with that 'I had her cause of you!' speech.

Miguel - He's having a psychotic break, he's full Primal and honestly he needs to go somewhere. Perhaps a small red bubble and just..look at himself in the mirror. Like - fuck are you doing? The most, for no reason. Cut it out!

Peter - Nah, why are you even here? What are you getting out of this, seriously? Gwen HAS to be here, Hobie knows WHY he's here, Pav just GOT here. Why are you here? What do you get out of this? What, do they have free daycare or something at HQ. What even compelled you to be on Miguel's side in the first place. WHY DIDNT YOU FIGHT HIM THE SECOND HE MENTIONED MILES NEGATIVELY

Like Peter doesn't have the trauma Miguel has, he doesn't have the professionalism Jess has, and he doesn't have the brains Hobie does. What is he adding to this society, what is he getting out of it?

He's just THERE. Being a NUISANCE and I MEAN THAT!!!

You can't tell me Lyla be looking at missions and be like 'Oh yeah we need to get Peter B. on the case' NO!

And then to not help Gwen and also try and rat Miles out????????? He should fall into a 'metaphor for capitalism' if u know what i mean

Jess - She's literally doing her job and going home at 5:00:01 and as someone who is anti-work....understood ma'am have a nice day but also maybe reconsider your parenting practices before that baby gets here, just a suggestion.

Rio and Jeff are the only adults with some sense in this movie. Captain Stacy, you're fine but you're on thin fucking ice.

Fuck Peter B. All my Hobies hate Peter B. (not a typo)

And Miguel:

"I - I can't even with you."

Call Me Back

Bishop Losa x Reader

Request by my #1 Presidente fan @masterlistforimagines​ : Hiii, can I request “don’t you dare walk away” “call me now, it’s urgent” and “why do I even bother” with el Presidente (aka the only person I request for). I’m thinking maybe they were in an argument and he left mid argument to handle club shit. Maybe something important happens and that’s why there’s the whole call me back part. Like angst to fluff?

Warnings: language 

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: The prompts are from This Post in case anyone was curious! Also, I wanted to make it angsty but not tooooo too angsty because then my heart would be too sad haha. Hope you enjoy it!

Bish Tag: @sincerelyasomebody​ @sadeyesgf​

Gif Credit: @sonsofeorl​ 

You and Bishop were standing on opposite ends of your dining room table. You were leaning against the back of the chair on the very end, trying to keep your tears from falling. You hated that you were an angry crier. Bishop was standing at the opposite end, staring intently down at the surface of the table. He hated seeing you so upset, and when you’d start to cry that’s when his heart would really start to break.

“I didn’t think it was worth bothering you with,” his tone was level, which sometimes made it more infuriating to argue with him, “It wasn’t that big of a—”

“It was a big deal to me!” you snapped, a tear escaping and trickling down your cheek, “It fucking matters to me! I don’t understand why that isn’t enough of a reason to keep me in the loop. All it takes is one goddamn phone call, Obispo. I’m not asking for a hell of a lot.”

“And I’m telling you, that if I want to keep you safe I can’t always just,” his phone vibrated in his pocket and he paused to see who was calling. With a sigh he hit the reject button and went back to is discussion with you, “I can’t always afford to do that. We’ve had this conversation before, I don’t know why we have to keep having it.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you wipe the tears off of your cheeks, “So if I just decided to fuck off for a couple days and not communicate with you at all, you’re saying that you’d be okay with that? That wouldn’t set off any alarm bells for you?”

He shook his head, “It’s not the same, Y/N. You aren’t tied up with a goddamn cartel!”

“That’s all the more reason you should take the five seconds to send me a text so I know you’re at least alive and not dead in a fucking ditch somewhere.”

“What exactly do you want me to send you then, huh? Drop you a casual text saying that the drug run was successful and that we—” his phone went off again in his pocket and he huffed as he answered it, “What?!”

You shook your head and collapsed in the chair that you had been leaning against. Of course he would answer his phone in the middle of an argument. God forbid he get through one conversation with you without having to reprioritize.

“Fuck me,” he sighed, “Alright, I’m on my way. Stay put and don’t do anything stupid.”

You jaw dropped, “You’re kidding right? You’re not leaving right now.”

“It’s shit with the—”

“Shit with the club, yea, I know,” you shook your head, “You can’t just leave in the middle of this, Obispo. You can’t keep dodging this conversation.”

“I’m not dodging it,” he took his kutte off the chair and slid it on, “but the club needs me right now.”

“I need you right now!” you slammed your hand on the table.

He took a deep breath, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t you dare walk away,” your voice was quieter now, “For the love of god, Obispo.”

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” he stormed off and out the door. No goodbye, no I love you, nothing. That hurt more than him yelling.

You buried your face in your hands as the tears began to flow. It was half anger, half sadness fueling them now. You were constantly left feeling like you were being unrealistic with asking certain things of him, and also knowing that what you were asking for was the bare minimum. You cared about him too much to be alright with not knowing if he was safe. No matter how many times you tried to explain that to him, though, he never seemed to get it. Or maybe he did and just actively went out of his way not to get into it because he couldn’t offer you any comfort about it. If that was the case though, you reasoned, that was another discussion he should be having with you.

But you never got to discuss anything. Because there was always something going on with the club that would cut into it.

You wiped the tears off of your face and grabbed your purse and keys from the table. If he could leave, then so could you. You couldn’t keep sitting in the house feeling sad and lonely. You were done with that. If Bishop really wanted to talk to you, he could come and find you.

The radio was blasting and the roads were empty. You had no idea how long you had been driving for. You were all cried out though. You took a deep breath as you blindly dug around in your purse for your cigarettes and lighter. You were able to take one out of the pack and put it to your lips without taking your eyes off the road. Your fingers fumbled with the lighter for a moment before you glanced down just long enough to make sure you were going to safely light it.

You looked back up to the road and screamed, swerving your car to avoid hitting the coyote that was standing in the middle of the road. It scampered out of the way, getting out of the altercation unharmed, but you couldn’t stop yourself from swearing repeatedly as you realized that your car had dragged along the cement median, still there from the never-ending construction. You didn’t want to get out and look at the damage, but you knew that you had to.

You put your hazards on as you safely found a place to pull off the road. You grabbed your phone, turning the flashlight on so you could see what you were dealing with. Tears stung at your eyes again as you took in the damage. A good chunk of it was cosmetic, just scrapes and dents down the passenger side of the vehicle. But you had also busted your passenger-side headlight, and also ended up ripping off the side-view mirror as well. The car was drivable, but if you passed any cops there was no way they weren’t going to give you some kind of ticket.

Your original plan had been to make Bishop come and look for you, but that all went out the window. With a heavy sigh you called him. The line rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. He always had time to pick up for the club, but suddenly now his phone was out of reach. You rolled your eyes, trying not to let yet another wave of tears come cascading down your cheeks.

Your thumbs flew across your phone’s keyboard, “Call me now. It’s urgent” you hoped that maybe he just couldn’t answer a phone call, but maybe he’d have the time to spare a quick look at a text message. You weren’t one to bother him with “emergencies” that weren’t really emergencies. If you said you needed help, you meant it.

You gave it ten minutes before you sent a follow up message, “Forget it. Why do I even bother?”

You scrolled through your contacts until you landed on Chucky’s number. This wasn’t his problem, but you knew that he’d show up in a heartbeat to help you. You dialed and he picked up on the second ring.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Chucky. I’m, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s late and you’re probably dealing with your own shit right now, but I’m in a bit of a spot.”

“You know I would do anything for the First Lady of the club,” he sounded so earnest.

It made you smile and shake your head even if he couldn’t see you, “You’re sweet, Chucky. Are you still at the yard?”

“I’m just getting ready to leave. You called me at the perfectly fated moment.”

You chuckled despite the fact that you wanted to cry, “Something like that. I, uh, I banged up my car. I was wondering if you could meet me with the tow truck? I’ll owe you one for sure.”

“All you’ll ever owe me is company and good conversation.”

You laughed as you gave him the mile marker that you were closest to. The whole evening had been a shitshow but it was impossible to not feel a little lighter after talking to Chucky. You just hoped that it wouldn’t take him too long to get to you.

He got to you in about forty-five minutes, which was good time considering you had been driving for a while before all of this happened. He didn’t say a word as the two of you hooked your car up to the tow truck. That was one of the things you loved about Chucky—he didn’t ask a million questions. You hopped in so you were riding shotgun and you both began the ride back to the yard.

As promised, you kept a conversation going with him the entire time, and it almost made you forget about the chaos that had landed you in that truck with him. There was so much to Chucky that you wanted to know about. He was like the most interesting puzzle you’d ever encountered. He was always so kind to you, and you knew he did everything he could to help take care of the club. There weren’t many people who were as selfless and loyal as he was. You were glad to know him.

He drove through the gate to the yard and clubhouse. You let out a deep sigh when you saw Bishop sitting on the steps to the clubhouse. There was a cigarette in his hand and he was staring down at the ground, looking up only when he heard the truck roll onto the lot. He flicked away the last of his cigarette as he jogged over to meet the truck when Chucky put it in park.

“I figured that you would be able to get it off the truck and onto the lift tomorrow?” Chucky offered up as he stepped out of the truck, “Or one of the club?”

Bishop nodded, wanting to dismiss him quickly without being rude, “Yea we got it. Thank you, Chucky.”

“Glad to be of service,” he nodded to Bishop, “Have a good night, Presidente,” he turned back to you, “Despite the circumstances, I appreciate the company.”

You smiled at him, “You’re a good man, Chucky. Thank you.”

He smiled as he walked away, “I accept that.”

It was just you and Bishop on the lot. Everything was dark except for the street lights that shined into the compound. There was a considerable gap between the two of you. You were nervously fussing with your hair, not wanting to try and get into all of this shit with Bishop now. All you wanted to do was go home and go to sleep. The adrenaline was wearing off and all of the crying that you had been doing was exhausting.

“I’m sorry about the car,” you finally broke the silence, “There was a coyote in the middle of the road and I didn’t want to hit it and I just—”

It seemed like it only took him all of two steps to close the gap between the two of you as he came and wrapped you in a hug. He squeezed you tighter than he had in a long time, with one arm wrapped around your waist and the other looped so that he was keeping your head pressed against his chest. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight, like he was trying to revel in how you felt in his arms.

“I don’t give a fuck about the car,” he mumbled into your hair as he peppered the top of your head with kisses,” he pulled back so he could look you over, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, “Yea. It really wasn’t that bad. It’s a lot of cosmetic damage. I’ll need a new headlight and mirror though,” you sighed, shaking your head, “Dumb fucking coyote.”

There was the smallest hint of a smile on his face, “I told you that no stray animal like that is worth wrecking the car over.”

“I didn’t wreck it. She’s just got…you know…some battle scars now.”

He shook his head as he pulled you into another hug. He tilted your chin up for a moment so that he could kiss your lips. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into it for a moment, savoring the taste of him before he rested your head back against his chest again. His arms tightened around you again, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

You were smiling against his chest but you couldn’t help the words that came out of your mouth, “You woulda known sooner if you answered your fucking phone when I called.”

You felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed, “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“Did Chucky tell you he was coming to get me?”

Bishop nodded a smile quickly passing over his face as he said, “Barged in on Templo,” he gave you a pointed look, “Which is why I wasn’t answering my phone, by the way. And I would’ve gone with him but I didn’t know if you were still pissed off at me.”

“I’m not done being mad at you yet, Obispo,” you sighed against him, “But I would like to hit pause on this argument for now. I’m tired and I just want to go home with you.”

He scooped you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist as he held you, “I would really love it if you were done being mad at me, Amor,” he pressed his forehead against yours.

You rolled your eyes as he nuzzled his nose against yours, trying to be sweet enough to drop your anger, “Are you really trying to schmooze your way out of this argument?”

He walked, carrying you over to his bike. He set you down on your seat and gently cupped your face in his hand, “What if I’m trying to schmooze and I promise you that going forward I’ll work on being better at communicating with you?”

You smiled, leaning into the warmth emanating from his hand, “Alright, fine, I’ll allow it,” you kissed his palm, “But you’re on thin ice, Obispo.”

There was a small smirk on his face, “I always am,” he handed you his helmet, “So do I get to ask why your next call was Chucky? Why not one of the guys?”

You laughed, “Why? You jealous of Chucky?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “He is quite the charmer.”

You chuckled as you clipped the strap to his helmet, “He refers to me as the First Lady and it does wonders for my confidence.”

“Don’t let it go to your head too much, Y/N,” he tapped the top of his helmet, “Or this won’t even fit you anymore.”

“If it still fits you, I know I’ll be fine,” you smirked before letting out a laugh.

He shook his head at you before leaning in and giving you a kiss, “Always gotta have something smart to say, don’t you?”

“That’s why you love me.”

He got onto his bike, and you were still able to hear his laughter even though you were sitting behind him, “One of the many reasons, Amor.”

A Peaky Christmas Day (Tommy x Reader)

Title: A Peaky Christmas Day Summary: Tommy asks you to spend Christmas Day with him. Tommy finds you wandering the snowy streets on Christmas Morning. Asks you to spend Christmas Day with him. Words: 3,372 | Part 1 of 2 Warnings: Trigger Warnings for mentions of Domestic Abuse, Alcohol abuse, Rape, Swearing, She/Her Pronouns Author’s Note: To the Anon that suggested this, I was already writing something similar so I hope you don’t mind me adding in some tragic backstory. Part 1 of 2. Part 2 more focused on Christmas Day Fluff. It’s my first Tommy Shelby Fanfic so if he’s out of character, I profusely apologise. 

 ~

Christmas Day. Merry Christmas. 𝑀𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦.

You couldn’t recall a time where Christmas was ever ‘merry’ for you. Your father was always drunk, using the excuse that he was drinking ‘Santa’s whisky since it’s Christmas after all’, and his drunkenness was often taken out on you. The more he drank, the worse it became for you. Which is why you prefer to stay home and ensure he has meals throughout the day, try and soak up some of the alcohol, and try and distract him from consuming too much, lest it become far worse than things thrown at you.

Christmas Eve had been the start of your problems. You weren’t aware your Dad had gone out drinking at the pub until he came home and gotten handsy with you. Luckily you were able to shoo him off with the excuse of you cooking dinner and he needed to take a shower. But this didn’t last as long as you hoped. You managed to get him to eat something but your night went downhill from there.

 Had you given Tommy Shelby permission from another time prior, your Father wouldn’t have lived to have seen Christmas Day. At the moment, you regretted protecting your Dad against the Peaky Blinder. For some reason, Tommy stepped down and respected your wishes. You were grateful. But you knew that Tommy knew your Dad can be extremely abusive when under the influence.

Christmas morning finally arrived and you were already exhausted. You hadn’t slept. Your Dad keeping you awake between his bouts of drunkenness. You had no safe spot in the house. Your bedroom, which should have been anyone’s general ‘safe spot’ was never respected by him as he quite often came barging in.

He finally passed out in the early morning and that’s when it became too much for you. Still in yesterday’s clothes, though severely crumpled and torn, you left the house in such a state that you blindly walked in the snow for hours. It was still dark, but the sun that was slowly rising had allowed enough light to dimly light the area in a dark blue hue.

 You walked and walked. You knew if you stopped and caught your breath, you’d break down like a mad person and you couldn’t do that. You’re not weak. You’re not. Your situation was complicated. You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t disrespect your Mother’s memory by leaving your Dad all on his own. He was still grieving the love of his life. Your Mother had only died a year prior. A few days before Christmas, actually. This year had marked the one-year anniversary. The wounds were still fresh. The first time Tommy found out your Father was abusing you, he wanted to pay your Father a visit. But you stepped in and explained the situation. At first Tommy wasn’t having it, but you begged him to respect the memory of your Mom; a good, kind-hearted, nurturing woman. When he saw you almost breakdown in tears, he stepped down; on the condition that if it gets out of hand, he will do something about it. “You’re protected by the Peaky Blinders now, love.” He had said as he took his cap off and placed it on your head. Far too large for you, but it had you smiling again. And in turn, made him smile softly.

 By 7:30 in the morning, the sun had peaked above the rooftop, though hidden behind clouds, it still left enough light to let you know that it’s now daylight. Snow was starting to fall ever so slightly and your h/c hair had lightly begun sprinkled with snow. You would have looked cute with your red nose and cheeks – had the circumstances been different. Your fingers were cold as ice, too, but it didn’t seem to bother you.

 -- As always, for Tommy, Business never stopped. Even on Christmas Day. Rising up early with the sun, and before anyone else awoke, Tommy got himself dressed and headed into town where he had a couple of matters to take care of at his office. His family might get annoyed at him but at least it won’t be bugging him throughout the day, playing at the back of his mind and making him irritable company. He almost lost track of time when he dropped his pen and sat back. Taking his pocket watch out from his vest pocket, he flicked it open anad read that it was nearing 8am. Better get a move on. By the time he gets home, the fire should be lit, half his guests should be waking up or arriving. (Some of his family chose to stay the night, others were going to arrive in the morning).

 Lighting a cigarette, he made his way out of his office and out of the building, immediately being greeted by snow. Snowing at Christmas was always magical. Or so many believed. It didn’t bother Tommy in the slightest. He wasn’t overly sentimental about Christmas, except for how it brought his family together as normal as they can be; no talk of business, no arguments. Just lots of laughter, chatter and loud teasing. The only person who’s ever cross as Christmas is Aunt Pol when she tells the brothers to settle down; John and Arthur being the rowdiest ones.

 Christmas Day was one of very few days where Tommy’s demons don’t weigh heavily on his shoulders, nor hauntingly appear in his eyes. Yes, he’s still quite reserved and prefers to quietly observe his family, but he smiles more and joins in the laughter.

 It wasn’t long before Tommy was in his car and driving away, wanting to get home before the snow got heavy. His drive home only last a few minutes as he drove out to the edge of town, only to slow down when he saw a woman stumbling on the side. Had it not been for the familiar hair, he would’ve thought it was just some whore who had a bit too much too drink. Clothes were crumpled and torn, hair falling out from the updo it must have been kept in; indicating a wild night no doubt. Such was not the case. Foot placed pressure on the brakes of the car as he carefully slowed it down to avoid skidding on the snow-covered road, ocean blue eyes squinted in concern before murmuring a soft “Fuck.” Under his breath when he realised who it was. The car creaked to a halt as he hastily placed the brakes on, turned the ignition off and swiftly climbed out. “Y/N?” he called out, as he walked over to you, head ducking a little trying to catch a glimpse of your face to give him full confirmation it was you. You stopped in your tracks when you heard your name being called by a familiar voice. It was comforting. Too comforting. Because the minute you stopped and looked up to see the clearly concerned look of Thomas Shelby walking over to you, you crumbled. Your features crumpled as distraught washed over you, and he made it in time to catch you against his chest as you cried. “Aright…” he murmured as he braced himself to catch your weight, “Alright, love. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you firmly against him as your body trembled violently from each sob that tore from your chest. He’s never seen you cry. Never heard you cry. Never knew someone could cry as painfully as you. He didn’t need to ask too many questions about what happened. He knew getting an answer out of you now would be hopeless, so he’d wait until you calmed down a little more. But knowing your situation at home, and your dishevelled appearance, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. One hand left your back and curled in the locks of your h/c strands, the other hand remaining on your back and holding your protectively against him. Each sob that tore out from you had you struggling to breath, gasping between each cry. Being out in the cold climate probably didn’t help either, with the snow already starting to fall. “Shh…shh, shh… come on, hey, come on...” you heard him hushing you firmly. Probably to most people it might sound as though he was annoyed because of the tone of his voice, but you knew there was concern that filtered through that gravelly voice. “You’re safe now, eh? You’re safe.” Cold, ocean blue eyes glanced around as he held you; snowfall was beginning to cover things like a white blanket and he needed to get you out of the cold. A few people were still walking around in the distance behind them, but apart from that, it seemed like it was just you two being the daft ones still outside in the cold. Your painful cries tugging at his heartstrings, making him want to murder the fucking bastard that did this to you; family or not. The only thing stopping him from spreading more red at Christmas was you. There was no way in hell he could leave you in such a state. Your father can wait. But he WILL pay. Tommy will NOT let this slide. He continued to hold you until you calmed down, his patience with you was commendable, but it’s one thing you needed was patience and understanding. Your situation was … delicate. Fragile. He certainly didn’t want to fuck anything up with you. Except for your Dad. But that was a given. When your cries had quietened, you dared not look at him, knowing your face was a complete mess. You felt him let go of you, and for some reason you thought he was disgusted by you. Something you feared would always happen if a situation like this occurred; where you were painted dirty. A whimper of fear left your throat and you stumbled back in your footing. Letting you go, Tommy had quickly shrugged out of his jacket to place it over your shoulders, give you some warmth because it was hard to miss how frozen you felt against him. He missed the whimper that came from you, thinking it was just a noise of distraught and nothing more. The same with the stumbling of your footing, thinking it was your exhaustion creeping in. Not once did he ever consider your dirty or disgusting, the word ‘whore’, a word you feared you’d be seen as because of your Dad, never once occurred to him when he’s with you. Or thinking of you. Quickly draping the heavy coat around your shoulders, he was quick to wrap his around you again. “Y/N!” he murmured before his other came around you to hold you up in case you buckled completely. “I’ll take you back to mine, eh? Sit you by the fire and get you warmed up. And then we’ll talk.” “But it’s Christmas.” You murmured though your voice croaky from the distraught outburst you had only moments ago. “You’re spending Christmas with me. Alright?” It’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter. When Tommy formulates plans, he sticks to them. The only time he wavers is if you’re legitimately uncomfortable about it but that’s never been an issue with Tommy. “…but my Dad…” you asked, letting the question go only for Tommy to sternly answer back, “Will be dealt with. Let’s get out of the cold before you get sick. Come on.” Arms stayed around you, right arm draped around the middle of your back, left hand cupping your elbow as an added means of security. Tommy guided you back to his car, his own body acting as both a shield and grounding point for you. Your frozen hands clutched at the thick fabric of his coat and wrapped it shut against your chest, shivering beneath it when your body finally discovered the sense of warmth and you only begun to realise how cold you actually were. Opening the passenger door for you, Tommy waited a moment for you to climb in before closing it. Blue eyes surveyed the area once more, either for prying eyes, any signs of her Father, and also simply out of slightly paranoid habit. You let out a shaky sigh as you leaned back against the seat. Your legs flopping to the side as all the strength that kept you going suddenly left you. The exhaustion finally caught up and was threatening to pull you under, but you kept your eyes open. The coat didn’t help with the comfort it provided; warmth and smelling of smoke and cologne; Tommy’s signature scent. You jerked slightly as the driver’s door opened and Tommy sat down, slamming the door shut. He didn’t speak for a moment, eyes gazing straight ahead out the window. “He put his hands on you, didn’t he?” You licked your lips in nervousness, knowing there was no point in lying to him. He already knew the answer, just wanted the truth confirmed before he decided to carry out whatever plan he was currently formulating in his mind. “Tommy…” “Answer the question Y/N. Did he place his hands on you?” His voice was low. Calm. A hint of danger behind his voice but he kept it soft but firm for you. “…Yes…” you breathed quietly, Tommy already able to hear the tears in your voice. “Fuck.” He murmured beneath his breath as straightened himself up to start the car. “He did that too.” Your voice hitching as you admitted to the worst of what your Father did to you, making Tommy pause in his actions and drop his hands. He finally looked over at you to see you curled up, looking small and fragile. Tears already falling from your E/C orbs again, though you weren’t outwardly crying. Just seemed as though you didn’t even realise you were crying at all. His heart broke for the pain you’re in; this soft, beautiful woman, broken by a man she’s meant to trust and be loved by. His heart angered by the fact that he wanted to protect you, made a personal oath to protect you and had failed to do so. He didn’t even want to think what would have happened to you today had he not found you. “He will be dealt with, Y/N.” he repeated himself firmly, with authority. If you were going to argue against him, you would not win. His decision was final this time. Blue eyes bored into yours “I want to make that very clear.” You weren’t afraid of him, but you were afraid of what he’d do. But you knew your Father went too far. You had no fight left in you to protect or defend him. “…By order of the Peaky Blinders?” Grabbing his cap, he yanked it off and flopped it against your head, the way he did it during one of many moments that looked like you both were an official couple but at the same time, nothing had yet officiated it (by means of a kiss or something typical that officially seals a relationship). “By order of the Peaky Blinders.” He murmured back, pulling the cap down slightly to hide your face. Fuck. He’ll never forgive himself for not being there to protect you. But then, he’d have risked you never forgiving him if he broke his promise and acted on it sooner. It doesn’t matter. He can’t change the past. He’s got you now. Safe. By his side. Safest place for you to be. He’ll take you home, get you warmed up and settled in. Reintroduce you to the family since you’ve only met them briefly a few times before; Tommy wanting to keep you away from a lot of the shit that goes on, not wanting you to get caught up in it all. He’d call a family meeting at some point and give the order for tomorrow. It's boxing day after all, what better way to celebrate than by boxing the fucker’s head in eh?

 That was his plan. For the most part of today, he just wanted you to feel safe and comfortable, and to place a smile on your face. At least he’d be able to give you your Christmas present. Perhaps not in the way he imagined to present you with it since you’re in a fragile state and he dare not risk jeopardising anything. But at least he was able to do it on the day that mattered most.

 You didn’t bother adjust the cap that was a bit too big for your head. You hummed softly in response but nothing further was said from either of you. Tommy finally tore his eyes from yours and began to put the car into motion. It wasn’t too long before you were lulled to sleep by the leisurely motion of the car and the hum of the motor acting as white noise. With Tommy being silent and not conversing with you didn’t help, but certainly the lack of sleep you were currently suffering with was the key factor as to why you fell asleep within minutes. Tommy glanced over to you when he noticed you had gone quiet, no sound of sniffling or shaky little intakes of breaths. His concern was quelled when he realised you were asleep, and purposefully took the longer route home, slowing down over some of the bumpier paths to avoid waking you. It was the least he could do for you in your current state. Getting you home and warmed up was a priority, but he couldn’t recall a time he’s ever seen you asleep. You looked peaceful. Angelic. As if you didn’t suffer a horrendous ordeal that last throughout the night until the early hours of the morning. He didn’t want to break the peace you had with sleep, so he let you be as long as he could. You honestly felt like you had barely gotten any sleep when you were being shaken awake only seconds later (Tommy had managed to stretch the drive close to half an hour). In your disorientated state, your eyes snapped open and you immediately fought against the hands that were on you. Your whimpers being the first noise to come from you, only to be hushed by a gravelly voice, “Hey, hey, Y/N! Y/N! Its just me. Just Tommy. Yeah?” Between fighting him off, he managed to catch your wrists and hold them steady from attacking him, but when you came to your senses, eyes wide with fear and your chest rising with each breath, your hands went limp in his hold. “Tommy?” “Yeah.” “Oh god…” “It’s alright. Hey…look at me. It’s alright. Just me. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” Blue eyes never left yours as he waited for you to calm down. Letting go of your wrists, he pulled away just a little bit to give you space in case you needed it. He offered his hand for you to take in case you needed physical reassurance. He wasn’t sure how best to help you right now, so he wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t take his hand. But you did. “God, I’m so sorry.” You apologised once you found your voice and your bearings. Bringing your hand to his lips, he softly kissed the back of your hand, “Don’t be.”

He bit back words of anger hurled at your Father for making you feel this way, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good. You didn’t need to deal with Tommy’s anger.

 “Now come on, eh? Let’s get you inside. Warmed up by the fire. Cup of tea. Spend Christmas Day with me.”

Ocean blue eyes that held so much anger and danger, was staring at you with nothing but softness, adoration and a fierce protectiveness. He lifted the back of your hand to his lips and gave it another tender kiss, making your lips curl up into a smile. “That’s my girl.” It was the first time you smiled since he found you, and fuck how it made his heart flutter. Especially when you ducked your head in shyness but not before he spotted the hint of blush dusting your cheeks, making him chuckle ever so slightly. || Tag list: @captivatedbycillianmurphy

between us - chapter ii

The one where Aaron hurts you, but he knows just how to heal you.

When Hotch comes home one day and takes out his frustrations on you, you’re sent spiraling into a depressive state that you were all too familiarized with. But as your boss and closest friend, he’s the only one who knows how to take care of you during a relapse. His efforts to fix the situation end up awakening a different side of him, a side that might just be precisely what you’ve been missing in a time like that.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I was already working by the time he arrived in the office, despite the fact that he was usually one of the first ones to arrive. I reminded myself to keep staring at my screen and not give him the satisfaction of knowing he still had some space in my mind, and as he slowly made his way to the office, I was able to forget about his entire existence as I threw myself in the work.

I was gone before he made his way out of his room.

The next day followed pretty much the same pattern, he would pass through me and I would force myself not to look at him until suddenly, I didn’t need to. I was so inside my own head I completely forgot about anything else, trapped inside the walls of my own terrible thoughts.

By the time I realized something was wrong, I was already back home and since I had the next day off, no one would be around to help get me out of here. 

The next morning arrived and I found myself wondering if I had slept through the whole night or had simply spent it looking at the ceiling, watching the shadows move. I had lost complete control over time by then. 

Suddenly, my phone echoed from somewhere in the living room and I found myself getting up from the bed and blindly going through the motions of looking for it, answering the call without even looking at the caller.

“Hello?” I asked, my brain still not catching up to me.

“Y/N? Oh, good, you answered!” It was Reid, I faintly recognized. “We need you to come in! There’s an unsub who’s been terrorizing a town close to here and we might need your abilities to catch him.” 

I didn’t remember agreeing or getting out of the house, but I could see how I was too tired to even explain I wouldn’t be of much help to anyone at the moment. When I got inside the plane, I dropped into the first seat I found, staring out of the window without really realizing that everyone was already there and they were all staring at me as if I had grown two heads.

Time meant nothing to me as we suddenly found ourselves already in the local police precinct. I barely remembered hearing an argument between Aaron and Reid that had resulted in both of them agreeing it was best to leave me there with the genius, and I stared at the wall of evidence without really seeing it. 

If Reid tried to talk to me - or anyone else for that matter - I had absolutely no idea. I couldn’t hear anyone with how far into the hole I had allowed myself to crawl. But suddenly, the smaller part of my brain that seemed to still be worried about other people connected something I must have seen or heard, and I found myself abruptly grabbing Spencer’s forearm while explaining to him who the killer was. In less than thirty minutes, everyone was back on the precinct and we were back on the plane again.

I sat in the same seat as before, still looking out at the window without really seeing when I felt someone sit down next to me, but I was too far away to care.

Hotch’s P.O.V.

We all watched as Spencer carefully wrapped his hands around one of Y/N’s arms and pulled her to him. The speed with which she turned her head to look at him should have given her whiplash, but she simply looked up at him like she couldn’t really see him. Like she wasn’t really there.

Then suddenly, her eyes focused, seeing his concerned ones, and she abruptly curled into herself, crying so hard she was shaking.

If there was anything left of my heart after how I had beaten myself over how I treated her, how I felt as I saw her ignore my existence for two whole days and how it felt to see her in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt for the first time in my life, it broke at the sight before me. The plane had taken flight and yet no one seemed to have realized, everyone simply staring at her with the same concern Reid showed. 

She cried for the entire duration of the flight home, and only as we approached Washington did Reid try to interrupt her. “Y/N,” he shook her gently, his arms still strongly holding her against him. I tried not to focus too much on how hard I wished I could be the one consoling her. “Do you want to come home with me? I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

That silenced her. Her sobs slowly came to an end until only a few single tears were rolling down her face. She shook her head. “No, Spencer, thank you.” Her voice cracked as she spoke in front of me for the first time in three days and I felt like I couldn’t breathe at the sadness that she transpired.

“Okay, I understand that, but can you promise me that you’ll call me if you have the urge to do anything stupid? Please?” No one in the plane was breathing by then. Everyone knew under which conditions Y/N had come to work for us and it was the first time we were experiencing how she was like when depression overcame her. 

Still, the silence continued. She didn’t give him an answer, staring at her own fingers who played with the edge of her shirt.

“Y/N? Please, promise me.” He shook her, trying to get through to her, who suddenly sobbed again.

“I can’t Spence, okay? I just can’t! I can’t promise you I’ll think of you before doing something stupid, I can’t promise you I will want you to intervene if things go bad.” By then, we had landed. However, no one had made a single move towards the exit. I could see Spencer was opening his mouth to argue with her and what he was going to offer we will never know, ‘cause by then, I had seen enough. Laying a hand on top of his shoulder, I silenced him before he spoke.

“That won’t be necessary, Spencer. She will be coming home with me.” My words were said with such authority that not even her had any strength to argue with me. Raising her eyes to look me in the eyes for the first time in forever, I counted a full minute before she softly nodded, quickly climbing out of Spencer’s lap and following me out of the plane.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t argue when he offered me his hand to hold as we walked towards his car in the parking lot. I didn’t argue when he pulled up in front of my house and asked me for my keys, so he could pack me some things to bring to his place. I noticed he didn’t leave his own keys inside the car with me, however. Smart boy.

He didn’t try to break the silence as we approached his own place. I could only imagine how beaten I must have looked, my eyes sunken from the lack of sleep and the amount of crying I had done. It felt good, however. It had helped to bring me back to the surface, if only for a little bit.

As he opened the door to the house I thought I would never see again, I was greeted with the scream of my own name and a running child who quickly jumped in my arms. Jack.

I hugged the little guy as strongly as I could without actually hurting him. I could barely understand his excitement as he explained how he wasn’t expecting to see me since his father had said I wouldn’t be coming around for a while.

If I was more like myself, I would have snorted, but as it were, I could simply smile softly at him.

“Well, Y/N’s going to be staying with us for a while now, Jack. So you don’t have to worry about her leaving any time soon.” I felt Aaron’s hand in my shoulder as he gently pushed me further inside the house, before suggesting his son took me to play with his Marvel action figures. “I’ll unpack your things in the guest bedroom,” he said, looking me in the eyes, and I understood that was his way of warning me he would do a full sweep of everything that I could possibly use to hurt myself. 

I let Jack guide me into his room and by the time Aaron came to tell us the pizza had arrived, I had a genuine smile on my face for the first time in a while. Only this little guy could make me start to crawl back up from the well I had hidden so quickly.

I started to realize how smart Aaron was. I mean, I knew he was intelligent and an amazing agent, I worked with him, but it was only when Jack asked if I wasn’t going to eat my pizza that I caught a glimpse of how brilliant his mind truly was.

Of course I couldn’t not eat. Not when Jack was looking up at me with expectant eyes, and not when I knew he wouldn’t want to eat himself if I didn’t eat at least one slice. So I smiled and took a bite off of my pizza. “I’m eating, kiddo. I was just spacing out for a bit, sorry.” He gave me such a bright smile that I felt myself feeling a bit better again, better enough to give Aaron an angry look when Jack wasn’t looking, to which he simply responded with a tight-lipped smile and a look so soft in his eyes that I couldn’t quite understand, but took my breath away nonetheless.

“Why does she get to eat with her hands, dad?” Jack interrupted whatever the hell was going on, and I had to blink twice before understanding what he meant. 

“I don’t know, buddy, ask her why she eats it like that!”

Aaron’s P.O.V.

Seeing her even briefly looking like she usually was warmed my heart in a way I never expected it to. I always loved seeing her interact with Jack, but knowing that her connection to him was so strong that it pulled her from wherever the hell she had hidden inside herself made me feel like I was stupid to think I could ignore our own bond. 

She wiped her hands on the napkin that was on her lap before answering. “Actually, it is bad table manners to eat pizza with a fork and knife,” she explained, and instantly I knew what was coming. 

“Oh, no, son, keep using your utensil,” I warned him, but I was already chuckling.

“But you’re always telling me I have to follow the proper manner, especially while eating,” I nodded, conceding to him that. 

“But we don’t know for a fact that what Y/N is saying is the right way to do it,” I argued, only to be interrupted by the culprit herself.

“Actually, as the only person at this table who has actually gone to Italy, my argument is much stronger than any of yours, right now,” she reminded us, to which I finally shrugged, after smiling down at her. 

“Okay, let’s try this,” I picked up my own slice before jokingly toasting it with Jack’s.

I watched as she softly read Jack’s night time story, my heart clenching at the sight of her leaning down to kiss his forehead after he fell asleep. She quietly left the room, closing the door beside her as she stood in front of me, nervously pushing the curls that were in front of her face out of her vision.

“Okay, I got it. I can go now if you want. I swear I’m better.” I cocked my head to the side, analyzing her. That she was better than she was when she had gotten in this house, that much was obvious, but I couldn’t let her go before I actually knew she was 100% back to normal.

“Let me show you to the guest room,” I took her hand in mine once more, terrified by how cold her fingers felt as I held them, but she didn’t make any movement to separate us or reinforce her desire to go to her own place. I opened the door for her, letting her go in and look around. “If you need anything, I’m right down the hallway, okay? Try to get some sleep.” She nodded, her eyes focused on the edge of her blouse once more. I felt the need to cross the distance between us and kiss her on the forehead, but I refrained. “Good night, Y/N,” I softly whispered before retreating back to my own room.

The morning came quickly and I was excited to spend Saturday with my son and Y/N, hopefully helping her come back to normal quickly, so I could finally have a heart to heart and apologize for what I had said. When I got into the kitchen, she was already there, a full-on feast waiting on the table as she finished flipping pancakes. 

“Did you even sleep?” I joked, but worry quickly clouded my mind as she glanced up at me with a guilty look on her face.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I was saved from further inquiry as Jack quickly made his way in the kitchen and into his father’s arms, undoubtedly having heard him coming down the stairs. He excitedly shouted about pancakes and activities planned for the day and I took up the opportunity to finish the pancakes, motioning them to sit on the table as I followed suit.

We ate leisurely, comforted by the knowledge that we had the whole day ahead of us, and I made the effort to actually be present in the conversation, behaving in the way I would normally do. I could see that the act, paired with the enormous amount of concealer I had used to hide my eye bags, had actually managed to fool Aaron.

A part of me felt guilty, knowing that he was putting so much effort into helping me and I wasn’t being completely honest with him, but I knew this is what I needed to do. I had to get out of there, so he wouldn’t have to feel burdened by his responsibility towards me, as team leader, anymore.

I was just finishing my cup of coffee when Aaron’s phone resonated through the room, abruptly interrupting the conversation as he sent Jack a guilty smile before standing up to answer it. I tried to distract the kid, but he was already too smart for his own age. Having grown up in the Hotchner household, he knew by now what it meant when his dad’s phone rang on a Saturday.

I didn’t listen to his conversation but when he came back down, he was already dressed to work. Before I could say anything, he explained that there weren’t any cases that needed the team’s attention, but he had been called into a meeting with other team leaders. “I’m sorry, son, I know you were looking forward to spending the day with me.” He leaned down to deposit a kiss on Jack’s forehead before turning to me. “I might be gone through most of the day, these things tend to run far into the evening… Are you sure you can handle everything around here?” I knew what he meant. He wanted to know if he could trust me to be alone. I nodded before assuring him that I would spend the day with Jack and we could do something together later in the evening when he came back, or tomorrow. That seemed to reanimate the little guy while also tranquilizing his father, who nodded at me once, a thankful smile on his face, before turning around and leaving.

I spent most of the day busy trying to be busy. I wanted to occupy Jack so he wouldn’t notice something was off, but I also needed to distract myself, not only from my own dark thoughts but also from the fact that I could very well fall asleep at any time. I was deadly tired, but even after I had put him in bed for an afternoon nap, I couldn’t allow myself to go to sleep. This is what I deserved. I had to deal with these voices, reminding me I didn’t deserve any kindness these people offered me. Especially not Hotch’s, since it was simply him doing what he needed to do, in order to fulfill his duty as a team leader who had been burdened with the responsibility of dealing with an agent’s suicidal past.

That’s what was going through my mind as I stood in the middle of the kitchen, not even noticing how I slowly balanced myself from one leg to the other, my eyes slowly dropping. I didn’t even realize what was happening, only that I suddenly felt much lighter than I previously was, and suddenly, my mind went blank.

apricity one-shot: the time florence got shot

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: gunshot wound, blood mention, mature language

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 2,027

A/N: apricity will have a series of installments of one-shots to give in-depth glimpses of bucky, florence, and their story! this is one. thank you for reading! feedback is welcome!

MASTERLIST

Bucharest, Romania. 1990

Eight months into the year-long recon mission.

Florence wasn’t a stranger to the searing pain of a gunshot wound or the stinging radiation of a stab wound. She’s taken too many bullets to count, patching herself up in dingy bathrooms, dark back alleys, and now a safe house in Romania.

She stumbled through the barren apartment leaving a trail of blood, the Soldier nowhere to be found. She pushed the bathroom door open with bloody hands, her footing messily stumbled to the sink as she felt hot blood ooze down her hip. She tore off her tactical vest the bullet had managed to go through and peeled the sticky shirt off of her abdomen, the blood making the fabric stick to her skin uncomfortably. Gritting her teeth, she swiped an alcohol pad up the trail of blood, the movement ending at the entry wound.

The bottle of liquor was in front of her on the sink, leftover from the soldier when he had gotten stabbed the week before. She took the bottle in her hand, the glass smearing with blood, and shakily twisted the cap off and taking a long swig before she poured it on the wound. Florence yelped in pain, biting her shirt to quiet her moans of pain and to keep it out of her way. She places the bottle back down on the sink, the glass meeting the porcelain with a clink. 

She fishes the tweezers out of the first-aid kit and runs them under the tap, the blood loss not giving her the energy to properly clean them. A deep breath in and then the metal enters the wound, blindly poking and prodding her flesh to try to find the slug of the bullet. Florence bites down on the blood-soaked fabric of her shirt so hard she’s afraid she’ll fracture her own jaw, her hands shaking so uncontrollably that she drops the tweezers into the sink. The shirt drops from her mouth as she leans against the porcelain, catching her reflection in the mirror as she drops her head and takes a deep breath in, closing her eyes.

Something shuffles behind her, she lifts her head slowly to look in the reflection of the mirror behind her. The soldier looms in the doorway, his broad figure taking up the entire space of the door as his eyes scanned the bloody mess of the bathroom. If Florence wasn’t so delirious from the blood loss, she would have noticed the panicked rise and fall of his chest or the mixture of concern, relief, and anger swimming in his eyes as he finally took in her slumped form. 

The soldier enters the cramped bathroom without a word and picked the bloody tweezers from the floor. His hand meets Florence’s elbow, gently guiding her to sit on the closed toilet lid, ker skin was paling by the second from blood loss. Bucky reaches in front of her and grabs the whiskey, pouring it over the tweezers. He fishes around the first-aid kit for what, Florence doesn’t know, too busy trying to keep herself upright and not falling onto the floor. The last thing she wanted was for the soldier to carry her out of here like she was helpless.

The soldier found what he was looking for, busying himself with threading a needle to stitch up the wound once he got the bullet out. He hid the shake of his hands well, swallowing down the anxiety that settled in his bones. The thought of something happening to Florence sparked a fire inside if him that would never die out, the embers would always be lit even if it was only a dying ash. Bucky has killed for much less, he wouldn't bat an eye to do it for Florence, it would be the only time he would wash blood from his hands and not end up in a fit of panic. The length Bucky would go for her knew no end, he'd go to the ends of the earth. 

He laid out gauze and pads along the sink edge, much more prepared than Florence. He could probably patch up a bullet wound in his sleep, only if he ever did sleep. Florence tiredly watches Bucky as he turns toward her with tweezers in hand, his stormy eyes never meeting hers and his jaw clenching angrily and shoulders tensing, his body rigid. The girl didn’t have the energy to indulge in his anger, she didn’t understand why he was even angry in the first place.

Bucky set the tweezers down on the edge of the sink, his hands dropping down to his belt, fingers working at the buckle. Florence watched in confusion as he undid his belt, metal and flesh fingers sliding it through the belt loops of his dark jeans. He wrapped the leather around his hand before sliding it off and motioning the folded leather towards her mouth, nodding for her to bite down on it. 

He picks up the tweezers again and kneels in front of her on one knee, looking at her in a silent apology before he plunges the metal into her flesh. Florence bites down on the leather, eyes screwing shut as she balls her hands up in fists in her lap. Bucky continues to dig, the tweezers hitting a particularly tender spot, Florence’s hand flying to his shoulder and clutching his navy blue shirt, causing the man to pause for a moment and take a deep breath. The tweezers finally catch on something solid, Bucky pulling the bullet out quickly and pushing gauze to the wound as he drops the blood-soaked bullet into the sink, blood splattering across the ivory porcelain.

Florence drops the belt from her mouth, watching as it falls the ground between her and Bucky, who still kept pressure on the wound. 

Bucky reaches across himself to grab the needle, finally speaking, “Hold the gauze.” His tone is cold and sharp, a night and day difference from the look in his eyes that expressed that he was scared and worried. Florence could usually read him like a book but now that book had slammed closed and locked itself away. 

Florence places her hand over his as she takes over holding the gauze, Bucky sterilizing the needle with the remaining liquor in the bottle. He'd have to buy another tomorrow. 

He turns back, fingers prying at her hand to remove the bloody padding as he began to stitch the wound closed, not bothering to warn Florence of the sting of the needle, this was her payback for making him feel like his entire world was ending at the fear of losing her. Only she didn't know that.

Time passed slowly as Bucky stitched her up, Florence gaining more awareness as she watched Bucky’s jaw tick, “I didn’t ask you to help me, so why are you mad? Is it the mess?” Blood was everywhere leading to and in the bathroom, she remembered their first month in the apartment, the soldier had yelled at her about her leaving a dish in the sink, something about not leaving a trace that they had been there. She called him paranoid then and she immediately regretted it when the look on his face read like she had just slapped him. 

The soldier clipped the thread and started a new stitch, shaking his head, “No.”

Florence huffed, wincing as the needle plunged through her flesh again, sharp and pulling, “Then what’s wrong with you?”

“You should have been more careful.” Bucky spoke with a clipped tone, not daring to look up at her. If he did, he's afraid he'd crumble right on the floor in front of her. 

If breathing didn’t feel like her sternum was going to crack, Florence would have laughed, “Are you kidding? You got stabbed last week and I didn’t say a word.” The soldier had entered the apartment at 3 in the morning clutching his side with one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other and a sour scowl on his face. Florence sat awake on the sofa, she was waiting for him to get home, her anxiety growing as the clock continued to tick, and watched as he stumbled to the bathroom and locked the door. She didn't follow but heard the muttered curses through the thin peeling walls. She didn't sleep at all that night. 

Bucky huffed as he finished up the final stitch, “That was different.”

Anger pooled in the girl’s eyes, “Please explain to me how that is different. Enlighten me.”

Blue finally met green, both staring at each other intensely, “It’s different because you are the one that got shot. You should have let me handle the mission today.”

This time Florence did laugh, ignoring the searing pain it sent through her entire body, “You know what? Fuck you. We were sent here to do a mission, that’s what I was doing. Do not treat me like I’m glass.”

Bucky immediately regretted partaking in this argument, he should have stayed quiet, otherwise, right now his feelings wouldn’t be bubbling to the surface, “I never said you were glass. I should have gone with you, protected you.”

All bets were off, Florence’s nerves were fried- frayed and raw and he had just rubbed salt in the wound, “Protected me?! I don’t need protecting! I got shot, end of story.” This conversation sparked a fire in Florence, everything she had been bottling up threatening to explode, taking multiple casualties in its path with no mercy. They were both going to drown in the emotion flooding the air between them. 

That was Bucky’s final straw, his jaw ticked, eyes widened and suddenly he was yelling, voice bouncing of the confined walls of the dingy bathroom, “No! Not end of story! When I walked in, I saw a trail of blood and thought the worst, I thought I had lost you, Florence!”

Time froze, Florence’s brain malfunctioning as Bucky’s words sunk in, “You know my name.” All eight months, he called her soldier, never anything else. She silently prayed that eventually he'd recognize her, give her a dose of before, before all of this, and now it was finally happening. She watched as the soldier stood in front of her, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted like he had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

The two stared in silence before he spoke again, his tone significantly quieter as it trembled and shook with emotion, “I'll forget my own before I ever forget yours." Tears brimmed his eyes, "I remembered it last week. Along with a few more things I can’t place.”

Florence had been off the ice considerably longer than Bucky had before this mission, her memory had already come back to her in chunks. All of him. All of Bucky. Everything.

“What-,” Florence gulped, “What things?” Florence pleaded internally that it wasn’t what she was dreading. 

"A ring? All I remember was that it was emerald. I never see the girl I give it to, it’s too blurry. And a pregnant woman? That one is the most confusing.”

Oh fuck.

Fuck.

Florence now had a vendetta with the universe. 

Florence weighed her options of telling him the truth or lying to him, opting to tell him the truth. She settled on only one truth today, she couldn’t handle the other one, not now, “The ring was mine. You and I were together before this. We were engaged, you proposed right before you left for England in the war.”

Bucky only looked at her, a distant look in his eyes, “Oh.” That’s all he had to say, choosing to remain silent as he walked out of the bathroom, leaving Florence to fight the demons herself.

She twisted the lock on the door, slid down to the ground, and sobbed, not caring that Bucky could definitely hear her.  Screaming at the universe or any higher being, she begged them to listen, pleading for something, anything. Death, escape, to wake up from this nightmare. 

None of it was fair.

That night, Bucky and Florence slept through the night in the same bed for the first time, finding temporary peace in each other’s arms. 

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed!

Tag list: @tanyaherondale @lilyviolets @jckie94 @g-mayunot @geek-and-proud @ginger-swag-rapunzel

Not Today XIV

A/N: I don't know why the chapters that are the hardest to start end up being the longest, but here we are again?? Last update before I'm out of town- but I have chapters for Wednesday and Saturday already drafted, and ready to be posted even while I'm away! So, enjoy the relationship development and Tension in this chapter, and update will be on schedule as always! Skål!

Summary:  When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

In hindsight, Aethelind was beginning to wonder if promising her loyalty to Ivar was a horrible idea. He was about to hold a Þing, the concept of which Hvitserk had explained to Aethelind as something of a meeting of the whole town, where they discuss things what needed doing around the town. So, curious about this, she had agreed to attend with Hvitserk and his… lover? Thora wasn’t his wife, but their relationship was what Aethelind would have called marriage, had there just been a wedding. She’d only met the woman a few times, but she’d always rather liked her.

Aethelind now stood on Hvitserk’s other side, in the darkened Great Hall, as the Þing was about to start. There was a large curtain up, hiding where the thrones sat, and as the drums stopped beating, it was pulled back to reveal Ivar and Freydis.

“I didn’t realize he was one for such theatrics,” she commented, and Hvitserk let out something of a small chuckle.

“I didn’t either,” he answered.

A silence fell over the gathered people as the fires at the sides of the thrones were lit, and Ivar shifted in his seat. Aethelind recognized this as how he moved right before he spoke, and she was correct.

“My people,” he began. “You are all welcome to the Þing. It is important to us that everyone here feels involved in the life of our great town. Kattegat has grown. It is now a huge trading station, the greatest trading station in Scandinavia. Kattegat has changed since my father’s time.”

Hvitserk’s eyes narrowed a bit, and Aethelind noticed she could almost feel the concern and unease radiating off of him. He didn’t like where Ivar was going with this at all, and truthfully, she wasn’t quite sure of it either.

“In those days, he knew everyone,” Ivar continued. “And he was happy to share his power with those he knew, and trusted, of course.” Oh, no. The Princess shared a look with the Prince, the two of them now clearly unnerved. “My father gave me this responsibility.” As if to back up this claim of his, Ivar pulled off one of the two arm rings he wore- the one Aethelind had learned once belonged to Ragnar Lothbrok himself- and held it up. “And our father, Odin, gave me this responsibility. I have accepted it, and I ask you to trust me.”

Aethelind swallowed uncomfortably and shifted her weight a little, a subconscious movement toward Hvitserk. When Ivar continued again, a dread settled in her stomach.

“We cannot allow everyone to vote on everything which affects our Kingdom. We have a duty to protect it! I have a duty to protect it.” He waved a hand to signal the men on the sides, and they put out a few of the fires. “So… We have to change the rules. People I trust will vote on land issues, matrimonial matters, murder inquiries, things that you do not need to worry about. Because I will take care of you. I will lead you! No, what is truly important is to know who we are! And who is with us, and who is against us. And we know who we are, don’t we?”

There was a resounding cry of affirmation from the crowd, though Hvitserk, Aethelind, and Thora didn’t answer Ivar’s call. Maybe it wasn’t her place, but Aethelind already had some very choice words for him, once all this was through.

Ivar grinned at the reaction from the crowd, and agreed with them. “Yes, we do! So now, it is time to find out those who threaten us, who is against us. Maybe it is your neighbor.” A sick feeling settled in the pit of Aethelind’s stomach. Perhaps an argument could be made for a different form of government, due to Kattegat’s size, but this… this was something else entirely. And he didn’t even stop at that, continuing to suggest, “Perhaps it is someone you know. A family member. A brother.”

She didn’t miss the way he looked Hvitserk dead in the eyes. Her own gaze turned to Hvitserk, confusion and concern evident in it. Clearly, there was something going on between the two that she had been left out of. But it was bad, and likely played into what he had told her, wanting to send Hvitserk to speak with his new ally.

As he continued, her heart was pounding, listening to the way he added, “A son. They talk about me. They whisper that I am the enemy. But, of course, they are the enemy. They want to destroy our Kingdom. They want to encourage our enemies to attack us and invade us! Is that what you want?” The crowd dissented vocally, cheering Ivar on, and a feeling almost like panic began to bubble up in Aethelind. “Do you want me to protect you?” Not like this. The crowd cheered him again. “Do you want me to destroy them?” Don’t destroy anyone, please, Ivar. Again, they cheered. 

As he stood, the crowd descended into chants of his name, as well as that of Odin, and he looked Hvitserk in the eye with a dark smirk.

It wasn’t for a few hours after the Þing that Aethelind finally found Ivar, and was able to talk to him about what was done there. He grinned when he saw her, and greeted her happily, only to be stunned by her immediate demand of, “Are you out of your mind?!”

His eyes widened, and that startled duck look returned. “What are you talking about, hm?” he asked her.

“The Þing,” she answered sharply. “What are you thinking, Ivar?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and she huffed, crossing her arms. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “You’re turning your people against each other! Do you not realize how horrible of an idea that is? You turn them against each other, they’ll realize you’re the enemy in the end."

“How am I the enemy?” he questioned. “I ask for this information from my people to protect them. If there are those who wish to turn against me, then I need to know these things. The people need to know I will take any threats seriously, even those which come from the inside."

“There wouldn’t be threats, the sort you speak of, if you didn’t invite them in this way,” she argued. “Ivar, dissent is natural. People disagreeing with you is natural!”

“I did not say-”

“I saw you look at Hvitserk today,” she cut him off. His eyes hardened a little as he watched her. “He disagrees with you, but he has never once spoken of treason.”

“Not to you,” he said. “But he must think of it.”

“Why, because he disagrees? Can’t you see this is madness?” Her eyes were almost pleading as she looked up at him, and he found he couldn’t meet them when she stepped closer, and put her hand on his arm. “Ivar, dissent from a trusted voice is guidance, not betrayal. Only a foolish man would hear disagreement from someone he trusts, and call it treason. A foolish man, or a madman.”

“And who says I trust every voice which is disagreeing with me?” he finally said, looking down toward her.

“Surely you must understand that we have your best interest in mind. We want to see you succeed as King. We want to see you thrive, and do well for your people. But they are all your people, and they have minds to agree or disagree with you! You cannot erase their thoughts. And a King who divides his people will turn them against himself. If you’re worried about them turning against you already, ask yourself why.”

“I have heard the whispers,” he told her.

“And why do you think they’re talking?” she asked. “They’re afraid. You need to make them love you, not make them fear you.”

Ivar looked at her with a strange look, one she couldn’t quite read. “I don’t know if I want that,” he confessed to her.

“A King that is feared will inspire rebellion, but one who is loved will never give his people cause to rebel. You will have their loyalty. Just as you have mine.”

Finally, something in him snapped, and a rage she hadn’t seen in him yet filled his eyes. “Do I have your loyalty?” he asked. “Or does Lagertha?”

Time almost froze for Aethelind, and the shock in her eyes as she looked up at Ivar revealed one thing- he had hit a nerve. He had been right about her, about her connections with his brothers and Lagertha. But to what extent… That was what he needed to know.

“I swore my loyalty to you, Ivar,” she said. “This is why I disagree with you to your face, why I confront you with it. My loyalty to you means I wish to see you succeed, but I don’t feel I am serving you best if I just blindly agree with everything you say or do.”

Ivar laughed and stepped away from her a bit, shaking his head. “Do you know how badly I want to trust you?” he asked, and his eyes finally turned back to her. “I thought your arrival was a gift from the gods- my fellow gods.”

Aethelind gave a short huff of disbelief. “Ivar, you’re not a god,” she said. “I don’t know who told you that, but you aren’t.”

“You do not believe in our gods as it is,” he pointed out. “You are a Christian. You’re blinded by your bias toward your one God that you do not see the truth of ours.”

“I’d be willing to wager half this town doesn’t believe you’re a god,” she said. “And I’m not a betting woman.”

“Then why have they put up a statue to me? Hm?” He gestured in the vague direction of the large statue of him that stood in the center if the town, and Aethelind chuckled bitterly, shaking her head.

“Because they’re afraid of you!” she answered. “This is madness, can’t you see that? I’ve already told you the way to inspire loyalty in them is to be good to them, to earn their love first. Fear never creates loyalty, it destroys it.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and stood a little straighter- a clear sign he was very irritated. “You sound like Freydis, questioning and criticizing my judgment.”

“So two voices you trust agree, and you still believe we’re in the wrong?” she pointed out. “Surely you must see the fallacy in your logic.”

“No, the fallacy is in having trusted you,” he said. “Freydis and I disagree, or… Or have you turned her mind against what I know to be best for Kattegat?”

Aethelind gave a roll of her eyes and shook her head. “This is paranoia, Ivar,” she said. “This is fear beyond reason, that we want to turn against you and betray you.”

“Will you not? You came here from being with Lagertha!”

“Yes! Lagertha was in Wessex! Along with Björn, and Ubbe, and Torvi. Bishop Heahmund took them after you defeated them here, but he was killed in the battle against King Harald, the same one Lagertha disappeared in.”

That stopped Ivar in his tracks. “Lagertha has disappeared?” he questioned, and the Princess nodded.

“They searched for her, but they couldn’t find her after. Björn left for York when they couldn’t find her.”

She watched as the anger seemed to drain out of him, and his mind turned toward strategy. “What would he want with York?” he asked her.

“I can’t say for certain, but… Harald did come from the north,” she answered.

“He is stationed in York,” he clarified. “But why would my brother wish to go and visit him? Unless…”

Ivar’s eyes widened in a way that told Aethelind he was becoming angry again. She swallowed nervously and made her way toward him. It was easy to tell he was working himself up, and so she put her hands on his upper arms, and looked up into his face.

“We don’t know he’s plotting against you,” she said gently. “They just fought Harald, and Lagertha has disappeared. There’s a very good chance he’s gone to see if they took her prisoner.”

Ivar seemed to calm down a little, or at least begin to, and he nodded. “And Harald is loyal to me, Björn would have to turn him against me before anything could be done.”

“And you aren’t a man many want to betray, I don’t imagine.” She moved her hand to his chest, and gave it a small pat. “You are right, in thinking that fear can keep people in line, you know.” The look on his face as he looked down into her eyes was one of confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite read. Not with the way his eyes seemed to search hers, the way his brow drew together just so, and his mouth hung slightly open.

Aethelind suddenly became acutely aware of the lack of distance between herself and Ivar, and her eyes widened a little. Her own mouth opened slightly, suddenly feeling as if she were caught in some sort of trance. “But… fear isn’t the only reliable way,” she continued. She spoke slower now, her words more precise. “With fear, they will always want to be free from you. Eventually, they’ll find a way, and they’ll become brave enough to stand up. But if they love you… They’ll never have any reason to try and flee.”

Her words faded away into silence then, especially as his hand came up to cover hers that still rested over his heart. “Princess…” he said softly. The way he said her title, her heart began to beat faster and harder.

“Ivar..?” she whispered to him.

She noticed she could feel his heart beating beneath her hand, noticed how it was almost hammering in his chest- just as her own was- and her eyes dropped to their hands, clasped together.

“You have a heart,” she said, and rested her forehead against his chest, eyes slipping shut. “Please. Use it as well as your mind.”

In that moment, Ivar found he couldn’t help but trust her. If she was lying, if she meant to betray him, then she deserved to do so, because this would have been the best lie he’d ever seen told. There was something too vulnerable in the way she spoke, too gentle and too real in her actions. He found himself stabbing his crutch into the ground, and lifting his now free hand to cradle the back of her head.

Gods, if someone were to find him with her that way, Ivar knew it would look bad. He was outright embracing her, unashamedly, and it didn’t exactly look like a strictly platonic embrace. It didn’t feel like one, either. If he found another man holding Freydis this way, he’d kill him. Perhaps it was hypocritical of him not to let go of Aethelind, knowing this, but when had he ever claimed not to be a hypocrite?

“Aethelind,” he eventually whispered, and she tilted her head up to look at him. He needed something to stop this. He didn’t know if he could. “I need to know… Do you truly give me your loyalty? Freely, and entirely?”

She brought her other hand to his chest then, and nodded. “I do,” she confirmed. “You have my loyalty, Ivar. If you will listen to me. I swear to you, I will never try to steer you wrong. If you listen, and disagree, then you will still have my support. I only ask that you at least listen.”

He nodded in response to this. “I will listen to you,” he promised. “You have my word.”

Something formed between them that day, some kind of solidarity, as they looked into each other. It’s said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and just then, their souls were laid bare for the other. There was no lie, no pretence between them then. If anything, it was like a whispered promise between the two as people. He was not King Ivar the Boneless, nor yet Ivar the God, as he made this vow to her, as she was not Princess Aethelind of Wessex, sister of the King of All England as she made her vow to him. They were, simply, Ivar and Aethelind. In the days of their youth, they had been friends, but in their adult years, something deeper had formed.

Whatever it was, it drew Ivar to take a step closer to her, until no space remained between them. If he were anyone else, she would have backed away, but he was intoxicating. There was no way she could pull herself from his hold, even if she’d wanted to. But why should she? Why would she? She felt happy here.

Unfortunately, his legs had another thing in mind for him. He had abandoned his crutch in pursuit of her, and his prayers for a way to say no to this were answered when one of his legs began to buckle, breaking whatever trance they had seemingly entered as he started toward the ground. Aethelind managed to grab onto his arms and ease him down, but that didn’t stop the deep pain that pulled a growl from deep in his throat.

“Ivar, what is it?” she asked, and immediately knelt at his side.

Whatever he’d seen in her eyes before, it was immediately replaced with a deep concern for him, as she looked to his legs. It had been the left that gave out, not the one in the heavier bracings, and she reached across his body as if to touch him.

“It just hurts,” he said, and caught her hand in his. He didn’t want her to feel how broken he was. With the crutch and braces, he could move nearly as well as any man. But that didn’t mean he felt the same, to the touch. He didn’t want Aethelind to know that.

Her hand turned so that it was holding his, and she turned her eyes back to his face, silently pleading with him. When that didn’t work, she sighed. “Please, let me help you,” she said. “Do you think you’ve broken anything?”

He huffed. She was a very stubborn woman, he realized. Or, at least, he was perceiving this as stubbornness. In truth, she cared, cared for him, and wanted to ensure he was alright. She had learned during her escape with her family how to tend to many forms of injuries, and broken bones had been one of those. If this was irony, it was not lost on her.

“No,” he said. “Nothing is broken. It’s just pain.”

Ivar wasn’t entirely certain that was the truth, and he knew Aethelind could tell from the pointed look she gave him. “Then I’ll be done checking you quickly,” she said.

Finally, with another huff and a glare, he let go of her hand. Aethelind moved around to his other side so she could work more comfortably, and let her hands work slowly down the length of his leg. She kept her touch gentle, yet firm enough to really get a feel for him. Since she wasn’t looking at his face, she missed the way his cheeks turned red, and he turned to look anywhere but at her. As she finally got to his shin, he hissed, and she knew she’d found something.

“Does it hurt more there than anywhere else?” He nodded in confirmation. “I need to see if it’s swollen there, or if it feels too warm. Can I pull your pants up just a bit there?”

Ivar squirmed slightly from where he was sitting, but waved his hand in such a way he was clearly giving his permission. She undid the straps of his braces around the bottom half of his leg, and pulled his pants up toward his knee so she could see. “No swelling,” she commented, and when her fingers touched his skin, she thought it must have hurt horribly from the way he jumped. “Is it that bad?” Her eyes looked up at him, worried she had hurt him.

Ivar shook his head a little. “It doesn’t hurt worse than anything else,” he said. She offered him an encouraging smile, and nodded.

“Cold hands then,” she said, not intending to call him on the anxiety he clearly felt at this. “Sorry about that. They’re going to be cold again, but I need to check and be sure there’s no heat coming from your leg. One moment.”

He felt her pressing her hands against his skin again, and this time, he did sneak a look at her. There was no disgust on her face, he realized, as she touched him. And he knew how scarred his skin was, how twisted his bones were, from years of breaking them and not letting anyone fix them properly. Aside from a healer if it was bad enough, no one since Margrethe had seen his legs.

The only reason he could give that he’d let Aethelind do this was how caught off guard by this whole thing he was. The moment they’d shared followed by his fall had certainly been enough to scramble his judgement. That, and he’d promised to listen to her. In a way, that had been promising her his trust. So, if there was anyone he let do this…

He supposed it may as well be her.

“Good news,” she eventually said, pulling his pants back down around his leg and fixing the straps back over it. “No break that I can feel. If anything, you could have a small fracture, but we’ll know that based on if you can stand.”

Ivar nodded a little, and dragged himself over to his crutch. Using it, he managed to get to his feet, and stand. She could tell he felt some pain from bearing weight on it, but if it wasn’t enough to be debilitating entirely… 

“Looks like you’re alright,” she said. “At least from what I can tell.” The curt nod he gave and the way he started off made her chuckle softly, and move to catch up to him. “Hey.” Her hand came up to gently touch his jaw, turning his face back toward her. “You did well. Thank you for trusting me.”

He gave her another curt nod, his eyes not quite meeting hers, and went on.

Aethelind sighed as she watched him go, and gave a small shake of her head. Ivar the Boneless was an enigma, and yet, she found he was one she rather looked forward to solving.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

I'll try to keep it short because you're very kind but I'm becoming annoying... I actually like Soichiro. It's his morals I cannot stand. In fact, in line with his, I like Matsuda's and even Light's variations more, even with all the darkness they entail, because they're more critical. I adore L and find him relatable, but I'm not so sure if I'd like him as a person in real life, and yet I again like his morals more than Soichiro's. I still think Soichiro is generally a better person than any of the others. I still dislike his morals the most. When I say at the opposite end of Soichiro in the moral spectrum is where Near stands I'm not talking just about my personal liking, but as I interpret their views on morality. Maybe there's some detail of the manga I'm forgetting (I truly have to reread it), but Soichiro didn't seem very critical about... anything, while Near states something like "even if god came and told me this is good and this is bad and this is The Truth I'd still consider and come to my own conclusion". I like that. I care less about someone getting a moral with what I may consider a degree of grey if they do that. I myself have very strong morals that nonetheless have degrees of grey; strong doesn't mean pure. My grey and someone else's grey might be very different. But I've developed them, not accepted them blindly. Near of course, Mello, L, and even Light and Matsuda do this, but Soichiro generally doesn't. And I dislike that greatly. In fact, I think I'd find him kind in real life, and likeable, but I'd not really like him because I can't really bring myself to like someone like that even when they're kind and compassionate and good. I'm already talking more than I intended but I'll try to point out what bothers me of his attitude.

Soichiro is very very anti Kira, but he's working for a government with the death penalty and he doesn't seem to consider that even for a moment. For him, that the government does it is justifiable but monstrous if a person does it. He doesn't really have a justification, it's just like that because it's as it is. He's very against L's methods, buy L uses people who were going to die anyway at the very moment he uses them either way because of the death penalty, because of the government. From a government pov, if the government were to do what L does, it'd be something terrible. From an individual pov? Not so much. It's ugly, but it's beyond himself whether that people die or not, and his decisions are easily justifiable from an individual pov: they're going to die irrevocably, that very day at that very time, and he is using what he can to solve a very complicated case that is taking many lives, and he even might use the moral support of "I'm giving the prisoners the chance of choosing, with the potential reward of lifelong imprisonment instead of death". And again, while a government doing that is terrible, it's not as terrible for a person. L is a private detective, an individual. People can be fallible. Governments shouldn't. What L does might be justifiable, if ugly, for a person, but it would be unforgivable for the government to do. But the government lies on L and it's L who takes the slander of the rest of the Task Force. And that's what Soichiro doesn't see, and that's what bugs me. Soichiro sides with the government and the laws no matter what, no matter if they're terrible and are actually the cause if indirectly of the terrible things L is able to do (I'd have to reread to be completely comfortable affirming this, but Soichiro's attitude towards the government reminds me a bit of Mikami and Misa to some extent).

Soichiro hates Kira, and hates and criticises L's methods and his ruthlessness, but doesn't even consider for one moment the problem is not L. The problem is not the 24 yo boy/man, the problem is his government, that has the dead penalty and actually let's a private detective carry on with the investigation and do as he pleases (and I'm not even taking into consideration how L's upbringing and the lowkey if fun exploitation he was subrmited to have most probably influenced if not determined the way he acts in these cases, because while it's intriguing it'd feel like justifying L out of pity, and either way Soichiro doesn't know that; but I mention this because L's entire past at Wammy's, like the other children's, is another very terrible move from governments and adults in responsibility positions). The problem is Interpol, the governments in general, blatantly saying L is ruthless but not even setting rules when working with him. And I think it would actually have been very easy to stop L doing those things. Just change the rules of the game, tell him beforehand there are a few things he can't do. It's a game after all. Of course L would still exploit the moral and legal vacuums of the rules as he pleased, as one does when playing anything, but the government wouldn't have given him totally free way.

I'm not sure if I'm explaining myself very well. Years ago in a class I talked about the difference between personal vengeance and the death penalty. I feel this is similar. A person is fallible. A government should be able to stand over licit murder. L manipulating people to prove a point is ugly. A government doing that or letting someone free way to do whatever is terrible. L does whatever, and as an individual is not so horrible as it is that the governments internationally actually let him do whatever even knowing beforehand without setting rules. Soichiro sees this and it doesn't even cross his mind for a moment to criticise the government he's working with. Also, he considers his morals the best, which makes sense in a first person pov (why support x morals if you don't think they're the best? I'm not critisising this), but he's very... imposing about them, while as I say not being precisely the most critical thinker. That Soichiro is like this, morally (I'm not even talking about the policeman aspect though that's so often talked about in the fandom), makes a lot of sense to how Light ends up being Kira, and with how Matsuda thinks and acts. And I find that very intriguing, but I can't stand Soichiro's simplistic morals and his better-than-you attitude even though he's a generally good person. That's why I dislike his morals the most (of course you don't have to agree!). I don't stand by Near's morals either, but I like his "god could come and tell me and still I'd doubt" attitude. It's what makes gods mad in basically every mythology, but I love that kind of thought process. I'm very much like that too.

I'm so sorry this is so long. I tried to cut, but I got the impression it'd make it even less clear or more difficult to understand. Or maybe the lack of clarity lies precisely on how repetitive and long this is. I'd like to think English not being my first language has to do with this, but honestly the problem is most probably just me. I hope I made the point understandable enough, though. And thanks for your patience. I really liked that post of Near someone sent as an opinion and how you replied! Very interesting takes on both ends.

Hi again! You have some very thought-provoking points about it all, and don't worry, your English is excellent.

I loved Near's stance about these things as well, and that's something that really bothered me when growing up about some authority figures and institutions being really totalitarian and silencing of doubts or stances they deemed too negative or incorrect to voice aloud. I value having freedom of choice and the ability to think critically about everything immensely. Maybe it's because I went to a very strict and sheltering and weird little school as a child that tried very hard to indoctrinate me with a specific worldview, and always shamed and silenced anyone who disagreed or questioned them or felt like an outsider or wanted to have a different point of view. I remember relating the most to Matsuda on the task force when I first watched the show as a teen, because he was always speaking up with his devil's advocate questions or confusions. The way Soichiro and the others usually yell and scold and shame him for this bothered me a lot, because I wanted them to discuss things openly so I could see all the different sides of the arguments more clearly. Actually, I think this is a pretty culturally similar thing between Japan and Canada (where I am from). There's a strong emphasis on doing what's best for the entire group instead of just yourself, and being too controversial or outspoken or individualistic about certain things is often taboo and frowned upon as a big social faux pas. It's possibly quite a bit stronger pressure toward obedience and conformity and politeness in Japan in certain ways as well, but I don't know for sure as I haven't lived there myself.

I think Soichiro had a bit of nuance and flexibility with his morals and his stances in various instances throughout the plot, and to me he seemingly tries hard to see things from other angles during complicated moments in what must be one of the most difficult situations he could possibly face as both a police chief and a parent. But it's true he never seemed to doubt that upholding the laws already in place and the way his government punishes the convicted were the "correct" ways society should function. I think this series would be a really interesting one to discuss in a class that talks about stuff like justice and the death penalty and law and ethics and such for how many of these things it touches on in an entertaining and thought-provoking way!

So last week was a particularly tough one for me, one of the rubbish things about getting older is that everyone I used to rely on now has their own lives. I’m no longer the practice baby because they all have their own so when life hits like a ton of bricks, I’m usually just left to crawl through it alone but this time I had help here. I could log in and there’d be a beautiful piece of artwork, a mind blowing gif, some incredible writing or a fun ask game going on and long story short it all just helped so much that I wanted to give something back, even if it pales in comparison its the thought that counts right? Anyway this little sort of AU idea has been floating around my head for a while so I decided to try to write it out as an ode to all the lovely blogs, just for being their wonderful selves. @yusufnicolo @ssungods @marwankenzari @nicolodigenovas @noenoaholi @aliceblakeart @ahkaraii @fereldenturnip @hachinana87 @luminarai @mannadraws @tiups @monicashipsnickyjoe @nico-di-genova @nilefreemans @quyhns @fantasticbeastsandheretofindthem @leanconnoli @pirateladyoftherbbc @spearmintthief @starsisbig @stuart-littles-gay-attorney Thank you so much and sorry in advance.

I’ve Been Dreaming Of You My Whole Life.

A Joe/Nicky tale.

When Yusuf was finally born there was no wailing, no snuffling, no hiccuping sobs, just silence. His mother wasn’t surprised, it had been a long and arduous labour and she was too numb to be sad or disappointed yet. No one tried to save little Yusuf, he was born in a different time, no one yet knew how or that it was even possible. Although a short time later when baby Yusuf not only started to breathe, but scream as healthily as any other baby, all on his own, they were all delighted by their miracle. No one questioned it, just grateful for their beautiful bundle of joy, especially when their first born turned out to be their only child.

Little Nicolò was a surprise, born as the third child to parents thought too old to have another, his elder siblings taking care of him when he would become too fussy and restless. Ten year old, Lucia would take her baby brother on long walks to entertain him, fashioning a sling to carry him on her back when his little legs grew tired of walking. Thirteen year old, Ermo on his way back from town, caught up to his younger siblings on the road leading back to their home. Nico was tiring of being carried, kicking and whining, but the sun was starting to set and not wanting to stop so close to home, Ermo agreed to hold Nicolò steady while he was released from his sling. Disaster struck, however, when the teen was distracted by their neighbours daughter waving enthusiastically and shouting his name, Ermo turned his back on his siblings to return her attentions and Nicolò fell from the sling hitting the ground with a dull thud. An impassioned argument started between the two siblings until they realised with horror that for the first time in his life Nicolò was completely silent and frighteningly still. Ermo sprinted home to fetch their parents but by the time the family arrived back to where the accident had happened, Nicolò was up and wandering around, babbling to his sobbing sister. Their father checked Nicolò over and they went home, not thinking too much of it, just happy that the littlest member was unharmed but the two older siblings learned to be much more careful with their baby brother.

Yusuf had always dreamed of three people, always the same three people, until one day he started to dream of a little boy as well. Unfortunately for Yusuf he didn’t have any real friends, other children were always mean to him even though he was always kind, he didn’t understand why but he didn’t mind much. Instead he kept the people from his dreams close to him, taking them into his heart, they became his friends, hoping one day the weapon wielding ladies and their battle ready companion would come and rescue him from his ordinary and lonely life. The dreams of the boy with the sky coloured eyes and the wild mop of hair started just as life became simultaneously better and worse for Yusuf, better for his new friend, worse in the way he was treated, although the other children’s scorn at a growing boy having imaginary friends did have one advantage in that, in his attempt to explain how he saw the world, Yusuf became a highly adept artist.

The dreams were interpreted differently by Nicolò, when he saw a tiny baby or a little boy with a head full of tiny ringlets, kind eyes and a dazzling smile mixed with images of three adults, always together, smiling even in battle; Nicolò thought them a calling. Visions of a numinous little boy mistaken for the Messiah and, depending on how old Nicolò was, either disciples or those known as the Three Wise Men. His family encouraged this hypothesis when he told them of the dreams, especially after a few years of the same recurring characters, even if the dreams themselves sometimes differed, no one questioned the theory that there were bigger plans for their Nico. The dreams fuelled his belief, strengthening it all throughout his life, thinking he’d been chosen for a purpose, especially as his morals wavered over a choice between leaving the priesthood or joining Ermo in going to battle. Nicolò wasn’t sure he was as brave as the three friends he saw every night but by his late teens he was sure his visions were guiding him in the right direction so he set off with his big brother.

Once word of invaders reached Yusuf’s people he suddenly became less enamoured with the idea of people who fought so easily. Images of the blue eyed boy, slowly becoming a man, were always fewer than those of the three unlikely best friends but he now woke in a cold sweat whenever he saw them. Their laughter once joyful, now seemed taunting rather than comforting. Yusuf began to wonder whether he’d known of the invasion all his life and had never heeded the warning. He offered to take night watch, learning how to fight in the day, readying himself to defend his home until bone deep exhaustion took over and he didn’t dream, just slept. He repeated this behaviour until the battle came, although he almost missed it, running into the fray in time to see sky blue eyes, that he knew better than he knew his own, staring back in disbelief.

Nicolò’s shock was quickly taken over by anger, deep rooted fear that maybe what he’d been seeing for as long as he could remember wasn’t what he thought after all, that he’d blindly walked into this life. The trust he’d put into his assumed visions shattering as he stared back into the face of the young man he should hate but knew all too well, leaving deep betrayal and visions of the horrors he’d seen since he started his journey bubbling in his mind's eye, fuelling his rage like a lightning storm, death, destruction and his big brother’s broken body and lifeless eyes causing a red mist. Nicolò was unseeing with it, could barely breathe and trembling with the need to do something.

Yusuf couldn’t quite believe his eyes, rubbing at them trying to clear what he presumed was a sleep deprived haze, those distinctive features, the azure eyes staring back, it just seemed impossible, especially when they mirrored such recognition. Surely such a kind and brilliant person couldn’t be a part of this, couldn’t be a part of the death and destruction of the reputation that preceded the invaders, eyes so beautifully blue that crinkled just so when he smiled, couldn’t hate so deeply that he would join such an unjust cause. It had to be a hallucination or maybe he was still asleep and dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamed of battles, only those dreams were usually filled with laughter whereas now all he could hear was the clangs of metal and the rage of men.

Nicolò charged forward not really sure what he was doing, what he really wanted to do was run away, far away, all the way back home. He didn’t know why he was running into the mess that surrounded him, he certainly didn’t realise he was holding his sword until it was sticking in the boy he’d been dreaming of for as long as he could remember, who seemed equally shocked to have instinctively reached for his own weapon slicing blindly but precisely. The choking and lack of breath wasn’t as scary as Nico had assumed it would be. The rage he’d felt not moments ago draining from him in an instant was replaced by a deep disappointment that he’d never get to find out what the dreams meant or who the boy now in front of him was. It was a little late to ask even if they had the capacity to do so and as he sunk to the ground watching the light fade from the familiar brown eyes and from around his vision he wondered if they’d meet again, wherever it was they were going now.

Waking alone in a field full of bodies but the one you died with felt bizarre to Yusuf, he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming but he was quite sure his imagination wasn’t good enough to conjure the sights and smells that surrounded him, his only comfort being that there seemed to be more dead invaders than those of his people. He realised that he now had a choice, he could go home and wait for the next battle or he could leave in the hopes of catching up to the blue eyed boy, in the hopes of getting some answers. Maybe he knew that they dreamed of each other, maybe he dreamed of the three friends too and maybe he knew why they dreamed of each other. Although right now a more pressing question seemed to be why did you just stab me? but somehow Yusuf instinctively knew that he’d not really meant it, or maybe that was wishful thinking. As he checked himself for the wound he realised it was missing, he wondered again if he was just dreaming but decided either way he was going after his friend. Yusuf chuckled to himself as he realised that he still classed his murderer as his friend, maybe there was something wrong with him like the others had always said after all.

It was three days after the battle and Nicolò had never felt so alone, his brother and his battalion dead, the person he dreamed of was too. He wondered if this was his punishment for questioning his purpose, being left to roam the world alone, maybe he’d get home and find his mother and sister gone too. Nicolò just wanted to sleep but he couldn’t, images taking over his mind, the resonating metal, the taste of blood, tiny matted ringlets on a lifeless body that usually exuded vivacity, he was almost certain he’d only stopped being ill because his body had nothing left to give. At this point he really didn’t care, he would either finally get some rest or his body would give up altogether but the footsteps coming towards him had him instinctively on his feet, weapon in hand and he was reminded that he came from a long line of warriors, it’d take more than a little brooding to change who he was, who he came from, they were all a part of him whether he liked it or not.

Yusuf shuffled to a stop, three days he’d walked and now here he was with a blade sticking out of his chest, he supposed by now he shouldn’t be surprised but surprise was one of the emotions reflected back at him in the sleep deprived, manic blue eyes of the one person he was determined to find, though Yusuf’s slowly staling brain wondered if this one was real, maybe the other three were too. Consciousness flickered as he fell to his knees, concern, confusion and, going by the little crinkle in his dark eyebrows, annoyance pouring out of the blue, washing over Yusuf along with the warmth of the campfire that had led him in the right direction, the yellow light causing some of the flecks to appear green adding an ethereal aura to the one person he simultaneously knew and didn’t, who he fervently he hoped he’d wake again to see.

Present Day

“I thought you said you’d killed each other many times” Nile asked

“Oh, we did! Not always on purpose, of course,” Joe laughed

“We didn’t speak the same language, communication was difficult to start with,” Nicky elaborated, turning back to the stove.

“It sounds like there’s a story behind that!” Nile exclaimed, excitedly banging her hands on the kitchen table.

“Oh there is,” Andy sniggered, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Please, no,” Nicky whined, refusing to look at the group.

“Tell Nile what the first thing you learned to say was,” Andy tittered, Nile turning her full attention to Nicky’s back. Joe reached out to hold Nicky’s hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth as Nicky mumbles inaudibly.

“What was that?” Nile asked giddily.

“I’ve been dreaming of you my whole life,” Joe and Nicky repeat in unison, Nicky turned to look at Joe, a soft smile crinkling his eyes.

Neither man notices Nile’s revering gaze or Andy silently gaining her attention and them both sneaking out the kitchen leaving the lovers to their reminiscing.

After a Longass time, I'm gonna make a response post to a post from @itsclydebitches. Not sure if I'll acknowledge All

Of it, but still..

1.Thats, the opposite of what the First episode shows, the first episode shows that the Military presence in Mantle dosent really do anything to actually help them with the Grimm. With it even being joked about as usual for the Military by Nora. The next episode also states that wasn't even the reason James had for it. It was to handle the 'eventual' Panick.

2.This and the recurring point of this later on is something I kinda want to address, because it's sort of what I was trying to say in My ask but I should go into more detail.

The point is basically that If James was shady for what he did, then So is Ruby for being willing to work with him for that long...I kinda want to mix this with a different Criticism I heard. That Ruby not trusting Ironwood was horrible and ungrateful because of all the good stuff James had done and how sympathetic and well meaning he was. The issue is that they are both 2 halves of the picture that ignore the other half, wich was what the heroes actual response was.

Him being sympathetic, clearly just trying to help and all the Good stuff he was doing is why they are willing to work with him and help with things. But Ruby didn't like his shadier actions either, wich is why she didn't trust him completely. And also? ""Nora dosent agree...But Ruby, the leader, does. She pushed Ironwood to finish Amity somwhow", that....isnt What happens, we see After Nora yells at James, ruby walks up to him and tells him more calmly that his actions, his management of Mantle and such were only helping Salem and it's what was making it easy for Salem to frame him. And earlier on we saw her with the other protags suggest working with Robyn. That's not 'Reaping the benefits of his actions even if they don't like them', that's not liking some of his actions but still trying to Understand him, and hope to reason or talk him down. Basically...Well it's a display that the other charachterization for Ruby, that she was a judgmental child who considered anyone who went beyond her standard of perfection to be Evil, isn't true. She tries to help and Understand James because she knows despite his flaws he is trying to do good, she tries to reach out to him and get him to see his actions were flawed.

Hell, the Jobs they were actually given were jobs where they could actually help soften the consequences of James actions, like Ren and Nora guarding the wall. the Robyn thing was a direct display that they weren't just doing anything James asked or were perfectly fine with his morally ambiguous actions. When ordered to attack a Huntress who was just trying to help, they instead went against his orders and even tried to actually fix things in a better way.

3.This is a few different issues, I'll start by saying that, that wasn't Ozpins problem in the Previous Volume, Some fans and some of the Heroes in there Angrier times think that, But the big thing was basically that Ozpin wasn't trusting anyone With that Info, that's what separates it from Rubies situation with James, Ruby wasn't trusting James because he actually did have many traits that made him look untrustworthy. And...well Finishing Amity and the plan is not pointless even with Salems immorality. Ruby dosent 'Know' That her being immortal means that the whole plan is pointless for 2 reasons, 1 is that she never had the mindset that it made it all pointless, she was actually distinctly against that when the others thought that under the Apathies influence, and makes her stance clear later, that Salem being Unkillable doesn't mean she's unstoppable. And 2, she dosent 'Know' that because....Its not true. Even if they can't directly kill her like James is planning...Were explicitly, directly told in Salems first actual appearance in the show that Humanity United was a threat and that was why she was going to ensure she divided them. Not to mention that...It isn't even all about the plan? It's made clear that global communications being down was a really bad thing and fixing that alone would help.

4.Im just gonna address one point here...It was not 'The Majority of Mantle' Being taken, were told that they were not even close to being done evacuating.

5.Basically what I said at 2, But to also state, James wasn't an Unambiguous Bad guy in Volume 7, He was in the Wrong In Volume 7, but he wasn't meant to be a Villain yet. The point of James charachter is basically he's someone who meant well but was highly flawed and made bad decisions, and instead of growing from his mistakes, he doubled down on them and let his flaws consume him. I'll get to it more later, but, that doesn't mean he was always evil or meant to be, Also...Jaunes license was given to him by James but, he was not part of the Military being fused with Huntsman, especially by this point. And with Winters words in her and James fight, I have my own issues with that fight or Winters Arc, but I don't think that point holds up either because we weren't meant to see Winter as unambiguously a good guy in Volume 7. Her words in there fight was after she had changed, that dosent mean we're supposed to believe she was a hero while working under James. It just means her POV changed after leaving him, now she wasn't following her programming of being blindly obedient anymore. Penny called out Winter for her being willing to follow through with euthanizing the Winter Maiden, Marrow calls her out in Volume 8 asking the Weiss question.

6.Well, to answer the questions there, were told in episode 5 what the recources were. Clover says how they were taking 'Construction resources', were told this again by Penny in the Car ride, wich makes total sense. They are changing Amity so that it could serve as a shuttle, so needing Construction stuff makes sense. While we may not be told how much power James had explicitly, they do give us a decent idea, that he had way more then he should. It's said in the Council meeting that they set in Checks and balances to keep him from overstepping with his seats, and that he basically just Ignored them to pull the actions he did in Volume 7. And Watts gives us both one Major decision that shows James flaws and gives a Clue as to part of the reasons Mantle was crappy as it was, saying how James updated most of the code in Atlas after the fall of Beacon, but 'As Usual' None was updated in Mantle. Aside from showing a...Truly Spectacularly callous move on James part, it also gives a big clue as to part of the reason Mantle is as crappy as it is, That Atlas and James basically treat Mantle like an afterthought and neglects changing things there to make things better, resulting in the City's state that we see. And, I imagine that being surveillanced and patrolled almost constantly wouldn't be ideal, and it's established by Winters line in that first episode that not cooperating with Personal was a punishable offense. I think you also....Picked a really bad example with Rhodes, if anything, Rhodes is probably a perfect demonstration of why being complacent or loyal to a system is bad for Huntsmen. I think if he would have loved to help Cinder more, it's just that he was loyal to the System and wasn't doing anything to upset the status quo despite knowing it was wrong. If issues like that existed, then it makes James specialist program, wich is specifically supposed to be Huntsmen trained to be loyal to the system, an even worse idea. Also I sort of feel like the bits at the end are sort of a false equivalency. I explained Ozpin amd Rhodes but also...Well for one, while we don't see portals line up in those specific areas, the plan was to have Jaune explain what was going on with everyone. And Qrow, Marrow and Robyn were still taking in the other Ace ops,they knew the plan so they would likely just head over to the nearest portal after, and...Maria and Pietro weren't there. And in James case, it wasn't just him 'saving who he could', it's that he could have tried to do more but didn't because he didn't want to risk it, and as Volume 8 showed, they really did have lots of time to evacuate people and could have found a way to Launch Amity. And...Well in his case there's the little fact that, as his Convo with Oscar makes explicit, James plan involved leaving the rest of Mankind To the dust and at Salems mercy.

There are problems with RWBY, but I don't think it's shoddily written, partially because I don't really find it 'particularly' flawed and think the good far outweighs the bad. And you know what? To some degree, I agree. I do think there's a weird bias towards authority in the FNDM, but maybe alot of fans are too dismissive of criticism, I do think to some degree we should acknowledge the RWDE and such aren't all right wingers and there's now a Vocal part of it that are on the left or members of minority groups. I don't agree with a ton of the things they say, and think most of it dosent hold up, but instead of just dismissing, perhaps it's better to look at things in detail and give proper arguments agaisnt them. So I won't treat you like an idiot, I'm going to give a full rundown on why I don't feel like it holds up under analytical scrutiny.

For one, while it doesn't have those specific issues like in the real world, I don't agree with this Criticism because I feel it is the one that sort of ignores the worldbuilding and what's been shown or said about the Military and the world itself and not the show, It sort of feels like people just bring up the basic concepts that would seem reasonable and ignore how the show executes certain things. For one, the military was a leftover from a time when they were meant to fight against other humans, It was something an Authoritarian state held over after its defeat and reformation, James and the Military helped Jac as he turned the SDC into the horrific corporate empire it is, Covordin shows that Nationalism is indeed a bit thing and that there were high ranking officers who were fully comfortable with the possiblity of just waging war on the other Kingdoms again. And then there's the specialist program, I've seen people sort of distill it to its very basics to make it seem more reasonable, describing it as just stuff like Huntsmen having rules and such, when the show displays it being way more screwed up then that. It literally involves indoctrinating people as students, were shown Elm reprimand the protagonists saying how they don't need to think about Orders just follow them. As both Volumes show, the culture of the program is deeply screwed up and unhealthy for them, were shown how they taught stuff like repressing your emotions and how deeply unhealthy it is for them.

And...Furthermore? If we're judging by how things are In Universe with the show the world built...James way of doing things is, completely absurd. I already dislike Cynical 'This is the REAL world 'Types IRL. But....In the world James is in, his strategy is just....

He lives in a world where negativity causes monster attacks and the villains whole Shtick is manipulating narratives to cause disarray and ensuring people stay divided. James strategy involved closing off Atlas from the rest of Remnant after they were framed for causing the Fall of Beacon, never bothering to clear there name when sleet and Camilla say he could easily do so, he dismisses both his image across the Globe and in Atlas, and dismisses what the people of Mantle want and the stuff his actions currently cause, all as Neccesary sacrifices when that's all completely insane and Relies on basically ignoring absolutely everything about the situation they are in and how there enemy works, wich again, Ruby points out, that he was actively playing into Salems hands and making it easier for her.

I think it's a decent display of the Tunnel Vision James has, he's prepared for the negativity of the END result of his plan and made preparations for it, but he...Basically ignores the consequences his actions are having right now and how that will affect his ends.

Overall...I think the issue is that James is not meant to be the Bad guy through Volume 7, and I feel like its not that the show 'contradicts' it's pure black and white take on things, it's just that it wasn't there to begin with. Whenever a Major flaw Ironwood had from the start is brought up, it's claimed that it means he was supposed to be 'Always evil'(admitedly some fans as well), when it dosent, it just means his flaws and darker aspects were always there and he didn't jump off the slippery slope instantly like some claim.

Were meant to sympathize with James, understand him, ECT. We're meant to want to see him get better, to be escatic when he does almost get better.

Overall, I don't agree with the idea that James was a reasonable charachter who was bastardized, the show set him up as flawed pretty well already, he's sympathetic because he's designed to be sympathetic. He's not potrayed as a Villain through 7 because he wasn't meant to be til the end.

Also...Well, even if you still felt that him 'Just' abandoning Mantle was still just morally gray...That isn't dropped in V8, it's bascially dropped not 2 episodes later. Where not only does he shoot Oscar but Oscar pointed out not only was he abandoning Mantle, but abandoning the rest of Mankind. Wich James just responds calling it an 'excellant philosophical point'.

Unpopular opinions 2.0

Unpopular Ballet Opinion: Isabella Boylston has a fun and active personality that—unfortunately—does not translate well into her performances. She’s talented, but she feels more well-suited for contemporary ballet than classical dances.

100% YES | Agree | Sort of Agree | Meh | Don’t Have an Opinion | Disagree | NO WAY

I actually am turned off by her personality sort of overall, but I completely agree with the rest of the sentiment. 

Unpopular opinion: NYCB dancers can do Balanchine like no one else (for obvious reasons, of course), but whenever they try classic after-Petipa choreography, I can’t help but cringe.

100% YES | Agree | Sort of Agree | Meh | Don’t Have an Opinion | Disagree | NO WAY

Mostly because personally I would rather watch Balanchine dancers try classical ballet than Russian dancers try Balanchine. 

The whole “American Dream” notion being applied to ballet bothers me. I mean, yeah anyone can start doing ballet no matter their age, race, gender, sexuality, fitness level etc. But whenever someone asks “I’m [insert age well within the puberty range], I’m thinking of starting ballet. can I be a professional?”, there will always be people going, “Yes of course! [insert famous professionals who started later than their peers] started at 13/14!” or they would list an example of a male professional starting at 18 or something. Those are exceptions to the rule. And men can generally start later than women, but they never specify it or explain the difference. Misty Copeland starting at 13 keeps getting brought up and look how she dances now. It just plants this unrealistic notion of “if they can do it, I can do it too” in people’s heads and then more often than not they end up failing.

100% YES | Agree | Sort of Agree | Meh | Don’t Have an Opinion | Disagree | NO WAY

I completely agree. Yes, there are some examples of dancers who started late but they are few a far between. I think that the line between letting people pursue their dreams and being realistic can be hard to navigate, but you ultimately do more harm than good by blindly encouraging someone. For example, I can think of instagrammers who are 18-20, not in a company or a prestigious school with no experience who still think they will become professional dancers and honestly I feel bad for them. You start wasting your life. 

Dancers who dance as themselves, instead of living the lives of the characters they’re playing on stage, COULD BE boring to watch. Not to say they aren’t amazing, but I am much more interested in dancers with versatility and who are “chameleon actors”. Lopatkina has mastered portraying a Swan and regality so well (because she is an actual Queen), that’s all I can really see in her other roles but I adore her. Zakharova though just looks very boring to me; although she is beautiful, I have yet to find one role that she embodies completely.

100% YES | Agree | Sort of Agree | Meh | Don’t Have an Opinion | Disagree | NO WAY

I am only not giving this 100% yes for semantics, basically. I think they ARE boring to watch. Ballet is a performance and part of that performance is acting a role, whatever it is. If you can’t sell a performance emotionally, I don’t want to see it. Completely agree about Lopatkina (though I pretty much cannot watch her in anything but Swan Lake) and I’ve never enjoyed Zakharova. Obviously these people are incredible dancers, but to me that doesn’t mean you’re an incredible ballerina because acting is an aspect of ballet. 

I want to plaster this onto every comment section of any youtube videos about ballet: BALLET IS AN ART FORM, NOT A SPORT. Period. I don’t even know if this even qualifies as an opinion, because ballet doesn’t even fit the description of a sport. It’s a fact, supported by historical evidence, quotes and arguments from dancers, choreographers, pedagogues throughout history. People need to stop trying to use athleticism to legitimise ballet, it undermines the artistic aspect of the ART FORM. I don’t think any professionals who have been dancing for years see themselves as athletes. They’re called artists for a reason, and they understand why. I see people who say otherwise are usually very young.

100% YES | Agree | Sort of Agree | Meh | Don’t Have an Opinion | Disagree | NO WAY

Nothing to argue or explain there. 

I'm just a casual balletgoer and know nothing about the technicalities of the art, so forgive me if this is an obscure opinion but... Bournonville's ballets are lovely and they don't deserve their reputation of being boring and drawn-out

100% YES | Agree | Sort of Agree | Meh | Don’t Have an Opinion | Disagree | NO WAY

I’m always here to defend Bournonville ballet and technique. 

Unpopular Opinion: Just because a Vaganova grad has strong allegro or is lively on stage doesn’t mean they are suited for the Bolshoi

100% YES | Agree | Sort of Agree | Meh | Don’t Have an Opinion | Disagree | NO WAY

Absolutely. I also find it so insulting that people think the Vaganova doesn’t have strong allegro or lively dancers. That’s a fault of the people in charge of casting, not of the whole method itself.  

Stripped Making Of (not so) Liveblog, actually more of an aimless ramble

Ah the stripped video. One of my absolute favorites.The one I could say so much about and at the same time am so exhausted by even thinking about it ...

But basically this is why I don’t trust Philipp Stölzl. Because I honestly don’t buy that he couldn’t explain to them how controversial Leni Riefenstahl Material would be. I do buy that they were fairly unfamiliar, lots of people were and still are, and especially with their background, I think they genuinely might have not understood. But him? I mean in order to even think of that material he had to have known. And like, that means he is either way too comfortable with her proximity to the NSDAP, or he genuinely kind of just assumed that they knew what they were letting themselves in for. And that’s assuming a pretty arrogant position to be honest. I know he initially wanted to refilm all that but I genuinly don’t think that if he had explained to them more in-depth what this means that they would have still used it. Not with them always being so upset at being seen as right wing. @msgwendolenfairfax recently said something like that he’s jerking off to his own intellectualism, and ever since I do believe it’s mostly that, that he just assumed this “it’s an aesthetic choice, not a political one” position which I am very much on board with in principle, but in practice was letting the band walk into open fire imo. I mean I looked, and he has a clean reputation otherwise, so I do believe it must have been that. Which - giving him the benefit of a doubt - could have just been because he comes from a very intellectual (theatrical) background, that’s what he does nowadays, so it could have been genuine mistake, —- kind of expecting more from the audience than it could deliver, but really? A mistake that big? Why, Philip? It’s entirely possible that I read wayyyyy way too much into it, but like, I have seen people fired for a lot less in this country and I am just so suspicious.

All that being said, that video IS brilliant aesthetically, and anyone who wants to dispute Riefenstahls accomplishments because of it’s evil purposes completely misses the point to be honest. Some of these shots are filmed in a way that would be rare and astonishing even today. My grandmother was only a couple of years younger than her and one of the two first female students at the Munich School for Photography, and she was accused weekly of being too stupid for a camera. That’s the time we are talking about. She might have been a dirty opportunitist, but how much can you really blame her. Can you imagine saying no to these opportunities as a woman, with a camera, during that time? Honestly? People give Albert Speer more slack than her and it’s. Suspicious, let’s leave it at that.

Back to the actual making of, I should update on how my Depeche Mode exploration is going perhaps. I love those “works for everyone” acts, I mean how many of these are there even? What is comparable from later on? Gorillaz? Wu Tang Clan? Billie Eilish?

Richard being a smiling fan boy makes me squeal internally. I am making horcruxing a verb, because him hiding liking pop music is basically me hiding my Eminem records and my classical CDs from my punk friends and I start to be convinced he just flung a bit of his soul around he accidentally splintered off during the chaos of reunification and I had to catch it like the idiot I am.

God, them trying so hard to do it justice makes my heart so full. Schneider is so genuine, and look at Richard smiling, he’s so into that challenge I ... moving on, ok.

I think the stripped ... down to the bone might have been so hard for Till because it covers quite a big range from beginning to end of the line, and he doesn’t normally do that. Like it would be a fluid change from where his voice needs to sit in the beginning to where it sits in the end of it? Because in principle he should be able to hit it I think ...

Yeah see, they didn’t think about the consequences. But they should have and I genuinly do not understand why noone stepped in and made them.

I love how unwilling to compromise Paul is here. I mean I 100% agree with him, and to be honest I don’t think they should have decided against using it, it’s just that they seemed to have been so unaware of what they are using that makes me pause.

See I actully like how Stölzl explains this here. If you take those images on their own and recontextualize it, there is nothing wrong about it whatsover. And doing just that is an art historical constant. It’s just difficult because most people aren’t art historians and can’t sort their instincts away from objectivity. It’s a weird mix of simultaneously knowing too much and too little that makes cases like this so difficult.

See that’s the thing, yes there were (and are) alot of debates about the “who are we and how are we gonna deal with this legacy” thing, but just blindly starting that experiment slightly puts the answer before the question, or? And again, if this would have been a conscious decision of everyone involved I am all for it and I agree, but it just seriously seemed like that wasn’t the case? Or alternatively if he just stumbled over rolls of film and used it, that would’ve been fine too.

The aesthetic commonalities of Nazi Germany and the Warsaw Pact countries could send me into a whole other tangent but I’m gonna shut up about it other than “YES”, because I’m not actually knowledgeable enough about it.

God, I feel so sad for them for that fallout. :(

Yeah, Richard’s right. It is a pity that knowing that fallout going in, you wouldn’t make that video. So maybe it is a good thing in a way that it happened that way, because it is an aesthetic masterpiece, that otherwise would not exist. The ideal state would be when we could make a video like that, fully knowing what it means, and still being able to do it because the majority of people would understand how semiotics work, but I mean utopia isn’t real so.

God honestly ... that conflict of aesthetics and their emotional impact vs their history can fill dissertations (and already does), and it’s truly one of those things our society needs to learn to give people the individual freedom to draw those lines in the sand for themselves. It honestly goes both ways, people say “it’s not like the nazis” because it doesn’t wear neat uniforms but dirty shirts and red caps, and they say it causes school shootings even tho school shootings are caused by bullying and the music we listen to has probably helped more bully victim survive and stay sane than anything, and it’s all part of a huge “I think I understand something based on what it looks like and use that as a quick escape from actually making the effort to understand what it is” delusion.

Yeah see, Stölzl referencing the darkness and crossing of limits - he KNEW what he was doing. He completely derails his own argument, first he says those images are only negative if you know what they came from like it’s two completely seperate things and then he goes “yeah the darkness was needed” ... the darkness you only know if you know where it comes from ... ? What’s it gonna be Philip? I mean I can follow both arguments but like, using both simultaneously seems a bit ... hmm.

Aww Schneider and Paul being proud boys, look at them. It’s funny how Paul “I want to fling shit in everybody’s face” Landers actually gets quite flustered when people he likes love his stuff, no? He reacts the most impressed with the Lost Highway thing aswell, it’s really quite endearing.

I think I rambled on without conclusion even worse than usual but in fairness it’s a very complex issue. TL;DR: I wish they would have made that video knowing what they let themselves in for, because I do think it would have made the fallout easier to bear and I wish that hadn’t happened to them. Does that make sense? At some point very far into the future I will want to write an actual essay about this but we can jot this down as initial brainstorm before you jump on me with arguments I missed, ok! (Seriously tho, please discuss this with me I need arguments that aren’t my own to sharpen my opinion)

https://youtu.be/mImuguOghRM

Sorry but in all honesty your answer really makes me feel angered. Cause not only you belittled me , when I was pointing out how Deku’s wishful thinking is ridiculous and that by teen I meant that he has room to grow up and being better and finally open his eyes instead of being bubbled in his dichotomic thinking.

No, you were just assuming I was accusing you, instead of reading that I was saying how childish the whole situation was. You think a teenager can handle a person who underwent abuses for years and most likely has a complex ptsd ? Good luck, even a pro in the field would have issues in picking the right word. Because they would know people like Dabi are so hurt that they could easily flip the table in full anger.

Deku is a teen, he’s scared and he go back in what he knows best. Am i saying Deku is right ? No. I started off with “I didn’t like what Deku said...” meaning I don’t stan for his behaviour.

Heroes vs villains is an ingroup vs outgroup battle pushed to total polaritation because heroes need this to keep on being heroes. And to never think “oh what that people endured, am I doing the right thing?” Constantly. Is this right ? No. It happens? Yes. Otherwise people would go insane. When Ingroup and outgroup happens people will always care more about their own ingroup. This is science. And it happens in everyday life. And it happens with you right here right now: you assumed I held a different position and just blindly attacked me when instead I share the same view on Dabi as yours (that’s why I started to follow you and reading your posts) but I was just providing another perspective on Deku. And about Dabi is right in his statement.

Because in real life many people doesn’t care if one was abused when they were young. People doesn’t care if they grew up in poor neighbourhood with 0 possibilities. Or if they had a severe mental illness never cured and resort to drugs to keep on living. Even with all of this, if said X person kills innocent (much like Dabi said he has done) is life long prison sentence or capital sentence. That’s how our world works, so why should Bnha’s work differently ? Deku is the product of society. He can gain critical thinking. But it’s not taken for granted that he has it. Because after all this is the society they were born into. Cool quirk= hero. No quirk / bad quirk = villain.

Deku just thought until now that encouraging and words could heal. They worked with Shinsou. They worked with Shoto. Why should he think he would fail? This is the reality he lived until now. And now FINALLY someone kicked him back into his place. But no. “Think-like” people ? Really? How dumb. How shortsighted. Basically you are answering like Deku did : protecting your ingroup without accepting or confronting with others perspective. It’s such a shame. I loved your post. Didn’t see that coming.

And about victims... if think you much like anyone else miss a point. Victim NEEDS validation. They are allowed to show their emotion. They are allowed to hold grudge. It they shouldn’t. And not because we are all saints. But because this hurts the victim. Forgiveness is correlated to wellbeing. When we forgive someone it’s us who benefits. That’s why many incredibly forgive even brutal murders of their beloved. What Dabi’s is doing it’s not right morally but more importantly isn’t good for his health. Saying “Dabi is right” implies that his behaviour is valid. It’s not . His pain is but in the end what did it cost to him ? He’s consumed by hate. He killed many people he considered innocents (aka he knows he did wrong and this is guilt).

His mental health is basically not there. He’s not happy at all. Yes he was abused, but neither the society and neither himself has done nothing to heal. To recover. Once dead he could have just put anything behind. Or just show up to his siblings. Leaving all of his hate behind because it’s toxic to him. He just go f you to his father and make his own life. But he can’t. He’s consumed by hate. And despite its not his fault, the fault he has it to never have tried to feel better , relying on someone (even inside the league why not) or just let all of it go. He could have just wait and totally ruin his father’s fame instead of all of this. But he just can’t. You think it’s good for a victim? Always living in the negative emotional state of their abusive even if they made it away?That’s not a good message at all. And no, in real life most likely abused victims are pushed to love on while recovering. Because all of this will make them suffer. Not their abusers. Imagine going on 10 years like this and now again say Dabi is a good example of victim validation. Or rather , say this to a pedo who was abused several times. Say this to a rapist who saw his mother raped day by day and interiorised this as a valid sexual approach. Tell this to the bully who grew up seeing a violent parent and gained that beating is a much more efficient way to make his voice to be heard.

Grow up in an household in which being an hero and make your father proud is everything and suddenly this is stripped away. A father who taught you must be great and always be on the top to even exists. A father who has incredibly high standard level i everything. And thus you translated to “well if I’m about to make him pay I’ll destroy the whole world who considered me dead. I’ll kill innocent, I’ll burn them alive, and lastly I’ll kill my family too”. And now tell me if you were to face this person who has no intention to stop and you’d say “yes, your pain is valid. You’re reasonable”. Would you see the person? Of the monster he became? Would you forgive him ? Or would you say what Deku said ? That Dabi is basically a villain? That’s he’s spitting on a man who’s trying to redeem ? Would you try to redeem Dabi and save him from his pain? Because no one did. And Deku is no different. No different by the people in his society. And no different by the people of OUR society.

If you’re are the person who could see the human beyond the action in the fore mentioned examples , hats of for you. But realistically what I said will happen. We are all Deku, who are willing to ignore others drama and to label villains as monsters to have no guilty at night. Because otherwise we would be the monsters.

I’m so disappointed. I really thought highly reading your posts and translations. I believed you could do better instead of rumbling and being annoyed.

I’m sorry you felt like I was belittling or attacking you - that wasn’t my intention.

You send me an ask with points that I disagree with, points that I’ve seen so much by now. You are allowed to have your opinions, but I am also allowed to voice mine and I simply am not interested in reading the same arguments used to justify D*ku’s behavior anymore. 

Yes, I understand that he would side with Shouto - that that is the natural thing for people to do - but that doesn’t mean that we are not allowed to judge the way he handles things after so much time has passed and after he has been given so many opportunities to start thinking critically.

Please understand that my blog mainly focuses on the Todoroki family and the League. I’m not a fan of D*ku and with that, avoid talking about his character where possible because I don’t see a point in spreading negativity for no reason. On the rare occasion that I do, my notifications get filled with people trying to change my mind, which can get pretty tiring because people are allowed to have their opinions and we don’t always have to discuss and argue about every single opinion.

I agree that it’s not healthy for Dabi - or any victim - to stay in a negative mind space. It’s important to get help and learn to move on from the past; but that doesn’t mean that victims like Dabi don’t exist and that we shouldn’t talk about them. I know it’s a lot more difficult to have compassion for people like that - especially in real life - but I think fictional stories are partially there to challenge our views. I’m not saying Dabi is right in hurting people, but I can also recognize the mental downfall that it took for him to arrive at a point where he thinks this is justifiable. I disagree that we are all like D*ku in this and there are, in fact, real-life situations where someone commits crimes and people have compassion because they are given the backstory that explains how the person in question ended up doing what they did.

It’s great that you have a different opinion about this and I encourage you to continue having your views, but if you take issue with me disagreeing with the points you sent my way, then feel free to unfollow. I want this blog to remain as positive as possible instead of becoming a place where I argue with people over my opinions. So please don’t feel like you need to continue to follow me if this blog doesn’t provide that positivity for you.

Again, I’m sorry if any of my replies came off as condescending to you - that was definitely not my intention. Your opinions are valid. But please also understand that when someone interacts with my posts or sends me an ask that I am entitled to disagree and give my viewpoint.

That being said, thank you for reading and enjoying my posts thus far.

I finished reading Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, and I have to say, I really, really loved it! Everyone who recommended it to me was 100% right - this book is great, and especially great in its representation of the Jedi. I think I like it even more than Shatterpoint, and I really liked Shatterpoint.

There are some weak points - it was a little slow to pull me in, and there’s a couple of Weird Legends Things™ that, with me not being particularly immersed in that continuity, don’t quite fit in with my conception of Star Wars (Dooku apparently having had a Master that was not Yoda; the infamous 13-year-old age limit (though I was at least familiar with that one), the Jedi being so far in the public eye that there exists a famous Yoda impersonator, etc), and I was a little iffy on how it handled the “Jedi shouldn’t be in the war” angle (I’m fine with there being Jedi who think that the Jedi shouldn’t be in the war. I’m less fine with an author deciding that other Jedi can’t find the words to defend their involvement, because that’s a cheap way of framing the argument), and a small moment of the “everyone falls in love” stuff I dislike.

But those were very small aspects of the book, all things considered, and pretty much everything else about this book is really, really good, and very Star Warsy - a very healthy mix of the wacky as well as the philosophical sides of the franchise, which suited my tastes really well. This book is fun - Yoda is the grumpy grandpa that he deserves to be, and spends a good portion of the book disguised as an astromech that gets into all sorts of trouble. Obi-Wan and Anakin have peak sibling energy in the handful of scenes that they show up in - Anakin at one point insisting that a woman would have to be desperate to want Obi-Wan, and only a younger sibling could possibly say something like that with a straight face to a man as attractive as Obi-Wan, as well as Obi-Wan lying to Mace Windu’s face to cover for Anakin and then immediately grumbling about it to Anakin that he doesn’t know why he does these things for him is such an older sibling thing to do.

Where this book really shines, though, is the serious stuff - the philosophy and the dark side and especially grief. What absolutely sold me on this story, and what made me sit up and go “this is going to be one of my favorite Star Wars books”, was the part where Yoda speaks to the padawans and helps them address and work through their grief. It was phenomenal, and beautiful, and absolutely everything I want out of depicting the Jedi - especially in the context that only a chapter earlier, Ventress had been hurling those standard accusations of “the Jedi don’t let you feel”, and this book wonderfully, completely demolishes that nonsense. This section is absolutely amazing:

Yoda set his bowl of gumbo regretfully aside. “Hear it working, do you?”

“Hear what?” Whie snapped.

“The dark side. Always it speaks to us, from our pain. Our grief. It connects our pain to all pain, our hurt to all hurt.”

“Maybe it has a lot to say.” Whie stared at the starscape hovering over the projector table. “It’s so easy for you. What do you care? You are unattached, aren’t you? You’ll probably never die. What was Maks Leem to you? Another pupil. After all these centuries, who could blame you if you could hardly keep track of them? Well, she was more than that to me.” He looked up challengingly. Tear tracks were shining on his face, but his eyes were still hard and angry. “She was the closest thing I had to a mother, since you took me away from my real mother. She chose me to be her Padawan and I let her down, I let her die, and I’m not going to sit here and stuff myself and get over it!” He finished with a yell, sweeping the plate of crêpes off the projection table, so the platter went sailing toward the floor.

Yoda’s eyes, heavy-lidded and half closed like a drowsing dragon’s, gleamed, and one finger twitched. Food, platter, drinks, and all hung suspended in the air. The platter settled; the crêpes returned to it; Whie’s overturned cup righted itself, and rich purple liquid trickled back into it. All settled back onto the table.

Another twitch of Yoda’s fingers, the merest flicker, and Whie’s head jerked around as if on a string, until he found himself looking into the old Jedi’s eyes. They were green, green as swamp water. He had never quite realized before how terrifying those eyes could be. One could drown in them. One could be pulled under.

“Teach me about pain, think you can?” Yoda said softly. “Think the old Master cannot care, mmm? Forgotten who I am, have you? Old am I, yes. Mm. Loved more than you, have I, Padawan. Lost more. Hated more. Killed more.” The green eyes narrowed to gleaming slits under heavy lids. Dragon eyes, old and terrible. “Think wisdom comes at no cost? The dark side, yes - it is easier for them. The pain grows too great, and they eat the darkness to flee from it. Not Yoda. Yoda loves and suffers for it, loves and suffers.”

One could have heard a feather hit the floor.

“The price of Yoda’s wisdom, high it is, very high, and the cost goes on forever. But teach me about pain, will you?”

“I...” Whie’s mouth worked. “I am sorry, Master. I was angry. But...what if they’re right?” he cried out in anguish. “What if the galaxy is dark. What if it’s like Ventress says: we are born, we suffer, we die, and that is all. What if there is no plan, what if there is no ‘goodness’? What if we suffer blindly, trying to find a reason for the suffering, but we’re just fooling ourselves, looking for hope that isn’t there? What if there is nothing but stars and the black space between them and the galaxy does not care if we live or die?”

Yoda said, “It’s true.”

The Padawans looked at him in shock.

The Master’s short legs swung forth and back, forth and back. “Perhaps,” he added. He sighed. “Many days, feel certain of a greater hope, I do. Some days, not so.” He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“Ventress was right?” Whie said, shocked out of his anger.

“No! Wrong she is! As wrong as she can be!” Yoda snorted. “Grief in the galaxy, is there? Oh, yes. Oceans of it. Worlds. And darkness?” Yoda pointed to the starscape on the projection table. “There you see: darkness, darkness everywhere, and a few stars. A few points of light. If no plan there is, no fate, no destiny, no providence, no Force: then what is left?” He looked at each of them in turn. “Nothing but our choices, hmm?”

“Asajj eats the darkness, and the darkness eats her back. Do that if you wish, Whie. Do that if you wish.” The old Jedi looked deep into the starscape, suns and planets and nebulae dancing, tiny points of light blazing in the darkness. “To be Jedi is to face the truth, and choose. Give off light, or darkness, Padawan.” His matted eyebrows rose high over his swamp-colored eyes, and he poked Whie with the end of his stick. Poke, poke. “Be a candle, or the night, Padawan: but choose!”

Whie cried for what seemed like a long time. Scout ate. Fidelis served. Master Yoda told stories of Maks Leem and Jai Maruk: tales of their most exciting adventures, of course, but also comical anecdotes from the days when they were only children in the Temple. They drank together, many toasts.

Scout cried. Whie ate. Fidelis served.

Yoda told stories, and ate, and cried, and laughed: and the Padawans saw that life itself was a lightsaber in his hands; even in the face of treachery and death and hopes gone cold, he burned like a candle in the darkness. Like a star shining in the black eternity of space.

I want to show this passage to every hot-take Yoda-critical fan who’s ever leveled that kind of nonsense at him. I want every one of them to read this and still try to tell me that Yoda is detached and uncaring of the galaxy around him. I want every fan who thinks the Jedi are expected to be unfeeling to read this and understand what the Jedi actually say and do and why giving into these feelings is the issue, not the feelings themselves.

The confrontation with Dooku is also amazing. Yoda challenges him to explain why the dark side is so great, and Dooku only gets more and more frustrated as Yoda is unswayed by any of what he tempts him with. I especially love this bit where Yoda lays out exactly why what the dark side promises is false:

“Want something else. Want power.”

“Power have I.”

“Want wealth.”

“Wealth I need not.”

“Want to be safe,” Dooku said in frustration. “Want to be free from fear!”

“I will never be safe,” Yoda said. He turned away from Dooku, a shapeless bundle under a battered, acid-eaten cloak. “The universe is large and cold and very dark: that is the truth. What I love, taken from me will be, late or soon: and no power is there, dark or light, that can save me.”

That then leads into a bit where Dooku has a vision of what a dark!Yoda would look like, and realizes how utterly terrifying that would be.

Dooku also has abandonment issues on full display - lashing out at the lady who had given her son up to the Jedi, getting furious at her on the son’s behalf (but so clearly, his own, speaking of his own resentment towards his parents), and throwing an absolute hissy fit because he’s convinced Yoda likes Anakin more than him. I’m not kidding, he’s so offended by Anakin’s entire existence that just his mere presence in his house is enough for Dooku to stop feeling conflicted about the whole thing and jump right back into the dark side.

And there’s just so many good little moments throughout it all on top of all that. Whie’s dreams - and oh, I knew exactly what his dream of his own death was when he described it to Scout and it hurt at the end when he hugged Anakin while saying “I’m so glad you’re not coming to kill me!”. And Ventress, calling Dooku out on the fact that it’s so obvious that Sidious will end up replacing him (also for a more humorous bit - the fact that she apparently has some petty grudge against Anakin and Obi-Wan for stealing her ships so she goes out of her way to steal their ship at the end), and the droids, and Scout’s cleverness in winning the tournament despite her disadvantages, Jai Maruk’s last stand and refusal to fall when he was at the edge, and...so much, really.

And above all else, the book really latches onto the idea of Jedi as family, and you all know how much I really, really love the idea of the Jedi as a big found family. The idea that they consider each other to be family is driven home again and again, in their words and in their actions, and I absolutely adore this book for that emphasis.

I’ve wrote a twins!AU on a post (Here is what I wrote. It is just a quick resume of how it could have been, but I liked it) and I found the idea really interesting, so I thought “I think I will write what would happen on CW if Steve had a twin, especially one with a personality similar to Ransom’s one. Dude, Ross would be so fucked up. The Accords would SURELLY be put down as soon as he bring it up”.

(Some dialogues are the same as in the movie)

(Also, Steve holds the title of Captain America and Andy holds the title of American Agent)

(And yes, the name “Andy” is because of Andy Barber)

(This is anti-sokovia accords. If you don’t like, just don’t read)

(I really loved writting it)

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack.” Ross positioned himself as if he was going to hit a golf ball  “I dropped right in the middle of my backswing.

Steve and Andy looked at each other, asking without words if the other knew why the hell Ross was talking about it.

“Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and the triple bypass I found somethig forty years in the army never taught me: perspective.”

Steve heard Andy take a deep breath, trying to control himself to don’t say anything. He was really surprised that his brother hasn’t talked anything yet. Since Sharon took him out of cryo and he was allowed to fight too, instead of staying os a lab as the Army’s lab rat, following orders and being submissive, Andy has developed the tendency of being the most insubordinate and sassy between the two of them (what was a lot, since Steve was pretty much insubordinate himself), so he staying shut just wasn’t like him.

“The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives, but while many people see you as heros, there are some who would prefer the word ‘vigilant’.”

“And what word would you use, mr.Secretary?” Natasha asked with a false courtesy.

“What about ‘dangerous’?” Ross answered.

“Wait a minute!” Andy finally snapped “Are you, from all the people, calling us dangerous? Was this supposed to be a joke? Now, who was the one that spent years trying to catch Bruce? Wasn’t you the responsible for the creation of the Abomination and the destruction of half Harlem? Don’t you dare to call us dangerous, Secretary.” Andy said the title with sarcasm dripping from his voice “If you would use ‘dangerous’ to describe us, I would use ‘egocentrical and hypocritical’ to describe you.”

Andy’s voice was controlled and he was clearly holding back his temper, but yet Steve could see the anger burning on his eyes. 

“Don’t you raise you voice to me, Agent.” Ross warned.

“Does the truth upsets you, mr.Secretary?” Steve asked calmly “My brother didn’t raise his voice at any moment. Eveything he did was tell you the truth.”

Ross frowned while looking Steve right in his eyes.

“I thought you was the most sensible from the two of you, Captain.” He said between his teeths.

“You don’t know neither me nor him enough to make assumptions like that.” Steve shrugged “But for that matter, both me and him are pretty sensible. That’s exactly why he called you out.

The other Avengers were looking surprised to Steve. Usually Andy was the more openly sassy one, but the yonger twin was clearly able to bring to the light the worse of Steve.

“You are a group of US based enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who frankly seem unconcerned about what you leave behind.” He stepped aside so the Avengers could see the holographic screen where scenes from their battles were playing “New York, Washington DC, Sokovia, Lagos.”

Steve saw that Wanda was getting anxious. She has looked away from the screen looking really disturbed and he could hear her breath getting sharp.

“Okay, that’s enough.” He interrupted before more scenes could be played.

Andy made a disdain sound, what attracted everyone’s attention.

“Really, mr.Secretary?” Andy leaned fowards on his chair “Are you really saying that you haven't done the very same thing on Brazil?” Andy’s face showed the most pure kind of innocence, but his words were almost dripping poison “Did you already forgot that you sent a special forces team to get Bruce inside the Rocinha? It’s so convenient that you forgot that your men followed Bruce, trying to get him by any way while he run between innocent people, isn’t it?”

Ross stood there, without knowing how to answer that. The other Avengers watched amazed and unbelieving that Andy and Steve were facing Ross like this. Andy was questioning him without any fear while Steve was by his side supporting him just as always. Now they were truly starting to understand what the Barnes family meant on their interviews back on the 40s when they said that Andy and Steve were like the same being on two different bodies. 

“That was completely different, Agent.” Ross answered “People were in danger.”

“And they were in danger because of you.” Steve controverted “Your hunger for power made you try to catch Bruce by any way you could and that made him have to run away to keep himself and other people safe from you. That’s not advanced math, mr. Secretary. You were the reason he had to run away and you were the one who sent the special forces. That’s the exactly same thing you’re accusing us.”

For the second time in less than two minutes, the Rogers twins managed to let Ross speechless.

“Wow, mr. Secretary.” Andy smilled “Nothing to say about it?”

Ross took a deep breath and ignored the twins, continuing to speak.

“You’ve been working with an arragement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate, but I think we have a solution.” Ross reached the document a  close agent handed him.

Ross handed it over to Wanda. Andy immediately held out his hand in a silent ask for her to give the document to him. Steve reading at least some articles while he distracted Ross would be way more useful and helpful than the others just looking at it’s cover and passing on.

Just one look between them was enough for Steve understand what his brother wanted him to do, so he opened the document and started reading as much articles as he could. He mentally thanked Erskine for the serum enhancing his memory and learning.

“The Sokovia Accords.” Ross explained “Approved by 117 countries. It states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they will operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

“So, if we find out a terrorist will explod a bomb somewhere we will have to wait the United Nations panel decide if we will or not fight them?” Andy asked almost laughing.

By his side, Steve was ignoring the argument while reading what he could until Ross and Andy stopped arguing and the Secretary would have to leave. He wasn’t even on the fifth page yet and what he was reading was already really worrisome. 

“Precisely.” Ross clearly was annoyed by the youngest Rogers.

“Do they know that time is a crucial thing when it comes to save someone?” Andy raised an eyebrow “What will they do if the members have divergent opinions about if we should go help or not and stay there arguing for a middle hour? Will we just watch as people die?”

“That’s not about it, Agent. That’s about compromisse, reassurance. That’s how the world works.”

The smile that appeared on Andy’s face was basically screaming “Got you. I won”.

“So are you admitting that the accords aren’t about saving people’s life, but about the most powerful governments having control upon us?”

“That’s not what I said.” Ross growled.

“Yep, Secretary.” The smile never let Andy’s face “That’s exactly what you just said.”

Ross’ face was red of anger. The man clearly wasn’t expecting that kind of argument, particularly not from the Rogers twins. He head stories about Captain America, the man was supposed to want to follow laws. He didn’t know this much about the yonger twin, since everyone used to believe he died when he got the serum, but everyone that have ever met them said their personalities were almost the same.

And, again, he decided to just ignore the American Agent.

“Three days from now the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.” Ross informed.

“We have three days to read a document that will rule our lives?” Andy questioned “Are you kidding us?”

“It’s time enogh, Agent.” Ross countered.

“Of course.” Andy said sarcastically “Let me gess: you or other member from the UN will find something to keep us busy those three days so we won’t have time to read it and just sign blindly. The next thing we know we will be arrested without the right to a trial.”

“You gessed right. That’s exactly what would happen.” Steve handed the document to his brother “Page 12, last article on that page.”

Andy grabbed the document, opening on the page his brother said and reading out loud.

“ If an enhanced individual violates the Accords, or obstructs the actions of those enforcing the Accords, they may likewise be arrested and detained indefinitely without trial.” Andy’s eyes widened and he stared ar Ross “What the fuck is that?”

“Let me see if I got it right.” Sam said “If we do anything that goes against the Accords we will be arrested without a trial?”

Before Ross could even answer, Steve talked again.

“I just had time to read 20 pages, but I can guarantee it gets worse.” He said “Page 19, third article on that page.”

Andy passed the pages and stopped at page 19.

“ Any enhanced individuals who agree to sign must register with the United Nations and provide biometric data such as fingerprints and DNA samples.” Andy took a deep breath and if  gazes could kill, Ross would be dead right there at that moment.

“Are you expecting that we will give samples of our DNA to people like you?” His face showed pure disbelief.

“Why do you want samples of our DNA?” Steve asked Ross, who was looking nervous.

He didn’t expect to discuss it now. The plan was to don’t give them time enough to read it.

“It will be discussed three days from now in Viena.” He answered hoping there was no more questions.

Ross started moving towards the door to leave, but of couse the excuse didn’t work.

“He don’t want to admit that the reason they want our DNA samples is so he can make the same thing he did with the Hulk.” Ross could feel Steve’s glare burning a hole on his back.

As Steve planned, the trap worked and Ross turned back to them.

“It’s a serious accusation, Captain.” Ross scolded “All we want is to stop you from disrespecting sovereign borders.”

“So why the Accords includes all the enhanced individuals, not just the Avengers?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

Ross had enough.

“It will be discussed in Viena.” He repeated, leaving the room.

After he left, the room was silent from some seconds before Tony talked:

“What the hell was that?” Tony questioned.

“That was me and Steve taking off the mask of fake concern from a hypocrite.” Andy answered “I thought you would know better than trust Ross. Governments, specially the most powerful ones which are in charge of UN, have agendas, Tony. They won’t think about what’s better for their citizens, they will think about what’s better for the ones in charge. Do you know how many people can die while they lose time arguing about where we can go and if we can go?” Andy put the document upon the table, pulling his chair closer to Steve’s “Steve and I will be here trying to read this before they find some excuse to keep us busy until the meet in Vienna. The ones who want to laugh and at the same time get horrified about what’s written there, stay.”

watch you sleep

ok hi @coffeedepablo this post was the first thing i saw when i woke up and it’s literally haunted me all day

also available to read on ao3

//

Tali didn't sleep for the first week after Ziva got home.

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, but she certainly hadn't fallen asleep at night and woken up in the morning.

Tony wasn't wholly surprised - he was used to it, even. She didn't sleep in her own bed for the first month after she began living with him, only passing out in his bed after hours of crying and tantrums. Though his knowledge of children at that point had been alarmingly limited, he knew struggling to get them to sleep in their own bed was something a lot of parents had to deal with. He supposed that most of those parents would have months or years to get their head wrapped around the idea of having to deal with it, though, rather than the length of a conversation with Orli Elbaz. That, along with the weight of everything else that had happened, was probably the reason why he had spent those first few weeks trying not to wake Tali up by crying as she finally dozed off next to him.

The guilt on Ziva's face when Tony told her this was seemingly onto second to the guilt she felt for keeping Tony and Tali apart for as long as she had, a choice which she herself seemed to find impossible to explain.

Tony and Ziva, too, had barely slept a wink in the past week. They found themselves waiting until Tali had passed out from exhaustion before they could have the many serious conversations that they had been constructing in their heads for the past six years, and their own sleep schedules were seemingly a thing of a past.

The conversations were sincere, and honest, and while they were a little cold at moments they were never argumentative or angry. Tony was determined to make it clear that he had no patience or energy to hold five-year-old grudges, and Ziva seemed to slowly be accepting this rather than using it as a stick to beat herself with.

She'd also been open about having been ill, about panic attacks and hallucinations and depressive episodes. Though it was clear this was something she suffered much more with since sending Tali to the US, Tony wondered if this might have played a role in why she did what she did - the weight of the world on her shoulders when he saw her in Israel, the guilt, the fear she explained having about telling Tony about Tali after she'd been born. She'd never spoken to him about that kind of stuff before.

It was strange to talk properly again after so long. Ziva had called two years ago to inform Tony of the situation and he had found himself surprised that he still trusted her, blindly, after everything that had happened. He had proved right to when she had shown up on their doorstep a week ago, teary smile on her face and bags under her eyes.

She looked older now, but it was difficult to tell how much of that was ageing and how much was the fact that she, too, didn't seem to have slept since the day she sent Tali away.

They’d barely had time to sit down all week. Tali had decided to show Ziva all of her favourite places: restaurants, the zoo, museums, parks. Ziva found it hard to say no in the circumstances, and Tony had always hated playing the bad cop but especially now when she was so innocently delighted to be the centre of attention.

Tony's first day back at work tomorrow (and Tali's first day back at school) was an added source of anxiety for all of them. They managed to get Tali down in her own bed just past midnight, and Tony was feeling positive until he and Ziva had been in bed for about 40 minutes and he heard her door opening down the hall.

"Aba," the familiar sound of her voice calling from behind the bedroom door had him running his hands over his face. Ziva watched him.

"You need to sleep. Go onto the couch, I will deal with her tonight."

They had dealt with her together every night, as a team, and Tony had usually taken the lead as understandably Tali sought him out first when she was upset.

"You sure?"

"I can sleep while you are both out tomorrow. You need to sleep." She repeated, using her own hand to pull his off his face. He sighed and sat up.

"If you get her to sleep just come sleep out here."

Tony squeezed Ziva’s hand in a gesture of thanks as he stood up wearily. He opened the wardrobe and bent down to retrieve the spare bedding, hearing his knee click at the tired movement. When he opened the bedroom door Tali was stood rubbing her eye with Kelev in her other hand, looking much younger than her 5 years.

“Can’t sleep.” Tali mumbled, looking at Tony and the pillow and blankets in his hand quizzically.

“You hop into bed with Ima, ok, baby?” He ran a hand through her unruly hair. She nodded, now using Kelev’s paw to rub at her eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“Aba is going to sleep because he has work tomorrow. You and me can stay in here.”

Tali accepted this readily, her mood suddenly lifting as she jumped onto the bed beside Ziva. Tony turned back to give Ziva a reassuring smile as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Try as he might to get to sleep, Tony found himself lying awake on the pull-out wondering what was going on in his bedroom. His and Ziva's bedroom, he corrected himself, (an unspoken decision when they ended up falling asleep side by side after talking until the early hours), though it still seemed strange to think of it that way and stranger still seeing as he hadn't kissed her since the one filled in equal parts with relief and disbelief when they were first reunited.

They hadn’t spent much time apart since being reunited, but the time he had gotten to himself Tony had spent thinking about that. Analysing his feelings, trying to get a grasp on what it was he wanted. He had spent a lot of time after Ziva rang two years ago questioning how things would be between them, whether he still felt for her the way he always had. The answer was a resounding yes, it was safe to say, but everything was different now. The individual priorities and conflicts that had got in the way in the past weren’t an issue anymore. There was a new priority – a living, breathing, shared one that took up all of their time. Whether this would make it easier remained to be seen (Tony wasn’t sure if crossing Tali or Gibbs was the scarier prospect), but it was an incentive to try even harder. There was no room to run away now, for either of them.

Unable to stop thinking about the quiet behind the door and the distinct lack of Ziva on the pull-out, Tony stood up and made his way back to the bedroom. The door creaked a little as he opened it and he lifted his hand to control the movement, pausing in the doorway to look at the scene.

The bedside light on his side of the bed was still on. Tali was lying on her back on that side, one hand raised on the pillow next to her. Ziva was curled into her, head in the gap between the pillows, hand resting protectively on her daughter's stomach.

Tony wondered how many times they had fallen asleep like this before he had been introduced into Tali's life.

He’d spent much of the past week watching them like this – curiously examining their interactions, the expressions on their faces as they talked. Ziva had been tentative by her standards at first, though that was understandable. Watching them now, you wouldn’t know that. The way she surrounded her was so natural and loving, something special between them. The physical evidence that there was someone else in the world who loved Tali as much as he did, who was as much a part of her as he was, still made Tony’s heart stop.

Of all the things he and Ziva had shared over the years (had it really been 15?), this was the most special.

Tony crossed the room quietly, trying carefully to not disturb either of them as he approached the bed. He placed himself behind Ziva, one of his hands instinctively landing over her waist. Tali didn't stir on the other side of the bed, but after a few moments he felt eyes on him.

"She OK?" he mumbled into the pillow as he burrowed his head down.

"Good. It only took one story. I must have fallen asleep myself." Ziva whispered groggily, and Tony opened his eyes again to meet hers where her head had turned over her shoulder towards him. She seemed a little confused. "I told you to stay out there."

"Couldn't sleep. Wondered where you were."

“I think I was more tired than I realised.”

Ziva turned her head back towards Tali, and Tony lifted the top half of his body a little so he could look at the little girl over Ziva's shoulder. She was still sleeping soundly, brow slightly furrowed. Ziva's fingers that had been on her stomach had moved to her necklace, and she started stroking the Star of David slowly.

"I used to try to take that off her before she went to bed. Didn’t go down well."

"She can be stubborn."

"I think it reminded her of yours." Tony signalled the necklace around Ziva's own neck, and her other hand instinctively raised to the pendant.

"It will get easier." She said quietly, sensing Tony's thoughts. He lowered himself back down to the bed behind her.

"I know." He burrowed his head into the side of her neck a little. "Straight to sleep after 1 story, that's progress."

"We used to fall asleep like this a lot. I wonder if on some level she remembers."

That answered his question from earlier, when he had stood watching them in the doorway. "What stories did you used to tell her?"

"Ones about you, mainly."

The silence that followed was loaded, as Ziva clearly waited expectant of a reply. "Oh yeah?"

"She had that picture by her bed, the one from Paris. She would get into bed and I would pick it up and lie beside her and talk about you."

"Did she ever ask where I was?"

"No," Ziva answered after a beat, "she was still too young. It was a deadline I had set myself. If I had not already done so, the first time she asked where you were, I was going to call you. Every time I roostered out of calling I reminded myself of that."

Tony's smile was instinctive. "Chickened."

"I am out of practice."

"What was your excuse before?"

Tony heard Ziva chuckle a little to herself. She was still watching Tali, head turned away from him.

"If you want to come with me to drop Tali off at school tomorrow, you'll have to walk home. I won't have time to circle back. That OK? It's only 20 minutes."

"Is that alright?"

"Is it alright that you come?" Tony studied the profile of Ziva's expression carefully, a hint of nerves evident. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Of course it is. She's your daughter, and she'd love you to be there. I would love you to be there."

"Tony, I..."

"What?"

"Thank you. Again."

"I've told you, you don't owe me anything. It's my job to take care of her."

Tony wondered if the weight of the similarity between those words and ones he had said to Ziva all those years ago was on her mind like they were his.

"You are right. Sorry."

"Ziva.." Tony challenged, amusement now hinting in his voice. She turned her head back towards him and he caught her eye as he smiled, their faces close together.

“I know. Stop apologising.” She echoed the words he’d been repeating with a roll of her eyes. “It is just a natural reaction in the circumstances.”

“Well, make new habits.” Tony’s voice got even quieter than the whispers they had been using, as he breathed in the gap between them. Ziva looked down at his lips briefly, and then back at his eyes in a silent question.

Tony lifted himself so he hovered above Ziva, and didn’t pause before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. It was lazy, and sleepy, and somehow both achingly familiar and entirely foreign as Tony felt Ziva’s lips quirk upwards. They separated after a few seconds and Tony stayed above her, watching as she opened her eyes and a smile played on her lips, before settling back down in bed behind her.

“If that is going to be your solution to everything..”

“Shh. Go to sleep.” Tony playfully dismissed her, burying his face into the space between her shoulder-blades. Ziva grabbed his hand from her stomach and lifted it to her lips, pressing a kiss against his palm before dropping it again.

“Goodnight, Tony.”