#But it's still a nothing statement unless you can describe some actual stuff you care about

[sweetdreamspootypie]

I do not have the political / philosophy theory to really engage with all the discussions of left Vs liberal, let alone all the other things people talk about - communist Vs anarchist Vs tankie Vs Marxist Vs Leninist idk it's all noise to me

But one thing I know

Is that 30 to 50 year old men on tinder who describe themselves specifically as "left of center" are an auto nope for me for exactly that reason. If you're using that vocabulary as your self identification then it reads as fundamentally politically conservative who just maybe you identify as not homophobic or similar

it's kind of funny that the term "leftist" as a self-descriptor is the new "socially liberal, fiscally conservative"

[dreamrecorder]

Ok so- idk if you’ve seen demon slayer;; but there’s this episode (it was during the spider fambam arc) aNywaYs- so like. Rui yeets ties* (i guess-) Nezuko like. Up in the air. With his weird spider thread jazz— and like. It’s sHarP weird spider thread jazz— so she’s like. Yknow. Being sliced and diced with string— but it kindaaa reminds me of like. Xiao. And his like.... weird... sad.... uh. Karma. Thing. Like y’know where he’s like hanging from his arms- red stuff. Yeah. So like. Now for the actual request

Xiao’s s/o (female if you don’t mind;;) gets kidnapped by like— the fatui or smth. And they tie her up like Nezuko :D to be like “lol haha Xiao be all like-” and she’s just. Like. Dying. Slowly. Dripping b l o o d and yknow. All the tea. And Xiao comes to rescue her— and he’s like 0-0 “wait...” and he realizes that’s like- exactly what happens to him- and so. He beats the fatui’s butts saves his s/o, anddddd she like.

Idk. This is where I need your angst expertise ��️ like- she could d i e. In his arms. And poor Xiao would be so scarred omg poor thing- BUT THE ANGST- but at the same time;;;; the f l u f f of him being able to save her just in time and she was like fighting for him the whole time or whatever and ended up needing him to save her anyways- and then Xiao feeding her almond tofu until she gets better ❤️❤️❤️

IM SORRY THAT WAS SO LONG- im probably going crazy from lack of sleep from reading fics for too long sndndnsnsj

But if you do this,,, BLESS YOUR SOUL I HOPE TO EITHER BALL MY EYES OUT OR SQUEAL FROM THE WHOLESOMENESS-

Anyways.... thank you! Have a stellar day~ ✨❤️

The heart yearns and the wind heard

lmao this ask is so adorable i hope you’d enjoy this ksks

anyway, full Angst train up ahead but there are moments of Fluff too. There are mentions of blood and violence if those are not your thing- dont worry guys, this goes with a happy ending cos you and Xiao deserve one~ on a final note- non canon compliant and suuuuuuper long- like- legit this is very long

The Yaksha sighs.

He’s here again. His mind and heart has returned his being into this crimson world his demons have created within him.

He feels it. He feels the corruption binding him tighter again for every death he brings by his tainted hands.

He looks at his bindings. And ever so slowly, the red and black coiling around his person will eventually reach his heart.

One day, he thinks, all this crimson and black in this world will swallow him whole and he will see the light no more.

Xiao sighs again.

This is his karmic debt.

~

The moment you stepped foot within Wangshu Inn, you knew he was in his prison again. After giving a quick greeting to the inn keeper, you hastily went to Xiao’s room. The closer you got, the heavier the atmosphere became.

You reached his door and knocked softly. As expected, no reply as he continues to struggle to take back his control over himself. Without hesitation, you stepped in. To anyone else, they would have instantly met his spear at their throats, but with you, this doesn’t happen. Instead, you see him crouched on the wooden floor with a hand on his chest. His knuckles were white and his breathing was ragged. His amber eyes- lost. Observing his form, yes… his moments of corruption are becoming progressively worse.

With swift steps of familiarity to this routine, you went to him and grasped his shoulders.

“Xiao, it’s me…” You whispered with clarity. And oh- how your voice brought a wave of comfort to his soul.

“N-name…” His voice cracked, but him calling to you is always a good sign.

You gave him a small smile and proceeded to grasp his hands together with yours. After which, you then leaned your forehead to his to chant your prayers. As your prayers progressed, slowly but surely, the corruption begins to fade along with the black mist that covered him. However, you took note how this ritual took longer than the last.

Once everything is done, Xiao just slumped onto your shoulders, still breathing deeply. “How are you feeling?” It was a useless question you asked every time this happens, but you always, always, have to make sure.

Usually, he would mutter a small ‘fine,’ but now- words seemed to have left his mind and all he could muster was an almost-unnoticeable shrug.

Truth be told- his response disheartened you, but you did not show it. Instead, you opted to simply encase him in your arms and caress his hair. After all, these are just one of the few, rare moments Xiao would leave himself into your care. Xiao is aware, himself, that his state has been becoming worse and worse. And you both know, that a day would come when he would just attack anyone- friend or foe- without a trace of hesitation. So, just this time- he speaks his feelings.

“Name?”

You answered immediately with a questioning hum.

“What would you do… when I finally lose control over myself?”

It was very subtle, but he felt how your hand stopped caressing his hair for a second, then proceeded to the previous task at hand again. In all honestly, you can never find yourself having an answer to that question. “And why would I ever let that happen to you?” You questioned back, fully aware that you were dodging his question.

Silence surrounded the two of you, unsure on what to do with the sudden heavier atmosphere.

Not wanting to face the cruelty of the world yet, Xiao simply buried himself on the crook of your neck even more. And despite the ghostly sensation of his lips on your skin, you could feel him mouth the words ‘I love you.’

“As long as I’m here,” you whispered, “nothing can hurt you.” And that was the most beautiful lie that the Yaksha has heard, but he was willing to believe all the same.

~

When word about Fatui diplomats starting a bank reached you, there was a nagging feeling in your head that trouble would bring itself present anytime soon. It was like an itch that wouldn’t get away. And the only way to have that itch gone is to scratch it.

“You are absolutely a fool.” Xiao stated darkly with crossed arms, for once disagreeing with the plans of his master.

“We can never know what their intentions are unless we let them start their bank, no?” Zhongli said as he gazed at the marsh spread beneath him.

The Yaksha only scoffed but said no more.

Building up your courage, you deemed it was your turn to voice out your thoughts, “Um… Rex Lapis, I see your point, but wouldn’t it be best to resolve the problem before it persists into something larger? We all know- All of Teyvat knows, that the Fatui are not to be trusted.”

Your archon offered you a kind smile, “I understand your worries, Name. However, as of the moment, they have not presented themselves as such. If they truly are our enemies, then it would be beneficial for us to know their intentions.”

You frowned deeply at his statement. Seeing you do so, somehow, your archon immediately identified your main concern.

“Is this about the Tianquan assigning you to be her representative for the Fatui?”

The moment those words left his mouth, a growl tore from Xiao’s throat, but he held his tongue.

“Did Ganyu tell you?”

The Archon nodded and you sighed.

“I volunteered, actually.”

And at that point, Xiao vanished into thin hair, but you could still his sense his presence around.

“May I know why?” Zhongli questioned gently.

For a moment, you struggled for words. You didn’t know how to describe this ‘itch’ to him. “At first, it was supposed to be Ganyu, since in the Tianquan’s eyes- Ganyu is an adeptus and she does not know that I am, too. Perhaps she didn’t want to put me in harm’s way, a ‘visionless human’ at the side of a harbinger. After some convincing to Ningguang for my volunteering, I spoke to Ganyu next.

“The adepti are divine beings that walk here in Liyue. I had this feeling that putting a divine next to a power-hungry harbinger would become an issue. I told Ganyu that, since I looked ‘harmless’ and ‘ordinary,’ the harbinger’s interest about the divine would never surface.”

A stretch of silence wrapped around them as Zhongli pondered over your words. “Perhaps, are you also planning to dig out the truth of their arrival?”

You nodded, “I knew you would allow them to stay, so I just took it upon myself to unfurl their secrets.”

“Hmmm… I grant you permission on doing this. However, should trouble arise, do not hesitate to tell us.”

~

The glare pointed at you was strong. Even without him saying a single word, you could hear his phantom voice in your head speak with such coldness, What are you thinking?

You simply gave him a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine, Xiao. I may be a human in mortal eyes, but please do remember that I am also an adeptus, no matter how weak I am.”

Xiao releases a huff, but still sits by your side at the floor of the balcony, letting the moon kiss his skin. “You’re not weak.” He mumbled as he snaked his hand to yours.

To him, you will never be weak. In fact, you were the strongest being he has ever laid his eyes on. Not physically, no. It was you mental and emotional fortitude. Back during the Archon War, he always admired how you kept your head held up high no matter the suffering you have experienced. No matter how much death surrounded you, you still fought. And that strength made you a survivor. During the war, you never failed to help the wounded. Even when someone dies under your care, you held strong for the departed and for those who are left behind. You were a pillar of hope.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses every knuckle “… Just be careful. If ever you are in trouble do not-“

“Hesitate to call your name.” You finished, beaming at his words.

~

As someone who used to be a healer and a doctor, you were quite familiar with several mild skin diseases that mortals can suffer from.

If there is an itch, you do not scratch it- for you will only aggravate the area even more.

Now that you’re working alongside the Fatui as the Tianquan’s representative, the itch you kept feeling was only irritated more. Especially whenever you spoke with the Harbinger who goes by the name Childe. And since your work requires you to cooperate with him, you also don’t miss the chance to discover what he hides, should the opportunity presents itself.

Childe… his azure eyes certainly have their… charm to those unaware. However, you knew better. You know he’s capable of drowning you just by his eyes. While he may be a cheerful man, his eyes lack the lustre of joy. The eyes are the windows of the soul, yes? If so, all you see is an unending ocean that you do not want to swim in. The surface may be calm, but the deep is relentless. However, duty bound you are- deep within the ocean, you shall find the secrets the Fatui hides.

Again, another scratch to the itch, but it only irritates you more.

~ 

The news of Rex Lapis’s death became the catalyst of you confronting the Harbinger. From Yujeng Terrace all the way to Northland Bank, you ran (with Ningguang’s permission of course). Before you can even open the door to his office, something caught your eye.

It’s faint, but you’re an adeptus. You sensed elemental traces, just smack bang at the middle of the door. You carefully scrutinized the tracings, and fortunately you knew Snezhnayan script. And what you read only made your heart sink.

It’s ready.

With the adeptal arts, you managed to uncover the origins of these elemental tracings.

Scratch.

Without hesitation, you followed these tracings until it led you into some ruins.

Scratch.

Following the tracings further, you find yourself in a dimly lit room. Wary, you summoned your weapon imbued with your element.

Scratch.

Searching the room, you came across several antique boxes. You opened them.

Scratch.

What you saw were familiar. Too familiar. Dimming the room more with your element, you find more Sigils of Permission hanging on the walls and on the ceilings. The energy within them were faint, but with enough numbers, it’s enough to kill a-

“Well, well well, I thought you’d be there mourning for your Archon. But here you are, snooping around someone else’s research material.”

The sound of his voice made you sharply turn your head to him, your stance now more offensive. “What are you planning?” You bit coldly.

The Harbinger hummed a small tune, “Nothing much… But! If you’re really curious, I guess I could tell you.” He hummed some more but you knew he’s not finished. Once he finished his tune, he grinned to you menacingly and the depths in his eyes became even deeper and darker, “After all, I won’t let you leave this place with you knowing my secret~”

~

There was this one time, Xiao struggled against himself so much, he scratched himself red so that he could anchor himself back to the real world. You remembered how much you cried as he slept in your arms. You never wanted to see him do that again. Seeing him hurt himself also hurt you, too. It was like a stab in the heart, then a twist, and twist some more. A slap in the reality that you might lose him one day.

As he slept, you solemnly observed the wounds he sustained himself to. They were angry red, just like blood.

Now, you, yourself scratched that itch in your head too much into a wound for blood to seep through. You scratched too much and now you have to bleed from it.

~

You were slipping in and out of consciousness. Sleep was tempting you more and more but you know you have to wake up. You were aware that this is going on for days.

Everything hurts. You remembered how his blades, imbued with the Sigils, weakened you thoroughly. Every slash he brought to your body just drained the energy away from you. But still you had to do something.

He wanted an adeptus- he wanted an adeptus in order for the Sigils to grow stronger both in number and in power.

Now here you are, bound by chains and suspended at the middle of this empty room. These chains were adorned by talismans that drained away your energy. You were bleeding from your wounds of your previous battle.

Drip. Drip. Drip goes the blood and pools on the ground underneath you. The ground, you barely noticed, was lined by Liyuean script which enacts the ritual of the Sigils draining your divine power from your blood.

To the eyes of a sadist- you were a picture perfect in a canvas. A dark room lined by the damned Sigils, glowing an eerie gold. Then there's you with your bloodied clothes and chains. The red pool underneath was casting a red glow on your way, giving you a red shade to your pale skin.

Everything hurts-

And everything was driving you mad.

You can also feel the Overlord of the Vortex feed from your energy through the Sigils. You sensed his lust for power and revenge. You felt his anger and the corruption within him. You felt his hatred and his want to bring death. For days that felt like years, you’ve been battling against that very same god in your head. This battle was not something you shall not lose to and failure is not an option. If you fail here, then Liyue will fall. 

This god- he was driving you mad slowly.

If ever you are in trouble, do not hesitate to call my-

You shut the thought from your head. You are not going to call him. You will not speak of him. You will not think of him. You will not call him. Not to this place where his corruption will grow. No. You Will Not Call Him.

If it means that me not calling you will keep you safe from the corrupted remnant of a god- so be it. 

Please

However, no matter how much you denied yourself to call his name, no matter how much your heart yearns to be with him- the wind does not ignore the pained sob that left your lips.

~

Ever since the news of Rex Lapis's death and the visit of the Traveler with a Sigil in his hand- the corruption within him just bloomed into something feral.

The Sigil- there was something wrong about it but Xiao doesn't know what is it that is wrong. Then there's you- where are you? Surely with the news of their Archon's death- it would send you to bring forth a meeting for the adepti to talk this over. But now- for days- you remain not by his side.

With you missing- the demons inside him are slowly taking control over him, taking advantage of his vulnerability for you. For each passing day, it was slow torture for him- The worry bubbling in him was consuming him. He glared at the Sigil between his fingers and not failing to notice how his dark aura covers him once more. 

“Traveler,” Xiao called sharply, “What is it you intend to do next?” 

To any mere mortal, the look his eyes held were enough to strike fear, but the Traveler stealed themselves- meeting the adeptus’s gaze with an equally serious calm. “I have my suspicions on a certain harbinger and I-”

“Where?” The Yaksha growled.

“In the Golden House.”

Without a word nor warning, Xiao placed a hand on the Traveler’s shoulder and teleported them to the place where the Exuvia is hidden.

To the Traveler, everything happened so quickly as one event led to another. One moment, they were standing among unconscious bodies of the Millelith then the next thing they knew a corrupted and demonic gust of wind flew them away to the side. Regaining back their vision, they could see Alatus’s spear now at Tartaglia’s barrier made of Sigils. 

Alatus narrowed his eyes at the floating talismans and began to calculate the flow of this incoming battle with precision and accuracy despite his losing control over himself. 

It was a tense minute of sizing each other up, but eventually, Tartaglia has broken the silence with his annoying innocent voice. 

“Who would have thought that I’d have the honor of fighting another adeptus of Liyue?” 

The question immediately fed the corruption within him, the dark aura exploding at it. He knew that he should not believe in the Harbinger’s words so easily, but the glint in the latter’s eyes held truth. You could be out there, hurting, scared, alone. You could be out there, bleeding out. You could be out there dyi-

His aura exploded once more at the thoughts spreading in his being. With a burst of unspeakable power, Alatus lifted his weapon and pierced the barrier once more, this time breaking it without failure. At the threat, Tartaglia backed away as he donned his mask.

In a similar fashion, Alatus, too donned his mask. “I will ask you once,” the Conqueror of Demons spoke with a deathly calm, “Where is she?”

~

He should have killed him then and there. But the call of the Overlord of the Vortex must not be ignored as it threatens Liyue. 

In the small opportunity of escape, Childe took it. But he was weak and injured as Alatus swiftly threw his spear to block his way and teleported right in front of him. In a show of power, the Conqueror of Demons lifted the mortal by the neck.

“I will ask you again, where is she?”

In fear, Childe told him everything and at his every word, Xiao listened carefully- never speaking once. But the anger within his heart, it boils- it rages. His amber eyes bored into Childe’s soul- thinking what he should do to this mortal. Oh how killing him would be so nice. However, when the Yaksha’s gaze landed on the regal form of the Exuvia, he merely threw the mortal in its way.

“Killing you would have been easier. However, the crimes you have presented against Liyue are not mine for me to judge.

I leave the Harbinger to you... Rex Lapis.”

Once out of the Golden House, the Overlord roared once more, shaking the lands of the nation. However, along with it, he heard the faintest of voices. I’m so sorry... I couldn’t hold him back anymore. 

Only then did the demons in his heart freely took control of him. Just like the stories of old, where the Yaksha walks, death follows. But they were no stories. In his way towards the ruins where you were held captive, every step he took brought carnage and even more death and blood to taint his hands. No Fatui will leave this place alive. The very being of destruction ended many lives. Each death, the demons were growing stronger.

All he wanted now was to kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill killkillkill killkill kill killkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill

Then seeing you suspended in the ceiling and bound by chains. Blood was painted on your lifeless skin. Wounds were littered and bruises were blooming on your form. But most of all, your eyes. What were once full of life and hope- now empty and blank. His demons quieted down.

Broken. You were like a broken porcelain doll.

“N-name...” His voice cracked, not believing it all.

With haste, he quickly broke your binds and caught you in his arms. he was fast to check for your pulse and your breathing. And thank the Archons, you were breathing but barely. You were now walking the line between life and death. With all his might yet a gentle caress, he hugged you for dear life. “Name... It’s me...”

But still, your eyes still held no recognition and it shattered his heart to pieces. With further inspection, he sensed the presence within you. A corruption. A certain evil. 

“Name, stay with me please,” Xiao begged with desperation as he fought back tears. “It’s me who supposed to be the corrupted one between us, not you... I’m not allowing you to leave me, you hear me-”

With a ritual of the adeptal arts, he started purging and purifying the evil left by the god who fed from you. He is not letting you stay alone in your prison, not for a second longer. 

Xiao prays and he never prayed before. Even to his master. But just this once, He prays with desperation. You are the light in his darkness. You are the moon in his night. 

The ritual was a delicate process. For every word he spoke, he was rewarded by your screams of pain and the writhing of your fragile body. He wanted to stop, but he can’t. He had to physically restrain you from trying to escape from his embrace and from hurting yourself. And for every cry you released, Xiao merely shuts his eyes clos just for him not to see your pained eyes. Every now and then, Xiao speaks gentle apologies and words of encouragement for you. You were coming back. But still, the evil persists.

You writhed and scratched against him, until you were creating more wounds for blood to seep through. When it came to a point, you began pleading and begging for him to stop, that was when Xiao had shed a tear. So he continues the ritual, his prayers, and his apologies. They were arriving to a point where the ritual is reaching its conclusion but your screams only grew louder.

Please, just a little more...

Please, just stop...

Please...

The corruption disintegrated away from you in a forceful release of dark energy. He was breathing deeply, attempting to calm his loud heart. When he placed his gaze on you, you were breathing rapidly and your eyes were searching blindly and your hands were desperately holding onto him.

“X-Xiao...” You whispered, “Where am I? Where are you?”

With a sigh of relief, the Yaksha hugged you again closer and his forehead to yours, fearing you would go away again. The action made you lift your hands to his face, still searching blindly.

“I’m here, Name... I’m here.” At his voice, the dam in your eyes broke as you cried silently. Xiao was not adept in emotions, but for you, he will face them gladly. He lets you cry as he gives you soft whispers of assurance, safety, love, and promises. However, you were not crying because of what had happened to you. You were crying for him. After experiencing such corruption-

You sobbed some more- you were this close to him losing you and you could not bring yourself to imagine if your roles were reversed.

“P-please,” you said with a broken voice, “please don’t go to the place where I can’t follow...’

The words, at first puzzled him, but after a few moments, he realized and once more it broke his heart. Bringing you closer, Xiao let loose the tears he was holding back. With a gentleness unexpected of the Conqueror, he simply littered your face with kisses. “I promise if only you would do the same.”

With your smile that he loved dearly for so long you too spoke your promise, “I do.” They were simply two words, but the comfort they bring into the Yaksha’s heart was in volumes.

After that, you shared a few tender moments in each other’s arms. Simply relishing the feeling of their familiar warmth. A little later, Xiao spoke, “Would you like to eat some Almond Tofu once we get home?”

The question made you giggle at his innocence, so you agreed. Despite you needing physical medical attention. But Almond Tofu with him? Yes, you two definitely need some emotional healing.

A/N: fINALLY dONE lmao this was supposed to be short but angst really makes me want to write longer everytime haha~ anyway this request really made me ponder bout genshin stuff with all the corruption this and corruption that but then a question popped up like-

how did childe replicate the sigil of permission? since sigils are imbued with divine energy, i just thought how did this guy accumulate so much sigils to the point of freeing Osial- a god!!! soooo i just played with the idea for a bit then figured out maybe these pieces of paper get the divine energy from a divine source right? and the adepti are divine beings of liyue and another thing- you guys might have noticed the change of names in some scenes- i dont know but i think somehow different names represents different side of a person like- we have childe the cheerful harbinger then tartaglia the power hungry harbinger- there’s Alatus who’s calculating and cold, there’s the Conqueror of Demons who’s ruthless and unforgiving, then Xiao who is calm and humane- lastlyyyyy i might post this in ao3 ksks

[lucemferto]

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT TECHNOBLADE (or A Narrative Analysis of the Dream SMP Doomsday Event) - Script

Heyo! Per request I am posting the script to my video of the same name here on tumblr. I must warn you that just reading the script will probably not give you the full experience, so I would encourage you to watch the video (linked above).

There might also still be a lot of grammatical errors in the text, because I don’t proofread.

Okay, so! I don’t want this to turn into a reaction channel OR a Dream SMP channel for that matter! I am planning on doing a big dumb, way too long analysis video on the Dream SMP which will – at my current pace – come out in five years. I am already way too late on this one.

Spoiler Alert for the Doomsday Event that took place on the 6th of January in the Dream SMP. Surely the worst thing to take place on the 6th of January 2021 … I’m sorry, what’s this about the Capitol?

In case you don’t watch the SMP and need context: The Dream SMP is a Minecraft Multiplayer Server, that, throughout the last year, has transformed from a normal Let’s Play to an ongoing new-media series streamed by multiple high-profile streamers such as Dream, TommyInnit or Technoblade. It comes complete with script – by which I mean loose bullet points – and story events. It has attracted a large fanbase specifically invested in the story and less so in the actual gameplay content. Like I said before, I will probably do a big video on the Dream SMP at some point in the future.

The storyline is long and complicated and trying to explain it all would take up the majority of the video and there are other channels who have already done a much better job than I could ever hope to do, so give them a watch. I’ll try to summarize all that is pertinent to what I will talk about in this video.

Okay, let’s speedrun this summary. Cue the music!

Major Players here are TommyInnit, a founder of the independent nation of L’Manburg, Technoblade, an anarchist who was deep in conflict with L’Manburg, Tubbo, Tommy’s best friend and current president of L’Manburg, and Dream, the ruler of the Kingdom of the Dream SMP (even though he is not the king, but we’re not going to get into that right now). Tommy had in the past been exiled by Tubbo for endangering L’Manburg’s shaky peace with the Dream SMP. Tommy had then teamed up with Technoblade, who was hellbent on destroying L’Manberg after some prior altercations – more on that later.

Tommy and Tubbo came into conflict during a festival set-up to celebrate the friendship between L’Manburg and the Dream SMP. After punching out their feelings, Tommy came to the realization that his friendship with Tubbo was more important than his vendetta against Dream and those who exiled him. Techno took that change of heart badly and teamed up with Dream to destroy L’Manburg … and that’s exactly what happened.

Techno and Dream, with little to no opposition, obliterated L’Manburg with no hope for recovery leaving its inhabitants stranded hopeless and alone.

… And that’s what you missed on Dream SMP!

Okay. So, usually I just put whatever thought slime drips out of my mouth hole into your subscription box. But then I asked myself: “Am I not taking this a largely improvised nonsense story from a bunch of 16–24-year-olds a little too seriously?”. And then I remembered. I’m a pretentious bitch. I made an 18-minute video explaining why the popular commentary YouTuber memeulous is secretly the time travelling Anti-Christ, REASON HAS NO SWAY OVER ME!

So, like the English Major drop-out that I am, I will present you with two theses, which I will then combine into one … supratheses! That word doesn’t exist, I just coined it, it’s mine! I am very smart!

[I know words, I have the best words!]

 Thesis #1: The Fandom focuses too much on Character Analysis in Favour of Narrative Analysis

The Dream SMP is truly something special. It is uniquely singular in how it tells a story of this scope through its chosen medium. While there is an overarching script that lays out the plot points of the future, each of the 30+ streamers on the SMP are their own cameraman, director, writer and actor. You cannot watch “the Dream SMP” – if you attempted that, you would be 80 by the time you caught up to the Doomsday Event. You have to choose whom to watch. You have to choose your focal point character.

Because by the way the story is told and consumed – aka in such a compartmentalized fashion; you watch one streamer and get one character’s perspective – it has sort-of unintentionally conditioned fans to look at the SMP and its characters less as one coherent story with messages and themes and more as sports teams they can root for. You’re Team Techno or Team Tubbo or Team Tommy or Team JackManifoldTV (formerly known as Thunder1408) and every other side is in the wrong! It’s like Twilight for a decade old children’s game about virtual Lego!

Okay, I’m exaggerating, but the amount of discourse perpetuated by and revolving around so-called “apologists” – a terrible term that unfortunately has caught on – is really not something that I think is good for how we interact with the story of the Dream SMP.

The Dream SMP is discussed a lot on character-based level, which is, like I said before, hugely advantaged by the way the story is consumed by its audience. With traditional, visual media such as film for example, the audience can be made more aware of what messages the narrative might try to communicate on a narrative level without the need for an explicit narrator to tell you the moral.

As an example, in a movie you could have a smash-cut from the Butcher Army’s discussions about neutralizing the danger Technoblade poses to Techno being nice around villagers or taking care of animals. This would communicate on an extradiegetic level, that the Butcher Army is in the wrong with their assumptions. Alternatively, you could contrast Techno’s declarations that power corrupts and that Tubbo’s administration is cruel with Tubbo choosing not to punish Ranboo for his association with Techno – thus the narrative would communicate that Techno’s view of Tubbo and by extension the government is one-sided and not true to reality.

Stuff like that helps the viewer understanding a story holistically and manages to communicate stuff like themes and morals without having to solely rely on in-character logic and argumentation, which, as Ghostbur put it so eloquently, is comprised of a bunch of unreliable narrators.

Character analysis is great if we want dive deep, if we really want to give a character flavour and understand their motivations. It helps make the universe feel like it is alive, like it’s real. But – and this might be a shocker for you – it’s not real. It’s written. It is construction – and as such, in its construction, it has messages and themes and morals, intentionally or unintentionally.

By being so focused on specific characters and their individual journeys, viewpoints and motivation we really run the risk of not looking at the bigger picture and fail to see what the overarching narrative is actually communicating. And we may also fail to understand how characters might or might not fit into the overarching narrative.

Speaking of which …

 Thesis #2: Technoblade experiences very little Meaningfultm Thematic Conflict

Okay, let’s talk about Technoblade. I’m sure I’m not going to get any hate for this one.

I want to preface by saying that I don’t watch Technoblade’s streams; I catch up though clip channels and summaries. I’m mainly watching Tommy, Tubbo and Quackity – which is honestly already more than I can handle – but I want to be clear that while I’ll try to be as even-handed as possible – like I explained previously – the way I consumed the storylines will undoubtedly leave me with some bias.

Also, needless to say, I’m talking about the character Technoblade, not the actual content creator, unless I specifically say so. That should be obvious.

Now, I’m not doing a Technoblade character analysis, because that would be hypocritical of me – seeing how I just bitched about the overwhelming amounts of character analyses in the fandom – but I’ll try my best to summarize what is necessary.

Technoblade’s interesting in that he is a very static character – at least inwardly – he doesn’t change much. He is very steadfast in his beliefs and ideals and has very little introspection. He doesn’t question himself; he doesn’t waver, he is never in a bind about whether what he’s doing is right or wrong. He is very much a parallel to early TommyInnit – who, of course, famously said “I’m always in the right”.

And I want to emphasize that I mean this in no way as a critique of Techno’s character. A static character provides a nice contrast to more dynamic characters and can balance them out. It can also be utilised by the writing as a character flaw – which is what I hope content creator Techno is going for.

Like Techno doesn’t have a lot of empathy in the sense that he is particularly skilled at or interested in trying to see the viewpoints of others. There is never an attempt to reconcile, for example, the goal of the Pogtopians to reclaim L’Manberg and install another administration with his desire for an anarchist society. This is also compounded with his overreliance on violence as the only tactic for conflict resolution – Techno has a whole thesis statement about violence being the only universal language. I’m sure you’ve heard the quote.

And lastly, what really drives this all over the edge, is his all-or-nothing approach when dealing with the enemy – he is not so much eye for an eye as he is – to use another biblical example – you make fun of me for being bald and I’ll sic two bears on you that maul and kill you and 41 other children.

There’s also the open and completely unacknowledged hypocrisy of a self-described anarchist working together with a man that installs and dethrones Kings with his every whim – someone who – and I cannot stress this enough – hits about every box when it comes to the definition of tyrant.

So, what I’m saying is that Technoblade is the Dream SMP equivalent of Dick Chenney. C’mon you know it’s true! He will bomb that freedom into your country whether you want him to or not. That’s some cogent political commentary in the year 2021.

Okay, so now that I’ve outlined his character, what kind of conflicts does Technoblade face. Well, it’s mostly physical or external. He fights a lot whether it’s against Quackity or Sapnap or bodying Karl Jacobs five times in a row. And – with the exception of maybe Sapnap – none of it is challenging. Technoblade is the best PvP-Player on the server – there really isn’t much tension to be had from a purely physical fight.

So, how are these fights supplemented emotionally. Well, internally there is not a lot going on. As I said before, Technoblade isn’t really an introspective character. Even during his shouting match with Tommy there’s not a sense that Technoblade is wavering or unsure of himself in the way that Tommy is. He exposits that one of the reasons, he acts like he does is that he feels dehumanized; that people only use him like a weapon and then discard or even try to neutralize him once he’s no longer useful.

But that is not something that Technoblade has to grapple with – it’s not conflict for him, it’s more conflict for Tommy. Technoblade is self-assured in that he’s a person and not a weapon – it’s almost like there was a character arc there, where Technoblade self-actualizes and breaks away from the people that want to use him. But we didn’t see any of it. Technoblade unleashes the withers; then he goes into retirement because he wants to be, I suppose, and then he returns to violence as a reaction to the Butcher Army. There is a story of vengeance here, but not any conflict about being used. There is never a point where we see Technoblade come to this realization or comes to assert himself.

In season 1 there’s never a push from Pogtopia where the narrative frames them as exploiting Technoblade. He fights with them of his own volition, he gives them weapons and armour of his own volition. Nobody pressured Techno into procuring their inventory for the fight. And in Season 2, he’s the one to approach Tommy about their potential partnership – he is in the position of power here, explicitly not Tommy.

Like, I’m sorry, if this ruffles some feathers, but I really don’t see this arc where Technoblade is being used. There’s a story of misunderstanding and maybe co-dependency – but not of dehumanization. This entire line of thought seems to solely reference that moment, where Tommy says to Sapnap “I have the blade” during one of their wars – which, to base an entire emotional arc around that without any further set-up, is, and I’m sorry to say that, incredibly flimsy.

Okay, so we covered physical and emotional conflict? But what about conflict on the narrative level? Well, that leads me to my suprathesis …

 Suprathesis: The Narrative is Unclear on how it treats Technoblade … and that’s Not Good.

Here’s a Hot Take: The narrative of Season 1 treats Technoblade way less sympathetically than that of season 2.

Let me explain. The narrative of Season 1 revolves mostly around Wilbur and Tommy. The emotional fulcrum of the overall narrative is Wilbur’s rise and fall from Grace – and Tommy succeeding him as symbol of L’Manberg’s “special”-ness. Now I will talk about all that more in detail, when I talk about Season 1 of the Dream SMP. So, you’ll just have to go with me on this one for now.

Technoblade, by contrast, doesn’t really have much going on thematically in Season 1. He mostly exists as a sort-of utilitarian character – he is an accessory to make story beats happen. Like him executing Tubbo doesn’t open up any sort of thematic conflict involving him – on a character level it sets up antipathy between him and Tommy and it grants us some insight into how he operates with his violence speech – but on a larger-scale narrative level it really just shows how far Wilbur and Tommy have drifted apart in how they react to the event.

His biggest contribution is during the Season 1 finale, but even there he plays second fiddle to Wilbur. Not just because Wilbur does way more destruction with his explosion than Techno does with his Withers, but also because Wilbur had an emotional and thematic climax to his arc and by extension the entire storyline. Like Techno’s is a cool moment and very epic visual but in terms of thematic relevance, his Theseus-speech is really more set-up for Season 2.

And Season 1 is very unambiguous about L’Manberg being good and Tommy’s ideals ultimately being morally justified – I mean, they have a whole speech about it in the end and it was built-up throughout the entire Season – Techno is cast in a … less than sympathetic light. He is, if not a villain, then definitely an antagonist.

But with Season 2 the narrative is either uninterested in or not very clear on exploring Technoblade’s flaws.

Like ask yourselves: is Technoblade’s character ever consciously challenged by the narrative? Are his actions ultimately shown to not be in the right? Are his beliefs about government and power ever called into question? Are the negative consequences that his actions cause ever shown to be larger than the “good” he does?

I think what exemplifies this the most is how the Butcher Army event played out on December 16th. Now, during that event, the Butcher Army, which was comprised of Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy and Ranboo, managed to apprehend Technoblade, who at that point was living the quiet retirement life, and tried to have him publicly executed – without trial.

Now, smarter people than me have pointed out that the Butcher Army had a bevy of in-character reasons that can justify or explain their actions. And that’s definitely interesting, but as I said before, I want to get away from that and look into how the Butcher Army is treated on a narrative level. Because this is one of the few instances where the otherwise grey-loving Season 2 has some very clear narrative intent when it comes to morality.

The Butcher Army is very deliberately framed as almost cartoonishly corrupt and violent. They very forcefully investigate Philza, mock him and then put him under house arrest – and there’s just no remorse in the script even from normally sympathetic characters like Tubbo.

Compare and contrast with the Tommy-exile scene, which is also an act of moral ambiguity and is treated as such. And things get even worse once the Army arrives at Technoblade’s abode and attack him after he softly tells them that he has left that live behind him. They then proceed to take his horse hostage, mock him and execute him without fair trial – and I haven’t seen it but from live commentary I gathered that Techno really played up the whole softie-schtick before the Butcher Army arrived. I mean, before the big Technoblade vs Quackity fight, Quackity had whole villain monologue for Christ’s sake.

And even afterwards, the Butcher Army really plays up the corrupt angle with Tubbo proposing a festival as a guise to publicly execute someone. And again, I know that on an intradiegetic there’s nuances and it’s not really comparable to the Red Festival, but in combination with what the audience has seen up until that point and with how much it feeds into the already established themes of history repeating itself and becoming like your predecessors, it really does not paint a pretty picture of the Tubbo administration.

You can feel the heavy hand of the script on your shoulder, which is a feat seeing how – as discussed before – that’s not something that can be easily accomplished in this medium.

And that is what I mean when I say that Technoblade is not really challenged by the script and is in this case even emboldened by it. Because after this whole ordeal the thought of Technoblade taking revenge by destroying L’Manberg doesn’t seem like such an extreme response to the viewer – even though in my opinion, it is.

As of right now it is too early to say how the narrative will judge Technoblade’s actions in the future. Will they be framed as extreme but ultimately justified or perpetuating a cycle of ever-escalating vengeance? Will we ever see a government that’s not just at best misguided and at worst completely awful?

Ultimately, I believe and hope that Technoblade will be challenged by the narrative, mostly because a character that cannot, believably, be physically challenged, who doesn’t have any meaningful internal conflict about what he’s doing; and who does come out on the other side having everything he always believed in be proven completely in the right by the narrative, would be incredibly boring. Not just to watch but also to play as.

As it stands now, if the destruction Techno, Phil and Dream inflicted upon L’Manburg is framed as ultimately in the right, I would find it personally a distasteful message to send. I would ultimately say that the “correct” way to counter corruption in government is to completely obliterate the entire country. Like we’re not talking simply disbanding the government – that’s not what Doomsday was – we’re talking complete and utter annihilation. And that would be cynical and depressing. Like, call me a big softie, but even bothsidesing this argument would be bad.

Like, I’m not calling for Technoblade to be transformed into or treated a monster like Dream. But I personally feel like the narrative needs to acknowledge that the Doomsday was something that was taken way too far and that it ultimately brought more harm than good. And Technoblade needs to held accountable by someone who is not a cartoonishly corrupt government-official or who is in conflict with him anyway, like Tommy.

I thought Philza or Ranboo could do that but seeing how their storylines are progressing I don’t believe that will be the case. But who knows, maybe Captain Puffy will come through for us. We stan a Queen.

 Conclusion

So, yeah, I made this entire video just to air out my grievances with how one-sided the mode of analysis is in the fandom, because no person actually involved with the production of Dream SMP will ever see this.

But after everything I am cautiously optimistic, that content creator Technoblade knows what he’s doing. He has talked in the past about how his character is a bad guy and he loves his Greek myths. After all what’s more Greek myth than hybris being rewarded with punishment? [Technoblade never dies] That bodes well for him.

Also, this isn’t the video I promised at the end of the last one!

[okay-victoria]

Status of Women in The Empire

Summary: LN gives some evidence women have a better status than they did in OTL Germany. It gives little to nothing in the way of evidence that we are in post-sexual-revolution territory. It presents little enough evidence generally that you can use this issue in your own story as you wish; however, using how humans actually work as your baseline, it would be a very definite handwave to think that gender equality is much more than marginally better than OTL would have been at the time, or that Tanya wouldn’t be negatively affected by it in some significant ways in daily life. On the other hand, the original story handwaves an eight year old enrolling in a modern military and getting promoted to a mid-ranking officer by age eleven, so as a reader, I’m obviously pretty down for handwaving some realism for the sake of a good story.

Evidence:

V1/C1

“The armed forces have a practical exception in place for just about everything.” <= I think in fanon the entire Empire as seen as this sort of “everything we do is logical” territory where gender discrimination would have had to be eliminated, but in reality it’s presented as the military, and they are making an exception for a rare and incredibly militarily useful type of person to be able to be put to use by them without gender discrimination stopping it.

V1/C4

“But in the far-from-gender-free world of “ladies first,” Tanya with her outwardly girlish appearance is, albeit only relatively, blessed compared to the other students” <= YMMV, but I would not describe modern society as a world of “ladies first”. Do people do/say it to hark back to pre-1960s chivalry? Sure. Is it really the standard we live by anymore? Not so much. Tanya seems to pretty definitely still be living in those days.

“Basically, apart from the mage branch, the army is a man’s world. Actually, even most of the mages are men.” <= this is notable because it is said when Tanya is in War College, at which point the war has been going on for long enough that available mages have been conscripted, so there is no selection bias that men have simply chosen to pursue a career as a mage more often than women. This is actually weirdly important because it either means:

Magic talent is like, an X chromosome trait and men are thus more likely to have it [in which case, it would probably be taken as natural evidence that men are superior and worsen the gender equality situation]; or

There in fact is a Youjo Konki-esque exception for married women and/or mothers. A nation has to still be relatively in the infancy of gender equality if Female Mage #102 has children with Infantryman #1,000,102 and the military decides that since it can’t leave these children parentless, it has to conscript the dude who is substitutable for literally anyone else and not the human weapon.

Tanya has a long-ish reflection on women in the military. Important points are, the rules have only been overhauled recently to make it practical for women to serve in combat. Women in combat didn’t really exist prior to this war, and women in the military were basically limited to noble/imperial families having their daughters serve out nominal duties. Whatever boost women as a whole get from serving in a capacity that people are used to seeing men in, it has not had time to transform society all that much.

V2/C2

“Women administrators are not uncommon, but in the Empire where gender equality still has a ways to go, their qualifications are always questioned.” <= YMMV as to what degree this is meant to be a statement on something that still troubles women in modern times, or something that indicates gender equality is not particularly close to modern.

V2/C5

“After all, now that I’ve been turned into a girl, I’m faced with this annoying military framework where men are superior. Just the thought of my promotions being blocked by an invisible glass ceiling is enough to dampen any desire I might have to act all girlish for propaganda…apart from that, the Empire’s personnel system has adapted extremely meritocratic principles for the war, in a way, so I’m more or less satisfied with it.” <= sort of same as above, YMMV on whether this is just Tanya realizing what life is like for a woman in modern society or meant as a “no, it was worse” point.

However, I will say this: I highly, highly doubt any men chosen for high military honors were photographed doing anything other than looking ultra manly in uniform. Women serving in modern militaries are not forced to put on showy dresses when they get their photos taken, they are treated, at least in photos, with the same respect as their male colleagues. The fact that anyone found it appropriate to only photograph the recipient of the highest military honor in cute girl clothes speaks to some deep discomfort with anyone outside the military seeing women not doing what they’re supposed to.

V6/C6

“The Imperial Army has already tapped all the population pools that can be mobilized, but it still has two options. One is to begin the general conscription of women. That said, they’ve already been mobilized in the industrial sector.” <= YMMV, again, on how willing a modern country would be to conscript women to fight a world war, but if you are as deep into a world war as the Empire is and no one’s trying it, at the least we can say the Empire is not the bastion of cold logic it fanonically is outside the military. Also, it pretty much seems like women working in large numbers has only become a thing because all the guys are off fighting, which very much sticks us in pre-1950s territory.

V8/C1

Andrew reacts surprised to see a female reporter from the Federation, and reflects that they are quite liberal in some ways <= while this is a non-Imperial guy, given his familiarity with the Empire, it would seem weird that if the Empire was particularly more advanced than his country that he would still be so surprised.

Other Working Knowledge Your Author Has On This Subject:

Women serving in the military, while certainly helpful to the cause of gender equality, by itself is not going to create a broad-based transformation in society. That sounds a bit like saying: As we all know, the US dropped any racist laws or regulations as soon as we started allowing non-white units in the military. After Elizabeth I serving as the Ruler of England, a very manly role that her tiny woman-brain didn’t fuck up too bad, the people who thought women were naturally stupider than men were quickly relegated to the margins and gender discrimination mostly became more of an annoyance than a real hindrance to the average woman’s goals. It just doesn’t work that way. And I’m not here to say that the US is a post-gender paradise, but the US, which has never had a woman president and is pretty slow about expanding military opportunities for women, nonetheless is a lot better on the gender equality front than some countries that have had women leaders and allow women a fuller range of military opportunities. There’s a lot more complexity to it than: My country respects military => military allows women => guess I’m going to stop being sexist

The same goes for something that isn’t about gender equality at large but how it relates to Tanya: The view that while gender equality may be non-advanced, Tanya specifically is exempt from dealing with it because she is “one of the boys”. It Does Not Work Like That. At All. And the further you go back in time, the less it worked like that. Within the military specifically Tanya will probably be alright, but society at large punishes men & women that break gender roles as brazenly as she does more than it rewards them. This is an entire essay unto itself, Google is your friend.

This is going to sound silly and facetious but I’m being dead serious, from what little we know of fashion in the YS world, it matches what would have been the case in the real world in the WW1 era. If society at large was really that different, that wouldn’t be the case.

There is no canon evidence that magic has made any scientific advancements outside the military sphere of influence. Before the advent of things like dishwashers, vacuums, microwaves, especially refrigerators, and especially laundry machines being common household items, the ideal family model was: one person makes money outside home, one person takes care of house. There wasn’t enough time in the day to work and run a household. Many women in poor households had to work, generally at the expense of being able to keep their own household running smoothly, and even then they often worked in capacities that allowed them to be at home or ones that allowed them the flexibility to take care of some of this stuff. It really just isn’t possible to have a society remotely approaching equality when one gender is automatically assigned to home unless necessary.

Same goes for something else - contraception. Women having access to a contraceptive device that they control is a major component of setting a society on a path towards equality. Birth control pills didn’t become widely available until the 1960s. Without being unable to at least kind of balance the outcome of sex (even between married couples) between men and women, women as a class have a hard time escaping from the housewife-mother archetype.

Not to get too political here, but the Empire matches OTL Germanic-Prussianness too much to ignore. Living under a military-worshipping, religiously-inclined traditional monarchy has not, in any real life example I’m aware of, gone hand-in-hand with anything other than a fairly conservative and patriarchal society, and I feel like the burden of proof is on the other side to explain why that isn’t the case in the Empire, and our original author makes approximately zero effort to do this.

Being X turns Tanya into a woman for the purpose of making her life worse. It seems simply illogical [although I guess Being X’s decision-making skills are questionable] that he would then drop her into a world that had undergone broad-based gender reform instead of a world that was just barely tweaked from our own in such a way that it would allow Tanya to serve in the military.

My conclusion: the most likely option is that gender equality is exactly enough better as it needs to be to allow the military to convince the lawmakers that they should be able to use a very rare & dangerous ability to be part of their arsenal without respect to gender, or age, and no more. That difference is not likely to make life for women significantly better than it was in the equivalent OTL time period.

[haberdashing]

i want you to straighten out my tomorrow (3/?)

The last thing Jon remembers is working into the night in the Archives in early 2016. Now he’s in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, with Martin Blackwood as his only companion. Obviously Jon’s missed something along the way here…

Inspired by beloved of jon, though it can be read separately.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

on AO3

Martin took a deep breath and released it slowly before speaking again.

“So.” Martin tapped his fork against his plate, which made a noise that got on Jon’s nerves a bit, but he’d just taken a big bite of his pancake to show his following through on his part of their makeshift deal so he couldn’t exactly complain about it. “I guess I’ll start from here, and from what brought us here, and sort of, er, work backwards? I mean, I imagine you’ve got enough questions about what’s going on now without me bringing up a load of other weird things for you to wonder about.”

Jon nodded silently. Martin certainly wasn’t wrong about that bit; Jon had plenty of questions waiting to be asked already.

“Daisy didn’t actually give us the key to this place; I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any. There were hunters at the Institute when we left, and she was busy, er, fighting them off, so we didn’t get to say goodbye or anything--though I don’t know if I would have, I never really knew Daisy that well. But Basira--she works for the Institute now too, but before all that she and Daisy were cops together, they’re, they’re close--she was able to give us the keys, said she thought Daisy would approve.”

There was a lot to process there, unsurprisingly. Now there were two Institute employees Martin had brought up that Jon didn’t know rather than just one; the use of “hunters” seemed a bit odd, made Jon wonder what they were hunting for, whether Hunt was a fear to be capitalized like Eye and Web; all sorts of interpersonal relationship stuff could be teased out there, if one had a mind to do so, which Jon didn’t especially at the moment.

What was at the front of Jon’s mind, though, was that evidently there had been some danger at the Institute, whether because of these “hunters” (”Hunters”?) or for some other reason, and of the three other people working there that Jon cared about, the only one whose safety was assured was the one sitting in front of him.

(Elias didn’t count. Jon tolerated Elias well enough, and he was glad the man had trusted him with an opportunity by promoting him to Head Archivist even if he felt like he was just flailing around playing pretend half the time, but he didn’t care about Elias, not like he did about the rest of his crew.)

Jon swallowed the last of his current bite of food before Martin could start up again. “What about Tim and Sasha?”

Martin furrowed his brow, confusion evident on his face--the word “adorable” sprung to Jon’s mind, unbidden--so Jon elaborated further.

“You haven’t mentioned what happened to Tim and Sasha during all of this. Are they alright?”

And then Jon watched Martin’s face slowly fall, could practically see the gears turning as Martin tried to figure out a tactful response, and he wasn’t the best at reading facial expressions but figuring out this one wasn’t exactly rocket science.

“Were they together in the end, at least?”

Martin shook his head, loose curls flying everywhere as he did so, one of them settling in between his eyes in a place that didn’t look like it’d be comfortable or even easy to ignore, but Martin made no attempt to brush it away. “Sorry?”

“I just... they were always so close to each other. If they’re... gone... I just hope they were side by side when their time came.”

“Oh.” Martin bit his lip for a moment. “No, uh, they- it wasn’t just now, during that attack on the Institute--we lost Tim a little over a year ago, now, and Sasha... was about a year before that.”

Jon let out a long breath as he felt his insides turn cold. Two of his closest companions were dead and gone, and he didn’t even remember it happening.

“Actually, this- this may sound weird, but can you... describe Sasha for me?”

Jon let out a huff. “You work more closely with her than I do.”

“Humor me, please?”

Martin’s request did sound weird, but... but not as weird as Jon would have expected, when he thought about it. It was a piece of this massive puzzle, that much was clear, and Jon had a feeling that somewhere, just out of his reach, was the rest of it, and he’d be able to put all the pieces together eventually.

“She’s... short. Shorter than me. Blonde hair, usually in a bob, sometimes with a headband. Has a thing for costume jewelry...”

Martin let out a soft sigh and shook his head again, though that one strand of curly hair remained in place between his eyes. (Some distant part of Jon wanted to reach out and brush it away; the more rational part of Jon didn’t dare, wouldn’t even mention the loose curl unless it came up naturally.) “Yeah, that’s, that’s about what I figured... still, it was worth a shot.”

“What was worth a shot?”

Martin bit down on his bottom lip again, hard, enough that Jon wondered if it would leave a mark.

“Why did you ask about Sasha? Were you hoping I’d say something different?”

“I... yes, I did, it’s just... Jon, eat.”

Jon stared down at his half-full plate, huffing a little before going along with Martin’s request and having another bite.

“Okay, so, with Sasha... when she died-” And Martin paused for a brief moment there, looking away from Jon, and his voice sounded a little shakier when he started up again. “She was, was replaced by the thing that killed her. It took her place and changed all of our memories so we thought she was always like that, that nothing was wrong. I thought maybe since you forgot all that, your memories might still be of the real Sasha, but... no, that’s the one I remember too, and that’s not her. That’s the thing that took her place.”

“It changed our memories, and we couldn’t even tell.” Jon’s voice was calm, but his mind was anything but as he contemplated the implications of that statement.

“Yeah, we didn’t even know she was dead until- until the thing that replaced her went after you. I still don’t know what she actually looked like. I think Melanie remembered the real Sasha, but we never really got a chance to sit down and talk about it...”

A third name Jon didn’t recognize there--good Lord, how much turnover did Institute staff have these days?--but that wasn’t what caught Jon’s attention most.

“So there’s no way to know if our memories are real or just, just changed or made up by supernatural beings messing with us?”

“Well, apparently tape recorders are just old enough that they don’t change, something about the difference between analog and digital? Think that’s why the statements record fine on them, too. The, the real ones, I mean.”

Jon let out a long sight. “And I don’t suppose you’ve got tape recording of all or... any of the things you’ve been talking about?”

“No, Jon, I wasn’t exactly able to bring the whole Archives with us when we went on the run, sorry.”

The phrase “on the run” caught Jon attention briefly--that sounded like it was more than two hunters they had to worry about, like they were hiding from the authorities on top of all that--but again, Jon’s thoughts drifted elsewhere.

“So there’s no proof. No proof of any of this, even the parts I think I remember. We can’t prove that you’re who you say you are-”

Jon gestured with his butter knife at Martin, and Martin threw his hands up in mock surrender in response. “H-hang on now-”

“Or, or even that I’m who I think I am. For all I know I’m not even Jonathan Sims, for all I know my, my whole life never happened and I just had fake memories that it did implanted because that’s what some supernatural creature wanted-”

Jon’s rambling only trailed off when he noticed that Martin was quietly giggling to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, really, I- sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, I know this is serious-”

“It is, yes.”

“It’s just- I don’t think this is the first time you’ve had this particular existential crisis before? I, uh, I think the way you put it in one of your tapes was ‘How do you know that you’re the same person who went to sleep?’“

Martin’s impression of Jon’s voice was more accurate than Jon would have expected, though he wasn’t going to actually comment as much out loud.

“Something I said on a tape that I don’t have, that I don’t remember ever making... forgive me if I’m not terribly reassured.”

“A-alright, fair enough. Maybe just- just think of it this way. How much does all of this actually change?”

Jon wrinkled his brow. “I don’t think I follow.”

“Look, I know you know your philosophy well enough. Losing memories of a chunk of your life, finding out that the supernatural can mess with your mind... it’s horrible, I know, believe me, but it doesn’t really open up any new possibilities about the state of the world. It was always possible that- that the world was just some elaborate simulation, or that life just started five seconds ago and all your memories before then are fake, or that everybody besides you is just an object pretending to be a person, or whatever. If you didn’t buy into that kind of thing before, why does this change all that?”

That... was actually a good point, now that Martin brought it up, and Jon thought about it for a moment in silence.

“Please don’t tell me you do buy into that kind of thing regardless-”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Good.”

“So, will you at least try to take the world at face value for a bit unless you’ve got an actual reason to do otherwise?”

“Except for Sasha, of course.”

“Yeah, except for Sasha, I suppose, though I don’t know that she’d come up that much anyway, it’s...” Martin let out a soft sigh. “It’s been a while.”

“...fine. Alright. Until I’ve got a reason to do otherwise, I’ll...” Jon massaged his temple with one hand. “Try to trust my own mind, at least.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The smile on Martin’s face looked a bit thin, a bit forced, but it was better than nothing, Jon supposed.

“So if that’s what happened to Sasha, what about Tim? Please don’t tell me I’m remembering him wrong, too...”

“No, it wasn’t that. The, the not-Sasha thing went missing around when you went on the run for murder, only popped up again just before we came here.”

“So what happened to Tim, then?”

“Oh, he, uh, blew up a circus to stop it from ending the world.”

Taking a sip of tea while waiting for Martin to respond had definitely been a mistake. Jon gulped his mouthful of tea down fast, the heat making his throat ache, but at least he could respond, and better drinking too fast than choking on the stuff.

“What, and the circus killed him for doing it?”

“No, he... he was inside it when he blew it up.”

Jon didn’t know what to say to that, so he just took another bite of now-lukewarm pancake and let Martin keep speaking.

“You were too, actually. It’s a- it’s complicated, I think I get how you came out the other side now, but I’m surprised you don’t have more scars from that at least...”

“Speaking of which. Where did all these scars come from?”

“Well. Er.” Martin set his silverware aside and scooted his chair closer in to Jon. “A bunch of places, really, but I can go over them one by one...”

First, Martin gestured broadly across Jon’s whole body. “The little- the worm scars. That’s what those are, all over. That’s... Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute--you do know that name, at least?”

“I’m familiar with the files on her, yes.”

“I wish all I knew about her was from those files...” Martin let out a soft but surprisingly sharp laugh before continuing. “So, the worms got to you- you and Tim both, actually. We got rid of them, but not before they dug in enough to leave those scars on the two of you.”

Jon still didn’t remember the incident in question, but even that vague description of it was enough to make him shudder a bit. Worms had dug into his skin. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but it... it hadn’t been that, certainly. “What about you? Obviously you didn’t get the same scars...”

“No, I, I got lost in the tunnels when they attacked-”

“The tunnels?”

“Yeah, there’s a whole secret maze of tunnels under the Institute, turns out. That’s where, uh, I found Gertrude’s body. And Michael. And you found Leitner in there, I think? And the, the Panopticon is down there too.”

...there were entirely too many things going on in that statement for Jon to be able to process them all at once. His predecessor’s body, another name he didn’t recognize, a name he knew all too well, and something he knew best as a philosophical concept but apparently was in fact a physical thing somewhere under the Institute?

Jon took a deep breath and slowly let it out before speaking again.

“Alright, that’s one scar then. The hand--you said I ‘sort of’ stuck it in a fireplace?”

“Well it’s, it’s not an entirely accurate description, but...” Martin’s arm darted out, hovering over the scarred hand in question before slowly falling back to his side; Jon’s heartbeat raced as he watched Martin’s arm approach his, and he wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or anxiety or something else. “I wasn’t there for this one but you apparently, uh, shook hands with someone in with the Lightless Flame, someone who’s basically made of molten wax. Jude Perry, is the name.”

The name meant nothing to Jon, but he vaguely remembered reading something about the Lightless Flame before, and he wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Why would I do that?”

Martin’s laugh was a bit fuller this time, less bitter and more genuine. “That is an excellent question."

“...so you don’t know, then.”

“No, but- it’s hard to see, but there’s actually another scar on that same hand? At the time you told us some ridiculous story about cutting yourself on a bread knife, but I heard the truth later. That, that Michael I mentioned, he stabbed you. Didn’t like that you tried to stop him from taking Helen, I think.”

“This being the same Michael that you found in the tunnels.” Jon had half-assumed this Michael was one of the apparently ever-changing archival staff in the Institute that he didn’t remember, but evidently that assumption was a faulty one.

“Yeah, but he’s not just in the tunnels, that time he was in your office--he could go anywhere, just pop out of a yellow door. Still can, sort of, but it’s not Michael now, it’s Helen.”

“The same Helen I tried to stop this Michael from taking?”

“Yeah... well, yes and no. Helen’s not exactly the same as she was...”

Jon sighed. “Alright. Moving on, then. Shoulder scar?” Jon tugged his oversized shirt down a bit, made it so the scar would poke out a bit more.

“Oh that, uh, that was Melanie’s doing-”

“The, the Melanie who remembered the real Sasha?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. Either he really needed to stop assuming every name Martin dropped was an Institute employee, or Institute employees seemed to have a nasty habit of injuring him badly enough to give him scars. Or both. With his luck, probably both.

“So what exactly did Melanie do?”

“She stabbed you with, with a scalpel? See, you and Basira were doing surgery on her-”

“I thought you said Basira used to be a cop.” Jon considered adding and not a doctor out loud, but he figured the implication was clear enough.

“Yeah, that’s right. Why?”

“...so, I was doing surgery on Melanie, with a former cop as my assistant-”

“Yeah, to get a ghost bullet out of her leg. But she woke up and freaked out and stabbed you with a nearby scalpel. Honestly, I don’t entirely blame her for that bit, though she definitely took it too far.”

If Martin was telling the truth, he’d been doing amateur surgery, with a fellow non-surgeon as his only assistant, to retrieve a “ghost bullet,” whatever that was... and the patient had woken up mid-surgery and stabbed him?

He’d known these scars would have stories of some kind behind them, but that... God, what could he even say to that?

Well. Only one scar that he knew of left. Might as well wrap things up, see if that left him with any more pieces with which to put together this very strange puzzle.

“So that just leaves the scar on my throat, then, I believe.”

“Er. Right.” Martin looked down at his plate of food; a quick glance revealed that he’d actually eaten less than Jon had at this point, though Jon certainly wasn’t going to nag him about it. “About that.”

“Yes?”

“Just, uh, don’t take this the wrong way...”

“Did you stab me, too?”

“What? No!” Martin’s face flushed at the accusation. “Jesus, Jon, no, I would never...”

“Then who... or what... did?”

“...Daisy did. I don’t know all the details, I don’t think I want to, but I know she brought you somewhere to kill you, and while she obviously didn’t do that, she got far enough to leave that on your neck.”

“...the Daisy whose house we’re staying in.”

“This is one of her safehouses, yeah. I think Basira said she’s got a few of them?”

“And you’re sure we’re safe here.” Half statement, half question.

“...I really hope we’re safe here. Can’t honestly say I’m sure about that, though...”

Jon dropped his silverware, letting it clatter against the plate and the table as he covered his head in his hands.

“Wonderful. Just... just wonderful.”

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

your hair looks just like starlight

Words: 3287

Summary: Jaskier finds out about what gave Geralt his unique hair and eyes, and he takes it upon himself to point out the beauty he finds in those things in hopes that, despite the excruciating processes they came from, his White Wolf may find beauty in them too.

A/N: The title is inspired by a line from “Howl’s Moving Castle”. I imagined Jaskier telling Geralt his hair looks like starlight and... this happened.

[TW for mentions of child abuse (i.e. Witcher Trials/Mutations)]

After Jaskier became Geralt’s travel companion, it wasn’t long before he learned about his Witcher’s mutations, and what he went through to become... well, a Witcher; the absolutely agonizing process he underwent as a child to become what he was.

No, who he was.

Not a what.

A who.

That’s who he was to Jaskier. Not a monster, or a beast, or an animal, or anything one would refer to using the word what, but a person. His person.

And Jaskier was horrified to know how much pain his person went through.

He had no idea some of the things he loved so much about Geralt - his white hair, so astoundingly beautiful when it wasn’t covered in the blood and/or guts of monsters, and his yellow eyes, kept in a steely gaze most of the time, but soft when he let them be - were products of what Jaskier couldn’t think of as any less than torture. Of course, he still loved those things about his Witcher - if gazing at his hair and eyes became punishable by death, he’d finalize his last will and testament posthaste - but knowing what he’d gone through to have them, the horrors he was subjected to… it still didn’t sit right with the bard.

So, he did what any other lovestruck bard would do; he resolved to find the most lovely ways to describe those characteristics, and express them to his Witcher as best he could. He may not have been able to reverse all the horrible things Geralt went through, but he could point out the beauty in the features that came from them.

(Keep reading below or on AO3)

The first time he did this was during a night under the stars. Geralt slayed a monster, as Geralts do, and now, he and Jaskier were on their way back to some unimportant town to collect their coin (and hope that Geralt’s contractor wouldn’t underpay him). Roach was too tired, poor girl, to get to the nearest inn, so the White Wolf and the relentless lark resolved to make camp in a small clearing in the woods.

It was a peaceful night, and thankfully, it wasn’t one that Geralt was going to spend covered in monster guts. The only gruesome… evidence that his target was destroyed lay splattered across his Witcher armor, and such was a problem that was easily resolved by removing it and cleaning off the substance.

“You know,” Jaskier proposed, “I could always make quick work of removing your armor, if you just say the word.”

“No.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the word I was looking for.” Jaskier resigned with a shivering sigh. As peaceful as this night was, the drizzling rain made it a little chilly.

“If you want to make quick work of something, you could make quick work of getting some firewood.” Geralt retorted in that gruff, just-above-a-growl voice of his as his gaze - and his focus - never strayed from his armor.

"Well, I could ." Jaskier took his lute off his back and held it in a playing position as he leaned against a tree. “Buuut I’d hate to get sap on my hands, not to mention that your valiant act of Witchery heroism back there left me with quite a bit of inspiration for my next ballad,” he swept his hand out in front of his face as if to visualize the song itself, “yes, “The White Wolf Versus the… the… the Whatever That Monster Was”, so I should probably just get to work on that.”

“It can wait, Jaskier.” Geralt rolled his eyes. Despite the darkness of the night, this was still noticeable thanks to the moonlight. “Unless you want me to make quick work of your lute instead. Should make good enough firewood.”

Jaskier gasped at his incredulous threat (that the Witcher would never actually carry out) and went to gather firewood.

Geralt had a fire going in minutes. Warmth spread around the little camp, and the flame set a soft glow onto everything around it, like Roach lazily chewing on some grass, Jaskier strumming on his not-used-as-firewood lute as he mumbled lyrics-to-be under his breath, and the Witcher himself cleaning and sharpening his swords.

Sitting with his back up against a tree, Jaskier was in the middle of trying to compose the refrain of his ballad-in-progress when he stopped and looked across the camp, laying his eyes on Geralt. He didn’t return the lark’s gaze, apparently unaware of it as he struck one of his swords with a whetstone, but that didn’t stop the ever-so-enamored bard from from staring; Jaskier could barely take his eyes off his hair, especially how the firelight cast an impossibly golden glow on the impossibly white locks. A few of those locks hung loose from the Witcher’s hair tie that held the sides of his hair back, and they instead fell around his face.

“Your hair looks just like starlight.”

Geralt lifted his head and looked in Jaskier’s direction, and the buttercup could tell by his slightly widened eyes and raised eyebrows that he was surprised by the statement. With a painful tug in his chest, Jaskier began to wonder if that was the first time that anyone ever directly complimented Geralt on his hair.

The sentence fell from Jaskier’s lips without Jaskier himself putting much thought into it. The little thought that went into what he said was only this; My Witcher may have gone through hell, and his white hair may be but one of the many things he has to show for it, but damn it if I’m not going to tell him it’s beautiful.

“...Very forward tonight, hm?”

“It’s true!” Jaskier blurted again, “I… I…” He glanced at the cloudless, starry sky for a moment. “I look up at the stars, and as lovely as they are, their light is nothing compared to what I see in your hair. It’s like someone just-”

He reached into the air, grasped at something intangible...

“-took light straight from the stars-”

… pulled his closed hand back down…

“-made it a thousand times lovelier than it already was-”

… and opened it in Geralt’s direction, as if to sprinkle something at him.

“-and put it on your scalp!”

As he said this, watching Geralt’s eyebrow go from a surprised raise to a confused furrow, Jaskier realized this was far less charismatic than the stuff of his songs. That was alright. He’d gladly trade charisma for authenticity; he’d gladly sound like an idiot and be completely, unfabricatingly honest than try to work his feelings into a lyric for the sake of charisma. He was sure that he probably sounded idiotic to Geralt either way, so he might as well sound like an idiot because of something completely from the heart, unhindered by the need for meter or rhyme.

After a moment of stunned silence, Geralt looked back to his sword with a classic hum.

“It’s getting late, Jaskier. You should get to sleep before you start rambling about anything weirder than you already are.”

Yep. Just as Jaskier thought; he sounded like an idiot.

The second time Jaskier pointed out the beauty in what came of Geralt’s mutations was a few days later, and, in very similar fashion to the first one, after he fulfilled a contract. This time, Jaskier stayed at their camp with Roach while his Witcher took care of a… well, he couldn’t quite remember. Bruxa? Kikimora? Wyvern? Whatever it was, he was more than happy to stay behind with Roach when Geralt told him to. The bard saw him swallow down one of his… well, witchery potions before he went out of sight, so he figured that one of two things would happen.

One, Geralt would come back to camp all pale, veiny, and with those pitch black eyes. Sexy.

Two, Geralt would wait until the potion ran its course before coming back to camp, eyes as yellow as usual. Exquisite.

Jaskier, sitting against a sleeping Roach’s belly, didn’t quite have a preference. Black as night, yellow as daylight; as long as Geralt came back in one relatively-uninjured piece, the bard would be content.

As expected, the Witcher came back unharmed. Exhausted in every sense of the word, but unharmed. He huffed as his head hung low, a fitting accompaniment to his sagging shoulders. His hair tie must’ve come loose during his fight with whatever monster he fought, forever lost to the abyss of Geralt’s Fallen Hair Accessories as the mane it was meant to hold back fell all around his face.

“Geralt! You’re back!” Jaskier made no effort whatsoever to keep his joy out of his voice; he wanted his Witcher to know that he was happy to see him return from a hunt. “That beast was no match for a mighty Witcher, eh?”

“Too easy. A waste of a damn potion.” Geralt sighed, lifted his head a bit, and eyed Jaskier with perfectly yellow, non-potioned eyes. Internally, the bard sighed in relief; he had no objections to seeing Geralt while he underwent the effects of his potions, but he also knew how they weren’t the most… comfortable for his Witcher, so he was glad to know that whatever potion Geralt chugged had probably worn off.

“‘S worn off, hasn’t it?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sat on his bedroll. Jaskier was fluent enough in Geralt’s hums to know that was a yes.

“Ah, right. Good. I figured.” he noted with a few nods. “Your eyes are back to normal. All… sunshiney-like.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier again, this time with exasperation. Jaskier didn’t blame him; that wasn’t exactly one of his best-worded compliments.

“Well, they are. They’re like…” The poet looked up at the sky as if to find something better to compare Geralt’s eyes to - as if it were hiding among the stars.

His own eyes lit up when he finally thought of one.

“...Tea! Yes. Lemon tea… with honey!” he smiled to himself. “Ah, that was-”

A loud snore cut him off. Jaskier took his gaze off the night sky and put it on Geralt, who now lay sideways on his bedroll, sound asleep. He must have laid down and passed out for the night, the bard realized with a resigned sigh.

“-That was my favorite drink, back… back in Lettenhove.”

He was going to say “back home”, but he stopped himself. It may have been where he grew up, but his home wasn’t Lettenhove. No, his home lay a few feet away from him, white hair in tangles over his face, yellow eyes shielded by lids that wouldn’t open until morning, and far too exhausted by his fight to take off his armor before he fell asleep.

Jaskier sighed again before he went to his own bedroll and fell asleep for the night.

The topic of Jaskier’s bizarre compliments didn’t make it’s return until the next night, after he and Geralt returned to the town whose monster he slayed. Thankfully, the mayor was rather appreciative of the Witcher’s work - in no small part due to Jaskier’s help in changing his reputation through a certain coin-tossing ballad - and paid him in full. Both Geralt and Jaskier had grown tired of unceasing nights spent in clearings (and Roach was more than content to spend a night in a nice stable) so Geralt spent some of his newly-acquired earnings almost immediately on a room in the town’s inn.

Of course, there was only one bed, but such was rarely a problem for the Witcher and his songbird. The latter snuggled into it almost immediately - promptly after taking off his shoes and doublet, of course - while the former sat in a nearby chair about six feet away and cleaned off his swords. This would’ve been all fine and well, had it not been for the fact that Geralt had already cleaned off his swords first thing that morning; they were squeaky clean!

Jaskier sighed.

“Those look pretty clean to me, you know.” he remarked, using one arm to support himself as he lay on his stomach. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look like you’re trying to distract yourself from something.”

“You don’t know better.” the Witcher grumbled as he kept cleaning his already clean swords.

“So you are?”

Geralt finally looked up from his swords to meet Jaskier’s gaze. It was a mystery to the Witcher as to how he did it, but somehow, Jaskier saw through Geralt’s horseshit like it was a perfectly clean window.

“Not to say your mysterious, edgy brooding isn’t part of your charm, but…” The bard repositioned himself so his head was resting on his hand, the rest of his body lying along its side. “Talk to me, Geralt.”

The Witcher sighed.

“What’s with all the strange shit you’ve been saying the past few days?” Before Jaskier had the chance to play dumb, he elaborated. “The stuff about my hair, and my eyes. All that about starlight, and sunshine, and…” He looked down as if one particular part of his memory was foggy. “...Tea?”

“Come on, Jaskier. You didn’t start saying this shit until…"

Jaskier sighed. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to explain his reasoning to Geralt; in an ideal situation, he would have believed in all the lovely things Jaskier tried to say to him, rather than be confused. Indeed, in a perfect world, Geralt would’ve seen himself the way Jaskier saw him; beautiful.

His eyes widened a fraction as his jaw slackened almost unnoticeably. Before he even said the rest of his sentence, he knew why Jaskier started doing this.

But that didn’t stop the bard from finishing his sentence.

“...Until after I found out about the Trial.” He sat up and swallowed, despite his dry throat. “And your other mutations… and… and the hell you were put through.”

As Geralt’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head, Jaskier started to feel like the idiot he obviously must’ve sounded like. As the Witcher approached him, he shrunk in on himself.

“I - Geralt, you went through something no child should ever have to endure. I know there’s not much I can do to reverse that, or… or make that pain go away, but - but those things that came from them - your eyes, your hair… I still think they’re beautiful, even if they came from something terrible, so I… I thought…”

Jaskier hung his head. This was stupid. All of it. He never should’ve just started blurting idiotic things out of nowhere.

“...What about my voice?”

Jaskier lifted his head back up and looked at Geralt, brows furrowed in confusion. The aforementioned Witcher had his arms crossed as he looked down at the bard, and it wasn’t exactly clear whether or not he wanted a real answer.

“Oh, I… I thought your voice was just like that on it’s own.”

Geralt shooks his head.

“Potion.”

Jaskier looked back down for a moment. Geralt was almost sure he'd have nothing good to say about his voice, until…

"It's soothing."

He was stunned.

“...What?”

“It’s soothing.” Jaskier repeated, “I know you probably expect something more poetic at this point, but… it’s soothing. Whenever you start talking to Roach, or try to warn me about certain monsters so I don’t get my ass handed to me, it… I don’t know, it’s relaxing. Sometimes…” he huffed through his nose at the absurdity of what he was about to say, “...it even helps me fall asleep.”

Jaskier started to fidget - drumming the fingers of one hand against the other, rubbing his fingers together, wrapping them around one another, all normal fidgety things - as he let his awkward but nonetheless heartfelt words hang in the air, staring down at Geralt’s feet until he saw them move as he bent down. The bard was confused about the Witcher’s reason for this, and that confusion grew when Geralt took his hands, held them in his own and stood back up.

“I like your hands.”

Now, as he looked up at his Witcher, arms relaxed as he let him hold his hands, it was Jaskier’s turn to be stunned. He knew how difficult it was for Geralt to express himself at all, let alone about something he liked. The sentence was blunt and simple, and from anyone else, it probably would’ve been nonchalant. But from Geralt, it was like he just recited the most tender, heartfelt poem Jaskier ever heard.

“They’re soft. Gentle. These callouses…” He ran his thumb across Jaskier’s fingertips. “They show how much love you put into your music. Why you waste your talent and passion on me is something I’ll never know.”

“I don’t waste anything, love.” Jaskier retorted with a soft smile. “I know there will always be people who see you as a monster, and that no amount of ballads will make the whole world see you the way I do, as much as I want it to.”

Geralt cast his gaze elsewhere. Jaskier gripped his Witcher’s hands just a little tighter in reassurance, as if it were an attempt to physically send his love into the Witcher through his fingertips.

“...Still, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try, does it? It got us here, didn’t it?” He tilted his head a few times as he glanced around the room. “A steady amount of contracts, more people treating you decently than not, and… a half-lovely room at an inn.”

Geralt nodded a barely noticeable nod, but Jaskier could tell there was more that needed to be said; more he needed his Witcher to know.

“You’re good, Geralt. You’ve spent so long saving the lives of ungrateful, desperate humans, even though so many of them turn right back around and spit at your feet. They may say you’re a monster, but you have more humanity in one finger than most of them have in their entire bodies."

“So,” he continued, “I don’t expect to easily change how you see yourself with a few bizarre compliments, but trust me when I say there’s no way I’d rather spend my life than with you…”

He pulled one of his hands away, only to reach up to Geralt’s face.

“Running my fingers through your hair…”

He brushed a few loose locks of lightning white hair behind Geralt’s ear.

“Gazing into those eyes of yours…”

He slowly dragged his knuckle down the side of Geralt’s face, from his temple down to his jaw, until he dragged it down his neck.

“...and listening to your voice.”

Jaskier could tell by the look in Geralt’s eye that he would be blushing right now if he could. The ever-so-romantic lark put his hand back in his.

“If you ever came to see in yourself what I see in you, you’d never doubt your beauty, my wolf.” The lark tilted his head, staring dreamily into those yellow eyes. “I know that day may not come for a very long time, so I can only hope you’ll trust me when I say that there’s nothing else I’d rather do with my hands…”

Jaskier repositioned his hands so his fingers were interlocked with Geralt’s, fitting perfectly in the gaps between his love's fingers.

“...Than this.”

They stayed like that for a moment, eyes as yellow as sunshine staring into eyes as blue as the ocean. It wasn’t long until Jaskier noticed how heavy those yellow eyes were.

“You’re exhausted, Dear Heart. I can tell.” Jaskier interrupted himself with a yawn, pulling one of his hands away to cover his mouth as he began to feel his own eyelids droop. “I think it’s high time you stop pretending to clean your swords and help me get our coin’s worth out of this…” He gestured to the mattress underneath him. “... luxurious bed for the night, hm?”

That’s exactly what Geralt did.

[arecomicsevengood]

A PANEGYRIC TO THE THINGS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND

I generally don’t talk about why I write criticism; I presume no one cares. The core of my contrarianism rests on the fact that many of the things I dislike or have an aversion to I think the market is set up to reward. This holds true both for what I write about and how I choose to write about it. I’m not writing about all these Drawn And Quarterly books that seem like novelty gag gifts for people who don’t actually like comics. I’m not writing about simplistic YA material put out by major publishing houses. I’m not reading superhero trademark maintenance. To me it feels like pre-chewed food I see and know to avoid. I’m also pretty put off by work that’s self-consciously “lowbrow,” but to that stuff’s credit, I don’t think it’s particularly popular. It just seems to fit into larger trends of what’s readily digestible, due to its own willingness to dismiss itself.

When it comes to criticism, I read a fair amount of other people’s writing, and collate a list of ways I don’t want to write that coincide with what I hate to read. I don’t want to read anything that’s “personal” in a way that takes the general premise of the existence of a book as an excuse for a narcissist to talk about themselves. Still, it seems like people love that. It is essentially the lingua franca for a whole type of websites, to have writers leverage their identity or trauma for the sake of hot takes. Even if no one gets paid particularly well, there is a reward in the economy of attention. People also really like writing that praises things that are already popular, because they want to be given permission to like the things they like, but no one needs that. People also like dismissive takes  based around incredibly shallow surface-level impressions of something that then becomes this shorthand “common knowledge.” if you say “Chris Ware’s boring” or “Rob Liefeld can’t draw feet” there will be no shortage of people chiming up in the comments to say the same thing. People love to be given permission to not have to think about things, and while I understand that impulse completely, I’m too far gone down the hole of obsessiveness to play along.

I wish I could say all that I dislike falls into one of a fixed number of categories, but in actuality, I am all too often reading writing that makes me ask “why won’t you just shut the fuck up?” or exclaim “jesus, this is so depressing!” and it seems new ways to garner these reactions are continually being manufactured, though in general, the innovations in this area are being done in the more lucrative world of music writing. Still, many of the things I wish to avoid have been done by writers I absolutely admire, partly because they’re more prolific I am, and so can’t allow themselves the luxury of overthinking what they’re doing for the sake of avoiding trends. (I also try to avoid writing stuff that’s just plain stupid and offensive, but lord knows that gets hate-clicks, and hate-clicks are as valued as any.)

I try to engage the work that’s on the page. The best work encourages a multiplicity of readings, I write a lot with the implicit assumption that the framework I’m bringing to bear might be wrong. I believe the work that has the most ideas present inside it will be conflicted enough in depicting multiple ideas simultaneously that it doesn’t encourage a straightforward and easy read. I relate it to the paradox that the most interesting people are those who don’t talk about themselves, but ask questions of others. Presumably, those who are disinterested in others don’t interrogate themselves in their moments alone.

I might be being reductive. So many of my own thoughts might be overly simplistic, a set of half-thought-through opinions designed to arrive at a place of dismissal so I can move on. I spend a lot of time thinking about the sort of creator-owned genre comics Image traffics in these days, because I have zero interest in them, and they don’t seem appealing at all. They don’t come close to my idea of good. I generally object to the way contemporary comics are colored, but I think the issues run deeper than that. The line generally used in reference to them is to call them movie-pitch comics. But is that why they’re bad? I don’t know. Maybe the issue is just the way their writing stands in relationship to economy, where a single issue is not a satisfying story. Maybe superhero comics work better than that stuff because there’s an explicit formula established doing the heavy lifting, and if you are doing something more “high-concept” you need to spend more time with exposition and can’t just defer to the visuals of a fight scene that superhero comics demand. I don’t know! Any answer to the question of why things don’t work is going to end up with some broad statements, because the act of artmaking involves an incalculable amount of choices, any number of which could balance out or redeem any of the others. It’s almost surprising that the history of comics isn’t littered with works that were concerned failures at the time of their release but seem prescient in their storytelling choices now.

I want to write about work that is interesting to think about. What’s interesting to think about is that which I don’t understand. Obviously, writing is an attempt to make sense of something, and much of what I write about then becomes something I understand, or at least, have a take on. But I still want to engage, in some sort of honest way, the work I don’t understand, that short-circuits my brain.

A good example of something I don’t really understand is Stella Murphy’s comic Hometime, which I ordered from Domino Books. It’s a collection of single-panel gag cartoons, kinda? Every page is meant to be taken as its own entity. It’s printed and red and yellow, it feels eye-searingly bright. There’s dialogue balloons, not captions. The visual language sort of seems like it comes from underground comics, of the way underground comics relate to older cartoon styles. I’m saying all of these things like they’re sentences but if I were speaking to you there would be no hint of certainty in my voice. Another paradox: I often feel like I don’t have the language to describe what images in a comic look like unless I have an idea of what the narrative is doing. Maybe these gags feel like they work because they’re incredibly economical in their subversion of the expectation one comes to gag cartoons with. That almost seems too simplistic an explanation to count. I’m sure, if you haven’t read Murphy’s cartoons and grappled with them, that sort of conclusion seems like I’m saying literally nothing.

I’ve been reading Krazy Kat again. It’s interesting that that’s a strip which is notably formulaic, but also is all about subverting that formula or having it play out differently or avoid it altogether. It seems pretty agreed upon that the key to successful comics writing is to have a degree of economy in terms of the words on the page. This allows the images to carry their weight, but images themselves have their own weight of meaning that’s accrued over time. Think about being born on this Earth, and all of the acclimation to one’s surroundings that occurs concurrently with the acquisition of language. Talking with a computer programmer friend, his stance on writing code was, the easier it is for you, the less lines you have to write, the more code has been written by other people before you that you’re relying on. So many of the best comics are consciously written with an awareness of expectations that are then subverted. I don’t know. Generally the argument I make, when talking about “experimental” work, is to contrast it with “formulaic” work. This is my way of asserting the obvious superiority of the former. But maybe this is wrong, and the best and most effective comics, including the ones I’m labeling “experimental,” nonetheless have a formula they’re playing with? Because the truth of the matter is my use of scientific language is a pose premised on my not actually understanding math.

I imagine that a normal person wouldn’t understand why anyone would feel compelled to write comics criticism in the first place. For all the shame I feel about the fact that this is what I’m doing, I’m proud to say I don’t know what my fucking deal is.

[roswelldetails]

RNM 2x10 - American Woman

EPISODE SUMMARY:

SECRETS OF THE PAST — After uncovering a cryptic message from the past, Alex (Tyler Blackburn), Isobel (Lily Cowles), Max (Nathan Dean), Michael (Michael Vlamis) and Maria (Heather Hemmens) set out in search of answers at the reservation where Alex’s mother grew up. Meanwhile, Cameron (guest star Riley Voelkel) encourages Liz (Jeanine Mason) to reach out to someone from her past after Auturo (guest star Carlos Compean) gets detained. Marcus Stokes directed the episode written by Rick Montano & Vincent Ingaro & Jason Gavin (#210). Original airdate 5/18/2020. 

DETAILS:

Tripp brings Louise to the Reservation in a body bag where the Navajo doctors are able to save her life.

"Your message said that you were gonna bring two women that would be no trouble.  This looks like a lot of trouble."

"I must have gotten the codes wrong."

"No, don't give me that Manes man nonsense. Not here in my own home."

"Her name is Louise. I promised her friend Nora I'd protect them. My brother triggered an ambush before I could get them here. And Nora…"

"Wait, what does the Air Force want them for?"

"They're not from around here. They're from...up north."

"Yìiyáh. No. She can't stay here… What if your brother comes here and finds a fugitive.  I can't put my people at risk for a white woman."

"Please. You're the only person I trust. If she doesn't make it, it was all for nothing."

"I'll have you remember that I was the one that saved your ass in Okinawa. I don't owe you anything. I'm only doing this because you're my family. And because I'm a damn fool."

A few notes on this scene:

--I don't know why Tripp pretends he got the codes wrong.  Unless he's spiraling and talking about the timing of the attack.�� But it seems like he means the message that he was bringing them to the reservation.  Clearly things didn't go according to plan.  Though, it is always possible that we're still missing bits of the story.

--OG Easter Egg.  "They're not from around here.  They're from up north." For anyone who didn't watch OG, this is almost exactly how the exchange went when Max told Liz he was an alien in the 1999 pilot.

--Yìiyáh - I found nothing on this word.  I'm assuming that it's a curse word or general exclamation of negativity, but literally got zero results on google. It's possible, of course, that it's misspelled in the captions.  There were a lot of errors in the captions in this opening scene.

--While there really isn't any overt statement that Alex is half Navajo and this town is part of Navajo Nation (which has been in the news a lot lately and therefore is a good place in this country to be aware of), there's lots of clues or subtle enough statements that I feel like it can be accepted as fact, since: Harrison is a codetalker, the necklace is Navajo, tsela is a Navajo word. So I did a little peeking and it could work.  The closest Navajo town is about a 4 hour drive from Roswell.

Navajo Nation: 

(side note - Navajo Nation has extreme poverty but also is utterly gorgeous. And the Tribe gets income from tourism. Just a few places there that I'm dying to go? Monument Valley, Antelope Canyon, Shiprock.  Check it out.)

Liz comments on Max's irregular heartbeat, with literally no acknowledgment of the fact that she's straddling him and has a history of causing his heart to race...and other forms of lack of control (think 1x03).

"I'm excited about this though. You know Alex dug up all that info on our bio Mom. You sure you can't come?"

"Got to take my dad in for his blood tests. I want to check on Jenna too.  Cannot believe she's back in the hospital again."

"She's been in pain for weeks. I have no leads on the mysterious hunting van, and Charlie hasn't made contact."

"Hmm. To be fair, I do hear that phone service is a little spotty in flying saucers."

"Okay, I get that. You think my alien abduction theory is bogus."

"I know you're worried that this has something to do with you, but I don't think this is an alien thing."

"Cam and I had fractal burns on our necks. We had no memory of what happened. That's alien stuff. I just want clarity on something."

--Note that it's past time to abandon all hope of anything resembling a defined timeline for this show...once again we have weeks passing between episodes. This is the second time this season that the time passing has only been generically described as "weeks".  It's been at least a year since Liz came back to Roswell (per her conversation with Diego), but a year would be summer (late May or early June, specifically), and in this episode Isobel mentions that it's winter (which would be a year and a half).

Maria's pitch:

"In conclusion, esteemed members of the Roswell Tourism Board, while the Pony is normally a sanctuary for locals during CrashCon, I think that my plan to turn it into the Contact Cantina Pop-Up Bar will be a hit with alien fans."

"We're talking more money than we first speculated, aren't we now?"

"You know, Mayor Bernhardt, I forgot to tell you about our new morning cocktail… It's coffee, vanilla cream, and our best bourbon. Let me get you a double."

Note: so this is the famous Mayor Bernhardt. Funded by the Long family. Doesn't like immigrants. Had a racist relative who wouldn't give first prize to the black man.

Maria's vision…

Herself, younger, sitting at the Pony bar. 

"You have to let me go! You're just crazy! And I'm trapped!"

And then she runs from the bar crying.

She's not wearing the necklace.

Describing it to Michael:

"I had a vision, but it was more like a memory. Of a fight I had with my mom when I was younger."

Isobel interrupts Michael and Maria to pick them up for the road trip. Just a few relevant excepts from this scene:

"Pack your bags. We're going on a family road trip."

"Is this why Max wanted the day off?"

"In the photo of Max and Isobel's bio Mom, there was a water tower. Alex recognized that water tower from the town where his mom grew up. You should come with us."

Alex and Forrest talk in the Crashdown:

"Hope that limp isn't from a paintball injury."

"Nope. Those bruises have mostly healed. I just got a new prosthetic. Takes a minute to get used to. You working on your book?"

"I write my book on my computer.  However, I write my angsty emo poetry in an angsty emo journal."

"I'm actually working on some poetry myself. Well, song lyrics, technically. It's a lot harder than it was in high school."

"Yeah, writing was easier for me when I was a kid too. Feelings...we bury 'em now. You just got to find that thing inside of you that doesn't have a voice. Lend it yours. You know? Listen, I have like, zero musical talent, but if you need help with the worst part, we could, uh…"

"Actually I'm leaving tomorrow for a few days to go talk to some recruits."

Michael interruptus, and the conversation goes casual.

--What happened to "angsty nerd isn't really my type." Or...was it FORESHADOWING!!!?! 😂

--Oh hi there clear shot of Forrest's clearly Deep Sky logoed ring…

Cam has been having debilitating migraines that have been keeping her bedridden since the abduction.

Nurse Kate is a badass. she tries to keep ICE from getting into a patient's room. Liz hears her and hurries to the waiting room, where there's more ICE activity. Liz panics and tries to get Arturo out of the hospital, but she caught the attention of the ICE officers. However, Liz knows her rights.

"He has applied for his green card. I'm his sponsor, okay? This is his G-1145 right here."

"You can show that to the court."

"It's okay. Call the lawyer."

"No. He is a diabetic. It is illegal to detain a patient."

"Exigent circumstances. Move."

"No. Hey, this is an unconstitutional arrest and the ACLU will be all over you."

"Elizabeth, we respect the law in this family. If you're in trouble, who will take care of the mouse?"

--G-1145 is a request for confirmation that your green card application has been accepted:

--The timing of this all. Liz has been prepared for this moment all her life and would fight it to the point of getting arrested herself, if not for Rosa. Rosa's safety is the only thing that convinces Liz to step aside.

--As an only semi related note, this is a really interesting contrast to how they wrote Jeanine's character out on Grey's Anatomy.  

--Also feel like it would be remiss of me to not point out Liz's reactiveness and fightinf mentality is mirroring how Liz initially reacted to Max pulling her over in the pilot.

"Okay. So the Deputy on call says there's one detention center in the county. Here's the info."

"He doesn't have anything left in Mexico. No one. Nowhere to go."

"You can't think like that right now."

"I think like this always. Rosa and I used to recite our escape plan for if our parents got deported and we got separated in foster care. I begged my parents not to tell Santa where we lived because I was afraid he'd ask for papers. My whole life was built on a fear of this day coming, and it's here. If I'd have kept better track of his health, he wouldn't need these tests. I should have made him move to California. I thought we were safe being outside the hundred-mile zone, but after this election I should have known better. And I should have made him wear a sweater this morning because it's freezing out there. And what if he…?"

"...okay think. Is there someone we can call?"

"Kyle's at a conference, but I can have him call his mom."

"Do you know anyone with some real power? You know, Federal muscle?"

Cam gets dressed to take Liz to the Detention Center and Liz calls Diego for help.

The road trip group arrive at the reservation and meet Gregory Manes.  He says he remembers them all from high school.  He takes Max, Michael, and Isobel to learn about Louise while Alex and Maria go jewelry shopping.

Meanwhile Gregory is taking the Pod Squad to Louise's grave, but pauses for some flirting:

"You're still the Isobel Evans who convinced the basketball captain to pull four different fire alarms to get out of AP Gov, right? Yeah, legend. Here she is."

"Oh my God, it's covered in flowers.  It's winter."

"Rumor is they grow year-round unattended. She was a healer. I'm told she helped with trauma, addiction, that sort of thing. All without speaking."

"This another grave?"

"She was pregnant."

"Louise arrived gravely injured. And the baby didn't survive.

--Louise died the same day the Pod Squad came out of the pods, confirming that she is probably the old woman on the reservation that was described in 1x09.

--Michael found the mysterious purple flowers growing on Louise's grave.

Alex and Maria at the trading post.

"Are you okay? Seem a little off."

"I had a vision during a meeting this morning. It almost cost me a deal that could save the bar. Maybe I should just wear the necklace. Go back to being a social media guru. Slash barkeep. Slash magical trope in our redneck mayor's fantasy."

"So why did you really come today? Your ideal day off isn't fighting for the radio silence with Isobel Evans, so…"

"This is the back of my necklace. The word stamped in the silver says Tsela. The necklace is Navajo, so I thought maybe that was the jeweler, but no one I've asked here seems to know who made it. I just want answers."

"Well, there's a ton of silver jewelry for sale here. So why don't we just keep looking for something with the same stamp?"

Pod Squad sharing a bottle of acetone by Louise's grave.

"Noah said our planet was war-torn. But the hell they found here can't have been worth it."

"Do you think that Louise's baby died from her injuries or do you think maybe it was never going to survive?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I was pregnant. When you died. Obviously I'm not anymore. I just can't help wondering if that was my last chance. Assuming that humans and aliens can't procreate because they're different species. Maybe that little baby wasn't viable."

"You almost died during the abortion, didn't you? I could feel it. Noah almost killed you again, huh? Oh, I need a minute."

After Max leaves Michael offers to be a sperm donor for Isobel if she ever wants to have a kid.

Liz at the Detainment Center

"It's Ortecho. Arturo Ortecho. He's my dad. And he needs gliclazide and beta-blockers. I brought both."

"We can't take contraband here, but there is an infirmary on-site, if he's here."

"You know, out of curiosity, did Nebane Abienwi visit an infirmary before he died of a brain bleed in your custody? What about Johana Medina León? She was 25 years old, okay? People walk through those doors and they die...Who's your supervisor? You need prior approval before conducting enforcement in a hospital. There was a compliance memo."

"Right, a memo, which is just like a law only not. Unless you calm down, I'm gonna arrest you for obstruction."

"Okay, Liz, maybe sit down.  Sir, I'm Deputy Jenna Cameron, and we appreciate your interpretation of your guidelines, but we have an urgent health concern about an inmate here, if you just wouldn't mind checking the system."

Jenna goes with the agent…when she returns...

"Do you have a court case next week for a vandalism charge?"

"What? Yes, but I didn't do it. I'm just gonna plead guilty and pay the fine. It's nothing."

"They denied your dad's green card application because of a misdemeanor on your record. You can't be his sponsor."

Jenna's headaches overtake her. Meanwhile, the ICE agent comes back with news:

"Here just came up. Ortecho is being transferred to El Paso for his deportation hearing. You can see him there around Tuesday."

--Liz's misdemeanor is taking the fall for Rosa's vandalism from when she was arrested by Sheriff Valenti in 2x02.

Gregory takes the Pod Squad to see Harrison who is on his death bed.  Manes boys are always welcome here, the woman tells them. Harrison is the only one Louise ever spoke to on the reservation.

"He met my great uncle Tripp Manes fighting in WWII.  Harry was a code talker."

Michael gets Gregory to leave with him so that Max and Isobel can go inside of Harrison's head. Their conversation:

"You look like her."

"Harrison.  You look different."

"That was a lesson I learned from Louise. How to take your mind to a better time when you're in pain. Come on. I haven't seen the sky in a while. I'll tell you about her...I taught Tripp the codes in the Pacific. That's how we set up the rescue. He was supposed to snuggle Louise and Nora here, but the plan fell apart."

In the past between Harrison and Tripp:

"You've changed. The man I met on that ship obeyed orders."

"Guess I saw what happens when good men fall in line with bad orders. I'm a Christian, Harry. When evil itself tells me to kill a woman with child, I disobey. Even if the evil looks just like my brother."

A nurse rolls Louise into the room in a wheelchair.

"Did you find a family for her?"

"There should be music where you take her. I think she's a dancer."

"You can give her a house full of music, Louise. Nora wanted me to protect you so that you could protect the child."

"No. He's coming for me and I can't even move. No. When the devil comes, I won't be able to fight for her. Please. It is hard to be a woman on your planet.  It's only gonna be harder still for her. Roy Bronson believed in meeting hatred with compassion. And I want her to be like him. A light in the darkness. A little star on the ground. I want that for both my girls."

"Where did he take the baby?"

"Can't say."

"No. Tell us where our sister went."

"She isn't your sister. Louise rarely spoke, but when she did, she spoke of two daughters. Two stars on the ground. She had no sons. You aren't hers. You came from something else...She lived for decades longer than she should have, trapped inside of a body that could no longer dance, waiting for a sign that you would be all right. She loved you."

Jenna wakes up back at the hospital.

"I asked them to run a new test. Your headaches are spinal headaches. Because there was a hole torn into your spinal cord."

"I'm sorry, what? My kidnappers gave me a spinal tap?"

"Do you mind signing off so I can look at your tox screen?"

"Yeah, of course, but, Liz, you don't have to do this, okay? Your dad, and…"

"I need a distraction. I can't leave for El Paso until tomorrow, and they're not letting him have visitors other than his lawyer until Tuesday, so...thank you for being here. You used your privilege to help me. I'm furious that I needed it, but I needed it."

--Reposado is a type of tequila

--Spinal Headaches:

Isobel and Max on what they learned from Harrison:

"You've always been different than me and Michael, okay? Always. You were the leader. From the start. I mean, you're the special one. You're the healer."

"I was. Now I can't even sneeze without my heart skipping a beat. All my life, no matter how weird things got, I never felt alone. Because I was your twin. Maybe I'm different. Maybe I'm a freak...I can't stop thinking about being chained up when I was a kid. It didn't feel like someone bad chained me up. It felt like I was the someone bad."

"Max, you're not dangerous."

"Saving people destroys me. But killing Noah? That felt good. I was high. And whenever I think about what he did to you, I want to chase that high. I wish I could kill him a thousand times. Louise mentioned the devil. Maybe something evil was chasing them. And maybe that something was me."

"Okay. I want to show you something. You see this hand on her shoulder there? See, Michael thought it was just someone who got cropped out of the photo, but no. Any female would recognize that body language. She does not want that hand on her. Louise said the devil would come. I think something evil was after them, but it wasn't you. I want to find out who it was."

Alex and Gregory:

"Hey, I just wanted to say thank you before we go. I also feel like I should congratulate you on getting out."

"Of the Navy?"

"Of the family. Getting out from under Dad."

"You got to break free of him, man."

"Do you feel free?"

"I don't think I get to be free until you are, Alex. You know, you're my brother. I wish that I would've stood up for you more."

"You know, I think he's actually getting a little bit better. It's like the stroke melted away the psycho in his brain or something." 

"If you can forgive him you should. Cast off the stone. Let me hate him for you. I owe you that much."

Back at the trading post with the whole road trip group.

"We scoured the store for jewelry that said Tsela on it, but nada. Although I did manage to spend an entire week's worth of tips anyway."

"Tsela?"

"Yeah it was printed on the back of my grandmother's necklace. I thought I might find some answers here."

"Well, apparently, it is Navajo for star on the ground. So, you guys ready to go?"

"Star on the ground.  Maria? What year was your grandmother born?"

"Uh, '48, I think?"

"Was she adopted?"

"Yeah. Oh my God."

"Your grandmother was my sister."

Note: The direct translation of Tsela is stars lying down. Interestingly, it's often a name in Navajo. When I googled it, the top results were names for Navajo boys.

Diego and Liz's conversation:

"Diego, I never would have reached out if it weren't an emergency. Thank your mom for me."

"The Senator was more than happy to call in a favor. She's always liked you."

"I like her too. We need more people like her."

"Look, we got lucky your dad got out at all, much less without an ankle monitor. And you pissed a few people off back there, so it's not likely that this is the end for you. Who's your lawyer? Or should I make some calls?"

"No, you've done enough. After what I did, I can't even believe you listened to my voicemail...How did you get here so fast?"

"I was at the airport in Phoenix when you called. Just had to reroute real fast."

"And how have you been?"

"Well, my fiancée left me. I'm kidding. No, I'm seeing someone.  It's getting pretty serious, so…"

"Good. Me too."

"Good. We can be friends...And don't take this the wrong way. Please tell me you're not wasting that incredible brain of yours writing alien hamburger puns."

"I am working on a few projects. Nothing I can talk about, but, I'm not wasting anything."

"Well, all the coolest studies make you sign NDAs anyway, so…"

"You know what? There actually is something...Do you know what butyricol is?  Worth a shot. It's this chemical I found in my friend's tox screen. I had never heard of it."

"Maybe you're slacking, Ortecho."

"I am sorry, it has only been a year. Did you literally forget everything about me?"

Note: I'm very pleased to say that when I googled butyricol, half of the top results were RNM related.  Definitely not a real drug.

Malex fight in the bunker:

"We're closed!"

"Hey, that alien console piece that Jim Valenti left me...You still have it?"

"No. I sold it on eBay."

"You didn't attach it to your console."

"I tried. Doesn't fit."

"So, Tripp left this for my dad before he died. My dad thought it was a code, but this is a reference sketch of this exact piece. My dad's been looking for this thing for 30 years and Jim Valenti had it all along...I'm gonna give it to him. I want to see what he does with it once he's got it. Look, if it didn't fit in your console, then it fits somewhere else. My dad could lead us there.""Your dad hunts aliens, Alex. He'll lead my family right off a cliff."

"I've protected you so far. That's not changing. Besides, he's different these days...I don't trust him, Guerin. I just…I'm asking you to trust me.""When we were kids, you believed people were good, despite humanity doing everything to prove you otherwise. And, God, I loved you for it. But what was charming when we were 17, it's just stupid now. How do you not see that? You believe there's some good in your father?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do. God forbid I have faith in people who don't give me a good reason to."

"That's not fair."

"No? Why is your hand covered? You miss your injury because you want to hurt. Your anger made you feel safe. I will always hate my father for what he did to you, but I don't want to live in that toolshed for the rest of my life. I don't want to walk around thinking that people don't change, that one day everyone's just gonna let me down, 'cause I am not building a damn rocket ship in a hidden lair. There's one way for me off this planet. And I need to believe in a reason to stay. I promise I'll keep you safe."

"Can't let you leave with that."

"What are you gonna do? Fight me for it?"

And then Alex leaves and is kidnapped. Hit over the head by an unknown assailant. The note from Tripp blows away.

Max and Liz are talking back at Max's house while Max drinks a lot of bourbon.

"You know, you never told me why your parents immigrated here in the first place."

"My dad wanted a family, but not in Juárez. There was no opportunity, no money. Women were disappearing there all the time. He didn't want my mom to be one of them. So he fled. You're wondering why your family came here."

"If I even had a family. I know so little about my own story. And the parts I thought I understood are just unraveling."

"Max. Family is the one area where I am certain that biology does not matter. Look, when I found out that Rosa was only my half sister that didn't change anything."

"This is different...There are only three of us on this planet, as far as we know. I mean, feeling disconnected from them makes me feel completely alone."

"Completely alone? I'm right here."

"When you needed a rescue today your Mensa society, old money son of a senator ex was there to answer your prayers. I couldn't even answer a call. You didn't need me."

"Oh my God. Okay, so would you prefer that I did need you? Would you prefer to come home to find me crying into my dad's windbreaker so that you can swoop me up and drive me to El Paso for his deportation hearing in the morning?"

"That's not fair. You wanted me to talk about today."

"Yes, okay. I'm sorry. I want you to feel better."

"Well, you think maybe you could go back in time and not meet someone as handsome as Diego? Seriously. He's like if someone mixed a cologne ad with a Kennedy. It's ridiculous. I will never feel adequate again."

"You're wrong. Max, let me be clear. You are objectively better in bed...And I never woke up on a Sunday morning to him singing Hank Williams in the shower...He never snuck unreasonable tips into my dad's checks. Or quoted Henry the Fourth. Coming home to you at the end of my worst days and my best days is the only rescue I need."

I actually found this background on the Ortechos to be fascinating.  In case you don't know Juárez is a pretty big city directly opposite the border from El Paso. It does have some huge crime issues. But it also is one of those border cities where the border is a little thinner. Like San Diego and Tijuana.  People live in Juárez and work in El Paso and vice versa.

If you want to see a really dark & gritty portrayal of Juárez, I'd highly recommend you to check out the American version of the show The Bridge.  Which literally deals with an investigation related to disappearing women.

Isobel and Maria at the Pony:

"She looks so determined."

"Yeah, neither of us would be here if she hadn't been. You know she was paralyzed 50 years and she still managed to use her powers to help ease troubled minds. You know how hard that is? To take on someone else's suffering? I mean, it doesn't just disappear. She would have been carrying all of that."

"She suffered so much loss."

"I don't know how to be worth it."

Michael on the bracelet.

"The beads are made with pollen from the alien flower. I found another plant growing at Louise's grave. Okay my working theory is that they grow from alien remains. There's this UFO lore about that Libyan desert where the flowers have been discovered before. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. I know better than to think I can save Maria DeLuca. I hope you decide you can save yourself."

Max is still drinking after Liz went to bed.  At 4:04am Diego calls and wakes her up. 

"I made a call, about that toxin in your friend's system. Butyricol. It's a drug. It's a memory eraser. It was developed by a private organization and purchased by the military for weaponization. There's no approved application outside of violent combat."

Liz tries to call Alex, but he's too busy being unconscious in the back of his SUV.  So his kidnapper pockets his phone.

Max has a memory flash. There's fighting, weapons clashing, a woman's voice...all while he's chained down in the cave. Louise appears and kneels down to touch his shoulder.  He looks afraid, but she's trying to comfort him (even though she has blood splattered all over her white clothes). She smiles and nods and then cuts Max free of the chains with her alien weapon. She offers him her hand, but before he can take it a figure in white appears and he and Louise fight. Max cries out and hides his face.

Present day Max is visibly shook by the flash.

MUSIC:

1.  Shelly Fairchild "Worry No More"

2.  Powerslide "Just You And I"

3.  Will Fox "Against The Tide"

4.  Tommee Profitt feat. Sam Tinnesz "Bullet With Butterfly Wings"

[growingingreenwood]

So basically the reason I’m feeling so alone is because I’m nonbinary and I’m out to my friends and they’re really supportive and that’s really nice but I’m not out to my parents because they’re transphobic and lately I’ve just been really dysphoric and every time I hear them use my dead name or incorrect pronouns it just feels like a bullet in my side and I want so badly to be out to them so that I can get a binder and wear clothes that are comfortable for me and use my real name -🏳️‍🌈 (1/2)

another thing that’s bothering me is I’m out to my parents as a lesbian and I have lesbian pride stuff but what if nonbinary lesbian isn’t valid and I have to reinvent my identity? And I’m not out to my best friend because he’s super sheltered and only just recently started to learn that lgbtq+ isn’t bad and I know he’ll support me but I’m worried about losing his parents’ support because they’re like my second set of parents and I love them and I don’t want to have them disown me -🏳️‍🌈 (2/2So this is an add on to my 2 part (now three part) ask. I think my dad might actually be the only one of my parents that’s transphobic. I’m worried that I’m going to tear their marriage apart by being who I am (3/2) -🏳️‍🌈

--I tried to put in a read more link. Didnt work--

Hello my love, I want to firstly apologize for the late response to these questions. I was wary of trying to answer them on my own without any personal experience with this particular situation, because I know how important this situation is important to you. I had reached out to a friend with personal experience but have not heard back about their contribution. So I will answer with the info I have gathered in my psyc classes/ research I've done the past few days/ and helping friends through similar situations. 

I am obviously, by no means an expert, and anybody is welcome to add their KIND, RESPECTFUL, SUPPORTIVE, and HELPFUL advice or stories as well. 

I’ll start with your best friend: 

When I came out as Asexual (I’m acutally Demi-sexual but I didn’t know that yet) to my best friend at the time, I started by sort of… expressing that I felt my current identity wasn’t fitting quite right for me. It felt like something was off with the way I was trying to live my life and be me, I just didn’t know what it was yet. I explained my feelings to her the best I could without applying labels (I was SOOOO stressed because she has a super high sexdrive and works at an adult toy store and all that so yeah) 

So I explained to her that I just didn’t understand what books/songs/ and movies were referring to when they talked about this “sexual attraction you literally cannot resist) because the concept is literally absurd to me. She asked about all of my favriote celebreities and if I would have sex with them or not, and I told her that the thought for real disgusted me. I explained that I had literally never once at any random human and even thought about kissing them, or having them in my space in any romantic way at all. 

A few days later I cam back to her and told her about some research that I had done, and that I had found something that I thought might fit me better. I brought a little quote somebody had written online about how they felt as an Asexual to help those who were questioning themselves help to figure it out. And I pointed out all the places we felt the same. I told her how much better it made me feel to have this label, this one that finally fit because it stopped the thoughts that there was something wrong with me. 

Your best freinds is new to the community, so maybe start by telling him about a really beautiful story about an individual who discovered their Non-binaryr identity and how wonderfully it touched their lives. How it helped to heal their lives. Explain in a greater detail what it means to be Non-binary. Give him a chance to adjust to the idea of the identity, while you continue to talk about it positively. 

Then when you do come out to him, just remember how much he loves you. It might be helpful to ask him at the start of the conversation to not interrupt you or ask questions until you’re done talking or explaining the situation. Another tactic that I often use for really difficult news, is to write it all in a letter and go sit in another room while they read it. This way, you have the freedom to write and rewrite the letter however many times that you want until it sounds how you want it to. In this discussion, you could ask him not to tell his paretns until you are ready for more people to know. Remind him that you’re telling him this because he is your best friend, and you need his support and love now more than ever. Perhapes ask him to do some research on his own before he really decides anything.  

For your parents: 

Coming out to your parents is…… literally so scary. And there is really never a food time in which to do it. Having to live while keeping this secret from them can be so hard, I understand that so much. But your safety is also the #1 priority right now. 

If it is not safe for you to do so, now might be the time unless you can set up arrangements to stay somewhere else for an extended period of time. You are a beautiful person, and the world needs you here, safe, and full of love still. So please, be careful. 

To start, perhaps ask them to use a nickname instead? Perhaps say that friends at school gave it to you or something, and it makes you really happy to hear it. Or that you’ve recently met somebody with the same name as you that you STRONGLY dislike and don’t want to ‘share’ the name with them. Is there any way to start to slowly transition your clothing? 

For example: If your usual style right now is something like yoga pants maybe swap that for a pair of jeans that aren't super form fitting. Instead of getting a binder right away, invest in some really high quality sports bras. It isn’t the exact same effect, but it might help in the meantime and is much safer than using things like tensor bandages. 

If they question this change in dress, perhapes tell them that this is the new style at your school. Or a new trend started by your favorite celebrity. Tell them you’re bored of your old look and wanted something new for a change. Perhaps if you make the changes ‘slowly’ per say it won’t be as jarring to them. 

If you still decide this is a good and appropriate time for you to come out to your parents, it might be a good idea to have the discussion with your mother first. If you think that only your dad is homophobic/transphobic. That way it will be less likely that you will be interrupted during your heartfelt explanations, and your mom should (theoretically) be more open to the idea. It might help you figure out the best ways to tell your dad, but also you’ll have an ‘ally’ of sorts when it happens too. 

More care should be taken into your information and resources, I think, when you tell them. Such as printing out a sheet of websites to help parents to ‘cope’ with their child telling them of their new non-binrary identity. If you want, you can even find the one you connect with most and print it, give that to them on paper with links listed after it. 

Statistics might be nice, like having how many non-binaryr or genderfluid people live in the same city/ state / country as you so that it does not seem so uncommon for them. 

Here is a sample sentence to get things started for you:

“Even though you may see me as a woman, on the inside, I am not a woman and I am not a man. I’ve been using the word ‘genderqueer’ or ‘non-binary’ to describe my gender, which means that I don’t identify with either. If you placed me on a spectrum, with ‘masculine’ being at one end and ‘feminine’ being at the other, I’m somewhere in-between. Identifying as genderqueer has made me feel so much better because being seen as a woman or a male made me feel so distressed and unhappy. Like I was forced into a box at birth that nobody would let me out of it”

Analogies might also be helpful, as it can help frame this new information to them into a more familiar manner. Like this: “Imagine if someone just assumed that you liked ketchup on your hotdogs without even asking you. For your entire life, they refused to put anything on your hotdogs but ketchup – even though you know, deep down, you like relish.

Finally, you decide to come out and say that you like relish. But every time you ask for relish, people say to you, “If you don’t like ketchup, you must like mustard. There are only two options.There are obviously more than two ways to eat a hotdog, just like there are more than two ways to express and explore gender, but society seems fixated on hotdogs with ketchup or mustard – and nothing else.

Similarly, society seems to think there are only two valid options when it comes to gender – man or woman – when there are actually lots of other ways to embody gender, and even ways of having no gender at all.” 

A good strategy for serious conversation is to use a lot of “I felt” or “I feel” statements. That way, you are still expressing yourself and your feelings while also not making them feel like you are attacking them directly or anything. For example, a good sentence might be to say: “

I feel afraid that if you knew who I really was, that I would lose you,” or “I have been feeling very alone lately, and I’m hopeful that now I won’t be.” 

Lastly, I would suggest being prepared to tell everybody but especially your parents exactly what you need from them in this situation. You may be familiar with all of this terminology and stuff but they arn’t. This is alien territory to them, help them help you by making the things you require them to do or change as clears as possible. Maybe write down a list. 

Stop using my dead name. (Maybe work together on a good nickname with them to use instead? When my friend transitioned from FTM, when he legally changed his name he went with “Emmet” instead of “August” like he wanted, so that his mother could still call him “Em” which had been his nickname since childhood, as he was born with the name ‘Emily.” This might help your parents feel like they still have ‘their’ child still.\

I need to change the way that I am dressing, because it makes me feel very uncomfortable and self consciousness. 

And whatever else you might need form them. 

My beautiful little bean, if you come out to your parents and one of them wants to support you, and one of them doesn't and it ends up breaking them up, I’m certain that they had differences fundamental enough that its probably for the best. And if they didn’t have fundamental differences, they do now. 

One of them took the fundamental concept of parenthood seriously and one didn't: The concept of loving and supporting your child for as long as you’re around on the earth to do so. 

I don’t really think the difference could possibly be more fundamental. 

Sometimes, it takes people a while to get used to the idea. If they react negatively now, they might still change their minds the more they think it over / see how much it means to you. Some people (like my own mom) H A T E change. Hate it. And their first response is always to go on the defensive without thinking. I think you all will have to remind yourselves and eschither to have patients with this.

Remember: Your worth as a human can never change, no matter how much it may feel like it can. You are starting your journey to find the home and the body that you were made to find, its scary, so so so scary. So take your time, enjoy your path. Take deep breaths. Others will ALWAYS love you for the divine creation that you are. The worlds is always ready for you to meet the next ones to love you.

I hope this has helped a little bit at least. I love you. 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

[actuallyrandomperson]

I wanna ramble about how I experience dysphoria as a genderfluid person for a bit, and my identity in general, so I figured Tumblr was a good place to do it.

So, for starters, I should probably clarify how I'm fluid, as all of us are a little different in how we experience gender. I was assigned female at birth, and, to be completely honest, I wish I was amab. This shocks some people, especially as I tend to sit on the female/demigirl/nonbinary side of things, but it's true. Realistically, I know my life would be a lot different if I had been, and I would have experienced a different set of struggles, but in an idealistic world, where nothing would change about me except the way my body looked and what pronouns were used for me, I'd want to be assigned male. I could not care less what genitals I have, especially since I'm ace so it has no real effect on how I'm gonna live my life, this relates back to the two other most obvious issues with being afab: Periods, and boobs.

I hate getting my period. As most people do. I don't even have particularly painful ones, just some semi-bad cramps on the first day or two, but I hate it anyway. 9 times out of 10 I'm non-binary on the first day of my period. Whether that's related to hormone levels or some subconscious part of my brain whispering "hey periods suck being a girl sucks why were u born a girl", I do not know. I just know it happens.

I also hate my boobs whenever I'm not female. Including when I'm demigirl. I don't hate the idea of boobs in general when I'm demigirl, and don’t think I need to be completely flat-chested to feel happy when I’m non-binary (but that could come back to me doubting I’ll get fully flat without surgery), I just hate my boobs. That is because I am incredibly busty, especially for someone who is 5'1/155 cm tall. I'm an Aus 10G/US 32I, I have small shoulders (my straps slip down no matter how tight we pull them), and a large part of what made figuring out my gender identity hell was the constant question of whether me hating my boobs was an ace thing (not wanting to be constantly sexualised) or a gender thing. My best fitting bra actually helped me figure that out, as reportedly it made me look smaller (i.e. technically less likely to be sexualised) but it had the side benefit of making my boobs, well, actually look like boobs, and when I looked at myself in the mirror I wanted to claw my eyes out. So. 90% of the time I hate my boobs because they're so big, and 100% of the time I hate my period.

You might be sitting here, reading this, and going "but Em, are you sure you're genderfluid? Not just demigirl or nonbinary or agender or any of the other non-binary identities?" My answer to that is, well, sorta no. And sorta yes. No, in the fact that I've never been sure about anything in my life. Maybe time will go on, and I'll begin to identify with some other label, or no labels at all. Yes, in the fact that genderfluid feels right right now, and that's all that matters. Humans change. In turn, labels can change too. Hell, as a genderfluid person, my labels technically change on almost a day to day basis! That doesn't make my feelings and my identity at any single moment any less valid. It also doesn't mean that long term, I'll wake up one day and realise that I actually just identify with x gender. It just means that it could happen, and that’s ok, just as it's okay that my identity is changing constantly at the moment. Side note, while we're talking about labels- you also don't need to identify with one! I personally like to use them, as they bring me comfort, but everyone is different, and y'all who choose not to use labels for whatever reasons are entirely valid.

I have 4 main types of day, gender-wise. Days where I feel like a girl, days where I feel kinda like a girl, days where I feel non-binary, and days where my gender is that 'women' shrugging emoji (that I use all the time because long hair babeyyyy also their shirt is purple on iOS and purple rules). Day 4 I mostly lump under demigirl, as with day 2. Day 3 could probably be most accurately described with agender, or a similar identity label, but I find it personally easiest to just refer to myself as non-binary on said days.

In a hard to explain way, I feel as though I experience less dysphoria on days where I am demigirl than on days where I am fully female. This is not entirely accurate, and is almost certainly as a result of me having unintentionally put in place coping mechanisms for said days in terms of how I present myself for years now, and probably isn’t the right terms for me to use, but it's true.

You see, I dress in a fairly gender-neutral way. My presentation has still always come off as feminine, as I love my long hair and enjoy nail polish, but I've always hated shaving, and I avoid wearing dresses and skirts as much as possible in my day-to-day. I don't mind wearing dresses etc when I'm demigirl, I just don't gravitate towards them, and when I'm demigirl I generally present as a not-overly feminine girl whose a little uncomfortable with their body shape and likes to be comfy, and wears heels in an effort to be taller rather than as a fashion statement.

But when I'm fully a girl, I often love being feminine. I usually want to wear dresses/skirts, and jewellery, and lipstick (not any other makeup though, years of dance and stage makeup ruined me- if someone puts it on for me and it's not heavy/powdery I'm not actively adverse, though), and have my hair braided, and generally just to Get Prettied Up. But that’s not 'me' to other people. That’s not the person I've presented myself as for years. I've spent my entire life catering to my demigirl and non-binary days because they're more common, and whenever I do lean into my feminine self on girl days my family and a lot of my friends are kinda surprised. I wore lipstick and nice clothes to two separate movie hangouts with two different friends, and one of them (who I hadn't seen in a while, to be fair) commented on how it was unusual for me while the other looked visibly surprised. It's not a coincidence that the two irl people I'm out to outside of my schools lgbt+ club are my brother and my best friend- both of whom complimented me (in a non-creepy way with my brother slvjfk) when they saw me wear lipstick for simple things last year, without making a big deal out of it. My mum still acts shocked and gets excited about me being feminine when I express an interest into buying clothes from a particular brand (Princess Highway/Dangerfield in general, for my fellow Aussies, as I don’t think they exist in the US) even though I've been getting presents from there for a few years now. She's talked about slowly starting to replace my clothes with 'fashionable stuff' from places like Dangerfield as the years go on now that I've 'expressed an interest in nice clothes' and I feel anxiety start to ball up in my stomach, because I don't want to wear fashionable clothes all the time, because fashionable for me, closeted and big-chested as I am, means feminine. When I present or show interest in presenting in a more feminine way on my female days, my mother and a few people I'm surrounded by unintentionally make me feel guilty about not wishing to present like that all the time, make my dysphoric for my future and past self, and make me doubt myself as a genderfluid person because I wish to present as my birth gender on one day.

So rather than dealing with all that, I don't present in a more feminine way unless I'm going out, and even then, avoid wearing lipstick if my mum is home, or coming with me. If I can, I'll stick a tube into my bag to apply when I get to wherever I'm going, but it's not always possible. I have Safiya Nygaard’s colourpop collection hidden away in my room. I continue to present myself in a way that aligns more closely in my mind to my demigirl days, with the slight change of being able to actually look at myself in the mirror for extended periods of time, being ok with my slightly more tight-fitting tops, and being chill with wearing my best bra. And I feel, as a whole, dysphoric on these days. I am not happy with how my gender presentation is, because it does not reflect how I want to present. Dysphoria is probably not the exact right term to use to describe these feelings, given I'm afab but it is the easiest way for me to put it, as it most closely reflects the unhappiness I feel with my presentation on my non-binary days, it's just my non-binary days come with a whole lot more body-related dysphoria piled on top. A song I like to listen to on female days is Platform Ballerinas, by MIKA, as it helps remind me that I am a girl, and the way I'm presenting as a girl is valid even if it's not exactly how I want to (it doesn't actually fully come back to societal expectations placed on women because I might shave my armpits but my leg hair still stays, and I genuinely want to get prettied up rather than feeling like I should to be seen as a girl, it's just something I want to do and not being able to makes me feel whack, but the song is definitely more focused on the whole 'societal expectations suck y'all are all valid' thing).

Non-binary days suck in the same way I've heard a lot of trans people of all varieties discuss. I hate walking past mirrors, if I have to wear feminine clothing for whatever reason I feel like I'm going to cry, she/her pronouns kinda make me want to die (generally I'm chill with she/they, and on female days they/them is okay, but she/her on nonbinary days makes my dysphoric as hell), and I generally Do Not Have A Great Time dysphoria wise. But hey, one day I’ll have enough money for a binder. Eventually. I always feel weird about entering giveaways given there are people who experience extreme dysphoria around their chest every day, I can deal on my demigirl days and survive on my non-binary ones.

So, that’s been me rambling into the void about gender for almost 2000 words, how are y’all doing? Also, if anyone actually read all of this I’d appreciate like,,, a like. Or something. I kinda want to know if people have actually seen and read this.

[edmund-valks]

A Family Reunion - Part II

(( Continued from Part I ))

Like most fortresses, the community was much less secure once you were past its outer borders.  Ilandreline did little sprinting or sneaking after the encounter with Teth, instead strolling openly along the back roads and meandering paths.  Half-overgrown trails wended through the trees, their gently twisting branches drooping under the weight of their black-cherry leaves.  There were some early buds mixed in as well, presaging the brilliant blues and purples of spring.

What surprised her most was how good she felt.  Sure, her leg was still oozing blood through the aggravated scabbing and she had more bruises than she remembered getting and it was entirely possible someone else was going to try the same thing Teth had, but the air was so…  She inhaled deeply, unable to find a way to put it to words.  Wet, not damp, like the morning mist; light and crisp, cool, without being bone-chilling; heavy with so many scents she remembered more than knew.  The smells of wet leaves, freshly-churned black earth, distant hearthfires burning, all combined to something experienced rather than sensed.  This all really is a part of me, isn't it?

When Ila realized she had reached Mother's gate, she was momentarily disoriented.  Had she really just… daydreamed through half the village?  Just strolling idly, lost in thought while possibly being hunted by cranky relatives?  Gotta be more careful.  Good advice, especially here.  Stress manifested between her shoulder blades as soon as she passed into the compound, eyes trying to look everywhere at once.  She wasn't exactly on bad terms with her siblings or father, but one could never be too careful, especially this close to home.  Luckily none of them were in evidence, which meant no more excuses to avoid meeting with Mellura'thel.  Swearing beneath her breath, Ilandreline tossed open the door to the greenhouse without knocking.  "Mother, I- shit!"

She threw herself back out, then dove to one side.  Time away and nostalgia hadn't dulled her reflexes: the sight of Mellura'thel Glimmerbow spinning in fury at the interruption of her concentration was still a huge sign of possibly lethal consequences.  Scrambling back to her feet, Ila ran fullbore toward the house proper.  She almost made it.

While she generally preferred subtle methods, such as slow-acting poisons, Mellura'thel was still a highly skilled arcanist.  In situations where a poison wouldn't be reasonable, she could still ensure her ire was clear.  Currently this meant Ilandreline found herself lifted off her feet by heat-leeching tendrils of magic.  Wrapped around each limb, they pulled and pulled and pulled, until it felt like her joints were about to pop.  And were they still pulling?  She bit down hard on her lip, hoping not to scream when something finally tore.

The awful stretching stopped.  "Ilandreline?"  She was facing the wrong way, but she didn't have to see the look on her mother's face to know what it was when she heard her name in that tone.  "There are much more pleasant ways to die than bothering me while I'm working. Surely you recognize that.  I don't recall raising any simpletons."

"Sorry, Mother.  I wasn't thinking."  She was barely thinking now, either, unless it was about how breathing wrong might dislocate four joints at once.  "Do you think you could… let me down?  Walking is going to be real hard if my leg gets popped out of its socket."

The shadowy pseudopods lowered her to the ground instead of simply dropping her.  A surprise, to be sure, but welcome.  Ila turned, facing her mother with a sheepish smile.  "Thanks.  I hope I didn't ruin any of your work."

"I lost nothing but time."  That wasn't a killing offense.  Not by itself.  "Why are you back so soon, daughter?  I thought we agreed you were unlikely to return."

That was an interesting way to describe telling her daughter she didn't contribute positively to the community and therefore wasn't much use, but okay.  "I wanted-"  She stopped herself with a frown.  "No, I need to talk to Grandmother.  I thought about what you said and while I still think you're wrong, it brought up some other stuff."

The only hints at her total surprise were the raised eyebrows and two quick blinks.  "I see.  And you came here because…?"

"I thought it would be best to let you know I was here rather than waiting for you to find out later.  Or see me and suspect I was some kind of illusory spy."

"Reasonable," Mellura'thel admitted.  "Perhaps even wise.  You did not travel through the Nightwood this time, did you?"

Ila shook her head.

"Why not?"

Kind of a silly question, given how things had gone last time, to her mind.  "I wasn't sure my, uh, access was still valid.  I'm actually pretty sure the paths no longer recognize me as part of the family.  Rather than take that chance, I came the hard way, from the east."

A long silence.  "I think you made the right decision, if you insist on being here at all.  Did no one stop you at the barrier?"

"Tried.  Ignored me when I reminded him it was up to Grandmother to decide my fate, not some prick with a bow and a grudge."

Her mother's mouth bowed downward, an expression of distaste.  "The guardian claimed exemption from her rules?"

Sure did, didn't you, Teth?  "Said her opinions didn't matter since he worked for Grandfather."

"And what did you say in response?"

Ila shrugged.  "Not much.  Kicked him into a spike pit and broke his bow."

Was that a flash of amusement in Mother's eyes?  Maybe even pride?  "What else?"  Did you kill him, she was asking.

"Nothing."  She didn't need to know Ila had taken the ritual blade binding him to the family.  That was for Grandmother alone.  "He was unconscious and had a wooden spike through his arm, figured that was sufficient for the time being."

"Mm.  I've warned you about leaving enemies alive, daughter."

"And under normal circumstances you know I wouldn't have, but he was mostly within his rights.  Besides, given the… uncertainty… around whether I'm still part of the family, I figured it was best to leave the decision to Grandmother."

Though she grimaced, Mellura'thel agreed.  The family matriarch was an absolute terror to cross.  Very few survived the experience.  "I see.  That is a… not unreasonable opinion to hold.  The consequences would certainly be dire if you had done otherwise and been wrong."  She paused, then took Ila's hand in hers.  "I am glad you are making good decisions, daughter."

It was Ilandreline's turn to be bamboozled, staring at her mother as if she was now three-headed and shooting rainbows from her ears.  That was the closest she'd ever heard Mellura'thel get to saying something like "I love you."  The sensation was unnerving.  “I… thanks.  Um.  I should… go talk to Grandmother now, right?”  The thought of having to deal with parental affection was stressing her out.  It would be much better to be doing something else.

“Yes, I believe so.”  Perfect.  She’d just be on her way then, no more awkward feelings-  “I will take you there myself.”

“Buh?”  It wasn’t the most eloquent statement, but it did accurately express her mental state.  “Why?”

“I am your mother.  She is my mother.  This way there can be no question that you are under her protection -- and mine.  Come now.”  Mellura’thel began walking.  She was halfway across the courtyard before Ila was convinced this wasn’t some elaborate joke tapping into a sense of humour her mother had never before displayed.

Hurrying to catch up, which meant a peculiar gait incorporating the mild limp from her wounded leg, Ilandreline tried to think her way through this unexpected course of events.  It wasn’t easy; her mother was talking to her.  “Remind me who Teth is.”

“Why?”

“Because he has volunteered his life and I would like to remember who we are planning to give to the Great Dark.”

Oh, right.  That.  “Um.  Do you… do you remember when Von was going to be married?”  Von was her oldest sister.  “Her spouse-to-be was Teth’s sister.”

Peripheral vision showed Mother’s lips thinning as they pressed together.  Engagements were not uncommon, but their being ended was.  More often than not they were arranged by families in order to make or keep certain alliances.  Even though Ila hated politics, ignoring them was a recipe for disaster.

“I remember her.  Stella, yes?”

She shrugged.  “That’s what Von called her.  I’m sure she had a longer name, just like Teth does, but I don’t remember either of ‘em.”

“Immaterial.”  Mellura’thel’s hand waved it away.  “What matters is that Vondariel was right to end things.  I presume this ‘Teth’ felt some residual and misplaced anger at the familial shame resultant from her decision to terminate that relationship.”

Ila laughed nervously, deeply grateful her mother was bad at recognizing certain emotions.  Someone more perceptive -- namely the person they were on their way to see -- would have pulled from her the real reason behind Teth’s hatred.  It was only indirectly connected to Von and Stella.  Thankfully only she and Von knew the truth, and neither of them were going to share.  “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably it.”

There was no further conversation, praise the Dark.  They reached Grandmother’s without incident, at which point Mellura’thel held the gate open for her daughter.  She even smiled, at least to the extent she ever did.  Ila was sure she had to say something then, though she didn’t know what was happening.  “Thanks,” she said, trying to return the smile with one of her own.  “I, um, appreciate… this.”

“You are welcome, Ilandreline.  Return home when you are finished here.  You must tell me what Mother decides.”  She closed the gate between them before Ila could respond and immediately started back the way they’d come.

It wasn’t even a request.  She commanded it!  Shaking her head, thoroughly puzzled, Ila turned to her Grandmother’s door.  It looked harmless, but she knew very well what lurked behind that facade.  “This,” she reminded herself, “is exactly why I’m here.  Also possibly the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

Tasting fear when she swallowed, Ilandreline knocked on the door and waited.

***

Unlike a number of other relatives, Grandmother only made you wait if she wanted you to think about what you’d done.  That Ilandreline waited for less than a minute -- the approximate time one would expect it to take for an elderly woman with aching joints to put her knitting down, extricate herself from a cushioned chair, and cross the room, muttering mild oaths about both visitors and her knees all the while -- was a good sign as things went.  Unless Granny Laine was just that excited about the chance to ruin her life.  The old woman did take a certain joy in making sure she never had to teach anyone the same lesson twice.

The door, simple wood by appearance and so utterly benign to the peculiar sight of her family that Ila was absolutely certain the wards were incredibly brutal in addition to subtle, opened slowly to reveal the eldest of her relatives.  “My, my, my.  Ilandreline!  What a surprise!” she said, sounding entirely unsurprised.  “Come in, my dear.”

Ila did so, trying to keep herself together despite the storm of emotions.  Seeing her mother again, even lying to her, was a simple thing.  Being in proximity to Grandmother?  She managed to keep herself from trembling as she stepped into the small entryway.  There was a fire in the hearth down the hall, in the sitting room, its light near to blinding to her unshielded eyes.  The other opening from where she stood led to the kitchen.  She heard nothing from that direction but was willing to bet there was a pot of tea already prepared.

When the door shut again, the soft click of its latch sent a faint shiver down her spine.  You’re in it now.  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she turned around.

The first thing most people noticed upon meeting Eldest Aurelaine, Voice of the Great Dark, was that she was old.  Not ageless, as many of her people were, not even weathered, but like a human in the late throes of senescence.  The beauty of youth, assuming she'd had it, was long gone.  In its wake was a slightly hunched, wizened figure, with fiercely glowing eyes of midnight.  What there was not was any sense of frailty; despite the wrinkles and sometimes sagging, sometimes too taut flesh, Aurelaine remained a figure of raw power.

Ila had no idea how old her grandmother really was, nor even if she was a blood relative.  It wasn't important, so she'd never wasted any time trying to find out.  Family was what they all were, in that they were united in faith and purpose.  At the same time, family was no protection or deterrent.  Love happened however it worked out for the involved parties, but partnering was often directed for certain purposes by the elders.  Same with the occasional murder/sacrifice.  (Killing in self-defense was acceptable, but always investigated; lying about it had… unpleasant results.)

"How've you been, child?  Has the larger world treated you right?"  The way Aurelaine asked suggested there would be consequences for Azeroth if it hadn't.  Perhaps that was a little girl's belief in the most trusted person in her life.  Then again, if anyone could threaten the whole planet…

Ilandreline drew back enough to look the matriarch in the eyes, not bothering to hold back her grin.  "Nothing I couldn't handle.  It's… a bit lonely, though.  I've made a few friends, I think, and they're better behaved than most people around here, but, you know… It's not the same."

An understanding nod.  "Leaving home is like that.  If you stay here long enough, though, you'll remember why you left.  That's why the saying goes how it does, why you can never go home again."  To another viewer, the way her lips pulled back may have looked malicious; Ila saw in it amusement instead.  "You're never the same person who left.  That's a good thing."

Before she could stop herself, Ila blurted, “But I’m here anyway, so is it really?”  Her mouth failed to close afterward, her brain having caught up too late to prevent anything.  She did bring a hand up, though, politely hiding her appalled gawping behind it.

“Oh, it’s good to have you back, little Lina,” the old woman said, a low chuckle working its way up from deep in her chest.  “You always bring excitement with you.  Come.  Sit.  There’s tea and cookies next to your chair.”

“I… what?  You… knew?”  Of course she knew, Grandmother always knew, but…

She prodded Ila in the soft flesh below her ribs, an almost gentle poke with her rather pointed finger.  “Of course I did, girl, don’t be silly.  I’ve known since the last Prelude Night that you’d be coming home soon.  How soon I wasn’t sure, not until that business down south.”  Still laughing to herself, Aurelaine ambled by, taking her own advice by heading for the sitting room.

Ilandreline found herself struck dumb for a moment, blinking at nothing as she grappled with the difference between expectation and reality.  If she’d been expected, then shouldn’t everyone have been reminded to let her in?  Or was that part of some test, too?  Was she being evaluated somehow?  That felt more like something Mother would have come up with, but surely she’d gotten it from somewhere.  Chewing her lip, she eyed Aurelaine for a moment before following.

For whatever reason, Granny Laine had always liked her.  Nobody knew why, but the matriarch of their family was not someone you questioned if you enjoyed living.  She was crafty, ruthless, and -- it was rumoured -- undying.  As in she couldn't die, not that she was in possession of immortality.  Few people were fool enough to test it and, of those who did, only Grandfather was still alive.  Assuming that one considered his unnatural state of being counted as “alive”.  If Granny was going to act like everything was okay, like this was a visit from her grandchild no different from any other, then… perhaps Ila could let go of some of the fear.  Or perhaps the tea and cookies would take care of that for her.

Conceding to the wisdom of her elder, Ilandreline followed after.  The firelight was enough to force her to squint for most of the way, but once she settled in, the light level seemed reasonable.  Ah, the screen isn’t high enough for that…  She frowned, thinking about the standing grate straining brightness for the eyes of the seated.  No, it is high enough, but only barely for her.  Anyone taller would be affected.  A defense mechanism, even here.  No wonder she was still alive.

The chair -- “your chair”, she’d said, granting it an unexpected level of personal relevance -- was as comfortable but smaller than she remembered.  No, that wasn’t quite right.  Ila was simply larger than she’d been in any of those memories.  As promised, there was a delicate porcelain cup and saucer, the former full of still-steaming tea.  Beside it was a small plate, simple stoneware, with an array of cookies on it.  Sweets were something she rarely trusted, but here…  She took one, halving it with a single bite.

For a moment she was a girl again, sharing the tiny cake she'd made with her favourite relative.  She'd made it herself, from scratch, with all ingredients but the most difficult collected on her own.  It hadn't been great, but Granny Laine knew how hard she'd tried.  The effort deserved praise, and that she wished to share was noteworthy.  Ila had gotten some very useful feedback that day, along with advice she hadn't understood at the time.  She'd remembered it all the same and was glad she had.

The present returned with a dizzying crash.  Setting aside the cookie for the moment, Ilandreline picked up cup and saucer, hoping she wouldn’t shake too much.  It was very noticeable if you did, and an irritating sound.  So far, so good.  A sip, to test the flavours and show her trust.  Then and only then could she let herself meet her grandmother’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she half-mumbled, not sure where to start.  “For, um, all this.”

Aurelaine’s amusement was expressed via snort rather than laughter, dark eyes glittering ominously above her own cup.  “Don’t thank me yet, child.  This isn’t a social call, you’re here for a reason.  I’m only putting you at ease so you can feel the right kind of fear later.”  There was her grin, properly discomfiting.  “We can do the smalltalk first, if you like, but if you’d prefer to get it out of the way now-”

“Yes, please!”  The words tumbled out without her conscious participation.  There was also an irritating rattling sound now.  Frowning, Ila glanced furtively about, trying to place the noise.  Oh.  Her hands were shaking, the cup and saucer clattering against one another.  The fear hadn’t left after all.  Deliberately setting them aside, she curled her hands into fists, digging nails into palms to help her focus.  “I… I want a place here.  My place here, I mean, not one Mother or someone else would have planned for me.”

A subtle movement in lieu of a nod.  “And what does that have to do with me?”  She sipped her tea calmly, in what would have been a pleasant scene for a painting what with the way the firelight danced and lit her profile, providing a sort of halo around the loose bun of iron-grey hair pinned atop her head.  “You said you wanted your place.”

Ila frowned, trying to get the tracks of her mind united on the single puzzle before her, how to talk to Grandmother.  “I do.”  She licked her lips, swallowed, exhaled.  Certain little acts were soothing.  Also the fingernails pressed harder against the soft flesh of her hands.  Focus, focus.  “What I mean is that my place in the family has to tie in with what you think of as my place, or else I’m… not really part of the family, am I?”

“Is that really what you think?”

“No,” she answered immediately, then flinched as she heard her word.

Cackling, Aurelaine placed her drink on the side table, rubbing her hands together as she hunched forward.  “I appreciate the honesty.  It was a good try, your explanation, the kind of thing your mother would approve of.  But you’re here with me, not her, so let’s try it one more time.  Why do you think your place here has anything to do with me?”

“Because you’re the only one who didn’t try to change me.”  She felt the truth of the statement in her bones, though she hadn’t realized she knew it.  “Mother wanted me to be like her.  Father didn’t care what I did so long as I wasn’t in his way.  Sandy and Von and all the rest… well.  We learned to live with each other with minimal bloodshed, but I’m not sure that counts as having a place.”

Silence and raised eyebrows.  The standard indicator that the question had not yet been answered.

“If I’m going to have any place here, it’s through you.  Not just because you seem to think there’s something about me worth caring for, but also because you’re the only one with enough influence to make everyone else understand I do belong.  I’m not a sacrifice waiting to be made, or a failure who’s going to weed herself out!  This is my family, too, and I deserve to be a part of it!”

Grandmother’s smile wasn’t menacing to Ila.  It was the same one more than a few relatives had seen right before their deaths, but that didn’t bother her.  She associated it with the best parts of her childhood rather than the last moments of lives.  This time, though, she sensed some kind of darkness to it, what she would have called a spiritual chill if she’d been more inclined to faith.

“You’re right, dear girl.  On all counts.  And that’s the cleverness I’ve always liked about you.  You know the rules of the games, know you have to play them even if you don’t like them.  You’re a survivor who knows better than to fight a system that would destroy you.  But there’s more to it than that.”  She leaned back finally, relaxing into the padding of her chair, fingertips curling like talons over its cushioned arms.  “How long has it been since you’ve heard the voices, Lina?”

The question was so unexpected it left her at a loss for long seconds, scrambling to process and find the answer.  “I… I don’t know?  Other than the, um, couple times recently when I used the knife, it’s been…”  She looked up at the plain ceiling, not really seeing the thick beam supports as she made referential calculations.  “Since the nightmares stopped.  That first year after Consecration, I think.”

“Are you sure?  You stopped hearing them so long ago and haven’t heard them since?”  The question had the hallmarks of a trap, but she couldn’t understand how it could be.

“I… Yes?  I’m fairly sure.  The nightmares and the voices were all part of the same thing, so once I learned to tune them out, I-”  She stopped, teeth clicking as they came together.  Trap sprung.

Soft laughter from across the room.  “They’re still there, aren’t they?”

Ilandreline nodded, not trusting herself to speak, not knowing what she would say even if she did.

“And you’ve always avoided the little... perks... of your heritage ever since then, haven’t you?  Because you knew that if you opened up, even a tiny bit, you’d hear them again.  The dreams would come back.  Isn’t that right?”

More wordless agreement.

“You’ve proven you have the will, child.  Most of the others went mad, but you learned to shut them out.  There aren’t many like us, you know.”  Granny Laine stood then, with obvious effort, crossing the space between to put a gnarled hand beneath her granddaughter’s chin, tilting her head up to look her in the eye with uncomfortable intensity.  “That’s why I gave you my knife at your Consecration, Lina.  That’s why you’ve been allowed to be yourself for so long.  I wanted to see where you’d go with that freedom, what you’d do with it.  And it’s brought you back here, hasn’t it?  Here to us, to me, asking for help to find what’s been missing from your life for so long.  Your place, yes?”

There was a yawning precipice before her, Ilandreline knew.  Her grandmother was almost certainly about to push her over and into it.  The question was whether she would also catch her.

“If you want to know how I see you, you’ll have to spend some time here.  I don’t take apprentices often.  Or lightly.  Ours isn’t an easy faith to administer, after all.”

“H-how long?  To stay, I mean.  I have friends, you know, and they’re probably going to wonder where I am if I-”

Aurelaine squeezed her jaw -- gently, but enough to stop her talking.  “It won’t be all at once.  Stay the week, eh?  If you’re still sane at the end of it, we’ll talk about when your proper lessons will begin.”

A week.  She could do a week.  Probably.  Ila nodded, barely shifting the surprisingly strong grip of the Eldest.  “I… alright.  As long as you answer my questions.”

“Of course.”  Grandmother’s voice softened, lowered, until it would have easily been lost amongst the whispers Ilandreline had ceased noticing.  “But you’ll regret asking them when I do.”

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “The One That Got Away” Part 2

The terrorist attack targeting Wayne National Bank nearly three years ago left only one survivor behind: Y/N almost died from the injuries, but she was lucky enough to wake up at the hospital days later. It was so hard to cope with the news: on top of losing her eyesight, the young woman lost her co-workers also and strangely enough the one responsible for the entire tragedy wasn’t The Clown Prince of Crime.

Four weeks later

“Now we’re going up five steps,” Bruce announces and you carefully walk holding on to his arm. “Almost there. Do you want more champagne or a cocktail?”

“Actually Mister Wayne, I would like a shot of whiskey,” you reply and he signals the bartender.

“I wouldn’t mind one either,” he adds and orders: “Two shots of whiskey please!”

“How long do we have to be here?” you exhale, enjoying the ambiance nevertheless. You wish this could be one of the instances when you are able to see; it must be a really fancy venue. Unfortunately, your vision didn’t return at all after the incident leading up to The Joker saving you from the Triple Star gang.

“Maybe another hour or so, unless you don’t feel well and then I can drive you back to your apartment.”

“I’m ok, no worries. It’s just a bit weird: I’m not used to this kind of stuff,” a nervous Y/N confesses.

“Charity balls can be overwhelming,” Bruce nods in agreement. “Everyone talks and talks, eats, drinks and talks some more. The purpose is to make these rich people give up on their money for good causes so it’s worth it.”

You laugh at his honesty, making sure to underline you’re grateful for the opportunity:

“Thank you for including my charity; I really appreciate it and it means a lot. I will be able to help more people.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Bruce sighs, grabbing the drinks from the bartender. “Here you go,” the glass is given to you. “Since this year it was my turn to organize the event, might as well use the hype from what happened to the Angel of Gotham and get you more funding. Sorry, I don’t want to sound insensitive,” he apologizes when he notices the change in your mood. “That was stupid to say,” Bruce admonishes himself and you try to stir the conversation towards another topic.

“It’s fine; I understand what you mean, Mister Wayne,” you taste a sip of alcohol and continue. “If you want to ask any questions about what happened… you can.”

The billionaire puckers his lips, debating on the unexpected chance to dig out some information that could shed some light on your abduction and surprising intervention from The Clown Prince of Crime. He did read the police report with your statement courtesy of Commissar Gordon, yet off the record discussion is more than welcomed.  

“Let’s go on the terrace then for more privacy,” he suggests and you take Bruce’s arm again, following his guidance.

You pass by people engaged in several chats, hoping nobody will stop you for trivial interrogations you’re not comfortable answering.  

“Did they… did they…e-hem… do… anything…ummm…to you?” Bruce stutters because he has no idea how to convey the inquiry without sounding like a total jerk invading your personal life.

“I said it to the cops also: no, I wasn’t sexually assaulted,” you reaffirm and he grumbles, relieved.

“Thank goodness,” the 35 year old taps your fingers. “I don’t even know why my mouth even uttered such rubbish…I know it’s none of my business,” and he immediately corrects the sentence. “As in of course I would care about something like that, but I shouldn’t force you to share.”

“You’re digging your own grave, Mister Wayne,” you interrupt his tirade since he doesn’t know how to handle the situation.

“Uh, I know. I’m sorry Y/N,” and you laughter makes him chuckle too. “Bad luck,“ Bruce concludes as soon as you are both on the patio. “There are lots of people outside; do you mind using the small conference room? It’s empty,” he gazes through the opened glass doors and you follow him, compliant.

“Of course, no problem.”

“Let’s take a sit on this purple couch,” he urges and you oblige, smiling:

“So many purple items around here,” Y/N has to emphasize because Bruce kept on describing the environment to her and that stood out. “A splash of color never hurts; it must be really nice.”

“I like purple; it’s my favorite color,” he stares at you, searching for a reaction when the tip of the knife he’s holding almost touches your cornea. But there’s no reflex and the man smirks, returning the blade to his pocket. He drinks some more, restarting the debriefing:

“Do you know where you were taken? I mean, I know you are not able to see, still did anything catch your attention? Any noises? Particular smells?”

“No, nothing” you pout. “I assume it was outside town: it was quiet and Gotham is never silent. They transported me in a van, a larger vehicle. I’m sure of that since there were several individuals with me. A few moments after being kidnapped I was hit in the head and passed out.”

And when you woke up you were blind again, not that Bruce needs to know.

“I think I was locked in a basement, very tiny space…I was given some food and water. I lost track of time and at one point I heard someone yelling that The Joker arrived, then a lot of turmoil and a harsh argument. It worsened and almost lost my mind when the shooting started: I was so scared and had no clue about what the hell was happening.”

You pause and gulp, the memory of the frightful circumstances making you shrug.

“My apologies,” Bruce remorsefully hums. “I shouldn’t make you recall such an unpleasant experience… I will get us some grape juice on ice.”

“Grape juice?...” you take advantage of the welcomed change  in topic. Great way to divert your attention from the anxiety you feel while saying out loud what you already disclosed to the cops.

“It’s such a refreshing beverage; I can’t live without it,” he admits and tries to stand up but you stop him.

“Please don’t go; if someone stumbles upon this room in your absence it will be awkward for me; you’re the only person I know at this reception.”

“Of course,” Bruce agrees right away. “I’m definitely not in my best shape today; we can go and get the drinks together.”

“That’s better,” you smile yet don’t show any signs you want to move so he patiently waits; the philanthropist assumes there’s more you wish to say and he doesn’t push for a continuation of your story.

Y/N finishes the drink and glares at the man veiled in darkness just like everything else surrounding her.  

“Do you know what the scariest part was, Mister Wayne?”

Complete stillness and you whisper:

“When I heard somebody screamed: Grenade! It was such a powerful explosion, it reminded me of what happened that day at the bank…”

Bruce doesn’t respond and a tearful Y/N wraps up her story in a way that makes her date impatient for the grand finale:

“The air was so thick I couldn’t even breathe and I fainted. I remember hands digging me out from under the rubble, words and sentences I couldn’t comprehend since I was drifting in and out of consciousness. And then I woke up at the hospital…”

“Mmm…” Bruce pouts. “Do you have any idea why The Joker saved you?”

“I was told about the incident at my Soup Kitchen…and I was shocked. I have no idea why he did that…” you reveal not mentioning you spent countless hours debating about it.

“Possibly because he’s sick and tired of The Triple Star gang meddling with his plans? What kind of stupid name is that anyway? Triple Star!!” he hisses. “Do you know they all have three star tattooed on their backs?! Who does that anymore?! What are they?! Kindergarten brats?!”

Why is Bruce getting so mad?!

“The Joker owns Gotham! Nobody else!!!”

You’re a bit uncomfortable with his rant and it shows.

“Mister Wayne…”

He has no more patience and you get cut off:

“You know why The Joker rescued you? Because he needs you for something, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered. And to prove he’s in charge and not the competition!”

“Mister Wayne, please calm down. You’re making me nervous…” a concerned Y/N pleads.

The man scoffs, straining to regain control over himself.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he chuckles and takes your hand into his, amused by what he’s about to divulge. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Y-yes, of course,” you stammer and want to continue when he reaches over and kisses you, biting your lower lip seconds afterwards.

You wince in pain, freezing when the tone changes to one you hoped you won’t hear again:

“Oh my; am I too rough, sugar?”

You yank your hands away but he won’t let go.

“What is this?!” you pant, struggling to distance yourself from The Joker without success.

He laughs with all his heart, enjoying your stunned attitude.

“It’s your old pal J with the best voice synthesizer money can buy. It’s not that hard to copy someone’s voice with these things, especially since you can find interviews online with the pretty boy.”

You stop fighting his clasp and carefully listen to the wireless mike hidden in your ear:

“Remain calm, Y/N! No matter what you do, don’t set him off!”

The Clown Prince of Crime though has to brag about his achievement and makes sure to bring you up to speed:

“I picked you up in my limo before he did; the rich boy probably wondered where you were when he showed up at your apartment. Congratulations, sugar: you just stood up a billionaire,” the green haired madman snickers. “I have plenty of resources to recreate a party and people that work for me to pose as guests. You’re not at a charity ball, sugar; I simply took you to one of my humble abodes.”    

You feel so exposed, yet your current situation demands a strong determination to help maintain the appearances. The Joker’s fingers suddenly go around your neck, the immediate threat resonating in the room:

“You will do money laundering for me! You will do as I say or I’ll make your life a living hell to the point of you now knowing what’s real and what’s not! Do I make myself clear?!!” he snaps and you nod a yes, obedient to his request.

“Good girl,” he sniffs your scent. “Now I should take you back, I’m tired with the charade; it was fun but exhausting,” he grins and can’t shut up: “The pretty boy must be wondering where you are.”

You want to hold in the defiant remark but can’t:

“What makes you think Mister Wayne doesn’t know where I am?”

“Oh shit!” you hear in your ear. “We’re moving in!”

The Joker frowns, intrigued: the red dots focusing on his chest are an affirmation of snipers ready to take him out.

“What did you do, sugar?” he barks and takes the knife out of his pocket, stabbing your abdomen: the resistance he encounters gives another clue he got played. Y/N is wearing a customized bullet proof vest under her cocktail dress but it’s not enough to stop the blade.

“T-thank you…” you have time to tell him before they barge in.

“For what?” he resentfully snarls, removing the knife from your body.

“For proving you don’t deserve to be saved,” you admit with such serenity he’s thrown off for once.

The noise of broken glass and shattered objects makes you jump as you moan in pain.

“On your knees!!!” the squad barges in, aiming their rifles at The Joker. “Drop the weapon! NOW!”

The gun shots echoing throughout the house are a logical testimony that the SWAT team is swiping out the premises, taking out those from The Joker’s crew daring to fight back.

“Hands above your head!” the team leader shouts and the kneeled King of Gotham obeys with a demented smirk as the knife he dropped is being kicked away from him.

“Civilian hurt, requiring medical assistance!” another team member requests, pressing on your wound. “Don’t worry Miss, you’ll be fine. OK?” the guy reassures. “You were very brave,” he praises your skills. You lay down on the couch, shaking from the throbbing ache. 

“I don’t feel very brave…”

**************

5 Months Later, Arkham Asylum

The buzz lets you know the 6th gate for Level 1 Clarence is opened and you can pass towards you final destination: the highest security area inside the Arkham Asylum reserved for the most dangerous criminally insane.

“Here she is,” the guard points at the one of the screens depicting Y/N searching the space in front of her with the cane. “Punctual as always,” he tries to joke with Bruce Wayne.

“I know,” he flatly responds. “I’m the one that brings her here.”

The head of security gives the guard a disapproving gaze and the subaltern shuts it down, pretending not to notice the sour expression on his boss’s face.

The four men present watch the monitors in silence while a geared up staff helps you enter the interrogation room where The Joker already awaits, tight up in his straightjacket and chained up to the floor. You take a sit across from his chair, the white table separating the two people being the only object standing out in the padded room.

The Clown intensely stares at the table and you blankly glare at him; that’s how every visit goes: 10 minutes every week on Wednesdays, perfect quietness since he didn’t articulate a single word after he was captured 5 months ago.

The Arkham Asylum patients are not allowed to have visitors, yet Bruce Wayne and his lawyers found a loophole that allows Y/N to briefly visit The King of Gotham once every seven days. That’s all they were able to obtain without going to court and it was fine with you: it’s better than nothing so you didn’t argue.

The Joker has the right to refuse the visit but he never does: he shows up for the short meetings, not talking nor looking your way. Who knows what’s going on in his brain besides the obvious insanity?...

“I admire her courage,” the head of security addresses Commissar Gordon since he’s the fourth person there. “Even if I don’t get it: why would she want to be around a crazy psychopath? He tried to murder her!”

Jim scratches his chin, sharing a theory him and Bruce talked about:

“He didn’t aim to kill, otherwise he would have cut her throat or stabbed her in the head. I suppose that in his twisted mind he sees Y/N as a worthy adversary because I’m sure he didn’t expect a blind woman to give him so much trouble. We’ve been trying to catch him for a long time and we finally succeeded thanks to her agreeing to be the bait. When we approached Y/N with the idea, we knew he might target her after he saved her from the kidnappers. There’s no way The Joker would do something like that without a purpose. We discretely guarded her 24/7 and made sure to stay out of sight in order not to arise any suspicions since he was watching for sure. He’s not stupid: he planned his scheme carefully and maybe we had sheer luck with the whole operation. Who knows?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” the guard gestures at the screen. “I think he said something!”

“Holy crap!” Gordon blurs out. “Rewind and turn up the volume!”

The camera feed is replayed for the small group watching the short conversation that just took place.

“Can I help you?” The Joker’s husky tone is discerned.

“No,” the indifferent Y/N instantly replies.

“I’ll be damned!” the guard opens his mouth in amazement. “He talked to her!”

The monitor reverts to live broadcast and everyone holds their breath when you get up from your chair and J protests:

“Your 10 minutes aren’t up yet!”

You’re still standing and he wiggles in his straightjacket, uncomfortable.

“I have this strand of hair tickling my cheek; drives me nuts. Would you fix my locks? I can’t do it myself since I’m in a little bit of predicament for the moment.”

They watch you walk around the table and searching around with your hands while the madman grins, actually guiding you.

“Two more steps to your left. Now one more straight forwards. Another one. Jackpot!” he purrs when your fingers search for the strand of green hair you cannot see, but it’s not that hard to find.

“Alert the wards to intervene!” the head of security orders but Gordon has a different opinion:

“No, let her do it if she wants to.”

You caress his hair a few times, turning around to go back to your chair.

“Thank you sugar,” J sarcastically offers fake gratitude. “I truly don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Yes, you’re fortunate The Angel of Gotham took pity on you and got rid of that horrible itch.”

The Joker can’t hold in a disturbing laugh since he finds your statement entertaining by his quirky standards.

“I’m honored. Hey... hey, come back here: I have another itch you can scratch!”

You get ready to criticize his remark and he’s aware.

“It’s my collar bone, sugar! I’m not a perv, don’t get worked up for nothing!” The Clown pretends to get angry at your assumption.

You return by his side and bury your fingers in his jacket, gently scratching the soft skin.

“That’s moooore like it,” he purrs louder, the satisfying groan making you retract your arm. “Ahhh, so nice of you to help a friend in need,” the entitled silver smile dies out on his lips once you interrupt:

“We’re not friends!”

“Of course we are,” he sneers. “I stabbed you: that’s how I seal the deal.”

Gordon furrows his eyebrows, totally captivated by the chat.

“What is she doing?...” he asks as a rhetorical question and Bruce enlightens everyone anyway:

“Playing his game…”

Back in the padded room you stump back to your spot and grab your cane, preparing to bail.  

“Are you gonna come see me again?” The Joker curiously demands to know.

“No.”

“Why not?”

You huff and he cackles, entertained:

“That’s fine, I’ll survive: just like you survived the Wayne Bank terrorist attack and the basement I dug you out of.”

It’s so hard not to fight his venomous barking.

But you keep it together and the custodian opens the door, a weary Y/N emerging from her weekly visit with The Joker yelling and squirming behind her, enraged he cannot escape confinement:

“Who dug you out, huh? Who dug you out? Was it The Batman? The police? Or me?”

He’s becoming more and more agitated, the chief of security pressing a button that opens a sealed exit to The Joker’s left.

“Sedate him,” he commands the six caretakers rushing in while The Clown keeps screaming:

“Get back here!! That’s an order!!” and your disobedience prompts another tantrum as they inject him with the sleep medicine: “Who do you think you are, hm?” he shouts so loud it finally triggers a reaction from your part; you slowly spin towards him, making sure to articulate the perfect words:

“I’m the one that got away.”

 Part 1: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/185672114796/the-joker-x-reader-the-one-that-got-away-part-1

Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on AO3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: Diyunho.

[quicksilversquared]

Crash and Burn: Chapter 2: Glowing Embers

Everyone in Paris had always assumed that if Hawkmoth were to die, it would be mid-battle with the superheroes, or maybe in a jail cell years down the road, after being defeated. No one expected him to die suddenly in a car crash on a sunny afternoon.

Least of all, his son.

links in the reblog

                                                                                           oi staff where’s the page break line

By the time Chat Noir got home- the next morning, after falling asleep in Ladybug's arms on top of the Eiffel Tower and both of them sleeping soundly there for the entire night- several responsibilities had been lifted off of his shoulders.

The Gorilla had stepped in as Adrien's guardian and the runner of the house, as he was both Adrien's bodyguard and (apparently- Adrien hadn't known this before) his mom's cousin. He was going to make all of the arrangements for the burial, and had offered to set up a funeral until Adrien told him that he didn't really want to bother with that.

The Gorilla didn't look as surprised as Adrien had thought, but then again he had seen the relationship between father and son deteriorate through the years. More than anyone in the house, he had cared for Adrien, letting him escape to spend time with his friends as long as Adrien wasn't being chased by mobs of people. And the last several times when there had been interest in Adrien after a commercial aired, the Gorilla had opted to just accompany Adrien wherever he wanted to go around Paris rather than trying to drag him back home.

(Nooroo had also cleared the Gorilla of all guilt the previous day in a rare bit of actual good news- he had never suspected his employer's supervillain activities at all, and he had been an avid supporter of Ladybug and Chat Noir.)

As a bonus, the Gorilla also knew who all of Mr. Agreste's legal people were, and what needed to be done to start transferring bank accounts and deeds and everything. It was just one more big thing that Adrien didn't have to take care of.

In fact, now that Ladybug had told Chat Noir that she could do the announcement to Paris on her own so that he didn't have to be there and struggle to keep a neutral expression in front of the crowds of reporters and that she would bring the two recovered Miraculous to Master Fu, Adrien didn't really have anything left on his list of things that he had to take care of. He just had to sort through his own feelings and try to get back to some sense of normalcy, which...

Well, it was still a lot, but it wasn't an overwhelming lot. And as a bonus, Ladybug had suggested a nightly meet-up so that they could cuddle and he could have a safe place to talk through his feelings and everything that had happened.

(She. Was. Amazing.)

"You don't have to do this right away, kid, you know that, right?"

Adrien shook his head as he picked his way through the graveyard, following the instructions that he had found tucked in the last journal. "I want to see Mom's gravestone. I've not gotten any closure with that, and this- even if I never got a funeral for her, this- this is something."

Maybe he was upset with his mom right now, upset that she apparently hadn't been the person that he had thought she was and heartbroken at the lies. But in his memories, she was still a caring mother, not- not the lady that the journals had described, who used the hypnotic powers of the Peacock (powers that Adrien hadn't even been aware existed, even though- well, peacock, hypnotism, that did make sense) to pull more investors onboard with supporting Gabriel and to get influential fashion columnists to write favorably about the company in their columns, advancing the company far faster than it would have gotten on its own otherwise.

It had been supremely selfish and manipulative. Maybe there were no real lingering negativeeffects since Gabriel was a strong company even without the help and all the pushes had done was speed up the rate at which the company joined the topmost fashion brands in Europe- the investors certainly hadn't lost any money, and it was hardly as though the columnists had gotten in trouble for writing about Gabriel- but that didn't make it right.

"Seeing a stone is closure?"

"It's an ending, at least." Adrien checked his copy of the instructions again before taking a turn and heading up another path, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. "I'll know where she is, which is more than I've been able to say for the past several years."

The plot that Adrien finally arrived at was tucked into the back of the cemetery, far out of the way of prying eyes. It was surrounded by old stones, from people who had long since passed and whose immediate family had probably died long ago, too. That meant that the flowers sitting at the small, relatively plain gravestone stuck out all the more.

Adrien had thought that his father would have gone for something large and gaudy. Subtle had never been his thing- the giant portrait above the stairs, the multiple paintings of his mom, and the statue of Emilie Agreste near their house attested to that, as did the two (two!) lairs of his that Nooroo had told Adrien about- but clearly he hadn't wanted to draw any attention to the grave, not when Emilie Agreste was still officially listed as a missing person.

"He was here recently," Plagg commented, flying over to the flowers. "These are fresh, probably from a couple days ago."

"Yeah." Adrien fingered one of the flowers, inspecting the fairly fresh petals. There were orchids and fern leaves and several other kinds of flowers that he didn't recognize in it, all fresh. It was so fresh that Adrien wouldn't be surprised if his father had put out the bouquet before leaving for the investor's meeting that he had never returned from. "He left the house only every couple days unless he had company stuff that needed him to attend in person, and I bet that this is where he went whenever he left. And this is an obnoxious bouquet- I bet every last one of them were like this."

"The next plot over is empty," Plagg said, flying around. "I bet your father bought both at once. And he intended to be buried in the second one."

Adrien let out a huff, sparing the empty plot a quick glance. "Well, if the Gorilla finds the paperwork for it, fine. That's one less thing to bother with. Otherwise, who cares what his wishes were?"

He didn't stay at his mom's grave for long. There were things he wanted to say, maybe, questions he wanted to ask- why hadn't she just been content with what she had? Why did she have to mess around with magic to get more? Wasn't the money they had and their lifestyle and him enough for her?- but she wasn't there to answer those questions. Not anymore.

Not for a while.

Adrien headed home and, for the first time since his trip to the hospital, responded to Nino's texts himself. Plagg had clearly gone through his phone already so that all of the texts and calls from his friends and classmates were listed as seen and weren't staring Adrien in the face and overwhelming him when he opened his messages. Nino's response was immediate, even though he was meant to be in the middle of class.

"I bet he's had his phone out all day and none of the teachers are going to say anything about it," Plagg told Adrien when he said as much. "I mean, the news broke pretty fast, didn't it? They know what happened."

"Yeah." Adrien didn't know how, exactly- he had thought that it was policy for the family to make a statement when a famous person died, but maybe not. Or maybe it was pretty obvious at the scene that his father wasn't going to make it, or- he didn't know. A buzz from his phone caught Adrien's attention, and he looked down to see another message from Nino. "He wants to know if I'd be interested in having him and Alya and Marinette come over after school, either just to hang out or so I can catch up on school stuff."

Plagg considered him. "Are you ready to see them?"

Adrien didn't even have to think about it. "Honestly? No. Not- not yet. I mean, it would be a distraction, maybe, but- I mean, the teachers have sent me my assignments, I've seen the emails. I can work on that as a distraction on my own."

"Are you worried that they might decide to talk about the superheroes as a distraction and that would be hard?"

Adrien had been about to say no, when he gave it a second thought and- yeah, that was part of it. He needed another day's distance before he could handle that kind of conversation without being worried about giving something away. "Something like that. Alya's going to talk about nothing but Hawkmoth when Ladybug does her announcement, whenever she does it."

Plagg made a face. "You need less obsessed friends."

"It was funny to listen to before I found out about Father." Adrien tucked Plagg into his jacket as he headed for the subway. "And I'm sure it'll be similar in the future, once I have some distance. But I'll be able to handle it tomorrow, I'm sure of it."

                                                                                            oi @staff why’d you get rid of the page break line

 "Dude, we've been so worried!"

Adrien managed a smile as he let Nino and Alya in. Marinette was nowhere in sight, which meant that either she had overslept or she had been roped into either helping at the bakery or doing something else. "Hi, you guys."

"We were really sorry to hear what happened," Alya said more formally as Nino gave Adrien a hug. "It's just so- so unexpected."

"That's one way to put it," Adrien agreed with a tight smile. "Unexpected." He glanced between the two of them as Nino stepped back. "Is- uh, is Marinette coming?"

"She's running late," Alya said at once. "She was practicing some sort of speech in her room when I stopped by to get her and wanted to finish her run-through all the way before coming over."

Nino frowned, glancing over at Alya. "A speech? Is it- is it about what I think it is? Because it's really not the time."

Alya only shrugged, not elaborating at all. Adrien frowned as he glanced between her and Nino, sensing that there was something there that he wasn't being told. "I don't know. I didn't catch any words before she heard me coming and stopped. Maybe it's something for the class president thing. She did say that she was coming, though, and to just start without her."

Adrien couldn't help but slump. He had rather been looking forward to getting a Marinette hug right away. She hugged with her whole body, just like Ladybug did, and it was the best.

At least she was coming eventually. He would get his Marinette hug soon enough.

The three of them headed up to Adrien's bedroom. He had been sure to put away everything of his father's in the safe before they came, just in case, and so all that was out was the printed-out assignments that his teachers had sent. Adrien had finished up a lot already on his own- his Literature assignments were easy to bang out, and Philosophy was easy enough considering that he had been sent lecture notes as well. There were a couple other classes that had just had readings to complete and lecture notes to review (Plagg had helped Adrien actually absorb the information by stealing the lecture notes from him and reading them off like a professor so that Adrien didn't just absently skim over all the notes without taking anything in; while Adrien had been more than a little skeptical about the strategy at first, he had to admit that having to actually take his own notes like normal helped.). With the end of the year and exams coming up soon, though, it was still important to be studying everything and making sure that he understood it.

(His father had the worst timing in the world, honestly.)

Marinette arrived twenty minutes later, flushed from running and carrying a bag with both pastries and leftovers from her parents. She immediately wrapped Adrien up in a hug, and he practically melted into the embrace.

(Seriously, she gave the best hugs. Well, with the possible exception of Ladybug.)

"I lost track of time," Marinette told him as they headed back to his room. "I was practicing a thing and I wanted to get it right and memorize it while I was on a roll, and I didn't realize how much time was passing."

"No worries," Adrien said, wrapping his arm around hers. "I'm just glad you could make it. That way I have someone to talk to when Nino and Alya start making eyes at each other."

Or, as it turned out fifteen minutes later, when Nino and Alya got bored of discussing their science unit and brought up the topic of Hawkmoth and the lack of akumatizations lately.

"It's been, what, a week and a half?" Alya said, and it took Adrien a second to figure out what she was talking about. When he did, he stiffened. "I know he's gone for stretches without akumatizing anyone before, but it's always strange- he must be planning something. That's always what he's doing when he goes silent."

Adrien had to think about it, and- actually, Alya was right. Even though his father had only died several days before, he hadn't akumatized anyone for a week before that. He probably hadn't been plotting anything big, though. There had been a bunch of meetings with investors lately, some out of the city, and that meant that his father couldn't slip away. It had been a welcome break in akuma-fighting, and Adrien had taken full advantage of it to study as much as he could before the next wave of akumas inevitably showed up.

Well. Not so inevitable anymore.

"Yeah, I kind of hate it when more than a few days pass by without any akuma," Nino agreed at once, and Adrien tried his best not to listen. He had told Plagg that he would be fine with hearing talk about Hawkmoth, really, but that- that clearly wasn't the case yet. He wondered what it would be like once the news broke that Hawkmoth was dead. Everyone would be talking about it then, and he wouldn't be able to escape. Adrien would skip school to keep away from it, but he couldn't avoid the conversation forever.

"Oh, no kidding. I mean, evil planning aside, there's so much less traffic on the Ladyblog when there aren't any akumas-"

"Adrien, I'm on the same problem that you're on, and I'm stuck. Do you want to work through it together? I thought I might read that section in the book and see if it gives me any ideas."

Adrien startled, glancing over at Marinette. She had moved closer to him when he wasn't paying attention, and now was sitting at his elbow, open science book in front of her. One look at her expression told Adrien that she had caught on that Alya and Nino's discussion was making him uncomfortable (actually, it was making him sick to his stomach- Alya thought not having akuma attacks was inconvenient because they were good for her blog and that- that just didn't sit well with him, not when so much of his life had been interrupted and uprooted thanks to Hawkmoth) and she was trying to distract him. The effort was very much appreciated, especially considering that Nino and Alya clearly weren't going to drop their topic any time soon.

In the end, his friends only stayed for two hours before having to leave. Alya had babysitting duty, apparently, and Nino had promised to help her. Marinette hung back, turning to Adrien once their friends had vanished out the door.

"My parents wanted me to let you know that you're welcome to come stay with us for a bit if you want to get out of this house," Marinette told him. "If it feels too empty or has too many memories, or- whatever, really. We have a guest room that you could use, so you could have your own space."

Adrien blinked, blown away by the offer. It went above and beyond, really. "I- thank you, so much. I'll consider it, I promise, I just- right now-"

"Don't feel like you need to make any sort of decision right away," Marinette said at once, resting one hand on his arm. "We just want you to know that you have the option there, in case you decide that you want it. And if you ever want company, either to talk to or to just be in the same room so it's not so empty- seriously, just call me or come on over. Our door is open for you."

Adrien could only wrap Marinette up in a grateful hug, at a complete loss for words.

                                                                           staff are dumb for getting rid of the page break line pass it on

 On Sunday afternoon, Ladybug called a press conference. For the first time ever, she showed up alone at the mayor's podium.

Adrien watched from at home, so thankful that his partner had assured him that she could handle it alone. Even though he was feeling better- even though he was coming to terms with, well, everything- he didn't trust himself in front of a microphone and dozens of cameras yet.

"She doesn't look nervous at all," Plagg commented as he settled down on the back of Adrien's couch to watch. On screen, Ladybug was clearly exchanging some small talk with the mayor while they waited for all of the reporters to settle. Based on the mayor's usual expression, she hadn't broken the news to him yet, either. "I bet she is, though, and she's just gotten good at hiding it."

"She's gotten really good at public speaking," Adrien agreed, leaning forward as Ladybug turned her attention back to the podium, smoothing out a piece of paper there as though they were about to start. He caught sight of the mayor trying to glance over her shoulder to see what the conference was about, but it was obvious that Ladybug's hands were covering the paper enough that he couldn't make things out. "I can just barely hear another reporter talking near Madam Chamack. It sounds like they're thinking that something happened to me."

Plagg yawned widely. "Yeah, it's one of those gossip reporters, and they think that you died and that's why Ladybug is there alone."

"If I had, Ladybug would have picked out a new partner before making any announcements. They probably would have been out for a fight first, too. No point in exposing weaknesses like that." On screen, things settled down. "Oh, it's starting."

"Thank you for coming today," Ladybug started confidently, straightening and glancing around the audience. "I know that this is last minute, but Chat Noir and I have some news that we wanted to share with you. He's not able to make it today because he had a civilian obligation that he couldn't get out of, but he didn't want it to delay our announcement." Ladybug paused to take a breath, and then she looked out at the audience, chin high and confident. "Because Hawkmoth is gone. Paris is safe."

The room exploded. Ladybug waited patiently for the fuss to die down, her expression giving nothing away even as reporters shouted questions in her direction. Her quirked brow told them that they had to wait for their questions, though, and they settled quickly enough.

"There was no final battle, as I'm sure you noticed," Ladybug continued once the room had quieted to her liking, her voice even and calm. "Hawkmoth died suddenly of reasons unrelated to his misuse of the Butterfly Miraculous, and his remaining family found the Miraculous among his possessions following his death. They brought the Miraculous to Chat Noir and I so that we would know and could return the Miraculous to their proper spot. We talked to both them and Hawkmoth's former kwami and there are no other willing accomplices still alive."

Adrien made a small face at that. It wasn't strictly true, even ignoring Nathalie's only somewhat less-than-entirely-willing involvement. He had found a note in one of his father's journals that Lila Rossi had willingly worked with him or at least had had some sort of informal agreement with Hawkmoth about causing more akumas and becoming one on a regular basis, but Lila had been exposed as a liar and had left the country in disgrace with her mom over a year ago. Dragging her back into things- at least publically, neither he nor Ladybug had ruled out reaching out to her mom and administering punishment that way- would just complicate the whole situation.

Plagg cackled. "Oh, Ladybug is slick. She's not mentioning the Peacock at all, or giving away that there was more than one Miraculous recovered. She could be a politician like that, not lying exactly but not reminding the public about Mayura."

"It'll help that the Peacock hasn't come into play recently," Adrien said absently, watching as Ladybug made a few more quick remarks to assure the public that they had investigated properly. "She hadn't come out for more than a month when we fought the last akuma. And like Alya said, even that was a week and a half ago. More, now."

"I thank Hawkmoth's family for their bravery in coming forward to us with the Miraculous," Ladybug continued onscreen, her voice rising just a hair to be heard over the grumble that was starting to fill the room. "And we send them our best wishes that they can heal from the death and the discovery."

"But who was Hawkmoth?" one reporter yelled out at once. "You haven't told us yet!"

Ladybug's expression was flat as she answered, leaning a little closer to the microphone so she would be picked up. "That is staying confidential information. He is gone, and-"

"The public has a right to know!"

"Yeah, and the police should interrogate the family!"

"He is gone, and releasing his name would only punish his family," Ladybug repeated, her voice louder. "And they are innocent, Chat Noir and I already investigated. They knew nothing about his supervillain activities."

Madam Chamack scoffed, her voice coming across loud and clear. "And we're supposed to believe that Hawkmoth's family didn't suspect anything? That's ridiculous. They lived with him, they must have-"

Ladybug's stare- a stare almost bordering on a glare- was piercing. "I've been a superhero for years and so has Chat Noir. Our friends and family have suspected nothing. If people aren't expecting it, it's easy enough to hide."

"Paris deserves to know who tormented her for years-"

"Paris does know: it was Hawkmoth."

"But-"

Ladybug was doing a good job of hiding the irritation on her face. Adrien suspected that she knew that this was coming. "You all want to know who Hawkmoth was out of curiosity. That's understandable. But you would get a name, a face behind the mask, and then you wouldn't care anymore. In a week or a month, you would move on and having the name out there wouldn't matter to you. But if Hawkmoth's name got out, I have no doubt that his family would face all sorts of backlash and be targeted by no fault of their own, and I refuse to have innocent civilians targeted just because people were curious. End. Of. Discussion."

There was a discontented murmur at that, one that made Adrien frown in concern. Ladybug might be Paris' darling, but public opinion could change really fast.

"Plagg, are you charged up?" Adrien asked, leaning forward to keep a close eye on the screen. "If people get any more riled up, I might move over to the City Hall area so that Ladybug has backup nearby."

Plagg swallowed half of a wedge of Camembert in one bite. "On it, kid."

"Will you be doing an identity reveal now that the danger is gone?" another reporter called out as Adrien transformed, apparently having sensed that Ladybug wasn't going to budge on her position. "We would love to know who's been protecting us all of these years!"

This time, Ladybug actually did frown. "A identity reveal to each other, perhaps. To Paris? No. There will always be people out there in search of power, and there's no point in making it easy for them to find it."

"Can you comment on your relationship with Chat Noir? You both have been seen out and about lately looking very close-"

Chat Noir headed out the window (carefully, of course), jumping over several rooftops before he had the time to pull out his earpiece and tune it in to the news so that he could follow along. Ladybug was dismissing more claims of the two of them being in a relationship, pointing out that they had been friends and partners for years and of course they were close. The real reason that they had been so cuddly over the past couple days was, of course, because she had been comforting him and her hugs were amazing, but they couldn't say that unless they wanted to give away the fact that Hawkmoth had been Chat Noir's father.

And just in case it ever came out that Hawkmoth had been Mr. Agreste, if anyone ever managed to work that out on their own or even suspect it- yeah, they didn't want to give his identity away.

The press conference ended without any incident just as Chat Noir reached City Hall. He landed on a rooftop nearby, out of sight as reporters started to file out. There was no sign of Ladybug yet- no doubt she was taking a back exit and then heading to the rooftops so that no one could bother her- so he settled in to wait for her, thinking about the news conference.

Ladybug had done really, really well. She hadn't flinched at the barrage of questions at all and hadn't even looked down at what had to be her prepared sheet of remarks. Clearly she had memorized the entire thing. While she had said that Hawkmoth had died suddenly, she hadn't specified that it was in a car accident, and her wording hadn't given away that there was just one family member left, even though Chat Noir knew that he had mentioned that it was just him and his father at some point. She was making it as hard as possible for people to figure out who Hawkmoth had been, while giving out just enough information to make it seem like she wasn't hiding more than necessary.

Of course, she didn't know who Hawkmoth was, either. Chat Noir had offered to tell her, since she was his partner and deserved to know more than anyone else, but she had told him not to feel obligated to reveal himself if he wasn't entirely ready yet. Since there weren't going to be any more threats from Hawkmoth, it wasn't necessary for her to know.

He was thankful for that, actually. After his secret identity had been secret for so long, just up and sharing it all of a sudden would have been a shock. He needed some things to stay the same.

"Chat Noir! I wasn't expecting to see you out and about right now!"

Chat Noir grinned as Ladybug dropped down next to him. "Oh, you know me. I just can't stay away. And I was worried," he added when she rolled her eyes at him in fond exasperation. "The reporters seemed to be really upset about you not telling them anything, and I wanted to be close by in case anyone tried anything. I was listening in," he added, tapping at his earpiece and turning it down at the same time. Madam Chamack was saying something about the press conference, but he didn't bother to listen too closely. He could look it up later and see what Paris' attitude was towards the news. "And if anything happened..."

"My protective bodyguard," Ladybug said fondly, giving him a warm hug. "I was ready to bolt out of there at a moment's notice. Before the conference even started, I mapped out all of the things in the room that I could latch my yo-yo to in case I had to get off of the ground."

"You're always so prepared." Chat Noir let himself lean into her side. "And I know that you can defend yourself, but I just- part of me still felt like I should have been there."

"Mm-hmm." Ladybug rested her head against his shoulder. "That's not the last that we'll hear of it, I'm sure. There were not a lot of happy faces in that room when I left. I'd say that we'll probably have reporters harassing us about Hawkmoth's identity for a while."

She sounded tired. Chat Noir felt bad for her. Ladybug was no doubt planning on shielding him from the worst of the inquiries, which wasn't fair on her. She was studying for her final exams, just like him, and she no doubt had other things going on in her civilian life that needed her time and energy.

"But if we stay on the rooftops and only tell them that we've already said all that we're going to at today's press conference, they should give up eventually," Ladybug continued. "It's just curiosity. They'll find something else to take up their attention."

"I hope so, Bug," Chat Noir said, peering over the side of the rooftop just enough to see the hordes of reporters still down below, each talking eagerly to a camera. "I really, really hope so."

                                                                                            oi staff where’s the page break line

 The talk of the school was Hawkmoth's death and Ladybug's refusal to tell Paris who he was. Oddly enough, Chat Noir's absence at the press conference and what it might mean was also a popular subject.

No one had guessed the truth. Instead, they thought that Chat Noir had disagreed with Ladybug about releasing Hawkmoth's name and that they had fallen out, maybe, and Ladybug had decided to do the conference by herself so that Chat Noir wouldn't act out behind her.

That- that was worse than the truth, actually. Ladybug had just been helping him by doing the conference by herself, and this was her reward.

Alya was talking about the conference when Adrien entered homeroom, her voice animated as she held most of the class's interest. She was firmly on the side of revealing Hawkmoth's identity, which Adrien had known before he even came in. The Ladyblog had had a very upset article about Ladybug's refusal to tell the public, one that he had just skimmed before exiting the page.

"Maybe the superheroes aren't going to say anything, but his identity can't stay secret forever," Alya was saying as Adrien slipped past her to sit next to Marinette instead of in his normal seat in the front row, which Alya had taken. "I've been trying to figure out who it might be, looking through obituaries for people who 'died unexpectedly', but there are a lot of people in Paris and a lot of deaths and the obits don't always specify in Paris versus out of Paris, and it's been almost two weeks since the last akuma attack. There's no way to tell when during that he died. And he might have died during that akuma battle, too, from a heart attack or something. It was impossible to tell what was going on on his end of things unless he actually came out."

"And Hawkmoth's family might have not given the superheroes the full story," Nino chimed in. "He might had been ill and that's why he wanted to use the Miraculous to- to cure it somehow. Like, it could have been anyone."

Alya groaned. "Oh, that would be the worst! How am I supposed to figure out who Hawkmoth was if they've given us misleading information? That's not fair!"

Adrien's eyes flashed to Alya. Once again, all she cared about was the scoop, and it made him a little ill. She was one of his friends. If she actually managed to figure out who Hawkmoth had been, would she care that she knew him and keep it secret for his sake? Or would she post it anyway?

"There's a petition about that, actually- I just saw it this morning and linked it to the Ladyblog, and it's gotten so many signatures already!" Alya was grinning again. "It's to make Ladybug and Chat Noir release the information about who Hawkmoth was. They're so close to hitting their target goal, too!"

Adrien's stomach dropped.

"Oh, that's great!"

"Cool!"

"Lemme find the link, I want to sign it now-"

"No petition is going to be able to make Ladybug and Chat Noir release anything."

The chatter around Alya stopped immediately and everyone turned to look at Marinette, who looked less than happy with them. Her arms were crossed across her chest and she was glaring. "Petitions are a show of support for a cause, not something legally binding. And even if the mayor tried something- the Miraculous are Ladybug and Chat Noir's jurisdiction, not the police's or anybody else's. No one can make them release any information, nor should they. If Ladybug said not to worry about who Hawkmoth was and to leave it alone, then you should leave it alone."

Several people exchanged uncertain looks, taking a step back away from Alya.

Alya crossed her arms right back. "Uh-huh, and what about the right of the people to know? Hawkmoth possessed a ton of people across the city."

"He's dead. It's not like it's going to make any difference to him. It's not like he's escaping a punishment or anything."

"I think there's something fishy there," Alya countered at once. "I bet the family knew about Hawkmoth, but they decided to hand over the Miraculous in return for anonymity and getting away scot-free."

"That's ridiculous."

"Why else would Ladybug and Chat Noir keep their secret, hmm?" Alya challenged. "If Hawkmoth's family isn't guilty- if they honestly didn't know- then the police can decide that and let the public know."

Marinette's scowl was fierce, and Adrien was very, very glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of it. "I think that this whole push for the reveal is just trashy tabloid interest. Look at you- you're ignoring real-world consequences in your search for a scoop! How would it be worth destroying a family's life over a scoop for something that someone dead did?"

Adrien blinked, somewhat taken aback by Marinette's tone. The whole fight had escalated really quickly, especially considering that Alya and Marinette were friends.

"They got into a big fight about this last night," Nino whispered in Adrien's ear, making him startle. "After Alya posted about the press conference on the Ladyblog. Marinette is firmly on Ladybug's side. Alya... is not."

"Trashy? You're calling the Ladyblog trashy?"

"If you've decided that a scoop for it is more important than actual human beings, then yeah!"

"Actual human beings who got akumatized want answers and they deserve them!"

Marinette rolled her eyes at that. "Uh-huh. Just this weekend, you were complaining because there hadn't been any akuma attacks lately and that meant that traffic on the Ladyblog was slower than usual. Where was the concern for the akuma victims then, huh?"

Alya spluttered, going red. "I- no, that was just a general observation-"

"And in the Ladyblog's first year, you wanted to expose Ladybug and Chat Noir's identities, never mind the consequences that would have!" Marinette countered. "You're just all about the scoop, forget the consequences to other people as long as you get your hits!"

"The public has a right-"

"And I think that that is just a weak excuse for you to hide behind instead of admitting that this whole search for Hawkmoth's identity is selfish!"

"Okay, class, to your seats!" their teacher called before Alya could respond. "Class is starting now, settle down!"

Much to Adrien's relief, that was the end of the fight, at least for the time being. Alya kept her back to Marinette, who looked like she couldn't care less. Neither of them spoke to the other for the rest of the day, which meant that Adrien got to be Marinette's seatmate for the entire day.

That was really good, actually. Marinette was a quiet, supportive presence, there without being overwhelmingly smothering or anything. Best of all, she understood the importance of just sitting there in a quiet hug.

"If I ever tell any of my normal friends about Father, it's going to be Marinette that I tell," Adrien told Plagg over lunch. "Not anybody else. Nino is dating Alya and I can't trust that he won't for sure ever not say anything about it, and Alya is an obvious no. Marinette might be best friends with Alya, but she wouldn't say anything, I know it. This isn't the first time that she's had issues with the way Alya was reporting things."

Plagg sniffed. "As is only right. Reporter girl's not got a firm handle on reporting ethics yet, or the ability to take a step back and see beyond the immediate effects of certain information going public."

Adrien nodded. He had hoped that the journalism camp that Alya had gone to the previous summer would have helped curb that particular tendency of hers, but apparently there was no such luck. Or maybe this was just too big of a potential scoop for her to really think ahead that far.

That afternoon came with a request from the police department that the superheroes tell them who Hawkmoth had been, so that they could interview the people close to him themselves to check for any potential collaborators. This time, Chat Noir accompanied Ladybug as she headed over to police headquarters to-

Well, to tell them to shove off, essentially. After all, she had already said that she and Chat Noir had looked for collaborators and come up with no one who had been a fully willing helper. The Miraculous were their jurisdiction, and they took care of the investigation. End of story.

None of the police officers looked very happy when they left. And none of the reporters who had crowded in around the station looked particularly thrilled with the brisk brush-off that the superheroes gave them when they shouted questions about Hawkmoth's identity and how all of Paris wanted to know and how there were petitions, so obviously they should be sharing-

Ladybug looked like she was considering throttling someone as they shot away from the knot of microphones and cameras.

"How are you holding up, kitty?" she asked as the two of them headed across the city, faster than cars could chase them. "I'm sure it's not easy, since Hawkmoth has kind of been the topic of the day. It's practically all I heard about all day, it seemed."

"It's hard," Chat Noir admitted. "Especially because everyone is making such a big deal about not knowing his identity. I'm lucky that I have a friend who understand the why and she called out people who were making a big stink about it. So then people were kind of avoiding us with that conversation, which helped."

Ladybug looked pleased. "I like your friend already."

Chat Noir couldn't hide his grin. He definitely wanted to introduce Ladybug and Marinette sometime. He was sure that they would get along well. "She's very likeable. Also scary when she wants to be. I couldn't believe it when people kept arguing with her. I mean, she's kinda the same size you are, but I wouldn't want to cross her, either."

The smug look on Ladybug's face made him laugh.

The two of them tried to curl up on a secluded rooftop together to hang out (and maybe get some homework done- after spending two days not being remotely productive, he needed to get back on top of things), but no matter where they went, people spotted them and started shouting questions at them. Soon enough, they spotted a news helicopter lifting off across the city and decided to each head their separate ways for the time being before the helicopter started trying to follow them home.

It was frustrating, Chat Noir reflected as he dropped back down into his room and detransformed. He needed his Ladybug time right now, because aside from Plagg, she was the only person who knew all that he was going through. Maybe they didn't just talk about his feelings- because that wasn't going to help, just lingering over what was making him feel bad- but she understood if he suddenly went quiet when they were chatting about something, or if he cuddled up to her side in search of a wordless hug. If the public and the press didn't let up soon, it could become dangerous for the two of them to transform and meet up. If people tried to track their trips home...

They would figure him out in a heartbeat, and it wouldn't be long before someone pieced together that Hawkmoth was his father.

[yszarin]

see below for thoughts on Weaver

- the normal number of webs that grow up organically, Melanie I love you

- oh my god Daisy. I also love you.

- Basira. you remember last week, maybe like a couple of hours ago your time, when you found out that Jon’s been eating people’s brains with his monster powers and you all decided together that that was a bad thing and he needed to be stopped? if you don’t like what comes from him using his monster powers, maybe don’t continue to use his monster powers as a resource.

- of course, Jon was probably using them anyway, and would have said if he’d seen anything coming to attack them, so the fact that she felt it necessary to ask just seems like it’s there to highlight the fact that she still wants the advantages. Basira is obviously not responsible for getting Jon to not eat people’s brains, that is on him, I don’t mean to imply that she is - I just find the continued pushing for him to be a monster even though she’s horrified when he is a monster somewhat frustrating. 

- Daisy, dispenser of dad jokes and illegal items, wonderful

- ... but I liked Daisy calling her Mel D:

- ah, that’s Jon! but baby S1 Jon being all dour into the tape recorder, my heart. and that is right at the start of the recording, so either they just missed Annabelle or there’s some sort of remote system (I favour “a bunch of tiny spiders”) or the tape recorder just knew when it was meant to turn on.

- ooooh on the Institute’s official stationary! now that’s a flex. interesting that it’s a form though, rather than a tape - there’s not much difference in flex whether it’s a tape or a hard copy, so long as it’s come from the Institute, so I suppose either Annabelle doesn’t want to engage with whatever has the recorders, we’re not supposed to hear her voice, or Jon needs to record it himself. if it’s the voice thing, that might lend further credence to the theory that Annabelle is Melanie’s therapist. I do really want Melanie’s therapy to be a good thing, though, it’s clearly being difficult for her to seek help and stuff and I don’t want that to bite her. 

- can I call you Jon? I’m going to call you Jon - there’s an echo of Nikola, but I do feel a bit more like, well, Annabelle’s been watching, she probably knows Jon as well as we do if not more, and we all call him by his first name. 

- I mean I have definitely met dogs who chose not to chase the ball. just because we know or are wondering why a dog has done a thing or not doesn’t mean we didn’t think said dog had a choice. dogs just like to make fun choices, I think.

- wait, has Jon always made up the summaries? or is that a new thing? I always just assumed there was a spot on the Institute’s form like “summarise your horrible experience in 10 words or less”.

- huh. now, generally, I think that most of the statements we have are true, or, at least, that the person giving them believes they’re true. Obviously people have lied to Jon, Elias for one, but that’s mostly been outside the statement format. This is inside a statement format, and we do kind of know that the Web has been manipulating Jon through the lighter, to the point where he can’t even seem to focus on it - if Annabelle can lie here then that’s interesting. usually people don’t seem to get like they choose what to describe or not to describe in a statement.

- “always over or underestimate you” - normally I’m not sure how much canon evidence there is for Web!Martin, though of course I like to play with it anyway, but this does remind me of him. This bit about an absent father, too.

- I do like the reminder of the distinction - the fears are not X, they are the fear of X. no actual manipulation needs to happen for the Web to get fed, someone just has to be afraid of it. the same for the Eye, I suppose - knowledge is a useful tool down here but it’s of no good to the Eye unless someone’s somehow being wrecked with it.

- static there - and no comment on it from Jon, so probably fun Web powers, perhaps he’ll have to obey this order. I don’t think we’ve finished with Hill Top Road though - even if it’s not Jon, I expect someone is going to go back there. for a location that’s been built up for so long, I’d prefer for us to not just pop there for a statement and nothing to ever happen with it again.

- had to lie down with Prentiss’ statement, too, and he did get tired out by doing a few in a day when he was still staying with Georgie - do all statements still do that after he woke up from the Unknowing, or has it just been Annabelle’s?

- Anyway. I’m hoping that Jon will go to the others and ask for help to not be a monster, but I doubt I’m going to be lucky on that score, as Jon’s never really been particularly good at asking for help. I expect him to try to stop on his own, and then probably fail with someone he actually does care about, like Georgie or Martin, rather than with a stranger, as returning to strangers, while still awful, wouldn’t feel like quite such an escalation. 

[charmers-kpop]

✨💜🍇👠

{ Basics }

• Birth Name // Park Bo-gyeong {박보경}

↪From Sino-Korean 寶 meaning "treasure, jewel; precious, rare" (bo), and 炅 meaning "brilliance" (gyeong).

• Stage Name // Bogyoung

↪'Bo-unnie', 'Gyun', 'Gyeongie', 'Miss Fashion', 'Bugs', 'Supreme Gyeongie'

• Birth Date // August 30th, 1997

↪ Virgo, the Virgin

• Birth Place // Busan, South Korea

• Heritage // 100% Korean

{ Career }

• Profession // Singer, dancer, TV personality, actress, entrepreneur

• Band/Group // CHARMERS (매혹하는)

• Position // Lead Vocalist, Lead Dancer

• Agency // HeartEater Events & Artist Management

• Training Period // 4 years 10 months

{ Personality }

{+} Charming | Perceptive | Compassionate

• Bogyoung was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth, and her tongue has also become silver and sharp. She always seems to know what to say, what to do, and how to go about herself towards anyone and everyone at just the right time, as if she could predict time and read minds. As consequence of this, she tends to become like a chameleon. She could be outgoing and flirty to one, or soft spoken and demure to another. She just knows how to sneakily push her opponent's buttons in negotiations and a good 7 times out of 10, she just barely got her way with things she wants. That said, she does make a great debate partner and a respectful enough of a person to just converse with whether you are close friends or complete strangers.

• Bogyoung's strongest skill is the ability to read people, but her smarts also play an important part in how she interacts with people. She prefers to keep herself open to conversations but stay reserved when it wasn't her time, which makes her a rather strategic speaker who calculates her moves one by one and expertly conducts herself in a well thought out, eloquent manner. She can also quickly Macguyver a conversation around with a joke or a simple statement placed at just the right time. She approaches each interaction with a strategy ring under her 'spell', so to speak.

• On contrary belief, Bogyoung isn't the self-centered, entitled rich girl stereotype as depicted in movies and books. She is instead, compassionate and caring. When she plans on getting food, she always asks if she is allowed to buy more than needed just in case if the people around her wanted some as well. When a person is down, she will be there to comfort and support them if the situation calls for it, and when she herself needs help she would always happily accept the offer in return gratefully. She will also protect her loved ones from any sort of outer threat that ever comes by their direction. Though she may not directly relate, she wants her groupmates to feel happy and secure after talking a situation through, and she always tries her best to think from a perspective of someone without lots of money like herself, which can be tricky at times, however Bogyoung can manage it [most of the time].

{<} Snarky | Lazy | Vain

• Those perceptive skills are just as handy for giving someone a tongue lashing as they are for charming them. Bogyoung's teasing comes in two forms: The bitter and insulting kind for those she detests and the more playful kind for those she cares for. Verbal warfare is like a hobby of her's and when the situation calls for it and if she's willing to subject a certain amount of energy on it, she will go all out without hesitation. Anger isn't the exact word to describe the way she debates, it is more out of 'constructive frustration' in which Bogyoung tries to back her arguments with either research or facts and truths about the topic they are debating about. But at time she does tend to let herself slip in a curse word here and there just for dramatic effect as she could only go so far into her rambling before the fire starts to spread.

• Bogyoung is actually terrible at singing really high notes and pulling off really quick moves despite being put as lead vocalist and lead dancer, so it would be a smart choice for her to put more effort into improving these skills, however she prefers to lay around and do nothing as she is just inherently lazy. Growing up pretty spoiled, working hard wasn't too much of a necessity as she was well-rounded in most things. Though despite this she has acquired a lot of different types of skills like doing hair, makeup or nails, painting, figure skating, driving, and other random things such as basic hand-to-hand-combat, just because she could afford it. Bogyoung doesn't like to admit it but she is really lazy and this causes quite the inconvenience for her harder working teammates while she just sits on the sidelines and does nothing.

• Bogyoung is an attractive woman and she knows it. Although she rarely ever brags about her own looks, there is a certain energy present in her walk and how she carries herself that lets others around her in on her pride in her good looks. When she isn't practicing with her bandmates or lounging on the couch with the animals, she's usually perfecting her makeup skills and doing them on herself. She pampers herself with the best products in the market and is loyal to a lot of brands that sell makeup that actually works instead of those that sell products at ridiculously high prices as she just sees them, as she would describe it 'uselessly overpriced for what they actually are', so in conclusion she likes to look good and feel like she's on top of the world.

{–} Selfish | Manipulative | Moody

• Working in an industry where you're constantly starving for more attention and fans, there isn't much room for selflessness. Having been surrounded by groups of people that are a part of highly competitive industries such as the food industry, Bogyoung has come to learn that she has to stay in tip-top shape at all times to be able to perform her best on camera, and sometimes this means she has to leave some of her fellow artist friends outside CHARMERS in the dust because they gotta do what they gotta do to survive, as bad and mean as that sounds. Bogyoung herself isn't selfish, however she does have tendencies to not impulsively share with others as she just sees it as wasting for herself. Not that she never shared anything in her life, but she's used to the idea of giving helpful things, such as food and clothing, to people who can't afford it rather than just give money when the person she is donating to could potentially be stocking up millions of 2 dollar notes waiting to be spent on, as Bogyoung has learnt the hard way that people can do that out of their own selfishness, so she prefers not to give unless necessary.

• Bogyoung is subtle in how she words her sentences. She never threatens them or tries to control them with guilt, but instead she sticks to using the vices and virtues of her victims to get her way. For example she would try to use Neri's hot-headedness, Fumiko's micro-managing tendencies and Leola's laziness as a scapegoat for not practicing or arriving on time to practices. Her doing this isn't to be mean but to just shift the blame onto someone else she knows to be more responsible than she is and expects them to be in situations like this. She usually goes for those with prideful personalities, takes advantage of the pity of those with great compassion, gives sweet promises to those with a soft spot for pretty girls and so on, and usually she would never think twice about them, but after some conflict with her bandmates, she realizes that taking the blame for the group matters more than social status or just being the daughter of a wealthy Korean fast food joint owner.

• Her mental state is like a rollercoaster. Being away from home and family takes a toll on Bogyoung's mental state and being homesick for her is a killer. Not being able to go to her favorite restaurants once avery week, not being able to curl up with her pets in bed, not being able to talk to her siblings and other loved ones drives her to a point of unstable emotional capacities. She's not an extreme crier, but gets very snappy and more demanding when she is crying. Say one wrong thing and she'll tell you all the things you don't wanna hear and she would feel no remorse for that, not until her state dies down and she returns to her normally level-headed self.

{ Trivia }

• Having been training in larger companies before, Bogyoung has found her home in the most unlikely space which is HeartEater entertainment.

• At first she didn't like how the company was still cheap and small, but after meeting with her potential bandmates at the time struck a cord with her and she now loves them all as her sisters and groupmates and would do anything for them.

• Her father's net worth is well over $5.18 Billion USD and his fast food business has become very well known all over the world.

• Bogyoung being second oldest of 4 children made it very clear that she wasn't going to continue her father's food legacy as she finds it boring and 'it's bound to die anyway.'

• Growing up with siblings to care for and deal with makes Bogyoung an expert with little kids and knows just how to charm them into leaving her alone.

• When she gets 'constructively frustrated' she tends her Busan accent tends to slip in here and there, which she absolutely despises.

• This bish loves her name brands. She has a whole wardrobe in her room back at her expensive ass home dedicated to Louis Vuitton, Fendi and Prada stuff and brought some random expensive things and random less expensive things along with her in her trainee journey.

• And on the topic of Louis Vuitton, Fendi and Prada, those are what her pets are called. Louis Vuitton, or 'Louie V' for short, is an orange Tabby cat, Fendi is a Savannah cat and Prada is a Doberman Pinscher.

• Bogyoung is exceptionally close with Pearl, both of them coming from wealthy backgrounds, with the exception of Pearl having to experience her parent's divorce and therefore she had to transition into a more simple life afterwards.

• But nonetheless those two relate on a plethora of things such as their love for having money and being their own sugar daddys 👀

• She's also pretty close with Leola since she was literally the first person she talked to when she came to HeartEater.

• Even though there's the language barrier, Bogyoung tries to help her foreign bandmates with their Korean language journey.

• Favorite food: Lamb shoulder, cooked medium rare to be specific

• Favorite drink: Juice! Any kind of juice! She loves her dieting

• Her current concern: How to reach a high note without sounding like a dying cat

• Her future goal: To just be successful and happy and full of love really.

[timehealsfanfictionbka]

Time Heals.....Chapter Thirty

“You did what!” Leandra exclaimed. 

Robyn huffed as she sat down at her desk, “I sent him home.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because he got on my nerves.”

“Or he made you horny.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Robyn, you had him. So he wanted to touch a little bit, big deal.”

“Huge fucking deal. I’m not some back up plan that he can just fuck and run off when he’s done.”

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself because who even said that’s what he would do.”

“That’s clearly his m.o.”

“Robs, it’s been eight years. How long are you gonna hold that night against him?”

“I’m not holding anything against him.”

“But you are. We know how much you love him and how much he loves you and I’m not saying that you should’ve slept with him but you overreacted.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Had anybody else said what he said, you would’ve laughed it off. Instead, with Chris, you get royally pissed and kick him out even though he said he was just joking. The man just touched your thigh, something you normally would’ve just brushed off or just popped him back.”

Robyn sighed.

“What is going on with you?”

“I don’t know. I feel like everything is just moving so fast.”

“Everything like what? You haven’t done anything now that you haven’t done before unless there’s something you haven’t told me.”

“No, there’s nothing else to tell you. I just- I don’t know.”

“Robyn, you know. What’s going on?”

“I’m gonna get hurt and I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Who said he’s gonna hurt you?”

“Who says he won’t?’

“That’s not something specific to Chris. Anybody you care about has the possibility to hurt you, that’s life but you gotta take the risk at some point. Don’t get me wrong, he needs to get completely divorced before he really tries anything but you also need to relax. You’re overthinking and driving yourself crazy.”

“I’m not trying to do.”

“You’re not not trying to. I know this is a lot to deal with it but talk to Chris about it instead of lashing out and overreacting. You ruined a perfectly good evening for no reason.”

“There was a reason.”

“A reason that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. Right or wrong?”

“You’re right.”

“Thank you. Have you spoken to him?”

“No.”

“It’s been three days. You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him, I just don’t know what to say to him.���

“Has he tried to call?”

“He’s texted a few times before I haven’t really answered.”

“Now he probably thinks you hate him.”

“He’s not that sensitive.”

“You never know. Call him.”

“Later.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“When you go back to work?”

“I’m at work now. I’m just taking a break.”

“He work near you?”

“No, he works in Houston where he lives.”

“And he used to just randomly show up to your job that’s a whole hour away.”

“Yea.”

“I see why his wife was so suspicious. Ch….that man is in deep.”

“Whatever.”

“You ever gonna talk to him again?”

“Yea, I just don’t know when.”

“Now would be good.”

Robyn looked up at the sound of another voice and saw Chris standing in her office doorway with a bouquet of roses, “what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to give you some time to not be mad at me but once I realized how many days had passed, I’d figured I’d chance it and come by.”

“How’d you get past security without them calling me?”

“I’m on your friends and family list remember?”

“Oh. Come in. You can have a seat.”

Chris walked in and sat the vase of flowers on her coffee table before sitting down on the couch. Robyn turned to end her facetime call with Leandra but noticed that she had already hung up. She turned back to Chris, “hey.”

“Hey. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It was just Leandra, nothing major. What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. Work. THerapy. Kids. The usual. You?”

“Same.”

“You know I really was just playing around the other night. I wouldn’t have done that if I knew it would bother you so much.”

“Well, I kind of overreacted.”

“You had good reason. I crossed a line and can admit that.”

“It wasn’t really a line to cross. You had no reason to expect me to freak out like that. You didn’t do anything that you hadn’t done before.”

“True but-”

“Chris, things are just starting to get complicated for me.”

“What you mean?”

“The hugs, holding hands, all that stuff gets to me and I just-”

“I can stop if you want. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, it’s just I’m comfortable and I tend to revert back to how we always were, you know?”

“I don’t feel pressured, I feel-”

Chris stood up to sit on the edge of her desk, “you’re scared.”

Robyn nodded her head, “there’s so many loose ends and I really don’t know where this is going but I don’t wnat it to be anything like where we’ve been.”

“I know. My track record hasn’t exactly been the best but I don’t want you scared of me, Bajan. I can’t promise I might not mess up but I’d never hurt you on purpose and you know that.”

“I hope that. I don’t really know anything for sure. I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t appreciate the affection but I also can’t pretend that I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then you still have to deal with your divorce proceedings and I got sucked into that. It’s just too much right now.”

“If I just gave Tiana the alimony and canceled everything, would that make it easier?”

“Chris, that has nothing to do with me.”

“To avoid paying her, I’d have to bring you in the describe our relationship. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or inconvenienced. I’ll negotiate down so we don’t even have to do the deposition.”

“Chris, that affects you more than it affects me.”

“But if it’d give you more faith in me being serious about this then I’ll do it.”

Robyn stood up and Chris grabbed her hand, “I’m not leaving. Just going to close the door. Relax.”

Chris let her hand go and watched as Robyn went to close her office door then drew the blinds across the windows. She moved to stand in front of him and nudged a space between his legs for her to settle between them. She gently touched the side of his face before holding it between her palms, “I shouldn’t be doing this but at the same time, I-”

She didn’t get to finish her statement as Chris pressed his lips against hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed closer as the kiss deepened. Chris gripped the edges of the desk with his hands, knowing if he touched her this would go much further than just a kiss. 

Robyn didn’t know why she did it, why she was doing it but she just knew it needed to be done. They had danced around this for a while and being in her office with him just triggered something in her. It could be the culmination of not having been around the opposite sex for eight years, him constantly going out of his way for her or just the fact she really wanted to kiss him. Regardless of the reason, it was happening. 

She ran her hands through the curls at the back of his head as their midsections pressed closer together. Moments that felt like hours passed before she pulled back from him, resting her forehead against his. She rested her hands, one on each of his thighs and closed her eyes as she tried to catch her breath.

Chris blew out a breath, the minty sweetness of it tickled her nose as he spoke, “what was that for?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t kiss me like that then say you don’t know why you did it.”

“You actually kissed me.”

“You started it, touching all on my face. I’m sensitive, you know.”

Robyn giggled as she picked her head up and pecked his lips, “that is very true.”

“And you just did it again.”

“Sorry.”

Robyn stepped back and straightened her clothes, “talk about a weak moment.”

“Is that all that was?”

“Not sure what else to call it.”

“I got a few ideas,” Chris replied with a smirk. He watched as Robyn walked backwards until she settled against one of the walls of her office, “you ok?”

“Yea. A little embarrassed but I’m good.”

“Embarrassed? Why?”

“I just made out with you in my office. That’s not appropriate.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“But you did it.”

“And that’s why I’m embarrassed. I know better.”

“Sometimes knowing better just doesn’t hit the right spot.”

Robyn shot him a glare and Chris chuckled, “you gonna come back over here or you scared you gonna kiss me again?”

“I don’t need to come back over there.”

“You don’t want to sit down?”

“I have a couch.”

“You gonna mess up your outfit.”

“I already did messing with you.”

“You liked it”

“Shut up.”

Chris laughed, “You’re back being mean to me, things are back to normal now”

“I guess.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“What you mean?”

“You didn’t give me an answer. I can find a way to keep you out of the situation with Tiana, if that’s what you want.”

“I never wanted to be apart of it in the first place but since she brought me up, I’m in it regardless of what I want.”

“That’s not true. I can just pay her.”

“Do you want to?”

“No but I’ll do it if I have to.”

“Chris, I don’t want you to set yourself up for failure with this.”

“It’s either I pay or she’s gonna drag you deeper into this. I have no clue how this mediation crap is supposed to go and I am not looking forward to spending months in court over something so damn simple.”

“Mediation is for you to talk. Try and see it from her side and made a decision from there. You’re angry that she’s trying to make you out to be someone that you’re not and it’s affecting your judgment. You’re also trying to prove a point to me and that’s affecting your judgment too.”

“None of that is affecting my judgment.”

“All of it is affecting your judgment.”

“Well how about you come over and help me not be affected?”

“How about no? I’ve committed enough sins for today. Shouldn’t you be going back home soon?”

“Nope. I took off work early to try and get on the good side of this very beautiful, green-eyed woman.”

Robyn rolled her eyes, “well you’ve done that. Time to go.”

“I’m not too sure. I feel like you kissed me to get rid of me.”

“What? You think I’ma fuck you so you stay away forever?”

“I’m not opposed to it but no.”

“Chris, you aren’t good at this romance thing.”

“This isn’t a romance thing, isn’t that what you told me?”

“I really don’t like you right now.”

“Considering you kissed me twice, I’m pretty sure that statement would count as sending mixed signals.”

“You just can’t help being an asshole, can you?”

“Only an asshole because I’m right.”

“Whatever.”

“You eat lunch yet?”

“No. I don't go until 2:30.”

“Cool. I’ll be back then.”

“Chris.”

“Not arguing with you about it. I’ll be back. Get some work done.”

Chris grabbed one of the roses out of the bouquet he left on her coffee table and walked out of her office. Robyn slid down the floor and lightly tapped her head against the wall, “what the hell did I just do?”