#after a few years she regularly forgets she's an Inkling since this really is just her home now

[annasofromafiles]

So, this is Ends (full name, 'The Ends Justify the Means') an Inkling Scientist that migrated down to the Octarian Empire thirty years before the start of the first splatoon game. She managed that by pretending to be an Octoling because Inklings 'don't get the joy of mucking about with genetics and bio hazards like Octolings do'.

The whole basis for this character is partly that Inklings canonically do NOT know when they're talking to an Octoling if they're not aware this is an option (see Marina's entire backstory along with the everything with the Octolings coming to the surface for years before the expansion).

The other half is that Cuttlefish mentions going 'undercover' in the Octoling empire, indication that there is a chance Octolings might have the same blind spot if they think its impossible for an Inkling to get into the empire.

Hence Ends.

The one Inkling stupid and smart enough to get into the Deep Sea Line, and then down to the Octoling Empire, join their study programs and get a position building bio weapons to use against squids. Which she is. And who her family is, even if she doesn't talk to them much due to the whole 'living in the Octarian Empire' thing.

This turns out great for her long term and definitely doesn't lead to a far to late realisation of 'oh no, these weapons are going to be used on people even if i just built them to see if i could'. Absolutely nothing that deals with the terrible consequences of a new variant of the primordial ooze used to make Sanitized Octolings she starts work on after getting Sanitized herself and having her self-control and moral compass wrecked.

Definitely.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Hello! I was hoping for a comfort thing (i forget what the term is called sjdhshdb).

I recently had a small stroke on the 14th. A few days ago I started physical therapy and they told me that I might not have function in my right side for months- and to get back to the strength and ability I had before the stroke? They said it could take two whole years. I have to see them three times a week, and since I’m the only one who was able to work in my household, I’ve been stressed about how I’m going to afford all these appointments for the foreseeable future. Im have to use a walker to get around since I can’t put weight on my right leg, or it collapses. I don’t have full sensation in my right side, and right ear doesn’t hear as well. I feel like a burden when I ask my parents for help, since I can barely do anything on my own. I can’t even use the bathroom by myself and it’s literally right across from my bedroom.

So, I was wondering if you could write how Ticci Toby, Kate the Chaser, and who ever else you want would react and support their S/O who is going through something like I am? It can be headcanons, a one shot, a fic— It’s totally up to you! Thank you in advanced! It would mean so much to have this done.

Toby, Kate, Eyeless Jack and Hoodie Supporting an SO Who Had a Stroke

[GN Reader]

[AN: !! I hope you're well! I know we've been talking, but like genuinely you deserve so much love and support.]

Toby

Toby has a habit of making mountains out of molehills, so like honestly you're going to have to calm him down after telling him what's happened and coming to.

He cares about you so deeply and anything that even gives him the slightest inkling you could be lost forever makes him panic.

But once he's in a clear state of mind, he's really good for physical therapy!

He knows how frustrated you must be and he urges you to channel that frustration into something productive because that's what he's learned to do over the years.

Toby isn't always the most patient, but he gets it. He's there for you every step of the way. Don't apologize asking him for help it is his absolute pleasure to take care of you. Not a power thing, but pure love for you.

He'll take you to appointments, assist you with walking, hell he'll even back off if that's what you want because he does NOT want to baby you if you're not comfortable.

Once you're in a good place, he makes the whole thing easier to swallow. Toby copes with humor, and if you allow him, he'll help you do the same.

Toby is honestly such a sweetheart and is there for you every step of the way. Anything you want, anything you need, just name it and he's got it.

Kate

She's honestly handling it better than anyone else here if I'm being honest.

Once she's over the initial worry, she's mostly taking care of you with whatever you want.

Kate will make you food and give you things - it's just kinda what she does?? Like, I think one of her main love languages is gift giving so that's going to work into here.

Kate is really, really patient and will help ground you when you feel like floating off.

She's a darling through and through. Drives you places, handles things for you, and if you're worried about work or anything, appointments, her contacts stretch pretty far and wide. She's got you.

Kate helps you with physical therapy to the best of her abilities. I feel she broke a leg pretty bad as a kid and had to go through physical therapy as a result.

She likes to hold you and silently tell you how it's going to be alright. Wants you to feel safe.

With her at your side, 2 years feel like nothing.

Eyeless Jack

Medical professional wannabe, ofc he's got this in the bag.

You might honestly need to tell him to stop looking at this so clinically. He just wants to look at like, a treatment plan or something first.

Once he realizes you need a more nurturing, sweet kind of healing besides just the clinical stuff, Jack takes really good care of you.

He likes to hold you and purr. Also helps with physical therapy, and lets you vent to him pretty regularly because he knows how stifling it must be holding all this in!

I feel like recovering with Jack is honestly way better than anyone else because he's got medical knowledge and patience - paired with his nurturing nature towards his mate?? It's good.

If you have trouble hearing or anything of the like, Jack is very good with sign language! In fact, it's an unspoken law for all creeps and proxies to know sign, and it's a good skill to have regardless if you're hearing or not.

Jack does not want you apologizing for asking for his help!

He likes taking care of people, he'd just never openly admit it.

Hoodie

Brian actually has a knack for the medical field so like, he's got you just as good as Jack would! However, he's a lot more personal about it because well, he love you, how could he not be?

Brian is instantly at your bedside, answering your ever call because he knows how much you need him. Does not let you apologize or anything because he believes it's his job as your SO.

He's really, really good for the emotional aspect of all of this. Makes sure you're mentally healthy and that you have a safe way to vent.

He's good at physical therapy too. As a proxy, he's broken so many parts of himself it's unreal. Like, he gets it.

The two of you spend a lot of time taking it easy, speaking softly, just processing everything you're going through. He just wants you to feel okay again.

Brian does so many things for you because he doesn't want you to expend yourself AT ALL. He feels you're fragile, but ask him to back off and he will.

Brian has a habit of babying his SO just because he forgets how resilient humans can really be.

Brian adores you so, so much, he's just thankful you're still in his arms, and he'll be there with you every step of the way.

[allisonreader]

Tales Of A Frozen Sailor

Lost At Home

Jess's struggles at home.

@inklings-challenge

Master List

After Erik had left, it hadn’t registered that she wouldn’t be able to speak to him like she had been. It wasn’t that she hadn’t realized or known that. She did; but it was different in practice.

He had been her go to person for the past year or so. Her only friend and one of the few she actually trusted. His Nanna and granddad being among those few.

There were some things that she wanted to talk to someone about. But she didn’t always want to bother Ruth with the little thoughts and observations about changes that were different to her. Especially since they wouldn’t really be different to Ruth at this point. While some of those were things were topics she'd never discuss with John.

She had honestly forgotten a few times that she couldn’t just give Erik a call or a text to tell him something that she found out. Never had she thought that she’d miss having a cell phone before that. Those moments always were a little disappointing when she remembered that he was unreachable by conventional methods.

She kept that to herself, or at least tried to. Ruth wasn’t one to let things go easily.

It had only been a few weeks after Erik had left when she found herself alone with her twin washing dishes as John, Penny, and Josie were playing outside. Ruth was washing as she dried.

"You miss him," Ruth said.

"Who?"

"Jessica Erin, don’t be smart. You know who I mean."

"Erik?"

"Yes. Who else?"

She just shrugged her shoulders as she put the plate she had been drying down. Picking up the next one Ruth set down.

"I don’t know… someone?"

"Someone I don’t know about?" she could hear Ruth’s raised eyebrows.

"No, there’s no one like that."

"Then you are pining over him."

"I’m not. There’s no reason to pine over him."

"Are you sure there was nothing between you and your Mr. Piston?"

"Yes. He’s just the first person who was kind to me in the future. Nothing could ever happen between us. We come from two very different worlds from each other." She pursed her lips as she dried a pot. "He would have been a first class passenger on the Titanic if he was from now. Not to mention that he’s nearly 100 years younger than me."

"Mm, I don’t know about that, he looked about the same age as us."

"I’m not even the same age as you anymore… I’m both younger than you and older than you at the same time."

"Oh Jess…. Has that been bothering you for long?"

"Long enough…. I’m truly the younger twin now… by a lot. You’re married, a mother, soon to be a new mother again. While I’m not much further along in life. I’m stuck with nightmares and more trust issues than before. My would be murderer is living his best life across the ocean. A war hero who won’t face any consequences of what he did. I’m tired of it."

"Jess-"

She cut Ruth off before having the chance to say more.

"It’s not as if it matters. Nothing can be done about it. Life goes on."

"Life does go on, but that doesn’t mean that you forget. We certainly never did. Moving on was the hardest thing that any of us had to do. We didn’t have closure on what happened to you. Not like we did for momma and daddy. …. We have a gravestone for you… beside momma and daddy’s. We’ll have to remove it. Now that we know you’re safe."

"Maybe we should leave it… at least for the time being."

"Why?"

"Just a feeling that we shouldn’t… I have a feeling that it’s still there in Erik’s time. I haven’t seen it though."

"Mmm, we’ll see then."

Their conversation drifted away from there. Turning towards the fact that it would only be a number of weeks until the newest little Winters arrived and how ready Ruth was for that day to come already.

She ended up doing many of the household chores for Ruth in those last few weeks. As her sister struggled to keep up with both chores and her girls.

John still had to work regularly and do the chores that he had taken over from Henry when he married Ruth.

She didn’t mind the chores. It gave her something to do that made her feel useful. Finding herself back in this time was different than she expected it to be in trying to resettle.

So much had changed in the time since she had gone down with the Titanic. She hadn’t thought about how it wasn’t really going to be like she could completely pick up where she had left off. It wasn’t comparable to having finished a sailing stint and coming back.

People had thought her dead. She had to rebuild connections that she once had. Build new ones with those who were new to her, but had already been in the area for years now.

Reality was rearing it’s ugly head as questions came about how she survived, what had happened to her to take so long to get home. Then Ruth went into labour in November and she had her adorable little baby boy Gabriel. Which created a new dynamic in the house.

Those first few weeks were fully focused on the new baby and Ruth's recovery from having him. Righty so; but after that as the weeks went on, she felt throughly forgotten.

Ruth’s little family was focused on their newest member and Ruth started to take back some of her chores as December arrived and the excitement for Christmas was starting to grow.

She was starting to feel horribly out of place, in the place that she had been longing to come home to since she had woken up. Never would she have thought that she would feel such among her siblings.

While she knew that they loved her and were grateful that she was safe, none of them were the same any longer. She didn’t really belong here anymore.

Her siblings had built their lives without her for the past seven or so years. Ruth found her moping at the back of the garden before Christmas the one day. Bundled up as much as she could in the cooler weather.

"What are you doing out here? You must be freezing Jess."

She just shrugged her shoulders, not giving more of an answer than that. Not daring to look Ruth in the eyes.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong…"

"I don’t believe that."

"Shouldn’t you be inside looking after your babies?"

"I do trust that John knows how to look after his own kids for awhile. The baby is sleeping, at least for the moment. What’s going on Jess, you’ve been growing distant ever since he’s come."

She shrugged again. Not wanting to give the true answer. Ruth called her on it.

"That’s not an answer and you know it. Something is bothering you."

"So?"

"So, you might feel better if you actually talk about it."

"And say what? The obvious? None of us are the same any longer. None of us. There’s nothing that hasn’t been said before."

"What do you mean?" Ruth sounded alarmed, though she still didn’t look her sister in the face.

"I’m broken… I don’t fit in anywhere anymore… I’m still a kid in comparison to you and Henry now. As a twin, I shouldn’t be years younger than you, but I am. The Titanic ruined my life. It displaced me from where I belong. Now I belong neither here nor there."

"That’s not true! You belong here, with us. We need you."

"No, you don’t. You don’t need me. You have John and the family the two of you have created together. You both would have managed without me here. John’s mom would’ve been more than happy to come and helped out these last couple of months if I wasn’t here. Henry established his family years ago already. I’ve only gotten to see your youngest born. Not your girls or Henry’s kids. I wasn’t at your wedding like I should have been. If I wasn’t technically frozen on the bottom of the ocean in a shipwreck right now. One that won’t be discovered for decades yet. I shouldn’t even be here yet. I should be dead by all common accounts. It shouldn’t be possible that I’m alive. I’m an anomaly. A historical artifact. A relic to be left in the past."

"You are not! Don’t say such. We’re so grateful to have you back, for you to be here-"

She shook her head.

"That doesn’t change the fact that I shouldn’t be here. That I’m as out of place here as I am in the future."

"You are not out of place here. This is your home as much as mine-"

"But it’s not any longer. It’s yours and John’s," she paused a brief moment, starting again before Ruth had the chance to start saying anything. "I wrote you a goodbye letter as that ship sank. Explaining a little bit about what had happened to me. Why I wouldn’t be making it home. It was mostly to help me come to terms with the fact I wouldn’t be making it home. …. Ruth," she finally looked at her sister fully, "I never expected to be here again. Not in what I assumed my last few moments were as I prayed for the cold to take me, before drowning did, in the dark room. And not for the year or so I was awake and recovering in the future. I don’t know where I belong anymore and I don’t know if it’s here."

Ruth didn’t have an answer for that. It took Ruth a moment, but she soon found herself being wrapped in her sister’s arms.

"It’s okay. Things will work themselves out. We’ll figure things out Jess. You don’t have to be alone."

She let Ruth hold her for a few minutes before they both went back inside the homestead.

As Christmas grew nearer, neither of them mentioned the conversation. Both getting wrapped up in the festivities. Even after Christmas had passed and the new year crept up on them, she couldn’t get rid of that feeling of being out of place.

She loved Ruth and John, but neither of them really seemed to understand.

What she really wanted to do was talk with Erik. He wouldn’t really get it either, but he wasn’t married with a family like Henry and Ruth were either.

She wondered if she tried to write a letter if Erik would get it. It might be worth a try, even if he never did get it.

[rainpuddle13]

19. playing with each other’s fingers

Ross&Demelza

I apologize, @veryflowerobservation, for taking so long to post this. It sorta got away from me :P I hope you enjoy!

This fic is a prequel to Tears and Sunflowers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was an ungodly hour.  This having to get to the airport a minimum of four hours before an international flight was for the birds.  Their flight to New York was scheduled to depart at 8:35am.  Ross didn’t even know why he bothered to attempt to catch a few hours of sleep the previous night. Demelza was practically vibrating with excitement in the bed next to him. She had never flown before. So he’d done the only thing he could do in that situation -- help her work off some of that nervous energy -- and he bore the marks on his shoulders to prove it.  He just felt sorry for the very nice elderly couple who were occupying the room next door to theirs at the hotel.

He checked his watch with a groan.  

6:21am.

He thanked the good Lord above for exclusive traveler lounges. If he had to queue with the masses in the main terminal, he might not be responsible for his actions. That early in the morning, access to only that swill that passed for coffee at Costa, and masses of travelers with varying degrees of comportment would have him seriously contemplating murder. It would be a very poor defence if he was brought before the crown court, but surely an understandable one.

“You should eat something,” he said to her after she kept fiddling with the fingers of his hand resting on the knee if her crossed legs. They were cuddled together on a small sofa in a quiet spot where she could take in all of the hustle and bustle of the enormous lounge. There were quite a few people for that early in the morning, but there was so much space that it hardly felt crowded.  He could feel her leg bouncing as she wiggled her foot. “The food is usually pretty exceptional.”

“I don’t know if I could,” she told him, weaving their fingers together and stilling her fidgeting for a moment, “too excited.”

Ross snorted softly as he was never one to be too nervous or tired to eat something. “You could get a haircut or a massage instead,” he teased, glancing over to see the expression on her face.  The Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse Lounge at Heathrow was an overwhelming place with all sorts of over-the-top posh amenities.  She was impressed they’d been picked up at the hotel and delivered to the airport in a private car and then were whisked through priority check-in and security in a matter of minutes.

“Really?” she asked, eyes widening with the obvious sensory overload she was experiencing.

“Yes,” he assured her, chuckling a little, and knowing her head would have exploded if she knew how much two upper class tickets had cost.  “There’s a spa too and shower rooms.”  Ross had wanted her first international flight to be comfortable and memorable, but he feared it might set her expectation a bit high for any future trips they might take. There was a far cry between the pampering in upper class and the indignities of the overcrowded economy class.  It was just as well because he would need the extra legroom these days with his stiff knee.

She pressed a little closer to him and her fingers toyed with the heavy rose gold band he wore on his left ring finger that matched the more delicate one she wore.  “You want to eat something don’t you?” she inquired.

“What I actually want is coffee,” he paused for a moment, his stomach answered her question with a low grumble, “and I probably could nosh on something.”  He’d opted to keep his eyes closed for a few precious minutes while she got ready instead of sending for room service, safe in the knowledge that there would be an abundance of food and drink provided by the airline.

“I can try to nibble on something.”  She pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek before standing up and holding her hand out to him and he couldn’t help but notice his beautiful wife attracting the attention of several of the men around them. Demelza was comfortably dressed in jeans that showed off her long legs to perfection and a deep gold turtleneck topped off with a rich brown leather jacket, and her glorious crown of red hair was barely contained by a loose braid.

Within a matter of minutes, he was attempting not to guzzle a cup of expertly brewed Sumatran coffee while waiting for his fry up to be brought to him.  Demelza carefully sipped her steaming cup of tea, but left her plate of assorted breads and pastries untouched.  He reached across the cozy dining  table to snag a flaky and buttery croissant off the plate.  

“You’re going to eat everything off my plate aren’t you?”  he asked when she raised an eyebrow at his thievery. 

“Noooo,” she swore, her eyes following the heavily laden plate an attendant placed before him followed by another to replace his near empty coffee cup with a fresh one.

He picked up the knife and fork to start in on the perfectly poached eggs after a liberal dousing of pepper. “You too can have your own plate. All you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t think I could!” she insisted, stabbing a bit of roast potato and grilled mushroom with own fork. 

“Likely story,” he snorted, pushing his plate to the middle of the table so she could graze more easily. This was a common occurrence with her -- insisting she couldn’t possibly then proceed to demolish his plate in fairly short order. It always happened when he ordered something that was absolutely terrible for him, but so very good for that exact reason. Anyone else and Ross would find the behavior less than endearing.

“Are you going to tell me why we’re going to New York?” she queried while attacking the fried bread to smear in the runny eggs he had somehow managed to get a few bites of before she could turn her sights on them. “Not that I’m complaining mind;  I’ve always wanted to go, but it’s a long way for a few days.”

It took everything in him not to blurt out the reason for what seemed like a sudden weekend jaunt across the pond, but actually had been in the works for months. She loved Van Gogh. The Met was having a once-in-a-lifetime exhibit. How could he not take her?  “I told you I really wanted good pizza.”

“Oh, Ross,” she sighed in frustration, then changed her tactic.  “You’ve been to New York before then?”

“Loads of times,” he answered, slathering strawberry jam on his croissant since it was becoming abundantly clear  he wasn’t going to get to eat the breakfast he’d ordered himself,  “though it’s been a few years now.  Father used to go fairly regularly for business and would drag me along.”

“What did you do when you were there?”

“I used to spend a lot of time at the natural history museum and the New York Public Library.”

“Of course you did,” she smiled fondly as she spoke.  She was well aware of his love of doing research and learning.

“I like dinosaurs,” he said matter-a-factly, "and the museum has an amazing exhibit.”  It was true. He did like dinosaurs, even now, and he’d wanted to dig for them up until the point he discovered girls were infinitely more interesting, and alive.  Demelza didn’t need to know that bit though.

“You are such a boy,” she said with a shake of her head. “What else did you two men do on the town?”

“Sometimes we take in a show or go to dinner at fancy restaurants.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was trying to teach me a bit of culture.  One time we went because Papa wanted to see Van Morrison at Radio City Music Hall.”

“Really?”  

He chuckled, surprised that little piece of information had taken her by surprise. She did know his father pretty well at this point.  “He is a fan.”

“I’d say so. He can be so impulsive!”

“You have no idea,” Ross drawled, tamping down some very unpleasant memories from his youth that she need not be burdened with,  “you didn’t know him in his heyday.”

She smiled fondly, and it warmed Ross’ heart that his wife and his father got on like a house on fire, but he could not help the occasional flare of jealousy it caused. “I bet he was quite the charmer back then,” Demelza giggled.

“You’d probably be married to him instead of me,” he said with a fair dash of bitterness. There were still a few things he just could not let go of and he knew it as childish to hold on to them for as long as he had, but then logic and his father were often mutually exclusive.

“I dunno about that.” Demelza reached across to take his hand with hers, twining their fingers and giving them a little squeeze, her eyes going soft as she looked at him. “I sorta kinda love you.”

“Only sorta kinda?” he teased, pulling her hand up to place a playful kiss to her knuckles.

“From the first time I saw you in the library,” she confessed, her cheeks suddenly blooming pink.

“Is that so, Mrs Poldark?” That was news to him and he was most definitely intrigued.  Ross had known he was a goner for Demelza the first time he laid eyes upon her, even if it took him months to actually admit to himself, and then even longer to let her in on his feelings. He’d had no inkling she’d felt the same. So much wasted time.

“Saved by the boarding call,” she crowed when the announcement of their flight interrupted their playful banter, and quickly began gathering up her things. The head of the cute little calico stuffed animal cat he’d surprised her with that morning was peeking out of the top of her purse.  The airplane charm that had been on the ribbon about its neck had quickly been added to her bracelet.

He grabbed up his laptop bag to sling over his shoulder and his cane. “Don’t think for one second that this conversation is over.”

“Not if I can make you forget about it,” she said with what could only be described as a diabolical grin.

He eyed her with great suspicion. It wasn’t in her nature to be scheming that much he did know, but she was definitely up to something. The question was going to be whether or not he’d survive whatever it was.  “And just how do you plan to do that?” he challenged.

“Oh, I dunno,” she purred, taking his hand before pressing in close to him to place a very sweet and demure kiss to his cheek.  “Have you ever heard of the Mile High Club?”

[risingsouls]

Conversations: 1

[I finished that self-indulgent Vegbooru ship project(?) bit I started that probably is really only going to be interesting to me for ship reasons and also a space to flesh out their stories, how they parallel, how they differ, etc. SO forewarning, it’s not going to be a very interesting series of little things to most but I’m going to have fun doing it.

So here’s part one.]

The beatings had started to blur together. Nabooru lasted longer, packed a harder punch, landed more blows with each session. But Vegeta still outclassed her no matter the progress and, for the umpteenth time since he agreed to train with her, she questioned why he continued to do so. While sparring with a partner could produce better results, she doubted he got much out of this power wise. Entertainment, perhaps. Considering the ruthless show he put on at her tournament, she wouldn’t put it past him to get a thrill out of beating her senseless when the chance presented itself. She couldn’t rightly demonize him for that when she took pleasure in the moments in which she quite literally wiped the smirk off his face with a devastating hook or clever tactic that put him on the defensive. At the end of the day, she chalked it up to his boredom and his own pride in her progress under his training.

Her assumptions would have to do; she didn’t dare question why he bothered to take time out of his own training to spar with her. She enjoyed their invigorating sessions and, as expected, he was just the type of partner she needed to push her own limits. One who would criticize her instead of coddle, one she could go all out with and worry little about his ability to handle her.

Nabooru took a step back toward the half-smashed boulder behind her and attempted to make a convincing show of it not being the only thing keeping her on her feet at the moment. She wiped her bloody lip on her forearm. “Let’s keep going,” she called up to the Saiyan floating above her, face set in stubborn determination. “I’m not done.”

“Tch, yes you are.” Vegeta landed in front of her, boots tapping on the solid, rust-colored earth beneath them. He powered down, light hair and eyes resuming their typical onyx hues. Though he admired her aptitude for improvement, her sheer willpower in battle, she did him little good dead. A sentiment he shared with her regularly. She opened her mouth in protest, but he snapped before she could argue. “I don’t care if you’re still on your feet, either. I expect you back in fighting shape by tomorrow, and pushing you further tonight will only decrease those odds.”

The Gerudo peeled her back off the craggy surface, wobbling on shaky knees before regaining her fortitude. “But you being so kind as to carry me back to my house the other day was such a good trust exercise for us.” She tore off a flapping bit of fabric just barely clinging to the rest of the shredded tank top. “Wouldn’t it be fun to do that again?”

A snort, and he folded his arms over his chest, defiant. Growing tired of her incessant begging to continue their spar, Vegeta had given in that day. Nabooru lasted another solid five minutes before collapsing beneath her own weight, weakened by pain and sapped of energy. Fearing he had actually killed her, he leaned over her motionless body to check for a pulse. With her last bit of energy, her hand shot up and gripped his throat, a cheeky grin on her lips. She mumbled “got ya,” and her hand dropped back to her side. Had he been a finickier man, he might have killed her in his surprise. Blasted a hole straight through her. She didn’t remember the shock on his face, the chokehold, or how he picked her up and flew her back to her home, dropping her on the couch before leaving again as far as he could tell. He couldn’t, however, convince her that someone else had returned her to her surprisingly modest home. A fact she didn’t hesitate to tease him mercilessly for when she found the chance.

“Go get some rest,” he said at last, turning his back on her. “I won’t go easy on you tomorrow just because you’re sore.”

Blue-white energy surrounded him, and Nabooru’s heart stuttered in unexplained panic. “Wait!”

To her astonishment, the light around him faded, but she didn’t miss the perturbed growl that preceded the scowl shot back at her over his shoulder, sharp canines bared. “What? Don’t tell me you can’t make it back on your own.”

“Of course I can,” she spat back, casting him her own daggered glare. “I just…”

She huffed as she sought the right words, all the while considering whether asking him anything that had nothing to do with fighting or training would result in a proper answer at all. Perhaps it was all the wollops to the head that convinced her this very moment would suffice in quelling her curiosity about the prickly Saiyan prince’s past. Since her conversation with Cell before the Warrior Games began, she failed to convince herself that she didn’t care to learn more. To hear his story from his own lips, rather than the words of someone obviously keen on besmirching him at any possible chance. 

And, perhaps, because something about it all struck a chord with her own history. If she could get him to talk, she might not feel quite so alone. She quickly blamed those thoughts on the head injuries, too.

“I’ve been wondering about something...Cell mentioned it back at the tournament…”

Dark brows furrowed and he grit his teeth. Cell. Vegeta scoffed. “And just what did that bastard have to say about me that has you so curious? Go on, spit it out!”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and bless him with a snippy retort. She tread on razor-thin ice in unknown territory; her attitude would not be as tolerated or appreciated. “He told me that you were a slave to that Frieza guy. He’s the one that destroyed your planet and people, right?” She rested her back against the stoneface again, though it offered less comfort than it had before. “Is that true? He was trying to use it to undercut you after your tiff with Honeydew, so I couldn’t really discern what he had exaggerated.”

Vegeta hadn’t expected such an inquiry, and he suspected it showed on his face and his failure to respond immediately. Cell was not shy to mock him, and this revelation certainly fell under that vein, Frieza’s cells likely offering an inkling of insight on the matter. He had expected some scathing remark about his defeat at Cell’s hands for which he had a prepared answer. But he hadn’t expected to discuss the galaxy’s tyrant with her. Or anyone. He avoided the topic of Frieza with practiced and deliberate dodging, mostly through his own sour demeanor keeping too-curious fools at arm's length. Most didn’t breach that or many other topics with him. He vaguely wondered if they remembered Frieza at all, or his involvement with the tyrant. With how quick these heroes and self-touted “good guys” were to forgive him and forget his past atrocities, it was the only explanation that made any sense.

The silence between them in the dying light of the day had swelled to an awkward bubble. He heard her shuffle her sneakered feet on the ground, a breath sucked in as if she wanted to speak again. He cut her off. “What does it matter? Why do you care, anyway?”

Defensive and avoidant. The response she expected but not what she hoped for. She swept her fingers through her crimson locks, grunting softly as they caught in a tangle near the end. “Curiosity, like I said.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Would it really surprise you so much that I might want to get to know you a little as a person? You’re obviously far more than a bad attitude and strength I can only assume could make a god blush.”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. He learned young that everyone had an angle. He had no doubt Nabooru had one of her own, but he struggled to decide if it was malicious or sincere. Compared to most he endured on this planet, he found her company tolerable, their typical conversation centered on topics that interested him: combat, strategy in a battle, whether one on one or against an army, ki manipulation. It came as a bonus that she could match him in knowledge in most of those areas, and was willing to listen and learn when she didn't. Her teasing aside, she knew when to take him and the task at hand seriously. Obvious flattery aside, was he surprised that she may just want to get to know him? Bulma and a select few others had made sorry attempts, lost their temper, and given up on the endeavor entirely due to his spurnings. Nothing that felt like true interest in him, but more to hear themselves talk or an obnoxious need to fill the silence with something no matter how vapid or shallow. None dared bring up a topic like this one. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to give her credit for it or clip the conversation’s wings before it could take flight. 

“Is this how you get to know everyone, or am I just special?”

“Would you prefer I ask you your favorite color or your least favorite kind of weather? You didn’t strike me as the type to enjoy small talk.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, the urge to leave out of spite mounting. However, he made no move to take off into the twilight. “Fine. It’s not like it matters anymore, anyway,” he acquiesced at last, crushing a rock into gravel beneath his heel with a crunch. “In every capacity except that we got paid, yes, we might as well have been slaves. To defy Freiza was a death wish. Not that loyalty or doing your job well meant anything. The Saiyans served him and his family for years, but he killed them anyway.”

Though she attempted to fight it, a frown tugged the corners of her lips downward regardless of her efforts. She did not care for people’s sympathy in regards to hers or her people’s plight and she guessed Vegeta felt similarly; she did not want her expression to be misconstrued as such. The heavy weight in her belly and the twisting of her heart struck closer to anger, for the injustice done to his people, those done to hers. How often had they tried to play the placated and happy allies with Hyrule as their treaty asked, only to be met with solid walls of ridicule and denial of meager requests to aid in their survival and the ever growing cloud of contempt for them in the end?

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and smoothed it back into place on her crown. "That's how it goes, isn't it?" Bitterness seeped into her words in lieu of the conversational tone she wanted to maintain. She didn't know if she wanted to sock Hyrule's King in the face or that Frieza character. Or more. "You can play their game by the book all you want, but at the end of the day, it's their game to end how they choose."

Vegeta eyed her, the changed demeanor, the edge to her words. A discontent and terse delivery that alluded to experience. Piecing the scraps of information he had gleaned from the tournament, he understood the Gerudo were refugees from another planet of some capacity. They must have suffered similarly under a tyrant which led them to leave their home in search of a new one. The details hardly mattered. Frieza was dead and the Gerudo resided on Earth; neither had to deal with whatever problems they had faced in the past anymore.

He communicated such thoughts with a noncommittal huff. "At any rate, I take pride in the fact that it was fear of the Saiyans that led to their demise. He feared our potential, what we could become. It was only fitting that a Saiyan ended his miserable existence."

Hatred fueled by fear. Violence spurred by unfounded paranoia. The Gerudo recognized the phenomenon from her dealings with the Hylians and their allies. She opened her mouth to relay such, but the prince turned his back to her. As obvious a sign as any that the conversation was over.

"Go rest. I'll find you tomorrow when I'm ready to spar." 

He allowed Nabooru no time to reply, argue, or say her farewells before taking off. With the last dregs of her own energy, she floated upward and flew off in the opposite direction, a muscle-relaxing bath calling her name.

[katara-s-blog]

Breathing Exercises, a Zutara oneshot

Written for day two of @zutaraweek 2017! I hope you enjoy it.  Read on AO3

Summary: After two years, Zuko and Katara meet again in the South Pole, and a confrontation quickly turns into a swim in the Antarctic sea. Or, Zuko learns the difference between drowning and being underwater. Rated T.

He looks in the mirror, and finds Ozai staring back.

The faucet runs, and he cups his hands under the water. He throws the water at his face, desperate to wash off his father’s eyes, his father’s grin. In the mirror, nothing has changed, so he claws at his flawless skin. The faucet continues to run, and soon the water is up to his waist. Then his chest. His neck. He continues to claw at his face until the water in front of him starts to pink with blood, until it rises up to his eyes.

Gasping awake, Zuko reaches for his cheek. Relief washes over him as his fingers brush the plastic smoothness of his scar. His room, too large for one man, is lit with early morning light, and he focuses his attention on the soft edges of the bed, and then the doorframe, and then the tapestry. He turns his head to the right and traces the window with his eyes. I’m here, he reminds himself, I’m here. He presses his palm on his chest, feeling a scar there too, as if to still his rapid heartbeat. Too many mornings he wakes up this way, gasping, jolted awake by his ghosts. Each time he wonders how much time has to pass before he no longer feels like drowning.

It has been two years since the war ended, two years since he assumed the position as Fire Lord. It has been two years of atoning for a century of terror and atrocities. It has only been two years, Zuko thinks as he begins his day as he usually does: getting dressed, having breakfast, reviewing newly arrived letters of requests and complaints. The work is tedious, but necessary, and Zuko is determined to bring honor back to his nation. There is nothing else he’d rather do. Some days, however, or perhaps too many days, he wishes he could just breathe without thinking about what his people will eat, about what to do with the remaining colonies. He can only imagine what it must be like to not worry about things often too big for himself on a daily basis. Even before becoming Fire Lord, Zuko lived with a pressure around his neck. As a boy, he had his prodigy of a sister to constantly catch up to. He needed to prove himself as a skilled firebender, and soon enough, a worthy heir to the throne. With the latter backfiring, he lived out three years of his life in banishment, forced to capture the Avatar no one believed was even still alive. Three years at sea, surrounded on all fronts with water that never seemed to end, has trained him to resist more than just pressure. Now, as the Fire Lord during the first era of peace in a hundred years, Zuko is expected to make reparations with other nations while keeping his own stable and satisfied. He has to quell rebellions, to be vigilant of assassination attempts. He worries, too, about his sister, who, in her recovery, refuses to civilly interact with Zuko. Underneath all that, the fear that he will turn out to be just like his predecessors runs deep: every day he struggles to cope with Ozai’s legacy, with being Ozai’s legacy.

It’s too early for this, he thinks, rubbing his temples. He closes his eyes for a moment and focuses on his breathing until he feels calmer. One day at a time. Picking up the next scroll, Zuko finds its contents pleasantly surprising. It’s an invitation to the inauguration of the Southern Water Tribe’s new town hall. As Fire Lord and friend of Sokka and Katara, who have become political leaders of their tribe themselves, Zuko had been regularly receiving updates regarding the state of the SWT. He knows that its sister tribe heavily assisted in rebuilding it, and that establishing a school for benders and non-benders alike, in order to preserve their culture, had been a priority. So too was reestablishing a political organization, a better one, since their population has been steadily increasing in the past few years. This inauguration, the letter says, is basically an opportunity for the Southern Water Tribe to present itself to the rest of the world as a political power. Having been one of the more heavily damaged nations during the Hundred Year War, the inauguration is their way of announcing that they are back on their feet, and they have invited the leaders of each nation—several from the Earth Kingdom due to its size—to witness it.

Politically, attending the inauguration would be advantageous: it would be an opportunity to meet and discuss with world leaders again, the last summit having been almost four months ago. It would also be a show of goodwill on his part as the Fire Lord: firebenders have not set foot on the South Pole in a hundred years without bringing fear and terror with them—and that includes him. The last time he was there was the same time he first saw the Avatar and terrorized the small village. He had been too busy as Fire Lord to pay a visit since then, and international conferences have so far only been held either in the Fire Nation or in the Northern Water Tribe. He had provided financial assistance, of course, but that was as far as his relationship went with the South Pole.

Personally, attending the inauguration would be a chance to see his friends again. He does not need more motivation than that.

-

A week later, Zuko sights the South Pole.

It hadn’t been too long since his last voyage. Last time, almost four months ago, the North Pole had been his destination for the biannual summit. He came with his uncle then who served as his adviser shortly before deciding he wanted to settle down and return to managing the Jasmine Dragon in Ba Sing Se. Taking this voyage reminds him of that fact, of his uncle, and the reminder is a knot in his chest. He had been happy for his uncle, he is happy for him, but he is still adjusting to not having the wise man to regularly turn to.

Attendance during the last summit was complete, with each nation-state represented, but Zuko noted that, despite his expectations, Katara was not there. She was present at the first one in Caldera, representing the SWT along with her brother, so he was surprised she wasn’t at the second summit. Sokka explained that she had projects she needed to focus on back in the South Pole, but he had the inkling that there was more to her absence than that. He didn’t pry, though. He didn’t really have a reason to.

It is for this reason, perhaps, that Zuko is incredibly excited and nervous that he is going to be seeing her this time around. They have not spoken much since the war ended, exchanging only small conversations at the first summit, and mailing each other mostly business letters sprinkled with a couple of pleasantries. He has been secretly disappointed at how their friendship turned out since then. Zuko tries not to think about it too much, but Katara was one of the few people he could confide in that he knew would empathize, not just sympathize. Their short time together in the days leading to Sozin’s Comet had been comfortable, no, more than that. Like I were at ease. Not completely, of course, as those were days of war, but in the midst of the worry and anticipation, Katara’s company put him at ease. She understood him, respected him. She saw him at his worst, and forgave him twice. He felt like a person in her presence, not the prince of the Fire Nation, not a firebending teacher. Just Zuko, the firebender.

“Hey Fire Lord,” Zuko hears from a distance, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Are you going to get down here or what?”

He notices just now that the ship has docked at the South Pole. The soldiers he traveled with are lined up by the railing, already ready to disembark. For a moment he feels embarrassed, thinking that someone probably informed him of their arrival and that he must not have heard it. He thanks his crew anyway, and makes his way down to the pier. A small group of people in Southern Water Tribe garb are waiting to greet them, and he squints through the cold air to see their faces. He immediately sees Sokka waving, and realizes it is him who must’ve called out. Beside him stands Katara, and he tries not stare. He tries not to reveal his anxiety as the cold begins to register in his body.

“I forget how cold the Poles can be,” is how he starts his greeting. Sokka laughs, drawing him into a hug.

“Says the guy who swam in Antarctic waters.” He sees Katara’s bright, smiling face before she tackles him in a tight embrace. She smells like warmth, and the sea, and her arms around his torso feel like safety. “It’s been a while.”

Pulling away, he regards how Katara has changed since he last saw her. Her face is sharper, and her blue eyes still carry the same fire he remembers. She is taller, too, and fuller.

“I, uh, we missed you at the last summit,” he says, hoping they did not notice his error.

“Yeah, well, I was busy,” Katara says with a small smile. Then, gesturing to the other people around them, she introduces them to Zuko one by one. They are officials, he learns, and he tries to remember their names. He loses them in a minute, but he maintains his composure throughout the introduction.

“You’re two days early, so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” Sokka says as he pats Zuko’s back, pushing him further inland. Drawing his eyes away from the small group, he looks up and is awed—the South Pole is unrecognizable to him. Gone were the tents of animal hide and small fences of snow, replaced by large, intricate ice structures creating an incredible skyline. On their walk towards the old town hall, where he will be housed for the meanwhile, he learns the following: He is the first foreign dignitary to arrive, Sokka and Suki are finally engaged, and the recently renovated school is successfully operating. He and Katara do not speak the whole time, but he is hyperaware of her presence beside him.

-

After dinner, Katara invites him to take a walk.

“I’d love to.” He is telling the truth, but he doesn’t tell her how nervous she is making him.

It’s still bright out, to his confusion, and then he remembers that, half the year, the South Pole does not experience nights at all. Not being able to approximate the time based on the sunlight disconcerts him. Among other things.

“So,” he begins as they pass by the small school behind the town hall. “What were you up to at the last summit?”

Beside him, Katara remains quiet, but he doesn’t push her. They just continue walking, and Zuko pays attention to his surroundings first instead. Patterned textiles hang outside many of the ice structures. He reminds himself to ask Katara about them, but perhaps not today.

It takes a while before she speaks again. In a soft voice, she says, “I owe you an apology, Zuko.”

He stops in his tracks and faces her. She keeps her eyes down, avoiding his gaze. “Why would you owe me an apology?” Zuko asks, confused.

“Let’s keep walking,” Katara says, and he follows.

He respects her silence, but the longer she kept it, the more anxious Zuko became. He could not think of a single transgression that he could fault her for. If anything, there are many things to thank her for. So what did she mean?

They reach a quiet part in the outskirts of town, away from curious eyes. The nearest structure is a small house that does not seem to be housing anyone at the moment. Nearby, he could hear the sea, and they seem to be walking towards it. Of course she would take us to the sea, he thinks.

Then, “I shouldn’t have left you.”

Again, Zuko stops. To this, he does not have anything to say. He’d be lying if he said that it was okay that she did. He understands why, he understands both their circumstances. Katara had obligations elsewhere, and he had his. Personal and political ones. He has gone through this in his head many times. But he’d be lying if he said he was okay when she did.

“You had no obligation to stay, Katara.”

Katara exhaled heavily and sat down on the snow. “I know. I just—you needed people, too. I didn’t know Iroh would move back to Ba Sing Se. Or that,” she pauses, “Mai would join her family back in Omashu. I’m sorry.”

That everyone left, you mean.

He sat down beside her, focusing his gaze on the horizon. “Katara, none of that’s your fault.”

“No, Zuko, I just mean”—she takes a deep breath—“that you’re my friend too. And that I didn’t treat you like one these past few years. And, I’m sorry for that.”

This time, Zuko was the one who kept quiet. Neither of them looked at each other.

“You might have noticed,” she continued, “that Aang and I aren’t, uh, together.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but I wasn’t sure if it was in my place to do so,” he replies, trying not to sound embarrassed. “Are you okay?”

Hugging her knees, she answers, “I am, I suppose. I broke up with him. This was right before the summit, so it was a big reason why I decided to stay behind, to be honest. I hated that I did, I hurt him, you know?” She sighs, turning away. “But I had to. I felt like I was losing myself along the way. I just knew that the life he needed to live as the Avatar couldn’t involve me. I was miserable, to say the least.” At that last sentence, her voice drops almost to a whisper.

Zuko was shocked. To him, and perhaps to many people, Aang and Katara were the perfect, happy couple, leading the world’s transition into an era of peace and equality. It surprised him, and made him sad, to discover she wasn’t happy at all. “I’m sorry, Katara. I didn’t know.”

She went on, “I just followed him around. I didn’t get to pursue what I wanted. I barely corresponded with my friends, even with Sokka. I barely talked to you, after everything you’ve done for me,” she trails off. “You didn’t deserve that.”

His chest keeps tightening, as though he’s about to burst. He feels consoled by the apology he didn’t know he needed, but he still doesn’t see it as her fault, or anyone’s fault. “Katara—“

“And then when Sokka got home from the summit, he told me about how you’ve been doing, all the work you’ve been doing. And then he told me Iroh was officially retiring, and in Ba Sing Se, and I couldn’t help but think of difficult it must be to be the Fire Lord and be alone.”

A pause. “I could have been there,” she says, turning her head to face him this time.

Zuko presses his lips into a line. He couldn’t articulate what he’s feeling at that moment. Everything Katara is saying is true, but he has tried not to think of it that way, that he’s alone. It shouldn’t matter, he thinks. I have my duty as Fire Lord. It was always going to be difficult. And it is.

Instead he says, “I wish I could have been there, too. Given you support when you needed it. It must’ve have taken a lot of courage to stand up for yourself when it comes to someone you care about. I get that, and I’m proud of you.”

“Now you’re just being too nice,” Katara laughs, and Zuko is relieved when the air around them becomes lighter. “But thanks, Zuko. That means a lot to me.”

He shrugs, smiling at her. “Friends should be there for each other, right?” He sighs. “I try not to think I’m alone. It makes the job much more difficult, but you’re right. It’s there. Sometimes…” He bites his lip, trying to find the words. “Sometimes I can’t breathe, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Hey,” Katara gently places her hand on his scarred cheek and tilts his face toward hers. He tries not to quiver under her touch. Her eyes are bright, glistening with concern. “I want you to know that you can talk to me, Zuko. That’s what I wanted to get at, basically. You can tell me.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to hear about the failing trading policies between the Fire Nation and Omashu,” he half-joked.

“I would actually,” she corrects, her eyebrows raised. “I could even give you advice. You may be Fire Lord, but you’re not the only leader around here.” She grins playfully, and Zuko feels a weight leave his chest, replaced with something electric.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Zuko says, taking her up on her offer. “Today, I am not going to think about that.”

He feels Katara’s eyes on his face but he doesn’t return the gaze. Katara seems to understand and sighs, looking towards the horizon again. She gently places her hand on his shoulder instead, and squeezes.

“Do you want to hear a terrible idea?” Katara asks, breaking the silence.

Zuko perks an eyebrow. “What?”

Standing up, she says, “Let’s take a swim, like you once did.”

Zuko stares at her incredulously. “I barely survived the last time, and last time I was just desperate.” He laughs. “And why would I willingly subject myself to that if I could stay warm up here?”

“I don’t know, for the fun of it, come on,” Katara urges, all traces of their previous conversation washed away from her face. “I’ve only ever accidentally fallen into the water, so this’ll be a first for me. Sort of,” she smiles.

Amused, Zuko shakes his head, but agrees anyway. “Fine,” he looks up at her, locking their eyes. “Remember that this was your idea,” he says, standing up, secretly excited by the rush of adrenaline he knows he’ll get upon falling into the frigid waters. He removes his shoes and outer robes, leaving on his tunic and pants. The wind pierces into his thin clothing like needles.

Katara, looking fierce and almost victorious, also takes off her parka, leaving on as much as Zuko did. “I will regret this in a minute.”

“I know. Let’s jump for it. Are you ready?” Zuko prompts, bracing himself. He’s not too worried about himself, knowing that he can breathe warmth through his body like last time. He’s more worried about Katara, who, despite having lived in the South Pole all her life, would probably not be resistant to the biting cold of the water.

She grabs hold of his hand, and for a second the heat between their hands is sharper than the Antarctic wind on his face, and in another, they are jumping into the ice-cold sea.

The cold registers like a shock, and his body automatically regulates its heat. Focusing on his breathing, he exerts a bit more effort to make himself warmer, until he is almost comfortably so.

“Terrible idea,” he hears Katara stutter through chattering teeth. “Terrible, terrible idea.” She’s laughing, though, as she embraces herself for warmth. Without a thought, Zuko pulls her shivering body to him, and shares his warmth with her. He laughs, too, to hide his embarrassment and awkwardness. Katara, still shaking from both the cold and her laughter, breathes a warm sigh on his shoulder and puts her arms around his body.

They stay like this for a moment, pressed up against each other as they tread in the water. Zuko feels light, as though nothing waited beyond the ice and sea. Extending all around him are just the whites and blues of water, and in his arms, Katara breathing against his skin. He runs a hand slowly down the back of her head.

“Zuko,” she looks up at him, her lips pale.

“Do you trust me?” He asks boldly, resting his hand on her cheek. She nods, then tilts her face towards Zuko’s palm, sending a rush of heat through his body. What cold, he thinks to himself.

“Hold your breath, then.” He has already been holding his, he realizes.

Her eyes, inquisitive at first, light up when she realizes what he has in mind. Slowly, then, he pulls them both underwater, holding Katara close to him, keeping her warm. In his ears, he hears the static of water. He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on their connected bodies, regulating both their heat. Katara clings to him, to his warmth, moving her hands around the plane of his back. Underwater, she is weightless and tender, and warm, despite it all. He keeps one arm around her waist, and another at the back of her neck, pressing her head gently against his chest. He feels her long hair floating behind her, and he imagines what they must look like, their bodies tangled like that. She nuzzles her face in his neck without warning, as if digging for more warmth, and did it feel like warmth. Like being at ease. Holding his breath like that, in the arms of someone he begins to realize he has always loved, he feels like he’s breathing for the first time in a long time.

[talesoftheinquisition]

Finding You (After The Storm)

Okay, so that soul mate fic I was talking about. Well, here it is. It’s... a little angsty and a lot fluffy. Well, come on, it’s me writing and isn’t fluff what I do best? :D

Anyway, it’s Cullrian and the rest is behind the cut because it’s a little lengthy.

Okay, first... the rules I set up for the soul marks in this verse:

1. Soul marks can appear from about late teens but it’s not uncommon for a mark to not appear until the early to mid-twenties. It is believed to be because a person changes too much when they’re younger for a soul bond to be accurate at a younger age. The mark requires both parties to have a good sense of self to find a compatible soul mate.

2. It’s not unknown for a soul mark to fade and be replaced by another one if a person undergoes some sort of traumatic event or a huge change in who they are as a person. As long as the bond hasn’t been acknowledged and established, it’s a painless change for both parties. If the bond is active, it can be unpleasant but this is rare.

3. Some people don’t have soul marks. Often a mark will appear later as both sides of the bond settle into who they are as a person but there have been rare cases of people going through their entire life without a soul mark.

4. There is a thriving business of soul mark matching across Thedas. People can submit a sketch of their mark and it will be compared to marks across Thedas to try and find their match. Mark matchers regularly send copies of new marks to other matchers. It’s not an exact process since it’s entirely an ‘opt in’ service.

5. Soul marks usually start out quite simplistic but as the people involved become more complex people, the marks become equally complex. So an established soul mark won’t change but will develop complexity. But if a mark fades because of something a person went through, the new mark may well be more complex.

Cullen has had three soul marks over the years. It wasn’t something he had ever mentioned to anyone because doing so would require talking about why his soul marks had faded and changed and that was a subject he preferred to steer clear of. It was not unheard of for a soul mark to fade or change but for that to happen one or both bearers of the mark had to have changed so fundamentally as to render them incompatible for a soul bond together.

Given that the first time his mark had faded and was replaced by another was just after he’d been rescued by the Grey Warden who would become the Hero of Fereldan, Cullen wasn’t surprised that it happened. Whoever he had been before he’d been subjected to Uldred’s torture and torment, well, that man was gone forever and when he had been able to think clearly, he had just hoped his former soul mate found someone worthy of them. If he’d had any surprise at all about it, it was that he apparently had a new soul mate. He had never tried to find them himself or took advantage of any of the Mark Brokers in Kirkwall though. Given what he’d known of himself the time, he had never been sure he’d wanted to know his new soul mate.

The second time the soul mark faded and was replaced by a new one did take him by surprise. It had happened in the aftermath of the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry and the battle against Meredith. He’d first noticed something was happening the day after Seeker Pentaghast arrived in Kirkwall and spoke to him. In the days that followed, the mark he’d worn since Kinloch fell slowly faded into nothing and the day after he accepted Cassandra’s offer to join the fledgling Inquisition and gained her assistance in getting off lyrium, a new mark appeared right where the others had been – on his chest, just over his heart.

He’d stared at it for a very long time, in the mirror of his cramped cabin on the ship taking them to Fereldan. It was an intricate design, far different from the more simplistic patterns of his previous marks. There was something of a bird about and… he’d snorted at this… something of a lion too. He’d have contemplated it further but the ship had rolled and his nausea and claustrophobia had raised their heads. He’d dressed quickly in his new armour and escaped up onto the deck and didn’t return to the cabin again until they finally docked.

He didn’t forget about the new mark in the days that followed but he didn’t dwell on it either. Not only did he have too much work to do to spend time thinking about who his new soul mate was and whether there was any chance he might ever meet them but the gut-wrenching effects of the lyrium withdrawal were an effective dampener on such thoughts.

Not that either stopped him from running his fingers over the mark at night when he was trying to sleep. He’d seen a few soul marks over the years – barracks living will do that – but he’d never seen such an intricate one before. From what he knew of the marks, the more complex they were, the more those bearing them had gone through and thus, the more compatible they were. He understood that from his point of view, taking Kinloch and Kirkwall into account, but the level of detail surely indicated his soul mate had gone through their own troubles… and significant ones at that. It made him wonder how they could be so compatible when he could barely handle his own problems but maybe that was the point?

Mostly though, he didn’t think about it, especially after the explosion at the Conclave, the creation of the Breach and the discovery of the Herald of Andraste. Ellana Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan, was not what he’d ever expected, especially after she shed the fearful, angry captive façade. The very reluctant wearer of the title of Herald of Andraste was wry, droll and very prone to rolling her eyes at the shenanigans of the shemlen. But she was also compassionate, intelligent and quick-witted and, as she’d put it, more than willing to extended her duties as her clan’s First to a somewhat bigger and much odder ‘clan’. Cullen would privately admit that he would not have been at all disappointed if Lavellan had turned out to be his soul mate, even though she was a mage and he still had his difficulties with that, but he knew she wasn’t. There was no pull towards her and she had something… complicated going on with Solas that he was not inclined to inquire too much about.

He was not, in any way, expecting that pull to come when the Tevinter mage Lavellan had met in Redcliffe strolled into the War Room so insouciantly. He covered his surprise with a glare then looked down at the map on the War Table, completely missing the quick startled look the mage gave him. When he looked up again, the Tevinter mage was talking about the defences in Redcliffe castle and Cullen lost himself in the discussion about how to gain access in such a way that the Herald wasn’t placed in excessive danger.

It wasn’t until much later, after the discussion was done, the decision made and the Herald had left with the Tevinter mage and her chosen companions that he finally had a chance to stop and think about what he’d felt. If he was right, the mage was his soul mate. He let out a soft laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. There was some irony there, he was sure, though he wasn’t really in the mood to appreciate it. A former Templar who had… issues with magic and a mage from a land where magic ruled. On the outside, it wasn’t exactly a match made by the Maker but surely the soul mark couldn’t be wrong?

But it wasn’t until after they were safely ensconced in Skyhold, that he found an answer to that question. He’d almost thought he was wrong about that pull he’d felt towards the Tevinter mage – Dorian – since their paths had hardly crossed at all in Haven. And the few times they had, Dorian had given him an indecipherable look and skittered away as fast as he could. Cullen had been halfway to convincing himself that he’d been wrong about that moment in the War Room in Haven when the door to his office banged open and Dorian barged in.

“This is really intolerable!” the mage snapped, his voice full of frustration and confusion as he started pacing back and forth across the office.

Cullen set aside the report he’d been reading and looked at Dorian. Once again he felt that pull and he knew he’d been right. Not that he knew what to do about it really. He’d never expected to be soul bonded to a mage, let alone one from Tevinter. While he was certainly more sensible and open-minded about mages these days, the old wounds from Kinloch still lingered and he was desperately afraid that he would accidentally hurt Dorian in some way.

“What is?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

Dorian shot him a sulphurous look. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.” He yanked off the strange not-quite-a-sleeve that he wore on his left arm to reveal a mark exactly like Cullen’s on his bicep. “This!”

Cullen swallowed hard then in careful deliberate motions, he pulled off his gloves and greaves and the rest of the armour on his torso. He undid the laces on the shirt he wore underneath and pulled the collar aside just far enough to reveal the matching mark on his chest. He looked up to find Dorian watching him with another of those indecipherable expressions. The man hesitated for a moment then he came over as if drawn against his will and his fingers brushed against Cullen’s mark.

For a moment they froze like that then Dorian whirled around and started pacing again. Cullen let go of the collar of his shirt and watched Dorian with confusion. The man looked… upset.

“Dorian? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Dorian half-yelled. “This is ridiculous! It can’t be.”

Cullen reached out and grabbed hold of Dorian’s hand the next time he passed by. He half-expected Dorian to wrench his hand free but instead the man came to a halt and bowed his head. With the physical contact now established, Cullen could feel the bond starting to settle in and as it did so, he got an inkling of the welter of emotions coming from Dorian. He blinked as he felt the tenor of them and drew in a breath.

“Dorian,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing softly on the back of the mage’s hand. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Dorian was silent for a moment. “Men can’t be soul mates,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Not… not romantically.”

Cullen frowned. “Yes, they can. The King of Fereldan… King Alistair… his soul mate is the Hero of Fereldan, Aedan Cousland.”

Dorian stared at him. “Romantically? Openly?”

Cullen nodded and gave a huff of laughter as he remembered the letters he’d received after they’d settled in at Skyhold. Alistair’s letter had been tentative, as though he wasn’t sure Cullen would even remember him, let alone remember they’d once been friends. Then, after Cullen had written back positively, the letters had become rambling and ridiculous and full of things Cullen was fairly sure he probably shouldn’t know about. Still, it had been nice to know that he hadn’t burned all his bridges from those days.

“Very much so,” he said.

“Doesn’t he… have a Queen?” Dorian said dubiously.

Cullen snorted. “Yes and apparently Queen Anora thinks they’re ridiculous but likes them both.” He held up his spare hand. “I have no idea what relationship the three of them have beyond Aedan and Alistair’s soul bond and frankly I don’t want to know.”

Dorian frowned and stared down at their joined hands. “So…”

“Men can be soul mates,” Cullen said. “Women can be soul mates. Leliana and Josephine are soul mates.”

“Not in Tevinter,” Dorian said after a long silence.

“We’re not in Tevinter.”

“Yes, all the snow and freezing cold did give that away,” Dorian said with some of his normal acerbity.

“Maybe if you actually wore some proper clothing,” Cullen teased.

Dorian ignored the sally and his eyes narrowed. “You’re nervous about this as well.”

Cullen sighed. “My mark… has changed twice.”

Dorian gave him a piercing look that told Cullen without words even being needed that he knew what that meant. Then Dorian surprised him by not commenting on that but instead looking away. “I… never had a mark. I…” His voice broke. “I always assumed it was because of my… deviant nature. Then… this mark appeared. Not long ago. Just before the Breach appeared.”

“That must have been when mine changed,” Cullen replied. “And there is nothing deviant about you, Dorian.”

The mage smiled wanly, clearly attempting some of his usual flirtatious manner. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Commander.”

Cullen ignored that. “Cullen,” he said firmly.

“What?”

“Cullen. It’s my name. My… my soul mate should use my name.”

Dorian’s eyes widened and there was something soft and vulnerable lurking in them. “Cullen,” he said in a tone so gentle it almost brought tears to Cullen’s eyes.

Cullen swallowed past the lump in his throat and used their still joined hands to draw Dorian close. He cradled the mage’s face with his free hand, his thumb brushing along Dorian’s cheek. The look on Dorian’s face was heartbreaking and Cullen silently vowed to ensure that the mage never, ever doubted that he was wanted again.

He leaned in then and pressed his lips against Dorian’s in a gentle kiss. The mage made a soft sound and returned the kiss. That was when the soul bond truly sparked to life within both of them. They both gasped into the kiss as the connection between them formed and bound them together. Cullen pulled Dorian tighter against him as he was surrounded by bright intelligence and fiery passion. Dorian came willingly, melting against him and assuaging any negative thoughts Cullen might have had about how Dorian was perceiving him through the bond.

When they finally parted, the bond dimmed a little but stayed steady between them, the rumble of thoughts and emotions on both sides welcome but quiescent. Cullen rested his forehead against Dorian’s and closed his eyes. The bond felt like… an anchor in the storm, a solid rock he could brace himself against, a shelter against the slings and arrows that life threw at him. From what he could feel through the bond, Dorian was experiencing something similar. It made Cullen wonder whether he might have weathered the storm of Kinloch in better shape if he’d found his soul mate back then, before it happened.

The thought and its associated regrets faded in the reality of Dorian’s presence in the back of his mind. He’d learned long ago that ‘what ifs’ were pointless and what he had right now was far too precious to dwell on ‘what ifs’.

“I… never knew,” Dorian said, his voice full of wonder.

“Neither did I,” Cullen replied warmly.

“So few people find, let alone marry, their soul mates in Tevinter,” Dorian whispered. He hadn’t moved from their current position and didn’t seem inclined to any time soon. Cullen felt the same. “Not… not at my social level. It’s considered gauche and provincial. You marry for advantage and rank. Love is for children. Soul mates are for the lower classes who don’t know any better.”

“Sounds terrible,” Cullen said.

Dorian gave a soft laugh and wrapped his arms around Cullen. “It is. I loathed all of it. I just… never thought I’d have any other choice.”

“You have me,” Cullen said, shifting just far enough to look at Dorian’s properly. He let a smile quirk his lips. “We take soul mates pretty seriously in Fereldan, you know.”

Dorian’s smile was fragile and beautiful. “Do you now?”

“Mmhmm,” Cullen replied with a nod. “Guess you’re…” His voice broke a little then wobbled when he continued. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Sounds terrible,” Dorian said with a smile that made Cullen laugh. “I might need years to get used to it.”

“Is that so?” Cullen said with a grin.

Dorian nodded. “Maybe the rest of our lives.”

Cullen didn’t let the hesitancy he could see on Dorian’s face grow. He leaned in and just before he kissed Dorian again, he said, “I can live with that.”

Dorian laughed as Cullen kissed him. He knew that there were a lot of very heavy discussions to come in their future since Dorian deserved the truth from him about his past but with the soul bond thrumming, strong and bright, between them, for once he faced that task without fear. 

[balancednotclean-blog]

Defining Who I Am

I came across a technique to find out what’s most important to you and who you are in the unlikeliest of places - the YouTube comments section. I actually feel ashamed in that I didn’t write down the name of the individual who shared this idea, but nonetheless - I shall discuss it anyway. Just give me no credit for it, because its conceptualisation was not from my mind, even if this application clearly links to my thoughts.

The concept itself focusses on creating a timeline of memories, beginning from when you were first aware of your existence. You should then analyse these memories to distinguish the reasons why they are so significant to you. The reason why then links to who you are as a person. Other memories which would have stuck in somebody else’s mind prominently may not have stuck in mine, and vice versa.

To make this really effective (rather than trying to dredge up every memory I’ve ever had), I’m going to use the first five memories I can think of, in whatever order I like.

In my blogging dashboard, I’m going to write down these five memories as headers first, and then flesh them out. However, you’ll read it as five distinct sections. Thank you for reading, by the way!

1. Being Thrown Against a Metal Fence

I was quite surprised that this was the first memory that popped into my head.

It actually relates to my second primary school. I was in Year Three - we had just moved up to Lincolnshire from Cambridgeshire in the summer, so I started my first day that September at a new primary school.

I remember I settled in fairly well, except for one person - let’s call her Hayley for anonymity (I’ve never known a Hayley in my life). 

In this particular instance, I happened to be out in the playground. It was one of my first days at this new school, so I hadn’t quite integrated into a group of friends just yet, although a few friendly smiles had been passed around, and I was already settling into the work fairly easily (it was primary school stuff, after all!).

This school wasn’t very large. I’d say there was about 70 pupils IN TOTAL - not just in one class. 70 pupils, from Reception right up to Year 6. It was a tiny school, and in many ways I think that’s what made the bullying more of a shock. Although it would be feasible that there’d be fewer people with similar interests, I thought there’d also be fewer people who would be inclined to bully! Guess I was wrong there - because one person in particular took a real dislike to me.

So much so, that I remember strongly how she grabbed me and threw me against some solid, metal railings several times the very first time she met me. Over and over. I can feel the rattling of my body against the cold steel now. My skeleton jolted with every lunge.

I can’t actually remember quite how it stopped. I remember that a few people were just sort of watching - not directly, as such, but in the corner of their eyes as they played Stuck in the Mud - but none of them intervened. I had a feeling that Hayley may have lashed out at them at some stage, but I have no proof of that. Still, that particular episode did end, and in lessons and suchlike I was very happy.

Her behaviour as a whole remained hostile and unapproachable, however. But one thing I’ll forever remain proud of is how when I went home, I explained exactly what was happening to my parents, and I wrote the school council a letter. I wrote it on a piece of bright yellow paper with a blue crayon, and essentially described (in Year 3, 7 and a half year old language) how this behaviour was unacceptable, and I wanted it to stop. 

It did stop, and actually, my classmates started to reject her. They completely turned their back on her, and were quite mean to her for our remaining three years at that school. Unhappy events still occurred at that school (that I have discussed briefly in previous blog posts, particularly to do with the eve of my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and food problems), but not because of her. I’m actually filled with guilt now when I think back to that, as I didn’t stand in to stop them turning on her like they did. I know she was cruel to me, and that perhaps in some way I should feel like justice was delivered, but I do not. I almost feel like I made her life worse than she ever made mine, simply because I became friends with everybody else, and we all excluded her.

Why does this stick in my mind?

The physical pain of it has to be why it sprung to mind at first, but equally the regret now leaves an emotional scar. I’ll never forget that look on Hayley’s face when I was standing at a bus stop in Year 8, and I saw her bus drive past. She was looking out of the window with one of the most sorrowful expressions I’ve ever seen in a human being.

How does it relate to who I am today?

In terms of bullying as a whole, I am wholly against it. I seek to comfort people and treat people well, because I know what it feels like to be an outcast. That goes for some of my experiences at secondary school as well, not just at primary school. I try my best to be a good person, especially since I have reflected upon how I perhaps could have done better in terms of reconciling with Hayley (rather than leading to her being shunned).

How does it relate to who I want to be?

I want to make sure that I have thought through my actions so that I do not just think of myself, but think of others too. I want to help others build their self confidence, regardless of if they were the bully, or the person that was bullied.

2. Swimming As a Baby

I don’t think this is an organic memory, because I see myself floating in third person. Clearly, if this were an organic memory, I’d be seeing it through my own eyeballs. It is therefore likely that I have constructed this through what I’ve been told by family.

My mother is there, and I’m floating with those armband thingimabobs doughnutted around my flobbiling baby limbs (do you like my word inventions?). II have a big smile on my face, and a mop of curly black hair splatted on my head (it is wet, after all).

That’s the extent of that particular memory, however it does link to my later meanderings into swimming as a child. Although I had to stop due to my health, I was actually a very successful swimmer for my age and had a lot of talent (not tooting my own horn or anything here, by the way ;-)).

Why does this stick in my mind?

I suppose I see this as the first real example of where sport and activity was integrated into my (family) life from a very young age.

How does it relate to who I am today?

I love being active, and whenever my health has prevented me from being active, I have been deeply upset. I now weight train regularly, both as a mental release and as a way of staying strong despite my diagnosis of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

How does it relate to who I want to be?

If I ever have any family of my own, I want to guide them to be active from a young age. Professionally, I see myself having activity as a keystone of my career - with my first goal being getting qualified as a personal trainer. As for myself personally, I want to remain as active as I can for as long as I can in relation to my health.

3. Asking For Help to Learn How to Bench Press

A lifting-related memory was also one that immediately sprung to mind today. When I first started weight training, just after my sixteenth birthday, I had no clue how to bench press.

I swaggered (read: meekly shuffled) into the gym, and plucked up the courage to ask a personal trainer how exactly you are supposed to bench press.

This particular personal trainer was extremely kind - she spent more time than she had to showing me exactly what to do. I remember this was before this gym had been renovated, and they had odd-numbered weights - my barbell was 17kg, and that’s what I started bench pressing with before I moved up to the proper bench press station.

Why does this stick in my mind?

My upper body has always been weak, and recently I’ve been improving considerably in my upper body strength. It’s crazy to think how shy I used to be in the gym, when now I’m probably obnoxiously loud at times!

How does this relate to who I am today?

Bench pressing is now actually my favourite exercise in the gym, despite my love for squats, deadlifts and hip thrusts too. It has to be because it felt like the underdog exercise to me. I love it with dumbbells too - not just a barbell.

How does this relate to who I want to be?

I clearly want to keep getting stronger and stronger, both mentally and physically. I remember people telling me that girls ‘don’t get strong upper bodies’, and I wanted to prove them wrong. I want to keep proving them wrong, and I want to keep pushing myself to limits I wouldn’t have ever imagined would be real for me.

4. Admitting My Anorexia

We’re jumping around ages here somewhat, but that’s fine. Back to… fourteen, I think this is? Maybe thirteen. I truly can’t remember the when as much as I can the what. I wouldn’t be surprised if my anorexia damaged my memory capacity at this time somewhat.

Anyway, this was my first hospital appointment regarding my eating disorder. I think I’d been dragged to the doctors’ (after initially being confronted by my parents and being made to ‘confess’), and they almost immediately set up an appointment for me at Grimsby Hospital to speak to some specialists.

I was still at that stage then when I didn’t really believe that I had anorexia, and I wasn’t sure what the fuss was all about. I was hell bent on continuing the way I had, until eventually I died.

Except - at this hospital appointment, I think I must’ve had an angel of a doctor leading the consultation. I think she was a junior doctor, and I also have an inkling that perhaps she had shared similar troubles when she was fourteen. She kept it simple for me - kind and simple. Rather than making me utter the words ‘anorexia’, ‘anorexic’, ‘starve’, or any other related food - she structured her sentences carefully so that I would only have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

Even though these hidden utterances of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ still felt incredibly scary to say, they were masked enough to enable me to admit I had a problem. I could reply factually - yes - without having to acknowledge the diagnosis itself.

Why does this stick in my mind?

I think this appointment was the real turning point in my treatment and recovery from anorexia. I think she gave me just enough of a confidence boost to head forward with recovery.

How does this relate to who I am today?

Clearly, I’m not dead - I was able to adhere to my recovery from anorexia. And although I still have real, serious problems with an eating disorder and my mental health now, I am still firmly on the path of recovery. I also see her actions as an example of how people with mental health issues should be treated - with kindness, courtesy and a solid foundation of support.

How does this relate to who I want to be?

I want to be in a position where I can support others and help them reach a ‘turning point’ in their mental health journeys, so that they too can walk the road of recovery. Clichéd or otherwise, this would fulfil me more than anything.

5. When He Left Without Saying Goodbye

The final memory I have to share is another one from primary school - but this is one from Cambridgeshire, at my first primary. I will use a real name now, because I have no idea what his surname is, so if anybody else actually does know his surname, I’d be happy to get in touch and say hello again.

Anyway. I once had a best friend called Benjamin, and we were pretty much inseparable (at least at school). I view my time in Cambridgeshire with a huge amount of nostalgia, for this was the time that I was swimming, dancing, playing tennis and playing around at school with much joy and freedom.

I’d go to those awesome parties with Pass The Parcel, I’d play on trampolines and I’d build the best things with Duplo or Lego or a bunch of sticks and clay and mud. I’d climb over things (although I was never able to crack monkey bars) and otherwise treat life with that childish glee that I was lucky to have in a mostly peaceful and developed country.

However, my best friend Benjamin was to move away to America. I moved away myself at the end of Year 2, but Benjamin left at the start of Year 2. As a class, we made him a book of memories and I was the one that got to present it to him. I bloody bawled my eyes out, but at lunchtime we played together as normal and things seemed to be fine for a while.

But, at the end of the day, when I rushed to the gates to say goodbye to him, he had already left. I don’t think I’d taken too long at the cloakroom to grab my bag and coat, but he had already gone. Not on the playground, nor the field, nor under the chestnut trees, or on the winding path leading out of the school grounds. This was yet another small school - about 150 pupils in total here - so there weren’t many places he could be… but he had already gone.

I had already said goodbye, but I wanted to say goodbye again. I wanted to give him a hug. I wanted to keep in touch with him somehow. But he was gone - and in some childish sense, I felt like I had been abandoned - even though it was never really his choice to move anyway.

Why does this stick in my mind?

The beautiful nostalgia of a time I would really consider childhood, without mental or physical health difficulties, and the memory of my first best friend will always stick with me. 

How does this relate to who I am today?

It’s only very recently, at eighteen years old - rather than five or six - that I‘ve started to build close friendships again. But nothing has ever felt as close as my friendship to Benjamin, even though I’m now older and can have more meaningful conversations and suchlike as a young adult.

How does this relate to who I want to be?

I try and be real in my friendships, and let my friends know what I truly think. I don’t hide away from conflict and instead seek practical resolutions to things, because I don’t want there to be a time where we may get caught on a bad feeling without being able to move forward if circumstances separate us.

That’s the good kind of retrospection. I think recently I’ve been too retrospective in the sense of degrading my every choice and questioning why I didn’t act differently - but that felt more like I was simply wondering both who and how I am today.

So, to conclude - I’m going to finish off on five points (in no particular order) that sum up who I am now, and five characteristics or goals I want for the future.

Today

Loyal to those I value

Energetic at heart, but easily distracted

Empathetic to others’ situations…

… but I still choose to be selfish at the wrong times

Determined (and at times, stubborn!)

The Future

An empathetic expert in my field

Stronger; physically and mentally

Focussed and driven

Disciplined

Prepared to take a risk

Overall, although this took some time, I think this was a very empowering use of my time. Give it a go!