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kradogsrats · 2 years ago

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Ghost (Fic)

a.k.a. “Rayla Enters the Bodyswap AU and is Not Having a Good Time, also Maybe the Actual Plot Starts?”

Quick recap of the AU situation, since it’s getting hefty:

Harrow agreed to the soulfang body switch with Viren

Viren died the way he lived: like a gigantic drama queen (also the primal stone was destroyed)

Callum and Rayla didn’t meet, and Ezran didn’t find the egg

Claudia is now High Mage, and has secret possession of the egg, a cautious rapport with Aaravos, and Callum as a recently-acquired apprentice

Harrow, meanwhile, has a lot of feelings and is following them toward peace with Xadia

—

Claudia learned a great deal about Moonshadow elves, after… after. When they first returned to the castle, she spent days picking through the wreckage of the tower, working under the nervous watch of guards worried over the structural integrity of burnt support beams. She had collected and examined the warped and melted weapons and the remains of fine leather armor. She had found the five unblemished, moon-white cords still looped around charred bones—one per corpse.

It wasn’t enough, so she read everything she could get her hands on, then sent birds to Evenere and Duren for more. She read about their assassins’ methods—near-invisibility beneath the full moon, unique weapons and combat styles that harmonized in pairs but disrupted any organized defense. She read about the sacred oath they made to slay their target, and the way they were bound to it.

The five white cords in her father’s—her workroom, resistant to every cutting tool and spell for severing she had tried, meant two things: the assassins’ task had been left undone, and there was someone out there who might come back to finish it. Claudia would be ready for them.

It was still almost purely luck that she caught the girl.

She had taken to walking the ramparts of the castle’s curtain wall after dark, hoping the air would clear her head after hours spent in High Council meetings, followed by more hours going over spellwork basics with Callum in the upper workroom, followed by even more hours down in her father’s sanctum with Aaravos. Up before dawn and awake until well after dusk, sometimes she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the sun.

She was especially agitated that night. Aaravos had greeted her earlier with a gift—the caterpillar-like creature he spoke through had spun from its silk a thin disc, about the size of Claudia’s palm, feather-light but solid. A lens, for you to see clearly things that might otherwise go unnoticed, Aaravos had said, with his ever-present half-smile. The threads of silk were less dense toward the disc’s center, allowing her to peer through it—though tilting it slightly in her hand shifted the spaces from translucent to a disorienting void-black. Held before her face, she could see the room as if through watery glass, colors dimmed and details smudged. Everything was dulled save for the frame of the mirror—each raised rune along its border blazed with a different color, shifting and weaving in a rainbow of light.

Claudia was young, but she was not a fool. A being like Aaravos only gave gifts because he would expect something in return, sooner or later. His attitude of benevolent service was a clear ruse, an attempt to trick her into stacking up favors he would one day call in. She had no idea what Aaravos wanted, from her or otherwise, and no sure way to find out short of walking straight into his arms. But she had taken the lens.

Later in the afternoon, she had experimented a bit more with it—the more concentrated reagents in the workroom shimmered with threads of color, her father’s staff glowed with a pulsing iridescence of purples. She wanted badly to see what it could expose of the dragon egg, but reluctantly held off on that exploration. She knew Aaravos’s little minion could listen for him as well as speak, so it stood to reason that anything she saw through the lens would be revealed to him, as well. She’d have to get a pouch for it, to keep away prying eyes on both ends.

She had just stepped out onto the east wall from the corner watchtower, lost in thoughts about lenses and secrets and inscrutable elves when she felt… something. An odd prickle on the back of her neck, like the subconscious awareness that an object in a cluttered room had been moved when it should not have been. It was a feeling she associated with the presence of unknown magic. The long stretch of battlements ahead of her was deserted, without even a guard in sight.

Her hand went to her satchel, and closed around the lens. She drew it out slowly, then held it up and turned it this way and that, as if examining its details in the moonlight. The shifting angle let her glance through it to scan the rampart walkway ahead of her. In the dimmed image of the lens, she saw the bright silver outline of a slim figure crouched in the shadow of a merlon. A slim figure with a drawn sword.

Claudia panicked. Her hand shot out, the double-serpent bracelet unwinding on command to ensnare her attacker. The figure deflected the first strike with their sword and a clash of metal, and avoided the second with an acrobatic dodge that carried them out of the narrow field Claudia could see through the lens. She whirled, trying to track the attacker, her hand darting into her satchel again for the clay vials kept within easy reach near the top. She snatched one out and crushed it in her fist in the same motion, scattering the mixture of powdered slowusk shell and the ashes of several sleep-inducing plants inside it in a broad arc through the air as the matching incantation rolled off her tongue.

The expanding cloud glowed violet, brightening and throwing off sparks where its effects were strongest. Claudia peered into it, one hand still clutching the lens, the other back in her satchel ready to grab another vial.

A shadowy figure slowly appeared out of the spell-cloud, staggering toward her unsteadily. The sword slipped from their dangling hand and clattered on the rampart’s stones. Another step, and they fell to their knees, struggling to remain upright. The blurred shadows of the figure resolved into sudden clarity as they swayed, and Claudia caught a glimpse of a pale, feminine face before they finally, finally collapsed and lay still.

Claudia sat down hard where she was, her limbs boneless and trembling. Her heart was pounding, and she struggled to slow her breathing back to a normal rate. She still clutched the lens tight to her chest—it had saved her life, for sure.

When she felt like she could move again, she tucked the lens away and forced herself to crawl to the limp, face-down form. The sleeping spell was a potent one, but she hadn’t used it often, and had no idea how much time it would last. An hour? Less? Even if it was more, it was best to work quickly.

The slender horns poking out from bone-white hair confirmed the attacker as a Moonshadow elf, if their invisibility beneath the full moon had left any doubt. Claudia gingerly rolled them over. A girl—thirteen, or maybe fourteen years old? Her dirt-smudged face was still slightly rounded by childhood, despite a leanness from clearly having missed more than a few recent meals. But elves were frequently smaller and more delicate than humans, as well as being longer-lived, so ages were hard to gauge. Her hair was hacked short and ragged around her pointed ears, as if cut inexpertly with a blade not meant for the task. The dark-colored, flexible armor she wore was finely-made but dirty, and worn to the point of threadbare in the spaces between the leather. The overall impression was of someone who’d spent months living alone in the wild.

Her face, even slack with sleep, was somehow mournful—a faint downturn to the corners of her mouth, a barely-there crease between her white brows. The moonlight on her long, pale eyelashes cast delicate shadows across the deep purple markings that slashed down her cheekbones like tears. She was pretty, beneath the rough trappings—if you were the type to be into elves.

Claudia blinked, surprised at how far her mind had wandered. She was suddenly tired, the adrenaline having drained from her veins and left her with heavy limbs and a clouded mind. She should check the prisoner for weapons and find a way to restrain her, then see if she could summon a guard.

She patted her hands down the elf’s sides, feeling for hard lumps that could be hidden knives. It was only when the back of her hand brushed against rough, crusted cloth that she finally noticed the stained bandages wrapping the stump at the end of the girl’s left arm. Claudia gently peeled them back to reveal a wound that was congruent with the rest of the girl’s appearance—which was to say, not looking all that great. However the elf had been living recently hadn’t done its healing any favors.

She replaced the bandage and checked the rest of the girl’s limbs—all other extremities were present in the expected numbers, with no hidden blades save for the one tucked away at the small of her back. It was identical to the one she had wielded, the two obviously meant to be used in concert. The craftsmanship was exquisite, a complex series of joints allowing them to presumably fold and lock into different configurations—not dissimilar from her father’s staff.

Inventory of her prisoner taken, Claudia paused to considered her options. If she called for the guards, the elf would be taken to the castle’s main dungeon and questioned by the Crownguard, then members of the High Council, and eventually King Harrow himself.

Her mind filled with dismay at the thought. Harrow. Harrow would pardon her.

Even though the Moonshadow elf was almost certainly one of the assassins whose mission was why Claudia’s father was dead, King Harrow would let her go. He’d look at this skinny, maimed wretch, so near to the age of his own children, and he would spare her any justice at all. He would probably even hand her right back to Xadia in peace.

Or… Claudia could take her. Keep her contained and figure out what to do with her later.

It was almost definitely some form of treason. But so was concealing possession of the Dragon King’s living egg, and probably also consorting in secret with an elf of mysterious motivations sealed behind a mirror. And as with both of those situations, she just needed a little time. It was her responsibility to fully appraise all the possibilities, not rush into the first course of action that presented itself. When she knew what she was dealing with, she’d bring it to the right people.

She looked around, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. If there was any evidence of the elf’s passage, she needed to find it. The eastern rampart was still deserted, but even at this late—or early—hour, there should have been at least one guard somewhere along it’s length.

She found him twenty paces or so further along the walkway, covered by one of the banners that usually hung down the wall’s face. His throat had been cut. She gently closed his staring eyes, shuddering. He must have died only moments before she had stepped out onto the wall. If she’d been more alert, if she hadn’t lingered, then maybe—

She shook the thought away and forced herself to look critically at the body. If she wanted to keep her prisoner secret, she’d have to do something about him. She reached into her satchel, searching for one of the basic reagents used to close a cut. The spell wouldn’t have saved him—it was meant to soothe the scrapes of everyday life, not mend a mortal wound—but it might be enough to hide what killed him.

The flesh of the guard’s throat knit together reluctantly, and Claudia was shaking with exhaustion when she ended the spell. She’d cast it on Soren dozens of times over the years, and it had never been so difficult—apparently it didn’t work as well on corpses. She half-rolled, half-dragged the body to the edge of the wall, then managed to shove him up over the lip of parapet in one of the embrasures. The plates of his armor scraped loudly on the stone, and she paused anxiously to look around again.

Still nothing. She didn’t know when the guards changed shifts or positions—it had never been important, before. Hopefully she had at least a few more minutes.

She looked down at the body one last time. “I’m sorry,” she said. The words sounded absurd even to her, but she felt like she had to say something. “I… hope you find peace.” Then she tipped the corpse the rest of the way over the parapet and down the long, rocky cliff to the river below.

She sighed and looked back to the sleeping elf. Her prisoner was much smaller, and not wearing plate armor, but it was still going to be a trial for Claudia to get her all the way from the top of the castle wall to her father’s—her study, not to mention through the painting passageway and down below the catacombs to the waiting cells.

She wrapped the girl in the same banner that had concealed the dead guard, and began the long, slow process of dragging her to their destination.

—

The sleep spell was fortunately more potent than Claudia had feared. It was just after dawn when the Moonshadow girl to returned to consciousness, and Claudia had been waiting for hours.

She had hesitated over how to best restrain the elf—the chains in the cell were meant to keep a prisoner’s arms extended above their head and twisted in a way that made standing difficult, but they also operated on the usually-reasonable assumption that said prisoner had two present and functional hands. There was no way to clamp the iron ring to the elf’s stump-ended arm without it sliding right off, so she settled for chaining her good wrist, then tightly swaddling the other arm across her chest with the banner, almost as if it was being immobilized for healing. A touch of magic knit the ends of the cloth together seamlessly and far more securely than any knot. Finally, she bound the elf’s knees and ankles together—presumably an assassin would be as deadly with her legs as with her arms, and Claudia was taking no chances. There would be no one to help her if things went badly.

The elf began to struggle against her bonds immediately when she woke. Claudia watched surreptitiously through the cell door’s tiny window for a while, until her prisoner seemed to have exhausted herself. Satisfied that the restraints would hold, she sent a message to the High Council, pleading illness to excuse herself from that morning’s meeting, another to Callum dismissing him from their afternoon lesson, and a third to the kitchens with the request that breakfast be sent to her study. Then she settled in for a nap.

She awoke mid-morning, refreshed enough that a mug of hot brown morning potion could take her the rest of the way to feeling like a human being again, at least for a few hours. The breakfast tray she retrieved from the study was simple fare—bread and honey, some fresh fruit, a carafe of water. The castle cooks had learned long ago that any food sent to the High Mage’s workrooms had best keep for hours, because the chances of it being eaten immediately were slim.

She took care to smooth her rumpled dress and straighten her hair before entering the cell. An immaculate appearance had been one of her father’s many armors, demanding the respect he was due, and Claudia was learning why in her ongoing struggles with the Council. The effort here would probably be wasted on a disheveled, wounded elf—but it did make her feel a bit more confident. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The elf-girl sat slumped where she was chained to the stone wall, exhibiting every signal of resigned defeat—but Claudia had more than a passing familiarity with approaching cornered animals. Everything was at its most dangerous when it had nothing to lose. Staying well back from reach, she crouched to put herself at eye level with her prisoner. She set the tray on the floor beside her, then folded her arms over her knees and rested her chin on them.

“So, you’re the last assassin,” she said. “Tell me how you escaped, that night.”

It wasn’t a guess, really—all the pieces fit. The shape and details of the girl’s elaborate twin short swords, a perfect match with the twisted remains of the other assassins’ weapons. The white cord Claudia had discovered knotted to one blade’s hilt. The ugly, swollen stump of her left wrist.

The elf didn’t look at her. Didn’t even move.

“Why were you even with them?” Claudia pressed. “You’re practically a child.”

Pale violet eyes flicked abruptly to hers. “Don’t call me a child,“ her prisoner said, with acid below her exhaustion. “You’re barely older than I am. You sound ridiculous.”

“Sorry, this is my first interrogation,” Claudia replied innocently. “What should I call you, then? Do you have a name?”

The elf hesitated. Something shifted behind her eyes, and her shoulders drooped, just a little. “No. I’m no one. Just a ghost.”

“What if I call you ‘Ghost,’ then?” Claudia suggested. “My name is Claudia, by the way.”

The elf—Ghost, Claudia decided for her—rolled her eyes and didn’t respond.

“Well, you must be hungry. I’m always ravenous coming out of a sleep spell. You won’t bite if I feed you, right?” Claudia tore a chunk off the loaf of bread on the tray and held it out.

Aaravos had laughed when she asked him what her prisoner would eat. The same as you do, he’d said. Moonshadow elves drink no more blood than Dark mages.

Ghost fixed her with a look that would have been withering, had it not been undercut by a clearly audible gurgle from her own stomach.

Claudia bit into the chunk of bread herself. “It’s fine, see? Fresh. Hardly any poison.” She tore off another chunk, and lifted the spoon from the pot of honey to top it with a thick, golden drizzle. Ghost’s eyes followed the movement.

She held out the honeyed bread, and Ghost shifted, leaning toward it slightly. Claudia scooted forward enough to tip the bread into her waiting mouth and hear the shuddering sigh as she chewed. “More?” she offered.

Ghost eyed her sidelong, evaluating. “Water?” she asked tentatively.

Claudia nodded and filled a cup from the carafe. She held it to Ghost’s lips, tilting it as she drank greedily. Ghost deigned to eat more of the bread after that, and even a few slices from the apple Claudia slowly peeled.

“What do you want?” she finally asked.

Claudia popped an apple slice in her own mouth. “Tell me how you escaped the tower.”

“Why? Does it matter?”

“Not really.” Claudia picked up a napkin and wiped the knife she’d used to peel and slice the fruit. “I’m just curious.”

Ghost’s eyes slid away from her. “No one escaped. I… wasn’t there.”

Claudia remembered pacing her father’s study, the anxious obedience of waiting for him as his message had instructed. How her eyes had suddenly fallen on the staff where it leaned against the desk—the staff he never went without.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Ghost said nothing, still looking away.

Claudia brushed the crumbs off her lap. “I think that’s enough, for now,” she said, standing and collecting the tray. “I’ll be back later.”

Ghost snorted. “I’ll be here, I suppose.”

—

They carried on like that for most of a week. Claudia didn’t have much in the way of questions—Ghost couldn’t tell her anything useful about the Dragon Queen or major players of Xadia, and Aaravos’s name meant nothing to her. She was simply too young, too junior, and too isolated to know anything.

Nonetheless, Claudia was beginning to feel the growing shape of a plan.

She pretended not to notice as the stump of Ghost’s wrist slowly swelled and reddened. It was clearly getting worse, though Claudia hadn’t examined the wound closely since her cursory look that first night, up on the wall. Ghost, for her part, expressed no pain but grew increasingly listless, eating less and fading more often into troubled sleep.

On the eighth day, Claudia prepared a bowl of water and a stack of clean cloths before opening the cell. She’d borrowed a roll of fresh bandages from the guardhouse infirmary, and had reagents for a variety of healing spells on hand in case things got truly dire.

Ghost was pale—the dark markings framing her cheeks even more livid than usual—and sweating, her body racked with tremors. Her left arm was swollen to the elbow, now; the skin reddened and hot to the touch. She offered no objection to the old bandages being peeled away.

In the better light, Claudia could see that the original wound had been cauterized, but poorly. Most likely Ghost had heated one of her blades and done it herself. If half of what Claudia had read about the Moonshadow bindings was correct, she had probably severed the hand herself, as well. Better to lose it as cleanly as possible than let it rot while still attached and poison the blood.

“That’s infected again,” Claudia said, nodding at it. “Will you let me tend to it?”

Ghost’s eyes were glassy with fever, but still focused on her in a glare. “Why?” she demanded. “What is it you really want, anyway? Revenge for your king? Then why not just let me die?”

Claudia couldn’t help herself—she laughed, long and hard. “Oh, Ghost,” she said when she could breathe again, settling back on her heels to wipe her eyes. “King Harrow is alive.”

“No. That’s impossible.” Ghost stared at her, mouth parted and trembling. “The binding for him released. It released.”

So there were two targets. Claudia filed that away in her mind for later.

“My father pulled out the king’s spirit with Dark magic, and took his body,” she explained, still smiling. It felt good to say the words to what was possibly the one person who might be even more hurt by them than she was, herself. “That’s who your assassin friends killed in the tower. They all died for nothing.”

“I—I don’t believe you.”

Claudia shrugged. “Why should I lie? If it wasn’t true, Dad would be the one here talking to you.”

“As to what I want—well, I think we may be able to help each other, eventually. So for now, you’re more useful to me alive than dead. Though you’d still be plenty useful, dead.”

She paused for a moment to let that sink in, then continued, keeping her voice casual. “Those horns? Ground up, Moonshadow elf horns work one of the most potent sleeping spells ever known. And elf ears of any type have a whole list of uses—they’re harder to come by this far west, so I’ve never gotten to try most of them. But the real prize from you would be an eye. They’re worth a fortune. I’ve read that a properly-preserved Moonshadow eye can be used to pierce even the strongest illusion.”

“I’m sure even your bones have a use, and your skin, if it’s tanned right. I don’t know about all your guts—I’d have to check Dad’s notes and see if he ever got his hands on one of your kind. I might have to do some experimenting.” She tilted her head, as if mentally already dividing Ghost up into parts. “It was a shame all your friends died burning. Nothing usable was left.”

Tears had overflowed Ghost’s pale eyes as Claudia spoke and spilled slowly down her cheeks. It was due to the fever, of course; pain and delirium had overwhelmed what little emotional fortitude she still had. She was barely more than a child.

Claudia leaned forward again, briskly setting the back of her hand to Ghost’s burning forehead. “Now, are you going to let me tend your arm, or do I have to spell you asleep again and do it anyway?”

“No magic,” Ghost pleaded, shuddering. Her voice was high and tight, trembling with emotion.

“No magic, then,” Claudia agreed solemnly. “Just hot water to clean it and a poultice for the infection. Some willowbark syrup for the fever, then fruit juice and broth, later—when you feel up to it.”

Ghost slumped in her restraints. Claudia could see that most of the fight had gone out of her. With any luck, it was permanent. She closed her eyes and nodded weakly, tears still running down her face.

A touch and a few whispered words heated the bowl of water to steaming. Claudia dipped the first of her cloths in it, and began.

—

Ghost’s condition improved over the next few days, though she remained withdrawn. Claudia decided the time was finally right to open negotiations.

She entered the cell and sat, leaning back against the wall. Still carefully out of reach, but close enough to be considered companionable. She looked over to where Ghost was still chained. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m just dandy. Never better,” Ghost huffed derisively. “Don’t you have any friends to bother instead of me?”

“Hm,” Claudia made a show of considering the question. “Not really.”

Ghost rolled her eyes. “Just my luck. What do you want, then?”

“I want to talk about what I think we can do for each other.”

“I doubt theres much I can do for you in here,” Ghost said acidly, “Except, as you’ve pointed out, provide ingredients.”

“So let’s talk about what you can do for me not in here,” Claudia countered. “You also lost someone important to you, that night.” It wasn’t a question, but she paused for confirmation, anyway.

Ghost remained silent, but gave a single, short nod.

“Dad—Dad was my world. He taught me everything I know. Maybe he wasn’t always the best person, but—,” she paused, her throat tightening. “King Harrow is the reason he’s dead. So I want you to kill him.”

She held up her hand when Ghost shifted. “Just listen. You want to know why.”

“Dad gave everything for Harrow.” She grimaced, struggling with the words. “And now Harrow’s up there wearing his skin, throwing away everything my dad did in his entire life—everything he sacrificed for this kingdom, for humanity itself—like it was all for nothing. Like none of it ever even mattered.”

“So, I want—,” she took a slow breath, doing her best to keep it steady and still feeling it shake. “I want him to see everything he’s working for—this so-called peace that’s his grand new vision—in ashes. I want him to suffer. And then I want him to die.”

The silence stretched for a long time.

“You’re insane,” Ghost finally said, staring at her with a mixture of shock and fascination.

“Am I?” Claudia retorted. “How is it any different from what your Dragon Queen demanded?”

“I didn’t say it was bad.” Ghost’s eyes flicked away for a moment, then back to her. “And what about Prince Ezran?”

“Prince Ezran,” Claudia repeated, uncomprehending. Then the pieces came together in her mind. “He was the second target, wasn’t he?”

Ghost watched her coolly. “Is there any better way to make someone suffer?”

There was expediency, there was twisting the knife, there was poetic justice—and then there was… that. “No,” Claudia said decisively. “No harm comes to Ezran. Why were you sent after a ten-year-old boy, anyway?”

Ghost bristled. “It wasn’t only the Dragon King that was slain. Your Harrow also destroyed his egg—murdered their only child and heir. The same fate for his would be justice!”

Claudia thought of the egg, alive and not even ten paces away, and kept her face carefully neutral.

“There’s plenty of blame to go around, and plenty of blood. None of it is Ezran’s,” she replied. “It was Harrow’s hand on the spear, but my father’s will in the spell. The magic came from the last unicorn horn in the human kingdoms, maybe even in the whole world—a horn I claimed. I don’t know who laid a hand on that royal egg, and it doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t even have been in arms’ reach of it if not for all that came before.

“Your assassin friends killed my father. You’ll kill King Harrow. If that’s not enough blood to appease your queen’s sense of justice… then when Harrow’s dead, you can kill me, too.”

She moved to kneel directly in front of Ghost and grabbed her by the jaw. It was dangerously close, but she didn’t care.

“But if any harm comes to Ezran,” she continued quietly, “I’ll start with those pretty, precious eyes and harvest every last thing I can from you. And I’ll keep you alive as long as possible for it.”

Ghost glared at her, her mouth a stubborn line. Claudia stared back, her grip unwavering.

It was Ghost who looked away first. “My heart for Xadia,” she muttered. “Fine.”

“That didn’t sound like a ‘yes, Claudia, I promise Prince Ezran will not be harmed.’”

Ghost’s eyes returned to Claudia’s. “Yes, Claudia,” she enunciated, more than a little mockery in her tone. “I promise Prince Ezran will not be harmed.”

Claudia figured that was the best she was going to get. “Good,” she said, releasing Ghost’s face and standing up.

“So are you going to unchain me, then?” Ghost wiggled the fingers of her manacled hand. “Or is King Harrow going to somehow come to me?”

“Not yet, because I’m not stupid,” Claudia replied. “But give me another day or two and I think I’ll have a solution to both that and your little dexterity problem. I assume you’d prefer to be working with two hands again, right?”

Ghost stared up at her for a moment, then actually cracked a smile. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”

#the dragon prince #claudia #rayla #no editing we die like men #kradogsfic #ouroboros au

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all-about-seggs · 4 years ago

Text

A pact in blood-

Rating: 18+, Explicit

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Word count: ~3K

Warnings: Semi-incest (Satoru is your cousin/ distant relative), masturbation, Cunnilingus, fingering, hand job, the relationship is a bit messed up, yandereish undertones.

A/n: This takes place when he's still in the academy.* Image source*

“AA-ahhh! Please don’t- don’t stop…”,

Your broken pleas reverberated through the room as Satoru’s deft fingers worked their way in and out of your sopping wet hole. You gripped the sturdy jacket that covered his shoulders, folding the fabric between your fists was the only thing you could do to maintain the last shred of composure you had.

He was like a passing cloud who offered you momentary relief and was on his way as soon as your were done, the fragments of longings that remained on your body etched deeper after every night.

Position after position, he went from your pussy over his lips to eating you out ass up and face down, all for the pleasure you couldn’t seem to get by yourself. You were now splayed out on his lap, face buried in his neck and one arm draped over him for support. Waves of his sweet scent and the euphoria assaulting your senses at the same time, taking you closer and closer to the edge.

It’s been quite some time now but the memory of your first encounter with your unfairly gorgeous cousin Satoru has been etched into your mind as if it happened just yesterday.

You were in the manor of the esteemed Gojo clan for a family event and even though you didn’t shared the same surname you were related nonetheless and were hence invited. It was a four day and three night celebration where the entire place was abuzz with excitement.

It didn’t really mattered to you, being here with a go with a flow kind of attitude, you just minded your own business until spoken to and not mingling with the faceless crowd of people you didn’t even knew the names of.

Thankfully your room was in the separate building which was a little bit further from where all the riotous events centered around. After just half a day of being in the middle of the chaos you wanted to find a way to unwind and that’s when it happened.

Stark naked and two fingers up your little cunt, there was no explaining or bullshitting your way out of this situation when the heir of the household, Satoru Gojo himself walked in in you. Feeble attempts to cover yourself and half hearted stutterings died in your mouth as soon as the young man opened his.

“ Wrong”, the deadpan reply of his made your already shaken up state worsen. Panic flooding in your system begged you to make excuses or atleast request him to not speak of this to anyone, after all families of high status are nothing if not conservative and you didn’t wanted to cause anyone any trouble.

“ I meant, y/n chan, that you’re doing it wrong”, not paying any mind to your internal conflict he continued speaking form where he stood near the door, “ don’t you know how to masturbate? I thought you were in highschool?”

His genuinely perplexed tone made you reconsider your previous opinions about the heir to the clan. Satoru, a guy who walked in on a relative masturbating, was supposed to show courtesy and leave the second he entered but instead he was rating your technique, which in all honesty may have been lacking indeed but you were desperate to cum and he seemed to pick up on that.

“ Since you’re clearly having trouble getting off”, he loosened the obi of his particularly formal kimono and shifted his uncovered ocean blue eyes towards your form, “Want me to teach you?”, his question made you gulp, then gauge your eyeballs out in disbelief. Sure you weren’t closely related and have only spoken once or twice but you attended all the occasions and holiday celebrations at their place and knew that your relationship was only platonic. His offer to cross that line made you flinch back at first.

Heaving a sigh he closed the door and sat cross legged on the tatami mat next to your futon.

“ Relax, t’s not a big deal”, flashing a toothy grin he leaned forward until your noses touched.

“ Afterall, I AM your big brother”

“ wait- you’re also in highschool!”, You retorted, “ I bet you’re a virgin too. So what CAN you teach me anyway?”, overcoming the initial embarrassment, your mouth started moving in its own accord only getting encouraged by his laid back demeanor.

“ Pfttt- so you get defensive when cornered? How cute!”, he giggled, a smile teasing at his lips at your obvious attempt to hide the shame burning in your core.

“Don’t worry, I know my way around a pussy just fine”, light hearted words fell effortlessly from his mouth and you could swear half of your brain was short circuiting because of his crude way of speaking. For all his regal appearance, he was just like any other highschooler, a year older than you but his stature and delicate features gave him a magestic aura that exceeds that of people decades older than him.

Just by the few encounters from the past, you figured he wasn’t one for following traditions or rules if it didn’t suit him. He was way above the rest, in his own distant world everytime you saw him, the school he went to, the things he had experienced were all different.

Forgetting the other's existence after passing each other by with a few formalities exchanged was all you had done with each. You two were never close or even friends but now the chance presented itself to take your non existent relationship to the extreme end through your bodies.

You wanted this.

To feel good. The hormones of youth pumping your impulsiveness you relax your muscles and lie on your back. You could clearly hear Satoru’s playfully indifferent chuckle from above when you slowly part your legs to show him the sides of yourself that even you have never completely seen.

“Just this once, okay?”

He said he was just teaching you how to masturbate but it wasn’t that simple. The only person to get naked was you and the only person who experienced the mind numbing pleasure, was also you. He only needed his deft fingers and mouth to make you feel better and for a while you didn’t even question.

That one lesson of self pleasure which you both were supposed to forget turned into an entire session as day after day Satoru would show up at your parents house unbeknownst to a soul and you both crossed the same lines of platonic relationship everyday.

The euphoria was endless but with a single rule that you weren’t allowed to touch him in turn and it goes without saying that the two of you never went all the way. It would always start with small talks about the day, even when you’d be talking, all your focus was on what was to come next.

That’s why after a few weeks of the detached pleasure he provided you, it got you thinking what he actually wanted from you. Satoru had already seen, touched and tasted all your body had to offer, never revealing any of his own.

You wondered if he ever felt sexually frustrated by always giving and never asking for anything in return. You knew he was not THAT nice. At least that’s what you believed considering his sadistic streak in bed. He did seem to be enjoying himself when he's messing you up so maybe he didn’t have many sexual urges that he needed to satisfy and was just acting on curiosity or maybe he had someone else, someone older with more experience who he didn’t constantly had a upper hand with and was able to see them as an equal. This thought alone made your chest tight, with an unnatural pain that threatened to break your heart.

You had to catch your darkening train of thought before it reached to the conclusion you were most afraid of. Knowing full well that this was just a fleeting moment that is only supposed to be enjoyed through a lens of carefree thinking, you push the budding feelings of the some very complicated emotions out of your system. The surge of jealousy you felt may have born out of falling in love with a family member but it was wrong on so many levels.

A love that starts with lust never ends well for anyone but as you were laying in his arms, the control over your body handed completely to him, your mind wondered how things would feel vice versa.

“ You seem distracted y/n”, Satoru looked at you, with his glasses off the beautiful azure eyes hidden beneath a delicate layer of white eyelashes filled your vison.

“ I’m obviously not doing it right if you have time to get lost in your thoughts”, putting you down on your bed, he started to move away and for a minute you got your hopes up, thinking your chance to finally have him completely and you cursed yourself for wanting at the same time. But no amount of berating would scrub off the insatiable thirst you had, for its roots had already made their way to your heart.

“Please let me help you too”, these few words took a lot of guts, letting go of all the inhibitions and threads of morality you fix Satoru with an unwavering gaze.

“ That’s okay babygirl, I’M the one who does the teaching here afterall”, you saw what he was trying to do, his airy yet gentle tone didn’t left much room for argument but the gray zone of your relationship was blurring to the point of confusion urged you to give into your clamoring emotions.

Without a second thought you jumped on him with all your might, closing the distance he put within seconds to cover his mouth with yours. You knew how much you weighed but despite your aggressive actions his sturdy form didn’t even deter form his position while catching you. You twirled your tongue over the roof of his mouth, the taste of your juices still lingering in there.

Hoping to have proven your resolve that wasn’t going to settle for getting brushed aside you break the kiss and look expectantly at him. An invisible bond between the two of you taking shape, strengthening the magnetism that attracted you to him.

“ That eager for my cock are you?”, Taking your face in one of his huge hand he makes you look straight at him, “You really want more? More than I'm already giving you?”, just one more push. You thought, with just a bit of coaxing, you were sure Satoru's wishy washy rules would crumble to make way for your upcoming actions.

“ I do. I know exactly what I want but”, steeling your nerves you face him, eye to eye, “ What do YOU want?”. The question was simple but the conflict swirling within Satoru’s eyes was evident and for the first time you realised that maybe this wasn’t just a case of casual hookup for him as well.

“ I want all your firsts. That’s all.” After a short stretch of silence he spoke, ironically the borderline obsessiveness of his glib response, like magic, cleared away the fog was previously clouding your mind. The nonchalance of his smirk should've been the red flag that made you rethink your life choices but the heat of the moment only seemed to ignite your lust.

Not uttering a single word, you quickly work on shedding him off his cloths, he doesn’t make any attempts at stopping you this time around, this knowledge pulling a smile out of you. By the time you reached for his boxers your hands were shaking.

Whether from excitement or nervousness you couldn’t tell but looking down through the veil of his heavy eyelashes, Satoru’s passion was evident.

Eyeing up his exposed body you still for a moment to take it all in. You ran you hands through his sculpted chest and down to his abdomen, your nails scratching the surface of his defined muscles. All of his masculinity contrasted with his oddly sweet scent and velvety pink lips that never failed to lure you in for deep soft kisses.

There’s no doubt girls must be always fawning over him and his perfectly smooth skin was something that even made you jealous. You were so captivated by his looks that you had to shake yourself free from your lovesick stupor .

You feel him up a little, hands running across his toned chest, you drag your nails through the rise and dips of his abdomen down to the contours of his defined V- line before turning your attention to his hardening member. Your breath quickens as your trembling fingers hook beneath his waistband.

Taking out his pulsating member you run your eyes up and down his entire length. He was big, to say at the very least. Bigger than you'd expected and more than you thought you could handle but backing out now would be straight up hypocrisy when your drooling mouth said otherwise.

With your ass right next to his chest, you start licking and sucking his tip with fervour, not wanting to waste even a single drop of his cum that you wanted so bad. You heard him moan lightly behind you, his voice only fuelled the fire that was burning your core. Having never given a blow job to anyone before you struggled in keeping a steady pace and his girthy cock didn’t make it any easier on you.

In just a few minutes you jaw ached and your entire face hurted but Satoru showed no signs of cumming.

In your own world again, you racked up your brain to figure out how to please him when suddenly you felt a hand climbing up your thigh. With the other hand he gripped your hips and pulled your lower half until you were straddling his mouth.

“ It’s a lot better like this don’t you think?”, as he spoke you felt his breath caressing your nether lips and you shivered in delight at the new position.

He snaked his hands in between your thighs and spread open your slit, glistening with your dripping arousal using his thumbs. Every single fold of yours now in display Satoru licked his plush lips before leaving open mouthed kisses on the exposed skin. His lips pulling out a series of appreciative hums as you desperately try to focus on your own actions.

Taking his hard length half in your mouth and half in one of your hand you tried to match the skilful movements of Satoru’s tongue that relentlessly lapped at your clit. After a few minutes of trying and failing to suck him up properly your senses got completely clouded by the heavy onslaught of that familiar release you had gotten used to.

You wanted to ask him to stop so you catch up to him but he the vigor in his actions and your own overwhelming surge of desires made you decide against it, the broken stings of his name died down with you still half choking on his length.

The only thing your lust laden mind could decipher except for pleasure was shame. To you, it was shameful how, being the one who asked to touch him, you were the one tethering near the edge. Before long your convulsing pussy was dripping with your juices, trickling down from his face that was still buried nose deep in your crotch.

Messing you up always filled Satoru with a kind of affection that he didn’t thought he was capable of.

Your cute whines getting muffled by his cock that you could only take half way past your llip sent waves of ecstasy down his spine. The cum that kept on flowing from your aching hole that he was the first to taste and the last as well took him to a high that no amount of pleasure could.

He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be the provider of your everything who had complete control over you or if he just wanted to spend hours into the night, praising every fibre of your being that was so eager to make him feel good. This duality of his thoughts confused him further and in that moment he knew he had to see this to the end.

Your heavy pants was the only thing that could be heard in the otherwise silent room, guilt and pleasure leaving you tongue tied. You move yourself from above him, your quivering body falling like a sac just beside his own.

“ I’m sorry! I couldn’t make you-“, before you could finish your breathy apology he brought up a finger near your frowning lips to quite you down.

“Its okay sugar, it was your first time. Not a big deal.”, the soft notes of his voice took the edge off of the disappointment you felt, “I told you. I’ll teach you everything.”

Those eyes. Two shining orbs of brilliant blue gazed at you in the same way you found yourself staring at him. Watching over you like it was their birthright and oddly enough, the scrutiny made you feel completly at home just like the warmth of his long arms that wrapped themselves around you.

" Realx Y/n, I'll be very thourough with my teaching, afterall,", your heart thumped loudly in your chest in response to his smooth voice, "I don't do things halfway.

The pleasent fatigue that had taken a hold of your body slowly dissipated but the growing haziness of your mind got you wondering if you were falling in deepness of his ocean blue eyes but as soon realization hit you, you were already halfway through blacking out.

That you’d never be forgiven for wanting.

From that moment on, you knew.

Part 2? Idk you tell me(╯︵╰,)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #jjk gojo #smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenario #tw:pseudo-cest #pseudocest #yandereish #my writing

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loneswaggingranger · 1 year ago

Text

Blanket statement to your blanket statement to my blanket statement that I appreciate your candor as well as the reciprocatively respectful and non-antagonistic nature of your arguments against mine.

Issue of Zegler

I am starting to see the value of levying criticism against Zegler's comments, given her position in the show, and the role that she is in. The defense of values that characters represent is an understandable battle. I also largely agree with most of your criticisms against Zegler's conduct.

However, the reason that I am still nervous to condemn Zegler so entirely, or so harshly, is because:

I would never know what it is like to be a celebrity, nor to be under such pressuring eyes. It is therefore disproportionate for me, an individual who does not have any experience in navigating the public sphere, to say that "Zegler has not conducted herself appropriately" or that "Zegler should not play Snow White because of her conduct/opinions" when I have no idea what it's like to be in that position. This is a point that you have raised in your concluding observation on respect. My personal view is that everyone deserves basic human dignity, and everyone deserves to be respected no matter what they have done, even if I disagree with them. It is possible to disagree with Zegler's behaviour without labelling her as a "sociopath" or a "liar". (These are not your words, certainly, but they are the most immediate example I could find in one of the reblogs of this post.) I wouldn’t levy criticism against another person, in a public setting, unless I knew them very well. Even if they may not know more than I think I do, I also have not seen the world in their eyes. I do not know why they have acted the way they did and I do not understand them. The baseline for me in this situation, would be to treat them with respect (the same one that you describe) and hope to be treated the same in order to reach an amicable result.

Celebrity culture puts people so far on a pedestal that every positive or negative thing that celebrities do becomes so magnified under the microscopic lens of the public gaze. When millions of voices are directing harsh criticisms (no matter how well-intended they are) against a single person, I find that it is not simply their feelings at stake, but also their mental health. While it is true that she may never come across any of our criticisms, I still think it is necessary to be conscious when putting our voices to the discussion that it is not framed in a way that condemns Zegler's entire personhood, but rather simply the content of her comments. The benefit of the doubt is something I prefer to give, especially for people whom I only see through a phone screen, or only know of through mass media. I do not know who Zegler is, and I do not know her point of view of this issue, and as such, I am not equipped to criticise her as a person, only the way that I have seen her act and the things she has said. This is a view that I hope you share.

Discrimination

Even if we do not bring Zegler's race into discussion, this issue still exists in the background before any of our points even arose. The main title was "How to Stick to the Point about Rachel Zegler and Snow White." Though those were not your points, Rachel Zegler's role as Snow White had been criticized for her race from the very beginning, and it was as such linked to the issue in my eyes. If the issue was framed as "Why Zegler's comments/conduct are harmful to the Legacy of Snow White", for example, I might perhaps be less nervous about agreeing with you fully.

Another danger that I find with placing our voices on this side of the discussion is, the aforementioned labelling of Zegler as a person. The exercise of assuming Zegler's character as a person is sadly something I have felt from this side - either by labelling Zegler as "racist", "idiot", "sociopath" or "liar" or by people belittling her achivements and talents as an actress for this particular incident. There is also the exercise of calling those who come in Zegler's defense (Zegler the person, not her actions or even if they are defending her actions, there is a certain animosity displayed by both sides which I think is rather unneeded) "white knights" or "she doesn't pay you to manage her public relations". These comments, I think, while not stated by you to me, is reductive when trying to have a constructive discussion. I understand that the labelling goes both ways, but I am nevertheless too conscious of the background effect it might have on our arguments.

It is fair, then, I hope, to say that you do not think of Zegler's person to fit into these labels, but rather just a young woman who has not conducted herself appropriately, and who does not fully understand the character of Snow White. This is starting to become my stance as well, but I am still actively against the idea that she deserves all the negative attention she is receiving now. Even though this is not an unwarranted consequence of her actions, it is fair to have empathy for her difficult position at this time. Even if she were to make a genuine public apology, there would still be people calling her out for being a liar, and there would still be people saying that it's not enough. It is fair, I think, to say that the way she has conducted herself is inappropriate and that she needs support from the people around her at this pressuring time. That is what I meant when I referred to compassion for her.

Still, the way you structure your criticisms, is probably one of the more respectful ways I have seen online, and it's something I wish more people would do, instead of tearing her down as a person. Reintegrative shaming is more effective in shaping the behaviour of low-level offenders, and I prefer to have caution with the "shaming" part when it has equal parts possibility of helping or harming a person.

(Yes, the "ableism" I referred to was in regards to the Peter Dinklage issue (I saw in the comments). I think I definitely used the wrong term there. Evidently, I do have enough knowledge or the expertise to comment on that thread of discussion, so I shall leave it as is.)

Issue of Snow White

You are correct in saying that the objective message that Snow White conveys is meant to be an empowering one of faith and love. But if her message was not received in the intended way, and in turn caused a moment of hurt, though I wouldn't say that her entire story did not serve its purpose, I would still say that it does not negate the hurt that her story stood to cause. It is definitely alright and sometimes helpful for stories to make one question themselves, but when its genre is marketed specifically for a target audience who are young and vulnerable in thought, it creates a box that they would then have to work to get out of. I would prefer the box not be there at all. (I admit, this is not an issue with Snow, but rather an issue of business ethics and marketing.)

I think it is fair to extrapolate that Snow White was intended as a message of aspiration for true love beyond romantic connotations across all genders, however, I have learnt those lessons through stories that are overtly about sibling's love (Brother Bear, Frozen, Prince of Egypt), or parental love (Brave, Everything Everywhere All at Once). I would argue that the element of choice and sacrifice is still prominent in both raised examples of love - You do not choose who your parents or siblings are, but you learn to choose to love them. You learn to choose to sacrifice for them. The above point is not to say that it is reductive to learn the importance of true love from Snow White. I am glad that she has been that example for you. I am only justifying why Snow White is not as meaningful a story to me as it is to you, which then led to my knee-jerk reaction to be on the defensive side of a human, rather than a character. I do then agree with your opposing point illustrating that your arguments are in defense of the values that Snow White represent. Although I did not receive that same value from her, I can understand the necessity of doing this, and subsequently the importance of preserving the legacy of Snow White. (I still disagree that one person's definition of power (or rather, way of life) can be more or less powerful than the other. This will be discussed further in the issue of interpretation.)

I think there is value in trying to present a character that upholds both values of personal strength and true love. In real life, I can rely on myself and also love and appreciate the love from people around me. These values do not neccesarily have to contradict each other. It should be alright to have a story where a character chooses to stand up for themselves in the same breath that they love another whole-heartedly (Take, for example, Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudive where she is unafraid to want to marry for both happiness and good fortune for herself and her family, or Moses from Prince of Egypt where he finds faith and love, while standing up for himself and his people against the generational abuse by his family). To reimagine a Snow White who is able to do both, I think, does more good than harm. I still definitely concur that the current Snow White movie in discussion does not stand to meet any of these standards and is just... full of problems.

Issue of Interpretation

Hooo boyyy now we are getting to the crux of our fundamental disagreement please take a sip of water. :) Know that I do not say any of this to agitate you and am interested in your point of view just as much as I believe in mine.

Context-based interpretation models

Literary/Creative interpretation, as I was taught, involves the understanding of literal meaning (basic sense of the text, plot or simple meaning), subtextual meaning (symbolic meaning of the text) and affective meaning (emotional engagement). The latter two layers of meaning are subjective in nature, and as such story interpretations are subjective and individual to every person.

The interpretation of your statement "Snow White is about faith" is not an act of literary interpretation, but rather a textual one. As you rightly put it, I am understanding your statements and forming an opinion of disagreement with my own reasonings. This is a process of argument. The interpretative processes applied in an argument, and the interpretative process applied in a story are thus vastly different. When I say story interpretation/interaction with story, I am referring to the line of thinking mentioned in my first point.

With this in mind, I agree with you that stories can convey an objective message. What the creator wanted the character to represent is often times intentional (though sometimes it is not, as imagination sometimes pulls you into writing a princess being saved by a dragon just because it brings you joy.) However, I strongly disagree that anyone's interpretation of a story can be wrong. I believe everyone gains benefit from interpreting stories in their own way, even if they are different from mine. I will never see the world as you might, and as such I would never be able to interpret stories affectively the same way that you do.

In that vein then, correct me if I misunderstand you, but you interpret stories by discerning the most correct meaning as intended by the creator. I see it differently. Though perhaps not as extreme as French philosopher Roland Barthes who says that the individual viewer should be regarded as author of the text (giving rise to multiple truths rather than just one), I do view the interpretation of stories as a dynamic process that involves equal amounts of input from both creator and viewer. In most cases, these meanings align, but in other cases they do not. For instance, when a character stands to represent something negative in the viewer's mind even though it was intended to be positive, I would not then say that the viewer was wrong. Rather, I would see it as an interesting story interpretation different from mine.

To raise another example, I can objectively understand your reasonings on why you believe Snow White to be a noble character of faith and love.

Literally, she is a character who has been abused, and is aspiring for love. Subtextually, she is a symbol of faith and love in spite of adversity. Affectively, she has inspired you to adopt her values in your life.

On the other hand, subtexually, I see her as a symbol for how women were seen or expected to be seen in that particular time of society - patient, positive, sweet, young and loving. Affectively, I did not feel that Snow White was an inspiring character.

While this was not the aim of the creator, Snow White (not this story alone, but the patterns in most earlier stories where older women are often not the focus or are presented as villains of a story or how princesses often end up saved by the prince or falling in love) became such a symbol as a result of the context that it existed within, something that the creators could not have changed unless they somehow had the ability to predict the social psyche of me in the future.

Hence, I would not describe the story interpretation of Snow White as a figure of disempowerment to someone else to be "wrong". Yes, Snow White is a representation for respectable values of love, but it also symbolizes the negative aspects of the context from which it generated from. Both are true things that exist, and neither have to take precedent over the other. You can love a story and understand the criticisms against it (something I believe you are already aware of).

The essence of stories (to me)

Stories are not only communication. They are so much more than that. For me, stories are an expression of emotion, a reflection of the real world through a creative lens. It transcends the binary of being right, or being wrong, or even somewhere in between. A story is just a story. It is the medium in which the objective message is being conveyed, yes, but it itself is not an objective element.

A story does not have to be useful. A story can just be a story. It can just be an expression of the creator's emotions. It can just be what you and I have to say about our own lives. It doesn't have to be a lesson, but it can be read as one, or intended as one. It can also just be a space to cultivate joy or to connect with new people from different backgrounds. It is a place where you can feel without being judged. It is a place where you can relate to characters so much that you are touched to tears. It is a place of solace and comfort, and sometimes free therapy. It gives one freedom from the outside world, so the pressures of real life do not affect them for an hour or two. As you say, it shines a light of appreciation on what is good, but it also forges a path of empathy for the antagonist of the story. There is just so much value to a story beyond measuring it by the lessons it can teach.

Stories, for me, are meant to be a place that allow me to understand, rather than one where I have to be the judge of things. Only when I am not the judge can I emphatise with the perspective of every character without bias. It is more helpful and also less stressful for me to consume from a place of empathy rather than judgment. I can say, for example, "I do not like what Rapunzel's mother did to her, but I also understand the context that made her act the way she did. This does not make her actions justifiable, no, but I am able to have empathy for the events that caused her to be this way." It's easier for me to find it in myself to learn to empathize with these characters first, before extending them to real people.

Stories give the viewer a neutral bird's eye view of things to come to their own conclusions. That is the "use", I think, of seeing with an intent to understand, rather than to be right. It allows you to understand everyone rather than just one side of the story (of which we are usually only a part of in our daily lives). It allows you to see the things you might not notice in real life when you are on one side of the spectrum.

There is also much value in finding your own meaning within characters, or to create new meaning with them so they are closer to you. It gives space for comfort and more joy. It allows a free space for people to expand their ideas, techniques and emotions without fear of judgment. It's probably one of the reasons we have fanart, fanfiction, and fandom culture as a whole. A freedom to express your love for stories and art. That is why it is beautiful to have the reimagining of traditional characters into our modern contexts (if done respectfully to the source material.)

To you, what is important in discourse is finding what is true. To me, what is important is understanding where the person is coming from. I am interested in what you think, because I value your thoughts as a person. Your thoughts may influence mine, but I also know what I believe in. The distinction here, if I may put it a bit crudely, is that you see your view as better than mine, whereas I see yours as different but not deficient.

I am certainly not saying that the way you choose to derive meaning from stories are wrong, nor is the way you engage in discourse. I only disagree with the sense of superiority in your sentiments, e.g. "My definition of power is different (and therefore truer and more powerful)" - I am right, and you are wrong. There is value, I think, in understanding the person with a dissenting view, and conducting your life as you prefer without judgment for the other person, without thinking that your way is the right way. I am not better than you simply because I interpret stories differently from you, so I would prefer to just say, "The definition of power most true to me is x" and stop there. This is just the way I live by, because who am I to say that the way you live is wrong when I have not walked an inch in your shoes? (Again, just pointing out an example, I am in no way saying that you are wrong for holding such a view, only indicating that it causes space for discomfort, and as a result, animosity.)

Summary

So yes, objectivity is important to reach a conclusion on issues, otherwise we would all be lost. Whether that conclusion is right or wrong depends on the reasonings individuals use to back up their conclusions. This is pretty much how most legal systems are structured and I would certainly not strive to be a dissenter of so large an entity. (Though it is also not always a definite right or wrong, as legislations can be amended based on moralities of the majority and there is a gray area even in court judgments, but nevertheless I digress.)

Basically, the interpretation of stories is a different beast altogether. When I write, my thought is always for the viewer to take what they will from my piece. It is freer for me as a writer to know that I don't have to say the right thing all the time. Too, it is freer for me as the reader to know that I am trusted to come to my own conclusions, that I am free to enter a world where there is a limited (if not non-existent) binary of right and wrong. That is just the way stories bring me the most happiness, and so that is the way I read them.

(Ps: The definition of "power" based on Oxford Languages, is the ability or capacity to act in a certain way; and "empowerment" is the authority or power given to that person/the process of becoming stronger and more confident. Making a person complacent is perhaps contrary to the notion of empowerment, but that's not the focus of our arguments. Just making sure that you know that when I refer to power, that's the definition I refer to. The strengths that we ascribe to power are then another beast entirely.)

How to Stick to the Point About Rachel Zegler and Snow White

"Rachel Zegler is just an actress doing her job, Disney is the one to blame for the Snow White changes!"

Just because she didn't write the changes doesn't mean she's not responsible for the words that come out of her mouth and the tone in which she says them. If anything, her skills as an actor, which usually include control over intonation, make her even more responsible for tone and attitude, not less.

Disney didn't write her a script for her interviews that said "now include a childhood memory that insinuates a negative opinion of the original Snow White!"

If you want to make it about how well she's doing at her "job..." She's not being professional: if her goal is to promote the new movie, alienating fans of the original is the worst way to accomplish that goal.

"Why are you attacking her just because she doesn't like the original? Lots of people don't like the original!"

The problem isn't that she doesn't like the original. Harrison Ford didn't like Han Solo, and he did a great job playing Han Solo anyway: because he understood the character, even if he didn't like him. Zegler is demonstrating that she doesn't understand the original movie, and doesn't like it based on that misunderstanding.

"You're just criticizing her because you're racist!"

Not really, because the point of Snow White as a character is pure love and pure innocence: and that point has been retold across all cultures. Rachel Zegler's skin color takes very little away from the role: it has nothing to do with her comments. Why are you making everything about a person's race? Kind of racist of you.

"You're just criticizing her because you hate women!"

If I hate women, why am I defending one of the greatest female characters of all time?

"Snow White is a movie where the Prince has to save Snow who does nothing but sing and dream of being rescued. It SHOULD get an update!! You're just worshipping the old one because you hate empowered women."

You don't understand the original movie. Snow White is a movie where the main character has faith that pure, innocent love will find her even when the odds are impossible.

She is the only character in the movie, contrasted with Grumpy and the Queen, who is genuine and doesn't hide what she is, because she's not afraid. She has several lines in the movie pointing that superpower-of-character-strength out. The Queen is afraid everyone will see how ugly she is in the inside if she's not Fairest of All. Grumpy is afraid his tender heart will lead to heartbreak so he hides it with grumpiness. Snow White hides nothing. She's the strongest character in the movie for that reason.

Again: Snow White IS an empowered woman: she's empowered with strength of character that can't be broken or twisted by circumstances even as a child. My definition of power is just different (and truer, and more powerful) than yours.

The Prince has two scenes: one where he falls in love with Snow White and promises to give her his heart in one meeting because that's how amazing she is, and the other where he fulfills that promise. His "effect" of waking her up wouldn't have happened without her "cause" of being a worthy enough woman to love.

They're not just "reimagining" the old version: they're replacing it. They're claiming to fix what's "broken" about the original. Therefore attacks on this movie are not attacks against the patriarchy or attacks against bigotry: they're attacks against the previous VALUES of faith, innocence, and the worthiness of pure love. Love that doesn't have to fight because it's powerful enough on its own. Faith that isn't corroded by circumstances. Innocence that doesn't turn bitter and inspires others. That's what they're saying is "broke" and trying to fix.

Do not let people derail the actual argument. Stories matter because they represent values. Values shape a culture. Rachel Zegler isn't a target: she's an example of what's happening in the culture, and makes a good entryway into talking about it. Don't get it twisted.

#if you read this far thank you again #i enjoyed the peaceful debate #you are absolutely someone id love to have a conversation with irl #have a great day OP #long #discourse

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davidmann95 · 4 years ago

Note

So... Crossover #1: any thoughts?

Anonymous said: You seemed not to think much of Crossover #1 on Twitter. Your full thoughts?

wcwit said: So Cates' Crossover #1, best bad comic of the year or just regular pretentious trash?

An incidental note upfront: What you’re seeing there is the apparently SUPER-RARE SECRET VARIANT COVER I unwittingly picked up at the store - at first glance indistinguishable from the standard cover, the kid getting four-color-fucked by mysterious comic book rays is in fact themselves reading a variant cover of the book, rather than the main cover again in an infinite painting-within-a-painting sort of deal that’s the standard.

So I wasn’t gonna get this: my initial post on the comic and what an obviously awful idea it was back when we only knew half the premise and it was known as Pray The Capes Away actually got some out-of-nowhere traction recently, and I’ve grown rapidly tired of Cates’ Marvel work. Even learning that it was going to be Image’s biggest debut in decades - Jesus fuck, how and why - mostly just made me wish it was Commanders in Crisis getting those kinds of numbers. But Sean Dillon/@deathchrist2000 and Ritesh Babu both got early looks at it and assured me that I, specifically, needed to see the last page, so in I dove. I’ll be posting my reaction to the last page below because I recorded it for their amusement, and below that I’ll talk about said last page. It may surprise you, however, that that wasn’t my main takeaway from the issue.

Let’s accentuate the positive first! This book is gorgeous. Geoff Shaw was terrific back with Thanos Wins, but this is an incredible stylistic level-up aided and abetted by Dee Cunniffe’s colors: it’s rote as hell to say “They mix the elevated and the mundane so well!”, but even beyond the obvious ben-day dots stuff there’s such a tangible sense that the comic book beings don’t belong here, that they’re of higher, misty, platonic stuff and we squishy non-paper-people inevitably crumble and break and bleed in their wake, communicating that big idea so much more powerfully than the actual loads of text on the subject. And if we’re talking good things, I’ll concede it’s possible that there could be subtleties that play out in more interesting ways as it goes on, and that not everything is meant to be taken at face value: a smart friend who actually did like it mentioned being interested in it as clumsy but potentially effective exploration of ‘what if the fun hobby you had inadvertently became contaminated and stigmatized by forces beyond your control?’ In a post-Comicsgate world where we recently ended up inches away from the Superman logo almost certainly becoming a fascist propaganda symbol ala the Punisher skull for at least a generation, that’s a defensible lens to view this book through.

For all Donny Cates’ legitimate talents however, I don’t think an expectation of subtlety is gonna work out with this one.

Okay first off getting into the rest of it the main characters’ name is Ellipsis because “Those three little dots...they can become anything”, so there’s that. More importantly, in the world of this story where comic fans face social oppression after superpeople materialize and fuck up Colorado, they face EVERY KIND OF OPPRESSION: there are clear parallels drawn in here to the violence and harassment faced by people persecuted for their religion, people seeking abortions, queer people, and people of color; this motherfucker even drops a “hates and fears” to let us know comic collecting basically makes you one of the goddamn X-Men. Which in theory could be a purely misjudged allegory rather than stemming from actual, obscenely inflated to the point of disgusting fears of ‘nerd oppression’, except that the book literally opens with a quote from Wertham. If Cates didn’t want to make the message “Hating comics? That’s bad. Like, racism bad”, he utterly, grotesquely failed by inextricably intermingling imagery of real-world bigotry with systemic, deluded fanboy paranoia, at least as of this first issue that’s supposed to meaningfully convey the premise. As a queer dude I think I’m somewhat in my lane to say it’s too blunt and broad and dopey to be particularly offensive, but the co-opting of oppression is what this is rooted in.

The idea of ‘comics good no matter what people think, ain’t it?’ extends to the last traditional local comic store standing in this world: much as superheroes are the primary cause of suffering in this world but the point of the story is still supposed to reveal the beauty in them, part of this is that the comics community isn’t perfect but it sure is great. Which is expressed here via Ellie’s boss Otto, a loveable asshole who yells at people coming in trying to sell the wrong kind of comics to fuck off, but at heart is we’re supposed to understand a good enough dude that the shop he runs is “the only home a lot of (the benighted nerds) have left” (because I guess in this alternate universe the physical stores are still the main hub through which comics fans talk with one another?).

So here’s a story of my very own! That’s me in 2013, it must’ve been some kind of special day because I’m wearing a shirt with a button. I’d at that point only frequented one of what would be my thus far four regular comic shops. The first was a great place, and while to say I had a sense of community there would be overstating it a bit, I was on really good terms with the owner and we regularly chatted when we had the time. When I left for college my store there wasn’t as well-stocked, and for some damn reason all variant covers were double-price, but I got along really well with the owner there too. The third I wasn’t so lucky; the guy regularly behind the desk was never overtly hostile, but clearly wanted to wring my neck every time I asked when a missing comic might get in or if I could update my pull list, and given I’m in the ‘ideal’ demographic for being a comic book store regular and was dropping a solid lump of money there every week, I wonder how others were treated there (the store nearly went under, was saved on the last day of operation by another store that wanted to incorporate it as part of its franchise, then shortly afterwards DID go under and is now I believe a beef jerky place). My current store is fine, I didn’t chat much with the folks behind the counter even before we all had medical incentive to get in and out of places fairly quickly but it almost always has what I’m looking for.

Just because those were my regular stores of course doesn’t mean those are the only ones I’ve ever gone to. About a year before that picture was taken - it’s the closest I could find - when I was 17 my store didn’t have something or another I was looking for, so I head across town to see if another place I had looked up had it. This other place didn’t have what I was looking for either, though I distinctly remember picking up a few issues of Hickman’s FF while I was there since I had foolishly fallen off, hence my remembering the year. I bought a couple issues, but hung around for a bit looking to see if I might grab something else out of a dollar box, setting my comics down. Without realizing it, I’d set my books down on top of another issue, and when I decided I wasn’t getting anything else, I just picked that up along with the rest of the pile and was about to walk out before the owner stopped me. He explained what I had done though assumed it had been deliberate, and because I was a good-hearted little geek I even recall thinking “Well, he’s gonna chew me out, but I guess I deserve it. I’ll try and take this to heart as a learning experience.”

Then he pulled up his shirt a little to show me the gun on his belt. He pointed at the security camera monitors at his desk, and explained to me that if I ever did something like that again, he would have it on tape, and he would pull that gun on me and hold me there while he called the cops.

As it turned out, the comic was free.

The whole thing was so sudden and bizarre and unexpected I didn’t actually freak out until the drive home. It wasn’t until weeks or maybe months later that I managed to tell my dad about the experience, because I *had* nearly stolen a (free) comic and my guilt was mixed in with my nerves and I guess I was somehow too close to register just how disproportionate his response was. It wasn’t until now, nearly a decade later and thinking about it for the first time in a long time as I write this, that I wondered if that might have gone differently - especially living in the midwest - if I hadn’t been a white, squeaky-voiced 17-year-old.

So, minor spoiler, when our cantankerous but well-meaning LCS owner yells to call the cops and grabs and yells at a small kid for pocketing a comic (and later displays fantasy racism towards said kid), I am not filled with nostalgic love for the brotherly safe space that is comic book stores, where this guy while not meant to be seen as perfect is still framed in part as a charming, witty representation of Why We Love These Places, And This Community, And This Genre, And This Medium. Cates is clearly drawing on real time at his local stores, but he equally clearly has a very different takeaway from those experiences than me. And I am, again, in a demographic - white, cis-male, abled, bi but more interested in women, disposable income, a lifelong collector - that the industry and a lot of the guys who sell it to us contort themselves around catering to, even if I had a single very negative experience and later an ongoing low-key uncomfortable one to help disabuse me of any notions of the purity of the dork community. In the world of Crossover as of #1, toxicity is intertwined, deliberately or not on the part of the creators, with what we love on the cosmic and small business scales alike, but at least in the latter case it’s the whole picture that’s beautiful, not any single kernel that needs to be worked on to be dug up.

So underneath is my video reaction to the last page of Crossover #1. Very minor spoilers because I mutter the last two words of the comic to myself, but under the video I discuss said final page and some other scattered thoughts. Whether you read that or not, my takeaway is this: I’m fascinated with wherever the hell this thing is going, I’m glad my dad liked it well enough to want to keep getting it because now I’ll get to see where it heads, but my first impression is that this is at heart meant as cheapass Oscar-bait for people who only read Batman. It’s big and high-concept but also small and intimate! It’s meta and about how great you, the reader are for your consumption, especially the consumption of this! It’s going to be in large part about a forbidden love between a couple divided across impermeable social lines (a couple where they’re a seemingly straight white man and woman, but one likes comics)! Maybe it’ll become Not That, and I’m sure it’ll do at least something interesting along the way because Cates has done good stuff before and there are some inherently interesting big ideas for him to play with here, but for the love of god if you’re thinking about getting this buy Commanders in Crisis too or instead, it’s another new book out of Image about superheroes dealing with the collapse of the multiverse but that one is really fucking good.

So the final page splash reveal is that when the comic book child discovered in here got out of Colorado, which has had an impenetrable energy shield erected around it by one of the heroes for years, she and others were ferried out of there...by Superman, as the narration declares that “This is a story...about hope.” They don’t say the word, but she sketches her savior, Ellie and Otto freak out and go “Is that---” when they see it, and on that last page we see that while a crude drawing it isn’t a rough analogue character, it’s a guy with a cape and trunks with an S on his chest. Surprisingly, I don’t have much to say: it’s just another blunt signifier that superheroes rule and are the best, paired with the most utterly devalued notion as of late of what makes Superman special in ‘hope’. I mean, I’m perversely excited to see whether this is building the entire series on a hook it can never deliver on, or if Cates actually has talked DC into an intercompany crossover; believable given they’ve done a bunch of those over the last several years, and why else would Mark Waid be supervising as ‘story editor’ on this? I guess it’ll shake out one way or another with #6 given Cates has said it “has one of the more epic and — I would argue historic — sequences in comic book history in it.” But I’m far less convinced this is gonna truly go into the meaty question of “What does Superman mean and what makes him unique in this world where superheroes in general are indisputably either failures or monstrous bastards given the scale of destruction their presence has brought about, and he himself failed to stop that?” than as some kind of holy grail of how great superheroes are despite how dang violent they’ve gotten these days for the crew to chase after, whatever additional twist will surely be placed upon it. At least he’s kinda helping an immigrant kid get over a wall, if that’s deliberate?

Random final thoughts:

* If I wrote the opening essay and turned it in in a college course, I would be expelled for plagiarizing Grant Morrison. This is not a joke.

* If mainstream American superhero comics ended January 2017 in this universe, its own last ‘crossover’ was Civil War II, which is hilarious.

* God, please tell me if it takes the dive after all that this isn’t somehow tied into whatever Waid’s Superman project is.

* I wouldn’t normally crap on issues with the finer details of worldbuilding, but A. This is rooted in a nominally ‘real’ world playing by recognizable rules, B. I’m ragging on this anyway so what’s the harm, and C. It’s really obvious. So: Why is one of the racists against the superheroes the guy who loves superheroes so much he’s the last holdout in the entire world still selling comic books about them? How does this modestly-sized shop exist long-term with apparently a significant regular customer base if there are no new comics or even reprints to restock with, ever? Who’s buying the serialized cop/cowboy comics that the U.S. government apparently created pretty much overnight (nobody, it’s just another Wertham dig)?

* The solicit for issue #3 proclaims “Don't miss this one, folks. If you do, it just might drive you...mad.”, so now I fear some kind of Ultra Comics riff.

* “Kids love chains” is the most metal-ass quote of all time and I hate that it’s being wasted as an arc title on this book.

#Donny Cates #Geoff Shaw #Dee Cunniffe #John J. Hill #Mark Waid #Me #Superman #Opinion

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witchcraft-in-wonderland · 4 years ago

Text

Snakes and Scandals (Pt.1)

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

Virgil Blanche hated a lot of things, that was a given. He was, after all, an extremely poor twenty-two year old man living in the slums of a high-end empire city. Every day he would sit through nearly ten hours of abuse from costumers who were raised to think they were better than everyone else, and even the ones who weren't born rich were corrupted very quickly.

"Excuse me? Is this still eligible for a return? I tried at another store and they rejected me but I only bought it a few days ago," Virgil merely sighed at the hat and scarf clad man in front of him.

"If you bought it less than two months ago its eligible for return, if someone told you it wasn't you can file a complaint," Virgil never spoke very clearly, but he appreciated the man at least pretending to understand what he was saying.

"Thank you," it was at this point Virgil seemed to register that the man was speaking with a slight russian accent.

"Have a nice day," Virgil said in a monotone voice.

The day continued as all days working in customer service usually did, of course, had Virgil checked his calendar, maybe he would've realized that it was National Frame a Retailer For Flirting With You day. He didn't have much time to react, whoever the girl who'd used him as a cheating scapegoat was, she was very quiet, and her boyfriend was very fast.

"You tryna make her look dumb? Huh? Is that what you want?" Virgil tried to protest but ended up with a faceful of knuckles instead.

He should've known it wouldn't end well for him, at least he wasnt dead, but now he had a bloody face and was sitting in the managers office, waiting to hear his fate.

"So you punched him?" Virgil's boss was very stereotypical, blonde, bob-cut, light brown eyes, and Virgil knew she hated him. She always acted excited about his new piercings or tattoos, and of course she congratulated him when she found out he'd finally managed to afford top surgery after saving up since age fourteen. But he could tell it was all fake. He wasn't social enough for customer service, after all.

"In self defense, only after he broke my nose," Virgil responded. His manager pursed her lips together, glaring slightly from behind her glasses.

"And you are aware they intended to sue, yes?" Virgil gritted his teeth,of course they were, after all, why attack a store employee if you didn't want to sue them, or, at least, if you didn't want free starbucks every time you showed up.

"No, I wasn't, because they attacked me first," Virgil said calmly.

"I'm sorry Virgil but I'm going to have to fire you," there was no hiding the look of pure glee on the managers face as she delivered the news.

Virgil merely set his name tag on the table and left, all the while clutching his face. It burned, badly, some people needed to go to the gym less.

"You alright dude?" Virgil moved his hand to look at the man in front of him. Tall, skinny, with a mustache on his face and a white streak in his hair. The man had a worried look on his face, though his eyes conveyed a vague crazed look.

"Yeah, sure," Virgil said. He was about to walk away when the taller man grabbed his arm.

"Come with me, I'll help clean you up," Virgil was honestly to tired to argue, so instead he merely followed.

"Roman! I think I found you a new model! A little bruised up but I think he'll be ok soon enough!" Virgil had stopped listening after 'model'.

"Wait wait wait wait wait- I am definitely not a model-" Virgil tried to shrink in on himself.

"Well of course you arent yet! Oh Remus you life saver look at him! He's brilliant!" A boy who looked similar to the one with the mustache rushed out from behind a pillar, planting a kiss on the receptionists cheek as he ran.

Remus smiled, "I'll go get some ice packs and bandages, you two can talk," he said, running off.

"Roman Prince-Duke, head of Rome Fashion Company," Roman said, holding a hand out.

"Virgil Blanche, head of confused and worried emotions company," Virgil said, Roman let out a laugh.

"So what happened? If you're comfortable sharing that is," Roman said, gesturing to Virgil's face.

"Girl got her boyfriend to attack me at work for the sake of coupons," Virgil said, shrugging.

"Oh dear. . ." Roman said, his face falling slightly.

A few minutes later Virgil was sitting on a bench with ice pressed against his face and Roman listening intently as the receptionist told him what he should do.

"Gods Lolo you're so cute when you're being smart," Roman said, smiling and leaning his elbow on his knee, head pressed against his hand. The receptionist's face flushed with color.

Virgil honestly wasn't sure how calling him a model wasn't a joke, yet here he was sitting in the lobby waiting for Roman.

"Alright Virgil! Let's get you ready for your first shoot shall we?" Roman brought Virgil up by the hand, spinning him slightly before guiding him to another room.

"Lucky for you we have plenty of outfits in your size," Roman said.

"Mention my height and the fabric scissors might find their way up your nose," Virgil growled. Being 4'8 never exactly helped his case, he didn't normally get aggressive easily but it was a bit touchy for him.

"Oh dont worry, I learned my lesson with Lo on our first date," Roman said.

An hour or so later Virgil was dressed in a purple sleeveless top with black lace along the neckline, a black corset, ruffled black skirts, and black boots with heels. It felt, nice, and Virgil wasnt sure why. Normally he hated the way he looked in everything, but for once in his life he felt like royalty.

"Remy! I've got a new model for you!" Roman said as they entered another room with all manner of different sets and cameras set up.

A man with a leather jacket and sunglasses popped out from behind one, jaw dropping slightly "Roman you SAINT! Where'd you find him?!" Remy said, circling Virgil and looking him up and down.

"That credit goes to Remus, speaking of which, I've got business to attend to, you boys have fun," Roman said, turning on his heel to leave, the nearly floor length skirt of his outfit sweeping behind him.

"Alright babes you look like you're about to pass out right now so let's take a little break m'kay?" Remy walked with Virgil to a room that seemed primarily composed of bean bags.

They sat there for a while, Remy asking him questions and telling him his own stories. Before suddenly he got up and held a hand out for him. Virgil took it and allowed himself to be lead to a set covered in giant mushrooms and flowers. Remy spent a few minutes posting him, bringing out a few props for him to prop his arms on.

"Now just relax and give me a smile, you look like you're good at subtle, let's try some of those first," said Remy from behind the camera.

Virgil started out the shoot wishing it would be over already, but by the end he couldnt seem to stop looking at his own reflection in the camera lens.

"Oh Jan's going to lose it when he sees these!" Roman said, looking through the pictures from his phone.

"Who's Jan?-" Virgil said, tilting his head slightly.

"Oh you probably know him as Dimitri, he's a rival of mine," Roman handed Virgil a magazine, one scan of the front cover and Virgil recognized the man from a week ago, he was wearing the same hat and scarf as before. He read the caption above it. "Dimitri Gabriel to release new line inspired by endangered reptile species, all proceeds to go to preservation funding, no real scales used," he handed the article back to Roman.

"I've seen that guy, he was returning something the day I got fired," Virgil said.

"Oh even better! He'll recognize you!" Said Roman.

"Wait where are these even going?" Virgil said.

"My stylegram, you dont seem like the type who likes runways, so Remus and I have decided you'll be a social media model," Roman said.

"Well- guess I better make my own account then," Virgil said, pulling out his own phone.

It was only a few minutes before the comments flooded in, he recognized Janus' face, though his handle still conveyed his name as Dimitri. His face flushed red at the compliments. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but the feeling that Janus was impressed by his looks gave him an intense sensation of joy.

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

Tag List:

@nerosdayinhell

@official-lucifers-child

@meowthefluffy

@spooky-scary-virgil

@misunderstoodshadowling

@youtuberswithalex

#snakes and scandals au #romantic anxceit #anxceit #mosleep #romantic mosleep #intrumile #romantic intrumile #imagimile #romantic imagimile #romantic logince #logince #violence tw #tw violence #violence mention #violence #tw blood #blood tw #blood

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potatopossums · 3 years ago

Text

Insecurity and Boundaries: A Necessary Coexistence

Content Warning:

This post includes discussions / mentions of:

bodily insecurities, explicitly including dysmorphia, dysphoria, and implicitly including but not limited to eating disorders, weight

childhood trauma including shame, humiliation, fear

coping mechanisms, both healthy and unhealthy, including anxious avoidance, projection, masking, reflection

mentioned references to all of the above through lenses of morality, cis white feminism and sexualized body positivity

adhd

—

Author's Note:

Written through the lens of adhd, anxiety, depression, queerness, transness, nonbinaryness, aromanticism, alterous attraction, and as always, questioning.

—

Ngl I've had the opportunity to date/"be with" (in whatever capacity) several quite attractive ppl, and the last couple have been great examples of something that actually kind of triggers me / turns me off.

I didn't really know what to make of it then, and I felt bad about it then too because I thought I was just being judgy. Not saying some of that isn't potentially still there, but i think i understand better now.

It honestly kind of scares me when I have the opportunity to have close relationships with people with bodily dysphoria/dysmorphia or strong insecurities. My brain has a really bad habit of being reflective when I'm feeling vulnerable. I just match people. It's a way of masking while relating to people. It's a defense mechanism. But it feels quite real in the moment and i often don't realize it's happening until it has already happened.

But as a nonbinary person who gets misgendered a lot at work, I've spent a lot of time now very acutely aware of my own body (as if i wasn't already). I don't tend to hate my body in a vacuum. I actually enjoy my body. I like how it looks in certain clothes; I like how I can trick the eye and make it look another way with other clothes, and then surprise, it's a different body underneath! I like how my body feels when i masturbate, i like how my body feels in the warm sun, i like how my body feels when i self-soothe. Even when I'm in pain, in some of those moment, i like that my body exists because I know something is happening inside me, something systematic and programmed, something beyond me that does it's evolutionary purpose, no matter how flawed. I've always had a curiosity about bodies in general (gender and sex completely aside). So when i say i love my body, i mean that.

Does it mean i don't struggle with dysphoria? Of course i struggle. And it makes me feel like shit.

Sure, I've got that Cis White Feminist Self-Loathing Intervention Voice in my head that says "all bodies are beautiful" (and she really means all women are beautiful but I'll co-opt her lines to fit my agenda). That voice is problematic because like. I like being beautiful, but why do I want to be beautiful, and what happens when I'm not beautiful? How do I guage whether I'm beautiful at any given moment? Isn't that largely subjective even with an overarching cultural & social standard? When I feel "ugly" — my cowlicks sticking up, teeth unbrushed, i feel too short, i feel i look too childish, I'm afraid my boobs are showing in a way i don't want to be seen, etc. — who's to say that someone else doesn't find some of those things attractive? So attractiveness is a poor method of confidence, despite how influential it still is on my brain and personality. That influence is fear based.

All that in mind, when I hear other people struggling with their bodies, especially in a Trans/Non-Binary/Dysphoric way, it really scares me. I mean, any bodily struggles scare me because I have my own insecurities to deal with. And when I'm in that state of really wanting to keep a connection because abandonment trauma + adhd, my vulnerable brain says that in order to impress someone, I must reflect relatably. So that has me digging back into my bodily insecurities. And I explore them as if I should be feeling them.

Let me unpack that. I'm avoidant with my anxieties. I don't talk about them, and I don't think about them much if I can help it, because when I think about them, that result can be largely painful, dramatic, and too emotionally volatile for me to handle. I always want to look put together, I want to feel secure enough to not need to ask for help, because those few times it went badly when I asked for help still stick with me (regardless of how long ago those moments were, and regardless of how many good times I've had where received actual help since). I remember the embarrassment and humiliation, the shame, the fear, the guilt. I remember wanting to make myself smaller, and how crushing that felt to do. I remember how little I understood of these wild and complex emotions, and all I knew was that I felt violated and disgusting. And I turned that inward. Because I had no external support.

So me saying that I explore my anxieties "as if I should be feeling them" is multi-pronged. It's Cis White Feminist Body Positivity, it's all those family members who modeled and normalized self-hatred for me from a young age, it's bodily dysphoria/dysmorphia at being misgendered, it's me trying to convince myself that my body truly is okay and that my negative inner voice doesn't know what it's talking about due to it's poor influences, and it's me ultimately not being able to reconcile all that on my own (or fast enough, thanks adhd) and resorting to anxious avoidance of my insecurities as if that solves them.

And then, when I hear someone I might kind of want to be intimate with start to talk about their insecurities, my brain panics. It says, "If you go in there, you will lose it. You will fall into the same hole they're in. You will have to suffer just as much for them, and for yourself. You will lose all your energy and you will start to hate yourself. They will treat your body the way they treat their body. You will be made to hate yourself."

And even though I know plenty of people with dysphoria/dysmorphia and other bodily struggles absolutely won't do those sorts of things, I also know that projection is a thing. And considering how poor I am at boundaries and how I tend to adopt unhealthy relationship dynamics due to my avoidance, I know that it would just start a bad cycle for me. Even with all the empathy and understanding in the world, I simply cannot root myself in a situation that would cause me to loathe myself.

And again, in case this wasn't clear: this is absolutely not a statement about people with bodily confidence issues as a whole. I am not trying to villainize or demonize or moralize their experiences. That is markedly the opposite of what I intend here.

But it took a long time for me to get to this point in my self-awareness. And i wanted to share it because i want other people to be able to reach an understanding of themselves too, whatever that understanding might entail. Yeah, it's a little cliche, but our projections and fears about others can have a lot to do with our fears about ourselves. It's important to be self-aware, even if that doesn't immediately solve the problem(s).

I tend to really like confident people because of this. That attraction has it's own roots in confidence issues, and its own potential flaws. And until I can change my own avoidant anxiety, I'm going to find new ways to project my avoidance and shame onto others, regardless of whether they are confident or unconfident, dysphoric or not.

But, just because I'm projecting doesn't mean that I'm unworthy of boundaries. Even if my behaviors are unhealthy, even if I do need to work to change those things (and even though I actively want to change those things), it is still healthy for me to know my limits. It's healthy to know what triggers me. It's good for me to realize these things and step back, even if the relationship I'm leaving/not starting is arguably "good." (And that assumption is a whole other topic for another post.)

So, along with whatever other epiphanies you might have received from this read, here's my major takeaway that I want to leave you with:

Your boundaries are okay. Even if they're based in anxiety, even if they're based in unhealthy coping mechanisms, even if you want to change your unhealthy behaviors/mindset. Your boundaries do not need to pass any social justice or morality tests in order to be valid. Your boundaries do not have to "make you grow." Your boundaries are not bad, even if you feel like they keep you from being the best version of yourself.

The only way you can actually grow is if you respect yourself enough to respect and enforce your boundaries. The only way you can feel comfortable and happy and healthy is if you respect your boundaries.

So please do that for yourself. Please respect your boundaries. I know it's very hard, especially for people-pleasers. I know it's hard for you avoidant types. I know it's hard for those of us who mask and reflect.

But please, just a little bit at a time, respect yourself. Even if that means disappointing or hurting others with a "no."

And please, please, please surround yourself with people who respect your boundaries and stand up for you. Of all the work I've tried to do alone, nothing compares to the effectiveness and growth I've experienced when I've been around radically affirming people — people who fought for my right to say no; people who defended my boundaries no matter what they entailed; people who stood up for my pronouns at work; people who validated my life experiences, labels, queerness, and questioning. It can be difficult to find people like that in real life, but please stay in the company of people who do that for you. Even if they're online. Stay near people who model self-respect for you. They will help you practice how to treat yourself.

—

#tw body insecurity #tw dysphoria #tw dysmorphia #tw eating disorder #adhd #masking #reflecting as a coping mechanism #trauma #relationships #alterous attraction #questioning aromantic #nonbinary #agender #queer

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kendrixtermina · 5 years ago

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The "waifu bait" criticism of Edelgard is so dumb given that most of the cast is technically waifu/husbando bait in one way or another, they're all meant to appeal to players as romance options, and she's the only one getting flack for it. (Well, not the only one, there were some people giving Dimitri shit too for being "wish fullfillment for stupid teenage girls who think they can fix a man," but I see the complaint most often with Edelgard.)

Yeah. I mean, you can boink Rhea and Jeritza!

It’s not like satelite love interests aren’t a plague onto anime and fiction in general, but I only ever hear this “you only like them because they’re waifu/bishie” thing directed at characters who very much DO have personality, unique compelling features and plot relevance.

I’ve also seen this thrown at, say, Evangelion’s Miss Ayanami, as if all the fascinating sci-fi concept stuff and compelling narrative about finding your own worth and making a connection in a cruel lonely world wasn’t there - and at least we do see her through a “main character’s love interest” sorta lens. (I was thinking about how Byleth is actually quite similar, except more proactive with more of a dorky side, and less philosophical/reflective, but because Byleth is the MC we come off with a fairly different impression. )

Meanwhile with Edelgard they really didn’t pull any punches, the whole story is set in motion and dominated by her active choices, most the unique designs/outfits she gets are geared to look elegant/powerful. (Apart from the usual ‘individually wrapped boob armor would break your sternum’ thing but you’d really have to know physics for that/ could be fixed easily by making the fit more sweater-like), she has a specific discernable philosophy and makes impactful choices, that can genuinely be agreed or disagreed with.

You can’t swag her into your way of thinking - you can only ally with her under the presupposition that you already actively agree. (See all the people complaining that you cant “criticise her more”, expecting her to be like Dimitri basically even though they are exact opposites. You can only get on her route by making two deliberate choices. I mean they wrote this with your first playthrough in mind, in-universe you’re not there because you wanna complete all aroutes but because you actively chose to join her after she spent a year unsubtly trying to recruit you to her cause)

You don’t talk Claude out of his tactics either. (and forcing it all into this comparision often leads ppl to overlook that he has ambiguities or character development at all, maybe he isn’t vilified but he gets simplified and therefore wronged just as much in the end. They’re not all Dimitri. The whole point of having three or four different potential deuteragonists to choose from is that they’re different)… heck, even if you look at Dimitri, you only get him back to what he really wanted to do back in part I before his black-and-white thinking and exaggerated sense of duty got the better of him.

With all three, joining them eventually just enables them to get closer to their actual vision. Back when you meet her in Remire, Edelgard outright tells you that “with your power on my side, we could courttail the slitherer’s atrocities much more efficiently”. You don’t change her mind at all; You enable her to use “Plan A”. Same with Claude, who otherwise plains much more defensively both because he has less support and because he’s more jaded. And Dimitri essentially pulls a Sayaka, ie being unable to live up to his own unrealistic standards drive him to lose all hope and become the very opposite of the hero he wanted to be, but you do help him get back to that, or to a more balanced mature understanding of that.

The best proof of that is that the popularity poll numbers actually went down after the release, ie a lot of ppl who liked her just bc they liked her design were turned off that there’s a specific personality there that isn’t necessarily their type/ a MO they don’t necessarily agree with. Or all those peeps complaining that the S-support was too understated for them. Claude got that too - They’re just not the most open/expressive people in the world, one would think that after playing through their routes you would know and understand that. Whereas Dimitri has been super emotional from day one (which is both his greatest strength and greatest weakness), so it figures that he’d be more conventionally romantic.

- Hardly things that would happen if she were written to be “blandly pleasant”. I mean generally speaking she’s not the best as showing her feelings and when she does she’s often pretty blunt at it even with her closest friends (El: ”Hubert! I order you to tell me what it is you’re not telling me!” Hubert: [elegantly weasels out of answering] El: [after he’s left the room] I’m worried about him tho. )

Seems senseless to claim that she’s blandly pleasant when she’s absolutely gotten a love-it-or-hate-it-marmite-reaction all across the board. It also seems to go along with the implicit idea that everyone who likes her is heterosexual boys. I’m neither, and it’s not like heterosexual boys aren’t ever interested in “plot” or “writing” I mean geez. Though I would resist the temptation to fully ascribe it to things like that.

To an extent it’s simply confusion. “How can they like this thing that obviously sucks? Must be an ulterior motive”, whereas in reality ppl who like her have probably parsed what happened here differently to begin with (It depends greatly on how powerful you concluded Rhea was, ie, wether what Edelgard is doing is a conquest or a revolt. She certainly sees it as a revolt. Even today in the modern day most of us see revolts as legitimate, or at least, if they get overly destructive, as a fault of the bad government. Heck, there are many on this very site who would label all revolts legit by default (”eat the rich”, the more ‘original sin-like’ variants of privilege theory) which is further than I would go )

There certainly are a bunch of ‘cute’ scenes post holy-tomb scene and under the assumption that Edelgard is this my-way-or-the-highway type of person that many have her pegged as I can see how they might think that it “makes no sense” but that’s really down to wanting her not tp step outside of that idea they have of her. I mean even supervillains have silly everyday situations. Bin Laden loved Disney Movies, Hitler loved his dogs. By itself that has nothing to do with morality or likeability. It’s just being human. Supervillains blush, not because they’re not villains, but because they have blood vessels in their faces. It’s only logical that once you get close to someone and get them to trust you, you get to see more of their silly or vulnerable sides. It’s the same with Rhea. (except that the same people argue that having personable vulnerable sides at all makes Rhea good s of course it causes some cognitive dissonance when Edelgard also has them. I’ve yet to see ppl calling “waifuism” on Rhea (whom I would consider a full-fledged villain), and they shouldn’t - it’s characterization.) Same with ppl calling Edelgard a “manchild” for liking stuffed animals and sweets. She’s actually very mature and adult for her age, having some interests that aren’t super high-minded is just realistic and if you looked at her as a full 3D person who can have more than one trait you’d see that.

This also goes with that tendency of holding up AM as the gold standard complaining about the lack of AM-like plot that they completely miss the different but equally compelling character arcs in VW and CF. That’s not a lack of arc, that IS the arc, it’s just a different arc: We get to see this tough, in-control high-minded character who’d completely given up on the normal life she wanted so much and resigned herself to never being understood finding out that she is very much still capable of normalcy and humanity and finding friendship and love and I think that’s beautiful. It’s my jam.

And it’s meaningful precisely because it’s a change from only seeing the tough leader guise otherwise. Complaining about that is like complaining about getting to see Claude’s more wistful, dreamy, benevolent, not-entirely self-interest side in VW or claiming that the writing would be better if he were just a straight-up selfish trickster. Actually, if you removed their heroic traits you’d end up with a lot more generic characters. You’d simply get every wild card trickster ever, and every “Nietzschean” villain ever. It’s the fact that they’re unconventional heroes that makes Claude and Edelgard so unique, compelling and interesting. If you like conventional heroes, Dimitri is right here. Your basic heroic fantasy ‘rightful king returns/ soft peace loving hero’, plus your basic jrpg guilt-ridden angsty protagonist. I mean there’s good reason that these character archetypes are popular. Plus he’s especially well-executed and recontextualized by the contrast to the others, but there he is, enjoy him! We’re not stopping you.

It’s really Seteth who came up short arc wise. You could have given him an arc, the potential was there, he essentially transistions from protecting himself and his family to taking on his family’s heroic quest and rising up to that, but he doesn’t get like, a scene reflecting on that. Or you could’ve sent them on some mission to actually curb some corrupt cardinals etc, shown them actually reforming the church and realizing that it wasn’t all perfect, after all he very much knows that Rhea herself wasn’t all perfect.

For all that much of media is obsessed with making characters “hot”, the truth is that if people like them for any reason, they will find them hot anyways, regardless of whether that was the intention. (unless the people in question are aroace, or the character is a literal, realistic prepubescent child)

You don’t have to “make” a character hot for ppl to find them so.

#fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #edelgard von hresvelg

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mimiplaysgames · 5 years ago

Text

A Good Defense

Pairing: Aqua/Xemnas Rating: T Word Count: 4,996

Summary: She hasn’t been the only person in twelve years to be wasted by darkness and left to pick up the remains alone. It only takes meeting a familiar face on a dangerous stranger for her to realize this.

Read on AO3

Notes: Made for the @khrarepairszine!! Surprise, surprise, I’m sure some of you have never expected me to venture here. This was actually a cancelled fic but this zine gave me an opportunity to bring life back to it again (which is good, what I cancel always threatens me in my sleep). It was tricky writing through a slow burn in such a short amount of words but I hope it’s enjoyable! Special thanks to @lyssala for beta-reading this and holding my hand every time I was insecure about this piece. Also to my boyfriend - without him, I would have made a fool of myself.

***

Day One ~*~

“You can keep it.”

Her answer starts slow and ends with a hiss, and the enigma sitting on a tall, white throne narrows his eyes - it lasts for a mere moment, a smirk drawing on the edge of his lips and she swears he’s thinking to himself that he has something valuable.

Two can play that game.

This is their first meeting, two days after she is discovered on the banks of a beach at night, after someone gives her a black robe to wear and leather gloves to cover the red tips of her fingers, after another introduces her to a familiar face stolen by a stranger.

And he had the audacity to try and give her a new name.

“I am Master Aqua to you,” she says like there’s an expectation to introduce herself as such, and it comes out like an audio recording because after so many years it sounds weird to say. She’s seen herself in the mirror since coming here. She knows how much she’s changed.

“Master Aqua,” he repeats, slowly, as though he likes to hear himself pronounce the syllables. His smile is foreign. “What is in a name, but a powerful congruence of will and faith?”

It’s enough of an introduction and she decides she can’t stand this guy. It’s wrong, he smiles wrong and for someone who thinks so little of such things, he calls himself Xemnas; not a name that should be worn with a face like his.

Day Thirteen ~*~

He catches her wandering the castle by herself, doing nothing but avoiding everyone else - particularly him. It’s hard enough to look at his face without having ugly reminders.

“So neglectful of your commands,” he says simply.

True. She’s been traveling on her own, keeping her hood up and dropping clues to other doe-eyed Keyblade wielders on how they can free Ventus from his deep sleep.

Not because she wants them to know who she is and not because she wants to join anyone who has abandoned her. Ventus will have to suffer enough disappointment with how long she’s taken already, there’s no need to prolong it.

Either way, anything to do with Ventus trumps whatever dumb shit and other shenanigans this Organization tries to throw at her - looking for missing boxes, babysitting princesses, it goes on. Xemnas has even commanded her on a mission to retrieve Ventus from his hiding spot. Her answer: never.

“You can’t make me care about them,” she says with a click of her tongue, too lazy to shrug with both shoulders.

“The cost of such defiance is steep.” His voice is deep and it rumbles even when it sneaks, startling and unnerving like a candle being snuffed out.

It doesn’t take a day to understand what Xemnas is capable of, and immediately she stiffens to prepare an attack, battle tactics and back-up plans coursing through her mind in case he pulls out his sabers against her. She’s still a force to be reckoned with, and he’s an idiot if he’s feeling testy.

Still… It’s not something a face like his would ever say to her. Should ever say. She wants to lunge forward and slap him, lose control and pull the real him out of his body, give him one thousand long lectures about what it was like to wait for him in the darkness, to chase him around worlds, to spend years worrying about him.

“Don’t speak to me that way,” she keeps, her voice as low as it can get before it turns to a whisper.

Xemnas smiles and she almost spits that he should entertain himself rather than bother her.

Entertaining himself indeed, every smile he gives has a double meaning and she’s only lucky to be able to guess what correctly. Otherwise, his eyes act like nothing but glass, doing their best at mimicking.

… It’s a wonder how he does it.

His lackeys give her a lot of comments of what it’s supposed to be like. How a Nobody feels, what her responsibilities are, how to connect to her powers, what to believe, what to expect out of Kingdom Hearts and when. Yes, she has yellow eyes just like the rest of them but that means nothing. It’s only because she’s angry.

Angry enough that she stews in between the grinding of her teeth when he lets her words slide off of him like it doesn’t matter. A perfect Nobody in every sense of the word, non-feeling, non-caring, un-attached… he therefore feels no pain and so he is free. Where does he hide the secrets to achieving such a high?

Xemnas draws a hand in the air, conjuring a dark corridor. “Come, Master Aqua.”

There’s a lot to fear in obeying him, one of which is enduring whatever punishment he’s decided for her. Not that there is a trace of threat in his voice, he’s just mostly amused. Perhaps the worst that would happen is finding out he’s just as bad company as the rest of them. Perhaps not.

She pushes the thought to the back of her mind that she shouldn’t follow a man with no hobbies.

Day Fifteen ~*~

He likes to hear himself talk.

The field trips are a nice distraction but she often finds herself tuning him out when he gets too involved in overblown monologues. She doesn’t spare this kind of time with the other Organization members - she instead follows other Keybearers to make sure they get her messages about Ventus. When he drones on about subjects too big for anyone, she’s afraid to name what she’s looking for in him.

Maybe if she pays enough attention, she’ll find that she’s walking by herself in Twilight Town, leaving him behind at a booth selling souvenirs.

It’s a strange thing to witness Xemnas show interest in something other than the moon. He usually keeps the other members at a far distance, where talks of what he’s like as a person are no more than rumors, and there is a certain… intimacy in being allowed to see him like this.

“A camera?” she asks when he picks one up, equipped with a neck strap and zoom lens, listening to the man behind the counter sell the idea that film photography is superior and can truly capture things as they are.

“As a matter of fact…” Even when he’s teasing, he’s monotone.

At least it’s a healthier pastime for him than sulking.

With his new toy, Xemnas requests a trip on the city trolley, over the sea and up a hill, until they reach a park and watch the sun bathe the entire city in a warm glow. Despite the sun’s reach, she’s cold, pulling on her sleeves to cover more of her wrists, hugging herself because even in thick leather, she shivers. Still, it’s quite a romantic little town, peaceful and vibrant. Nothing like this has ever existed in the Realm of Darkness.

“Does the view please you?” he asks, aiming the lens toward the horizon.

“I don’t care for the ocean.”

It reminds her of sinking, the water frigid and lonely where it’s too hard to swim up.

Learning how to use the camera is slow for him at first. The man has incredible focus though, and she can see the gears in his mind turning as he fumbles with the settings, twisting the lens, turning the flash on and off.

That’s the thing with him, that mind never stays quiet even when he is.

“What are you doing all that for? Art?” she snickers - obviously that could never be the reason.

“This world exists in-between… a ghost warped by the conflict of polarity, both standing in the light yet hidden in shadow. It will not continue to endure after the War. But now I have proof of its existence.”

“So you’re keeping a record for science,” she scoffs. “Such a civil servant.”

Her own words eat her up. A servant to the public would be locked in battle with him, doing all that it takes to put a stop to his very existence, and here she is, by his side, watching him study his camera the same way she used to study her books growing up.

It makes her wonder why a man so enraptured by the clicks of his machine would be so willing to walk into the fire once the end of the world comes.

“Why don’t you care about being swallowed by Kingdom Hearts?” she asks, half-expecting a lie as a response.

The question pulls his attention away. “Only a suffered soul abandons purpose.”

Of course, she should have known than to hope for a straightforward answer.

Finding a bench to sit on, she listens to him click away, each one blanketed by a pause as he adjusts ever so slightly, moving his frame from the town far below to the clock tower far away. This is familiar, like watching a close friend try his best to understand the secrets of a Keyblade, eyes lost in thought, focus spearheaded onto one thing and one thing only.

“A picture is a moment trapped in ink,” he says. “Here, a piece to take with me.”

“Where to?”

“Kingdom Hearts,” he says and it makes his breath swell. “To wherever we shall go when the time comes. When all memory erases and we reset, in a space somewhere my existence will linger so long as I have a memory to hold onto.”

It’s not something she really thought about - him wanting to have something to possess. These people, these Nobodies, give their free will up to Xehanort’s influence, to reduce themselves to puppets. It never occurred to her that the others might have something they cherish and want to keep as well, no matter the reason why they chose to walk this path and give themselves up like this.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” he asks.

If he means the ocean, it used to be.

She cocks an eyebrow. “That’s something that moves you?”

He takes a seat on the bench in front of her, the camera treasured in his hands. “I am only missing a heart, not a mind. Opinions are privileged to me... What we will leave behind here is graceful, as damning as that is.”

“Hmph.” Listening to him speak about absent hearts, that he’s a hollow body, chokes her each time, like she’s facing punishment for her transgressions.

Either way, she can’t let him see her get so affected. She flicks dirt off her cloak, leaning back and crossing her legs.

“Xemnas,” she starts, her tone teasing like a dark thought hasn’t crossed her mind. “Superior of the In-Between, Appreciator of Beauty.”

Titles have a weight to them, some befitting and others suppressing. Xemnas is a man who gives them value, who finds agreement to what she’s saying, testing his new designation in his mind to see how well it suits.

He studies her first. Brings the camera to his face, aims the lens at her. She sees herself in its reflection, gold eyes bright, before the flash captures her.

Day Thirty-Two ~*~

She flips through several developed photos and it comes as no surprise that she’s not smiling in any of them. She can read the timeline as she looks through portraits of herself standing by riverbanks and strolling through souks, her hair whitening by the week.

The two of them meet in secret to look over the photographs when they’re certain no one else is in the castle, and a part of her today hopes that one of them is beautiful enough to bring her some comfort.

Ventus is no longer in Castle Oblivion. Her hints and paper trails have worked and he’s now in the custody of the other Keybearers.

But it leaves her with a sensational loneliness, having no reason to go back and watch him sleep, and she doesn’t have anyone to talk about these feelings with.

It’s hard to tell if she’s doing a banging job at pretending it doesn’t affect her, since she’s grumpy all the time anyway.

Xemnas stands close, looking over her shoulder as she goes through a stack where he recorded a trip they took to a world of mountains.

Some of these photos she was aware of. Others not so much, and one in particular shows her staring at her Wayfinder, blue and powerful, while she ignores the backdrop of clouds cowering under the girth of the peaks behind her. He’s captured her standing so close to the edge yet she doesn’t even remember walking so dangerously near.

He scoffs gently. “Continue to be bound by the chains that drag you, and you will plunge into oblivion.”

She doesn’t know what game he’s playing anymore. Is he just fooling himself at this point? What other reason does he have to always follow her around unless there’s something pulling him?

Maybe it’s time to see exactly what he remembers. She’s had so many wonderful years living in the mountains with her boys, exploring the forests and camping overnight...

“We used to fish together,” she says, and the words sting more than she expected.

“Hmmm,” he sighs. “It was a leisure that came easily to me.”

Her heart skips a beat. Xemnas rambles, Xemnas tricks himself, Xemnas keeps others in the dark, the blind leading the blind.

But this is the truest statement that he’s ever said; she’s never been the best at hunting.

“It was, you were the best at it,” she says, prodding his eyes for more. “There was a river by the closest trail and-”

He smiles, and she almost hates it. It’s not warm, not comforting, just condescending.

“At an ocean that stretched by my childhood home, on an island, stranded in the middle of nowhere, where I fished with schoolmates,” he says.

That’s incorrect…

The lump in her throat sinks, and it’s an emotion called devastation. She’s spent years exploring her memories privately because admitting to them would acknowledge their existence, and there’s something about the dark that makes her question whether she’s making them up. Just like he is now.

She wants to throw his photos at his face, demand that he remembers her, shake him until he gives her an expression in his eyes that actually means he feels.

He pulls the photos from her hand, creased from her holding them too tightly. Whatever stupefied look she had on her face prompts him to say this next: “There is a place I want to show you.”

A single white room void of windows, like a capsule. But what’s inside nearly makes her wonder if she’s been transported elsewhere. There’s a white throne marked by chains and it’s uncanny how much it looks like the one Ventus slept in all this time.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she starts to ask, suddenly terrified that she’s been found out when she spots a mess of color.

Cracked and abandoned, just like her. Her armor in a scrap heap.

And right by it, Stormfall, dusty like it’s been waiting for as long as she has.

“It has not been a very…” He hides his hands behind his back. “Loquacious partner.”

She’s speechless at the idea that all this time the other members think he’s been talking to himself…

And what did he talk about? Why bother to pretend the armor is alive?

It’s enough temptation to try her hand. “Terra?”

If his smile is patronizing, his laugh is worse: breathy, amused, pitiful.

“What is in a name,” he says, “but a hopeful delusion?”

“Don’t mess with me,” she steps forward, ready to jab a finger at his chest. “I’m not in denial. There’s so much riding with me-”

“No.” He shakes his head, so tall that he has to look down. “You have nothing.”

“I’m not like you,” she hisses. “Any of you, I don’t tell myself lies that I am nothing.”

“You cannot claim that.” The confidence in his speech is astounding. “What you have is a star-shaped trinket. A fossil. That former life of yours is dead.”

She wants to spit back. Really, she does. And yet her mouth feels sewn together, too afraid to let toxic words slip out of her mouth, too tired to have to prove herself otherwise. It’s like she’s been paranoid that punishment has been waiting for its chance to pounce, and it’s finally here.

He’s so much larger than Terra that he has to bend over to meet her face, and he’s close enough she can smell his cologne, see the details of his irises and finally witness a spark -

Anger lives behind them, tested, refined, and tamed. Powerful, unlike hers which throws her at whims.

“This room,” he starts, and he pierces her with his eyes, beautiful and messy, “is what I have left. A troublesome reminder that there is something I have forgotten. The chains that keep us bound are attached to an empty void. That is why we are nothing, friend.”

The title feels like a leash and a collar around her neck, like he’s about to grab her. She braces herself for the possibility, and it churns her stomach.

“What I have earned since are the hollow words of a woman who’s told me there was nothing to darkness but hate and rage,” he continues, barely giving her the space to breathe for herself. “So I came here, to ask her time and time again if she still believes I will continue to go astray.”

If there is a memory she ever wished for Terra’s heart to hold onto, it wouldn’t have been those words.

“The fates that have been chiseled for us,” he continues, “were deviant… unnatural… manipulated. We should not have existed, maimed and exploited. Darkness has ravaged us, as much as it has left you destitute.”

What echoes in the silence is the shuddering of her breath, driving her to near-tears when she thought that she wasn’t capable of crying anymore. “I didn’t deserve what happened to me.” She doesn’t know why she needs to say that or what kind of comfort she will get out of it.

His eyes search her face and there’s that feeling in the back of her mind that he’s going to touch her. “I did not think so, either.”

With that, he straightens up, turning over his shoulder to leave her shivering in this cold room.

She lunges forward to grab his wrist - a knee-jerk reaction really. Who can blame her when she’s looking for… someone to tell her it’s not her fault. When he turns to look back at her and she realizes the smile she wants is just a fantasy, she’s reminded:

Xemnas. She has to remember that he is Xemnas and not who she wants him to be.

So she lets him go, to be left in an air-tight container with no Terra to hold her, no Ventus to wake up, and a Keyblade.

It belongs to a Master, to Aqua. And she is Aqua but she is not.

She has been tethered and conditioned since, a dull glory with memories that don’t serve her anymore except to leave her feeling… well, destitute. An Anti-Aqua, a new her with the same name she was born with.

Certainly it feels strange to hold Stormfall again after all these years, and she takes it with her. After all, stealing a Keyblade isn’t that terrible of a crime.

Day Seventy-Nine ~*~

There isn’t so much of a point to being part of an Organization when she’s lonely even around other people. It’s daunting, and if she isn’t around Nobodies that can speak, she’s around monstrosities that can’t.

The World That Never Was is hollow, and the sea of empty hotels and apartments is all just for show, like it’s good enough to pretend to have friends.

But maybe that is definitely the point: keep attachments at bay to make it easier to move on to the other side when the time comes.

Footsteps softly rise as she hears him climb the steps that lead to the lounge where she waits, and it makes her smirk. He walks with the lightness of air; that’s impressive for his size.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announces when he arrives to take the couch across from her, crossing his legs as he makes himself comfortable. In his hand is a white envelope, full enough to have photos she hasn’t seen yet.

Her face goes cold when she looks through them - it’s like he’s throwing more games at her that she’s too tired to play, like he keeps testing her to see when she finally breaks. If he hasn’t figured her out yet, he certainly has now.

Ventus, in all of them. Wandering streets by himself with the curiosity of a toddler. Laughing with Sora. Sparring with Riku.

She inhales sharply. “What do you want with him?”

“Nothing,” he says like it’s his favorite word. “I do not wish to harm him.”

“Stalking and endangering him makes you look bad.”

All Xemnas does is flash her a smug grin, his fingers on his chest like he’s proud of himself. “It appears I am not the heartless one between the two of us, throwing such a blatant accusation against me.”

Being playful doesn’t suit him well but at least she’s fond of it. He lets go of a long breath, the smirk melting away into a faraway longing as he stares at his own hand, those gears of his turning.

It gives her the impression that her reaction stung him, and she wonders if anyone has ever asked him if his feelings have been hurt. If he’s even capable of being offended that way.

Rubbing his gloved fingers against his palm, Xemnas shakes his head. “There was a… an oath made to me long ago, and still I cannot recall the exact words.”

Aqua doesn’t know what to say - Terra and Ventus were like brothers, and sometimes would share secrets and promises without her knowing, so she really can’t help him remember.

She wishes, though, that he’s easier to read. It’s hard to tell if he’s being entirely sincere or if he’s pulling fanciful words to suit her - if he has other reasons not to attack Ventus. Come to think of it, he only asked her to find Ventus for him once… though it’s unsafe to assume too much. Believing that he feels a bond is still a risk, but so long as she can take care of herself, it’s probably a good idea to humor him.

It’s for the best since Ven isn’t something Xemnas should think he can keep.

“How long I have searched for the chamber that kept him locked away for more than a decade,” he continues. “I admit all I yearned for were answers to questions no book can satiate. Now... he simply waltzes out of the castle with nary a helping hand.”

It’s the way he says it that tells her he knows.

She shrugs. “Magically.”

“Magically.” At least he’s amused. “The portraits are yours to keep.”

She takes another glance, petting her thumb on the smooth surface where his cheek was captured. “How is he?”

“He is healthy.” He leans back, one elbow on the armrest. “Rambunctious and eager to fight.”

“Did he see you?”

“No.” He takes one hard look at her. “Will you not meet with him?”

“No.”

He attempts to ask why but she cuts him off. “He’d be very upset if-” Takes a moment. Regain composure. There’s nothing left to cry over, he’s happy and he deserves it. “If he saw either of us this way.”

She adds, “my body is changing.”

The confession is like pulling a stopper, letting the water gush down the drain like a hurricane, where tears do not come out of her eyes but out of the growling in her throat and the fists she makes as she slips off her gloves to show him the red fingertips, the purple wrists, the smoke that poofs out like she’s sweating it.

Nothing could have prepared her for how much his smile falls, completely enraptured with what he sees, like she’s a foreign specimen in need of study.

“To feel so intensely,” he says mostly to himself, leaning over the table in between them to look at it more closely. “That it alters the host.” He frees a hand from his glove, and his skin looks smooth like a human’s - for someone who considers himself a monster, she’s the only one who looks like one.

He reaches over, as if asking for her hand. It has to be the most human thing to be curious.

Meeting him halfway, they press their palms against each other, the rolls that make up the hand and fingers shifting as they fill the gaps. His are so familiarly big, so amazingly warm, and she’s been certain this entire time that she’d never feel hands like these again. It’s pleasant to find some solace from the frigidity of her scales.

Splaying his fingers to meet hers, he plays: first leaning into hers to see how far they can bend, then threading them together one by one, like he understands what it is to hold a hand but has never learned what it’s supposed to feel like.

Intertwined like this, he’s now leashed to her, bound by a chain he can’t break either.

Day Eighty ~*~

It’s hard to count the hours when there’s no sun. It could be late or early, whatever, but either way sleep has decided not to say good night no matter how many times she’ll toss and turn.

Suppose the only question keeping her awake is whether any of this matters. When that heart-shaped moon finally opens and she disintegrates, suppose she’ll become the inky sky that allows the stars to shine in the new world, a ghost so far away and expansive that she’ll stretch forever and witness everything.

Or instead, she’ll turn into a star, a memory of the way things were and she’ll shine brightly to give others hope. Maybe even become the sun and be the source of all life.

She takes her hand, lets her cold, scaly fingers brush her chest first before finding her heartbeat, quiet and calm with the hours in rest.

Still, what is the point if she’s at it alone? Will she blend into other people? Will she reconnect with Terra and Ven? Will she forget about them, about her current life, about pain and loss?

After all, the only way to remove the loss is to wipe away the reminiscence.

With this in mind, she leaves her bed and this empty room.

Whatever she becomes, the least she can have is something to hold onto. She should be allowed to keep the things she’s loved. Maybe nothing will happen - maybe they can run away, abandon crazy prospects and make a life out of what’s left.

Finding herself standing in front of Xemnas’ door, she knocks, somewhere between soft and demanding. When he opens the door, he’s finishing the zipper up his cloak, having just stood from his desk where his camera splays open.

“Don’t say anything,” Aqua says. There’s been enough thinking, enough existential crises tainted by the question of why’s and when’s and what’s.

They’re wasting time and she doesn’t want to be alone when her bones turn to dust.

Xemnas still has his glove-less fingers on his zipper when he steps aside and lets her walk through the threshold into his room, respecting her request to keep silent, a small smirk pulling on his face.

Aqua closes the gap between them, her head leaning against his chest, nuzzling on the leather he wears. He likes to talk big about being nothing, but there it is, his heartbeat, quiet and calm like it doesn’t want to be discovered.

What’s in a name indeed, a man once said to her when his own very name, Xemnas, is a body and a mind. He is someone, and Kingdom Hearts will take him away too.

Hearing its beat lulls her and finally, finally, she thinks she’ll be able to find sleep for this long night. Gripping his leather into her fists, her breath slows and she rests against him, taking his warmth as a reminder that she’s alive for now. There’s nothing else relevant except the lack of rhythm in their hearts and that camera, a small trinket they can take with them so at least they can share a life that isn’t dead.

He helps himself to a lock of her hair as he intertwines it into his fingers, his free hand claiming the small of her back, his warm breath on her scalp as he searches for his own meaning of life.

“It’s magnificent,” he says about whatever it is he’s finding.

She hums, half in contempt that he’s speaking and half asleep, intoxicated by his cologne as she pulls on his cloak, squeezing her fist tighter like tonight will be the last.

“Xemnas,” she calls but does not follow-up.

She was about to say that he can continue to take photos of her, to let her take some of him with her, to liven the mood, to keep her warm because this entire castle is cold… to do something or tell her a story of a world where the sun rises from the west. Maybe they can find it together and gather proof of it.

He’s been wrong all along - there is power to a name and if he wants to deny that, then she’ll have to slap him out of such a problem.

He moves slightly and now his hair covers her face but he grips her tighter. The door to his room closes. He carries her to bed, and she lets herself drown in his mouth as his weight pressures her to sink, down to the depths where they gasp for air together.

#xemqua #aqua #anti-aqua #dark aqua #xemnas #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #AHHHHH i'm honestly deathly nervous to post this #i just don't know what people are going to think eeeeeeeeeeeeek #my fic

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halfgclden · 5 years ago

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Ten Things | Graves&Cleo

DATE: April 21st, 2020 SUMMARY: 1.sweet tea, 2.iced chai, 3.woods, 4.cabin, 5.wine, 6.movie night, 7.snacks, 8.masquerade, 9.discussion of love??, 10.to be continued ?

Cleo stepped out of the bookstore, locked the door, turned, and blinked at Graves standing nears the storefront. She smiled at him, gave her Signature Wave™️, and stepped closer. "Fancy meeting you here. Were you looking to buy a book, because I'm afraid that's off the table now, since..." She held up the keys and then pocketed them.

Graves had been waiting outside the bookstore, sipping his iced tea when Cleo walked out. He grinned and shook the drink he’d grabbed for her in response to her wave™️ . The ice cubes clinked in the cup. “Iced chai for you ma’am.” He laughed, “No books for me, I’m here for you.”

Cleo grinned widely and took her drink. She sipped it and swayed from side to side. "Aw!" She pressed a hand to her cheek. "Cameron, you make me blush," she said as if they hadn't planned to hang out today already. She tilted her head as she smiled at him. "Good to go? Are you ready to watch probably the best movie you've ever seen in your life?"

He rolled his eyes , but the smile didn't leave his face. "Gods, Bancroft." Graves could feel his own cheeks getting hot but he ignored it and held out his arm. "Good to go! The best movie? That I've ever seen in my life? Well, that would be Mad Max: Fury Road - are we watching that?"

Cleo linked her arm around Graves's and walked with him as she snorted. "Okay, okay, I'll give you that that's a good movie, but it doesn't hold a candle to 10 Things I Hate About You. Modern Shakespeare adaptations? Um, yes please." She sipped her drink and looked up at him. "What did you do today?"

"You mean young Heath Ledger, yes please. Talk about a teen heartthrob." Graves grinned when Cleo snorted, then took a sip of his sweet tea. He let her lead the way as they walked. "Oh, you know. The usual. Broke some hearts, raised some hell. Managed to get up the climbing wall without getting burned by lava. How was work?"

"I know. He's the highlight of the movie. But, oh my gods, there's also young Joseph Gordon-Levitt in it and ugh. He's so cute!" Cleo grinned. "His name's Cameron, weird coincidence." She hummed as they walked, bobbing her head from side to side as she led them to and through the path through the woods to camp. "Ugh, amazing. I still can't get up that wall, it's a trap, I swear. Work was... slow, but nice. I got halfway through the book I'm working on."

Graves fanned himself dramatically. "What an attractive cast, honestly." Laughing, he shook his head. "Another Cameron? Huh, is that why you want me to watch this? What book are you working on! And next time you want to do the climbing wall, I can spot you?"

Cleo shook her head as she sipped her drink. “No, Cameron’s plot is secondary, I’m afraid, even though he’s so cute. I’m working on this one called Red, White, and Royal Blue, and it’s utterly adorable. It’s about the son of the president– a fictional president, obvi, and the prince of Wales and they’re bitter rivals but then... they fall in love!” She announced dramatically. “I love it.” She smiled at him. “I can’t say I’ve been on the wall lately or plan on going anytime soon, honestly, but that makes me consider it more.”

"Ugh, love. Gross, " Graves joked, sticking his tongue out at Cleo. "TBH that sounds...kinda cute. I'm really glad there are books with queer love stories in them now. It's pretty fuckin' cool." He returned her smile. "Just let me know if you do, I'll keep workin' out so I can catch you if you fall." He unlinked their arms to give his biceps an exaggerated flex. "These arms gotta be good for somethin'."

Cleo stuck her tongue out back at Graves. "Yeah, saying that gay love is gross is... a little homophobic, Cam," she joked and then bobbed her head. "Yeah, it'd be cute if it wasn't gay, but that's kind of why I started reading it." She turned so that she was facing him more and grinned, still walking. "Maybe I'll just throw myself off the wall, with an offer like that."

"Shut up, Bancroft." Graves laughed. "I am not homophobic, do you know how aggressively not-straight I am? I was sayi- you're teasing me, aren't you? Rude." He tripped immediately after Cleo spoke and took a second to regain his composure, laughing at himself. "My gods. Guess I'll just have to catch you then. Can't have you getting hurt, ma'am." He flexed again and bit his lip, before offering his arm to Cleo again.

Cleo laughed at how defensive he got and nodded. "I'm absolutely teasing you, but go on, please." She raised her eyebrows and held out an arm as Graves tripped, as though she might be able to stop any sort of fall, then exhaled a small chuckle as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What a gentleman." She giggled and took his hand this time, still sipping her drink as they walked. "Do you like the woods?"

Graves took a sip of his sweet tea before answering, a grin on his face. "Nah, nah, nah. I'm not lettin' you make fun of me anymore. I'm here, I'm queer, and that's all I got." He watched as Cleo tucked her hair behind her ear, and his eyes widened as she took his hand; her hand looked so small in his. "Bancroft," he practically hissed, looking around to see if anyone they knew had seen them. "Ma'am." He didn't pull his hand away because he didn't want to be rude, so he just took another sip of his tea, looking like a deer in headlights. He tried to answer her question, praying to the gods that she couldn't hear his heart pounding from embarrassment. "The woods? Yeah, sure, of course. I love hiking and finding abandoned places. Why?"

"Not letting me? I don't think you can stop me," Cleo teased. When he said her name, she frowned a bit and dropped his hand, taking her cup in the hand between them instead. She blushed lightly. "Just since we're passing through on the way to camp, it was on my mind."

"I-um." When Cleo dropped his hand, Graves immediately ran that hand through his hair, willing the blush on his cheeks to fade. He put on a bright smile and cocked his head at her. "Do you like the woods? We should explore them one day." He bumped her shoulder gently with his own, "I know a few cool spots we could go."

"I love the woods." Cleo chewed on her straw and nodded at Graves, smiling once more. "I know these woods better than anyone at camp, I'd like to bet, except for the nymphs. I can show you some haunted clearings." She bit her lip and looked down. "I guess in exchange for you showing me abandoned factories.”

Graves bit his lip and smiled. "Haunted clearings? Gods, Bancroft! I didn't know camp was haunted." He lowered his voice to a whisper at the end of his sentence, leaning in close. His eyes gleamed, "Don't tell me you've talked to any spirits! I will gladly show you all the abandoned places I know, but you have to keep them secret."

Cleo kept her head ducked as she let out a small, somewhat nervous laugh. She didn't know why she'd brought up haunted clearings in the first place, but if was the first thing that came to mind. She looked back up at him with a small smile. "I won't tell anyone!" She sipped her drink a bit more and reached up to touch a leaf as they passed under a tree. "Back to my cabin, right?"

He raised an eyebrow at her laugh but didn't press Cleo further. Graves had mixed feelings about ghosts and spirits himself. Personally, he found them interesting, but his mom and grandmother did not fuck with ghosts. He watched Cleo touch a leaf gently, it was such a simple gesture but it made him smile even more. "Your cabin, for sure. I'm uh-my room's a mess," Graves said lamely. He sipped his tea. "I've never actually been to your cabin, now that I think of it."

Cleo exhaled a small laugh. "My room is, luckily, very not not a mess." She skipped ahead of him a few feet and turned to face him again. She pointed at him and nodded. "You're going to like my cabin. Most of the decoration's mine, but Len has a few things around." She met his pace again. "We can have wine with our movie too, if you'd like." She smiled a bit.

“I’m excited to see it.” Graves could see the cabins in the distance, over Cleo’s shoulder. “Wine sounds great, if you want? I’ve got some snacks in my backpack too. Wait. Did you make it this wine? Because then I change my answer to absolutely yes.”

“Um, I always want wine.” Cleo laughed and raised her eyebrows. “And what kind of snacks, this is an important question, Cam.” She smiled widely, happy at the idea that he wanted to drink it if she’d made it. “If you could make wine, would you ever buy it?”

Holding his drink against his chest with his arm, Graves made a show of counting on his fingers as he listed his snack haul. "Well Bancroft, I've got some salt an' vinegar chips, Doritos, Oreos, some chocolate, and uh, red vines. You know, for variety." He winked at her, trademark grin on his face, dimples on his cheeks. "Not gonna lie, I don't buy wine now. But I've tried any that I've been offered and I don't mind it? I like sangria," he offered. "And I figure if you make fruit wines? That's probably fuckin' tasty. But no, I wouldn't buy wine if I could make it.”

Cleo put a hand on her chest at his list. “Ugh, sweet, a man after my own heart. Red vines are my favorite, but every single other snack is a close second.” She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I only really make fruit wine. I like things sweet, sweet, sweet. The peach wine’s still fermenting, but we can drink it if you don’t mind a weaker batch. It’ll still taste pretty good.” She finished off her drink. “Otherwise I have strawberry!”

"Red vines are your favorite?" He gasped dramatically. "No way!" Graves bit his lip, still half-smiling. He glanced at Cleo. "I am a very big fan of sweet things. Hmm, I think I'll wait on the peach, until you think it's perfect. I don't want to rush a masterpiece. Strawberry sounds real fuckin' good."

“Yeah! Have I mentioned that before?” Cleo laughed and grinned up at him, taking a step up onto her porch as she approached her cabin. “Is that why we’re friends, then?” She smiled and turned to open her door, glancing over her shoulder at him still. “Okay, then I’ll let you know when the peach is perfect and we can have a movie night then too.” She nodded once as she put her cup down on the counter and pulled a growler of wine from her fridge.

"Maybe you have, maybe I heard it through the grapevine," Graves joked, following Cleo inside. He met her gaze. "Yes, among other reasons. But I'll keep you guessin' there, Bancroft." As Cleo opened the fridge, he turned in a circle, taking in the cabin. His eyes followed some vines across the walls, looking at the artwork hung between their leaves. The Dionysus cabin had such a different energy than the Hermes frat house, that Graves was momentarily stunned. He pointed to a charcoal drawing on one of the walls, his tone full of awe. "Is that-is that your art?"

Cleo laughed quietly at his joke and set out two novelty mugs to pour the wine into. She tilted her head at him and leaned against the counter, hiding her smile by sipping her wine. "That one? Yeah. I really dig charcoal and pastels. Are you into art?" She nodded a bit.

Graves stepped closer to the drawing for a better view of all the details. "Bancroft, this is amazing." He looked over his shoulder at her, expression full of surprise. "How did I not know you did this? First the wine, then the artistic talents? Damn. I'm into art, yeah." He shrugged, still looking at her. "I am not an artist myself though. Can't draw a straight line to save my life."

Cleo blushed slightly and pressed her lips together as she swallowed her drink. A smile crawled across her face and she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Thanks. I... really like art. It's nothing I'd do anything with, but, y'know, important to have hobbies, and some amount of skill for my designs." She walked over to meet him, holding out the other mug for him. She almost asked him how into art he was, but stopped herself. "I just use straightedges for half the time."

Graves accepted the mug with a nod. He still looked a bit awestruck. "I love this. I always like seeing what my friends are into. People bein' passionate about things they love is fuckin' sexy." He realized what he said and quickly took a sip of wine. "This?" He held out his mug for emphasis. "This shit is good. Wow, I'm going to drink this so fast." He took another big sip.

Cleo almost snorted into her wine as she laughed. Something about the intonation of how he said fuckin' sexy made it come off as way cuter than he probably wanted it to. "Glad I'm passionate and sexy, then." She grinned and then raised her eyebrows a bit. "Okay, then we should start the movie soon. I don't want you to black out before we even start. She went to grab the bottle from the counter and then led them to her room, where the door was already open.

Graves rolled his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head ma'am." He clutched his mug to his chest protectively, pretending to be offended. "Me? Blackout, never." He took another sip before following Cleo to her room. He stopped in the doorway, hesitant. He looked down at his shoes for a moment before asking, "On or off?"

"I would never." Cleo flashed a smile at Graves in lieu of pressing a hand to her chest because she was holding things. She tilting her head as she did and slipped her shoes off as they entered the room. "I've seen you close, I think, and you've never had my wine. Sweet but deadly." She set the wine and her mug down on her desk as she pulled up her laptop and took a seat on her bed, searching for the movie. "Off, please!"

Graves nodded in acknowledgement and sat down in the doorway to untie his Vans, setting his mug of wine next to him. "Sweet but deadly," he hummed. "I like that." He took a look around her room, his eyes catching on the little altar set up on her desk. He smiled. "I like your room. It's very you."

Cleo crossed her legs as she sat and put the laptop down next to her. She opened the bottle again and poured a small bit of the wine into the cup on her alter, where it promptly vanished. "Thanks." She smiled at him. Does that mean you like me? She'd probably start asking more of the questions that popped into her head after she finished a cup or two of the wine. "I'd stress out if it wasn't nice. I spend a bunch of time in here."

"Shit. Should I pour some out to?" Graves asked, pausing mid-sip to watch the wine vanish. He moved his shoes out of the way and stood up, walking over to Cleo. "That makes sense. I'm hardly in my room so it can be...a bit of a disaster area." That was an understatement; he couldn't remember the last time he made his bed or actually put his laundry away properly. "Movie time?" He took off his flannel and tied it around his waist, brushing a wrinkle out of his faded tee.

Cleo pressed her cheek into her shoulder as she shrugged. "I mean, if you want to. I normally just do a general pour out per bottle for the old man, but it couldn't hurt to add more." She smiled and leaned back against the wall. "Movie time," she agreed. "Come sit!" She patted the spot next to her and waited for him to take a seat before she pressed play. "Gods, this movie has the best soundtrack."

There was only a little bit of wine left in his mug so Graves didn't hesitate to pour it into the altar cup. He turned around and flashed Cleo a grin. "I need a refill if you please, ma'am." He sat on the bed, a respectful distance away from her and started humming as "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies blared from Cleo's laptop. "Gods, is it bad I think I know all the words to this fuckin' song?"

Cleo picked up the bottle from her desk and held it out to Graves, scooting closer as she did. She sipped her own wine. “You’re going through it quick, so don’t blame me if you end up too drunk.” She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “Um, absolutely not. It’s a great song.”

"Noted, I'll slow down. How strong is this stuff anyway?" Graves peered into his now-full mug. The wine was delicious and sweet, as promised. He edged a little closer to Cleo to get a better view of the screen, before leaning back against the wall to get comfortable. "Okay. Vital question right here." He paused for dramatic effect, eyebrows raised. "How many times have you seen this movie?"

Cleo shrugged on shoulder. “I’ve never tested how strong it is. Strong enough to get me pretty tipsy after a glass?” She was almost done with the mug, and her head was swimming a bit. She scooted over more until their arms brushed against each other, then looked at him expectantly. “Um... Looking for an actual answer? Because I haven’t kept track, but enough to know some of the lines perfectly?”

Graves cocked his head to the side, almost hitting Cleo's shoulder when she scooted closer. "Shit, I'll definitely slow down then. I'd prefer not to blackout and miss this movie that you insist is so good." He watched the screen for a few minutes before realizing she'd answered his question. "Oh damn, you know the lines? That's wild. Gods...look at their outfits. I'm gonna dress like that guy for a day, see where it gets me." He pointed to Joey Donner, laughing. "That hairdo and everything."

Cleo grinned at him. “I thought you didn’t black out. And, um, I insist it’s good because it is good.” She rolled her eyes playfully and then looked back at the screen. “Only a few of them, and paraphrasing. Don’t.” Cleo stuck her tongue out and shook her head. “I mean, it would look good, but he’s the worst character.”

“I don’t. Just hypothetically, you know?” He scrunched his nose. “Oh yeah, I can tell. He’s got real douchebag vibes.” Graves took a sip from his mug and used his free hand to absentmindedly mess with his hair.

Cleo smiled and finished her drink, then reached over for the bottle to refill it. She set the bottle down on the windowsill this time so it would be more within reach. "Yeah. But..." She bit her lip. "Yeah, dressing like him wouldn't be the worst." She shrugged and laughed. "Ugh!" She pointed at the screen. "He's the best character. I love Patrick. So cute."

Graves laughed, “We should have a 90s themed party. Give everyone an excuse to dress up.” He looked away from Cleo to watch the movie. “I’d hookup with Patrick Verona, I don’t care if he lit ten state troopers on fire. He’s hot af.”

"Oh my gods." Cleo grabbed Graves's arm. "We have to have a 90s themed party, please. It would be son fun! The playlist? Pure fire." She pressed her hand into her cheek as she watched the movie. "Ugh, same. The rumors just make him hotter."

When Cleo grabbed his arm, Graves fumbled his mug but managed not to spill a drop. He grinned at her, thanking the gods for his quick reflexes. “That playlist would be real decent, for sure. We should make it happen. What’s your favorite 90’s song?” He resumed his admiration of young Heath, biting his lip. “You’re right. The air of mystery adds to his sex appeal.”

“The playlist would be perfect. We have to do it. It can be in the rec room or something,” she decided, not wanting to clean up a mess. “I think it’s either No Scrubs or Baby One More Time.” She laughed a bit. “Weird array. What about you?” Cleo rested her cheek on Graves’s shoulder and sighed. “You’re so right. Everyone loves a bad boy.” She nearly squeaked when Cameron appeared on screen again. “But I love him too! Can they both be my boyfriends?”

Graves realized he’d just signed himself up to host a party with Cleo and wondered if Rosie would reconsider what she’d said about not kicking him out of the cabin yet. He laughed, a little delayed, before shrugging. “I love Flagpole Sitta but No Scrubs is another fave. Oh, No Diggity is good too.” He grinned when Cleo rested her head on his shoulder, adjusting his posture a bit so she could be comfortable. Her enthusiasm about the movie was contagious. “Two boyfriends?? Can’t I have one? I can’t date someone with the same name as me so I guess I have to date Verona.” He faked a pout.

Cleo curled her legs under her. "Yes to all of that. Like I said, absolute fire playlist." She cuddled a bit closer to him and sipped her drink, then tilted her head up so that she could pout back at him. "Um, I'm cute enough to have both. We can share on the days I'm feeling generous."

“Okay, I cant argue with that. I’ll wait for you to be in a generous mood, I guess.” He took a sip of his wine and snorted, almost sending his drink out his nose. “Did she just say ‘but it’s only 4:30’ about making people cry?” Graves asked, through laughter. “Gods, a badass.”

Cleo dropped her face again so that she could watch the movie more attentively. "Yes. She's the best character. I'm way more like Bianca, but I'd love to have Kat energy. Their dad's a full psycho though."

“Bancroft,” Graves laughed harder. “Your dad literally causes madness in mortals.” He covered his mouth with his hand to stifle his laughter and a hiccup. He was going to say more, but thought better of calling Dionysus ‘psycho’. “Oh man, you definitely have Bianca energy, you’re right.”

Cleo scoffed. "Only really when they deserved it and then..." She frowned and shook her head. "Okay, I see what you mean, but careful what you say about the god of wine while drinking it, alright?" She exhaled a laugh. "Yes, I too have beer flavored..." She stopped herself from finishing the full quote, giggling too hard.

"I swear I'm not questioning his judgement. Is this..." Graves eyed his cup warily. "Still safe to drink? Or am I a dead man? I don't need any more curses." He gave Cleo a strange look when she burst out laughing, not understanding the reference. "Beer flavored...what?" He put his hand up to stop her. "Do I even want to know?"

Cleo snorted, glancing at Graves again. "Probably. What other curses do you have?" She shook her head and just pressed her lips together. "Nothing. It's a line later in the movie, it was dumb, just... forget about it." She laughed into her cup.

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow while he took another sip from his mug. "Forget I mentioned that," Graves said after swallowing. "If I tell you, they might get transferred and we don't want that." He smirked. When Cleo continued to laugh, his expression shifted to confusion again before he shrugged it off. "Do you even like beer? Or are you strictly a wine person?"

Cleo raised her eyebrows back at him, her attention split between him and the movie. “Forget? How can I ever? It’s so intriguing!” She pouted a bit. “I guess I wouldn’t want it myself, but is being this close to you going to make it jump from you to me? Is it obtained through osmosis?” She leaned back so that she wasn’t pressed up against him anymore and smiled, but shook her head. “Not much of a beer person, but definitely more than wine. I like ciders, and tequila, and rum.” She nodded. “Jack of all liquors, really.”

"You'll just have to try, Bancroft. Trust me. It's a nasty curse, I wouldn't want to burden you with my tragic fate." Graves' expression turned somber, but there was still a sparkle in his eyes. "No osmosis, no ma'am." He finished off the wine in his mug with a long swig. Resting the empty mug on his knee, he squinted at the laptop screen, trying to gauge his level of sobriety. "Jack of all liquors, sounds like something one of my siblings would say. All good beverage choices."

Cleo pressed a hand into her cheek, which was warm as the wine was hitting her. "Stop being so mysterious, Cam! You're gonna make me fall in love with you," she joked and looked down at how much she had in her own mug. "Okay, I feel like I need to catch up with you a bit." She took a few swigs and then tilted her head from side to side. "Probably don't compare me to your siblings too much, you might get in trouble. She laughed. "I love... Malibu." She nodded and scooted back to her original position and looked back at the screen. "Okay, we gotta watch."

“Wait, shit. You mean you’re not already madly in love with me?” Graves looked at Cleo in mock surprise. “You’re right, I need to kept my mouth shut. I don’t need any more trouble.” He winked at her before focusing back on the movie as instructed. “Malibu is good. I fuckin’ love Fireball,” he added, eyes glued to the screen.

Cleo bit her lip and glanced up at Graves. "Maybe a little." She laughed and leaned against him again, resting her head on his shoulder. She sipped her wine and exhaled a laugh as her chest grew warm. "I doubt you'll ever stop having trouble, what with your curse." She hummed in agreement. "Sourpuss," she added to the list, then laughed at the screen. "Ugh, when will someone get my sister to start dating so that they can date me? Alternatively, when will someone get paid to take me out because I'm so daunting, and then fall for me?"

Graves couldn’t help but smile, he enjoyed their banter. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He tilted his head to gently lean on hers. For a moment he frowned, misunderstanding, then realized Cleo had been adding to her list. He added another of his own, “Peach Schnapps.” He gave Cleo light nudge, laughing. “I didn’t know Lisette had sworn off dating. Shit, that’s tragic.” In a different voice, he added, “I don’t think you’re dauntin’. Who called you that?” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll deal with them.”

“Mm, yes.” Cleo agreed with the addition to the list. “I mean, could be worse things, right?” She laughed. “I think if anyone called me daunting they’d have to get their eyes checked. That or they’re a foot tall.”

“Could be worse things, for sure.” He agreed. “They could call you a hippie, or a ridiculous flirt.” Graves hummed, grinning. “They’d have to pay someone to take me on a date, sure as hell. I’ve heard I’m a fuckin nightmare.”

Cleo laughed and nudged Graves’s arms. “Shut up.” She shook her head a bit. “Aw, is anyone offering a couple hundred to take you out? I could let you know about it and we’ll split it all 80-20.”

Graves shrugged, nudging Cleo right back. His eyes lit up. "Not as far as I know, but we'll split it for sure." He flicked his gaze over to her before looking back at the screen. "Okay, this Joey Donner guy? A total dickwad."

Cleo finished her drink and then put her mug on the windowsill. She moved to wrap her arms around his arm, still resting her head on his shoulder. “Yeah.” She scrunched her nose. “I can’t wait until... Just wait, it’s good.”

“What am I waiting for?” He shifted, pressing himself a little closer to Cleo, trying to be as comfortable of a headrest as possible. Graves’ lips twitched in a small smile as she encircled his arm with her own. “I have high hopes.”

“You should be!” Cleo didn’t want to spoil the ending for Graves, especially since it was so unexpected and satisfying to watch. She tapped his arm suddenly with a small gasp. “Oh! You brought snacks, right? Where are they?”

"I'll grab 'em, hang on." Graves untangled his arm from Cleo's and slid off the bed, walking over to the doorway to retrieve his backpack. "You want red vines?" He fished the package out of his bag before hopping back on the bed, crashing into her in the process. "Fuck, sorry, you okay?" He held out the candy as an apology and smiled.

Cleo was somehow disappointed when Graves untangled himself from her, despite knowing that he had to in order to get them snacks. She paused the movie and then moved over to pour them both more wine, and when Graves crashed into her, a bit sloshed onto her and the bed. "Oops." She laughed and took the vines with her free hand, put her mug down on the windowsill, and stood to get a towel to wipe up the mess. "Before you freak out, this happens more than you'd think," she said as she patted her dress and tossed the towel down on top of her bedspread. "So don't worry about it."

His smile faltered as the wine spilled and Graves immediately untied his flannel from around his waist to try to sop up the mess, but Cleo beat him to it, grabbing a towel. "Shit, I'm sorry. There's wine on your dress too, fuck. You..." He paused. "This must happen often because you are so calm right now." He let out a hesitant laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry again. Can I do anything else?"

Cleo waved her hand somewhat dismissively. “Not that often! I’m not a slob. I just know how to take care of stains that I get.” She stuck her tongue out, unclear if she was actually offended or not. “Absolutely not.” She pulled the towel from her bed and hung it up again before returning to her seat. She ripped open the red vines with her teeth, bit off both ends of one, and dropped it into her mug to use a straw. After settling back down, she held out the other mug to Graves. “Ready to go after our brief intermission?”

"Oh gods, I swear I was teasin'. I don't think you're a slob." Graves smiled sheepishly. He accepted his mug from Cleo and nodded, biting his lip. "Yeah, let's keep watching. Sorry again." He clambered back on the bed, careful not to crash into her this time. When Cleo was settled on the bed, he shifted a little closer to her, their arms just barely touching. "Cheers," he raised his mug towards hers.

Cleo laughed quietly at Graves and handed him his mug. She pressed play on the movie and cuddled up against him again. She hit her mug against his lightly. “Cheers!” She called out and then sipped through her red vine straw.

After taking a sip, Graves nodded appreciatively. "Straw game on point, 'Croft. I'm in the presence of a genius." He broke into a smile when Cleo cuddled up with him and he gladly leaned back into her, getting comfortable. He slouched down a little bit, leaning his head on her shoulder this time. "Movie night sh' be a weekly thing."

“Thanks.” Cleo grinned at the praise. “You should absolutely have the same straw if you feel bold enough.” She joked and sighed. “Ugh, absolutely. We can alternate weeks. You can pick your Mad Max for the next one.”

"You already know what I'll pick, look at you!" Graves chuckled. "You get me." He sighed, content, as he took another sip of wine. "I'd gladly accept a straw vine ma'am." He held out his mug for her to add the straw.

Cleo flashed a smile at Graves and bit her lip before looking back at the screen. She pulled a red vine from the package and then handed it to him. “Here you are, sir.”

Graves dropped the red vine into the cup and sipped wine through his makeshift straw. "Shit, this is awesome. Thank you ma'am." He grinned at Cleo, eyes flicking across her face before he turned back to the movie. He nudged her playfully but didn't say anything.

“Prevents the wine lip,” Cleo said quietly. She sipped her drink and watched the movie and then slapped his arm again. “Ugh, wait, this is it! This is the best scene!” She pressed one hand into her cheek and sipped her drink more. “The bleachers! Ugh, when will someone do this for me?”

Graves touched two fingers to his forehead. "Wine lip, I should have known." He chuckled, then made a startled sound when Cleo slapped his arm. "What!" He saw her excitement and obediently focused on the movie. His mouth widened into a surprised 'o'. "Stop, this is- fuck, this is awesome! I mean, I'd be mortified if someone did this for me but, shit that looks so fucking fun." Graves glanced at Cleo, "Maybe soon." He winked playfully and started softly humming the song.

"This is the best scene in the movie, honestly. No, in cinema, really." Cleo smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I fully expect this to happen at the amphitheatre now, thank you very much."

"You get me drunk enough, put me on stage for karaoke? Hell, I'm not makin' any promises but," Graves grinned. "I'm not sayin' it can't happen either."

Cleo giggled and sipped more from her candy straw. "I'll keep that in mind next karaoke. You better do the full performance."

"Bancroft, I need to warn you now. I cannot sing. If my life depended on it, I'd be in the Underworld already." He shuddered dramatically. "Can't dance either, but that's nothin' a little tequila can't fix."

Cleo rested her chin on his shoulder to look at Graves. "That just makes it better." She smiled at him for a moment before moving her head back to watch the movie again.

Graves scrunched his nose at Cleo. "If by 'better' you mean 'very embarrassing for Graves' then yeah, it's better. I'll never forgive you if you record my performance though. I do not want to go viral."

Cleo took a bite from her straw and smiled, still watching the movie. "But then I can't make it my alarm to wake up to in the morning, and then what's the point?"

"I promise you, the original song would make a much better alarm than my rendition. Fuck, that would be an awful alarm," Graves laughed, taking a sip of his wine.

Cleo hummed in agreement. “That would be a good alarm.” She wrapped one arm around his again as she drank, fully absorbed in the movie. When it got to the scene where Kat flashes the teacher to get Patrick out of detention, she tapped him excitedly again. “I love her!”

When Kat flashed her teacher, Graves’ eyebrows skyrocketed. “Damn, okay! She did that. I love her too.” As Cleo linked their arms, Graves grinned, leaning a little more of his weight on her. “Okay, please tell me they end up together because if not, I need to end up with one of them.”

Cleo laughed. “Well, I’m in love with her.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to one-up him, but she did. She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, that’s a spoiler.”

Graves raised his free hand in surrender. “Fine, fine. I take back my love for her.” He was about to take another sip from his mug but hiccuped suddenly. Graves made a face. “How do you-“ he hiccuped again, “know if you’re in love? I mean, the general ‘you’.”

Cleo chewed on her candy straw in thought. “I think...” She watched their date flicker on the screen and she squinted slowly. “I think I just know. It’s like... A fuzzy feeling you get, and you’re always warm. It’s like a little hug in your stomach, and a comfortable feeling in your chest. It feels...” She hummed. “Safe.” She pressed a hand into her cheek. “Different from the fuzzy crush feeling. That’s more like buzzing, and your cheeks hurting from smiling, you know?” She tilted her head slightly to glance at him. “Why?”

Graves kept his eyes fixed on the movie, chewing his lip. He thought about what she described, the feelings she pointed out. He shrugged, almost imperceptibly. His voice low, Graves answered without looking away from the movie, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, that’s why.”

Cleo blinked at Graves and took another sip of her drink. “Well, that’s not too surprising. You’re a gemini man. Have you ever even dated anyone?”

"A gemini man," Graves huffed. "Reducing me to my zodiac sign, I'm hurt, Bancroft." He could feel the walls that he'd unwittingly lowered start to slide back up. "Nah, nah. I don't date." He downed the rest of his mug in one large sip.

Cleo lifted her eyebrows at him. “Are you really offended?” She frowned slightly. “How do you expect to fall in love if you don’t date?”

"Oh, shit. No no, I was just- I was joking." He clarified. "Also I'm a cancer. Well, a cusp." Graves nudged her gently, a small smile on his face to show that he hadn't been upset. "I don't expect to, I was just..." He searched for the right word. "Curious, I guess. I sound like an idiot." He shook his head, wishing he hadn't downed his wine, but not wanting to ask for more. His cheeks felt warm, his head a little foggy.

Cleo pressed her lips together as she watched him. “You seem like a gemini.” She rested her chin on his shoulder again. “You don’t sound like an idiot.” She shrugged one shoulder. “You know, I think you can be in love with things that aren’t people. Like sounds or words or the way something feels.”

Graves tilted his head. "I've never felt particularly one way or the other, so I'll trust your judgement." He leaned on Cleo again, nudging his arm closer to hers. "I agree with that. Didn't the Greeks have, like, five different kinds of love or something?"

Cleo dropped her face again and looked back to the screen. “Six. Agape, eros, philia...” She squinted as she thought. “Ludus and pragma, and... One that means self-love. Have you ever read Symposium?”

"Have I read-nah, what is that?" He mimicked Cleo's earlier action, leaning on her shoulder. "I actually knew the first three on that list, surprised myself."

Cleo glanced down at Graves without moving her head. “Symposium, it’s Plato, and he just talks about love and the different forms of it. It’s really beautiful, actually.” She smiled, more for herself than anything, and her eyes grew almost misty. “They’re the most famous, I think. Do you know what the others are?”

Graves drummed his fingers on his thigh, thinking. "Ludus is...playful love? It's also one of the planets in Ready: Player One. And pragma, I don't know. Something practical, from context probably?" His eyes flickered to Cleo's face, watching her expression change as she talked about love. "You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you?"

Cleo moved her head in what could be considered a nod to confirm that ludus was playful, not wanting to move too much. She smiled a bit. “Yeah. I heard it described as when you stop falling in love and learn to stand in it. It’s practical, a growing sort of love.” She flushed as she met his eyes, wine-warm cheeks growing warmer. “Kinda. I also just took a course on love and Symposium was just... really pretty. I loved it. Except for the misogyny, but, you know, can’t have everything.” She laughed quietly, tracing her eyes over his features, and then turned back toward the screen suddenly, humming urgently as she did. “We’re gonna miss the prom! The best scenes! Besides all the other scenes.”

"Stand in it, I like that." Graves returned her smile, holding Cleo's gaze when her eyes met his. He chewed his lip. "I'll have to read it, maybe they have it at the bookstore?" He chuckled, "Are you telling me you didn't order a side of misogyny with your love?" He scrunched his nose before carding his fingers through his hair. He turned his gaze away from Cleo, almost reluctantly, and focused back on the movie. "Gods, who dresses up as Shakespeare for prom?"

“I can lend it to you,” Cleo said, gaze fixed on the screen. “Since you’re here already. I have it in the original Greek! But if you don’t like notes in the margins maybe don’t borrow it from me. Plus, actually, coming into the bookstore and buying it might be a good sales tactic, so let’s say I did that.” She exhaled a small laugh before slapping his arm lightly. “Hey! I know that everyone wants to grow up and become Kat, but some of us just end up her crazy friend obsessed with Shakespeare. And he dressed up all for her! That’s so cute!” She smiled despite her words and drained the last of her wine. “But, ugh, just, okay, just watch. This is the best part. I love Bianca.”

Graves' eyes stayed focused on the screen as he answered. "I don't mind notes in the margins, maybe I'll learn more from your insight." He almost pulled his arm away to dodge Cleo's slap, but didn't want to untangle their arms. "Hey! Okay, fine, that's fair. They can have their theater geek prom." His expression turned to one of surprise. "Shit! Cameron down. Please tell me I take a punch better than that." Graves' nearly jumped in excitement when Bianca punched that guy, instead he tapped Cleo's leg with his hand. "Oh my gods! Damn! That's what I'm talkin' about!!"

Cleo pressed her cheek into the top of his head for a moment, watching the movie past his hair. “I’ll lend it to you, then. Don’t leave here without it.” She nodded. “We should have a theatre geek prom! Like, here. Or just a dance. A dance where people have to dress up,” she decided on, then untangled herself from Graves slightly to press a hand to her cheek. “Ugh, baby," she said when Cameron got hit. "I love this move, I love it.” She sighed dramatically. “When will Bianca marry me?”

Graves hummed, thinking. "A masquerade, Bancroft. A masquerade." When Cleo pulled away, he shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning on them. "He went down so hard," he laughed, watching the movie-Cameron. Graves turned to look at Cleo, catching her exaggerated sigh. He grinned and elbowed her gently, "This was a good movie. Good fuckin' choice. If you propose, I bet she'd say yes."

Cleo put her cup down on the windowsill and grabbed Graves's arm when he mentioned a masquerade. "Yes." She leaned in close to him and grinned, feeling as though the last sip of wine and last glass of wine hit her all at once. "We need to do that. A masquerade. Please! I'll mention it to people and help plan it and everything, I swear!" She leaned back again and looked at her computer. "He's just a boy!" She laughed, leaning back on a hand. "Thanks." She flashed a smile, but it faded as she pressed a hand to her cheek. "We're just getting to the sad part, though!" She frowned at the screen, chest growing tight as the music grew sad.

Graves leaned in, a conspiratorial look in his eyes and rested his forehead against Cleo's. He matched her grin. "Shit, I'm all in for a masquerade, Bancroft. But if you get me stuck on the plannin' committee, gods help you," he threatened, joking. When she leaned away, Graves made a face, before resting his folded arms on his knees again. "And you're just a girl, right?" He matched her tone, still grinning but feeling a little fuzzy. She hadn't been kidding when she warned how strong the wine was. Graves looked at Cleo when the music changed, studying her expression, "Please don't tell me someone dies or something. How sad does this get?" He pouted at her.

Cleo didn’t seem to see a problem with their proximity and just smiled, pressing her nose against his. “Cameron, sir, you are going to help me plan this by being the hype man, okay? Just tell every single person about it and I’ll get a group of people to actually plan it!” As she sat back, she smiled at him. “Unless you can handle putting up some twinkle lights with me?” She groaned and pressed her hand into her cheek somewhat harder, sticking out her lower lip. “No, just heartbreak.” She sniffled.

"You need hype? I'm an excellent hype man, swear." Graves winked, then started making a mental list of who to tell first to get the ball really rolling. He looked over at Cleo and returned her smile. "I guess I could handle some twinkle lights. I'd be a hot assistant, for sure." He patted her knee affectionately when she groaned. "There, there, sappy. I don't have any tissues but uh, I have a shoulder to cry on?" Graves' eyes darted between Cleo and the screen. "I love this teacher man, he's just roastin' the guy because he knows Joey had it comin'. I love it."

“Perfect.” Cleo grinned widely at her friend and nodded her head once in confirmation. “It’s a plan, then. I’ll let you know dates when we figure it out. And then you can be there to physically set it up with me!” Once Kat started reading her poem, she wiped at her face, which was now covered in tears as she was openly crying. “Yeah.” She said as she sniffled again. “He’s a good teacher.” She reached over to grab a few tissues from a box handy on her windowsill.

"It's a date- err, that's not what I meant." Graves laughed at his own mix up. "Yes, I'll be there, for all your twinkle-light-hanging needs," he amended. Just as Cleo started wiping away tears, Graves turned his head away so she wouldn't see that he'd gotten a little misty-eyed himself. He preferred not to show off his softer side but, damn, that poem had hit him. He used his shoulder to wipe a tear off his cheek, praying to the gods that Cleo didn't see. He turned back to the screen, his voice sounding a little strange as he spoke. "Wow, I-uh I liked her poem."

If she noticed Cameron crying, Cleo didn’t indicate that there was anything unusual about it. “Ugh, same.” She wiped her nose, smiling once again when there was a guitar found in the front seat of Kat’s car, though it only made her burst into tears once again. “I’m so sorry.” She laughed at herself and wiped at her face. “I would say I don’t normally do this, but I know the ending, and I’ve done it every single time. You should have seen me the first time I watched it. It’s like, I know how the play ends, I obviously know they end up together, and yet I’m still crying!” She looked over at him.

Graves grinned, thankful she hadn't said anything. He looked away from the screen when Cleo burst into tears again and passed her a tissue. "Gods, Bancroft." Graves let out a small laugh. "I love that you're so invested in this movie but uh, if you don't stop crying, there's gonna be a flood in here," he joked, nudging her shoulder. Looking back at the movie, he noted, "I don't even play guitar but I'd still swoon at a gesture like that."

Cleo took the tissue with a watery smile and wiped at her face again. She sighed, finally done with her crying. "Sorry, sorry! I'm a drunk pisces!" She laughed and sighed. "Me too. It's just the thought, and the fact that he used all the money that he got for taking her on dates. It gives them a fresh start."

"I'm a drunk...Gemini? Cancer? Cusp?" He responded, forgetting why he was listing his zodiac options even as he listed them. Graves nodded. "Yeah, it's-" he hiccuped and immediately scowled. "It's cute. This is cute," he said vaguely, laughing to himself.

"This is very cute." Cleo smiled and looked at Graves, resting her cheek on her hand.

Graves looked at Cleo and grinned. "Top 5 favorite movies. Rapid fire!" he said, leaning against her again.

"This one, Thirteen Going on Thirty, Romeo and Juliet, but the Leonardo Di Caprio version, Birds of Prey, and Enchanted." She flashed a smile as she listed her movies easily. "How about you?"

Graves' brow furrowed at Cleo's list. "I've only seen....Thirteen Going on Thirty, I think. My mom loves that movie." He paused for a moment, thinking of movies. "Okay, well Mad Max: Fury Road, obviously. And then The Goonies, Pacific Rim, Pirates of the Caribbean, and...oh! Ferris Bueller's Day Off! A fuckin' classic."

Cleo scoffed and turned towards him, still close. “Okay, well now we have a list of movies we have to watch. I can’t believe you’ve never seen Enchanted. You’re gonna love it, believe me.” She pressed her lips together. “Okay, I’ve seen all of those except for Pacific Rim. And I can kind of remember watching Mad Max? But I think I may have just watched pieces of it.”

He glanced at her, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You can't just watch pieces of Mad Max, Bancroft."

Cleo snorted as she laughed and took his face in her hands. “Well, I did, Cameron!” She dropped her hands as quickly as she raised them, and she tilted her head to rest her cheek on her own shoulder.

"That's unacceptable, Bancroft!" Graves laughed, looking down when Cleo put her hands on his face. He looked back up at her, biting his lip and half-smiling. "Seriously, we need to fuckin' fix that immediately, if not sooner."

Cleo pressed a hand to her cheek. “Are you suggesting a double feature? I don’t know if I can handle another movie, even if it’s your favorite one.”

"Nah, not tonight. I'd fall asleep right here." Graves pretended to snore for a second, before sitting back up. "We should watch it next week. My place."

Cleo giggled as he pretended to snore. “Sleep well sweet prince.” She rubbed her cheek. “Sure. Same time?”

Graves snorted when she said sweet prince. He thought for a second then nodded. "Same time, works for me." He chewed his lip. "I can even meet you at the bookstore again."

Cleo grinned at him. “Sure, it’s a date. Grab me another iced chai?”

"You didn't even have to ask," Graves smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

#this is absurdly long you can just skim it tbh #c: cleo #c: cleograves #why do cleo and graves only speak in italics????#half of it is me n jess talking abt ten things i hate about u

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strxga · 6 years ago

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Adam Taurus, Bumblebee/y and Seeing Red from the lens of someone who hasn’t been in the FNDM since 2015

Let me preface this by saying that I’m not particularly someone who really is into shipping or really defends or excuses Adam’s actions. I like most characters in RWBY - Adam, Blake and Yang included, but I’m someone who likes to analyze from an objective standpoint and I hope I can get my point across without drawing any ire. If you wish to politely discuss things respectfully and in a friendly manner, my DMs are always open! But with that out of the way, let me get right into it.

I’ll dissect this in two segments: the first half regarding RW, JPR, Qrow, Oscar and Caroline and then the Adam vs. Blake and Yang section.

Let me get this out from the get-go: the main characters in this circumstances are, indubitably, the bad guys. This sounds like a very harsh and extreme assessment, but really there is no other way to put it. Ruby addresses Caroline most of the time in a way that makes it sound like, in a way, she feels she is entitled to travel to Atlas because she has set the burden of Remnant on her shoulders, and she has! But Caroline knows nothing about Salem, about WTCH and about her and Ozpin’s centennial long feud. She is merely a high-ranking soldier defending the base in Argus after she was entrusted with it by General Ironwood himself. Now, I’m saying that our main characters are the bad guys, but Caroline herself is also being extremist. We’ve already seen glimpses of her incredibly patriotic personality and her radical way of treating our main characters, threatening to send all of her armed forces against them.

While she is justified in her demanding our main characters surrender herself considering they’ve stooped so low as to committing highway robbery (or would it be airway robbery in this case?) and assaulting members of the Atlas Military. At this point they are actually, inexcusable criminals! And yes, I do understand that Caroline stood in their way and that she blatantly denied their request to at least confirm what they were saying with General Ironwood. Does this make her, from a narrative standpoint, an antagonist? Yes! But let’s remember that she has absolutely no reason to believe these groups of teenagers who refuse to tell the full truth to her! Not to mention that, if the Atlas Military does indeed follow the real-life rules of the military, then lower-rank members can’t just contact high-ranking soldiers willy-nilly. Often you even need a permission and appointment to just speak with them. Is Caroline justified to deny our main character’s request? Yes! But this doesn’t mean she’s in the right either.

The moment she was defied she not only used excessive force but also busted out a giant mech suit to use against the protagonists. It’s overly-ridiculous why she would even do something like this! At this point, it was only a matter of time before the two of them engaged in battle considering they’re in opposite sides. Now, regarding the fight itself, I won’t comment too much other than it’s just laughable a group of not even fully experienced hunters are able to tear holes through the robot... Not to mention how silly it is for the mech’s shield to not cover its entire body and it’s just blatantly awful how easily it was to dispatch of its shields and its rocket launcher design is just practically unreliable in any and all ways. The mech is just filled with unnecessary weaknesses that are very exploitable, so much for the might of high end and cutting edge Atlas technology... But that’s besides the point. It just, ultimately, feels like both sides are wrong but, from an objective standpoint, our main characters are ultimately causing Caroline to have to resort to forceful military intervention seeing as they won’t listen to her and she won’t listen to them.

Now this can only end up badly for Argus considering it’s been left entirely unprotected because Ruby and Jaune thought it would be a good idea to attempt and cross the Atlas Military. Ultimately, this is like saying the Brothers were the villains to Salem’s story, as they refused to upset the balance of Life and Death by bringing Ozma back after he expired even though it was Salem’s own selfishness that ultimately lead the Brothers to wipe the board clean after all of humanity had unified under Salem and decided to reject them, forcing them to get rid of Humanity until its eventual restoration. And now that Ruby, in her selfishness, decided to take down Argus’ greatest defensive weapon against supersized Grimm because she wanted to travel to Atlas fast and as soon as possible, it’s likely several more lives are going to be sacrificed. In the end they decided their own goals are more important than the rest of the lives in all of Argus, including Jaune’s sister’s family and likely Pyrrha’s relative too. It feels like they didn’t not only earn their victory against Caroline due to that robot’s massive defects but also like they learned nothing from the Battle for Beacon and Haven.

Now, of course there’s the second part and... This one is frankly the one I’m the most afraid of discussing, but... Just hear me out. Please don’t instaclick your ‘Block’ buttons and just take your time to listen to me.

I’ll summarize this first by saying the following things: Did I think Yang’s PTSD was accurately represented not just in this battle but throughout the Volumes? Arguably... Yes. Did I think Blake and Yang overcoming Adam was done fruitfully? Yes. Did I think Adam deserved to die? Yes. Did I think he deserved to die now? No. Did I think he deserved redemption? Hard no. Did I think Blake and/or Yang should’ve been able to individually defeat Adam? Hard no for Blake and an arguable no for Yang, but if it I had to decide I’d say she’d be able to keep up with him the most. Lastly, should Blake and Yang be able to take down Adam by working together? Absolutely.

Now to elaborate, let me say this... I know PTSD and abusive relationships from experience, and neither are pretty. This is obvious of course. PTSD is a mental condition which you can work at to get better but you can never truly get rid of it. Some of the more common symptoms are anxiety, paranoia, hallucinations, nightmares, flashbacks, body tremors and overall very nasty reactions to things that remind you of your trauma. Yang’s PTSD throughout the volumes was related to Adam and to fights in general, but while her PTSD was shown affecting her severely at first, besides handshakes and hallucinations, there wasn’t really much shown regarding her condition. I understand she talked and sparred with Taiyang, but truthfully you can talk to someone and that’ll still not really help you overcome entirely such mentally and emotionally taxing condition. Even with her PTSD and fear of battles, Yang still jumped recklessly into battles and she still came out winning. It genuinely feels like while she did get better, she didn’t truly learn anything from her past experiences. I don’t think she should’ve had a mental breakdown upon seeing Adam, but rather that more than her just shaking should’ve been shown.

Throughout the volume she still does experience visions of Adam and is utterly horrified by his mere visage, this very vividly represents to us that, despite what we might want to believe, Yang isn’t truly over her condition and still struggles dealing with even the idea of Adam being nearby! So, with this, the least we can realistically expect from her fight with Adam is to, for once, NOT recklessly dive in to fight him... Except that’s exactly what she does. She’s gotten training with Taiyang, sure, but Adam is a skilled swordsman who has been fighting for far longer than Yang has, so the very least is for her to be able to keep up with him but not have the massive advantage she displayed in The Lady in the Shoe. It would’ve been pleasant to see her hesitating more and being shown how she’s struggling to not give in to her fear of him. If, in the previous episodes, they would’ve shown her have a more relaxed and accepting response to her hallucinations rather than the fearful expressions she displayed then it’d make more sense for her to be so confident and reckless fighting Adam, but this wasn’t what happened, so it feels like she just had a massive boost to her mental and physical capacities that came out of seemingly nowhere.

Now as for Adam himself? While I understand he was meant to be nothing more than a foil to Blake and - to an extent, Yang - I still feel like his character was misued. For all the show tells about how Faunus are discriminated against, the truth is we’ve never seen true discrimination throughout the Volume. Adam is the only Faunus that we have canon evidence to have been witness and victim of Faunus oppression through the branding of his face and for having constantly fought Humans who tried to hurt those he cared about while the White Fang was being led by Ghira. His radical views could’ve made a great foil for not just Blake throughout the series but he could’ve represented the ideology that Humans help only in creating monsters like Adam by treating them the way they do and a great opposite on how Adam and Blake go about bettering the Faunus’ conditions; with Blake’s kind but seemingly ineffective method and Adam’s more sadistic and merciless tactics. In short, I feel like he still could’ve played a more important role in the whole Humans vs. Faunus debacle going on in the background.

The world is not black and white, it’s grey, and these two could’ve been great polar opposites; the fire to each other’s water, but this idea wasn’t sadly explored. He could’ve been more than just the former, stalking, abusive and controlling ex-boyfriend. Especially with recent revelations of his suffering at the hands of the Schnee Dust Company. His personal vendetta could’ve even been centered against the Schnee Dust Company or even Weiss herself instead of just Blake. He could’ve been more than that, but I respect and understand the decision Kerry and Miles took when writing him. I wouldn’t call it bad or lazy writing as much as I just feel like it is a greatly missed opportunity.

I understand Adam, or for the matter, any other ‘minor’ characters are only part of Team RWBY’s story and not truly 100% part of it, but what I don’t think many people grasp is that they’re STILL part of the story and they should be fleshed-out some more than just being given tiny glimpses of their past. And this doesn’t apply to just Adam. It applies to every other character besides the members of RWBY! We know barely anything about JNPR and about STRQ, SSSN or CFVY. We don’t even know anything about WTCH’s motivations or even Emerald and Mercury and they’re the main villains! They feel, comparably, flat to the main cast. They’re all part of THEIR story. They’re not the focus but time and effort should be put into getting to know these characters more. I won’t fault them for their writing, but it’s inevitable for the fans to think that they could’ve done better, but that’s true for almost every piece of media, because no one’s a perfect writer and there’s always going to be faults.

While I am not really pleased to see Adam go and do indeed feel like he was a missed opportunity for a great villain, it is what it is. His death, however, was executed marvelously. Ideally, for me, it would’ve been better if individually the two wouldn’t be able to overcome Adam because he would be faster, stronger, every single bit the monster Yang imagined him to be, but once together and understanding each other again, they’d slowly get the advantage on him and defeat him. Symbolically, it would’ve made a lot of sense considering how intrinsically tied to each other Blake and Yang are, but frankly with how Chapter 11 went, it doesn’t really feel like Blake even had to fight at all considering how easy Yang was beating him around without him landing a single hit on her. It could’ve been performed better but ultimately the way he was killed fell more in line with what I had in mind.

His death feels bittersweet. Sure, they got rid of a terrible person, but one you couldn’t help but feel sympathy for because he wasn’t born a monster, he was made a monster by humanity. He was spiteful, but he was also broken and damaged inside, and rather than heal, he followed on the path of revenge. I’ve formed part of an abusive relationship. I was mentally, emotionally and verbally manipulated, deceived, cheated on, and gaslighted. I felt connected to Adam in a way because he, too, was likely treated that way by the S.D.C. but I saw him as a victim of his circumstances. That’s what made him so powerful. There’s rarely any characters that are truly shown to be the producers of what they were once the victims of. I wanted Adam to continuously evolve and direct his hatred at the S.D.C., at humanity. Him to confront Weiss so she could see his scar and show the kinds of racism and crimes her father was responsible of. Adam’s actions were deplorable and that’s why I, personally, wanted him to continue hurting others in his effort to ‘right’ the Faunus against humanity. He could’ve been an interesting side-villain completely unrelated to Salem’s circle, but again that’s just why I feel he shouldn’t have died at this current moment. Death wasn’t necessary for Blake and Yang to overcome him, but for the narrative it presented it made sense.

It’s not a happy moment for anyone. Blake breaks down and Yang does the best she can, which is to support her friend through her pain. Adam did once care for her after all and she was likely the first person to show him any compassion or anything like that regarding his branding, hence why I think she’s so attached to her, and she was attached to him too. His descent into the madman he is now was slow and gradual and Blake herself says that while they were together as both mentor and student and potentially lovers he was a different man. He let his revenge drive him where he was now and she no longer saw eye-to-eye with him. She left because she stopped believing in him. And now parting with him permanently hurts her. It’s not a time for jokes about how he’s finally gone, it’s not a Bumblebee shipping moment where they could kiss. It was an emotionally-charged scene where we see two broken but healing girls finally overcome their biggest hurdle yet, but to do so they had to take a life, and that’s something that’s certainly going to weigh heavily on them because no matter what Adam did to them, they’re Huntresses and their job is to protect life, not get rid of it. But ultimately they did what had to be done. Adam was far too gone to truly be redeemed or reasoned with.

Now, I’ve been in the FNDM since 2015 and let me tell you though, male characters have almost always been bashed by the majority of fans... Jaune, Mercury, Neptune, Sun... All of them have received such a huge amount of hate with the only one exempt from this being Lie Ren, though I feel that’s more because his character was, at the time, seen just as Monty’s self-insert. Regardless, it just feels like female characters don’t nearly receive the same amount of scrutiny and hatred as male characters do... People in the tags are calling Adam an abusive and pedophilic, psychopathic bastard, and while I agree on most of those, isn’t it kind of hypocritic to call him out on that when there’s another character who falls on the same category? I’m talking about Ilia. I understand and respect Ilia, but she, too, preyed on Blake while she was young considering she doesn’t look any different than Adam does in the Adam trailer too. I’ve seen the tag and I see nothing but love and praise for her and I just ask to myself if the FNDM’s changed at all from these past three years... And then there’s another character who shares many traits with Adam but sees no criticism other than “she’s flat and boring.” This character being Cinder Fall herself.

Adam at the very least could’ve been a vehicle to represent how oppressed and endangered Faunus could and would fight back in such extremist and reckless ways if left unchecked or unsupported but Cinder just falls flat precisely because she doesn’t represent anything, and I just ask myself... Where's the Cinder hatred for also abusing and manipulating Emerald and Mercury? Where's the Cinder hatred for leading to the mass-death of several innocent Vale civilians through Grimm attacks? Where's the Cinder hatred for killing Pyrrha? Where's the Cinder hatred for being even more obsessed with hurting and killing Ruby than Adam was with Blake? Where's Cinder's hate for killing Ozpin's previous incarnation and scarring Weiss in the same way Adam did with Blake? Where's the Cinder hatred for being a terrorist? It feels almost like all of these awful actions are either ignored or just, swept under the rug either because no one cares about Cinder or because she’s a woman and it’s just honestly saddening how hypocritical the FNDM can be sometimes...

Anyways this post is already far too long to the point I doubt anyone’s going to read it so I’ll just leave it there. If anyone wants to talk to me and engage in friendly and respectful discussion, my DMs are completely open! Just, please no insults or slurs. I know there’s bound to be hate comments but let’s try to keep it respectful ok?

#rwby #rwde?#rwde i guess #rwde #adam taurus #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #rwby volume 6 #seeing red #ruby rose #weiss schnee #jaune arc #lie ren #nora valkyrie #qrow branwen #caroline cordovin #ozpin #ilia amitola #cinder fall

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willowdrabbles · 6 years ago

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I don’t even know what to call this one. But in honor of my sweet baby Chimera coming back soon I had to do another drabble for Eagle! I hope you all enjoy!

Len sighed as she stared at her phone, metholodically deleting spam emails while she waited for the subway car. She shifted her backpack further up on her shoulder and tucked her phone away in her pocket when the bell for the approaching car sounded.

With the exception of a few stragglers making their way to the exit, the platform was pretty empty due to the hour. Work ran late, and after her usual gym session she would be getting home hours later than usual. At least it was the weekend, there would be no rush to get back to the office tomorrow since she closed her Sphinx case.

There was an echo through the tunnel of the train, making her stand up straight as she anxiously waited for her ride home. Leftovers and m&ms were calling her.

The second ding for the arrival caught her attention and she approached the safety line out of habit, thinking about what movie she would put on while she ate her dinner.

That little thought came to a screeching halt as her shoulder was yanked back, her bag being pulled as some kid ran behind her, obviously trying to make a nab for her backpack.

Instinct kicking in from her self defense classes, she let the pull spin her around, hooking her wrist through the strap and locking tight as she brought up her knee and extended into a high kick that resounded with a crack as her heel connected with the kids jaw.

“Ah fuck!” He growled out, his grip not releasing her backpack. With a growl of her own she stuffed her free hand in her pocket and gripped the small black cylinder she kept on her since she was a teen. She had never used it since she bought it, but the movement was clean and sure as she brought it up and aimed.

“You-!” He lunged for her again before realizing what she had aimed at him, her thumb pressing in the button hard as she yelped in surprise.

The burning taste and smell of the air hit her hard, making her squint as the young man gasped and yelled in pain, his hands immediately going to his eyes as he frantically rubbed trying to remove the pepper spray. Len took a step back and lowered her hand, her mind blanking on what to do next.

“Bitch!” The young man snarled out, stumbling one way then the other before he shot forward, his shoulder hitting her in the chest despite her effort to step back and away.

She noticed with a bit of irritation he took off running, that oddly being her main focus as her heel slipped and she began plummeting backwards. The roar of the tracks and the blaring of the horn filled her ears as she bitterly thought of how much she fucked up to have won an altercation, but now she was going to die because of her crappy luck and clumsy footing.

Instead of the inevitable pain she was preparing herself for- landing on her ass before probably being crushed or slammed to death- there was the feeling of being suddenly secure in large strong arms, firmly wrapping around her shoulders and her waist, and with a burst of blue light, she was sailing.

It only lasted a moment, but the defined glow of an aura wrapped around her like a sheet before flickering out, then gravity kicked in again.

Slamming into the ground with a grunt, half of her body ached in protest as it met the cold ground of the other side of the stations platform. The other half was cushioned In impossible warmth and distinctly firmed muscle from the fall. At least she was pretty sure she wasn’t dead. Dreaming maybe, but probably not dead.

“Crap.” She groaned, forcing herself to sit up even though she would have been content to just lay there and enjoy the thick arms around her. “Should have stayed home. I tell myself this everyday.”

A low groan and chuckle followed her, heavy arms still wrapped around her but loosening as her savior sat up as well. “Are you alright?” The slightly familiar voice rumbled right next to her ear and she whipped her head around to be met with dark steel gray eyes.

“Eagle!” She gasped, the aura that grabbed her making sense now. Pushing back stray hairs from her face she nodded “I am, how did you- where?” She scanned the platform, the young man who attacked her was gone, and the few people who were exiting on the other side did not give a second glance, as if they had not seen her fly across the tracks surrounded in a blue aura. Which was good, she didn’t need to go to work on the weekend for an incident report.

“I was on my way home from work.” He answered for her, releasing her slowly before standing up and offering his hands to help her up as well. “Got to the platform just in time to see that pretty sweet roundhouse.” He chuckled again, brushing his hands down her arms and looking he over with concern. “You sure you’re alright? Nothing broken or bruised?”

‘Only my pride and probably my ass but I can’t really say that.’ She thought grimly and nodded for him once more. “Yeah I’m fine, thank you so much. I’d be a pancake or worse right now if not for you.”

Eagle chuckled again, eyes crinkling at her as he did “A cute pancake at least, I’m glad I could help.”

Len’s brain stuttered to a stop as she blinked at him, definitely feeling a flash of heat on the back of her neck from the word ‘cute.’

They both stood in awkward silence for a moment, each of them brushing themselves off before awkwardly smiling at each other again.

“Looks like I missed my ride... I might as well catch a cab instead.” She pursed her lips and reached for her phone still in her pocket.

“Have you had dinner?” Eagle asked suddenly, she paused in searching for the yellow cab number and glanced up at him

“N-no not yet actually.” She said quietly, lowering her phone again.

“Then I’ve got a better idea.” He said with a grin, his large overly warm hand wrapping around her wrist and sliding down to her hand. He gave her plenty of time to pull away, plenty of time to reject his idea and take a cab. But when his hand lightly gripped hers she gripped it back, earning her a vibrant smile before he began tugging her back up to the surface of the city.

He guided her down the street for a ways, both of them quietly taking in the city lights as they walked until they reached a small hole in the wall pub. Literally. A small brick outcropping of the building blocked the alcove to the door, a big solid black door with gold lettering across the top reading “Maze”.

“Chimera used to work here, they have the best food in the city..” Eagle smiled at her still, pulling the door open for her.

“I’ve only seen pubs like this in movies.” She said quietly, following the narrow corridor downwards. The walls were a dark maroon color, and when she peered closer, she realized they were velvet. The floor was a black tile that seemed to give the place almost a creepy vintage look. “You sure you’re not just taking me down here to kill me or sell me off? I gotta say I don’t think my luck is that bad but you never know.”. Eagle laughed behind her quietly.

“This place used to be the hang out for movie stars in the area. There used to be an old poker room in one of the upper floors, mafia bosses would come here for dinner. Place has got history.” Eagle gently touched her back as they entered the dining hall, the bouncer nodding at them as they passed, heading for the tables rather than the bar.

Sliding into a red booth she took in the place again, her mouth slightly hanging open. The room was still pretty dark, illuminated by electric chandeliers and small tea candles on the tables. “I’m not sure if my funds can afford this.” She muttered, noticing the giant black and white portraits of famous stars along the walls. A small tv by the bar was playing some old black and white film.

“It’s not bad, but don’t worry about that just get some food.” Eagle reassured her, taking a menu and looking over for something for himself.

“You helped me with my case and saved my life, shouldn’t I be buying you dinner?” She said skeptically, grabbing the other menu from the waitress and timidly asking for a soda. Eagle agreed for a soda as well and put his menu down once the waitress was out of earshot.

“Fair points, you can get me next time though. I’ll just feel better if you eat something.” He said, staring at her intently. Len arched a brow at him questioningly.

“Why?” She asked, spotting something to her taste on the menu and closing it as well.

“Well I don’t know, maybe because you’re not reacting? Like a normal person?” He said with a tiny bit of sarcasm and concern, mimicking her brow arch almost mockingly.

“I’m a human that works in an office unknown to the public that we deal and manage the affairs of literal gods, monsters and titans.” Len said blandly “I’m not exactly normal.” She shrugged finally, leaning back when the waitress returned with their drinks.

There was a few minutes of silence as she sipped her drink, feeling the cold rush through her limbs and making her shudder.

“Your hands were shaking.” Eagle said quietly, watching her carefully as he twiddled his thumbs together.

“Huh?” She asked dumbfoundedly, looking down at her hands and spreading out her fingers. Sure enough her fingers gave way to small little trembles, the knuckles refusing to go all the way straight. Biting her lip she started shaking her hands out as if she could force herself to stop. “I didn’t notice...” she muttered, just as the waitress care back to ask for their order.

“Why didn’t you just let the bag go?” Eagle said as soon as the waitress was gone again, glancing for a moment at her backpack. “You didn’t scream either when you fell it was like... like you just got pissed off that’s not normal!” Eagle shook his head, looking genuinely baffled.

Len laughed lightly at his expense, taking another sip of her soda. Eagle frowned dissapprovingly. “Fear of death only means you-“

“Fear to live?” Eagle finished for her, an absent minded smirk on his lips that had her stomach doing flip flops. “I think I’m going to have to stick around you for a while.” He muttered mostly to himself, taking a quick drink. When she arched her brow at him again he smiled. “I like you. You’re different. But you don’t have wings like me, someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

#voltage #fanfiction #lovestruck voltage #lovestruck #afk #astoria fates kiss #astoria: fates kiss #chimera #chris #eagle #eagle sanders #evelyn

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shadowreine · 6 years ago

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@vfaweek Day 1: Introductions

Summary: The story of how Jihyun Kim met Jumin Han.

Note: I’m not sure if this kind of fic has been done yet, but this is my interpretation of how Jihyun and Jumin met. AKA, the time when little Jumin crashed his car into Jihyun’s house, based on the Day 2 chat in Another Story. I couldn’t find how old they actually were when they met, so I just guessed.

In a small corner of the sitting room of his house, Jihyun pretended he was somewhere else. He’d built a fort out of cushions and blankets and chairs, leaving a small opening at the side to let enough light in to see. Inside, stuffed bears he’d smuggled out of his room were gathered together on the floor, and he sat in front of them, counting each off by name like a teacher taking roll call. It was much cozier in this space than anywhere else, so this was where he felt most comfortable simply because it was little enough and just right for him.

Everything seems too big when you’re a child. That was how Jihyun often felt in his house. The ceilings were too high, the walls too far apart, the corridors too long. Maybe he’d notice it less if he weren’t almost always alone, but his father was on another business trip and school was out for the term, and he had no one to play with. There was an awful lot of space to be occupied by only one small person, and he didn’t exactly count his nanny because she didn’t live here. Then again, his nanny seemed to be at the house more often than his own father, and Jihyun would wonder if he should count her after all… Still, even with two people, one full grown and one not-so grown, the house was entirely too large and empty for its own good.

Jihyun didn’t know where his nanny was now. The last time he saw her that day was in the dining room for breakfast, and once they were done eating, she cleaned up after him and told him, “Don’t get into trouble,” before she left him. She told him that every day, even though Jihyun never once got in trouble in his seven years of life. She might not be too pleased to know he’d disturbed the usual orderliness of the sitting room to make a pillow fort, but he planned to return everything carefully to their proper places after he was done playing and before she could find out and scold him about it.

Today his fort was a classroom, and Jihyun was the teacher, lecturing the huddled group of bear students about how to use a camera. He did this often, recreating certain areas of his house in his imagination and playing make-believe. He held his camera aloft—it was a little, simple thing his father gave him recently—and demonstrated how each part worked and how to take a picture. He wasn’t an expert at it himself, but he found that teaching his imaginary students was useful in his own learning. Besides, it was better than spending all day doing nothing with no one.

One of the students asked Jihyun why the camera made a snapping noise every time he took a picture, so Jihyun was sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with the camera shutter to investigate the answer. He pressed the button several times and noticed black shutters closing and opening behind the front lens. He liked the sound of them moving so much that he pressed the release a few more times just to listen to it…

BOOM!

Jihyun’s camera dropped from his hands. The walls of the house shook. The sudden sound had snapped him out of the imaginary classroom, and he jolted up onto his feet in alarm. His head bumped against the cushions above him, knocking the whole structure down, and him along with it.

What was that? Buried in a messy pile of pillows and blankets, Jihyun darted his eyes across the room. He was frozen for a few seconds, waiting for another crash or sound, but there was only silence. Jihyun called his nanny’s name but received no response. Had she caused the sound? Was she even in the house?

The crash seemed to have come from somewhere outside. Jihyun untangled himself from the pile and rushed to the window and tried to catch a glimpse of what may have caused it. His only clue was a plume of gray smoke wafting from around the corner of the outside wall. He gasped. Was something on fire?

Sometimes a child’s innocent curiosity supersedes common sense, especially when common sense would have told him to call the emergency hotline or at least try to find his nanny. But he was too young to feel comfortable using a phone, and he was starting to believe he was truly alone in the house anyway, so he did the only thing he could do. He pushed himself away from the window and returned to the collapsed fort to dig out his camera, tossing away pillows and bears with no regard to where they landed. Once he found his camera, he went outside.

By the time he neared the corner of the house, the smoke had thickened, and Jihyun had to cover his mouth and nose with his hand. The smell reminded him of one time when he went to the airport to say goodbye to his father before a business trip. The family car had broken down on the way there. His father berated the driver for not checking that the vehicle was in good condition beforehand, blaming him for possibly missing the flight. Jihyun remembered getting out of the car quietly to watch the smoke steam out of the engine. He’d been secretly glad that his father wouldn’t be going away yet again, but he was later disappointed when he ended up catching the flight after all.

Shaking the memory from his mind, Jihyun rounded the corner slowly, his footsteps soft and light so as to not alert whoever was there, especially if they were a stranger. He gripped his camera, ready to take a quick snapshot in case he needed to run away and call authorities.

He didn’t know what he expected to find once the smoke cleared, but it certainly wasn’t this.

A small silver car was smashed up against the house’s wall. Really small. Small enough that Jihyun himself could sit in the driver seat and see comfortably over the steering wheel. Sure enough, a boy about his size was now climbing out of vehicle because a white balloon had popped out of the steering wheel, forcing him out.

The boy’s black hair was only slightly unkempt as his feet touched the ground, but his face was smooth and uncharacteristically unbothered for someone who’d just crashed his…toy car? The car was too big to be considered a toy, but much too little to be a grown-up car. It wasn’t even made out of plastic like a lot of the child-size toy cars Jihyun had seen in stores. This one looked like someone had used a shrink ray on a real car, if that was possible. Even more odd, if Jihyun hadn’t been standing only a few feet away, he would’ve thought the boy was a shrunken version of a grown-up himself, too. He wore a black suit and tie, reminding Jihyun of how his father dressed every morning before work, and he even had one of those portable telephones like his father had. Jihyun didn’t know children could look like this, but somehow it seemed to fit the boy well.

The boy dialed a number on the phone—a real phone, not a toy—and proceeded to have a conversation with someone on the other end. “Hello. This is Jumin Han. Yes, Jumin Han, Chairman Han’s son… Yes, I’m seven years old. No, this isn’t a prank. Why would I prank you? Stop talking and listen to me—”

The entire scenario was so absurd, even to a child as young as Jihyun, that he had to document it. He raised his camera and pointed it at the smooth-talking little boy and the fuming wrecked car. When the scene looked nice enough through the viewfinder, Jihyun clicked the shutter release.

“I’ve just crashed my car into my neighbor’s wall,” the boy continued, calm as ever, “and I’d like to know what is the typical range of compensation for such an offense.”

Wait, neighbor? Now the boy’s name rang a bell. Jumin Han. This was the son of his neighbor Chairman Han. Even though he remembered his father mentioning there was a boy his age living next door, Jihyun had never met him, or seen him, for that matter.

Jihyun walked a few steps closer to the wreckage. It looked really bad up close. The car’s front end was entirely crushed, and there was a cracked dent in the wall.

“Are you okay?” said Jihyun. Even though Jumin had appeared to come out of it without a scratch, he had to ask, just to be sure.

Jumin glanced at him. His eyes widened, as if surprised to see someone there.

“Hold on,” Jumin said to the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

He hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket. He looked at Jihyun again and offered his right hand in greeting. “Yes, I’m okay, thank you. You must be my neighbor. I’m Jumin Han.”

Jihyun felt odd about shaking hands with a boy his age; it seemed like a gesture that only grown-ups did, but he lowered his camera and shook Jumin’s hand anyway. “I’m Jihyun. Jihyun Kim.”

“You’re taking pictures of the damage,” Jumin said. “That’s smart. My father told me that when car accidents happen, the person whose fault it is always tries to blame the other person. So having visual evidence is a good defense. But you don’t have to worry. I won’t try to scam you. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

He didn’t only dress like a grown-up, Jihyun thought, he also talked like one. Jihyun could only figure out the meaning of half the things he’d just said. He didn’t understand why grown-ups who drove cars would try to blame something they did on someone else, but he guessed it wasn’t much different from how children tried to blame others in school so the teacher wouldn’t get mad at them.

“It’s fine,” Jihyun said. “You didn’t hurt anyone.” That was all that mattered, really.

“That’s true.” Jumin looked back at the wreckage. “The only thing that got hurt was my car. My father gave it to me as a gift, so he won’t be too happy about this.”

“Your father gave you this?” Jihyun was stunned. “It looks like a real car!”

“It is a real car.”

“Did he use a shrink ray on a real car to make it so small?”

Jumin’s brows knit together in confusion. “No… At least, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of shrink rays that actually exists in the real world, but… I can’t say it’s impossible. I may have to ask my father directly. I forgot to ask where he got it. I was too excited to drive it.”

He didn’t seem to be a very talented driver if he had already crashed headfirst into a wall, but Jihyun decided to keep that to himself. He was very curious to know if shrink rays were real, and he hoped Jumin could get an answer.

“Your wall also took some damage,” Jumin pointed out. “There’s a crack in it now.”

“Oh that’s okay. It’s not too big.” It actually was kind of big, but Jihyun didn’t want Jumin to feel too bad.

“Won’t your father be angry when he finds out? I don’t want you to get in trouble when it’s not your fault.”

Jihyun paused to think, remembering how his nanny told him not to get in trouble. Would he get in trouble for this? Maybe he’d be in trouble if he didn’t say anything and his father found the crack later on and asked him about it. But if he told the truth, then wouldn’t Jumin be the one in trouble? It didn’t seem fair. Jumin seemed nice.

“My father isn’t here,” said Jihyun with a shrug. That was all he could think to say.

Jumin’s lips pressed into a straight line. “I’d still like to compensate you for the damage I’ve done. What will you accept as compensation?”

“Compensation?” To be honest, Jihyun didn’t know what that word meant. He tried to piece it together by considering the other words Jumin had used around it, and he guessed it might have something to do with making up for something done wrong.

Jumin watched him, waiting for an answer. Jihyun couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted. Whenever Chief Kim would go away for a longer time than expected, he always returned home with something to give to him. Oftentimes it was a toy, or a crystal figurine or glass charm from a foreign country. Last time, his father gave him a camera, and it was probably the most treasured of all the things he’d ever received.

Yet…nothing made up for his father’s constant absence. None of the things Jihyun owned made up for how empty his house always was and how small he always felt in it.

Maybe if he had someone to share all that space with, he might feel a little less alone.

“Will you be my friend?”

Jumin’s mouth slackened, like he wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. “That’s it?”

His tone made Jihyun wonder what kind of “compensation” Jumin had been expecting. Was he not asking for enough?

But after another moment’s consideration, Jumin nodded. “Fine. I’ll be your friend.”

He offered his hand again so they could shake on it, and Jihyun did so gladly. For the first time that day, he smiled. He was satisfied to see Jumin smiling too. He hoped Jumin meant it because he’d never had a friend before, and he liked the idea so much he didn’t want to let it go.

The sound of panicked screaming shattered the moment as Jihyun’s nanny suddenly appeared. The boys turned in unison and found themselves being scolded by the older woman, warning them of how much trouble they’d be in by both their fathers. She was angry at Jihyun for leaving a mess in the sitting room, and now she was fuming at the sight of the crashed car and dented wall. It seemed there was no way to get out of being in trouble, no matter whose fault it was. Though Jihyun had never once gotten in trouble before and didn’t like the thought of his father being disappointed or upset with him, there was a first time for everything, and somehow he was comforted to know that Jumin was there right alongside him.

Jihyun didn’t see Jumin again until after his father returned from his business trip, but once Chief Kim’s head cooled from the news and he’d had an adult conversation with Chairman Han in regards to the situation, Jumin was allowed to visit Jihyun’s house for their first official play date.

To Jihyun’s surprise and bewilderment, Jumin offered him a piece of paper that he’d written on, explaining that it was a contract laying out the terms of their friendship. Jihyun didn’t really understand the need for it, but he signed his name cheerfully, and Jumin signed his own underneath.

Jihyun had something for Jumin, too: the photograph he’d taken of him the day he crashed his car into his house. A reminder of how they met and, hopefully, a moment they’d treasure for years to come.

On the back of the picture, he wrote:

To Jumin,

Thank you for being my friend.

Jihyun

His house felt much smaller whenever Jumin was around, and just right.

#jihyun kim #jumin han #mystic messenger #vfaweek #vfa week #mysme #v #alksdjfas this is so sloppy but i wanted to write at least one fic for vfa week #i've been busy and i can only write so much at a time orz #anyway hi i'm back on my jihyun kim bullshit #i have a few other fics i'm working on so 👀#my fic #sorry if i got canon details wrong #i honestly don't know if they ever mentioned what age they met??#mystic messenger v #thanks for reading!!

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picsofshiro · 6 years ago

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i wanna start shipping Shieth but i cant bring myself to because i still see them in a very familiar, Space Dad-Space Son dynamic but thyere so pretty together and i hate it??

-puts a hand on your shoulder-

It’s okay to ship sheith, but lemme be real with you, I do not nor have I ever seen the space dad/space son dynamic personally. And in my experience of parents, I’ve had a lot of shitty dads and one (1) good dad that my mother is currently in a happy relationship with and they got a 10 year age gap and are a powerful couple of people that work to fight oppression as a white man and a Mexican woman. I’m gonna be cordial with you cause you don’t need to be afraid to ship it, its a perfectly valid ship and my response is more to welcome you into it than anything else. I’ll put this under the cut cause it’s gonna get a bit long, with a few tangents that I hope address your fears and overall point.

Let’s take off this “space dad/space son” lens for a sec. Contrary to popular and 100% incorrect belief, Shiro and Keith are not related in any way, shape or form. Voltron has a overarching theme of found family. Allura lost hers to Zarkon and found hers in Team Voltron. Hunk was scared but found family in Team Voltron. Lance has been homesick but has appreciated and grown from working with Team Voltron. Even though Pidge was hunting for her brother and father, she has found both but is still willing to work with Team Voltron for the sake of the universe. Keith never would have believed in his wildest dreams of the universe being as big as it is — the opportunity to see his mom and spend 2 years with her to bond and share stories on a space whale and talk to her about how much his best friend means to him and balancing that love for him, his sense of justice, his drive and focus to get a mission done and his mother is an example of being able to love in that way. Shiro we canonically know did not adopt Keith — he vouched for him, taught him a lot of what he knows along with whatever the Garrison has ever taught him before Shiro went off to Kerberos and his “death” announced. I don’t know what will help you see this dynamic as friends to start because that’s what I see and it what convinced me to ship it because it has so much room for potential with canon interpretation to back it.

When I was young and my mom was often in and out of my life due to work, working late on court cases, hardly time to speak to us aside from making dinner and then shooing my sister and I to our bedroom to mind ourselves, I’ve always appreciated older figures in my life, whether it was fellow students or student teachers/paras. It’s what guided me to hanging out with kids myself because I wanted to be there for someone who might not have had anyone themselves so I made a lot of friends that were not exactly in my age range, teach kids and then crush on the older ones that acted like they had their shit together but as I grew older I saw them for the flawed human beings they are and I think that’s what Keith sees in Shiro.

I’d think at one point that Keith looked up to Shiro for some reason that convinced him to get into the Garrison in the first place — that “I won’t give up on you and you shouldn’t give up on yourself” is part of that. Keith has been very protective and defensive of Shiro’s honor and image and I feel like it’s because he truly feels indebted to him in some way and makes it count through his actions. If you watch Voltron without the Space dad lens not pushed by fandom (or by marketing for that matter) and watch it for what Voltron is: you’ll see that Shiro is just slightly older than his peers, has some experience but can never actually know what’s going on and is about as clueless as everyone else is aside from his own experience as a pilot, as a fighter, and as a teammate that just wants to make sure they all make it out of this alive, his own found family that occasionally he goofs off with.

Knowing Shiro’s character, he probably had a strict/strong foundations of upbringing that included setting an example for his peers and respect for authority to a certain degree until it challenges his own morals. Mistaking his leadership around younger peers and attributing it to “parenting” would not do him justice when many adults his age and around it, even older know they probably would end up killing a child. Team Voltron is a manageable group of young adults/teens that are going to become adults and (should)own up to their own behaviors and what Keith sees in Shiro isn’t like “oh he’s like my dad” because he already had that. If he was like any other kid, he loved his father and would not accept any replacement but he’s an only child and cares a lot for Shiro so his only frame of reference for what he feels for Shiro is “brotherly”, however his behavior doesn’t match up to the way Hunk and Lance interact, how Matt and Pidge who are actual siblings interact, how Pidge and Sam Holt, her actual father interact and from what we’ve seen, how Alfor and Allura interact with parent-child relationships. Shiro and Keith have something deeper that’s still being refined and fleshed out.

I agree they look good together. Personally, I was into Keith as a character, thought I was in love with him until I saw the way he interacted with Shiro, then asked myself what he sees in Shiro and then it all made sense to me at least in my experience! That I would love Shiro the same way if he were a real person. And the way that relationship, their deep friendship is redefined in the Black Paladins with many staff emphasizing what was important, the “I love you”….

You gotta understand that maybe you need to rethink this space dad/space son thing and reframe it as brothers-in-arms(friendsheith has been a great tag to convey this), not let it be misinterpreted as adopted or literal, found family when you’re alone in a world that doesn’t quite understand you, and finally, understand that relationships change and grow, and some of the absolute best romances are made from people who’ve known each other so long that they have the potential to deal with each other and their human selves to be in a relationship and not be shocked when they don’t fit together too well and can be vulnerable and honest with each other and their faults and work past them to be stronger because of the other AND together.

Sheith is okay, they look good, but to be honest, I’ve never interacted with an older figure in my life that I haven’t felt a little gay for or had someone a little younger than me not look at me and be a little gay for me as well, and sheith has also been something that a lot of mlm have related to which is why we ship it the way we do. Don’t be afraid, it’s a valid ship and if you like, start off slow with a side blog, work your way up. My personal rule though is never stop being myself and work out any gross imperfections that legitimately harm others and make apologies for when I do hurt people directly by invading their space.

#to be honest voltron marketing is a complete clusterfuck #the only people i listen to is staff and writers excitedly making art of their fave characters and ships #if staff thought sheith was father son they would have said that but yknow - gestures at them-#they only said it's been brotherly in the sense that they're brothers in arms and mean everything to each other #so it's fine #not a pic of shiro #sheith #how do i tag this #i wanna be positive so i hope this doesn't deter you from shipping it #this ship is important to me and so many other people who play with it #it's all in fun so let yourself have fun that's what its about its for fun #anon #anonymous #ask #answered

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postedbygaslight · 7 years ago

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You’ll Be the One to Turn - Part 37: The Resistance

[This completes the war room discussion from the last chapter, but from Finn’s POV - It’s also a shorter chapter, because it’s a bridge to bigger things]

“Get me down there.”

Finn was still trying to figure out exactly what the plan was, but Ben had obviously made up his mind. He was asking them to get him past an enormous blockade, through a massive deflector shield, and into a facility that had to be one of the most tightly guarded in the galaxy. And he wanted them to do it in less than eight hours.

“Okay,” Poe said, not wasting time on details, “the shield. Options.”

“We could use the codex to trick sections of the shield matrix to skip a refresh cycle and let us through,” Rose said. “That’s what DJ did when we got on the Supremacy.”

“But that’s only going to get us in,” Finn added. “Getting out is a different story. And we’ve got to pick the right spot. The Star Destroyers will be scanning for forced entry. And we don’t know how long the codex will stay the same.”

“How long has it been that way?” Ben said.

“I don’t know. Kaydel?” Poe said, turning to Connix. Finn wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard her real name before. She was always Lieutenant or Connix.

“Five hours?” Connix responded, checking the details. “We figured it was because of the situation on Taris.”

“One cycle, maybe,” Ben said, stepping forward, shaking his head. “Four? No. There’s an officer overriding it.”

“What, a deck officer?” Finn said.

“Someone in high command,” Ben said, turning to Finn. “Whatever message you’re sending, send it. It’ll get where it needs to go.”

“So, what about the shield?” Finn asked the room. “The Star Destroyers will be scanning for forced entry.”

Rose whipped around so fast, she almost spun.

“The signal!”

“What signal?” Finn asked, looking around to see if anyone else knew what she was talking about.

“Kaydel—“ Rose started, then paused, a puzzled expression on her face. “Wait, are we calling you Kaydel now, or is that just Poe?”

“I— um, that’s, that’s fine,” Connix said, a flush of pink creeping up her neck.

Rose nodded, looked like she might be about to continue, but looked over at Ben, who was still staring at the Naboo holo.

“And what about you?” she said, nodding his way. He turned to face her. “Is it Ben? Or have you not decided yet?”

The room was hushed. Even Rey didn’t seem to know what to expect. But Rose stood firm, waiting for a response. Finn thought for a moment that Ben Solo might announce that he was still Kylo Ren, or that he didn’t care what he was called, like he’d done before. Or that he might just storm out of the room.

But none of that happened. He pursed his lips slightly, nodded, as though he’d just had a private conversation with himself, and said:

“It’s Ben.”

“Good,” Rose replied with a clipped, efficient finality, and turned back to Connix. “Kaydel, the signal. The one cutting through the shield matrix. Can you pull it up here?”

Connix shifted in her seat and clacked away at the keyboard, bringing up an image of a comms signal trail snaking through the First Order shield matrix. The image was overlaid on the holo, and Finn could see two things straight away: the track it created cut an expert path through the matrix and the flotilla’s defense grid; and, it continued to the surface, terminating at one of the docking hangars on the east side of the main tower.

“What is that?” Poe said, moving around to the other side of the display to get a better look. “That’s no comms signal I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s not First Order,” Ben said.

Rey took a few steps toward the display and lightly touched Ben on the arm.

“It’s her.”

“The hunter,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“She wants us to follow,” Rey said, looking for some reaction from him.

“So,” Finn said, “it’s a trap.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, folding his arms low on his torso, avoiding the wound on his chest. “It’s a trap.”

“And that’s a bad thing,” Poe said, and Finn could tell he was trying to gauge whether or not that was true. “That is a bad thing, right?”

“It’ll get us in faster,” Ben said after a few seconds of silence. Rey’s mouth dropped open.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“We’re running out of time as it is,” he replied immediately, turning to her. “She’ll clear us a path. To draw us in. We’ll be ready this time.”

“Ben—“ she started, but he was already walking away.

“Do what you need to do,” he said looking first at Finn, then at Poe. Then he strode from the room, Rey storming after him.

Finn looked around the room. With Rey and Ben gone, everything felt less weighty. He’d only seen them together for a few hours, and yet, it seemed to him that up until now he’d only ever been seeing half of Rey, and now the rest was shaded in. Whenever the two of them were in a room together, their presences commanded attention, and their personal dialogues took on a peculiar gravity that made even the mundane seem to take on cosmic importance. Even now, everyone left in the room was still looking to where they’d exited, and no one had said anything at all to break the spell.

But the stupor broke, and the world came humming back to life, and Poe finally spoke.

“If he’s right, we’re bringing everybody,” he said, motioning toward the airfield. “If there’s really a traitor in the First Order high command, I want to have everything we’ve got there to take advantage of it. I want all the X-Wings armed and flight ready in two hours. One, if you can manage it. Kaydel, open up that emergency channel to broadcast what’s happening on Taris and boost the signal however you can. Finn, I want you on the ground with Rey and—“ Poe paused a second, and laughed under his breath, “with Rey and Ben, and if things go south, you all get out of there. You hear me?”

Finn nodded sharply, took a look around at the others, and headed out to start preparations.

***

It was more like two hours, as it turned out, and Poe walked out onto the airfield in his flight suit for the first time in what felt like years. The whole tarmac was alive with frenzied activity. The sound of X-Wing engines idling, the smell of reactor coolant in refueling lines, the whirring and beeps of astromech droids. This was where he was meant to be. He’d left Connix with the con— she’d been the one running things anyway. He was headed back to the sky, and there was only the target and the mission.

“Okay, Poe, you need to listen to me here,” Rose said, coming around the nose of his ship as he approached. “The plasma bolt that comes out isn’t going to change at all, but it’ll have a sheath of negative ions around it once it passes the aperture.”

“So, what,” Poe said, distracted by all the commotion, “is it like a mortar shell just having a different casing?”

“No. No,” Rose said, taken aback. “Do you not know anything about the stuff you’re firing when you fly?”

“I press the trigger, it does the job.”

Rose regarded him with a kind of bemused horror. Poe flashed an easy smile, and put his hands on her shoulders.

“What do I need to know about this in order to not screw things up?”

Rose took a step back, and gave Poe what he felt was a very serious look.

“Just remember that you have to hit the lens. Not the housing itself. Because the plasma’s still going to impact everything you fire at.”

“Doesn’t sound hard.”

“Are you visualizing this the same way I am? That lens is huge. And we don’t have schematics for it. You’re going to have to fly straight at it, fire a few times, pull up before you crash, and then do that again. And then again. And then— you get the idea.”

“Couldn’t I just bank around the lip and nose down while firing?” Poe said, pantomiming the angle he was envisioning.

“You could,” Rose said skeptically.

“I got this,” Poe said, waving his hand casually. “Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried. Before,” Rose said, and shook her head a little before continuing. “I’ve got a sensor installed here. It’ll give you a polarity reading. We won’t know how much each ion blast will affect the lens until you start firing.”

“How bad could it be?”

Rose raised her eyebrows and gave him a nervous smile as she turned to leave.

“Don’t die, okay?”

Poe chuckled to himself as he climbed the ladder to the cockpit. BB-8 came rolling under the ship and let the mag-lift pull him into the mech station. The droid let out a peal of quizzical beeping and clicks.

“Happy beeps, buddy, happy beeps,” Poe said, closing the cockpit. “Good to be in the saddle again.”

***

Rose watched as the X-Wings climbed into the atmosphere, becoming small black specks against the immense blue-white mass of Vedic Prime. She was doing a few last checks to make sure the Falcon hadn’t lost anything too important during the escape from Taris. Rey was already in the cockpit, and Chewie had boarded minutes earlier, Maz Kanata tagging along right to the ramp before giving Rose a wry smirk and trotting back across the tarmac. And, of course, Ben Solo was in there somewhere, too.

Rose reflected on the unparalleled strangeness of the past few days. It seemed to her that life could go on without incident or significance for months or years at a time, only to be punctuated by a few days that shook the entire galaxy. She suspected that these were some of those days, and that the next few hours might decide the fate of the next hundred years.

Or thousand, for that matter.

“What are you doing?” she heard a voice say from behind her.

Finn was walking up to the ship with his rifle slung over his shoulder and a small rucksack under his arm.

“What does it look like?” she said, looking back at her datapad. “I’m coming with you.”

“Rose,” he pleaded, “the last mission didn’t seem too dangerous to begin with. This one—“

She walked to another section of the ship’s exterior and kept referring to her checklist. Finn let out a frustrated grunt and followed her.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay here, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Are you still mad?”

She turned toward him, not looking at him, and walked past, bumping him with her shoulder as she did.

“You’re still mad,” he said, turning to follow.

“I’m coming along to make sure you come back,” Rose said, closing out the program on the datapad. She headed toward the boarding ramp.

“I’m coming back,” Finn said, catching up with her and tugging on her sleeve. “Look at me. I’m coming back, okay?”

She turned to look at him.

“Of course you are,” she said, smiling. Then the smile dropped. “Because I’m coming, too.”

And she walked up the ramp into the ship. A few seconds later, she heard Finn follow, and the idling engines of the Falcon roared to life.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #star wars fic #rey #rey of jakku #kylo ren #ben solo #finn #rose tico #finnrose #poe dameron #kaydel ko connix #poe x kaydel #kylo x rey

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