#the damage you’ve dealt to me is irreparable

[teehee-vibes]

Read the most life-altering gay fanfic written by @some-guy-liam, everyone else should read it too

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Summary: Things have gone wrong in your pack's absence. Can they make it back in time before irreparable damage is done? Can they fix the damage that's already been dealt?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 10,232...oops

Warnings: ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, panic attacks, very descriptive scenes of panic and anxiety, very heavy emotionally in the beginning, major invasions of privacy, hurt/sort of comfort, very brief mention of violence and death, and most importantly: fluff

A/N: Yeah, so this one kind of got away from me. It's definitely one of my favorite chapters now, and it's definitely the longest so far. It's pretty heavy, so plan something fun afterwards because it will hurt. I tried to catch all the possible triggers, but of course, if I miss one let me know. I promise things will begin to take a turn for the happier after this, at least for a bit. Picks up pretty much right where chapter 17 left off.

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You’re shaking. Your breaths are coming in gasps as you stare at your open door. There’s no scent in the air, nothing that would give you a hint of who invaded your space, or if they’re still in there. You should leave, barricade yourself somewhere and call Dr. Keller, or even Kate. 

What could they do, though? Your pack won’t be home until tomorrow at the earliest. 

No one can help you. 

You slowly push your door open, ready to run in case someone is hiding inside. You stand in the doorway, scanning the small space, but there’s no sign of anyone. There’s still no scent either, just your own mingled with the slight chemical burn of scent blockers. Your eyes scan the room, looking for anything that might be new, anything that might be missing, anything that might be slightly out of place. 

The clothes on the floor are slightly rumpled, but you’re not sure if you did that in your haste to pull on shoes before you left, or if they’ve been that way since the knock sounded on your door. You lift your gaze to the ceiling, scanning it and that’s when you notice it. The cover over the vent is slightly out of place. You likely wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention, if you hadn’t looked. 

The thought sends a chill running down your spine. 

You keep your eyes on the vent as you grab your desk chair, kicking clothes out of the way as you move it under the vent. You stand on the chair, reaching for the vent, but it’s not quite enough. You shove the chair to the side, taking everything off your desk before you pull it under the vent. You climb up on shaky legs, your heart thudding in your chest as you remove the vent cover. 

Nausea twists at your stomach as your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. There, strategically placed between two of the gaps in the vent cover, is a camera. It’s small, and would have been invisible just staring at the vent from below. You feel like you might be sick as you pull it free from the vent cover, staring down into the tiny lens. 

How long has it been up there? 

You drop the camera onto your desk, your fingers shaking and trembling as you feel along the edges of the vent, checking for anything else that might be hiding up there. You replace the cover after you find nothing, a sense of dread filling you. 

Had the guys put it up so they could watch you, make sure that you’re safe? Had they put it up there before you arrived? You think about all the times you’ve changed in your room, your heat. 

You climb down from the desk, tugging it further towards the center of the room before you climb back up, unscrewing the cover off the light. You check the bulb, looking for any cameras or recording devices. You screw the cover of the light back on after finding none, a quiet sob leaving your lips as you look around your room. 

You close the door and lock it before you begin your search, checking every corner and piece of furniture for cameras or recording devices. You empty the dresser and closet, checking every drawer and corner for anything suspicious. 

You pull recording devices from under your desk and the back of your nightstand, the adhesive still fresh enough they pop right off. A cold sweat has overtaken you as you find another recording device and another camera, adding them to the growing pile on your desk. 

A quiet sob of fear leaves your lips as you check the bathroom, tearing your room apart to check every inch. You search up a tutorial on YouTube, using your phone to check for more possible cameras that you might have missed. 

You stare down at the pile of cameras and recording devices on your desk. Someone entered your room and planted them while you were with General Shepherd. It had all been deliberate. Get you away from your room and distracted so they could enter and set up the devices. You wonder if it’s all part of some sick plan, some way to ensure things are going well with your pack. General Shepherd had been very interested in your mark, invading your space without a moment of hesitation to see it firsthand. You would have shown him, had he asked to see it. Instead he’d just done it himself, as if it was nothing. 

Your hands are shaking as you find a ziploc bag in the mess you’ve made of your room, putting the cameras and recording devices into it. You drop it onto the floor before stepping on it, listening to the crack of metal and plastic and glass under your shoe. Tears slip down your cheeks as you pick up the bag of broken pieces, taking it to the bathroom. You hide it far in the back of the cupboard beneath the sink, piling things around it and on top of it to keep it hidden. 

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, your skin crawling as you stare at the mess. You don’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own space. The thought of someone breaching the sacred space, entering your room without a second thought to put up cameras makes your stomach churn. 

Where will you go? You can’t just leave, find somewhere else to feel safe. What if they did the same to the guys’ rooms? There could have been an entire team of people that came in and put cameras up all over the barracks. A sob leaves your lips as you rush to the door, double checking it’s locked before you shove the dresser against it. You flip your desk up to cover the window as much as it can, just in case anyone tries to climb in.  

You sink to the floor in the middle of the disaster that has become your room, sobbing quietly. You want your pack home, you want to feel safe again. You glance at your phone where it’s sitting on a pile of shirts, afraid to even touch it. That woman could have done anything to it while you were with General Shepherd. What if they’re trying to call you and they can’t reach you? 

You should try to reach Dr. Keller, tell her what happened, get her to check if there’s anyone lurking around the barracks that shouldn’t be. What if they try to attack her, though? Can she defend herself? You don’t know if she can fight or not. What if she gets hurt because of you? She could ask someone else on base to look, but what if they were involved in it? What if it was someone already on base that had done it? The thought nearly makes you sick. 

You’re scared to leave again. What if they’ve noticed you found the cameras and come back while you’re gone? What if they come back while you’re here? 

The tears flow freely as you sob, too afraid to even move. You can feel it, the panic starting to bubble up again, the fear welling inside you. Your muscles begin to tense, shoulders pulling up near your ears as you try to defend yourself from this invisible threat. It’s an easy slope from fear to distress, and there’s no one to help you if you start distressing. You press your palms into your eyes, holding your breath to try and shock your body into something other than panic. 

You bite back a startled scream as a knock sounds at the door, your heart rate spiking again. 

“It’s just me,” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door. “Ready for dinner?” 

You take a deep breath, staring at the dresser blocking your door. You’ll have to move it to get out, which she’ll likely notice. You could lie, you could lie easily, but you’re not sure you could keep it up right now. She’ll notice the tears, the obvious signs of panic and distress. She’ll want to know, and you can’t trust yourself not to spill everything. 

You should tell her about what had happened, but you know she’ll be disappointed. She’ll think you were stupid for leaving, for not even sending her a text. She’ll tell John when he returns, too. He should know about it, but there’s no way a high ranking General could arrive on base without them knowing, especially one that’s their commander. Maybe it had all been a test. Maybe they do know about General Shepherd and just forgot to tell you this was going to happen. 

Maybe Dr. Keller even knew about it, and didn’t say anything because she thought you knew too. 

“I-I’m not hungry.” You say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. 

There’s a pause outside the door for a moment, a beat of silence that’s too loud.

“Is everything alright?” She finally asks. 

“Y-Yeah.” You say, clearing your throat. “Just...not really hungry right now.” 

It’s silent again for a beat, making you hold your breath anxiously. 

“Are you sure? I can come back later, or bring you dinner.” She says. 

“I’m sure.” You swallow the tears welling in your eyes again. “I’ll grab a snack if I get hungry later.” 

“Okay...” She says, and you can almost see the frown on her face. “Text or call if you need anything, alright?” 

“Yeah.” You say, your voice cracking a bit. 

You regret it almost instantly, the urge to shove the dresser out of the way and fling the door open strong as you hear her receding steps down the hallway. You don’t want to be alone, but Dr. Keller can’t give you what you need. The tears start falling again, sliding down your cheeks as you flop onto your back, ignoring the way the edge of a book digs into your spine. 

You just want your pack back. You want John to scoop you up into his arms and wrap you in his warmth and soothing scent. You want Kyle and Johnny to squish you between them, sandwich you so tightly you’re scared you might burst. You want Ghost to wrap himself around you and offer you a blanket of protection against anyone who would even dare cast a glance in your direction. 

You just want to feel at home again. 

You want to be safe again. 

***

The emotional and physical exhaustion pushes you into the state between consciousness and sleep. You’ve moved to your bed, tucked under the covers and stuck between the wall and your giant bear, as if it could offer you some form of protection as you float between awareness and somewhere in the realm of sleep for a few hours.

You’re not sure what time it is, when the disruption comes. It takes you a moment to register why you’re awake. Some deep part of your brain is prickling, sending out warning signals to your body. Something’s happening, something’s wrong, something’s posing a threat. 

You hold your breath in the silence of the barracks, listening to the slow, quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. For a moment you think you might be imagining them, that you’re still asleep and dreaming. Your fingers pinch at your skin, nails digging in to confirm that you are, in fact, awake. This is really happening. 

Your heartbeat picks up, the bitter stench of fear that’s coated your room intensifying as the footsteps pause outside your door. You let out a quiet, shaky breath as you lay there, thinking up every time you checked the door in the last few hours to ensure it was locked and the dresser was still pushed in front of it. 

You cover your mouth as the door handle wiggles, catching on the lock. The whimper of fear threatening to rise catches in your throat as you hold your breath, your body trembling under your blankets. You should reach for your phone, send a text to Kate, call Dr. Keller, do something. Yet, you’re frozen in fear as the handle continues to wiggle before stopping. 

You don’t release a breath until the footsteps fade, a quiet whimper slipping from your lips. Someone just tried to get into your room. 

You’re panicking, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you burrow under your covers, barricading yourself between the wall and your bear, hoping you’ll be invisible in case they come back, in case they force their way in. You can’t fight, not after the day you’ve had. The best you can hope for is that your scent is rank enough in the room it’ll deter whoever is trying to get in. 

You need tomorrow to come, and fast. 

***

Daylight doesn't bring any sense of comfort. 

All it does is shed more light on the disaster your room has become, the physical representation of your internal thoughts and feelings. Your face feels puffy from crying, and there’s a bad taste in your mouth. You haven’t brushed your teeth since yesterday, nor have you showered, too scared to put yourself in such a vulnerable position. 

You glance at your phone, checking for missed calls, but there’s none. Dr. Keller will be by soon to get you for breakfast, but you’re not sure you can stand going to the mess. The idea of leaving your room, leaving it empty so anyone could just walk in and bug it or touch your things or hide out so they can take revenge on you for finding and destroying their cameras and recording devices has you paralyzed. 

That must have been what whoever entered the barracks last night had come to do. Maybe they thought you’d spend the night in one of the other rooms and they’d come to replace them. Or, maybe they wanted you to be in your room. Maybe that was the plan all along. 

The thought sends a chill running down your spine. 

You burrow back under your blankets, curling up against your giant teddy bear. You wish it was Price, that his arm would wrap around you and hold you close, keep you safe and protected in his arms. You’d take any of them right now, even Ghost. At least you know he’d protect you, especially if someone tried to enter the barracks without permission. 

You’re still lying there when Dr. Keller arrives. You stare at the dresser still pushed against the door, keeping you from opening it. Not that you really want to. You can’t stop the anxiety from taking over, bringing forward the image of Dr. Keller held at gunpoint on the other side of the door, trying to trick you into opening it so whoever tried to get in last night can finally do what they came to do. 

You know it’s a ridiculous thought. No one would be that stupid in broad daylight, and you doubt Dr. Keller would let something like that happen to her. She’d put up a fight, or at least you hope so. 

You can’t move the dresser without her knowing you’d pushed it against the door, which will only prompt questions. Questions you don’t want to answer. 

She calls your name through the door, concern lacing her voice. “Everything alright?” 

No. You want to scream it, tears gathering in your eyes again. You want to push the dresser out of the way, throw open the door and confess everything that’s happened in the last few hours to her. You want to bring her into your space, keep her there until your pack returns so you can feel even just an ounce of safety. 

But what if she gets mad? 

Leaving yesterday was stupid. Going off with some unknown beta without telling anyone was the dumbest thing you’ve done since your arrival on base. She’ll be disappointed and she’ll tell your pack and they’ll be disappointed that you didn’t say anything to her about it. Even if they knew it happened, they’d still be disappointed that you didn’t think to even question it, that you didn’t think to let Dr. Keller know what was going on. 

You made a stupid decision, and you won’t be able to take their disappointment and anger. Not after everything. 

“Yeah.” You call out, your voice shaking. “I-I’m alright.” 

You can tell she doesn’t believe you, even though you can’t see her. She probably has that look on her face she gets when she knows you’re not telling the whole truth. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. You’re afraid it might give out after the stress of the last few days. 

“Are you ready for breakfast?” She finally asks, likely giving up on trying to get any more details from you. 

You’re not hungry, and you know going to the mess will not end well. The risk of distressing is high, and the thought that any one in the mess might have been the intruder last night nearly sends you over the edge. One wrong glance in your direction might cause you to do something reckless. “I’m not hungry.” You finally say, pulling the blankets tighter around you. 

“Are you sure?” She asks. “Did you eat something last night?” 

“Yeah.” You lie, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “I had some snacks.” 

Her feet shuffle outside the door for a moment, and you can almost hear her sigh. “If you’re sure?” 

“I-I’m sure.” You reply. 

There’s a moment of silence before you get a response, your breath catching in your throat from the nerves. “Alright.” She finally says. “I got word that your pack will be landing in a couple of hours and we have permission to go out to the airfield and greet them. I’ll come back to get you when it’s time. If you need anything, call me.” 

You listen to her footsteps recede down the hallway, tears burning your eyes. You hate lying. You feel bad for keeping the truth from her, but the shame of revealing what you did is too strong. 

You hastily wipe your eyes, staring at the mess on your floor. You need to get your room back to at least its somewhat normal state, and you need to put yourself back to your normal state as well. If anyone gets any hint that something is wrong, you might crack, and you’re not sure you could handle the repercussions. 

You start with the desk, flipping it back the way it’s supposed to be and positioning it as close to where it was as you can get. You collect the books and other little things that go on it, trying to arrange it as close to how it normally is. You know they’ll notice if any little thing is out of place, if anything looks suspicious. You can blame some of it on cleaning, if they ask. You did some deep cleaning while they were away. That’s one way of putting it. 

You push the dresser back into place next, putting the drawers back in before starting on the clothes, putting everything back where it belongs. You make your bed last, the urge to nest gone completely. You’re shaking with exhaustion by the time you finish, tempted to crawl back into bed, but you know you can’t. Your pack is coming back, and you need everything to look like it’s fine still. 

They’ll notice. They’ll see it, and they’ll ask, and you’ll have to spill everything and face the shame and anger from being so stupid. 

Tears burn your eyes as you slip your desk chair under the door handle, making sure it’s secure before heading to the shower to get ready for your pack’s imminent return. You shower with the door open, getting done quickly to avoid being vulnerable for long. You try to make yourself look as decent as possible, ignoring the fact that there’s broken cameras and recording devices hidden under the sink. Eventually you’ll forget. Eventually it’ll fade from your mind and become nothing more than a forgotten nightmare. 

One of many. 

You toss your pajamas on the floor haphazardly, just to make things look more normal. You know if it’s too clean, that might raise some suspicions as well. You don’t want to give away that something happened, you don’t want to raise any suspicions. You just want things to go back to normal. You want your pack back, and you want to feel safe again. 

At least, until they have to leave again. 

You sink to the floor, leaning up against your bed as you wait for Dr. Keller to take you to greet your pack when they return. 

***

Every minute seems to drag on infinitely as you stare across the tarmac. They’ll be landing any minute. Any minute now the nightmare will be over and you’ll get to see your pack again after days of being apart. Finally, maybe, you can begin to feel safe again. 

You watch the plane as it comes in to land, your hands already trembling in anticipation. There’s a twisting in your stomach, you’re not sure if it’s worry or fear or excitement. They’re so close, so close you can almost smell them. Your omega is scratching at the back of your brain, your muscles twitching as the ramp begins to lower on the plane. You need to see them, you need to smell them, you need to ensure they’re alright. 

You can’t stop yourself. As soon as their boots hit the tarmac, you’re running. You don’t care if you’re breaking rules, you don’t care if the other soldiers get worried, or see you as a possible threat, you need to be in your alpha’s arms again. 

John grunts from the force of you hitting him, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You throw your arms around him, clinging to him as tight as you can. You’re whimpering, the quiet sounds dragging from your lips but you don’t care. You press your face into his chest, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and musk, the sharp metallic tang of gunpowder burning your nose. Yet, underneath it all, you can make out the earthy scent, the petrichor going straight to your brain. 

His arms wrap tight around you, squishing you up against his chest. His vest digs into your skin, but you don’t care. You can’t feel much of anything but relief. His breath fans your forehead as he leans down, his hand cupping the back of your head. He shushes you gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Tears fill your eyes as you cling to him, fingers gripping his shirt tightly like you’re afraid he might disappear again. If it wasn’t for the pain in your chest, you might have thought this was all a dream, that they might disappear suddenly and you’ll wake up alone again. 

“Easy.” John rumbles, gently stroking the back of your head. 

You cling to him tighter as his hand gets close to your neck, the thought of General Shepherd’s hand being so close to your neck where he could scruff you so easily making your insides squirm. 

He’s gone. He’s gone and your pack is here. 

“You’re alright.” John tries to reassure you, squeezing his arms around your trembling form. “I’ve got you.” 

You keep your face pressed against his chest, breathing him in, trying to get his scent to calm the raging storm within you. Your omega is still scratching at the back of your mind, a deep need to claw your way under John’s skin and into his body pushing at the front of your mind. You won’t be safe until you’ve been utterly consumed by him, until you’re safely tucked where no one can hurt you without going through him first. 

“Alpha,” You whine quietly, nuzzling your face against his chest. His clothes are in the way, a barrier against what you need. To feel him, to smell him fully again. 

“Easy.” He says, grabbing your hands as they shift towards the velcro straps of his tactical vest. “Let’s get back to the barracks first before we start that, sweetheart.” 

You don’t want to go back to the barracks. It’s not safe anymore. What if there’s someone waiting there for you to return? What if they get hurt because you don’t tell them what happened? What if you get hurt and cause them pain? 

“You’re alright.” John says, stroking the back of your head as he begins to ease your grip on him. “There’s a couple of muppets here who I think would like to greet you too.” 

Right. You’re so caught up in your alpha, you forgot the rest of your pack. You slowly allow yourself to be peeled away from John, Kyle right there to let you cling to him. 

And so you do. 

Your grip around him is just as tight, ignoring the uncomfortable ridges of his own vest. He holds you just as tightly, projecting his scent just a bit to try and calm you. Someone presses against your back, arms wrapping around both you and Kyle. The scent of citrus lined with beta invades your nose, Johnny squishing you into a sandwich between them. Your eyes squeeze shut as citrus and salty sea air blend together, the beta’s scents reaching deep into your brain to try and ease some of the tension in your body. 

They’re back. They’re safe. You’re safe. 

Now you just have to convince yourself of that fact. 

***

“How was she?” John asks as he approaches Dr. Keller. 

“Held it together longer than I thought she would.” She says. “Things took a turn yesterday afternoon. Shut herself in her room and wouldn’t come out. I don’t think she’s eaten anything since lunch yesterday either.” 

“We’ll get some food in her.” John says. “Thank you, for looking after her for us.” 

“Well, it is partly my job.” Dr. Keller shrugs. “Always happy to do it.” 

“Things will get easier, won’t they?” He asks. 

“Eventually. She’ll learn what coping mechanisms help and she’ll adapt.” 

“Hopefully at least one of us will be able to stay moving forward. I don’t like leaving her here alone.” He grimaces. 

“Separation is hard no matter what, especially with limited contact, on all parties involved.” She gives him a look. “I think the best thing you can do right now is just be together as a pack. Let those bonds heal and let her do what she needs.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” John says, shaking her hand. 

“Call me, if you need anything, as usual.” Dr. Keller says, watching his retreating back before getting into her car to make the short drive back to the medical center. 

John gets into the car waiting to take them back to the barracks, sitting next to Kyle who’s holding you straddling his lap, your face pressed into his neck. “That looks safe.” He remarks, even though they wouldn’t be going very fast, or very far. 

“Couldn’t get her to let go.” Kyle says, tightening his hold around you as the car begins moving. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” John says, rubbing your back gently. 

You turn your face to look at him, your eyes red from the numerous tears you’ve already shed, and the ones still trailing down your face. The guilt nearly makes him sick as he stares at you, feeling the slight tremble still from where his hand rests against your back. 

He’d never say it out loud, but he hates the fact they had to leave you, all four of them at once too. He’d fought, argued. He and Simon could have handled it on their own, even him and the two Sergeants would have been sufficient. Anything not to leave you by yourself during their first deployment. 

Despite his attempts, General Shepherd had been insistent that all four of them were necessary for this particular task. 

So, he had been forced to leave you behind on your own. It’s gone about as well as he expected, from the looks of it. He knew the separation would get to you eventually. The stress would grow to be too much. Every day he anticipated the news to come from Kate that you had distressed and your omega had taken over because he wasn’t there to help you. 

Every day he waited for the news that they’d lost you because the brass that put this initiative into place couldn’t understand why taking them all at once was a bad idea. 

Or maybe that was their plan all along. 

He couldn’t stop the conspiratorial thoughts running through his head as their mission dragged on. What if they were doing this on purpose? It wouldn’t be that strange to push the boundaries of what could be tolerated for the purpose of testing just how effective the initiative really could be. But pushing it like that so soon? Sure, he could rationalize it was possible. War could break out at any moment, which would require most military members to leave, to be separated from their packs for months or even years. His own team could be called out at any time for months working to eliminate a target and stop war from breaking out. 

Yet, he can’t help but feel there was something more, something deeper going on. What if they had called away for more nefarious reasons? What if getting you alone had been the reason behind General Shepherd’s insistence that all four of them were necessary for this particular task? He had refused to entertain those dark thoughts for too long, the fear of leaving you alone already itching in the back of his mind from the moment they boarded the plane to leave. 

He hadn’t been able to hide his relief at hearing your voice on the phone. Though you had sounded upset, and rightfully so, his worries had been lessened in knowing you were alright. You would tell them if something had happened. He knows you wouldn’t keep something that serious a secret. If someone had hurt you, or had tried to hurt you, you would tell one of them. 

Even though he trusts you, he does plan to speak to Dr. Keller more in depth later to ensure everything went as fine as she seemed to imply it did. Obviously their absence has been hard on you, but he needs to make sure you really will be alright, that you will be able to come back from the obvious distress this has caused you. 

***

You finally release your constricting hold on Kyle as the car pulls up outside the barracks. Even with them back, it still doesn't feel like home anymore, not after such sacred space was invaded so easily, so nonchalantly. Kyle climbs out of the car, setting you on your feet on the ground. You look between him and John, realizing Ghost and Johnny are still in the car. Your stomach falls as you realize what they're about to say, tears gathering in your eyes again.

“We still have some things we need to do.” John says, reaching towards you. 

You have the momentary urge to flinch from his touch, but you let his hand cup your cheek. “You're leaving me again.” You say, your voice breaking. 

John almost looks guilty. He almost looks upset by your visible turmoil. His hand drops from your cheek to your back, turning you towards the barracks. Your stomach twists as he guides you inside, the fear of someone being inside spiking. You know you're safe with John, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but you'd have to play dumb if they did catch someone inside. You’d have to act like you didn’t know someone had entered before, like you had been unaware of anything going on. That might almost be worse than telling them the truth. 

You inhale as he stops in front of your door, still closed from when you'd left with Dr. Keller. There's no chemical burn of scent blockers, just your scent in the air, and John's scent coming off him as he stands next to you. 

“We won't be long. Maybe an hour at most, and we'll only be across base. We'll come back and we can get lunch before our afternoon meeting. Then we'll just have reports to do, and you can sit in my office while I work on those, okay?” He says. 

Your brows pinch as you try to hold in your tears. You want to tell him, you want to reveal what happened, beg him not to leave you alone here again, but you can't. You can't face that shame, the disappointment you know he'll show on his face at the knowledge that you let that happen. You willingly left with a stranger without telling anyone. You let someone invade your pack's space so easily. They were gone for a week and you screwed everything up. 

“Tomorrow we'll spend the day together. All of us. I promise.” He says wiping the tear that slides down your cheek. 

Even though they're back, you still don't have them. 

You inhale shakily before nodding. “Yeah. Fine.”

John's thumb brushes your cheek for a moment before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You watch his back retreat as he leaves the barracks, leaving you alone again. You think back to when they’d left you, watching his back as he boarded the plane to be taken from you. You stare at the door as the cars drive off, a cold chill running down your spine. What if General Shepherd is still here? What if they're going to meet with him? What if he tells them he met with you while they were gone and they had no idea? 

Maybe you should have been honest with them from the start. 

You stare at your closed door, your hands shaking. What if there's someone inside? What if someone is waiting to take their revenge for you destroying the cameras. What if they put new ones up? 

You should have opened the door while Price was here so you could have at least screamed when someone would hear you. You back away from your door slowly, deciding to wait in the rec room. At least there you might have a chance. You could break a window and run, or at least have a higher chance of making it to a door. 

Would anyone help you? Would anyone come if you screamed? What if they’re all in on it? 

You're shaking as you sink onto the couch, sitting so you can see into the hallway. You want to see them coming so you can prepare yourself, or at least give yourself a chance to make an escape before it’s too late. 

You run through all the things Ghost has taught you in your head as you sit and wait, the minutes dragging by painfully slow. You can feel every second, though that may just be the anxiety and fear pulsing within you. You wish you could sleep, you wish you could relax, you wish you could do anything to make the time go by faster, but yet you remain hypervigilant, staring so hard you flinch at every little shadow your brain convinces you is moving. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, tense and coiled, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. It can’t be more than an hour as John promised, yet it feels like a lifetime before you hear movement. 

You hold your breath as the barracks door opens, boots thudding with every footstep coming down the hall. You nearly whimper when a figure rounds the corner, before you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Ready for lunch, kitten?” Johnny asks, standing in the doorway of the rec room. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, your hands still clenched into fists. You're breathing hard, your entire body tense. You know you're reaching dangerous territory. Any more panic, you may start distressing. What a welcome home for them, coming back to a distressed omega. They're probably exhausted, and here you are making a scene. 

Hands close around yours. Warm, calloused hands apply gentle pressure, slowly uncurling your fingers. Your hands are shaking, trembling just slightly. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, kneeling in front of you. When he moved, you're not sure. 

“I-I'm not...” You start, your voice shaking. 

“Ye need tae eat.” He counters, as if he had read your mind, expected the answer.  

He's right. You're beginning to feel it gnawing in your stomach, something deeper than the anxiety. With all the stressing you've been doing, you know you need to eat something. Being hungry is not helping that any, either. 

“I don't want to go to the mess.” You say quickly, the words almost mushing together incoherently. “Too much.” 

Johnny sits back, staring at you for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Alright. That's fair. I'll let the lads know.”

He stands up, leaving you alone in the rec room again. You listen to his footsteps fade, the door opening and closing for a moment. You hold your breath, practically on the edge of your seat. There's no reason they would make you go to the mess. You've eaten in the barracks many times before. 

You blame your worry on your hunger. You know omegas don't do well when hungry. Omegas don't do well being uncomfortable in general. 

Saying these last few days have been uncomfortable for you is a bit of an oversimplification. 

Footsteps echo down the hallway, a familiar hulking figure approaching the rec room. You never thought there would come a time when you would feel relief upon seeing Ghost. Yet here you are, the tension easing from your shoulders as he steps into the rec room. 

“They're grabbing us food.” He says, moving to sit in his usual spot in the chair facing the door. He sighs as he sinks into the cushions, and you can only imagine how tired he must be. 

And here you are making things worse. 

“You're stressed.” He says, staring at you. His eyes are still painted black beneath his mask, adding to the eerie vibe coming off of him. You're beginning to understand why they call him Ghost. “Stinking up the barracks.” He says, pulling out his phone. 

“Oh.” You say quietly, sinking in on yourself as you sit there. “Sorry.” 

You pick nervously at your sweatshirt as you wait for the others to return, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as they enter the rec room, food in hand. 

Johnny sits you on his lap as you eat, making sure you get your fill, likely aware that you haven't eaten yet today thanks to Dr. Keller telling on you. It's quiet in the room as everyone eats, even the TV off. They all look tired and tense, and you can only imagine what happened during their time away. The things they did, the things they saw. You wonder how much blood is on their hands now, hands that have touched you, hands that are holding you. 

They can just go off and kill people and come back and act like nothing has happened. 

You could almost laugh at how psychotic it all sounds. 

This is your life now. This is your new normal. 

“We have a quick meeting. Shouldn't take too long.” John says as they stand, Johnny placing you gently on your feet. 

You tug at your sweatshirt, avoiding his gaze. They're leaving you again. They won't be far this time, but still. You just want to curl up in bed with them and lay there until you feel safe again. 

Tomorrow, John had said. Tomorrow they will be yours. 

It might have been easier if you hadn't been told they were coming home until tomorrow.

***

You tense under the blanket as the door closes, quiet footsteps approaching your position on the couch. There's a quiet sigh as a figure drops to a knee in front of you, their figure visible as a shadow beneath the blanket. 

“Can you breathe under there?” 

You slowly lower the blanket just enough to peek over the top of it. John is kneeling next to the couch, his brows furrowed in a frown. You're in his office, having shut yourself in there while they went into the meeting. John had made you swear not to go snooping as he’d let you inside. You had promised, as you still feel no desire to dig through the likely classified files that were locked in the cabinets and on his computer. Instead you had parked yourself on his couch, burrowing under a blanket that smelled faintly of petrichor and tobacco smoke. 

“There she is.” He says as you peek above the blanket, gently running a hand over the top of your head. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?” 

“You left me.” You say quietly, trying not to burst into tears and confess everything. 

“I know.” He says, wiping the tear that slides down your cheek. “But we came back, just like we promised.” 

He is right in that regard, yet you can’t help the tears as they slide down your cheeks. The ache in your chest that had started to build over the last few days is still present despite their return. Everything is wrong. They feel too far away, too distant. Nothing is safe anymore, nothing is sacred, and they’re just acting like everything is back to normal. 

“Would you like to kneel for me?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek. 

You’re tempted to say no. For the first time you feel wary of your alpha. What kinds of things would you admit in your dazed state? If he questioned you, would you give him enough to put together that something had happened and you’ve been trying to hide it from him? Maybe it would help, though. It would at least ease some of the tension that’s built up. Maybe it could pull you back from the edge of distress you’ve been dangling over for almost two days. Maybe he’ll accidentally scruff you and you can forget the whole thing happened. 

The dark thought sends a chill down your spine. 

“Okay.” You say, pushing yourself up to sit. 

John offers you a hand, helping you up off the couch. You don't want to let go of his hand, you don't want to be parted from him. The omega in the back of your mind is screaming at you to get close to him and stay there for the rest of time. If he leaves you again...you're not sure you can handle it. 

He settles in his desk chair, getting everything he needs ready. He'll work on his reports while you kneel, a familiar position, a familiar situation. You've done this before several times. You're not sure why you're suddenly nervous. 

You set the pillow down, dropping to your knees beside him. The chair creaks as he shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. You fight the urge to flinch, to move away as he gently strokes his hand over your hair. You've done this before, he's done this before. You're not sure why your heart is thudding in your chest. 

His hand slowly moves lower, slipping closer and closer to your neck. You can't help it as your shoulders come up, preventing him from gripping the back of your neck. He moves his hand away as you get defensive, his chair turning slightly as he leans down. 

“It's alright, sweetheart. It's just me.” He soothes you, his hand returning to the top of your head. “I know it's been a while, but I promise I remember what to do.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp out, trying to relax. “I don't...I don't know...”

You do know. Your brain keeps flashing back to General Shepherd, his hand tugging down your collar, so close to your neck. How easily he could have scruffed you, if he'd wanted to. You would have known if he had, but he could have done anything to you during the time he had control. 

“You're stressed, all worked up.” John says, still stroking the top of your head, trying to soothe you. “It's been a long week for all of us. It was a risk, sending all four of us at once. A stupid risk that shouldn't have been taken.”

You're pulled from your emotional state at the slight hint of anger in his voice. It hadn't taken you long to figure out they likely were all sent in order to get you alone. It would have been impossible to get you out of the barracks and put cameras up with even one of them here. Did he know about Shepherd's visit? Had he put two and two together and figured out they sent all four of them on purpose? You figured he'd be angrier if he knew about what you did, about what they did to you. He would be blazing a path straight to General Shepherd if your alpha knew he got so close to you, put you in that kind of situation. 

At least, you hope he would. There’s still that fear in the back of your mind, that worry that it was all a test and you’ve failed. Would they send you back to the institute? Would they break the bonds and send you to a different pack? Would they send you out on your own, leaving you to fend for yourself until some other alpha crossed your path and decided you were worth it? Does he know you’re lying to him, hiding the truth of what happened while he was away? Is he waiting for you to confess, biding his time to see how long you try to hide it? 

You want to tell him. You really do, but you can't bring yourself to get the words out. You can't bring yourself to confess here on your knees before your alpha. You feel guilty, like a sinner, yet the shame keeps the words trapped inside. 

He continues to soothe you, sliding his hand further down until he reaches your neck. You force yourself to relax, knowing you need this. You need your alpha to take control. You need him to ease the heavy weight on your shoulders, even if he doesn't know what he's lifting. 

You close your eyes as his fingers press into your neck, your brain quieting to a hum as you begin to slip into the back of your mind. You feel the rush of endorphins as your brain begins to calm itself, quieting the storm that's been raging for almost a week. You begin to go numb, relaxing into John's hold as he eases you into a quiet, meditative state. He begins to work on his reports as he holds you, your mind floating off somewhere else, somewhere safer where no one can break in and hurt you, somewhere where the barracks are still secure and safe and your pack never left.

Somewhere where there's no initiative, and your pack picked you because they wanted you, because you were a good omega who did as she was told and didn't make stupid mistakes that put everyone in danger. 

The last of the tension leaves your body, your mind distant from the present moment. You're safe with your alpha. He'd never let anything happen to you. None of your pack would let anything happen to you.

The thought continues to repeat in your head like a mantra as you relax, held up by the strong pillar that is your alpha. 

***

“Report's done, Captain.” Kyle says, placing the stack of papers on John's desk. 

“Thanks.” John sighs, grabbing them. 

Kyle turns to look at you, fast asleep on the couch. “You want me to take her?” He asks, the formality easing between them as they settle into being a pack and not a task force on duty anymore. 

John stares at you, curled up on his lumpy old couch. It’s getting late, or at least it feels that way. You’ve been out, sleeping peacefully on his couch since he eased you out of your kneeling position. You’d clung to him tightly, and for a moment he’d considered holding you, letting you sit with him as you dozed, but he knows he can’t risk you seeing something you shouldn’t. So he’d eased you onto the couch, having to peel your hands away from his shirt. He’d nearly given up and let you keep hold of his shirt before you finally relaxed and released him. 

“Would probably be more comfortable.” He rubs his eyes, feeling the call of sleep himself. He wonders how much you managed to sleep while they were gone. You look tired, though you’ve been looking tired since your heat ended. He needs to rest himself, but he wants to get these reports done so he can keep his promise for tomorrow. “I'll be in there soon.”

“Don't work too hard.” Kyle says, moving to lift you off the couch. 

“No promises.” 

Kyle shakes his head before scooping you up off the couch, blanket and all. You’re still sound asleep as he carries you, pausing in the hallway for a moment. He had just been instinctually going to his room, but would you be more comfortable in your own room? You probably have spent the last week shut inside your space. It might be nice to spend some time somewhere else. 

He takes you into his room, laying you on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable. He needs to shower and throw his clothes in the wash, but he doesn’t want to leave you and risk you waking up without someone there. You’re sleeping deeply, though, not even stirring as he tucks the blanket up higher around you. He doesn't want to crawl into bed smelling like gunpowder and sweat. That might throw you off too. 

He takes the risk, knowing he can do both tasks quickly. No more than twenty minutes to get himself clean and his dirty clothes in the wash, as he prays you stay asleep and won't start panicking if you wake in a strange place. He had sensed how close you had been to distress, how tense you had been when he held you in the car. It’s been a hard week for you, even harder than it had been for them. 

He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as he finds you still asleep when he returns to his room. You haven't moved at all, still tucked under the blanket from John's office. He gets himself changed and moisturized, rubbing some cream on the bruises that dot his skin. He's going to be sore tomorrow, they all will be, but he knows they won't be doing much. John had already told them tomorrow will be dedicated to spending time with you and helping you recover from the stress of them being gone. He’s silently glad for the break, knowing it could only be a few days before they get called out again. 

John had also told him he’d be pushing harder for one of them to stay whenever he can. He’s not taking this risk again, not if it can be avoided. 

Kyle’s pulling on his sweatpants when you inhale sharply. You're sitting up straight on his bed, eyes wide as you look around in fear. They’re hazy, confusion settling into your mind after going from John’s office to Kyle’s room after kneeling. 

“Hey, hey. It's alright.” Kyle says, moving over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge so he’s in your line of sight. “You're just in my room.”

“Kyle?” You whisper, clarity returning to your gaze as you stare at him. 

“I'm here.” He says. “Just went to take a shower and clean up.”

“Where's John?” You ask, tears gathering in your eyes. 

“Still working on things.” He says, cupping your face. “He'll be in eventually.”

The tears fall from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. They wet his thumbs as he strokes your skin, your body trembling slightly as you sniffle. 

Something’s wrong. He's known it since you latched onto him on the tarmac. The way you'd held onto him like he might disappear, how you looked almost angry when John told you they still had things to do, the way your scent had filled the barracks, bitter with fear and stress. 

Something’s up, something you're not letting them in on. But, to be fair, they had just left you for a week, up and abandoned you to go play heroes. He wouldn't blame you for not telling them anything. The bonds have weakened. He can feel it, beyond just his natural beta senses. 

“What can I do?” He asks quietly, trying to project his scent a bit to help calm you. He doesn't want you distressing, not after holding it together for so long. 

“I...I need...” You inhale shakily, still trembling in his hold. “I don't know.” You whine, the tears falling faster now. 

He pulls you against his chest, holding you as you cry. He feels the tugging in his chest, sympathy for you and what you must be feeling, along with the guilt of knowing they caused this. They did this just with their absence. 

An idea begins to form in his mind as he holds you, something his family used to do when he was younger. 

He pulls away from you, standing up. “Come on. I have an idea.” 

He strips the blankets from his bed before pulling the mattress off the frame. He drags it to the door and out into the hallway before heading down to John's room. You follow behind him, watching him as he opens the door to John’s room, dragging the mattress in and dropping it on the floor. 

“Stay here.” He tells you, heading back out into the hallway.

“What're ye doin’?” Johnny asks, sticking his head out of his door. 

“Grab your mattress and Simon and meet me in Price's room.” Kyle says as he heads down the hallway, ignoring Johnny's further questioning as he makes for John’s office. 

He doesn't bother knocking, walking right in. John blinks at him from behind the desk, and for a moment Kyle wonders if he'd fallen asleep sitting up. It wouldn't be the first time. 

“Come on.” Kyle says, moving to stand in front of his desk. “Finish those tomorrow.”

“They're important, I have to get them done asap.” John counters. 

“Yeah, well I have something more important.” He leans forward at John's questioning stare. “Your omega needs you.” 

John stares at his beta for a moment, and Kyle can see the gears turning in his head, the debate happening, the conflict in his mind. He so rarely sees his alpha, his captain so indecisive for so long. He's usually so quick to act, analyzing a situation and making a decision in mere seconds. 

If only you knew the things you've done by simply existing in their lives. 

John closes the file on his desk, slipping it into the drawer before locking it. Kyle fights the triumphant grin threatening to form on his face as John stands from his chair after shutting his computer off. Kyle makes his way back down the hallway, John following behind after locking his office door. Kyle stops at his room, grabbing his comforter before heading for John’s room. 

Johnny had obviously gotten the idea of what Kyle had in mind, his mattress and John's laid out side by side so the three make one giant bed for them on the floor. He’s already laid out his own comforter and Simon’s, as well as John’s on the mattresses. They probably wouldn’t need blankets for long with their body heat, but the blend of scents will hopefully begin to ease the tempest raging in your mind. 

You’ve parked yourself in the corner, watching it all happen. You seem so small, so lost, so out of place. It's not all that different from when you'd arrived in their lives. Has being gone for a week really reverted things so drastically for you? Has your stress broken the bonds so much that you feel like a stranger amongst them again? 

Kyle steps over the mattresses, approaching you slowly. You look up from where you had been staring off into space, blinking up at him. Your eyes are still red and watery from crying, your arms clutching one of your stuffed bears against your chest. It’s the one John had scented for you, back when they were trying to get you to nest. He wonders if you’ve nested since they left, if that urge is still there, or if that too has faded. 

Kyle doesn’t often feel angry at his job. Not anymore. He doesn’t often question it. It’s what he signed up for, and he does it because someone has to. He chose this life, so he does his best to be a good soldier, to follow orders. Yet, as he stares down at you, he can’t help but feel anger bristling in the back of his mind. He tries to blame it on his instincts, on the fact that a member of his pack is so upset, so distressed at something that’s happened, and he doesn't know what to do to help. 

Yet he knows they were the cause of it, even if it wasn’t their choice directly. Something happened because of them. He tries to rationalize it. This is an experiment, a test to see how well packs will do with omegas, if it has any effect on how well they can do their jobs, if it makes them stronger, or if it weakens them. Those in charge had obviously put little regard in for how it would affect the omegas. They couldn’t have known how you would react, how badly all of them leaving would affect you. Or maybe they did know, and they simply didn’t care.. Perhaps you weren’t the focus of their study, but you were still a variable, you were still an important piece of this puzzle. 

How can they be more effective if their omega is struggling because of their absence? How can they be expected to function like a team now knowing leaving behind their omega will only cause distress for all of them? 

Kyle takes a deep breath, pushing back the anger and the emotions whirling in his own mind. He needs to focus on you right now, focus on helping you relax, helping you get back to where you were before they left you. He’s doing the best he can do right now for you, giving you what you need, even if you don’t realize it’s what you need yet. 

He holds out his hand to you, staying still as you stare at it. It takes you a moment before you slowly begin to move, slipping one of your hands into his. He guides you to the mattress in the middle, Johnny’s mattress, easing you down to sit on it. You glance around as Johnny and John toss pillows onto the mattresses haphazardly, making sure everything is perfect. It’s not a pretty nest, he’d hardly call it a nest at all, but he knows nesting is not necessarily all about looks. It’s about feeling, and right now, he knows you need to feel safe and secure. 

John quickly changes into more comfortable clothes as Kyle stretches out on the mattress, opening his arms to you. You curl up against his side, resting your cheek against his chest. You press your face into his skin, inhaling for a moment before you settle, slowly beginning to relax in his hold. 

Simon enters the room as John settles on Kyle’s other side, closing the door behind him and locking it, securing the five of you inside. Johnny settles on the other side of you, pressing up close against your back. He pulls one of the comforters up around the three of you before he tosses an arm around you, resting his hand on Kyle’s stomach, sandwiching you between the two betas again. 

Simon stands over the makeshift nest, staring down at the four of you. He’s obviously the most uncomfortable with the situation, and still a bit miffed from your lack of greeting on the tarmac. It was his own fault for being so closed off with you for so long. You had instinctively sought out the members of the pack you felt the most connected to, the most comfortable with in your time of such great stress. 

“Aw come on, ye big bastard, get in the bed.” Soap says, snapping Simon out of his reverie. 

Simon shuts the light off, bathing them in near darkness. You tense for a moment as the lights go off before you slowly relax again. Kyle listens to your breaths even out as Simon gets comfortable on the mattress behind Johnny, the four of them settling in around you. 

It's already warm in the room but none of them would even think of complaining. They’re too focused on surrounding you with their scent and their protection, the very thing you need the most. 

NEXT ->

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[formulaaone]

So are we just supposed to forget what that whale girl did just because she's not hating on Logan anymore? That's what you're saying?

Oh no that’s not what I’m saying at all. Sorry I tend to struggle to get my point across.

I will never forget what she did because she dealt irreparable damage to Logan’s reputation. Idk if you’ve seen my post about that months ago, but I already said I don’t trust that girl. Let me be clear on that.

I just think it’s nice that we haven’t heard any hate from her recently. But that doesn’t mean it’s water under the bridge. Because that post of her is one of the reasons why people are attacking Logan until now. I don’t like her. Plain and simple.

Alex and Logan are getting along very well, they seem to be very close and that’s what’s important. But that girl will forever be one of the main drivers of this anti-Logan propaganda and I will never forgive her for that.

[your-turn-to-role]

hi okay i hate sending asks to people without knowing them but you seem kind so im trying: during the break, i’ve been working my way through VM, and i’m at episode 75. my question, because i’ve read some of your more recent meta, is “what’s Percy’s deal?” i know he’s loved by the fandom, but i can’t find myself relating to him, and i find his assertions that he’s the only one with a plan offputting. is there more context you can give to me about percy’s character that explains his motivations?

aww, thank you!

(and yeah, asks like this are totally fine, i totally get that anxiety, good job on sending this!)

i mean, first off, you don't have to like a character everyone else does? if you don't relate to percy you can just, not relate to percy, that's fine

(and to be fair, as much as i love him as a character, i would not want him as a friend, because he's a very flawed person that has a lot to work on, but in fiction those traits are interesting to watch rather than difficult to deal with)

but, percy's deal! the short answer is people generally like him because taliesin's funny and charismatic and he does morally grey right, which is rare and a fun thing to explore (also in his relationships with other people, the entire vex-vax-percy-keyleth square is full of neat parallels and opposites and interesting things and i have whole essays in my head on all six combos there)

i don’t know which posts you’ve read so i’ll link this one here too, just to cover a couple more of the generally unnoticed aspects of his character, and things i like about percy

he’s also far from perfect, as you’ve noted, he does tend to believe he’s the smartest person in any given room, because he’s young and clever and used to being that, which you’re allowed to find off putting, but i will say i find he does that less than a lot of characters of his general archetype? he listens to pike, he listens to keyleth, he listens to vex, he respects when they have more knowledge than him on a particular subject, he’s not above asking for help. and generally most of the arguments he has with keyleth on that subject aren’t him asserting he knows more than her, but more a matter of principles and values (they’re a really interesting pair that way, they have similar backgrounds, both children of royalty running away from the crown, but they’re such opposites. percy is a natural leader who would rather anyone rule than him, keyleth fumbles her way through all of it but sticks to it because she doesn’t want to let anyone down, percy is a pragmatist, keyleth is an idealist, they both are too focused on the big picture but in two completely different ways, i could write a whole other post on this, but to get to my point, they wouldn’t be such good balances for each other if percy didn’t absolutely respect where keyleth is coming from)

for the long answer, i’m gonna break this down into parts and try to get to the core of percy's character and why he is the way he is

(under the cut bc this gets long)

1 - heavy trauma

like... this is the really really big one. percy, at age 17 or 18, had his entire life up to that point completely destroyed. his family was killed, his friends were killed, people he trusted like family (professor anders, who was a more present figure in percy's life than his actual parents) betrayed him and helped the briarwoods, he was imprisoned in his own castle's dungeons and tortured for information, they threw his siblings' bodies in there with him to make a point, cassandra helped him escape but as far as he knew she died helping him. he has two years of his life after that he straight up doesn't remember, his hair turned white from the stress of it. 

trying to go after ripley the first time didn't work, he was captured and left to starve in a prison cell, for the first few months of travelling with vox machina he genuinely believed it wasn't real, because realistically no one was gonna come save him, this was just a hallucination of his dying mind. returning to whitestone he was forced to confront the fact that literally everyone he ever knew growing up (with the sole exception of archibald) was either dead or working with the briarwoods, and even after retaking the city there's a lot that can never be repaired. 

and he's just... never really dealt with any of this? like, he gave vox machina the technical details of what happened to him in the briarwood arc, because they needed to know that information, but the first time he actually started processing his trauma, the first time he admits it out loud to anyone, is the final episode of campaign one. before then it had been occasional snide or handwavey comments, and like, he'll let himself feel the anger over it (in the beginning of the story he encouraged it, because then he didn't have to feel anything else), but he's never processed the grief, never admitted to himself how badly that affected him

which means he's got a lot of pent up emotions in there that he just keeps burying, and sometimes they come out in unhealthy ways. having so much taken from him also makes him really motivated to keep the things he does have - he’s got some deep set abandonment issues and takes any kind of betrayal really badly, don’t know if you’ve got up to the scanlan stuff by the time i post this, but that’s something to keep in mind as to why he acts the way he does there. (and it’s not more explicit because percy was raised nobility, keeping a brave face through anything is part of who he is, he tends to cover emotions he’s insecure about in snark or indifference or, for the intense ones, anger, because those are the things he thinks he’s allowed to show, but the real emotions show up occasionally, when they’re particularly strong, or if you’re reading between the lines. he really does care a lot about vox machina)

2 - legacy and loyalty. 

speaking of nobility, it's hard to do a character study on percy without mentioning whitestone and the house of de rolo. this is the number one thing to percy. he was raised to respect title and name, and most importantly, raised to respect the people he represents - both the townsfolk of whitestone and also percy's ancestors and future de rolo generations. whitestone is more important than any one life, he has a duty to protect and serve it, and that comes before any personal wants he may have. it's also important to him for family reasons - he was a pretty lonely child, but he loved reading about the history of the city, all the weird ghost stories whitestone had even before the briarwoods. it probably made him feel more connected to all of that, this is the place he belongs. and after his family dies, it becomes even more important, because this is his connection to them. the soul of a city lives as long as its people, by protecting what's left, he keeps a little bit of what came before

(and also in just tidbits to understand percy's character, he sees all cities and man-made things the same way - in a world where some races live for centuries or millennia, their history exists mostly by word of mouth, you can physically talk to people who were around 500 years ago and get their take on things - humans don't have that, they get 100 years at most, so the things they build are vital to their heritage. this is how you keep people alive long after they're gone, by honouring what they created. and especially for someone so concerned with legacy and history, percy literally says abandoning westruun would be blasphemy, because the place people grew up is important, yes it's better that they live, but letting the city be abandoned and destroyed would be an irreparable act of violence.) 

this is the number one thing on percy's mind when evaluating anything about himself, where do i come from, and what do i leave behind? which is a question that has a lot of moments to be tested, because of my next point...

3 - pragmatism and terrible thoughts

when it comes down to it, percy is a very ends justify the means kind of person. he finds it very easy to square away any kind of collateral damage as long as it gets him to his end goal. see: trial of the take, where he's fine to catch his friends in the blast radius of a new bomb design because he's so excited that it worked, preparing to fight vorugal and resigning himself to potentially having to kill innocent people to kill the dragon (he wasn’t okay with that, but he would do it), also his conscious decision to let ripley go, knowing she would lead to the deaths of thousands because it was her or the briarwoods and he wanted revenge 

(this is by his own admission his lowest point and worst mistake, because as mentioned, he thinks about the consequences of his actions near constantly, he knew she would reproduce his guns and they would lead to a whole new form of warfare. but in that moment he was just blinded by grief and way too emotionally burnt out and did not have the capacity to care. and he spends the rest of the campaign and honestly probably the rest of his life trying to make up for that one)

he's also, by his own admission, someone who has a lot of bad thoughts he doesn't act on, he's very clever and creative and ideas for ways to use those skills for violence or vengeance come easily to him (like, percy as an actual villain would be ripley but worse, ripley's intelligent but a very direct point a to point b kind of thinker, percy has multiple times criticised her lack of imagination, a percy with her lack of morals would be terrifying)

(honestly this is why i was seeing percy so much in taliesin's narrative telephone, because "sometimes i wake up having dreamed of a terrible thing, and normally i just file that away for things that i would never do, because i wanna maintain friendships, but then LIAM did something to me." and the whole being absolutely fine with throwing the rest of the cast under the bus just to enact revenge on liam was quintessential percy)

but we’ve seen the pragmatic anti hero everywhere, anyone can be a terrible person, and have reasons for it, that alone doesn’t make an interesting character (at least not for me)

what does, is my last point

4 - trying to be good

i still vividly remember when i first watched campaign one, being really surprised at how much percy asked for help? like, i went in expecting the usual full on demon possession storyline, i expected percy to hide how bad it was, i expected him to make poor decisions without realising he was doing it until he was in too deep to back out

and like, he had some of that. but at the first sign of things being out of his control, he asked his friends for help. he let pike greater restoration him. he told vax to kill him if things ever got too out of hand. he was really, genuinely scared about what he got himself into and what he might do because of it. there was never a point where he pretended, even to himself, that making a deal with orthax was okay. the minute he realised there was a demon involved, he was working to stop it. and yeah, by the time he realised it was already a bit too late, there were already some things out of his control (and also taliesin kept having the worst rolls against the whitestone corruption which was really fun on a meta level), which is how things got as bad as they did. but honestly, all things considered, there’s very little to criticise about the way percy handled himself in the briarwood arc. 

and he keeps doing that, trying to get better. he struggles with it, he struggles a lot, against his anger issues, against all the trauma, against the fact that he really doesn’t want to be here and things would be so much easier if he were dead. but he recognises he holds grudges too easily, so he starts actively trying to forgive those who’ve wronged him (this is something he and vex have in common, and something they were working on together before they were together, which probably helped a lot in getting them to that point as well). he recognises he makes poor decisions when he’s angry, so he starts learning to step back in those moments and leave the decisions to someone else. he has never not owned up to his mistakes, he takes responsibility for everything he’s done, and if he notices a problem he can’t solve himself, he asks for help.

and i find that fun to explore. like, percy’s been likened to hamlet in the actual show, and i was the kid who got super obsessed with hamlet when i was like 15 because i was in that same mental space of suicidal self hatred and existential melancholy but also thinking i was the smartest person in any given room and being too young to have gotten over the arrogance that makes you ignore everyone else’s needs for the sake of indulging your own problems. and then i got older and realised there are smarter ways to go about things, like having empathy and appreciating the light in the world and not being a dickhead to people because it makes you feel better, and maybe hamlet can be justified and in the wrong at the same time. and while there’s some stuff i won’t spoil for you, percy after ripley kills him is definitely starting to learn that, which you rarely see in the hamlet archetype, bc everyone’s like “ah yes so Deep so Important who cares what bad things this person did they had Trauma and are Clever”

well, percy cares about the bad things he did, and cares about not doing those anymore. so like, he’s still a disaster of a person bc he’s like 23 and no one has their life together at 23, especially not someone in percy’s situation, and honestly i find that fun to watch as well bc i like watching characters make stupid mistakes and do stuff i’d never approve of in real life, and as i mentioned at the start, taliesin makes captivating and funny characters. but yeah, that’s generally where percy’s at, most of the time

[neonlights92]

CHANGE: Chapter IV

When the feud between EXO and Bangtan escalates beyond control Bangtan’s leader Kim Taehyung sees only one solution: a marriage of convenience between a member of Bangtan and a member of EXO. Park Jimin was not born into Bangtan but has slowly become an intrinsic part of Taehyung’s trusted inner circle.

And that is how Jimin finds himself married to you; EXO leader Xiumin’s little sister.  You’re not like any other woman he’s ever met before; fierce, angry and talented with a switchblade. When you first meet Jimin you’re left angry and disappointed.

Except slowly, things change. And despite yourself, you find your heart warming to the idea of falling in love.

A/N: ENJOY!

WARNINGS: Language and smut

Thanks to @aestheticallydestruction​ for the moodboard, as always!

You felt horrible. 

It had been three days since you’d let your mouth run away from you.  Three days since you’d done irreparable damage to your relationship with Jimin.  Three days since he’d even looked at you, let alone spoken to you. 

You tried to distract yourself. 

But it didn’t work.  Not really anyway.  

In fact, all you could think about was your husband.

All you could think about was the look on his face just after you’d hurt him. 

You were right.  Jimin was so different to any other man you’d ever met.  He was willing to be vulnerable and open. 

You wanted to let him in. 

Consequences be damned, you wanted to learn to love your husband. 

He was beautiful and complicated, and he was warm.  Something you’d never dealt with before. 

“Y/N.  You seem distracted.” 

Your brother had called you into his office earlier that day, and you watched him from across the deep mahogany of his desk.

“I’ve got things on my mind,” You tried to brush it off, “What is it you wanted, Xiumin?” 

His eyes narrowed.  Your brother was many things, and a good reader of people was one of them. 

“What is it?”  There was a beat, “Jimin?”

The truth was that this was all Xiumin’s fault to begin with. He’d somehow convinced you that to love Jimin was more dangerous than anything else you’d ever done. 

And maybe he was right.

You were emotionally crippled.  A life of hardships, and a brother as cold as your own taught you that love came at a very high price.  You didn’t understand the way your heart turned when you saw Jimin.  Or the way one smile from him could light up your entire day. 

But you knew that things were changing.  Your feelings towards your husband were no longer angry or bitter.  They were something else entirely. 

And it was time you started to accept that. 

“What is it you want, Xiumin?” 

Your brother took a deep breath.  His mouth twitched. 

“We need to talk about Bangtan.” 

Since your marriage to Jimin, your brother barely spoke business to you.  It had been months since either of you sat down to talk about the state of things.  And though you’d always been his right hand woman, you assumed that had to do with who you were married to. 

Things were different, now.

“What is it?” 

His eyes moved across your face carefully, as if contemplating what to say next.  Suddenly you felt like Xiumin was treating you like a wild animal; keeping you at a safe distance because he wasn’t sure how you would react. 

You cleared your throat, “Well?”

His eyes darkened.  Something in his face hardened.  Your stomach dropped.  

What was this all about? 

“I know I forced you into this marriage.”  He started, voice low and gravelly.  This was his business tone.  This was how he spoke when things were about to get serious, “And when I agreed to the marriage, I told you it was for the sake of the family.  That this was what was best for EXO.  An alliance with Bangtan.” 

You nodded once, sharply. 

“It is what’s best-”

“Let me finish,” He stopped you, “Y/N.  The reason I agreed to this marriage was for one reason, and one reason alone.” 

He licked his lips, waited a beat, and then sighed heavily. 

“We are going to take back what is ours.” 

The words seemed to drill a hole right through your heart.

“What?” 

“I wanted someone on the inside,” He gestured towards you, “Now you’re Jimin’s wife.  One of the special seven.  He’s as close to Taehyung as we can get.  Y/N, I want you to help me bring down Bangtan from the inside, out.”

Suddenly it felt like your chest was about to burst.  You blinked at your brother.

“Xiumin what are you talking about?  That’s crazy.” 

“It’s perfect, actually,” He brought out a file and handed it to you, “In there is the plan that Baekhyun and I have spent the last three months working out.  With your help, EXO will take back not only Gangnam, but our rightful place as the most powerful family in Seoul.” 

Your fingers shook as you stared down at the file he’d handed you.  Your brother wanted you to betray your own husband.

The man he’d forced you to marry.

The man you were pretty sure meant more to you than anybody else you’d ever known.

You felt something like tears crawl up the back of your throat.  Something in your gut twisted. 

It felt like everything was moving in slow motion.

“Xiumin… He trusts me,” You shook your head, “I can’t… It wouldn’t be right.” “Right?”  Your brother arched a dark, angry brow, “Bangtan is the enemy Y/N.  You’ve known that from the beginning.  They killed our parents.  They left us orphans.  They took Chanyeol away from me… My best friend.  They’ve taken almost everything from me, from our family.  This is our vengeance.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You croaked out, mouth dry, “When you asked me to marry Jimin… Why didn’t you tell me that this was your plan all along?” 

His eyes darkened, “I couldn’t risk anybody else finding out.” 

“I’m your sister.” 

“EXO comes first.”  He answered sharply, “You’ve always known that.”

Xiumin had always been cold and calculated.  He’d always been predatory and intimidating.

But you’d never been scared of him.

Not until this very moment.  The look in his eyes frightened you to your core.

“Xiumin…” 

“Don’t tell me you have feelings for him, Y/N.”  Your brother’s mouth twisted into a scowl, “I told you from the very beginning.  This marriage has always been about power.” 

There was a long stretch of silence between the two of you.  Something in your chest tightened.  

“It will mean war.” 

“Then so be it.”

The steely ice in your brothers eyes made your blood run cold.  

“I don’t-” “This isn’t up for discussion,” He shook his head, “Read the file and we’ll talk next week.” 

That was it.  The end of the conversation.

You felt your heart drumming in your ears.  Your fingers were numb.  

But you forced your face into an impassive mask.  He couldn’t know.  This wasn’t your brother staring back at you.  This was Xiumin.   This was EXO’s leader.

Now you knew why so many feared him.

After a moment you nodded, “Okay.”

The word was quiet, but he heard it. 

As you stepped out of his office, and into the crisp Seoul morning air, you felt something wet touch your cheeks.  For a moment you wondered if it was raining.  You brought a hand to your skin to wiped it away.

And then you realised. 

You were crying.

It had been almost fifteen years since the last time you cried, at your parent’s funeral.  On that day, Xiumin had told you that tears were for the weak.  That you could never let your enemy know where your weakness was. 

And you’d kept that close to your heart.  Had always believed your brother’s words. 

Except now, everything was different.

And you had no clue what you were going to do next.

//

That evening, you sat in one of the studies in your home, reading over the file Xiumin had given you.  It detailed everything, from your marriage to Jimin, the gaining of your husband’s trust… To receiving vital information from Jimin. 

Then the plan went on.  How Xiumin wanted to use that information to strike Taehyung where he least expected it.

His wife. 

Xiumin was going to kill Kim Taehyung’s wife. 

Your blood ran cold, and you remembered the woman from the party.  Smiling at you, like you were friends.  Like you could trust her. 

There were few things in this life you regretted.  You’d killed so many times.  You’d watched people die right in front of you, and never felt an ounce of remorse.

But this? How could you do this?

Your heart turned over angrily in your chest.  

What would you do?  If you betrayed Jimin, like your brother wanted you to, then innocent people would die.  Bangtan would be ruined, and Taehyung’s wife would lose her life. 

But if you didn’t do as Xiumin told you…

That would be it.  You would have turned your back on him.

EXO would no longer be your family.

Your mind was spinning when there was a soft knock on the study door.

“Mrs Park?” Your pulse jumped.  It was your maid, Rose.

“Yes?”

“May I come in?” 

You stuffed the file into the top drawer of your desk and locked it, putting the key away in your bra, where you kept all of your invaluables.

“Yes.  Please.” The door clicked open and you were greeted by a bow from Rose and then a tight smile. 

“You have a visitor.” Your eyes widened.  Could it be your brother?

What would you tell him? 

“I do?  I don’t recall making plans.”

Rose nodded, “It is Mrs Jung.  Hoseok’s wife.” 

Oh.  You felt yourself deflate, slightly. 

“Alright,” You licked your bottom lip, and stood, “Bring her into the parlour.”

You wondered what Hoseok’s wife was doing here.  The two of you had shared pleasantries at the party the other night - but apart from that, you’d barely spoken to her.

You remembered the first time you’d met, how she seemed frightened of you, in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. 

You supposed that’s what you’d always wanted, really.  To be feared. 

So why had it hurt you when she’d been afraid?

You stepped into the parlour, and there she was, sat on one of the armchairs and drinking a cup of tea Rose had no doubt prepared for her.  You smiled as she caught your gaze.

“Good evening,” You bowed slightly, “What a pleasant surprise, Mrs Jung.”

“Please.  Call me ___.”

“Okay, ___.”  You came to sit beside her, and your smile widened slightly, “What brings you here?” 

She pursed her lips, “I wanted to talk about Jimin.” Your heart turned over.  It felt like you were unraveling. 

“You did?” 

“I saw the two of you - the other night, at the engagement party.  I know Taehyung’s wife already spoke to you but… I wanted to give my two cents.” You watched her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.  After a moment, she cleared her throat, setting the cup of tea to one side. 

“When I first met Hoseok, I thought I could never love him.”

The words felt far too personal; stifling, almost.  You shifted. 

“He was so hard on the outside - like a clam that refused to open,” She swiped her tongue across her lips and tucked some hair behind her ears, “And at first, I was convinced we’d spend the rest of our lives in a loveless marriage.  How many couples in our world feel the same?  But eventually… He let me in.  And it was the most beautiful thing.  You see, sometimes we can be our own worst enemies when it comes to love.  Vulnerability is scary, but it's also rewarding.  Trusting Hoseok scares the shit out of me, but I know that every day, when I come to bed, I’ve got someone that’s always fighting my corner.  I love him so much that sometimes it feels like I might burst.”  Her eyes traced your features carefully, “And the truth is… I want the same for you and Jimin.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“What?”

“I saw the way you looked at one another the other night,” She bit her lip, “And I hope it’s not presumptuous of me to say but - I think there’s something there.” There was a beat of silence, and then she asked, “Am I wrong?”

Your mind was racing.  Everything felt like it was caving in on you. 

You’d never said it out loud.  Never really even admitted it to yourself… That Park Jimin meant far more to you than he ever should have.

You cleared your throat, mind whipping back to the stupid file, in your stupid drawer.  You couldn’t do it.  Hadn’t even really considered it for a second, if you were being honest with yourself. 

“No.”  You shook your head and met her soft gaze, “You’re not wrong, ___.  I think I really like him.  I might even love the bastard.”

Her smile broke out into a wide grin, and she leaned forward, wrapping you in a hug that warmed you down to your very toes.  You reacted awkwardly, trying to copy her movements, but she just held on to you, like your reaction wasn’t strange at all. 

You could count on one hand, the amount of times you’d been well and truly hugged. 

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”  She asked as she pulled away, and you noticed she was crying, “Damn it.”  She wiped a tear away, “Fucking pregnancy hormones.” You laughed at that and nodded, “You’re right.  It is wonderful.  He’s wonderful.”

And now it was time for you to make things right.

//

Later on that night, when ___ had finally gone home, advising you to speak to your husband, you found yourself waiting outside the door to his study.

It had been three days since you’d spoken to him.  

He’d slunk away to the wing of the house you never really ventured to, burying himself in work and sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms.

You’d checked with Rose that he was alright - that was eating at least, and sleeping somewhat.  She told you (in secret, of course) that he’d done the same.

So that had to mean he didn’t completely hate you.

You took a deep breath, and gathered all the courage you had.  All the courage it took to raid warehouses, and shoot guns, and handle a knife so well it earned you the nickname Switchblade.

This was it. 

You rose a hand to the door, and knocked, once.

After a moment, Jimin’s gruff reply came, “Come in.”

You opened the portal, and you noticed his surprise the moment he saw it was you.

“Oh.  Y/N.”  His hair was messy and unkempt, and his eyes were searching, “I thought it might have been Rose.” “It’s not.”  You answered, obviously, “Can I come inside?” He nodded, standing abruptly and coming round to the other side of his desk.  You stepped inside and closed the door behind you, never once moving your eyes from his.

He sighed heavily, “I know it’s been a weird few days-” “Let me talk.”  You interrupted almost sharply, walking towards him until he was right in front of you.  You ignored the warmth in your chest at his closeness, and reminded yourself that this was about making things right with the man who had so unceremoniously stolen your heart. 

“Okay.”  He whispered, and you felt your heart wilt at the look on his face. 

He seemed worried.  Like you might be angry with him.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” You started, eyes refusing to disconnect from his gaze, “It was wrong of me to assume that a kiss could solve everything.  You’ve been so kind to me Jimin and I… I’m emotionally constipated.  That’s the truth.  Nobody has ever taught me how to deal with feelings… And I’m scared.  Of you.”

He took a deep breath, and you felt your hands shake as they came to rest on his chest.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Y/N.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nodded, slowly, “Yeah, I know.  That’s the scary part.”

His eyes dropped to your lips, and you leaned in ever so slightly, waiting for him to make the first move. 

“I like you Jimin.”  You whispered, when his mouth brushed against yours, “In a way I’ve never liked anyone else.  Please. ��Kiss me.” And so, he did.

He pressed his lips against yours, and pulled you into his arms, and your body thrummed to life at his touch.  Jimin was always such a dichotomy - strong and gentle, soft and hard.  Everything you wanted, and everything you hadn’t even known you needed. 

You’d told him you liked him, and that was probably a lie.  You didn’t like him, because like didn’t set your heart ablaze the way one kiss from him did.

You were in love with Park Jimin.

“I’m sorry I avoided you,” He apologised after he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “I was being stubborn.” You pressed a hand to his cheek and shook your head, “It doesn’t matter.  We’re here, now.”

He moved his lips down towards your neck, suckling on the sensitive skin there, and you keened towards him, feeling a heat bubble in the pit of your stomach.  You hadn’t had sex since your wedding night, and suddenly you were angry at yourself for having held back for long, when your husband was so willing to give you everything you wanted.

“Wanna make you mine again,” He whispered against your skin, thrusting against you harshly, “Is that okay, Princess?” “I’m already yours.”  You groaned, and he grunted before moving his hands to button of your jeans and moving them down your legs, along with your underwear.

He swiped a thumb across your slit, “Shit.  You’re so wet.” You preened at his words, feeling yourself glow with adoration for the man holding you in his arms. 

“C’mere.” He pulled his own trousers down, and slid inside of you, filling you up until you were aching.

“Jimin,” You moaned and he nodded, kissing you again so hotly you felt like you might faint.

“I know baby girl,” He grunted, thrusting inside of you, “All mine, yeah?” “All yours.”  You answered breathlessly, not even caring that you were both still wearing shirts, or that he was fucking you on his desk.

All that mattered was that Jimin was yours and you were his and things were starting to make sense. 

He slipped a hand between your thighs, strumming against your most sensitive part, in a way that caused your head to spin.  When you came, he let himself climax; spilling inside of you and moaning your name in a way you would fantasize about for the rest of your life.

“Shit.”  He muttered, pulling out of you and helping you clean up, “Sorry about that.  I don’t know what came over me.”

You pulled up your trousers and shook your head, wrinkling your nose and smiling, “Fuck.  I really enjoyed that, Jimin.  Maybe I should apologise more often.” He winked, and you felt your heart turn.

You had to tell him about Xiumin’s plan.

//

That evening, Jimin came back to bed, and he made love to you again, this time slowly, in a way that made your heart burst. 

When he finally fell asleep though, you found yourself tossing and turning.

Nothing could settle your mind. 

You’d made your decision of course, to tell Jimin the truth about your brother’s intentions.  

But you couldn’t rest your thoughts.  You kept going through the conversation over and over again.  The moment you told Jimin the truth, you knew that everything would change. 

EXO would no longer be your family.  You would lose Xiumin and Baekhyun - you would lose any semblance of love or loyalty you’d ever had. 

You would be turning your back on everything you’d ever known.

And yet, there was no other option for you.  Your mind was made up.

Eventually, at the crack of dawn, when the rest of the world was waking up, you were finally able to fall asleep.  You dreamt of your brother, and blood and pain, and everything you knew was coming. 

“Y/N.” 

You knew that voice.  Jimin.  Your eyes cracked open, a soft smile on your face at the sound of your husband.  Jimin.

Everything was different now, wasn’t it? You’d bared the truth to him - told him how you felt.  Now he was yours. 

Except when your eyes moved to connect with his, you felt your heart drop down to your stomach.  Your chest clenched. 

He was holding the file.

The file Xiumin had given you. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

Your eyes flickered between what was in his hands and his face.  He was furious.  Like the colour red.  You’d never seen him so angry before.

“Wait - please I can explain!” “Explain how your fucking brother wants to kill Taehyung’s wife?”  He spat the words out like they were acid, and you felt your skin crawl at the tone of his voice, “Or how he’s using you to manipulate me?” 

He tugged a hand through his hair, throwing the file on the ground and running a hand across his face, “Fuck.  I can’t believe this.  I can’t believe I actually believed you when you said you wanted to make things right.  I’m such an idiot-” 

“I did!”  You scrambled up, tugging the sheets with you and feeling tears crawl up your throat.  You were going to cry for Park Jimin again, “Please Jimin you have to listen to me-” 

“Just get out, alright?  Just pack your fucking things and get out, before I do something I’m going to really regret.” The coldness in his voice was like a slap to your face - stinging and angry.

“Jimin please…” “Get out!”  He turned towards you, his face burning with anger, “Get out.  Pack your fucking things, and get out of my goddamn house!” 

He grabbed the file from the floor and without even a second glance, stepped out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut. 

You broke into sobs. 

Love really had been your undoing.

//

[nightmarefueler]

CHANGE YOUR MIND SPOILERS BELOW

SO. I finished the S5 finale. I’ll detail my thoughts about it from shortest to longest.

Obsidian is 100% BABE.

Awesome guest animation from James Baxter there!

The action scenes were actually pretty great this time.

That music while everyone was fighting the Diamond robot sounded like a bona fide RPG track, so I automatically loved it.

Everything about White Diamond was creepy. Everything. Her faces, her possession abilities, the details in her design, FUCKING EVERYTHING.

Though...that leads me to a negative thought about this episode, and really, stories with redemption as the main theme in general. Yes, anyone is capable of redemption as long as they can identify the problems in themselves and put forth the effort to change, no matter how awful they are and no matter how many times they may slip in doing so. However, that doesn’t mean everyone will. You’ve dealt with this, I’ve dealt with this, everyone who’s ever lived long enough to speak their first word has dealt with this--the reality that some people simply will not let themselves be redeemed.

I don’t ask for every villain to be irreparably evil. I don’t ask that any of them pay bloody retribution for their deeds. All I ask is for them to be shown with more humanity, and that means having characters that don’t care about change; ones who would take advantage of another’s willingness to give them a chance; ones who would literally rather die than admit their own faults; and ones who, by the time they realize the scope of what they’ve done, have done so much damage to themselves and/or others that it’s far too late to change even if they wanted to. Sadly, that is just as much a part of humanity as anyone who’s always trying to learn and promote positive growth in themselves, and we can’t ignore the fact that such people exist. Don’t get me wrong, we should still have characters like that, as well, but if we expect everyone who acts horrible to see the light eventually as long as we help them, we’ll only be left with unnecessary hurt and resentment in the end.

As for SU itself... Peridot and Lapis, I definitely believe they would change. Blue and Yellow, as well, since they just needed a nice shove in the right direction. Jasper...I don’t think so. I’ve experienced first-hand how people like her are. People like that try to come back over and over, and as long as you keep letting them in, they’ll just keep perpetuating the cycle no matter how sorry they say they are.

As for WD, well... I could probably believe that someone like her could redeem herself, if I tried really, really hard to believe it. I mean, she has mind control powers that she clearly abuses! Why would she ever need to change for anyone if she can just force everyone else to change for her? I’m not trying to make assumptions from my point of view here, I’m trying to think about the thought process one such person may have.

But on that note, I wanna end with more positive things to say, like:

White’s “reason you suck” speech was PRETTY on the nose there. Maybe not about Steven himself, but in general, that’s a fucking good analysis about people like him that would feel more selfishly about it.

That sequence where White pulled out Steven’s gem was trippy as heck with those double perspectives.

LOL Kamina shades.

[dearmyblank]

Liquor,

I almost went into existential crisis mode last night after discussing a little too long with my mother what exactly an "uh, sure, I guess" is supposed to mean in response to a "will you go on a date with me?"

My mind started jumping through the usual hoops: this was a mistake you're always making the same stupid mistake you're ruining everything he's actually not into you and if he is then you're gonna push him away you're trying too hard everyone knows who you're trying to get with they're anticipating your failure they think you're pathetic he thinks you're pathetic--

But I stopped.

You remember that episode of Bojack, "You Stupid Piece of Shit"? I love that episode, might even be my favorite in the whole show, because it shows an all too relatable view on exactly what's going on in Bojack's head and in doing so, provides insight into why he behaves the way he does. No longer is he just a fictional, washed up Hollywoo(d) celebrity, but a realistic character with a point of connection for I and so many other people; it screamed at me "No! You're not alone! It's okay not to feel okay! But you can't keep doing this to yourself. You can't keep giving in to those thoughts every time they pop up."

So I stopped, and I took a really deep breath, and I thought about it. I didn't shy away from the negative feelings that came up, but I didn't give in to the negative thoughts either. 

"He's actually not into you." Well, recent actions state directly otherwise. If he's changed his mind, then as someone who's already been an open and honest friend for the past 4 years, he would tell me.

"Everyone is expecting you to fail." Not everyone knows me, nor should I view a courtship as a "success" or "failure." The only true failure would lie in irreparably damaging the already existing friendship, which the both of us already agreed that there's not a whole lot either could or would do to warrant such an event.

"He thinks you're pathetic." No, he doesn't. He's a human being who has dealt with his own unique kinds of both wonderful and terrible people. If he thought you were pathetic, he wouldn't be your friend, much less agree to date you.

"You're trying too hard." Well, maybe I am. I wanna change, I wanna be better, but I need to make sure I'm taking a step back every so often to reflect on the intention behind my efforts. Is it towards myself, or is it towards getting you to like me back? These are the things I need to pause on.

"You're ruining everything." No, not this fucking time. I know, you know, everyone knows that I'm bad at relationships, but this time it's different. I'm taking precaution instead of just running into a relationship with someone I hardly know. I'm reflecting on my past actions in relationships and why I behaved that way to begin with. I'm trusting myself, for once, because I know I am capable of being a good girlfriend. You deserve better than what other girls have given you, and I want to be the type of person you deserve; someone that actually messages you back, someone who will take you on dates and buy you flowers and make you dinner. I wanna be that person for the both of us.

"You're making a mistake." Well, I can learn.

I know you're scared and hesitant. I know you've been hurt before, might even be expecting to get hurt again, but I hope if I ever tell you any of this you'll believe me when I say "I'm finally, finally ready to be better, to be good to myself, and I would love if you gave me the opportunity to be good to you too."

So I mean, thanks for being a cool guy, and thanks for agreeing to that date. I hope you're looking forward to it as much as I am.

Sincerely yours, Mouse Fitzgerald

[wassupmaster]

For Servants to Dream

The Life of Ritsuka Fujimaru: Part Two (Part One found here)

The dream begins with a loud, resounding crash, the door to the Fujimaru house flying open as the Master as a young teen storms inside.

“Would it kill them just to call me once a week?!” she shouts angrily at the top of her lungs. “Even once a month would be better than... than this! Than not knowing if they’re even still alive!”

“Believe me, I tried telling them that,” replied a tired voice from the doorway, and an older woman with long dark hair and a kind smile gently shut the portal behind her as Ritsuka paced back and forth in her living room. Dressed in a simple yet elegant dress made of blue cotton, she possessed an air of noble humility that seemed to fit well with the Fujimaru house. “Your father has always been a stubborn sort---”

“He’s a lying, selfish piece of---”

“Ritsu.” The woman frowned and folded her arms over her chest, looking stern. “His faults aside, he’s still your father.”

“You weren’t so kind to him when I finally called you,” the girl shot back, smiling at a memory even as her fists clenched. “I thought you were going to pull him right through the phone and kill him.”

“Leaving a little girl on her own to fend for herself as long as you did? You bet I would have.” The woman walked over and put a gentle, yet steadying, hand on Ritsuka’s shoulder. “But you have to understand. What he and your mother do on their trips is for your sake, and the sake of your future.”

“...I’d rather have them right here with me,” mumbled Ritsuka, looking away in irritation. “I’d rather not have to appeal to others to actually give a damn about my life.”

“Even your aunt?” smiled the woman, her pink irises twinkling.

“...well, you’d stick your nose in anyway, auntie,” admitted Ritsuka with a hesitant smile.

“You bet I would. Now, let’s see where we can go to celebrate your birthday this year. Unless you’d rather stay here--”

“Sushi!” piped in Ritsuka, hopping in place and clapping her hands. “I want sushi, please!”

“Okay, okay, I get it! Honestly, if I were stuck in this place with just books and schoolwork, I’d get stir crazy too...”

“Hey, those books are my best friends, Aunt Yuki” corrected Ritsuka sternly. “I don’t know where I’d be without King Arthur and Theseus and Sherlock Holmes and Joan of Arc---”

“Haha, wow,” interjected Yuki, looking impressed as the pair prepared to depart once more. “So well read at your age. No wonder you try so hard to be a hero. Still, it would be nice if you tried making some real friends for a change...”

The scene fades into smoke and mist before reforming. Once more, the living room of the Fujimaru House comes into view, except it presents Ritsuka dressed in a formal kimono, looking as though she might hit something. In front of her stands a stern man with sharp, severe features, dressed in a dark yukata with his short dark hair slicked back.

“It seems I should have taken a firmer hand in your life,” said the man in a deep, measured voice. “Treating a guest like that in my own house---”

“I won’t tolerate people insulting me to my face. Father.” Ritsuka spat out the last word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Do not interrupt me, Ritsuka.” The older man’s frown deepened as he corrected his daughter. “Insults or no, we have a reputation to uphold. In the business world, reputation can make or break a family. Do you understand?”

“I do,” growled Ritsuka, glaring back at him and standing her ground. “So you want people to say you have an easy daughter who will let anyone do or say anything they want. A docile little lamb who won’t fend for herself. Is that it?”

“I never said that. But there’s a time and a place for everything--”

“And that was the best time in the world to break that asshole’s nose,” shot back the teen, unable to restrain her temper further.

“...You’ve been around Yuki for too long. Your language has become quite crude. You also seem to possess strange notions that standing up for yourself is a good idea.”

“It is when you’re never around to stand up for me!” yelled Ritsuka, her rage at it’s peak. “I’ve had to do everything myself for fifteen years, with no support from you or mom! It was only two years ago that Aunt Yuki even found out you left me--”

“We did support you,” said her father, his tone growing cold. “We sent you money, gifts--”

“I wanted you and mom!” snarled Ritsuka, years of frustration and bitterness finally lashing out. “I wanted love! I wanted a warm embrace and being told everything would be alright! I didn’t want an empty house, or lonely birthdays, or a cold miserable life with no one to tell me they cared!”

“Act like an adult, Ritsuka. Sometimes the world is unfair and you’re simply dealt the hand you’re given. You must accept that.”

“And if I don’t?” she growled in reply. “If I decide I want to take my life into my own hands?”

“That isn’t the destiny of a lady in the Fujimaru household,” said her father, his voice still measured and even. “Not when you’re engaged to be married.”

“I--- What?”

Ritsuka stared at her father as though he had clubbed her over the head. Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed before the man spoke up again.

“You are engaged to be married to an extremely prestigeous Japanese family, possessed of wealth and reputation that will keep you happy and content for the rest of your life. The man whose nose you so unceremoniously broke tonight is your fiancee. Unfortunately, we will need to compensate his family for the incident, but the damage is not irreparable--”

“HELL NO!!” roared Ritsuka, finally finding her voice again. “I won’t be forced to marry anyone, especially not that... that... pervy, arrogant bastard!”

“You don’t have a say in the matter,” replied her father coolly. “A month after you graduate from school, we will fulfill the terms of the contract and conduce the wedding ceremony. I expect you to fulfill your duty as a member of this household, Ritsuka.”

The young teen looked down at the floor, her entire body trembling, her fists clenched so tightly that her fingernails drew blood from her palms.

“Do you understand?” asked the man, his voice like ice.

“.....yes. Father.” Ritsuka spoke through gritted teeth, trying to contain herself.

“You have three years to prepare yourself. I expect that to be sufficient time to learn how to properly conduct yourself like a true Japanese lady. Now, there is one other matter to resolve before your mother and I return to work...”

The scene fades and reforms once more, and Ritsuka stands silently in the middle of her library, her shelter, her sanctuary...

And yet all she can do is stare blankly, her eyes wide with horror and grief.

No trace of books remained. Bare, dust covered shelves filled the basement with a hollow emptiness. The tables, once covered with books the age of antiques, now stood bare except for a few scraps of loose paper.

All Ritsuka could do was cry.

Her friends. Her comrades. Her partners. The only companions she had ever known, the only ones who stood by her in life without fail.

All gone. All taken away from her.

“Your childish notions of independence came from being too lenient with the literature available to you,” came the voice of Ritsuka’s father in the dream. “Now perhaps you will be able to keep your focus grounded in reality.”

Broken, uneven whimpers about the unfairness of it all broke through Ritsuka’s trembling lips as tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked.

“Damn, I didn’t think he’d actually go and sell every single book down here.”

Ritsuka turned her watery gaze to meet the source of the familiar voice. Aunt Yuki stood at the bottom of the stairs leading back up to the first floor. Yet something else suddenly drew Ritsuka’s attention: an unmarked cardboard box held in her aunt’s arms, covered with a lid.

“It’s a damn good thing I came and got these when I did,” said Yuki with a mischievous grin, setting the box down on the nearest desk with a heavy thud. “Just be sure to keep these in your room or something, okay? If your father finds out I kept these away from the movers---”

Ritsuka rushed over and tore the lid from the box, her eyes widening as though she had found the most valuable of treasures.

Holmes. Arthur. Jeanne. Achilles. Odysseus. Thor. Karna. Cu Chulainn. Theseus. All there, kept safe from the wave of emptiness that had swept through the library and took away almost everything Ritsuka valued.

And then the girl held her wonderful, cherished aunt in her arms, a wave of sobs cutting loose from inside her body. Finally, she could let go of her emotions and just vent. Yuki, for her part, simply smiled and cuddled her niece close, murmuring the most important words she’d ever hear into her ear.

“Never give up, Ritsu... Never lose hope, never give in, and never stop fighting for what you believe in. If you value your freedom to choose your destiny as much as you value your friends in these books... then keep pushing forward.

“And don’t look back.”

[silentauroriamthereal]

Four wishes for The Final Problem

Okay, since both @happierstill and @calliopecookiejar tagged me in this, I’m to list four things I’d like to see happen in The Final Problem. In no particular order, then: 

1. I want Mary to be confirmed as absolutely evil, aka in the way that they actually characterised her already. I want her to be one of the nurses administering the memory loss drug and to be working with Moriarty behind the scenes all along. I want all notions of this sugar-coated OOC Mary Sue from TST and whatnot to be absolutely, unarguably abolished and Mary laid bare as the selfish person who kills people for money that she was written as. I’ve written the equivalent of a doctoral thesis on what’s wrong with Mary: a coward who has only her own interests at heart and puts herself above literally everyone, including her husband, her child, her teammates, the maid of honour and best man at her wedding, and God even knows who else. She’s a nasty, disgusting piece of work as a human and I just want them to stop trying so damned hard to make us like her. Just follow through on what you’ve already written, Moftiss. No take-backs, ok? Just commit to the villain you created. 

2. a) I want canon Johnlock, of course. I’ve been open enough over the past three years about not expecting to see it, but of course I want that desperately. If only a glimpse: some reference to the fact that they’re decidedly in a romantic relationship till death do they part, something unarguably non-platonic. A kiss on the cheek. Holding hands as they walk something. I’m not asking them to give us hot, panting sex in the front corridor. Just... something. At the very least, I want them to have John living at Baker Street again by the end, without irreparable damage having been done to their friendship. That’s the very least they owe us after the fiasco of TST and TLD! Or basically everything since John went back to Mary. Come on: this show is about these two men and their relationship. That’s the heart of it. I want to see them both choose each other over and above anyone else, irrevocably. That really isn’t too much to ask. This is, at the very least, the greatest friendship between two men ever written. It follows the natural arc of what the creators have written to make it a romance. It follows everything logical that they’ve done so far. I just hope they’ll have the balls to actually do it. That’s the only place where I’ve ever had a shred of doubt. I’ve always, always been open to being wrong - frankly hoped that I was! But Sunday will tell us for sure. 

b) That said, I need the beating in the hospital to be addressed. Seriously addressed. Moftiss have a habit of glossing over things that have a real need to be resolved, and this just can’t be ignored. 

3. I want the baby dealt with humanely. Which is to say that I want the baby gone. It was a mistake to put a baby on this show. She’s cute, but she doesn’t fit. I personally don’t care for parentlock, am not interested in stories about children, and she doesn’t fit with Sherlock and John’s lifestyle. They should have never written a baby into it, and given that they did, they should have made it a fake pregnancy. They didn’t, though, and now it’s hugely problematic because John’s heart is enmeshed with this little life, and it’s more than a couple of weeks - she’s 6 or 7 months old, and that’s huge. It’s really, really shitty. The best thing we can hope for now is that she was never John’s in the first place. Even so, any exit for the baby now will be horrifically sad. Maybe Mary isn’t really dead and she’s the one who will kidnap her from Molly. Maybe Eurus will do something awful to the baby. I won’t like the pain, but I also just want the baby gone. (Sorry.)

4. I want Moriarty and Irene Adler off this show permanently. Yes, Moriarty is still by far the best villain they’ve ever had, but OMG LET IT GO. IT’S OVER. Ditto for Irene, whom I never liked. She’s just so damned SMUG. Also, she’s a traitor who works for a terrorist and sold out her country and the man she was supposedly in love with (despite being canonically gay, GIANT EYEROLL, MOFFAT) and she’s just not a good person???? Again, STOP MILKING IT, MOFFAT. LET IT DIE. And with it, any and all hints that Sherlock is somehow, despite being the gayest gay to have ever gayed in the history of gaiety, in love with her. Fuck right off with that, Moffat. Seriously. 

5. You get a bonus, sorry. I want them to quit with the drugs thing. Seriously. It was bloody recreational in ACD canon, not a crippling, constantly life-threatening addiction that explains away everything that makes Sherlock Holmes brilliant and special and capable of tremendously phenomenal things. I’m so over it. Just stop. 

*ahem*

Apparently I had some Feelings on this subject. :P Tagging: @totallysilvergirl, @ravenmorganleigh, @dietrich76, @mommysusan, @hartyrollins, @yaycoffee, @sarahclapp, and @starrla89. Let’s have it. :)

[zugzwanggin-blog]

Amo, Amas, Amat

OR: WHY MARY ISN’T THE DEVIL YOU GUYS COME ON, MOFTISS WRITES BETTER CHARACTERS THAN THAT, AND JOHN ISN’T A PERFECT HUMAN BEING HE NEEDS TIME TO GRIEVE, THE JOHNLOCK IS CANON AND IT’S COMING

Everyone is so determined to turn Mary into this conniving, evil, backstabbing criminal mastermind whose sole purpose in life is to make John miserable and come as a wedge between him and Sherlock. But she’s...not.

She’s a good fucking character. She was a freelance assassin, a mercenary, part of a team. She’s not Sebastian Moran. There’s still a chance she is somehow connected to Moriarty, but honestly? That isn’t his style. Moriarty was a genuine sociopath--he was so far gone, in fact, that interacting with him was what made Sherlock realize he wasn’t sociopathic after all. Moriarty doesn’t understand the nuances of love and self-sacrifice and sentiment. He sees them, he makes use of them, but he isn’t--wasn’t--the type to manipulate them in such clever and intricate and prescient ways. He arranged terrorist attacks and murders and assassinations, he dealt drugs and arms, he strapped semtex to the only person Sherlock cared about just to bully and frighten him and to empower himself. I’m not saying that arranging three assassins and then shooting himself on a rooftop was his coup d'etat, obviously he’s still got his fingers in a few pies, but Mary wasn’t one of them.

Mary was an assassin whose professional life went to shit. She started over. She met John. John’s a good bloke. John’s a fantastic bloke. John is steady, and clever, and understanding, and loyal, and sardonic. John has been hurt deeply. John does not hurt in retaliation. John absorbs. John cares and comforts. John patches you up, and he doesn’t judge you in the process. John is exactly who she needed. She fell in love with John. And John fell in love with her.

No, I don’t think it’s the same as the way he loves Sherlock. He and Sherlock have been through too much, have bonded too irreparably, have insinuated themselves together too irrevocably for a woman to come between them. (And honestly guys? Using a woman just to come between the two main male characters is such an overused trope, and I really think Moffat and Gatiss are more clever and self-aware than that.) They loved one another. Even Sherlock could see it, could respect it. For the longest time I thought he was just blindly keeping Mary safe in order to protect John and John’s happiness by proxy, but TST showed us otherwise. Sherlock cared for her as well. He called her a friend, he showed baby pictures to his brother, he made that vow and he really, really meant it.

When John found out about AGRA he meant it when he said he was determined to move on. And he tried. He did. But he has trust issues, remember? John has trust issues. These have been built up slowly, added to bit by bit, over a lifetime. I personally believe his mother was his rock, and she is canonically dead. He has trust issues with his sister, who he deems unreliable. I’m sure he has trust issues with his father, who he has never once mentioned. He has trust issues with the military, who kicked him out and now ridicules him for his life choices. He has trust issues with his own body, which betrayed him and his chosen profession--a surgeon who can’t even operate? How pathetic. He has trust issues with Sherlock, who killed himself in front of John and then reappeared. He has trust issues with his wife, who pretended to be a woman she wasn’t, and lied to his face, repeatedly. John has some fucking trust issues, okay? And they’re not minor. He has gone out of his way to be everyone’s rock, they even went out of their way to point it out in TST. But you know what? Rocks are strong, but they’re not shatter-proof. Rocks can still fucking break.

He tried to make it work with Mary, genuinely, but the trust was gone. They co-parented, they cooperated, they co-sleuthed and cohabited and co-everything the way couples do, and it was genuine. They both cared. They both put forth the effort. Neither was pretending. But the trust was gone, for John. Because John has trust issues.

Yes, he looked. A pretty young bird on the bus noticed him, and he looked. And he chatted. And he probably had coffee. Did he sleep with her? Maybe. I really don’t think so, but it’s possible. I think he’d have been a little more hesitant to bring it up if he had. But he thought about it. He was tempted. And John is loyal. The temptation was bad enough for him to want to come clean. I thought it was odd at first, but the more I look back at it the more I understand his point of view. He doesn’t feel completely comfortable in his relationship with Mary anymore. He doesn’t feel completely devoted to her like he might have done if she hadn’t turned out to be, you know, a killer--but also a liar, first of all. And that said, I feel there’s a lot to be said for the fact that there’s a lot of shit between Sherlock and John, but the one thing that isn’t there is lying. Not big things--little things like whether or not Sherlock really is responsible for swapping the milk out with horse semen is on another scale entirely, and John actually appreciates those sorts of deer-in-the-headlights obvious fibs.

When Sherlock finds the second USB, he goes straight to John. Before he confronts Mary, before he does anything else, he takes it to John. And you know what? John was suspicious enough to say “Hey Sherlock, maybe we’d better bug the device in case my wife who I love and trust so much makes off with it and tries to run from us, ‘cause that’s what loving, trusting couples do, that.” And the same thing happened in HLV when Sherlock revealed Mary to John. Sherlock has, I believe, actually learned his lesson when it comes to trusting John--he has not once kept John purposely in the dark just to save him from something, not once since TRF, not once since he returned and learned how badly he’d hurt John by lying to him, even if it was just to keep him safe. And now he’s learned another lesson about humility, much as it pains him--but the most painful lessons are the stickiest, aren’t they? John and Sherlock are tighter than ever. Sherlock has made that final leap off the edge, and now goes to John for everything. It’s John’s turn to do the same.

Does he blame Sherlock for Mary’s death? Of course he does. Sherlock made a vow, and he needs to blame someone. He also blames himself. He blames everyone. Life isn’t fucking fair, and it’s been especially unfair to John. Everything he’s tried to build for himself has been broken. Do you understand that? Review it, and really, really let it sink in for a moment:

He tried to be a doctor, he tried to save people, he went to war for it. He joined the Army. He was deployed to Afghanistan for three years. Then he got shot. In his dominant arm. No more military, they tossed him out like a useless sack of spoiled potatoes, as all militaries are wont to do once you’ve outlived your usefulness to them. No more surgery, his left hand sustained so much nerve and tissue and bone damage that he can no longer operate safely. All of those years of training and sacrifice, gone. Unappreciated. And now he’s left fucking useless and unwanted. He was even contemplating suicide before he met Sherlock. Our Mr. Strong Rock Who Can Weather Any Storm was ready to end it because he felt so useless and pathetic and lonely and all of those other horrible emotions that make up depression. He made a good go of it in life, and look where it got him. Abso fucking lutely nowhere. And no one cared.

Speculation, but I suspect he tried to save his sister. I suspect he spent much of his younger years trying to be there for her, to give her alternatives to the alcohol, to be there as he rock and her trustee and her caretaker, and he failed. And now, as adults, their relationship is so fractured that his own sister was a no-call no-show for John’s wedding. He tried to be there for his family, and they have proven themselves to be unreliable to him. Not even touching on his father just because John has never mentioned him, but it seems perfectly reasonable to me that he was likely an alcoholic (as in Doyle’s canon) and perhaps even a little bit abusive--John brawls like he grew up brawling, that isn’t something you learn in the Army, trust me I’m an Army veteran myself. So yeah, that didn’t exactly work out for him either, did it?

He attached himself to Sherlock. He moved into a flat with Sherlock, went out on cases with him, to crime scenes, chased murderers through the London streets, killed a man to save his life. Sherlock was his life. They were partners. Then Sherlock killed himself in front of John on a lark, and reappeared two years later as if it was all just a big joke. As if he hadn’t shattered everything John had just started to believe in again. That trust isn’t back yet. In fact, I would dare to suggest he threw himself so hard at Mary immediately after Sherlock returned in an effort to keep himself from becoming glued back to his side again. Once burned, twice shy. This will change eventually, because Sherlock has realized his error and is actually putting forth an effort to be there for John. That was the entirety of season 3. Season 4 will very likely be John coming to terms with his own shortcomings, and opening himself up to be there for Sherlock, despite the risks inherent in that trust. John has trust issues. John’s character arc will be learned how to let Sherlock in despite them.

He made a family with Mary. Who turned out not to be the woman he fell in love with, the woman he spent the last two years with. She was a stranger. All right. He accepted that and struggled to move on. And now Mary is dead. Everything John touches falls apart. I would not be surprised if he turns to drink. I hope not, because he has his daughter to look after and his sense of responsibility has always been just a hair stronger than his temptations, but I would not be surprised. I think this episode explains pretty well for itself how everything fell apart in their relationship. They were not a solid foundation. They crumbled. Mary sacrificed herself for John. She was not an idiot. She knew this was inevitable. John would get over her own death, eventually, with help. But she saw John after Sherlock’s, and she knew he wouldn’t survive that again--not after he’d just started to trust in Sherlock again.

So, John blames himself. For all of it. What’s the one common denominator in all of those events? John isn’t stupid. He’s a natural caretaker, and everyone he’s cared for has broken him. It’s his turn to be cared for. He cared for his sister, he cared for the soldiers in the RAMC, he cared for Sherlock, he cared for Mary. No one has stopped to care for him. He hasn’t let them. He doesn’t let them in. He needs to learn how to do this.

Mary died in his arms, and John still didn’t cry. Those sounds he made were horrific. He was trying so desperately hard not to cry. And now he’s flinging blame around, because that’s what hurting people do, especially, especially, especially especially especially especially especially when they blame themselves.

I keep seeing around on tumblr that Mary orchestrated this whole thing, that Moriarty is behind it after all, that John and Sherlock can’t repair their friendship over this, etc etc. No. Just, no. John needs time to grieve. And he needs someone to be there for him. And Sherlock will be there for him. He realized throughout season 3 that he wanted to be there for him. And now he’s trying so, so hard to be, in his own eccentric not really reliable but still genuine Sherlock way.

The Johnlock is canon. This is the conclusion to their arc. Sherlock has come around, and now it’s John’s turn. So much fanfic is about how broken Sherlock is, why he cut himself off from his emotions, what traumas he suffered to turn him into a “sociopathic” drug addict. So few are about why John is so drawn to him, why John needs violence and adrenaline to function, why John is so broken, why John can’t express himself or grieve or feel when his wife dies right there in his own fucking arms. That’s what this is about. I hope. Because if it isn’t I might die.

Also EEEEEEEEEEEE SHERRINFORD!!!!

/rant

[weso5-blog]

Love hurts

Some say that love is the most powerful of emotions, that love is pure and that it can make everything better. But also love can bring you pain and sorrow, it can leave you feeling worthless and broken. Love is a double edged sword it can cut so deep that its wound won’t heal, no matter how much we try to forget it’s scar will be there to remind us how vulnerable we really are. Ask anyone how he feels after his or her heart has been broken, try to take the place of someone that has lost a loved one. Imagine yourself being a parent who just lost their son or daughter, how though would it be to deal with that kind of loss. I’m not in good terms with my faith but think how God must have felt when he had to sacrifice his son for us to be saved from sin. How can we live on without feeling this burden and pain, how we go on if love has has caused an irreparable damage. There’s no way to forget or let it go unnoticed, every time you try to start over the scar will be there to make you remember and struggle with what you’ve been through all over again. Don’t get me wrong I still have hope in love, I still believe it’s the most special and beautiful of emotions but I also know now that it can be cruel and unforgiving, it will dealt you with pain you have never felt before. So don’t forget that love is sweet and pure but love also hurts.