#I think she forms a sort of attachment to all of her belongings perhaps due to a combination of factors

[beneviento-dolls]

Oh Donna is so algamatum coded

She has close familial and platonic relationships with her dolls, and I think she at the very least has a crush on Angie

[woman-loving]

Lesbian Unintelligibility in Pre-1989 Poland

Selection from ""No one talked about it": The Paradoxes of Lesbian Identity in pre-1989 Poland, by Magdalena Staroszczyk, in Queers in State Socialism: Cruising 1970s Poland, eds. Tomasz Basiuk and Jędrzej Burszta, 2021

The question of lesbian visibility is pertinent today because of the limited number of lesbian-oriented activist events and cultural representations. But it presents a major methodological problem when looking at the past. That problem lies in an almost complete lack of historical sources, something partly mended with oral history interviews, but also in an epistemological dilemma. How can we talk about lesbians when they did not exist as a recognizable category? What did their (supposed) non-existence mean? And should we even call those who (supposedly) did not exist “lesbians”?

To illustrate this problem, let me begin with excerpts from an interview I conducted for the CRUSEV project [a study of queer cultures in the 1970s]. My interlocutor is a lesbian woman born in the 1950s, who lived in Cracow most of her life:

“To this very day I have a problem with my brothers, as I cannot talk to them about this. They just won’t do it, I would like to talk, but. . . . They have this problem, they lace up their mouths when any reference is made to this topic, because they were raised in that reality [when] no one talked about it. It was a taboo. It still is. ... I was so weak, unable to take initiative, lacking a concept of my own life—all this testifies to the oppression of homosexual persons, who do not know how to live, have no support from [others], no information or knowledge learned at school, or from a psychologist. What did I do? I searched in encyclopaedias for the single entry, “homosexuality.” What did I learn? That I was a pervert. What did it do to me? It only hurt me, no? Q: Was the word lesbian in use? Only as a slur. Even my mother used it as an offensive word. When she finally figured out my orientation, she said the word a few times. With hatred. Hissing the word at me.”

The woman offers shocking testimony of intense and persistent hostility towards a family member—sister, daughter—who happens to be a lesbian. The brothers and the mother are so profoundly unable to accept her sexuality that they cannot speak about it at all, least of all rationally. The taboo has remained firmly in place for decades. How was it maintained? And, perhaps more importantly, how do we access the emotional reality that it caused? The quotes all highlight the theme of language, silence, and something unspeakable. Tabooization implies a gap in representation, and the appropriate word cannot be spoken but merely hissed out with hatred.

Popular discourse and academic literature alike address this problem under the rubric of “lesbian invisibility” (Mizielińska 2001). I put forward a different conceptual frame, proposing to address the question of lesbian identity in pre-1989 Poland not in terms of visibility versus invisibility, but instead in terms of cultural intelligibility versus unintelligibility. The former concepts, which have a rich history in discussions of pre-emancipatory lesbian experience, presume an already existing identity that is self-evident to the person in question. They assume the existence of a person who thinks of herself as a lesbian. One then proceeds to ask whether or not this lesbian was visible as such to others, that is, whether others viewed her as the lesbian she knew she was. Another assumption behind this framing is that the woman in question wished to be visible although this desired visibility had been denied her. These are some of the essentializing assumptions inscribed in the concept of (in)visibility. Their limitation is that they only allow us to ask whether or not the lesbian is seen for who she feels she is and wishes to be seen by others.

By contrast, (un)intelligibility looks first to the social construction of identity, especially to the constitutive role of language. To think in those terms is to ask under what conditions same-sex desire between women is culturally legible as constitutive of an identity. So, instead of asking if people saw lesbians for who they really were, we will try to understand the specific epistemic conditions which made some women socially recognizable to others, and also to themselves, as “lesbians.” This use of the concept “intelligibility” is analogous to its use by Judith Butler in Gender Trouble, as she explains why gender conformity is key to successful personhood[...].

For Butler, cultural intelligibility is thus an aspect of the social norm, as it corresponds to “a normative ideal.” It is one of the conditions of coherence and continuity requisite for successful personhood. In a similar vein, to say that lesbians in the People’s Republic of Poland were not culturally intelligible is of course not to claim that there were no women engaged in same-sex romantic and erotic relationships—such a conclusion would be absurd, as well as untrue. It is, rather, to suggest that “lesbian” was not a category of personhood available or, for that matter, desirable to many nonheteronormative women. The word was not in common use and it did not signify to them the sort of person they felt they were. Nor was another word readily available, as interlocutors’ frequent periphrases strongly suggest, for example, “I cannot talk to them about this. ... They ... lace up their mouths when any reference is made to this topic” (my emphases).

Interviews conducted with women for the CRUSEV project are filled with pain due to rejection. So are the interviews conducted by Anna Laszuk, whose Dziewczyny, wyjdźcie z szafy (Come Out of the Closet, Girls! 2006 ) was a pioneering collection of herstories which gave voice to non-heteronormative Polish women of different ages, including those who remember the pre-1989 era. Lesbian unintelligibility is arguably a major theme in the collection. The pain caused by the sense of not belonging expressed by many illustrates that being unintelligible can be harmful. At the same time, unintelligibility had some practical advantages. The main among them was relative safety in a profoundly heteronormative society. As long as things went unnamed, a women-loving woman was not in danger of stigmatization or social ostracism.

Basia, born in 1939 and thus the oldest among Laszuk’s interviewees, offers a reassuring narrative in which unintelligibility has a positive valence:

“I cannot say a bad word about my parents. They knew but they did not comment. . . . My parents never asked me personal questions, never exerted any kind of pressure on me to get married. They were people of great culture, very understanding, and they quite simply loved me. They would meet my various girlfriends, but these were never referred to as anything but “friends” (przyjaciółki). Girls had it much easier than boys because intimacy between girls was generally accepted. Nobody was surprised that I showed up with a woman, invited her home, held her hand, or that we went on trips together.” (Laszuk 2006, 27)

The gap between visceral knowing and the impossibility of naming is especially striking in this passage. The parents “knew” and Basia knew that they knew, but they did not comment, ask questions, or make demands, and Basia clearly appreciates their silence as a favour. To her, it was a form of politeness, discreetness, perhaps even protectiveness. The silence was, in fact, a form of affectionate communication: “they quite simply loved me.”

Another of Laszuk’s interviewees is Nina, born around 1945 and 60 years old at the time of the interview. With a certain nostalgia, Nina recalls the days when certain things were left unnamed, suggesting that there is erotic potential in the unintelligibility of women’s desire. Laszuk summarizes her views:

“Nina claims that those times certainly carried a certain charm: erotic relationships between women, veiled with understatement and secrecy, had a lot of beauty to them. Clandestine looks were exchanged above the heads of people who remained unaware of their meaning, as women understood each other with half a gesture, between words. Nowadays, everything has a name, everything is direct.” (Laszuk 2006, 33)

A similar equation between secrecy and eroticism is drawn by the much younger Izabela Filipiak, trailblazing author of Polish feminist fiction in the 1990s and the very first woman in Poland to publicly come out as lesbian, in an interview for the Polish edition of Cosmopolitan in 1998. Six years later, Filipiak suggested a link between things remaining unnamed and erotic pleasure, and admitted to a certain nostalgia for this pre-emancipatory formula of lesbian (non)identity. Her avowed motivation was not the fear of stigmatization but a desire for erotic intensity:

“When love becomes passion in which I lose myself, I stop calculating, stop comparing, no longer anchor it in social relations, or some norm. I simply immerse myself in passion. My feelings condition and justify everything that happens from that point on. I do not reflect upon myself nor dwell on stigma because my feeling is so pure that it burns through and clears away everything that might attach to me as a woman who loves women.” (Kulpa and Warkocki 2004)

Filipiak acknowledges the contemporary, “postmodern” (her word) lesbian identity which requires activism and entails enumerating various kinds of discrimination. But paradoxically—considering that she is the first public lesbian in Poland—she speaks with much more enthusiasm about the “modernist lesbians” described by Baudelaire:

“They chose the path of passion. Secrecy and passion. Of course, their passion becomes a form of consent to remain secret, to stay invisible to others, but this is not unambivalent. I once talked to such an “oldtimer” who lived her entire life in just that way and she protested very strongly when I made a remark about hiding. Because, she says, she did not hide anything, she drove all around the city with her beloved and, of course, everyone knew. Yes, everyone knew, but nobody remembers it now, there is no trace of all that.” (Kulpa and Warkocki 2004)

Cultural unintelligibility causes the gap between “everyone knew” and “nobody remembers” but it is also the source of excitement and pleasure. For Filipiak’s “old-timer” and her predecessors, Baudelaire’s modernist lesbians, the evasion, or rejection, of identity and the maintaining of secrecy is the path of passion. Crucially, these disavowals of identity mobilize a discourse of freedom rather than hiding, entrapment, or staying in the closet. The lack of a name is interpreted as an unmooring from language and a liberation from its norms.

Needless to say, cultural unintelligibility may also lead to profound torment and self-hatred. In the concept of nationhood generated by nationalists and by the Catholic Church in Poland, lesbians (seen stereotypically) are double outsiders whose exclusion from language is vital.[1] A repentant homosexual woman named Katarzyna offers her testimony in a Catholic self-help manual addressing those who wish to be cured of homosexuality. (It is irrelevant for my purpose whether the testimony is authentic; my interest is in the discursive construction of lesbian identity as literally impossible and nonexistent.) Katarzyna speaks about her search for love, her profound sense of guilt and her disgust with herself. The word “lesbian” is never used; her homosexuality is framed as confusion and as straying from her true desire for God. The origin of the pain is the woman’s unintelligibility to herself:

“Only I knew how much despair there was in my life on account of being different. First, there was the sense of being torn apart when I realized how different my desires were from the appearance of my body. Despite the storm of homosexual desire, I was still a woman. Then, the question: What to do with myself? How to live?” (Huk 1996, 121)

A woman cannot love other women—the subject knows this. We can speculate that her knowledge is due to her Catholic upbringing; she has internalized the teaching that homosexuality is a sin, and thus untrue and not real. The logic of the confession is overdetermined: the only way for her to become intelligible to herself is to abandon same-sex desire and turn to God, and through him to men. Church language thus frames homosexuality as chaos: it is a disordered space where no appropriate language can obtain. Within this frame, unintelligibility is anything but erotic. It is rather an instrument of shaming and, once internalized, a symptom of shame.

For many, the experience of unintelligibility is moored in intense heteronormativity, without regard to Church teachings or the language of national belonging. Struggling with the choice between social intelligibility available to straights and leading an authentic life outside the realm of intelligibility, one CRUSEV interlocutor, aged 67, describes her youth in 1960s and 1970s:

“I always knew I was a lesbian ... and if I am one, then I will be one. Yes, in that sense. And not to live the life of a married woman, mother and so on. This life wasn’t my life at all. However, as I said, it was fine in an external sense. So calm and well-ordered: a husband, nice children, everything, everything. But it was external, and my life was not my life at all, it wasn’t me.”

She thus underscores her internal sense of dissonance, a felt incompatibility with the social role she was playing. The role model of a wife and mother was available to her, but a lesbian role model was not.

The discomfort felt at the unavailability of a role model may have had different consequences. Another CRUSEV interviewee, aged 62, describes her impulse to change her life so as to authentically experience her feelings for another woman, in contrast to that woman’s ex:

“She visited me a few times, and it was enough that I wrote something, anything ... [and] she would get on the train and travel across the country. There were no telephones then, during martial law. Regardless of anything, she would be there. And at one point I realized that I ... damn, I loved her. ... She broke up with her previous girlfriend very violently—this may interest you—because it turned out that the girl was so terribly afraid of being exposed and of some unimaginable consequences that she simply ran away.”

The fear of exposure, critically addressed by the interlocutor, was nonetheless something she, too, experienced. She goes on to speak of “hiding a secret” and “stifling” her emotions.

A concern with leading an inauthentic life resurfaces in the account of the afore-quoted woman, aged 67:

“I couldn’t reveal my secret to anyone. The only person who knew was my friend in Cracow. I led such a double life, I mean. ... It is difficult to say if this was a life, because it was as if I had my inner spirituality and my inner world, entirely secret, but outside I behaved like all the other girls, so I went out with some boys. ... It was always deeply suppressed by me and I was always fighting with myself. I mean, I fell in love [with women] and did everything to fall out of love [laughter]. On and on again.”

Her anxiety translates into self-pathologizing behaviour:

“In 1971 I received my high school diploma and I was already . . . in a relationship of some years with my high school girlfriend. . . . But because we both thought we were abnormal, perverted or something, somehow we wanted to be cured, and so she was going to college to Cracow, and I to Poznań. We engaged in geographic therapy, so to speak.”

The desire to “be cured” from homosexuality recurs in a number of interviews. Sometimes it has a factual dimension, as interlocutors describe having undergone psychotherapy and even reparative therapy—of course, to no avail.

Others decide to have a relationship with a woman after years spent in relationships with men. Referring to her female partner of 25 years, who had previously been married to a man, one of my interlocutors suggests that her partner had been disavowing her homosexual desires for many years before the two women’s relationship began: “the truth is that H. had struggled with it for more than 20 years and she was probably not sure what was going on.” Despite this presumed initial confusion, the women’s relationship had already lasted for more than 25 years at the time I conducted the interview.

Recognizing one’s homosexual desires did not necessarily have to be difficult or shocking. It was not for this woman, aged 66 at the time of the interview:

“It was obvious to me. I didn’t, no, no, I didn’t suppress it, I knew that [I was going], “Oh, such a nice girl, I like this one, with this one I want to be close, with that one I want to talk longer, with that one I want to spend time, with that one I want, for example, to embrace her neck or grab her hand”.”

Rather, what came as a shock was the unavailability of any social role or language corresponding to this felt desire that came as a shock. The woman continues:

“It turned out that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it, that I couldn’t tell anyone. I realized this when I grew up and watched my surroundings, family, friends, society. I saw that this topic was not there! If it’s not there, how can I get it out of myself? I wasn’t so brave.”

The tabooization of homosexuality—its unintelligibility—is a recurring thread in these accounts; what varies is the extent to which it marred the subjects’ self-perception.

[taetaespeaches]

“Is that drawer still available?”

namjoon x reader (or oc) genre: fluff; angst word count: 3.8K

a/n: Hi lovelies! This is what takes place after Joon and Daisy have their fight (sort of fight?) in “The strings are attached already.” We start with Joon’s perspective of things before moving back into Daisy’s mind. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :)) 

Oh, also, this features a bit of Yoongi, coming in clutch with some subtle-ish advice. 

p.s. this also fulfills a prompt request by @bulletproof-eternally​ (hi love) from ages ago: “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers. Like Romeo and Juliet, but without the ending.” 

THE beat sounding from Yoongi’s monitor was hardly even registering in Namjoon’s mind with you filling every corner of it, taking over each one of his thoughts.

Staring at the screen mindlessly, he didn’t recognize Yoongi’s voice calling for his attention until at least the fifth time the older man spoke, “Namjoon.” Eyes snapping to his work partner, Yoongi shrugged. “What do you think?”

Running his hand over his face, Namjoon sighed. “Play it again.” Without asking the questions that were present in his mind, Yoongi simply restarted the instrumental.

As the beat played on, Yoongi interjected thoughts such as, “this is where you could do your verse,” and “I’m thinking a pre-chorus by Jin and Tae here.” But at receiving no response, Yoongi paused the music and turned to Namjoon. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“Huh?” Namjoon asked in surprise. “Nothing, I just- I’m gonna get a coffee.” Yoongi huffed, sitting back in his chair as he stared at the monitor, the unfinished beat with an impending deadline putting him on edge. “Do you want-” Namjoon started to offer as he began to stand up, but slamming his knee of Yoongi’s desk sent him right back in the chair. “Fuck!”

Yoongi looked at his younger member in concern, not sure what to do for the man. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Namjoon said dismissively and shortly.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Yoongi retorted disbelievingly. Placing a hand to the younger man’s shoulder to keep him seated, Yoongi stood and walked toward the exit. “I’ll get the coffee,” he said just before slipping through the door.

Namjoon needed to get his head on straight. Replace the relationship problems from his nonexistent relationship with concerns of work. That’s what he needed to do.

But when Yoongi returned with the coffee, and Namjoon proceeded to spill the hot liquid over his own hand, he realized removing you from his thoughts would be an impossible task. He was distracted by you and the look on your face as you tried to hold back tears. Even if they were of your own doing, they hurt him to see.

“Ok, what the hell is wrong with you today?” Yoongi asked, beyond annoyed by his friend’s lack of focus.

“Nothing, I just need to reel my thoughts in,” Namjoon told him, trying to avoid a conversation about you with his band member who hardly knew you were a concern to be had.

“Maybe it would help to talk about it,” Yoongi suggested, feigning disinterest as he took a sip of his coffee. When Namjoon scoffed, Yoongi simply shrugged. “We’re not getting any work done anyway so,” the man said, cutting himself off as he awaited Namjoon’s next words.

“What are you meant to do when you’re seeing someone and want to make things more exclusive and official but they’re resisting?” Namjoon asked, embarrassment spreading across his cheeks in a light pink tint.

However, Namjoon didn’t realize how close the question would hit Yoongi, the older man clearing his throat as he sat up, setting his coffee down. “Uh, why do you ask?” The two guys sat in silence for a moment, Namjoon giving Yoongi a look as if to say, you know why. “So I met the reason last week,” Yoongi realized, Namjoon nodding. “It’s safe to assume you two aren’t just friends then?” Yoongi asked dumbly, Namjoon letting out a single laugh.

“Uh, yeah,” Namjoon breathed out. “Haven’t been since the first night.”

“Right,” Yoongi nodded awkwardly, acting as though he didn’t already know you and Namjoon were fucking around. “So you want to be more and she doesn’t?”

“Yup,” Namjoon nodded, staring in front of him at the beat displayed on the screen. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“What?” Yoongi asked, eyebrows pulled together in question at the ridiculous statement. “What are you on about?”

“I just think- Maybe she’s too good for me,” Namjoon said, rather pathetically in Yoongi’s opinion. However, the look on his face showed the older man that Namjoon was in serious doubt about his own worth.

“That’s ridiculous, you’re great,” Yoongi told the man bluntly, Namjoon looking toward his friend but avoiding his gaze. “Look, I don’t know her all that well yet, but it was obvious to every single person in the dorm last week that she likes you as much as you like her.”

“Well, I mean, that’s how it feels sometimes but then why won’t she be with me?” Namjoon asked in frustration. “She’s so confusing.”

“She is with you,” Yoongi pointed out to Namjoon with a sense of understanding. “It’s just the label that’s scaring her.”

“Scaring her?” Namjoon asked, not having totally thought of that possible conclusion himself. He knew you were holding yourself back, but he assumed it had to do him and his worthiness.

“She’s probably scared of committing for whatever reason,” Yoongi shrugged. “And it’s probably not related to you. If it is it’s probably because she doesn’t feel deserving or something, I don’t know.”

Pulling his eyebrows together in curiosity, Namjoon met his older member’s eyes. “How do you know this?”

“Experience,” Yoongi said simply before grabbing the mouse and clicking something on the screen.

Nodding slowly, Namjoon realized just how much his friend had been keeping from him. “How long have you been seeing whoever is on the other end of that phone you’re always on?” He asked with an edge of playfulness in his tone.

Trying to hold back the curve of his lips, Yoongi smiled as he continued facing the screen. “It’s new.” Namjoon smirked, happy for his member having found someone, even if he was holding out on introducing her. “But I almost fucked it up. Because she’s too good. And I thought I was undeserving.” Yoongi didn’t elaborate anymore on the subject, but Namjoon understood what he was saying.

“Well, shit,” Namjoon breathed out in realization that there was probably an entire thought process going on in his potential lover’s head that he knew nothing about. “I should probably talk to her, huh?”

Nodding, Yoongi took a glance at his younger friend. “Just ask her about it. I can almost guarantee it has nothing to do with you not being good enough,” he gave the tiniest of reassuring smiles. “It’s probably the opposite.”

Sighing deeply, Namjoon thought of you and the internal conflict that must be going on inside your head at the moment. That is until Yoongi interrupted his thoughts, pulling Namjoon’s attention back to the work that needed to be done.

“Or maybe it is you and you should just forget about this whole thing and focus on this fucking song that’s due today,” he teased in a joking tone, Namjoon letting out a light chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he apologized bashfully. “Restart the track, I’m here now.”

When Namjoon left his apartment that morning, you were still there, failing to hold back tears as rain threatened to fall outside. He left you with a decision: stay and be with him, or leave, possibly for good. When he returned that afternoon, the rain was pouring, drenching his hair and clothes as the weight of your decision sat heavy in his mind.

The trek from the doors of the apartment building to the elevator had his heart racing more than usual, the fear of what he’d find, or not find, within his home suffocating the man. How would he accept the conclusion to this thing with you if you weren’t there?

Over the course of your fling, he’d come to know your heart as a hearth. The center of his home. He’d felt its warmth, the comfort and security you provided. But he also knew the bitter cold that chilled him to the bone when you locked him out. He wasn’t sure anyone else’s warmth would be able to thaw his numb existence if you walked out of his life.

Yet, reaching his apartment door, he still had hope. Because no matter how many times you’d tried to keep him at a distance, you always pulled him even closer than before. He trusted you. You’d given him a million reasons to expect disappointment, and he still believed in you.

Unlocking the door and pushing it open, all he could hear was the drum of his heart pounding against his chest. Scanning the living space, his heart dropped just slightly at no trace of you. But the hope remained. You could still be in the bedroom. Or the bathroom. He felt you in there still. It didn’t feel like an abandoned home.

Calling out your name, he strode toward the bedroom, peeking inside the open door to see… emptiness. The room was filled with his belongings, as full of meaning and personality as ever, but it felt so barren. With the bathroom door down the hall open as well, his heart stopped for a moment. You were gone.

Entering the bedroom, he scanned the space, the chill of the outdoors already filling the typically warm area. Or perhaps it was the absence of you. The top drawer of his dresser, the one he offered to you, was left ajar, drawing him closer to check its contents.

If there could just be one piece of you in there, just a single item, he’d have that hope to hold onto for just a bit longer. He approached the furniture much slower than he did the bedroom, his confidence significantly faltering the longer he stood in the apartment without you there.

With his index finger, he tugged the drawer open just a bit more as he peered over the edge to look inside. A sharp exhale left him as tears instantly pricked his eyes, a lump of emotion forming in his throat. It was empty.

Placing his palm flat against the outside of the drawer, he prepared to slam it shut when the dirty clothes hamper to the side of the dresser caught his eyes. Appearing purposefully placed, sitting on top of his clothing, was your lost shirt. As if you mindlessly placed it there, unknowingly designating the domestic space as a shared one.

Slowly, he reached for the garment, lifting it out of the hamper just as the echo of the front door opening filled the otherwise silent apartment. His legs were moving him toward the bedroom door before his mind could even comprehend the situation.

He was standing in the door frame before his head and heart caught up with him. There you were, the drenched t-shirt he offered you that morning hanging off your frame, your hand clenched over the strap of a tote bag, your eyes wide as you stared at him in surprise, your chest heaving as if you ran all the way there. The sight of you simultaneously knocking the air from his lungs and filling them with life.

Lifting the tote you carried, gesturing to the contents, you sighed. “Is that drawer still available?”

Heart racing, you watched as Namjoon marched toward you, your eyes filling with tears because it was him. And he was yours. Fuck, you were terrified, but he was worth it. When his arms clasped around your waist, pulling you tightly against his frame, your arms easily wrapped around the back of his neck as you exhaled in relief.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled against his face as you pressed repeated kisses to his cheek. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he complained lightheartedly, pulling away just enough to bring his lips to yours, pecking you softly in a quick succession.

“You’re home early,” you explained between kisses. “I meant to be here when you got back.” The man’s lips curved into a grin, his stunning dimples greeting you.

You did mean to be there. You meant to have that fucking drawer filled with your belongings. You meant to be sitting in his room when he returned, smiling at him, telling him you wanted him and you were sorry that the decision wasn’t this simple from the start but it was simple now and you were choosing him.

To be honest, the conversation with Jungkook a week ago had been weighing on your mind. He’s happy with you, Jungkook had told you. Namjoon was happy with you. And you were happy with him. It was that simple.  

Resting his forehead against your own, his rapid breathing began evening out, your fingers running comfortingly along his neck. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark,” you apologized sincerely, a tear sliding down your face. “For giving you so many mixed signals.”

“No, no,” he quickly negated, dropping the shirt to your feet as his hands came to hold your face, his thumb wiping away the tear. “I’m sorry for putting pressure on you,” he counter-apologized, you shaking your head sadly.

“Joon, don’t do that. Don’t you dare apologize,” you cried. “You’ve been so amazing, you just- you are amazing. Like so amazing that you terrify me,” you admitted, Namjoon pulling away from you so his eyes could scan your features, his thumb catching another tear as it escaped your bottom lash line.

“I terrify you? Babe, how is that possible? You scare the living hell out of me,” he chuckled, you letting out a light laugh with him as you glanced downward.

“I gained feelings for you so easily, and-” you looked up to meet his intense gaze. “You’re so incredible, and this kind of thing,” you gestured between you both, “doesn’t always work out,” you explained, Namjoon’s stare softening in slow realization. “You’re so much to lose.”

“Babe,” he whispered empathetically, your words paralleling the talk he had with Yoongi. You weren’t holding back because Namjoon wasn’t good enough, but rather because you felt he was so good. And the thought of losing something so good was too much to bear.

“I didn’t plan on feeling this way toward you, and when it happened so quickly, I just got scared,” you sobbed, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as tears fell onto your cheeks. “If I lost you, I don’t know if I’d recover,” you told him, followed by a sniffle.

When tears formed in Namjoon’s own eyes, your heart swelled in affection and you wanted to protect him. “I just have had this persistent belief stuck in my brain that it’s better to not have something so great at all than to have it and lose it,” you explained shaking your head. “But that’s so stupid, because you’re the best and I want you, I’ve wanted you. I’m still scared but I fucking want you, Joon.”

The man didn’t say anything, instead choosing to kiss you hard, the action full of passion and understanding, his lips working perfectly against your own. Before, you wondered if you and Namjoon had met in another lifetime. In that moment, however, it felt as though you’d been waiting for this in every lifetime, or possibly fighting it, never fully getting it. Getting him. But in this moment, this lifetime, you finally got it right.

Pulling away from the kiss, Namjoon’s hands held your face as his eyes scanned your features. Letting out a breath, he wrapped his arms around your head in a hug, your face finding solace against his neck, his skin still wet but characteristically warm as always. “When I got home and you weren’t here, I could see my whole life continuing on without you and everything was,” he sighed, “cold.”

“Joonie,” you whispered, your face scrunching up in emotion.

“You make me happy,” he assured you. And there were those words again that made this whole thing so simple. “Being vulnerable around you- I’m scared too,” he admitted. “And maybe the fear of losing all of this will always be there, because we are a lot to lose. But we’re so much more to gain.”

The words sunk in slow but penetrated deep within you, his sentiment being the first time you ever thought about fear and love going hand in hand. Of course it was scary. Life is unpredictable. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live while you can, especially when something so wonderful presents itself. And with that thought in mind, you had no doubt that you were exactly where you wanted to be.

“Do you still want me to be your girlfriend?” You asked through a small smile, Namjoon loosening the hug to look at you, his lips curving up, his dimples appearing as perfect divots. “Because if so, I would really like for you to be my boyfriend.”

“Then it looks like you’re my girlfriend now,” he grinned happily, kissing your forehead gently.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

“What? You’re my girlfriend?” His eyebrows raised with the teasing question.

“Yeah,” you giggled, kissing the man’s lips tenderly. “Again.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he repeated before deepening the kiss.

Losing yourselves in the kiss, his lips on yours, your fingers threaded into his hair as you desperately tugged on the locks, Namjoon smirking against your mouth just as you lightly bit his plump bottom lip. His hands moved to hold your hips, pulling you closer to him, causing you to step forward, effectively slipping on the clothing that the man had previously dropped at your feet, your forehead hitting Namjoon’s cheekbone with a light force.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” You asked, inspecting his face, Namjoon chuckling in amusement as he squeezed your hips in his grasp.

“Are you ok?” He countered, you giggling as you nodded.

“Come here, babe,” you cooed, angling his face so you could leave a few sweet kisses to his cheek. “Is that-?” You asked, looking to the floor, spotting the source of the near fall.

Bending to pick up the shirt, you let out a small gasp in surprise. “Guess where it was,” Namjoon playfully started, you pulling your eyebrows together in question. “The clothes hamper.”

“No way,” you giggled, realizing you must have put it in there with unknowing purpose. “Well, I prefer this shirt anyway,” you teased, looking down to the t-shirt Namjoon had given you to wear.

“It looks a little wet,” he said suggestively, looking down at your frame in a way that made you want to strip everything off that very second.

Shrugging, you cocked your head at him, your fingers toying with the damp strands at the nape of his neck. “Maybe you should take it off me then,” you suggested with a smirk, Namjoon immediately tugging on the material. “Yours is a little wet too, babe,” you pointed out playfully as you ran your hand down his chest.

“Well,” he looked down at his own shirt for a moment. “Would you look at that.” Laughing at his remark, you kissed him softly before smiling against his mouth.

“Hey, before we go any further with this whole taking these off,” you tugged on the fabric over his pectoral, “can we talk about something real quick?” You asked, knowing you were completely killing the mood but needing to be on the same page.

“What’s up? You ok?” He asked, a nervousness seeping into his tone and features, though he tried to appear calm.

“No, yeah, everything is fine, it’s just,” you tilted your head to the side in thought. “Can we keep this whole boyfriend girlfriend thing between us for now?” You asked, hoping the question didn’t come across in any way other than how you meant it. “I just want to take our time getting used to the label and the new terms and be able to adjust to everything that comes with this before we invite other people in.”

“Other people as in,” he started, “my members?”

“I just want to be really certain and comfortable and properly established before they know,” you said guiltily, the man smiling in amusement to your nerves.

“That’s fine, babe, I get it,” he nodded, kissing your cheek comfortingly. “Properly established,” he teased you, causing you to groan as you poked his chest in slight embarrassment.

“Stop teasing me,” you giggled. “The guys just mean a lot to you and honestly they already mean a lot to me so I just want to know exactly what we are and feel good about where we’re at before us includes all of us,” you explained unnecessarily, though it felt very necessary to you. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course it makes sense,” he assured you with a fond smile. “You’re really cute, you know that?”

Grinning at him, you nodded, jokingly confirming that you did indeed know that. Namjoon laughed before kissing your lips quickly, you slightly chasing him, causing the man to flash you a smirk. “This could be fun,” he commented, you raising your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah?” You asked, Namjoon nodding, causing you to hum in agreement. “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers,” you said seductively, dragging your finger along his collarbone. “Like Romeo and Juliet, but without the ending,” you added, Namjoon chuckling at you as he pulled you closer once again, nuzzling his face against your neck. “We’re not really forbidden either but you get the vibe,” you continued, Namjoon’s breathy laugh tickling your skin.

“I get the vibe,” he confirmed humorously, you giggling as he kissed the spot on your neck a few times, you biting your bottom lip in response. “Although, Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy,” he pointed out, you groaning in annoyance at him.

“I said without the ending, you said you get the vibe, Dimples,” you complained, Namjoon laughing further.

“Sorry, sorry, I get the vibe,” he playfully told you, trailing kisses along your jaw.

“I don’t think you do get the vibe,” you teased, though a small moan cut you off.

“I get the vibe, babe,” he assured just before attaching his lips to yours once again, you immediately deepening the action as you started pushing him backward toward his bedroom.

With him so close, your door wide open to his presence, a warmth spread across your body at the feeling and the realization that he was yours and you were his, and in the kind of way that you both could feel secure in being each other’s. You were still scared, but you were happy.

You never planned on meeting Namjoon, and you definitely weren’t planning to fall for the man. But standing in his apartment, in his embrace, you found yourself feeling as though you were home. As unexpectedly as Namjoon entered your life, he never felt foreign. In fact, he’d felt familiar since the first night you spent with him. Just now, you were finally allowing yourself to make yourself at home, take your coat and shoes off, well, and the rest of your clothes, and even leave them in his dirty clothes hamper. Because you were finally home.

And you’d finally fill that fucking drawer.

[darling-i-read-it]

Kaiseki

2x01

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, angst

Author’s Note: Season! Two! This may be a little harder cause Will is in jail and it’s to big a plot point to change. But i love will graham so much dudes. I hope you guys enjoy!

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar. Those sentences are not mine. 

Official Episode Summary : The psychological thriller based on the Hannibal Lecter legend returns. FBI profiler Will Graham has been framed for Lecter's crimes and wants revenge. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll​

(not my gif)

“Kaiseki. A Japanese art form that honors the taste and aesthetic of what we eat,” Hannibal said to Jack Crawford as he sat at his table. The lighting of the room was pleasing but also semi threatening. Not that Jack noticed. He wasn’t very good at noticing things. Hannibal himself had noticed that. 

“I feel guilty eating it,” Jack said, looking down at the dish. It was amazingly well put together. It was no surprise that Hannibal had done it.

“I never feel guilty eating anything,” Hannibal said with a small mischievous smile. Jack took a bite and chewed a bit. 

“Can’t quite place the fish.”

“He was a flounder. I last prepared this meal for my Aunt Murasaki under similarly unfortunate circumstances,” Hannibal said. Jack waited for him to go on and when he didn’t he nodded.

“What circumstances were those?” Hannibal shrugged.

“A loss. This is a loss. Will is a loss. We’re mourning a death,” Hannibal said gently. 

“Will’s ‘death’ is on me,” Jack said. Hannibal took a bite of his food and chewed for a moment, considering this.

“It’s on both of us.” 

“I doubt that Y/N would consider you had anything to do with it,” Jack suggested. Hannibal smiled a tad at the mention of your name and the fact that you likely wouldn’t suggest Hannibal was much to blame.

“I tended to be kinder to her and more compassionate to Will,” he said. 

“Abigail thought that you liked them both a bit more,” Jack said chuckling. Hannibal shrugged. 

“We’re all friends.”

“Do you have friends Hannibal?” Hannibal shrugged.

“I had Will. And of course Y/N.” Jack pointed his fork at Hannibal.

“I don’t understand how you managed to stay in her good graces.” 

“I suppose she had about as many friends as I did.” 

“I still can’t comprehend it. Will’s gonna be convicted of five murders. I’ll be convicted of one,” Jack muttered.

“You’re not on trial.”

“I will be. In the halls of the FBI. So will you. According to Will Graham, this was all you. Another place where I’m not sure why Y/N continues to see you.”

“Will was your bloodhound. You can’t ignore where he points.” Hannibal smiled at his plate. “And I do believe you’ll be on a trail in her mind as well.” Jack sighed.

“What’s one more person to convict me,” Jack said.

-

Alana stood beside you. You had a few papers in your hand. The only reason you were still Hannibal’s secretary at all was so that you could have the hours off to come and advocate for Will. Alana handed you another piece of paper and you looked over it. 

“You’re a goddess Alana,” you muttered. In your hands you held all the complaints and disagreements Alana had ever had with Jack about Will. Behind the scenes she had been formally sending in a few letters when she believed, like you, that Will should not have been put into the field.

“You can give Jack all the hell you want but until the FBI looks into it, nothing will happen. And Will’s entire life has changed due to Jack’s actions. It deserves to be documented.” You nodded, a smile gracing your face. She put her hand on your cheek and made you look at her which you did. “You don’t look so good.” 

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “This has put a rare smile on my face,” you promised. She pursed her lips. She looked into your eyes and moved her hand away but she still looked concerned.

“I’m doing everything in my power to make sure that Will Graham has a fair trial and that he isn’t convicted.”

“Because you think he did it but he wasn’t in the right mind,” you muttered.

“You do too right?”

“I don’t think he did it period.” She shook her head.

“Then who did? And don't’ say Hannibal otherwise I’m going to have to throw you in the hospital.” You shook your head. You felt tired. You hadn’t been getting much sleep. It was probably an attachment issue when it came down to it.  Not being able to sleep beside Will was harder than you thought it would be. The bed always felt cold. Other than that, you had been worried about Will here. Your mind wandered when you tried to sleep about everything that was going through his head. You had the dogs. He had Frederick Chilton. 

“I don’t know who did it Alana. I would like to converse with my boyfriend about that but Chilton has limited visiting hours the bastard.” 

“I’ll try and talk with him. We’re sort of friendly. I think I yelled at him about something a while back but he doesn’t seem to remember it.” You nodded and handed her back the papers on Jack.

“Make him pay.” She nodded.

“I will.”

-

The phone rang as you sat on the porch with the dogs. Winston sat in front of you while the others played and whined at the door. He had been doing that on and off since Will was arrested. You picked up the phone and pet Winston, trying your best to calm him down. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Bev said. You tried to make some emotion come out when you spoke next but nothing emerged.

“Hey.” Bev cleared her throat. You didn’t want to fight her. You truly had no interest in it. In fact, Bev had always been in your corner so the worry that she might not be today would have made your heart hurt if it wasn’t already pretty numb with bitterness.

“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” she said. 

“As well as you may expect. But I appreciate you calling.” She hummed.

“I’m sorry this happened. I know you didn’t ever agree with Jack.” You scoffed.

“You could say that again.” She laughed lightly.

“I’m going to see Will soon. For help on this case. Jack doesn’t know. But I kinda wanted to tell you first so that he didn’t tell you and then you were by default pissed at me.” You weren’t very pleased to hear that but there wasn’t much else you could do.

“I would go in saying you support him or something. He might help you more.” 

“Thank you.” 

-

Hannibal noticed you at the desk. He wasn’t having many patients and didn’t expect to see you. You still had on your coat and looked like you weren’t staying. But still, you looked over the computer and let out a sigh.

“Do you need something?” he asked. You looked up, surprised to see him. He also didn’t look like he was staying. “I thought I gave you a few days off.” He knew he did. He did it explicitly.

“I just thought I left the necklace Will gave me here. I guess not. It’s probably in his car but I have no idea where he put the keys,” you said and laughed dryly in remembrance of sweeter times. “Where are you off to?” 

“I have to go and see a crime scene,” he said. Your eyes went wide and another dry laugh left your lips.

“Nice to see you ‘the new Will Graham’,” you muttered.

“I don’t think Jack intended it to be like that.” You shook your head.

“No because you can’t be nearly as good at it as Will was.” Hannibal was the only person to notice the shift in your emotions correctly. Not from happy to sad. It was from normal to bitter. He would likely see the same shift in Will Graham if he decided to go see him.

“Would you like to come?”

“Is that the best idea? Doing my boyfriends old job with Jack Crawford watching me like I was going to slip up at any given second?” Hannibal shrugged.

“Perhaps it would be good for you. Step where Will once did.” You shook your head.

“Thanks Hannibal but I can’t today. Maybe another murder.” 

“Off to see Will?” 

“Off to attempt to see Will. Perhaps have a fist fight with Frederick Chilton. I’ll decide in the car.” Hannibal laughed lowly and walked over to you. He put a hand on your arm and you leaned into his touch, happy someone was touching you. 

“If you ever need a dinner,” he started and you nodded.

“I’ll call.”

“You’re not worried about what Will says about me are you?” he asked. You shrugged.

“I don't know yet. I just have to talk to him.” Hannibal nodded and you looked up at him. “I care about you Hannibal.” He was silent for a moment and then hugged you, placing his hand on the back of your head. 

“I care about you as well.” And for once, Hannibal was not lying. 

-

Chilton shook his head.

“You will only hinder his therapy,” he said simply. You shook your head and walked up to his desk. 

“Do you think for one second I would do anything that could cause Will to be this bad ever again? I can’t simply not see him.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to see you?” Chilton asked. You were stumped at that. Your face fell.

“Did he say that?”

“Not in so many words. Just maybe that it would be better for you to live a life on your own.” You shook your head and a small smile went over your lips.

“You’re lying.” 

“How would you know?”

“Because I know Will Graham better than anyone in this whole world and he is just conceited and rude enough to tell you to go to hell before saying that about me.” Chilton looked up at you from his spot behind his desk. You stared hard into his eyes.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Once a week. Thirty minutes.” You nodded, happy your point had been made. “Come back tomorrow.” You nodded and turned around, taking your small victory with you out the door.

-

“How was Dr. Bloom’s visit?” Hannibal asked. He sat across from Chilton at dinner in his home. 

“He asked her to hypnotize him to recover memories. This is delicious,” he muttered, pointing at the food. 

“Was he successful?”

“Only in playing Dr. Bloom. It’s sad to see a brilliant psychiatrist fall for such hoary old chestnuts,” Chilton said simply.

“She wants to believe him. I do, too.” Chilton looked disappointed at that and looked down at his plate, then back at Hannibal.

“Will’s girlfriend paid me a visit earlier. She seems like a piece of work. I understand why they go so well together.” Hannibal shrugged. Chilton could tell he was acting as though he were indifferent despite clearly having a side. He just wasn't sure which side that was.

“She’s stubborn but rightly so,” Hannibal said.

“What, you think I should let her see him? I agreed to once a week but I’m still on the fence.” Chilton chewed on a bite.

“I don’t see how it could hurt. In fact, if you plan to utilize the cameras and audio you might get something out of it,” Hannibal suggested. He was very aware that Chilton wanted nothing to do with something he couldn’t get a thing out of. 

Chilton thought this over.

“Perhaps I could give her a few extra minutes. If you think that would be wise.” Hannibal shrugged.

“Maybe I could think about it.”

-

Hannibal sat in the car with you outside of the hospital.

“Will has made accusations against me. Very serious ones,” Hannibal said. 

“Again, I’ll make up my mind about those when I talk with him.” You weren’t sure why you were so nervous. It was just Will. You weren’t scared of Will or anything. Perhaps it was the anticipation.

“But bear in mind who you know me to be,” he said. You nodded and thought really hard about what you knew Hannibal to be. 

“You hid the fact that Abigail killed someone,” you muttered. “Who says you weren’t the murderer after all?” 

“You and Will also hid that. Perhaps you’re the murderer.” 

“If I was the murderer Jack Crawford would be sprawled very neatly across a particular place,” you muttered bitterly. 

“I don’t doubt that,” Hannibal said chuckling. You turned to him and he held your hand, squeezing it once. “Best of luck.” 

You got out of the car.

-

The walk to the cell was a long one. It was odd, the anticipation of knowing Will was so close. When he came into view his eyes were closed. At the sound of your footsteps they opened.

He turned to you slowly and you smiled subtly.

“Where were you?” 

“Fishing,” he whispered. 

“Sorry I interrupted.” He shook his head. 

“I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.” You walked up to the bars and put your hands on them. He did the same, your hands touching. He was warm but not boiling as he had been when he had that nasty fever.

“I only have like, 30 minutes.” He nodded. 

“Step back to the white line ma’am!” the guard at the end of the hall called. You turned around but didn’t move an inch. 

“No!” you called back. Will laughed dryly. 

“You’re supposed to be scared of me,” he whispered. You shook your head.

“Ma’am!” The guards walked over to you and you shook your head angrily, stepping back to the line, so far away from Will. But you didn’t want to be kicked out. 

“I’m not scared of him,” you said to the guard. 

“Doesn’t matter. The white line,” he said to you. You nodded stiffly and he walked away. The distance felt greater than it really was. When the guard closed the door at the end of the hall you stepped back to the bars. 

“You’ve never followed any rules have you?” he asked, laughing. 

“Not once. Now go on.” 

“I resurfaced a memory.” You nodded, gesturing for him to go on. “Chilton can hear us.” 

“That was the memory?”

“No,” he said and laughed a bit. “Just telling you we need to be quiet.” You nodded. “Hannibal shoved that ear down my throat.”

“Abigails?”

“No the other one.” You nodded, accepting your ignorance. 

“And you think he did all this?” 

“I know that they already looked at him and Beverly looked over everything but I know he did this. When i remember what happened to me I can tell you more.” You looked at the ground.

“Did he do stuff to you while I was in the other room?” Will shook his head.

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“I do. I blame myself for letting this happen and if Hannibal, no matter how much I like him, did this to you than how can I ever-”

“Just don’t trust him.” 

“He’s all I have out there. Him and Alana. And the dogs.”

“How are the dogs?” he asked. 

“Winston misses you. Sometimes he thinks he misses you more than I do,” you whispered. 

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”

“Neither do you. But I like not cutting the hair,” you muttered and messed with his curls. He gripped your hand tighter around the bar. “I wish you could come home.”

“Me too. Honestly.”

“Soon,” you promised. “Alana has some things she wants to look into.”

“And I keep firing lawyers.”

“FBI lawyers,” you corrected. “I would too.” You looked at your watch and he glanced over to it as well.

“20 more minutes,” he whispered. His eyes caught yours and he gestured for you to sit down. You both did. “Tell me about your day.”

2x02

[luna-tiel]

What Entrapdak Means to Me

On the eve of Entrapdak Positivity Month, I thought it was as good a time as any to share my rambling thoughts on a ship that’s affected me in a way I didn’t think was possible. 

Entrapdak is the first ship I have ever been invested in. It’s such a new experience for me that it’s taken me the last few months to wrap my head around the whole thing. I may relate to the characters in a show, but when they form romantic attachments I view it with a degree of passive distance. I don’t understand what it’s like to have those sorts of feelings for someone (I am aromantic and ace as a brick), and, well, I’m honestly not curious enough to give the subject a thorough study. My mind tends to fixate on other things. 

What does this have to do with Entrapdak, you ask? Long story short for people who don’t want to read my meandering essay -- I relate a lot to these characters, and the way they bonded together struck a deep chord in me that I can’t ignore. 

Let’s start with the characters. I knew going in that Entrapta was neurodivergent-coded, but I took it with a grain of salt. When I actually watched the show, however, I found myself relating to her so deeply it shocked me. Never have I felt such a kinship with a fictional character! We don’t share every trait, but it was still like seeing my brain put to life on screen. I related to her enthusiasm over her special interests, her struggles to fit in, her desire to make friends who accept and understand her for who she is. 

The fact Entrapta is completely herself is something I love about her. Over the years of growing up undiagnosed, I developed a lot of masking strategies. Human psychology is one of my special interests, and even with all that accumulated knowledge, masking isn’t easy. It’s extremely mentally taxing. Masking can certainly look easy -- I can, when I have the drive and energy, “pass” as neurotypical, and only people who know me extremely well can tell I’m dying inside. All that effort is taken for granted by a lot of NTs because that’s how people are “supposed to” act, and surely I can “do the bare minimum.” The accumulated stress of near constant masking has led me to the darkest moments I’ve had in my life.

Entrapta’s struggle with leaving Beast Island hit me hard. It threw me back to a time when my feelings of isolation and worthlessness got so bad that I lost the energy to do anything, even the creative pursuits that were the obsession of my life. I retreated so deeply into my inner world that I hardly interacted with anyone. That total apathy shocked my family into getting me professional help, which gave me my autism diagnosis, the coping skills to move forward, and a good start on the road to self-acceptance. It also opened a channel between my family and I, allowing me to feel heard and understood. (An important side note on mental health: if you or someone you love needs professional help, please seek it! Sometimes you have to try out several therapists -- it took me three to find a good fit -- but you are worth it!)

It took me longer to realize, but I also relate to Hordak in some ways. Mercifully I was not raised in an extremist cult environment. However, I know what it’s like to feel defective next to a sibling that seems perfect. I was constantly being compared to my younger brother, and in all areas but art, he was superior. He was smart, athletic, and above all, he fit in with everyone. I didn’t hate him for this -- I hated myself. Trying to measure up to his standard is what caused me to develop such strong masking strategies. Underneath it all, I felt the despair of knowing my peers would reject me as soon as the mask cracked. I also live with chronic joint pain, starting at around age seven. The jury is still out on what’s causing that (the worst of it was due to a previously unknown food allergy, but the pain still comes and goes, even though it’s a lot more manageable than it used to be). This cocktail of pain, stress, and sensory issues I had to deal with gave me a very short fuse at times. 

As an aside, just because I sympathize with Hordak does not mean I am excusing his actions. He is still going to have to face the consequences of his choices, and work to adjust to life post-Prime. The series end gave him a new beginning, the opportunity to be redeemed, and I prefer this to a rushed redemption arc. 

What I love most about Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship is how they accept each other as they are. Hordak gives Entrapta near free reign of his sanctum, he listens to her when she talks, and he respects her opinions. Even when he pushes her away, he still considers the logic of what she tells him, and sometimes ends up doing things her way despite his initial instincts. This is something I do in my own life; I am easily overwhelmed by new information, so my initial response to an idea/activity is almost always a firm (and sometimes rude) “no,” until I have time to properly process and think about it. Hordak is the first person in Entrapta’s life that truly listens to her. He still has things he needs to work on, but it’s a lot better than how most of the princesses are with Entrapta. The Alliance treats her as someone to be managed -- she is useful, but unreliable. Hordak, in contrast, trusts her to get things done in her own way. 

On the other side, Entrapta is the first person in Hordak’s life to accept him without judgment. Hordak spends so much of his energy putting up a front of strength and intimidation, and Entrapta cuts right through that. She’s not frightened by his appearance, and even his outbursts have little effect on her until the two of them start to bond. Entrapta doesn’t come into their interactions with any preconceived ideas of what Hordak is like, or more importantly, what he should be like. This lack of expectation leaves her completely open to accepting whatever Hordak does and says, and it also relieves Hordak of the burden of needing to put on a front around her. When Entrapta sees him at his most vulnerable, she reaches out to him with compassion, something he has never felt before. Entrapta also does this in a way that doesn’t belittle Hordak. His imperfections are not something to pity, they are a valuable part of who he is. 

I loved watching their friendship develop. Entrapta and Hordak’s shared time together evolved slowly into a bond that gave each of them a sense of belonging they had never experienced before with anyone else. It gave me the hope that, despite what an oddball mess I am, perhaps I could find someone who understands me too. 

When a romance subplot inserts itself into a story, I tend to gloss over and ignore it (if I pick up on it at all). I’m even less interested in sex. Way back when I was first getting into fandom I was so excited to go online and meet fellow fans of the books and shows I liked, only to discover the spaces being dominated by arguments over character pairings. I was baffled. This is what people are most interested in? Oh well… back to the hermit cave I go! 

I was late to the party with SPoP. I’d watched a few episodes, but the show didn’t really hook me. This was partially because all I ever heard people talk about online was Catradora, and if that was the main appeal of the show, I wasn’t sure I would enjoy it (sorry Catradora shippers, romance is not going to entice me to watch a show, even if it’s rep). Quarantine was the ultimate cause for me embracing my curiosity and diving headfirst into SPoP, binging the entire thing a few months before the release of season 5.

I vaguely knew about Entrapdak as a ship going into the show, and I admit, had I not been primed for it, I probably would have missed the romantic potential entirely. In no way did I expect to become invested. I was immediately intrigued by their dynamic, and as they got closer, I found myself thinking “oh, I see why people ship these two.” I didn’t understand this realization until months later. I was relating to the characters, and for the first time in my life, I was relating to their relationship.

I headcanon Entrapta and Hordak as an asexual couple. I’ll elaborate on this at a later time (asexuality is a spectrum with a lot of nuance, and this post is plenty long already), but at the core of it, I find joy in imagining these characters in a loving platonic relationship, something I hope to find myself one day. I hope this love comes across in my artwork and in my fanfictions <3

To those of you that read this far, wow, you must be patient! Have an imaginary cookie! I hope this ramble has provided a decent picture for why I, as an aro ace on the autism spectrum, have come to cherish Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship. It’s my first and only OTP… I’m still in shock thinking about that… I guess we’ll see where things go from here!

Take care of yourselves out there!

[yamayuandadu]

Setting aside my personal disinclination to use Ovid as a source (he was reframing the myths around his personal beefs with the Roman government and with some gods specifically) the "Hecate of Tartarus" thing sounds like one of those odd regional mantles, like "Zeus but a Snake" or "Zeus but actually Hades." Is there anything to that or am I just seeing connections where there are none?

There is no mention anywhere of Hecate being connected to Tartarus outside Argonautica Orphica, which was only composed in the 5th or 6th century and as such is a source of dubious quality, both due to being both a derivative of already unconventional orphic tradition and a very late work. Theoi.com mentions that Roman authors treated Hades (the realm) and Tartarus as interchangeable names, so perhaps that’s what influenced its anonymous author - but even then it feels like a simplificiation since while Hecate was undeniably chthonic, she was not associated with the realm of Hades, but more with the restless dead who couldn’t get there - and her role in the cult of Persephone was an extension of her connection with Demeter, not Hades; in fact I can find more evidence of association between Hecate and -Hermes- than Hades! In at least one magical papyrus Hecate was equated with Ereshkigal (a weird move from a modern perspective considering both of Ereshkigal’s notable myth have in very much Hades-like role - in fact if you combine “Inanna’s descent” and “Nergal and Ereshkigal” you have all the components of Hades and Persephone there, sort of), but Ereshkigal was largely insignificant even back when Mesopotamia was at its historical peak let alone well into hellenic times so I don’t think this was an influence. Tartarus firmly belongs to the sphere of myth, not ritual, which is the opposite of Hecate who was prominent in cult, especially household cult and private devotion, but rarely featured in myths. All around I see no reason to see “Hecate of Tartarus” as anything but the product of a single author’s imagination influenced at best with dubious Roman sources (it’s not just Ovid as I outlined before; and there’s a Cicero passage which iirc indicates it was a curiosity to him that Hecate temples actually exist) rather than cult. As far as the matter of epithets resulting in highly distinct forms of deities goes - while the three bodied Hecate is now seen as the default, this portrayal started as essentially a local form according to Pausanias - "It was Alkamenes [of Athens], in my opinion, who first made three images of Hekate attached to one another” - which he calls Epipurgidia. There were also local traditions ascribing the name Hecate to a deified form of Iphigenia, I have no clue how come tbh. Also “Zeus is a snake” and “Zeus is Hades” both seem to be takes on the same idea, eg. the chthonic Zeus popular among the orphics - the story of Zeus taking Hades’ form is another version of this tradition. All the smash hits about Persephone’s children - Melinoe, Zagreus, that sort of stuff, obscure in antiquity but as far as I can tell very popular today - ultimately go back to this, too

[keldae]

These Dreams Of You

could be considered a follow-up to this.

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He’s in his apartment on Coruscant -- a place he hasn’t set foot in for almost a year. This feeling of warm comfort, of languidly rolling over in his bed, is one that he’s almost forgotten about entirely. He frowns -- why does this feel so strange?

But then he sees her in his bed next to him, curled up on her side, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. He smiles and leans in to nuzzle her nose, and for a second, everything feels perfect -- or almost perfect, anyway. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle.

“Theron.” How does her voice make his name sound so good? She smiles at his caresses, all but purring. “I miss this.”

“I miss you,” Theron whispers, and wonders where that thought came from. How could something be wrong in this moment of blissful comfort?

Xaja shifts slightly, her smile fading. Theron can feel the tendrils of dark, painful grief snaking back into this moment before she speaks again. “I need you, Theron. Please…”

“How could you need me?” Theron reaches to caress her cheek, frowning. “You’re--” You’re dead, floats through his mind, and now he remembers why this doesn’t feel right, and he wishes he could forget it again.

Fear flickers through Xaja’s eyes as she seems to shrink under his hand. “Theron, hurry, please. He’s… he’s hurting me again...”

“What? Who’s hurting you?” Theron tries to grab her shoulder, and panics when his hand goes right through her like she’s made of mist. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know…” Her voice is quiet, but he can’t tell if that’s because she’s fading away from him, or if it’s due to the tears he can hear her trying to hold back. He desperately reaches for her again as she cries out for him, as the apartment around them suddenly grows dark and terrible. He can hear a cruel laugh in the background, one that reminds him too vividly of Yavin IV and Ziost. “Theron, help me, please!”

With a ragged gasp, Theron jerked himself upward, for a second panicking until he recognized his surroundings. This wasn’t Coruscant… this was the sketchy back-alley hovel he’d taken up residence in on Zakuul, deep in the Old World where the Knights weren’t likely to look for an offworld spy. The narrow bed he laid on was cold, sheets strewn in all directions from his restless movements. And when he reached his hand out to where Xaja should have been at his side, he felt nothing but a hard mattress and a cold, painful grief.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. Over two years after Xaja’s murder at Zakuul’s hands, and the grief hadn’t eased at all. If anything, his nightmares about her were getting more and more vivid. He wasn’t sure yet if this was better or worse than the ones he’d been having previously, the ones where his overactive brain decided to imagine what her final moments alone before her death had been like.

At least being alone in the dark as he was, with only Tee-Seven for company, there was no one to witness the tears on his unshaven cheeks, or the shuddering of his hunched shoulders as he tried to smother the grief again. He balefully frowned at the chronometer on his ocular display -- two in the morning, local time. He had a feeling he wouldn't be going back to sleep tonight, not with the lingering fear and grief drowning him.

"These dreams of you are gonna drive me mad," he finally mumbled as he wiped a hand over his eyes and took a shaky breath. He'd all but given up meditating, given how the Force seemed to have drop kicked him over the last couple of years, but maybe trying again now would calm him down after the nightmare. Leaving the bed, he knelt in front of the window that looked out over the Eternal Swamp beyond the city walls. He then closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he tried settling into the patterns Master Zho had taught him. In, and out… in, and out… in, and out--

Help me, Theron. Please!

Theron swore and flopped onto his back as Xaja's voice whispered in the back of his mind. "Never mind," he groaned, "I've already gone mad." When he had said he would have done anything to hear Xaja speak to him again, he hadn't meant being haunted into insanity by dreams of her. It shouldn't have been you. It should never have been you…

"Fuck, I miss you," he brokenly whispered to the empty air above him. "I want you back." He bitterly snorted. "Why can't I hallucinate you lying beside me where you belonged?" If this was the Force's way of giving her back to him in some form, it was a cruel comfort. He was pretty sure this counted as proof that the Force hated him personally.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed as he felt tears trickling down his skin again. A low hum emitted from the corner -- no doubt Tee-Seven offering his concern -- but he couldn’t respond. He could only shake his head. "I need you back, Xaja. Never should’ve let you go to begin with. This just... hurts too much without you." He took in a shuddering breath. "I don't know what to do without you here."

So much for not getting attached, he thought with a snort of sarcastic amusement. He tried to tell himself to not risk it with the pretty Jedi during their time together on Rishi or Yavin IV, and that was even during happier times when she had still lived, a bright spot in his galaxy. He clenched his jaw in an attempt to smother down his grief and tried to think about something else… anything that had the hope of getting his mind off of Xaja, his dreams of her, and the regrets he carried with him.

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Hours later, as he was sipping a mug of lukewarm caf and scowling at his datapad, he gave a start at Tee-Seven’s sudden beep of warning. The droid’s sensors had picked up someone walking down the alley toward Theron’s cramped residence -- someone walking quietly, but not exactly sneaking about. Frowning, Theron got to his feet, setting the caf down and reaching for his blaster. No one should have known he was here; no one had reason to be knocking on his door, the raps echoing in the stillness of the apartment.

Cautiously, Theron cracked the door open -- and a second later, wasn’t sure if he was relieved his visitor wasn’t one of Marcus’ operatives coming to track him down, or more uneasy that this was an Imperial asset looking him in the eye. “Nine,” he sighed, easing his grip on his blaster. Cipher Nine might be a notorious sociopath and an infamous Imperial spy, but Theron was at least reasonably sure that the old man wasn’t here to end him. If Reanden Taerich had wanted him dead, he could have killed him easily enough on Nar Shaddaa last year.

“You’re a pain in the ass to track down, you know that?” Reanden dryly said by way of greeting, shifting his hands into his jacket pockets. The older spy’s hair had gotten more grey in the last three years, and there were new lines on his face, but those calculating dark eyes were still as sharp and piercing as ever.

“Apparently still too easy,” Theron grumbled. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. What the blazes had Cipher-kriffing-Nine been looking for him for? He settled for a direct approach. “What brings you out here?”

Reanden paused, dark eyes glancing to the alley for a moment. “That’s a conversion best not had out here,” he finally said, his voice low. “You mind?”

Barely keeping from rolling his eyes, Theron stepped back to allow the old man inside. His tone was acerbic as he gestured to the shabby room. "Make yourself at home." The door was secured behind him.

Turning, he watched Reanden survey the one-room apartment with its scarce furnishings, lazily shrugging one shoulder. "I've seen worse," the old spy as he sat in the one chair in the room. Somewhat surprised to not hear a snarky comment from the old timer, Theron found himself sitting on the bed as Tee-Seven started happily beeping upon recognizing their visitor. Even more surprising, he watched as the elder man patted the droid’s chassis with something approaching affection. "So this is where you ended up."

"Busted him off Coruscant when I left," Theron shrugged casually. "He was being wasted in a military hangar."

"Same time you took the Serenity?" Reanden offered a tired smirk as Theron started. "Heard about that through the vine."

"... Xaja would have hated her ship being left to rust in a hangar," Theron protested, for a second certain that the old man was ready to tear him a new one for stealing -- no, liberating -- his late daughter’s starship.

"She would have," Reanden agreed, his voice quiet, sombre, and definitely not the verbal fight Theron had been expecting. “Definitely the Corellian in her.” 

Theron frowned as the old spy looked down at his hands, the normal snarky demeanour fading into a familiar heartache. “You didn’t sneak onto Zakuul for a social call, old timer,” he finally said. “And you definitely didn’t drop in to catch up with me.”

“Bite me, kid,” Reanden muttered, glaring up at Theron for a second before seemingly standing down and sighing. “There’s a lot of people searching for your hide in particular, but, no, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here on unrelated business -- only just figured out you were onworld about two hours ago.”

“And you tracked me down because…?”

“Because I figured you’d have a personal interest in this.” Reanden unflinchingly met Theron’s gaze when the younger spy frowned in confusion at him. “Sorand… has a theory that he’s asked me to look into, and I believe Lana will only be a couple of steps behind me on this.”

A personal interest for Theron that Cipher Nine would be involved with… and on Zakuul…? Maybe, he thought, the old man had an idea to kill Arcann directly for what he’d done to Xaja. And Darth Imperius was clever, with his own reasons to hate Zakuul -- perhaps father and son had figured out a plan. Or had Korin gotten into something? “What’s up? You find some sort of a vulnerability in that half-metallic bastard?”

“Not yet.” Reanden opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, paused, then shook his head. “What do you know about Force bonds, kid?”

Theron frowned in confusion. This was not where he’d expected this conversation to go. “Not a lot. Connections that form between Force-users, usually people close to each other.”

“Like a student and their teacher; a parent and child,” Reanden slowly agreed, “or siblings.” Theron felt his frown deepen as the older man looked at him. “Sorand had... formed a bond with Xaja, presumably some time during the Revanite incident. He’s been having intermittent dreams since…well, since the attack; they’ve been getting more intense over the past few months.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristic sign of anxiety that Theron wasn’t used to seeing from him. The next statement left in a rush: “He believes there’s a chance that Xaja might have survived the attack. He suspects that if she's still alive, she’s probably on Zakuul, and she's in some sort of danger that he can't identify.”

For a second, Theron felt hope flare within his chest, his heart in his throat -- then reality kicked back in, and he felt his shoulders slump. “Dreams? If dreams were real, Taerich, I’d be piloting a Hutt pleasure barge overrun with gizka. The only dreams coming true now are nightmares.” He blindly gestured with one hand toward the wall, and the Spire beyond it, as if to prove his point. "You saw those reports of what happened to Marr’s fleet. There's no chance she made it."

"He swears up and down that he can feel her, or at least feel something where his bond with her was -- and he says it feels nothing like the broken bond he had with his mum.” Reanden grimaced, shifting forward in the seat. He rested his elbows on his thighs, fingers interlaced over his knees. “Look, I'm about as Force-sensitive as you and have no idea what a bond is supposed to feel like, but I trust my kid. He wouldn’t… offer hope where there isn’t any. He’s not that cruel." He shrugged. "At the least, I promised him I would do some snooping. Figured you'd be interested."

Sorand was a pretty sane, reasonable Sith, Theron knew. Unless the siege on Dromund Kaas had driven him completely insane… but Reanden, even with his clear biases toward his surviving children, should have been able to recognize that. So if Cipher Nine thought Imperius' hunch concerning a long-dead Jedi was worth investigating…

But if they're wrong? Theron raked a hand down his face as he stood up and paced to the window, then back again. "I can't do this," he heard himself whisper. "Getting my hopes up, and then finding out it was a false hope… I can't do that and lose her again." He had done that enough with the first reports of the infamous Outlander assassin, whispers of whom indicated they matched Xaja's description, unless there were other tiny, feisty redheaded women with blazing green eyes and blue lightsabers. Nothing had come out of that.

"What makes you think I can?" When Theron glanced over, he was struck by the tangible grief in Reanden's dark eyes, the sorrow making itself evident in the stoop of his shoulders. This wasn’t the Cipher Nine of legend, infamous saboteur and assassin -- this was a grief-stricken father. "My children mean everything to me, my daughter included. I need a confirmation, one way or another."

"Fuck," Theron muttered as he stared out the window for a moment longer, then finally looked back at Reanden. "If he's wrong and we're chasing a false hope, and she's still de-- still gone…"

"And if he's right, and Xaja's alive and in some sort of distress? Could you live with yourself if you didn't even try to help her?"

Help me, please…

Theron groaned and sat back down on the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Weird coincidence that Nine would show up with this new theory after last night's dream, he thought, and felt himself frown. The Force didn't operate in coincidences like this, did it? He wished he had Master Zho's guidance right then -- or Hells, even his mother. Somehow, he felt like Satele would at least offer some sort of advice. And he would take any answers he could get right now.

"I... dreamed about her last night," he heard himself admit quietly, before his brain quite caught up to his mouth. "It was different than the normal nightmares about her. She was… she was scared, and kept saying 'he's hurting me'. She didn't say who 'he' was, but…" He bitterly laughed and raked his hand through his hair. "And now I'm hearing her voice in the back of my head. I think I'm losing it."

When he finally looked back at Reanden, the older man was frowning in thought, clearly considering what Theron said. "Sorand thinks he felt her fear too," he added at length. "Said he could feel pain and cold -- thinks they might have been from her end of the bond. He didn't say anything about her being hurt by anyone though. I haven't been in contact with Korin, so I don't know if he's having dreams too."

"And you haven't…?"

"Pfft. Do I look like the type of person to have dreams from the Force?"

"You're as likely as me, old timer."

"One of us didn't get thirteen years of Jedi mind training as a kid." Reanden shrugged. "Not to mention you've been onworld longer. If Sorand's right, and Xaja's here, proximity probably can't hurt."

The idea that maybe, just maybe, Xaja was somewhere on this damned rock turned the spark of hope into a tiny flame in his chest. Theron closed his eyes against the sudden desperate yearning to have her in his arms right then, and for a moment was grateful Reanden couldn't sense his feelings. "You've got some sort of plan for looking, right?"

"I've got about forty percent of a plan," Reanden acknowledged. "You and Tee-Seven share what you've turned up so far, and we might have more of a plan before Lana turns up."

"Forty percent isn't much of a plan," Theron dubiously pointed out, not mentioning he was pretty sure he only had about five percent of a plan to search for Xaja himself… and only thirty percent of a plan to kill Arcann, which was rapidly being bumped down the priority list.

"This coming from the guy who blew up a Sith warship in his underwear."

"Never gonna live that down, am I?" Theron asked with a sigh as he made his way to the computer console, ignoring Reanden's smirk. "I've been doing recon around the Spire for the last few months…"

[biznichwrites]

Hurt Giyuu Week | Day 1 | Break Up

*At the end there are some historical notes not given here to avoid spoiling the writing.

Giyuu hadn't always been the best at showing his emotions, especially due to his stunted social growth, but he was trying. Along his travels he had met a woman that had ended up rooting her way into his heart, for better or worse. It hadn't been easy to admit to himself at first, but he had developed an attachment to her. As the weeks turned into months, then into a year, he found himself more enraptured by every part of her.

It wasn't difficult to surmise he had fallen in love, at the very least infatuation. However the difficulty laid within allowing himself to have such feelings. Was it fair of him to pursue love? For so long he closed that part of himself away from the world - he couldn't take the loss of another loved one. But would it hurt to just allow himself the chance? He rationalized that perhaps the gods smiled upon him for saving the lives of others.

Thoughts of her flooded his mind. Her hair felt so nice between his fingers, her glittering eyes and full lips gave him such genuine reactions, her form beautiful behind her kimono, but above all he adored her patience. The way she bantered with him, regardless of his interactions, or lack of, and always greeted him with a smile when he visited made him feel like he belonged. He had a place there, with her.

A part of him knew it wasn't tradition to marry for love - it was selfish and only served to satisfy egotistical greed - but it didn't mean he didn't yearn for it. His sister was to marry for love, so shouldn't he live by her example?

While he didn't have a ring, which he thought was a ridiculous western concept, he did have a hair pin for her. He was sure it wasn't a normal type of item to give for a proposal, if there even was one, but the blue beads glittered and reminded him of the water his style created - which would be a perfect reminder for his future wife when he was gone on missions.

Arriving at her home he found it to look like it always usually did, but he found it welcoming as an extension of her. He entered without asking, as he always did, only letting her know he was there by the sound of the shoji closing.

"Giyuu?" Her voice called, confirming who entered her home. How his heart swelled at the fact she knew it was him, it was his place to be with her.

"Yes." He found her tucked under a kotatsu, trying her best to stay warm. Even if he didn't find it natural to smile or speak his joy, the sight of her lifted his mood and returned light to his eyes. Sitting across from her he tucked his legs under the blanket making his feet brush against hers. So domestic but still so welcoming.

"How have your missions been going? Well hopefully. I'm sure you've slayed many demons." He could only nod, tongue tied as he tried to find the words to express himself now he could see her face. She really took his breath away.

A silence fell over them, comfortable and calm. His eyes glanced over her, watching the way she read over the paper in front of her. He shuffled to pull the gift from his haori but she didn't spare but a glance before returning to her reading.

"I-" His hand found hers laying across the table, holding her soft fingers to his rough palm. The moment her gaze met his he knew he couldn't let the moment pass. "I think we should marry…"

"What?" He watched as her eyes widened. He knew it was a bit out of nowhere, so he wasn't surprised to find her shocked.

"I… I want to hear your voice every day." His face bloomed a deep red as he slid the hair pin into her hand. It wasn't an amazing gift, but he felt asking empty handed wouldn't be fair. After all, he was asking her to marry him - a man that was gone more often than not. He might be able to care for her financially but being present was not the case. Perhaps he should have expressed himself differently.

"Giyuu…" Her voice was choked, caught in her throat. "I… I don't know what to say…" Her eyes weren't meeting his, but he hoped it was from excitement.

"I can die happy with you by my side…" He hoped that was a better way of expressing himself. But in hindsight maybe coming to see her and asking for her to marry him may have been a bit too blunt, even to him.

"Giyuu… I don't think you understand…" The beginnings of a smile drained from his face, replaced by dread. It was the most emotion he had expressed in front of her, especially so intensely in such a short period of time. "We aren't together in that sense."

"What?" He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as anxiety consumed him.

"I like being around you and I care about you, but we aren't together… romantically." He felt pain in his chest unlike any other he felt before. This wasn't someone being taken away from him due to death, but by their own choice.

"But- we- I…" His mind questioned all his visits, the times she cooked for him when he stopped by, the way she patiently sat with him, the nights they spent together acting as if they were lovers. Was that all for nothing? How had he misunderstood?

"I… It's my fault. I should have been more direct. I care about you, you're my friend, but I'm not looking to be in a relationship or married."

"But-"

"You deserve better, Giyuu. I have no family, I only have my home, I have nothing I can give you. After what happened, I'm scared to ever have children and a husband. That can all be taken away so fast. So I do care about you as a friend, but I have no romantic feelings I can offer you. You deserve to be married to someone that can give you that."

He knew that. He knew all of that. He was the one that saved her when her family had been attacked by demons right outside this exact house. He was well aware that she didn't have anything fancy to offer him. None of that mattered. He still wanted her, no one else.

"We- we weren't…?" He had thought they were together the whole time, especially as she offered him so much for nothing in return. Maybe he had misunderstood her kindness to him for saving her life as love. Perhaps he had been making too many assumptions this whole time. "Then we… were never… "

"I'm sorry, Giyuu. This isn't like that at all…"

He could only nod back stiffly before letting go of her hand, not realizing how tight his grip had become. Almost immediately he stood, rushing for the entrance of her home.

"Giyuu-... At least be safe. Please." Hearing her say that as he slipped his shoes back on only made things worse. How could she care for his safety but not accept his love? He hurried from her home, bolting into the distance faster than a normal human could comprehend.

His tears were the last thing he wanted her to see.

*In traditional marriages in Japan there is little to do with love, in fact love was considered a weakness in marriage, and the primary focus of marriage is for the benefit of families and promoted duty. Of course that ideal has changed with western influence over time. Even today rings are not a requirement for proposal as compared to western culture. That all being said, many traditions have to do with providing a wife to care for a man's aging family and look after his home, which is definitely not a concern for Giyuu. Modern couples often describe their proposals as "not planned" or "just happened" sort of things rather than more grandiose and planned proposals of western culture.

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, BELLE! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF EVANGELINE TRAME.

Admin Rosey: Whew - okay - I absolutely adore Evangeline. I always and always will because she is the character that I expected so many to look and undermine. But Belle...whew, I loved this application so, so much. You understand her down to the very bones that build her up and make her the shining pillar that she is, while also adding different nuances to her that I had never thought of or considered myself. One of my favorite quotes that I h a v e to highlight is actually from your plot points, and it encapsulates her perfectly: “ But perhaps she’s a blacksmith of a different kind. Perhaps she does not deal in the business of forging weapons, but forging empires.”  And I think that’s all that needs to be said, don’t you? Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Belle

Age | 21

Personal Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | My activity is a bit of a mess. I don’t live at home for a few days in the week, and I rarely have my laptop with me, but I think I can manage bringing it with me sometimes. When I am home, however, I am definitely active. I’m almost always around my phone, though, so if anybody needs to message me, I’m typically around.

Timezone | GMT +2

Triggers | N/A

How did you find the group?  | Through the tags, and then I started seeing a few of my mutuals reblog the promo posts.

Current/Past RP Accounts | I haven’t been in a group in over two years, and I don’t have any of my old accounts, sorry!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Evangeline Trame

What drew you to this character? | I have a particular soft spot for pawns. My favorite thing about Evangeline, above all else that I grew attached to while reading her biography, was that as strong as she is, as cunning as she has grown to be, as capable as she has forced herself to become, she is, in the end, another chess piece to be moved and—if need be—sacrificed. Perhaps the best part is the duality of her character that this presents; I see Evangeline as possessing a sort of tunnel vision, one that only allows her to see her own goals, and although she sees everything else, it’s her own endgame that she is fixated on. But her story is so much larger than the life she’s lived for the past twenty-eight years and she doesn’t know that. When I say Evangeline is a pawn, I don’t mean that she is a piece created to be cast aside. I mean that she serves a purpose, whether she knows it or not.

My love for Evangeline stems from my love for characters that belong to themselves, yet have layers that belong to others. I like that Evangeline is a product of her upbringing, of her relationships with others, of the life she once lived that she doesn’t know anything of, the life she only revisits in dreams and nightmares. I’m captivated by the idea of a reincarnated Eve who is not Eve.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

i. PHANTOM MEMORY. HOW I’D LOVE TO KILL YOU—

I don’t particularly like the idea of Evangeline being a slave to her past life. What I mean by this, is that I don’t want her to follow Eve’s story to the letter. I believe that Eve left behind a skeleton that is now shrouded in Evangeline’s blood, and those are two different people. However, those are two different people that are ultimately tied together, and I think that when Evangeline’s phantoms begin to cling to her ankles, claw at the hem of her dress in order to keep up with her steps, wrap themselves around her wrists while she dreams at night of memories that don’t belong to her, she will eventually succumb to them. Her phantoms can be perceived in many ways. For me, they are the byproduct of everything that Evangeline has ever been denied. To put it simply, they are the manifestations of Eve’s downfall and Evangeline’s awakening: Desire, covetousness, yearning, want. It’s this particular area that I believe the two women begin to bleed together, and the more Evangeline allows herself to get wrapped up in her phantoms, the sharper I believe her focus will become. Sharp enough, perhaps, to break through the cloud that has been fogging her memory all these years. Sharp enough, perhaps, to allow herself to put the broken fragments of her world and another together.

ii. I WILL EITHER FIND A WAY, OR I WILL MAKE ONE—

The Trame legacy has a long, respected history that holds them up in high regard in the Holy Land. Evangeline is not the person to look to for a sword. But she is the person to look to if you wish to be adored. Her beauty wasn’t the only thing that caused the citizens of the Holy Land to fall in love with her—it was her charm, her charisma, the captivating air she had about her. She is so much more than just a pretty face, and that point hasn’t been argued once before. The doubts that people have about her is that she won’t live up to her family name’s reputation. She isn’t a blacksmith, but she’s a diplomat, one who can negotiate and one who believes, ultimately, in peace, even if the shadows that clog her heart sometimes try to pull her in the opposite direction. I think that Evangeline’s shroud of ignorance that she allowed to blind her vision for many years took its toll on her, and now she is simply impatient.

She wants something great. Something greater. She wants to build a lasting memory of herself, one that will echo for centuries to come. Something that lasts longer than any sword or shield ever would. I think that Evangeline’s desire for greatness is tied to a desire for individuality. Her family name has lasted so long, and she knows her lineage like the back of her hand, but she wonders if others do. She wonders if they only acknowledge the Trame name because everyone that came after that first sword to fell a celestial did what they have always done—forge. She wonders if a single individual stands out amongst the rest, and she wants to be that person. She wants to be known for her actions, not her name’s history.

Evangeline doesn’t carry on her family name’s history of weaponry because she is not a traditional blacksmith.

But perhaps she’s a blacksmith of a different kind. Perhaps she does not deal in the business of forging weapons, but forging empires.

iii. “DON’T YOU FEEL LONELY LIVING IN YOUR OWN LITTLE WORLD?” “DON’T YOU FEEL POWERLESS LIVING IN OTHER PEOPLE’S WORLDS?”—

I think that Evangeline possesses a certain fear of being forgotten. Maybe this is because she is the reincarnation of a figure whose name was on everyone’s lips at one point in time, maybe this is because she is so used to being adored by anyone and everyone. But whatever the reason may be, Evangeline is terrified of being left behind. She has so many visions of the life she wants to carve out for herself, and she does believe that if she wants it to happen, carving is the exact thing she must do. Whether it comes in the form of wrapping her fingers around her grandmother’s bejeweled neck until the pulse stops thumping so strongly underneath her hands, or by showing compassion for the impoverished people of the land that has given everything to her. Everything is a struggle to Evangeline—she had grown used to being locked away, hidden behind a veil that kept her from truly coming into her own, so she learned to fight whatever ways she could without letting anyone know that she did not intend to follow quietly into submission.

Her ambitions and goals are loud and fierce, but there’s always something holding her back. I think Evangeline’s breaking point would be to come at odds with a path to greatness. She wants to flourish and she wants to do it her way, but she does not want to be left behind in the dust. A lesson that I would love to teach Evangeline is the idea that the problem with wanting everything is that nothing comes free. Eventually, you have to sacrifice one of your desires. And though I go further into this later on, Evangeline’s selfishness is a force that drags her under with the help of those ever-present phantoms. So what would happen when she gets tired of playing pretend for good? What happens when she gets tired of waiting patiently for her due? What happens when she gets tired of living powerless in someone else’s world?

Would she decide to forgo her fear of being left behind and make a world of her own? Would she take a bite of the forbidden fruit, allow herself to be seduced by temptation? Or would she settle on the life she already has?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | Evangeline's motivations are primarily herself and, by extension, those who she believes belong to her. Not in a possessive way or in a selfish way (though she can be selfish), but those she believes are drawn close to her heart. That being said, just because some people reside in the confines of her soul, doesn't mean they get to stay there forever. Her grandmother, for example, was a driving force in Evangeline's life that ultimately resulted in her giving into the shadows that trailed behind her every step. And while Evangeline believes in remorse, she doesn't necessarily entertain it. She doesn't feel particularly guilty—rather, she feels that she acted in her own best interests. The love she had for her grandmother was strong but beat her own desires, and that's where the root of Evangeline's motivations lie. She desires plenty of things in her life—one might even say that she desires to want forever just to give herself meaning—and though she doesn't look to harm others in order to gain it, it remains a blind spot in her vision. She isn't a cruel person, but she possesses a certain sort of selfishness, a self-serving type of quality that is only a breath away from it.

Character Traits | OPTIONAL. Please list 3 positive traits and 3 negative traits that you identify in the character you’re applying for. 

(+) COMPASSIONATE. Listing compassion first was not a mistake or a coincidence. Evangeline is good, but who said only good people are compassionate? Who said only heroes get to be solicitous? Perhaps the thing that separates everyone is the cause they choose to show their compassion to.

(–) SELFISH. As I explained before, Evangeline has a savage type of selfishness within her, one that can very easily crack open to reveal something wilder, less contained. As dignified as she is, the selfish part of her is not. It seems to be the part of her that grows more and more every day, festering and latching on to her bones with each passing hour. She doesn’t seem to mind their presence. In fact, she’s not only grown used to it, but she’s begun to welcome it.

(+) ASTUTE. Shrewd doesn’t seem like the appropriate word to use to describe Evangeline, but astute feels just right. She knows how to read people, every good diplomat knows how to, and she’s no different. She possesses a very keen ability to detect tension in the atmosphere, and she’s also very capable of either building it up or taming it down.

(–) CUNNING. Though it’s true that Evangeline is not as cunning or as sly as she likes to believe herself to be, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t possess any wits about her. She didn’t get to where she is today by simply smiling prettily. Had she decided to take that route, she would still be sitting across from her grandmother sipping tea that made her want to gag and convincing herself that false happiness was better than nothing. But Evangeline shook her head and said no, and she gathered every bit of cunning she had in her, and she wielded it as best as she could. And perhaps it’s her pride talking, but she thinks she’s done a fine job.

(+) DEVOTED. Above all, Evangeline is devoted to those she cares about. Though this is widely considered to be a positive trait, it’s a double-edged sword. Her devotion is something of a two-way street. She believes that those she cares for are hers, and she, in turn, is theirs. Evangeline doesn’t do anything by halves, and she has just a little flair for the dramatics, and this is no different.

(–) DISHONEST. Evangeline has been lying for so long that it’s become second nature to her. Maybe she hasn’t been lying with her words, but every action is just one more piece in the carefully curated veil of ignorance that she draped across herself. But even though the veil has begun to slip with her permission as Evangeline grows more comfortable with herself and her new role, she can’t stop the dishonesty. The worst part is that she’s lying to herself more than anyone else, feeding herself lies that she needs to keep herself upright because no one is there to do it for her anymore. When all is said and done, Evangeline only had people willing to lay their life down on the line for her in order to keep her in the dark, and the truth is, she doesn’t know how to live without that. Not for lack of trying, though, but old habits die hard, and this one is especially hard to break.

In-Character Para Sample | Trigger Warnings for: Murder, suffocation.

She’s seven years old, and she’s otherworldly.

Her legs are splayed out around the bedspread underneath her, wrinkles forming in the fabric under her weight. Behind her, she feels the pull of a hairbrush through her dark hair, the sound of her grandmother’s bracelets knocking together on her wrist. Evangeline breathes steadily through her nose, her eyes fluttering shut every few seconds, fighting to stay awake at such a late hour.

Maids circled the grounds like bees, multiplying and forming as if they simply appeared out of thin air, and yet Lady Trame never allowed anyone else the privilege to brush her granddaughter’s hair before bed each night. Evangeline would undress and slip a nightgown over body and then she would wait until she heard a strong, sharp knock that was undoubtedly her grandmother’s, coming to brush her hair for her before she would kiss her cheek and bid her goodnight, locking the door behind her and telling the guards standing outside to watch over her like their lives depended on it.

They already knew that, of course, but Lady Trame inspired a sort of fear in people that did not leave room for error or question. Evangeline watched her often, her wide, unblinking eyes taking in every inch of her as she commanded a room with her mere presence, and she felt her fingers itch to grasp that intangible power in her fist. She wanted to see it, wonder what color it would be if it came into focus. Maybe a deep, rich red, one that pulled the eye in the exact same way Lady Trame did.

Evangeline watched her grandmother, and she wanted to do what she did.

A particularly sharp pull on her hair startled a gasp out of Evangeline’s mouth, and she met her grandmother’s eyes in the mirror. “Yes, grandmother?” she asked, her voice high-pitched and breathy, the exact way she knew would get the best response from people. She knew because she liked to study people, liked to watch the different ways they reacted to different parts of her. It was almost like a bit of theatre, playing a part she never intended to try on again if it wasn’t well-received. Evangeline thrived on praise, loved to see the world fall over itself in order to make her happy. She liked the feeling of being adored.

Her grandmother looked at her with that steady, keen gaze of hers. “You know,” she said, pulling the brush through Evangeline’s hair once more. “One day, this will all be yours.” She gestured around the room Evangeline was lucky enough to call her own, but she knew that when Lady Trame said this meant the entire thing—every room, every corridor, every inch of the place she called home just as so many other Trames had in the past.

“Yes,” she said, feeling her skin prick in anticipation for the inevitable day. “One day,” she breathed, “I’ll be Lady Trame myself.”

Her grandmother didn’t answer, only kept her eyes trained steadily on her granddaughter like a hawk, as if she could see right through her. Evangeline pretended not to notice.

It’s the memory that stays with her for the rest of her life. Through every single lesson and every single meal, it hangs over her head almost as heavily as the phantoms that start clinging to her body, her dresses, her sheets, her skin. It comes to her at seemingly random points throughout the day, remembering the way she’d so eagerly announced her future title, shaping the words in her mouth as if they already belonged to her, longing for the day she could taste them again and hear the truth ring in the title.

It’s the reason why she pours her grandmother tea every single evening in her room.

It’s the reason why she snaps, in the end.

One reason out of many, truly, but a reason nonetheless. Evangeline sits in her chair across from Lady Trame and watches her throat work around the bitter tea that’s hard to get down, watches as a sallow undertone begins to contort her once-lovely face. She remembers the feeling of guilt, of remorse. She remembers thinking that it has no place in her heart, not right now, not in this situation.

“There will be other men, of course,” Lady Trame says, picking up a sentence she had almost abandoned, her insistent coughs punching each word. “Many men will catch your eye, and some of them will leave, some won’t.”

Her fingers clenched around the teacup, aching to spill the liquid on the floor and crack the teacup in hundreds of pieces. She wanted to grind the porcelain to dust.

She didn’t.

When Lady Trame asked her for a kiss upon the cheek before she retired to her room for the night, Evangeline did as she was told, as she always did. She pressed her lips to the woman’s papery skin, smelling nothing but perfume used to mask the scent of sickness, and straightened, ready to leave. She cast her eyes around her grandmother’s room once more, looking at the fine gowns, the gorgeously crafted furniture, the silk bed sheets, and she wanted to scream. After all this time, Evangeline wanted to scream.

Instead, she whispered.

“Grandmother,” she began, “are you feeling alright?”

She doesn’t really hear the reply. She’s sure Lady Trame offers up some sort of excuse before waving her off, telling her to get some sleep. All Evangeline could hear was the sound of her own voice, so many years ago, proudly declaring that this would all be hers one day. She could hear her grandmother asking her if she knew what that meant, staring at her as if she could read every thought inside her head.

The only thought she’d had was greed.

She wanted, and she wanted, and she wanted, and Evangeline was sick of wanting. She wanted to take.

It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would have been. Once she had her hands wrapped around Lady Trame’s neck, it wasn’t as difficult to apply pressure as one might have worried. Evangeline was hardly aware that she was doing it, yet she could feel everything, felt so keenly in tune to her own body as she did it.

It was all so sudden, she could hear herself saying tomorrow morning when everyone crowded around her to console a tear-streaked Evangeline. She was fine at tea last night. But that was the thing about sickness, wasn’t it? It took you eventually, and no one could do anything to stop it.

It would have happened one way or another, Evangeline told herself as she watched Lady Trame’s eyes widen, her mouth opening on a silent gasp, a plea for help, a plea to stop—Evangeline didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She pressed harder, and harder, and harder, and she didn’t even think about stopping, not even once. She could feel the phantoms curling around her bare ankles, urging her on, whispering in her ear to push harder, claim what was hers by right, get some revenge after so many years of being suffocated herself.

It was a cruelness she had never felt before, a bitterness and a rage that swept her up in its embrace and left Evangeline breathless in its wake. But instead of lying motionless on her back like her grandmother’s lifeless body, she had never felt more awake, never been so aware of her own heartbeat. She’d never felt as alive as she did right in that moment.

Even after Lady Trame had stopped breathing, stopped her feeble struggle, Evangeline didn’t unwrap her hands from around the old woman’s neck. She continued pressing down, using every ounce of anger she’d ever felt and channeling it into her iron grip. Only when she felt the phantoms finally recede did she let go with a gasp.

And Evangeline felt free.

It would have happened one way or another, she reminded herself once more. Lady Trame was sick, everyone knew it. It wasn’t a falsehood; the woman’s breathing had become ragged, her face had taken on a sickly sort of pallor, her legs trembled with every step and she needed to grip Evangeline’s arm just to rise from bed. Yes, it would have happened one way or another.

Now that the phantoms had eased their hold on Evangeline, closer than they had ever been before, close enough that she could have reached out and touched one had she not been so consumed by the fury that had driven her actions, she wondered if she could convince herself it was a kindness.

A kindness, yes. Mercy.

Mercy for the woman who had kept Evangeline hidden away from the truth for her entire life. Mercy for the woman who had refused to answer any questions, forbade anyone from ever telling her anything that might give Evangeline some sort of satisfaction. Mercy for the woman who had done nothing but drive away the man she had loved, driven him out of her life and this world, never to be seen or heard from again, never to be touched by Evangeline’s fingers or brought close in her embrace once more. Maybe it hadn’t been a deep love, maybe it had only been superficial, but it had been hers, and her grandmother had taken it away from her.

“Mercy,” Evangeline whispered to herself, tasting the word on her tongue as she walked down the long hallway to her own room.

A surprised laugh jolted out of her lips, catching her off guard. She quickly covered her hand with her mouth, smothering the noise and hiding the smile that had come upon her mouth.

Mercy.

And as Evangeline welcomed sleep, allowed the phantoms to return to her with a ferocity she hadn’t yet experienced, allowed them to invade her dreams and introduce to her a new meaning of the word desire, she knew it hadn’t been mercy.

It had been justice.

Extras | pinterest board

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY: The Horcrux Theory

Yesterday when I answered the lovely @leonhaxor‘s ask, I was surprised by the number of people who said they hadn’t heard about this theory before; people like me who are invested in the characterization of Volume Six and presumably would have come across it. I figure then that I either saw this theory on another blog and it didn’t spread in the way I assumed it would, or I thought of it myself, forgot it, and upon remembering it assumed I’d seen it elsewhere. Considering both of these things have happened to me in the past more than once (woo shit memory!), your guess is as good as mine. The important thing is the theory is here now and I’d like to take the time to lay it out in a more organized---and hopefully more persuasive*---manner.

(*As a bit of a disclaimer, I’m really just working with what I perceive as a valid interpretation of the text, not a theory in the sense that I expect Rooster Teeth to implement it in Volume Seven. If that were the case, I’d have expected our finale to paint Ruby and the rest as less heroic/justified in their actions, instead emphasizing how OOC they are, thereby setting up a situation wherein they would eventually question why their outlook and behavior has changed so drastically. But we didn’t get that. So this is less, “Sincere expectations for Volume Seven!” and more “Based on what Volume Six gives us, this is a plot twist that could work for these reasons...”)

Let’s start with the title. For anyone who may not know, a horcrux is a magical object within the Harry Potter universe that houses a piece of someone’s soul, a way of ensuring that they live on even if their body is killed. Within the plot, Voldemort (our primary antagonist) creates multiple horcruxes, one of which is carried by our heroes over a long journey. The object’s dark nature as well as its limited ability to think for itself results in a dramatic change in the group over time. They become moodier, more prone to fighting, and one character in particular, Ron, succumbs to a number of doubts and fears he’s been carrying since we met him at the start of the series. Thanks to the horcrux’s influence, he ends up acting in ways he otherwise never would have, including saying things he does not mean (“Your parents are dead. You have no family!”) and settling on courses of actions he later regrets (abandoning the group).

We can see some similarities then between the two situations, both in the Relic’s potential influence on those who carry it---to the point where, the longer they hold onto it, the more likely they are to act in ways contrary to their nature---and in the concept of a magical object being able to think for itself. Obviously Jinn is far more of a person than a sliver of a soul is, but the point is each has a certain amount of agency. As leonhaxor points out in response to my original post, there are also numerous similarities between this potential setup and the ring from Lord of the Rings. There we have another powerful, semi-sentient magical object carried by our heroes over a long journey, slowly corrupting them overtime. I think the variety of source material here is worth noting. Meaning, it doesn’t matter which comparison between stories is “best,” but rather that such comparisons are common. The Corruptible Object is an established motif in fantasy storytelling and RWBY is a web series that is highly invested in re-creating standard setups (such as fairy tales) and then attempting to subvert/complicate them. It makes a great deal of sense then that they would use a trope seen in two of the most popular fantasy series ever created, and then work to update it: the Relic is not a simplistic, pure evil thing like the ring or a horcrux is. It functions in similar ways, but---like most else in RWBY post-Volume Three---has a more complex morality attached to it. Jinn seems kindly at times, the Relic was created by the God of Light, etc. Form then, our expectations for how Rooster Teeth pulls from popular storytelling and incorporates those elements into their narrative, can be used as a potential bit of evidence.

But onto the juicier stuff.

The first thing that’s worth establishing is that all of Ozpin’s plans and choices function on multiple levels. For example, take letting Ruby into Beacon. He seems to have done this because she’s a prodigy, and because she has an excellent moral compass, and because a Silver Eyed Warrior is useful in the fight against Salem, and because Beacon is the safest place for someone belonging to a group that Salem has actively hunted in the past, and because she’s now drawn attention to herself by fighting Roman and Cinder. Phew. There’s a lot at play here. This sort of thinking is important because even if we introduce the possibility of the Relic encouraging negative emotions, it means we needn’t undermine any of the already established reasons for Ozpin’s choices in regards to its safety. Why does he put the Relic in a massive, underground vault that looks like it exists in its own pocket of reality?

Obviously to make it difficult to get at, but also, perhaps, to make sure that the Relic is as far away from humanity as possible, unable to influence them. (As a side note: creating what essentially looks like a mini-dimension removed from the real world would definitely drain someone of their remaining magic.) When Yang first enters the vault we see bits of dirt and sand floating upwards, defying gravity, much like how the snow stops when Jinn appears. The Relic appears to have an impact on its environment, perhaps one that grows stronger the longer it stays in one place. Ozpin hides it deep below the earth, in its own little pocket of reality, because otherwise having the Relic sit in one place for too long is going to cause real problems.

Why put it under a school? Both so that there’s extra protection and because these are the people most equipped to deal with the Relic’s influence. If it does still manage to produce negativity---and as a result draws more Grimm---do you want a bunch of untrained civilians dealing with that, or the people used to both managing stress and fighting monsters? Why take the Relic immediately to Atlas? Because, as said, safety works in a multitude of ways. You’ve put the Atlesian army between both Salem and any Grimm the Relic may call; you’ve put the Relic in the city that’s most prepared to deal with the consequences attached to it. All of Ozpin’s choices remain logical even if we introduce the possibility that the Relic is capable of more than just answering questions. 

But I’m actually getting ahead of myself. We’re still working under the assumption that the Relic produces negativity at all, so let’s take a moment to lay out some evidence for that.

In short, it comes down to the fact that the Relic attracts Grimm. Ozpin says straight out that he's not “entirely sure” why this is the case, but he clearly has theories, one of which has to do with the Grimm’s “origins.” AKA, the God of Darkness who we know after this episode created beings that are both physical representations of, and are attracted to, negativity. That’s their origin. 

The simplest explanation here is that the Relic is somehow producing the thing we already know the Grimm are attracted to: negativity of any sort. Rather than introducing another, convoluted bit of lore---Grimm are attracted to negativity AND now any objects explicitly created by the gods---it would make sense to streamline things. The Grimm are still attracted to the same things they’ve always been attracted to, it’s just now we have an object that actively produces that. It would explain why Ozpin describes the attraction as “faint, but undeniable.” After all, there’s plenty of negativity in the world. Nearby Grimm might get distracted by something bigger and nastier, but you’re more likely to become a target if you’re in the presence of something that eats away at your ability to remain optimistic and generate kindness. This explanation would also function well thematically, both for the trope reasons discussed above, and due to the nature of djinns and genies. I’ve laid out elsewhere how Jinn herself is rather manipulative, subtly encouraging cruelty towards Ozpin as well as reckless behavior in Ruby. Jinn is the lamp, so if that’s her characterization, why not extend that a little further? As an entity she actively does what the lamp passively does: encourage fear, mistrust, and anger towards others. 

What’s immediately notable to me then is how negative moods seem to follow the Relic around, literally coming and going as the Relic does. One of the happiest moments in Volume Six is when everyone gets on the train and the girls are settling into their room. It’s just like old times with arguments about video games, Qrow coming in to tease his nieces, Weiss getting playfully annoyed at Ruby, etc. Sure, we also deal with some of Blake’s lingering doubts in regards to Yang, but it’s an incredibly optimistic conversation. Everyone is supporting one another here, everyone is smiling... and notably Ozpin, carrying the Relic, is absent. It doesn’t register as odd to us because Oscar and Ozpin have been removed from most group gatherings that don’t relate immediately to the war, most obviously when Oscar doesn’t join the re-united groups for their celebratory dinner in Haven. His absence makes sense, but it also happens to coincide with one of the last truly happy scenes we get this Volume (the other being the reunion with Jaune’s sister). If we buy into this idea that the Relic can impact people over time, Ozpin’s absence might also help explain why things don’t start going south until the train. As established, he keeps his distance within the Haven house. Except for explaining the Relic’s function---which lasts for only a minute or so, wherein the conversation presumably ends and Ozpin leaves the group to their chit-chat, taking the Relic with him---and other logistical details in regards to their journey, Ozpin and Oscar might have kept to themselves, thereby limiting the rest of the group’s exposure to the Relic.

From then on though the group is forced to keep close quarters with Ozpin and the morale very quickly takes a nosedive. Whoever is holding the Relic and whoever else is in its immediate vicinity demonstrates an incredibly short fuse, starting with Oscar getting into a fight with Dudley and Dudley getting mad enough to shove him in the middle of a fight.

We then see the group’s knee-jerk fury over Ozpin’s new bit of information while back on the train, Yang antagonizing him in the snow, all the way through to the group drawing their weapons on Qrow, an ally and uncle, for merely saying, “Hey.” As myself and others immediately pointed out when the episode aired, that is not a normal response for these girls, especially when Qrow isn’t even the one they’re mad at. What’s difficult in analyzing a theory like this is that we have to acknowledge that all of these emotions are still real. The Relic is just taking them to an extreme that results in unexpected and inappropriate behavior. The Relic isn’t producing these feelings of anger and hurt and confusion---fans are right to establish that it’s natural for the girls to be upset here---but it does seem to be escalating things at an unnatural rate. Which is why I chose the horcrux as a comparison. Just like Ron under normal circumstances, outside of the necklace’s influence, would never say or do these things, neither would the group outside of the Relic’s influence. They’d all feel the same things, they’d just a) be experiencing the normal amount of those emotions and b) be better able to manage their response to them.Things like drawing their weapons, punching Oscar, slamming him up against walls, abject pessimism, rejecting adults, deciding to steal an airship, insisting on fighting Cordovin, or letting out a furious, “He was watching us?” when you learn Ozpin just saved your teammates’ lives are all pretty unexpected explosions among a group that’s normally more diverse, more level-headed, and more compassionate. Volume Six is absolutely stuffed with examples of extreme behavior, actions and knee-jerk reactions that don’t fit the crime and don’t fit established characterization. We can chalk it up to terrible writing, or we can theorize that maybe, just maybe, something is encouraging them to act in this manner.

With these explanations in mind, consider how Ozpin reacts to Ruby merely touching the Relic. It’s quick, but when he finds out she has it his response is wide-eyed fear and an immediate, “Please hand it over.”

Based on what we already know, this makes no sense to me. Why would Ozpin be fearful? Ruby quite literally can’t do anything with the lamp until she has Jinn’s name---his secrets are safe. Even if they weren’t, or even if his trauma is convincing him here that Ruby might somehow divine that there are questions left and find a way to use one of them against him, I can’t believe that Ozpin would deal with that situation in this particular way. Meaning, the guy has a pretty level head and he’s good at putting people at ease. How do you get your Relic back without drawing attention to the fact that it’s still usable? By expressing relief that Ruby found it. Oh good. It’s safe. Wonderful, I’ll just casually take it back now. Yet Ozpin is incapable of doing any of that here. He sees Ruby holding it and is blurting out an instinctual request: “Please give it back.” It implies that his only concern is to get it out of her hands as quickly as possible, which in turn suggests that merely holding it has some sort of consequence attached. This isn’t a problem (questions) that he can take the time to carefully coax a solution to, this is a problem (her holding it) that needs to be solved now. Right this instant. Please drop the magical object that encourages depression and fury in people nearby. That’s my burden to (literally) carry.

He even reminds them then that it’s a “powerful item” (again, what power is at play if Ruby can’t summon Jinn?) and that it’s “[his] burden to bear.” Blake picks up on that implication and asks for us, “Why does it matter who carries it?” but Ozpin isn’t inclined to answer. He simply begs them to listen to him and then Oscar takes control, revealing Jinn’s name. But the question still stands. Why does it matter who carries it, provided that no one else has the word needed to access the Relic’s one, established power? Ozpin’s behavior here suggests that there’s more he’s worried about than just his (well founded) fear that they’ll somehow ask a question.

In my recap of “Uncovered” I theorized that there was a consequence to using the Relic given Ozpin’s non-violent desperation to get it out of Ruby’s hands. If you’re concerned only with keeping your own secrets... just take the damn thing. Ozpin might be in Oscar’s body now, but he’s still incredibly powerful. He could snatch the Relic out of Ruby’s hands easy-peasy, but only if he’s unconcerned with her mental and physical health. If, on the other hand, you’re likewise concerned with keeping her from using it because it would harm her in some way, you’re not going to exacerbate that problem by putting her in even more, potential danger. Instead you beg. You plead. You try to reason. You charge with an open palm, looking like you want only to knock the Relic out of her hands.

That assumed consequence could be a sort of double-dose of whatever negativity the Relic is already producing; an emotional whammy thanks to the increased interaction: someone near the relic won’t be as impacted as someone holding the relic, who in turn won’t be as impacted as someone who actually uses it. While re-watching some scenes for this meta, it struck me that twice now we’ve seen characters collapse immediately after that close interaction:

Granted yes, both Yang and Ozma are reacting to already terrible news: Yang that Raven has officially abandoned her and Ozma that he presumably can’t beat Salem. Visually though it’s an intriguing detail. Those who touch/use the relic tend to buckle under its weight. It literally and figuratively generates the sort of emotion that causes people to collapse in despair. So why don’t we see any more of this? Why isn’t Ozpin falling over in Haven and Ruby on the rest of their journey? Potentially because of either their Silver Eyes or what Silver Eyes represent. We know that Ozpin’s magic is what created children with Silver Eyes in the first place, so it could be that his original magic---Light’s magic---helps to act as a buffer against the Relic’s influence. Ozpin and Ruby are both able to interact with it more easily than others because of that buffer. That is, up until Ruby has been carrying/sleeping with it for days on end and is now mistrustful of Ozpin and throwing herself into canons; up until Ozpin has been carrying/sleeping with it for days on end and is now much more snappish towards his students than normal. Or, a related theory, it’s just their innate natures that do the trick, no literal magic involved. Ruby is the “simple soul” of our story and Ozpin the one who believes simple souls hold the key to success. They’re both already optimists at their core and therefore it takes longer to eat away at those beliefs. Unlike someone like Yang or Qrow who is already grappling with anger and pessimism. They fall right under the Relic’s influence.

All of this would, put plainly, explain a whole slew of issues in Volume Six. Why are our characters so OOC? Because magic is seriously putting them off their game and turning them into people they wouldn’t normally be inclined to become. Why wasn’t there an overt downside to using Jinn like many fans expected (given the mythology attached to her)? There was, we just haven’t  acknowledged it yet. Why did everyone have a near identical reaction to the Relic’s information, despite being different people with different experiences and worldviews? Because magic created a blanket uniformity of anger, despair, and eventual superiority. What was up with that side quest to the farm that didn’t lead anywhere plot-wise? It’s thematic work, even more-so than the already established “Oh, our characters have doubts about their mission and here are Grimm that literally make them apathetic!” Those moments may also function as a pseudo red herring. No one is theorizing about “things that magically change your mood” because we already got that this volume. Whole episodes worth. It was those Grimm and then the group set them on fire, freeing themselves... except what if there was more than one magical thing influencing them right from the start? It’s the sort of thematic detail you might include to help establish a plot twist. 

As said at the start though, I don’t actually believe very strongly that we’ll see this revelation in Volume Seven. There’s too much else that, if I were setting up such a reveal, I would have changed with this information in mind. But I think it’s still a possibility given what we’ve seen and it’s absolutely something I would accept moving forward. I would much rather be able to say, “Ah. Everyone went OOC because of this conflict with the Relic you were setting up. Far from perfect execution, but you still pulled it off.” Rather than what we currently have, which is, “Team RWBY is turning into a bunch of violent, arrogant, and cruel people entirely of their own volition. This is what ‘heroism’ now looks like in the RWBY-verse.” Magical influences, to my mind, are the preferred explanation here.

[marshmallow-phd]

Charming Instruction

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: You were just an average, everyday college student desperately trying to graduate. Only one more year stood between you and that celebratory walk. However, due to an oversight by your adviser, it seemed that the one class you never wanted to take was required to take that walk. It wasn’t the subject matter that made you uncomfortable. It was the teacher. Your heart sped up every time you saw him and you didn’t want that distraction in your life, attractive or not. With meeting him now an inevitability, you swore that you would keep your hormones in check. But after your first day of class, a series of hi jinks and weird situations lead you to discovering the secret of your professor and why he seemed to bombard your every thought.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I Final

**

Jiyoung kept her attention on the road, not even silently judging you as she took you back home. You weren’t sure if that was because the two of you didn’t really know each other or if because – perhaps just a little bit – she understood.

The first words she spoke were to simply ask you where you lived once the city limits came into view. You directed her towards the student apartments and fell quiet again.

Outside your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and softly thanked her for driving you the long way home. Before you could open the door, however, Jiyoung pressed down on the lock button, trapping you inside with a click. You whipped your head around, eyes round and wide.

“Look,” Jiyoung sighed, turning in her seat to face you, “I’m not going to lecture you or scold you or anything. I’m just going to say that I know what you’re going through right now.” A little sympathetic smile turned up in the corner of her mouth. “Your heart is hurting. A lot. But once the pain has dulled down, listen to it. It’ll tell you where to go from there.”

You frowned, fingers still glued to the door handle. “What do you mean you know what I’m going through? You’re with Jongdae. You’re happy.”

“I wasn’t always.” Running her hands down the steering wheel, she moved her gaze down to the radio. “I was in love with Jongdae for the longest time. All that pining from a far stuff. He – uh – kind of ignored me for a while. And when he was finally looking at me, it wasn’t all sunshine and fireworks. It took a lot a work, but we got there eventually. I just… I just don’t think you should run away quite yet.”

“I’m not running away,” you defended. “I shouldn’t have ever attached myself to Jun- Professor Kim. He’s my teacher and any sort of relationship beyond that is inappropriate. I’m putting things back where they belong.”

“But he won’t be your teacher forever,” Jiyoung argued.

And you wanted to agree with her. You wanted to say something about how – maybe after the semester was over or after graduation – then you could go back and listen to whatever Junmyeon had to say; maybe actually put up a good fight and tell him that you thought you could be good for him, that you felt something for him that was so deep and drowning you didn’t know how to describe it. But right now you were treading water, limbs tiring out from struggling to stay afloat. You’d found a life preserver and now you were going to cling on to that to keep yourself from going under.

Maybe… Maybe in the future, once you’ve recovered and pulled yourself up again, you could give it another try. You could put your heart a little further out there once your skin has thicken and you were more ready for rejection. But now you were shattered, too broken. You needed time to pick up the pieces.

“It doesn’t matter,” you told her. “I’ll be gone after graduation.”

She gasped. “But-”

“Please just open the door.” You tried hard to convey your annoyance and eagerness to get inside.”

Giving in, Jiyoung unlocked the door and you scrambled out of there faster than a wolf on fire.

**

After you begged him to let go, Junmyeon couldn’t stand there and watch you fade away.

Why wouldn’t you just let him tell you? Why couldn’t he have just told you earlier so all of this could be avoided? Why was he such a coward?

Why? Why? WHY?

Junmyeon let out a long howl before taking off in the woods. He didn’t remember shifting. He didn’t know what direction he was going in or where he was headed, just that he need to run. He needed to do something and this was the answer his instincts had given him.

His paws pounded against the dirt floor, pushing him farther and farther away from the farmhouse. Several howls echoed in the distance behind him, calling for their alpha to come back home. Junmyeon pressed on, ignoring the cries.

Around him the trees began to thin after running for who knew how long. He never tired, never slowed down, just kept going.

Additional paws hurrying to catch up with him beat in rhythmic sync some distance behind him. Then, a body much bigger than Junmyeon’s slammed into him, causing him to lose his footing and roll over several times. The wolf inside had taken control and Junmyeon leaped, teeth bared, at whoever the beast deemed a threat. He latched on to a neck, not paying attention to the russet colored fur.

Junmyeon, stop!

Two more wolves wedged themselves in between Junmyeon and his opponent, shoving him away. Just as he turned to attack again, his senses pushed through, screaming at him that the wolves were his brother. Kris huffing and shaking off the nicks left from Junmyeon’s teeth. They would heal, but in the meantime they would sting.

Why the hell did you pounce on me like that? Junmyeon growled.

Kris flicked his head to Junmyeon’s right.

You were about to hit the city limits, Chanyeol whined. No one there is supposed to see us.

Junmyeon blinked. Why did I come this way?

You were headed for your mate, Kris answered, his thoughts conveying the venom he felt for being on the receiving end of Junmyeon’s anger.

Your urge to stop her was probably too great in this form, Yixing added. Your feet took you where your logic wouldn’t.

Junmyeon let out something that somewhat resembled a sigh. I’m sorry, guys. I just… He couldn’t finish that thought. Turning to Kris, he thought instead, You should be at home resting. You barely have energy as it is.

Kris had mastered “the look” in wolf form years ago. I’m fine. Making sure you don’t expose all of us by making a scene is more important.

It took will power for Junmyeon not to snap back. Instead, he huffed, looking at the boys who came after him. Never had he been so thankful for their loyalty that stopped him from doing something incredibly stupid.

Come on, Kris flicked his head in the direction of the farmhouse with that natural authority Junmyeon always envied. Let’s get out of here before we’re spotted.

Reluctantly, Junmyeon agreed and everyone started slowly moving away from the tree line. Before they could get too far away, he paused, turning to look behind him once more as if you would miraculously know that he was there and come running to him. He messed everything up after having it all land perfectly in his lap. You were everything to him and yet – with mistake after mistake – he let you down.

Hanging his head, he walked on, fearful for the pain that would be awaiting him soon.

**

Cam and Gemma nearly broke down when you came shuffling through the door. Apparently, they’d made it back to the apartment last night but didn’t realize you weren’t with them until they woke up this morning. They were just about to call the police when you walked in, dropping their phones to come suffocate you in their overbearing hugs. At least, that was what you could understand from as they were talking at the same time.

“Oh my god, I thought you were kidnapped!” Gemma sniffed your ear.

Pulling back, Cam was a bit more aggressive. “Why the hell did you leave?”

You shrugged. “Junie showed up. I – um, I accidentally drunk texted him and he came to get me. I guess he didn’t like the idea of me being at the SAE house. I crashed at his place.”

Gemma let you go to get a better look at you. “That Junie guy actually had the nerve to show up?”

“What gave him the right to decide whether or not you could be there?” Cam snapped.

“It wasn’t like that,” you mumbled. You didn’t want to have this conversation. Mostly because – despite everything else – you were a little thankful he’d come to get you. Who knows what could have happened. You didn’t get that wasted very often and the fact that you couldn’t remember chunks of last night – despite no harm coming to you – freaked you out. “I wanted to leave with him.”

Shaking her head, Gemma crossed her arms while giving you a look of pity. “Oh, (y/n)-”

“Don’t!” You snapped. You were not going to stand there and take another psycho-analyzed lecture. “I’m not going to see him again. I’m moving on with my life and that’s the end of it. So, don’t go all ‘shrink’ on me.”

Cam’s mouth dropped. “(y/n)-”

“Just leave me alone.” You pushed through your friends to your room. Throwing yourself on your bed, you clung to your pillow, wrapping around it like a child with their safety blanket.

You did exactly what you said you would do.

While you couldn’t continue to skip class altogether, you made sure to sit in the very back, closest to the door for a quick getaway. The few times a paper or a quiz needed to be handed in over the next week, you’d make acquaintances with whoever sat next to you and get them to hand it in for you with some excuse about having to leave as soon as possible. The ultimate goal was to make it seem as if you weren’t there at all. You even wore a baseball cap pulled down to cover up most of your face. That probably made you stand out more than blend in, but it kept you from staring at him, so that was a silver lining.

Moving on was easier said than done though.

Every time you turned a corner, you panicked when you saw his face. It was never actually him, just your mind playing tricks on you, superimposing his face onto whoever was headed in your direction. How could it betray you like this? You were trying to move on with your life and yet it seemed dead set on reminding you of him every chance it got.

Footsteps in the library would make you look up. At times you thought you heard his voice, making you whirl around in the middle of a busy hallway. Stupid songs on your playlist would make you think of him and you couldn’t even watch your favorite shows without wondering if Junmyeon was watching it was well.

One night, when you were particularly restless, you found yourself sneaking out of the apartment and heading for the little park. Just like that night with Junmyeon, there was no else around as you followed the concrete path to that secluded bench. You sat down, bringing your feet up and closing your eyes as you went back to that time.

You’d been so happy in that brief, fleeting moment. Still a little unsure and hesitant, but happy. Junmyeon had called you one of the most important people in his world. You’d believed it, taking in his honesty. But after that, you felt more like a convenience, something to shake up his world that maybe had become a little too boring.

The phantom feeling of his arms wrapped around you made you shrink into yourself more. If you were just a convenience, if you weren’t something more to him that a person who knew his secret, then why did he so desperately try to stop you? What was he going to tell you?

“Your my-”

You put your fists over your ears to try and block out the memory. His what? His friend? His confidant? What was so important that he had to tell you right then and there? What had you refused to listen to?

Regret was starting to way down you.

Did you do the right thing? Would you ever be able to move on? You wanted to. You wanted to so desperately, but everything reminded you of him, everything made you want to turn around and ask for him to tell you whatever it was he wanted to say, that you would listen to every word without judgement.

You felt like the lead in a rom com right after the dramatic turn in the plot. All you needed to do was wait a little while longer and he would miraculously show up, the feeling of needing to revisit this place again. After you’d jump to your feet, you’d then give some drawn out speech about you were an idiot and how you just wanted to protect your heart and how you had plans before he came along and that’s why you tried to push him away, but now you just might adjust them – not banish them completely – if that meant he would stay in your life.

Life wasn’t a movie, though. You didn’t get miraculous coincidences that –

Oh, screw it.

Pushing away your self-pity, you decided to take the chance. You ran out of the park and towards the campus. There were still cars in the parking lot, enough to indicate that evening classes were still in session. If you remembered the schedule correctly, Junmyeon didn’t have any, but there was still a chance that he could be in his office. The lights were still on in the hallway of the world studies building. You nearly slipped on the freshly mopped floor, but you figured that would just be the slight comic relief before you pressed on.

Coming up to Junmyeon’s office, your heart sped up. The light was on inside and the sound of movement was evident behind the door.

You could do this. It wasn’t that hard to turn the handle and walk inside.

The doorknob was cold when you grasped it. Slowly, you turned it before throwing the door open. “Junmyeon, I- Oh. Sorry.”

It wasn’t Junmyeon rummaging around in the office. It was a man from the cleaning crew. He hadn’t heard you enter at first, earbuds in and blaring loud enough for you to vaguely hear something resembling rap music.

Realizing that he was no longer alone, he turned around and plucked out the buds. “Yeah?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, waving your apology before closing the door once more.

Well, at least you tried. If you couldn’t talk to him tonight, then you would just have to wait until class on Monday.

**

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Over and over, Junmyeon let the back of his head knock against the wall behind him. He had one elbow resting on a bent knee while the other leg was laying down flat as he sat on the floor of his bedroom. He hadn’t really moved since waking up this morning. Getting out of bed hadn’t been too bad, but after that all motivation had evaporated and he couldn’t leave the room for breakfast.

Tomorrow he’d have to face you again. Not nearly as close as you once had been, but your very presence in that classroom was just enough to drive him mad, even with you sitting all the way in the back, trying hide under a hat and hunched shoulders. Each minute that went by drained even more of his control. How much longer would he last before he snapped completely, running up those stairs in the middle of a lecture before snatching you up and hauling you away to make you listen to him?

He couldn’t do that. No matter how much he wanted to. He was lucky, though. So far, he’d only had one attack and it was last Thursday in the middle of dinner. The few wolves that had been home had rushed to his side, making him feel a little appreciated and cared for, but it’d subsided quickly and he hadn’t had one since. Kris grumbled around him a few times about the whole ordeal. His own attacks hadn’t let up, making it great cause for concern. Junmyeon didn’t want anyone worrying about him when his fellow alpha was in more danger.

Junmyeon scoffed. Fellow alpha. That was giving himself too much credit. While he was the official leader of the pack and certainly displayed the qualities of an alpha, he wasn’t on the same level as Kris. Junmyeon had been raised to be a leader of wolves, but it was in Kris’ blood. Others immediately looked to him and fell in line. When Kris left all those years ago, Junmyeon was surprised that more didn’t leave with him, just on instinct.

“Okay, you seriously need to stop.”

Baekhyun, along with Yixing, barged into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him before standing over Junmyeon. Fists on his hips, it was a bit of a comical sight. Baekhyun just wasn’t the serious one and when he tried to be, it was hard to keep a straight face. Yixing simply carried a look of concern.

“Stop what?” Junmyeon asked as he strained to stay composed.

Rolling his eyes, Baekhyun replied, “Banging your head against the wall. We can all hear it and, honestly, it’s a little pathetic. You need to pick yourself up.”

A little offended, Junmyeon grabbed a dirty, rolled up sock and threw it at the younger wolf’s face. “Easy for you to say, your mate practically fell into your lap.”

“She is a little clumsy,” Baekhyun beamed. Letting the smile slip from his face, he sighed and sat down next to Junmyeon. “This is sad, though. I never expected you to mess up this much. Whatever happened to the smooth operator? Did you leave him behind in your college days?”

Yixing, still quiet as ever, sat down on the other side. He sported a thoughtful look, making Junmyeon wonder what was going through his head, but that was nothing new. Yixing was always hard to read.

“I didn’t care back then,” Junmyeon answered honestly as he turned back to the other wolf. “If they said no, I could always move on to the next one. I wasn’t exposing myself life this.”

Baekhyun snorted. “Yeah. You really did expose yourself to her that night in the woods, didn’t you?”

As much as he wanted to throw a punch, Junmyeon only had the energy to throw a look of annoyance in Baekhyun’s direction.

“It’ll be okay,” Baekhyun said, all joking out of his voice. There was no hint of his normal goofy grin on his face.

Junmyeon was taken back, but certainly grateful. “Thank you. I don’t know if it will be. I think I hurt her pretty badly. All because I couldn’t open my damn mouth and say what needed to be said. I should have just been honest with her along.”

“You should have,” Yixing agreed, “but your fear kept you from doing it.”

“My fear?” Junmyeon echoed. “My fear of what? Her rejecting me?”

Yixing shook his head. “No. Not that. You didn’t want to give her the option of choosing between you and her dream of archaeology. Because you’re scared of what she’ll choose. Our mates may accept us, but they don’t have to stay by our side. They don’t yearn in the same way we do. They can leave while we stay behind.”

Yixing was right, of course. He didn’t want to ask you to choose just for you go off on a dig. And then he’d be alone again, surrounded by his mated brothers living so happily while he pined for you. But it wasn’t right to make you choose him either. So, however unknowingly, he stayed quiet and kept that choice away from you. Then he wouldn’t have to face the worst possible outcome.

Well, second worst.

“I don’t want to hold her back,” Junmyeon whispered.

“It’s up to her.” Yixing smiled, “But her choice might surprise you.”

If anyone knew, it would definitely be Yixing. Junmyeon almost forgot about his previous predicament.

Baekhyun exhaled a loud huff. “Thank god Hae In just wants to be a kindergarten teacher.”

Junmyeon snorted. There was a lot for Baekhyun to be grateful for.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but Junmyeon was going to try one more time to speak with you. But first, he had another matter he needed to look into as well.

**

No. No, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening to you!

This morning you had a plan. You were going to corner Junmyeon when class was over, after sitting right there in the front know so he knew that you wanted to talk to him. It was all supposed to be fixed one way or the other. You needed to fix it.  

But you did what you normally tasked yourself with doing in the morning before you headed off to class: you checked your email. Right there at the very top was a new message labeled from “Professor Kim”. Your heart was skipping in your chest from excitement… until you opened the email.

It was a mass message to your whole class explaining that class would be canceled today and to turn in the papers electronically instead for this one time.

Letting out a high pitched whine, you let your head fall down to your keyboard. You didn’t want to wait until Wednesday to try again. What if he also canceled that class? How the hell were you supposed to see him now?

Your brain offered you the solution of driving back up to the farmhouse. You still had the directions, but you didn’t want to drive all the out there just to discover that he wasn’t there.

Was this all your fault? Did he cancel class because of you?

You scoffed at yourself. You didn’t think you had that strong of a hold on him.

Sighing, you closed your laptop and drummed your fingers on your table. You had nearly four hours before your next class would start. There was only one thing you could think to do to calm down. You needed to go to your happy place.

Getting dressed with the minimal amount of effort, you packed up for your things for class and headed out. The bus stop was right at the corner and yet you still barely made it in time to catch your ride before it took off.

The bus was crowded with commuters since it was still early in the morning, most of them talking on the phone or with each other. You found a seat near the back, cutting out the loud buzzing chatter, and counted down the stops until you were just a block away from the museum. Thanking the driver out of politeness, you walked the rest of the way, making it just in time for the unlocking of the doors.

“You’re here especially early,” Mrs. Kang, one of the curators, teased as she let you in.

You shrugged. “I had some time to kill.”

“So many visitors this morning,” Mrs. Kang murmured to herself. “Must be something in the air.”

You frowned at her observation, but shrugged it off.

For a while, you simply wandered around the first floor, staring at the dinosaur bones and reading the little plaques you’d memorized a long time ago. Soon you found yourself in front of the newsboard. One little flyer caught your eye. It was a job for the museum. It wouldn’t open up until next spring but it intrigued you and there was promise of a possible trip to an excavation site.

“(y/n)?”

You gasped, turning towards the voice. You nearly cried right then and there.

Junmyeon was standing just a few feet away. Like a miracle.

Out of instinct, you glanced around frantically before asking, “W-what are you doing here?”

He smiled at you. How could he be smiling at you right now? “I needed to spend some time with the artifacts. I had to research something.”

“And did you find what you were looking for you?” you asked.

Junmyeon shook his head. “No, unfortunately not.” He tilted his head, staring at you. “What are you doing here?”

“You canceled class,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here.” Playing with your fingers, you fidgeted back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Can I talk to you?”

He chuckled. “You can always talk to me, (y/n).”

The cheesy line made you smile. “I appreciate that. But I mean… about something important.”

“Of course.” After glancing at the front, Junmyeon motioned towards the back door with his head. “Let's go back to the room.”

You nodded and followed him, your system going crazy with anticipation. This morning when you woke up, all you wanted was to talk to him. Now that opportunity was in front of you, you were scared as hell.

Oh, well. Here goes nothing.

[nanigma]

Leon Fanbook Translation: Profile

Link to the Takumi Fanbook

Introduction

Look who actually kept her promise! This still took me forever and a half, but I am very happy I got it pushed out within the time frame I imagined. Things are off to a good start, I think.

Before we continue, here is the same note as before: As I am currently without a real income, I would very much appreciate it if you could throw me a couple bucks via my ko-fi account. It doesn’t have to be a lot, just what you think my translations are worth really.

My comments in italics

I will be using the Japanese names

My comments in italics

I will be using the Japanese names

Page 8-9

Profile

Prince Leon's Profile

His personal data, history, as well as dialogue and all sorts of information will be shown here. Before we can really know, and therefore talk about the younger Nohrian Prince Leon, we need to some basic information on him.

Just what kind of person is Leon, the younger Prince of Nohr? If we start with data such as age, height and weight of the person in question and analyse everything until we arrive at topics such as his mother and his family, the information we can gain on him is not inconsiderable. Trying to pinpoint more through his in-game profile description “likes tomatoes the most out of everyone in the army”, one can glean his favourite food. Once he gets started, the praise he heaps upon tomatoes can become quite disconcerting. It seems that even with the 40 to 47 pages of published material, questionnaire results and submitted art,

Leon’s image is forever associated with tomatoes. But, that’s not all. To be worthy of being called a Leon fan, it is necessary to know and understand him by collecting all the surrounding information on him, and thereby truly ascertain his character. Definitely things like him pretending to be cold in order to push others away, or how much he prides himself in being a strategist. Perhaps he also uses the strong impression left by something like his obsession with tomatoes to conceal the things about his character that he doesn’t want others to know.

Personal Data

Prince Leon's personal data

Name: Leon [Leo] Gender: Male

Class: Dark Knight Weapon: The Sacred Treasure “Brunhilde”

Physique: tall and slender, with no excess fat attached Birthday: June 30th Country of Origin: Nohr Residence: Royal Castle of Darkness

Hair Colour: Gold-shaded flax colour Eye Colour:  A blood-like shade of crimson Skin Colour: A little sickly seeming First Person Pronoun: Boku* Second Person Pronouns: Kisama, Anata, Omae* Likes: Reading, Tomatoes

Family: King Garon (Father), One of Garon's Concubines (Mother)

            Marx (Older Brother), Camilla (Older Sister), Elise (Younger Sister)             As well as a large number of other siblings             Aqua, Kamui             Foleo (Future Son) Retainers: Zero, Odin

Voice Actor: Mamoru Miyano

Page 9

History Data

Early Years

He was born as the child of King Garon of Nohr. In those days, Garon would keep a number of concubines, from whom he also received a lot of children, beside his legal wife Ekaterina. The woman who became Leon's mother was one of them. Their royal children's claim to the throne, as well as their constant aim to become worthy in the eyes of their “spouse”*, meant that the rivalry between the concubines grew ever more tense, and they soon became wrapped up in intrigues that were literally dripping with blood. Because of Leon's mother, who stood in opposition to the main faction belonging to Ekaterina, he did not have any contact with his older siblings, Marx and Camilla, during his early years.

Childhood Years

His handsome features inherited from his mother, and moreover his possessing an overwhelming number of outstanding qualities, made Garon take notice of Leon even among his many siblings. Leon's mother would use this fact as a trump card against Ekaterina's faction, as well as the mothers of the other children, in order to assert her own superiority. Compared to her stated motive of looking out for her son's interests, her desire to turn the King's love and attention towards her was clearly more important. According to Leon's own recollections, she never displayed much of what could be called „a mother's love“ towards her son. When Leon seemed to turn his talents towards the magic arts, his exceptional qualities became yet more polished as they bloomed. Once he reached the position of one of the most preeminent magic users in the kingdom, Leon was given a place at Garon's side next to Marx and Camilla. At the same time, Garon's many illegitimate children, as things were progressing towards the conclusion of their violent struggle over the selection process, finally acknowledged each other's existence.

As for Leon, together with his older siblings, Marx, Camilla, Kamui, as well as his younger sister, Elise, he formed a unit that would later come to be referred to as the „The Nohrian siblings“. For someone like him, who grew up without receiving any parental love, there can be no doubt that the warmth reflected in the eyes of his siblings was a great source of happiness for him.

Once the war breaks out

And so, Leon, who had attained an untouchable position among the Nohrian royalty, continued expanding his magical abilities to become a Dark Knight of the highest order within the army. When he entered, it was with the Divine Weapon Brunhilde in his hands. Thanks to his tremendous powers, he was granted the title of „Gravity Master“. Due to not having had many allies because of the circumstances of his birth, he has a hard time trusting others, as well as a deep hatred for cowardly deeds and acts of betrayal. To tell the truth, his Nohrian brethren have in the past been on the receiving end of Leon's mercilessly executed punishments. This is why he is called cold-blooded, but instead it would be more apt to say that he is shaking with anger and unease on the inside. On the surface he appears to have a cool-head, and because of that seeing his true self sometimes shine through the cracks of the mask is all the more meaningful – For those who are familiar enough with him, this too is just another big part of „Prince Leon's“ appeal.    

Resolution, as well as the future

As these events become history, it says that as the Nohrian and Hoshidan royalty joined hands and fought their mutual enemy together, the two younger princes, who grew up in similar circumstaces, seemingly displayed a mutual affinity for each other. It is further says that during battle Leon would rely on only his older brother, Marx, as well as his retainers, Odin and Zero, but after these events it would seem there is documented proof that the name of the younger Hoshidan Prince, Takumi, was added to the list as well. Leon's signature divine weapon „Brunhilde“ would later be inherited by his son, Foleo.  

Performance Data

Just his starting stats and skills. You can also find them on the wiki

Monologue

Prince Leon's monologue

Level Up (Worst): Maybe my bearing wasn't befitting of royalty... Level Up (Low): Well, as expected. Level Up (Good): I'm glad this didn't end in embarrassment. Level Up (Best): It scares even me to see how strong I've become. Level Up (Max): I am already strong, so don't you think this is enough? Class Change: Hm, I trust that my clothes didn't turn inside out?

Buying: Be sure to pick something out that looks good on me, alright? Buying (salesperson): Only you would ever buy things for the person running the store. Selling: I would prefer if you didn't just go around selling my belongings... Selling (salesperson): Having my own belongings sold to me... it's painful. Forging: I'll show you I can handle any kind of weapon. Forging (salesperson): I dislike physical labour... I wonder if I can't just use magic?

Defeat (Classic Mode): No way... To think someone like me could be defeated... Although, I should accept death with dignity, I simply can't do that to my siblings... Allow me to retreat here... Defeat (Casual Mode): How dare you... To think of all people, I'd be forced to retreat... This is humiliating...  

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

1. Boku: The more non-threatening yet still distinctly male form of I. 2. Kisama: Used to be formal, but is now an incredibly rude way to say you (though also a bit antiquated). I think Leon mostly uses this with Ganz, Zola and Macbeth, as well as Corrin for part of Birthright. 3. Anata: Standard, “polite” way to say you.(although it has to be said that in common Japanese pronouns are not often used, and even anata can seem rude or weird when used in excess) 4. Omae: Literally “you in front of me”. Not the most polite, but can be used in casual situations. I think Leon mostly uses it with Elise. 5. The kanji used here was  夫 or literally husband. The concubines apparently considered Garon this, even if they weren’t on Ekaterina’s level, but I thought this would sound confusing, so I am clearing it up here.　

Overally, I am enjoying the Leon book so far, although I would have liked if they had included more info about the conclusion of the concubine war and what exactly happened to Leon’s mom (or at least give her name!!).

[starisartblog]

The Light of the Storm: A Miss Fortune x Lux Fanfic

I don’t have an AO3 account so here’s a story I’ve been on and off writing about how Lux and Miss Fortune met and fell in love. I generally tried to stay lore compliant??? but there’s also a lot of creative liberty largely due to the fact that I roleplayed Miss Fortune for about 2 years. Basically don’t @ me about what’s canon and what’s not. This will be multichapter but idk how long it will be.

Chapter One: Unfamiliar Territory and a Pirate’s Honor

The first signs of land on the horizon brought much relief to the deckhands aboard The Lightforger. While surrounded by a vast empty sea, one would think that they were suspended in time, but in reality the voyage had only lasted a few weeks. The expertise of their charters and navigators were the only thing that stood between them and mindlessly drudging across the sea to their destination.

Luxanna Crownguard shuts the cover of an old tome at the call of sighted land. She, like many others, suffered with consequential boredom that came with long voyages and this had possibly been her longest trip to date. Despite biding some of her time with studies of old tomes and sparring with Kahina, she felt trapped. It had also reminded her of the seclusion imposed by her family in her younger years. Pushing that rather sour memory back, she tucks the tome under her arm and skips up the stairs to the main deck where several of her comrades look on curiously.

Arches of land slowly reveal themselves from the horizon, their bases shrouded in mist from water falling from great heights. Soon a landmass is in full view, the vague shapes of vessels perch themselves on the cliff sides while numerous banners flap freely in the wind. Lux had only heard stories of this place from older superiors and veterans. An anarchical land that would make anyone in the royal court of Demacia faint.

This was the city known as Bilgewater.

According to some of the stories she heard, Bilgewater hadn’t always been this way. A long time ago several ships had accidentally crashed into the Serpent Isles largely due to the fact that it had been apparently uncharted. After a minor clash with the natives of the Isles, the foreigners agreed to claim a small piece of land for the building of lighthouses to avoid further casualties. It served as a convenient rest stop at first but then expanded to a convenient trade port to cut down travel time between countries.

For a while it had been very prosperous, but soon the mysterious Black Mist had strengthened and attacked the port city frequently. Deciding that the resources expended to maintain its safety against the seemingly indomitable threat were a waste, many abandoned the port town. Those who remained consistently fought off the Black Mist and claimed Bilgewater for its own. Unfortunately the lack of a stable government turned Bilgewater into a lawless land of brigands and pirates.

Knowing full well of their relationships, The Lightforger had been stripped of its Demacian flag along with any symbol of its origin and dressed as a common tradeship. Those aboard had been dressed accordingly to keep up the charade. Lux figures that a Demacian vessel landing in Bilgewater was probably the equivalent of painting a large target on their back. On top of that, diverting attention from themselves was a crucial part of this mission.

The vessel had finally passed through the first arch of Bilgewater by nightfall. The clash of cold water from above and the warm night envelops The Lightforger with mist, making for almost an ethereal passing into the city. Peering from her cabin window, Lux gathers her things while determined to sneak glances of newfound territory.

Needless to say, she was completely awestruck.

Oil lit lamps decorate every odd end of the city, giving it a warm glow in contrast to the night. Scaffolds of wooden walkways and bridges connect the separated pieces of land giving Bilgewater’s heart a completely labyrinthian look. Vessels of old had been fused with old stone architecture to create taverns, shops and living spaces. She recognizes old Noxian warships, Freldjordian longboats, Shuriman vessels and even old Demacian galleons that had been repurposed as such.

Carved in wood and stone along many cliffsides and buildings had been a myriad of sea creatures, decorated with old bones and fangs. Lux notices two recurring creatures. One a frog-like monster with endless rows of teeth and a fanged creature with seemingly endless tentacles stretching from all parts of it body. Had it been the visages of their gods? She finds the prospect simply fascinating…

Clearly distracted, the girl would jump at the feeling of cold metal at the back of her neck. With a yelp, she turns around to the freckled and grinning face of her companion.

“Only you would get excited over a pirate town, Lux.” Kahina waves the hilt of her sword in a teasing manner. Lux waves a hand dismissively at her, a slight tint of red to her cheeks betrays any stoic stature she tries to play off.

“This is our first time visiting Bilgewater. I couldn’t help myself.” The blonde retorts. “You must admit the architecture is impressive and unique! The description from any book I’ve read simply doesn’t do this place any justice.”

“Sure, sure.” Kahina yawns finally sheathing her sword. “Just don’t let it get to your head. Remember that we’re still walking into a den of wolves. They’re more likely to shove a blade in your stomach if it meant more gold in their pockets.”

Lux frowns. “Deception lies in many forms, but it’s all still deception.”

The Lightforger finally settles in an available dock, occupied by a small crowd of men and women idling around the deck space. With their belongings strapped to their backs and sides, several of the Radiant Ones stand ready on the main deck. Kahina nudges Lux once more, putting a hand on her shoulder and whispering into her ear.

“I just heard that apparently the reason we’re here is that someone owes Aharon a favor.”

“I thought you said people here are more likely to doublecross you.” Lux whispers back. “An old drinking buddy perhaps?”

“Something of the sort.”

A voice comes from behind the two. Aharon lowers his hood and motions them off the deck. “I’m taking a small group to meet up with our primary collaborator--and by small I mean just us three. The rest will assume their stations with their help.” He then motions to the small group that had come to greet them.

An older man steps forward, his cane thudding against the dock with every step. He studies the three for a moment, though once settling his gaze on Aharon he simply smiles.

“Trust ya had smooth sailin’ lad?” The old man nudges Aharon with his cane.

“Uneventful.” Aharon brushes his robe. “I was looking forward to stepping off the ship the moment I set foot on it.”

He and I share that sentiment… Lux thinks to herself.

“Well we can hold business talk fer th’ mornin’ if yer too tired. Sure th’ Captain won’t mind terribly. We can accomodate yer lil’ posse easy--”

“Time is of the essence, Rafen.” Aharon states plainly. “If nothing else I want to pass on our recent findings…” His serious tone doesn’t falter in the slightest despite how casual the other is. The old man called Rafen laughs and shrugs.

“Aye aye aye. Good to know I have the right man. Captain told me you were a no-nonsense Demacian.” Aharon finally lets himself smile and adjusts his glasses.

“We have a reputation to uphold as no-nonsense Demacians.”

“As we be holdin’ the reputation of no-good scoundrels.” Rafen raps his cane against the floor several times and those with him stand to attention. “Alright help ‘em unload and such. An’ be careful with their stuff will ya? I’m sure most of what they own be more valuable than yer own lives.” The old man turns back to them.

“Captain’s in the workshop tonight. Follow close an’ keep yer blades closer.”

Despite the winding and confusing passages, Rafen navigates the small group with ease. He had grown with this city and thus knows of every street and turn. Lux finds it all impressive, but can’t help but wonder about something else. Men and women lurk in the alleyways as we pass, but seem to slink further in as Rafen passes. Had it been from fear? Rafen certainly didn’t look like a man that Aharon would associate himself with. Not to mention that the old man spoke of a Captain. His Captain. There had been someone that even he answered to? It was quite a mystery.

The workshop Rafen had spoken of sits at the base of a spire, hollowed out many years ago and an old ship had been attached to the side with a sign reading “FORTUNE’S FAVOR” hanging at the front. A small twisting flight of stairs brings them upwards and they are soon greeted by a gentle orange glow, the hissing of steam and the ringing of metal.

The room itself is a humble space to fit a forge among other smithing tools and stations. Pinned along the walls are various swords, daggers and firearms created with a style reminiscent of Bilgewater’s aesthetic. A lone person sits in the middle striking a slab of glowing metal against an anvil. They’re clothed head to toe with protective gear only further adding to the mystery of Aharon’s client.

Rafen makes sure the other is aware of his presence, then walks over to exchange a few words rendered unintelligible by the roar of the forge. Their work is put at a halt, dunking the glowing metal into a nearby container of water and creating a massive cloud of steam. As the steam dissipates, the person seemed to have removed their gear.

Hiding beneath the mask is the face of a dark skinned woman with fire red hair strung up into a ponytail. The woman rises from her seat to reveal a well built frame, defined with muscle and decorated with old scars. Colorful tattoos cover every inch of her body depicting sea creatures, ships and green tentacles that encroach from her back. Slick with sweat, the forge’s light makes the woman look like a glistening goddess and her eyes are a cool blue to balance such a fiery radiance. The woman glances over her three new guests and once it settles on Lux, the blonde instinctively holds in a breath.

“Captain Fortune.” Aharon steps forward to extend a hand. Lux lets out a quiet exhale as words were finally exchanged. “It’s been a while.”

The woman named Fortune steps forward as well, accepting his hand with a strong shake. Aharon even winces at the forcefulness of her grip and she can’t help but grin. “Aye. Was wonderin’ when I was gonna see yer mug again, Aharon Dawnscribe.” The man puts his hand to his chest and gestures to the other two. “I’d like for you to meet two of my companions--”

“Kahina Radiabourne.” Kahina gives a respectful salute.

Fortune’s gaze was once again on Lux. Realizing that the Captain was looking for a name, she flinches. Despite such a playful demeanor, the woman gives off a commanding presence that forces Lux to look to the ground.

“L-Luxanna Crowng-guard, ma’am.” Lux squeaks out, red hot with embarrassment. Gods above she could feel Kahina’s smile behind her.

“A blueblood? Interestin’.” Fortune cants her head to the side, tilting her chin up with a single finger. “Ah come now, level eyes with me lass. No need to cast down such a bright an’ pretty face..”

Gods above! Gods above! My heart is going to burst…! Lux cries in her mind.

“Captain.” Aharon clears his throat. “If you're quite done, then we'll get on with business. I've already expressed to Rafen the urgency--”

“Aye aye aye.” She winks to Lux and pulls her hand away. “But not here. Voices carry an’ snoopin’ ears are all too willin’ to listen.”

They're led to the other side of the forge through a door and presumably into the ship attached at the side. The noises above them are prominent, yet muffled and Lux concludes them to be just above a lively bar. Given the mass of crates and items compacted in the room and the noise above, they would be free to discuss anything without being overheard. Rafen guards the door they just entered through while Fortune says something to another man who promptly leaves the storage area. Two men return with small bowls of stew, several small loaves of bread and drinks.

“It’s a seafood stew. Bilgewater classic.” Fortune explains while being given her own share and promptly dipping her loaf into the bowl. “Fish is our specialty, but we can’t grow anythin’ else worthwhile here. So we really do benefit by those still willin’ to trade.” As Lux samples the stew, she realizes what the woman means. Shuriman spices season the broth and accompanying the fish are hardy potatoes and carrots from Noxus. Finally the loaf of bread served with the stew is all too familiar: it was made from Demacian wheat.

“Yer wheat is the absolute best for soft bread like this.” The Captain smiles and chews on broth-soaked bread, speaking again after swallowing. “What’s this all about then? Must be pretty damn urgent for ya to see me in person.”

“If I may be blunt.” Aharon appears a tad unnerved once Fortune’s gaze is upon him. “We suspect that Bilgewater is at risk of total Noxian occupation.”

Her playful air vanishes just by her posture straightening and her brows narrowing. For now her food is set to the side.

“Surely ya didn't cross the seas to tell me somethin’ I already knew.”

“Of course not. I have intel confirming some...concerning circumstances towards our claim. Given that you're a rather adamant advocate against Noxian expansion, you're of the few I can trust with this information.” As if to take off some unforeseen force of stress, he redirects his attention. “Miss Crownguard, if you would.”

The moment she feels the Captain’s gaze again, she hesitates. Lux has encountered many a general and sergeant, but never has a simple gaze made her feel completely disarmed. Captain Fortune was well worthy of her title.

“Let's hear what you have to say, Crownguard.”

“Uhm. I-I have done a fair share of espionage within Noxian borders.” Her heart feels like it's creeping up her throat again. “A recent assignment has had me follow a trend of trade containing armor and weaponry being sent from Noxus to the occupied city of Bel’zhun. We thought it to be standard upkeep for the soldiers to retain their control in Shurima. We’ve then noticed a large fraction of such resources travel to the east before being sent from the port city of Mudtown.”

“Aye. A good ship gets you from Mudtown to Bilgewater in a week’s time.” Fortune seems quick to piece it together.

“Then you fully understand the severity of the situation.” Aharon takes back control of the conversation. “It's only a matter of time before shipping over mere swords becomes sending a fleet of soldiers to your coasts.”

“They be hard pressed to take over the entire island. The Kraken Priestess an’ her god wouldn’t take that lyin’ down either.”

“You've heard the horrors of the Noxian invasion of Ionia.” Aharon says bluntly. “They stripped acres of magic from their lands. I wouldn’t put it past them to employ similar tactics here if it meant killing a supposed god.”

It goes without saying that occupying the island would also inch Noxian territory closer to Demacia for an effective pincer. In short, both nations are properly threatened by this.

“Yer stretchin’ this favor I owe ya real thin.” Fortune seems frustrated, taking another bite of bread and a spoonful of stew.

“I don't intend to waste a pirate’s honor on something frivolous. Brash as you may be, you're a reliable ally. I figure preventing such an invasion while this city rebuilds to be enough incentive to having your full cooperation.” There's a moment of painful silence, then Fortune begins to laugh and the tension in the room eases up a bit.

“Bloody seven hells! Can't really argue against that can I?” She waves a hand dismissively and downs the rest of her stew. “Fine. Ya have my cooperation, but we'll continue this tomorrow. A sea voyage takes a lot out of ya when ya ain't used to it.” She rises from her seat, holding her drink in her hand.

“Hold on Fortune.” Kahina stops the woman. “I have one question for you.”

“That's Captain Fortune.”

“Right. Captain Fortune, what’s your connection to Aharon? I've never even heard of you until today.” Fortune has to think on it for a moment. Had she forgotten as well?

“A few years ago Aharon here let me in Demacian borders to catch a runaway bounty. I mentioned owin’ ‘im fer it, that's all. What? Did ya think I was a--”

“Thank you for your hospitalities, Captain Fortune. I'm sure we'll all make ourselves quite at home.” Aharon was utterly embarrassed, squeezing past the guard to the stairs. Lux can’t help but chuckle at it all. She couldn't really imagine him being with someone like her anyway….

Not that there was anything wrong with the Captain! Lux was sure she was a wonderful woman...!

...Gods why was she arguing with herself over this?

“...He doesn’t even know where to… Eh. Whatever. I’ve a few things to take care of,” Fortune takes one step up the stairs with the guard standing to the side. “I’m leavin’ the rest to you Rafen.”

“Aye, aye Captain.” The old man gives a respective nod before she disappears up the steps. “I left Yale ova there t’accommodate th’ rest o’ yer lil’ group. Long as yer here, ya have full protection o’th Syrens. Courtesy o’th Captain of course. I’ll be sure t’find Aharon an’ let ‘im know.”

“Thank you, Rafen.” Lux bows to him, with Kahina following suit.

“Ahh it’s no problem. I reckon we’re all friends now, aye?” The old man gives the two a crooked grin before he and Yale leads them to their rooms.

The rooms themselves were quaint and surprisingly well kept. Despite being just above the ground floor, the noise from below was as muffled as the storeroom. Lux and Kahina set down their belongings but don’t bother to do much after that. Exhaustion slowly creeps up on them and they crawl into their beds.

“Hrm.” Kahina stares at the ceiling. “Think we can really trust this Captain?”

“If Aharon trusts her, then I see no reason to be wary.” She answers honestly, expecting Kahina to be wary like this. “Especially since she's against Noxus’s regime. That has to count for something doesn't it?” Kahina merely shrugs.

“She could turn sides real easy. Remember what I said?” Lux gives the other woman a stern look who sighs in response.  “Well… I guess at least just play it safe.”

“I know.”

A brief silence.

“Even so...that Captain is drop dead gorgeous isn't she?”

“Kahina!”

“Don't play dumb. You were completely distracted once she took of that smithing mask!”

Lux bites her lower lip. Damn her.

“Goodnight. Maybe she'll show up in your dreams.” Kahina grins triumphantly and pulls the blanket over her.

Lux gives a defeated huff and throws the blankets over her own head. The voyage had indeed taken more out of her than expected. It wasn’t long until she drifts off to sleep...

[bloodroyalsrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, JEN!

You have been accepted for the role of ISLE OLLIVANDER. ”she was no earthquake, she wasn’t even a rock unless you needed someone to lean on” sold us one thousand percent. From start to finish this application was absolutely beautiful. We love all the way that you expanded on her personality, her values, and especially on her relationships. There’s a common misconception that kind, introverted characters are boring but your Isle’s quiet resolve, artistic empathy, and conscious effort to see beyond the blinders of her own privlidged upbringing are thoroughly and undeniably fascinating. We look forward to seeing how she grows into her own over the course of the game. Please look at the CHECKLIST for next steps. Welcome to Blood Royals!

♕ I: OUT OF CHARACTER ♕

NAME / ALIAS: Jen

♕ II: CHARACTER INFORMATION ♕

FULL NAME: Isle Hemera Ollivander

Isle – a diminutive of Elisabeth which ended up being something of a compromise between her half-German mother and British father when one wanted a classic name and the other wanted a name that would be remembered other than just her surname.

Hemera - the primordial Greek goddess of daylight and her mother’s name.

Ollivander -   means ‘he who owns the olive wand’, suggesting a Mediterranean origin.

FACECLAIM: I’d like to change her fc to Laura Harrier please!

DATE OF BIRTH: March 14th, 1952, Pisces

Pisces are selfless, they are always willing to help others, without hoping to get anything back. Pisces is a Water sign and as such this zodiac sign is characterized by empathy and expressed emotional capacity.  Ravenclaw Pisceans spend so much time dreaming or reading books of legends that it’s a wonder they ever come down to earth. Care must be taken that they do not neglect their material needs, including those that involve sleep, food, and drink. They are quiet students, not always the best in their classes, but tend to be brilliant at subjects which they are personally interested in. Shy and nervous, they are easily bullied or intimidated, and need some looking after by more assertive students.

HOGWARTS HOUSE & YEAR: Ravenclaw, 1963 - 1970. Isle was a hat stall, with The Sorting Hat torn between Hufflepuff for her soft heart and longing to belong, and Ravenclaw for her natural curiosity and fascination with just about everything. In the end it took her own decision into account with her hoping that a house that challenged her more might help her reach the heights her parents hoped for.

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Isle identifies as female and uses she/her pronouns.

SEXUALITY / SHIPS / ANTI-SHIPS: Panromanic, demisexual. Isle has an almost whimsical nature about her at times, the idea of romance something she holds very dear to her heart when it was always so lacking in her parent’s lives. Her soft heart means that she finds herself getting easily attached to people and she has more than a knack for finding something good and worth admiring in almost everyone she means. This means that she is almost constantly drifting in and out of love (in all its varying forms) with those around her but she can never quiet allow herself to be so free with intimacy when to her it should be something special and far from gratuitous.

My main ship for Isle would be her with chemistry (although the idea of her and Corban is so interesting to me and so much could be done with that. Opposites attract is my kryptonite so I have a lot to say but don’t want to babble or get ahead of myself XD I also think her feelings for Royalle could go either way as well) and of course that means that my anti-ship for her would be no chemistry.

OCCUPATION: Wandkeeper and assistant wandmaker to her Great-Uncle at Ollivanders.

ALLIANCE: Neutral. She’s doing her best to remain balanced between the two groups, avoiding too much talk of the war and its sides even if she is more sympathetic towards the Order.

POLITICAL VIEWS: Her parents are immensely proud of their pureblood status and what it means for them in their society and some of that pride rubbed off on Isle at an early age. It wasn’t until later that she started to question just what exactly made her apparently so much better than those who weren’t members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But even now, their lessons are hard to unlearn and she finds herself having to apply compassion to ensure that she’s seeing the situation for what it is rather than what she’s told to see. But for the most part, Isle tries to distance herself from politics when it’s such a divisive subject and there doesn’t seem to be an answer that two people can agree on to any topic. So while The Order might tug on her heartstrings more, Isle is determined not to take sides when everyone she knows seems to be being pulled in different directions.

KNOWN FACTS:

Despite being something of a wallflower, Isle rather enjoys all the balls she’s encouraged to go to due to the fact the her natural delicateness lends itself rather well to being a good dancer.

While his uncle is renowned for his wandmaking skills, Isle’s father Gerrell Ollivander chose not to pursue the same career and instead forged a name for himself in the Wizengamot. His known to be a hard man to appease when he feels as though the law has been broken but there’s whispers that he is far more sympathetic to those who share the same level of blood purity as he does.

Her mother has one of the finest personal collections of wizarding antiques in Great Britain and perhaps Europe. It was a tradition started by her mother and some of the pieces date as far back as Medieval times. The collection is her pride and joy and it’s little secret that she speaks more fondly of it than her own daughter.

Isle is making something of a reputation for herself in the wand-making trade with her designs gaining in popularity with each one she completes. She might not be able to match the speed of her great uncle but the wands that she creates are so beautifully and intricately carved that it’s almost obvious that each is a labour of love.

BOGGART: Ollivander’s burning, all of her hard work and the one place she felt she truly belonged being taken away from her.

AMORTENTIA: first scent is warm, rich and comforting - hot chocolate with smooth undertones of hazelnut. She smells pine - fresh and clear - reminding her of cool autumn days and hours spent in amongst wands. The last scent is dark and smokey, heady and intoxicating, out of place yet soothing all at once. It almost makes her want to abandon the other two familiar scents altogether.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: At least four detailed personality traits

Trusting and naïve - her ability to seek and believe the best in people is both one of her greatest assets and biggest weakness. Gossip is something she hears but rarely pays any attention to, preferring to instead to make her own decisions about whether a person is good or bad. Despite being empathetic and sympathetic, she tends to take people at their word and at face value, making her very easy to deceive and lull into a false sense of security.

Adroit and hardworking - Her natural understanding of wands is perhaps something that it could be argued she inherited but Isle prefers to see it as a combination of natural talent along with her desire to learn as much about it as possible. Once she starts working on something, she’s almost always adverse to stopping until it’s finished and keeping people waiting. As far back as her time at Hogwarts she used to pour all her time and energy into studying and her own personal research with little concern for anything else. Even now she has a habit of losing herself in her work, time passing without her noticing and all other necessities forgotten about.

Compassionate and selfless - there’s no other way of putting it, Isle is just softhearted. Other people affect her deeply and she without fail will always want to help them with anything that’s troubling them. She will always make herself available to those who reach out even at the expense of her own time and even health. It’s where she feels most at ease around other people and she’d by far rather be the listener than the sharer.

Artistic and imaginative - her designs are truly something to behold, sketches coming to her at all times of the day and night as she find inspiration in the smallest, simplest of things. She has a tendency to be a dreamer, to let reality slip away just enough so that she’s living in the ideal world where tensions aren’t rising and everything is at risk.

Shy and unsure - while Isle doesn’t necessarily think lowly of herself and knows that she has her strengths, she struggles to believe that they lend themselves well to life or success in the society that she was born into. With her own parent’s disinterest, she feels as though everyone else might eventually come to the same conclusion about her and it makes her hesitant in conversation in the hopes to delay their decisions a little longer.

Curious and inquisitive: might have struggled to always perform well under the stress of tests but there’s no denying that the young woman still has a thirst for knowledge. It might not be for anything particularly academic but if it catches her interest then without a doubt she’ll have bought two books on the subject within the hour. She has an almost constant sense of wonder at the world and feels as though her interest curiosity will never be sated.

SPECIAL SKILLS: While Isle will be quick to claim that it’s nothing but a simple indulgence in her free time, she’s quite a talented piano player which dates back to lessons that her parents used to pay for for her and a love of music that quickly followed. Though perhaps not the most clinical with her technique, her light touch and the feeling that she pours into each piece make up for what she might lack technically.

BIOGRAPHY:

Born to two proud Slytherins whose ambition and need for advancement seemed to know no bounds, Isle never quite possessed the same iron-hearted will that they did. Instead she inherited her mother’s looks and took her father’s name but remained all together more soft than they had hoped for. A difficult childbirth meant that she was to remain sibling-less and though she never failed to do everything she could to please her parents and be the pureblooded princess they wanted her to be, they grew more and more disinterested and distant with every bird she tried to save or poor soul her eyes filled with pity for. Their high hopes would never be realised and for that disappointment alone they threw themselves into their work, leaving their daughter either in the care of family - mainly her great uncle where she spent hours enraptured by his work with wands- or the house elves.

With every year it became obvious that she’d never have the qualities needed to shake up society and progress to the very top. She was no earthquake, she wasn’t even a rock unless you needed someone to lean on. Instead the daughter of Hemera and Gerrell Olivander’s daughter was more like water, calming and soothing but with hidden depth most people never saw when her quiet demeanour was only the surface. But just as it became more obvious to her parent’s that she wasn’t what they’d wanted, Isle herself began to see that neither of them were truly happy. Their marriage was one of convenience, two like minds joining together to conquer what they could, and while they knew how to put on a good face as much as the next Pureblood, behind closed doors it was painfully obvious to her that even if they accomplished their goals they’d never be truly happy or satisfied. It seemed like a hollow way to live any way.

Vows were made to her younger self to not become the shadows of people that her parents were, to keep some sort of love and hope to light her life and prevent her from following the same path that they did. From the moment that she entered the Great Hall, Isle was almost convinced that she’d end up in Hufflepuff with her parents convinced of the same thing and almost despairing of the idea that their offspring had fallen so far away from them. Except she managed to surprise them all when her quiet intelligence and natural curiosity earned her a place in Ravenclaw. From that moment on her parents stood a little taller when they claimed her as theirs and began to take some sort of interest in her once again which she welcomed though was hesitant to let herself become too reliant on their attention.

The rest of her time at Hogwarts was characterised by her unassuming way of going about her work, the hours that she used to have to spend in the library to keep up with her peers mostly going unnoticed. She kept herself under the radar - despite her parents urging to put herself out there more - but still managed to garner herself something of a reputation for being the best listener and shoulder cry on, always more than happy to be there for anyone who needed her. But as her final year approached, she found herself worrying about what she would do with her future. It wasn’t until she spent the Easter break working with her uncle as she had taken to doing since she was fourteen while her parents jetted off elsewhere, that an offer was made by him for her to come and work with him after she finished her studies.  With that weight off her shoulders Isle was able to focus on her final year and achieve the grades that she wanted. The day after her last day she had little hesitation in going to see her great uncle and she’s been working there ever since with long says surrounded by wood and cores only broken up by the events her parents still urge her to go to unless one of her friends pulls her away to have some fun every once in a while.

CONNECTIONS:

Royalle – the other woman is a force to be reckoned with and Isle almost envies her that ease within herself but she’s never been one for negative feelings so instead all she has for the other woman is admiration and a sense of love. While Royalle seems to rely on her for support, Isle relies on her for company, though she’d never voice it out loud. There are days when she doesn’t know what she’d do without the other girl who helps her feel more at ease in her own skin and she’s always thankful that she chose her to be her friend.

Corban - his reputation means little to her when she’s always liked to make her own mind up about people and never judge until she knows them. Almost deaf to the rumours, Isle is instead draw to him for reasons she can’t explain. There’s more to him than meets the eye, of that much she’s certain, and it peaks her curiosity and empathy enough that she’s been unable to forget their interaction even if she’s far too hesitant to think of starting up a conversation again.

Garrick Ollivander - he’s the man who gave her a place to feel as though she had some sort of calling in life. Something useful and endlessly engrossing so that she could make peace with the idea that she was never going to follow in her parents’ footsteps. But she’s still able to stick to her family’s roots, just not with the inheritance most expected but it’s a chance she’ll always be grateful for.

♕ III: FREESTYLE ♕

I’ve created a mockblog here that has a few of these things on it as well as a few inspiration posts!