#i may have sounded a bit callous too.. but truly he is 1 of my top 3 faves alongside karkat & aradia. i brain them regularly in rotation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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Sieghild’s Prayer, Part 1 (νοσταλγία Alt PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (kind of)

Summary: Sieghild reminisces about her life as the Priestess’/Reader’s mother, as she prays to the Goddesses she knows will answer.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: I don’t think many of the usual ones apply to this one. Death, mentions of it and death by burning if we are specific; but I don’t think many more. My horrible writing is one too but that’s part of the usual warnings too lol

A/N: The quote on the board/header is by Margaret Atwood on ‘two-headed poems’. As for the writing, there’s also something to credit: the poem/italic thingy is a piece by Edna St. Vincent Millay (Prayer to Persephone), that you can find here.

I don’t recommend reading this before chapter 12, ‘cause spoilers. You’ve been warned :)

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson

“You know me.” The King boasts, and Sieghild purses her lips.

“I would know Aslaug’s eyes anywhere.” Is all she gives as an answer. Kráka, the Danish men knew of her beauty and her magic, the women knew of her loneliness and her loss.

At the mention of his mother, the boy’s stance and expression tighten to a coil. He looks back at the shieldmaiden’s eyes and cocks his head to the side.

“What are you here for, hm?”

She prays she is not failing this quest; she prays the Gods are truly behind this. Let it be Freyja or let it be Persephone, but let her rest assured her daughter is looked over when Sieghild herself cannot do so.

She prays, and without much preamble states, “My daughter, I know you want her.”

“Your daughter?” The King mocks around a dismissive laugh, “And who is this daughter of yours? What’s her name?”

“You don’t know it. She doesn’t give it away easily.” The shieldmaiden is quick to retort, a small twitch in her nose that in her younger years would have been a snarl of anger. But the flare of recognition in Ivar the Boneless’ eyes is enough for her, enough for her to know that the Greek faced one of the most feared men in the known world and still acted as stubbornly and arrogantly as she knows her to act.

And it is enough for the shieldmaiden to know that, to her daughter’s salvation or downfall, it only makes the Viking all the more interested in having her to himself.

The King remains silent, looking coldly at the redhead for a few moments. But Sieghild holds his gaze, she has no qualms about rising to meet the eye of Kings, never has. And neither does her daughter.

“She’s not of our own.”

“She is still mine,” She retorts easily, as certain of this as of the Gods’ might. “I raised her, and I am the one that can offer her hand.”

The shieldmaiden bites back a smile at the way her words make the King falter.

“Her hand?”

“Stithulf cannot offer her marriage to you as an arrangement, for he has no claims on her blood or her family,” She explains, “She is free, and she is mine.”

“And you would be willing to give her up?” The boy inquires, piercing eyes searching hers, in them the very real threat of causing her a world of pain if she is to try and toy with him. When she nods, he pushes, “To me?”

“I do not want to, but…tis Fate that I do so.”

The King leans back on his seat, fingers by his mouth as he breathes deeply. Sieghild keeps her face impassive as she faces him.

“Fate.”

“Son of Aslaug, you more than I know of Freyja’s ways,” She answers without hesitation. “My daughter does not worship our Gods, but she does believe. And…maybe because of our Gods’ will, maybe hers, but her fate lies in Kattegat. I know she is to be left to you,” It hurts to admit this, it hurts like it did when she remembered the Seer’s words in that battlefield, when the foolish boy that once was promised her hand died in her arms and the world shifted one last time. Deciding not to dwell on it, the shieldmaiden pushes through, “And you know this too, don’t you?”

The arrogance, the pride, the satisfaction in the way the man now squares his shoulders, straightens himself in his seat does not surprise her; the spark of hope, of something innocent and fragile as he meets her eyes, that does. It also soothes at a part of her that has always hoped for a good life for her daughter, to see the man underneath the monster.

“Make your promise before the Gods and a witness then, shieldmaiden.”

A young man she assumes to be another son of Ragnar enters when the King calls for him, and after a few exchanged words, she is asked to make her vow.

With a deep breath and hoping this does not become one more of her regrets, the shieldmaiden vows, “May the Gods know Sieghild Vorsdottir, first wife to King Rorik, gives her only daughter to you, Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Be to her, Persephone.

All the things I might not be;

The child cries at night, she knows. She knows, but she does not know how to comfort her, how to promise her it will all be better when Sieghild herself does not know it yet.

The shieldmaiden struggles with the burden of caring for a girl with such light to her, with such gentleness and warmth. For all the grief and agony, that girl that is a daughter to so many remains enduring, even if with the stumbling optimism of a wide-eyed child.

“Look, Sieghild!” The girl calls in a giggle, appearing from behind a group of merchants with a bat in her small hands. The child looks down at the animal that burrows into her touch, and says, “They are sleeping now, they move at night.”

“I know, child,” The shieldmaiden offers, uncertain, inexperienced. But the girl does not mind, and when her eyes rise to meet Sieghild’s, the warrior finds herself smiling back, even if brokenly and unevenly. It is with careful approach, the gentleness of acting as a mother forced upon a woman used to being callous and harsh, that the shieldmaiden says, “They are messengers of Hödr, son of Odin, did you know?”

The child’s answer is instantaneous, “No, I haven’t met your Gods,” The strange phrasing makes a chuckle leave Sieghild’s lips, but she still brings a hand to rest in the girl’s head as she returns the bat and starts walking once again by the warrior’s side. After a few moments of silence, Sieghild feels big and curious eyes on her, and lowers her gaze to find a child’s hopeful expression. “Tell me about Hödr?”

She nods, and starts relaying the same tales she was once told, when her hair was wild and feet wet from the sea. And the child listens, eyes wide and smile easy past the agony of loss and the heat of repression.

And later that night when they have settled around the dying bonfire, Sieghild tells her about Freya’s magic, and her ways of war and love, the girl rests her head on her hand, looking up into the green eyes of the woman that takes care of her now.

“Do your Gods talk to you, Sieghild?”

“Sometimes, they aid me,” The shieldmaiden answers slowly, “Why?”

“Could you…ask Freyja something for me?” The child’s voice wavers, and she looks unbearably innocent and afraid. A burden no child of less than seven moons should have to carry. The redhead nods quietly, and the girl whispers, “Why did this happen?”

“You want my Gods to answer that?”

The child shrugs, “Mine haven’t.”

It is with a heavy sigh that the shieldmaiden leans forward, putting a hand unused to gentleness as gently as possible on the child’s face, and pressing lips that know only the taste of blood to seal a kiss on the Greek’s head.

“Suffering is just suffering, little one,” Sieghild whispers, her name and her story know this better than anyone, “If it is the Gods’ or the Fates’ will, I cannot know. What isn’t in the Gods’ hands is how you choose to act now.”

“What do you mean?”

The woman puts a finger on the metal amulet depicting the Twelve Olympians alongside the Gods of their Underworld, hanging from the child’s neck as a stubborn promise to keep her home, her legacy, close to her heart.

“You cannot choose what will happen to you, but you can choose how much you will let it change you.”

Like being a mother, Sieghild thinks. She never asked to have the girl with the fiery eyes and relentless spirit under her wing, seeking her guidance; but she has her now, wide eyes and tongue with unending questions.

And she chooses to let it turn her into what this child needs: a mother. Maybe not the gentle, poised, elegant one she once knew, but the one that can teach her the ways of the world, that can teach her to stand tall, to never bite her tongue.

That night, when they settle in the tent, Sieghild catches herself reaching with rough and war-torn fingers to soothe over the unfamiliar tresses of the girl’s hair. The child quietens, and a murmur of thanks in the language the shieldmaiden has been teaching her is the last sound in the tent that night.

Take her head upon your knee.

She that was so proud and wild,

Flippant, arrogant and free,

The Viking eyes the girl with curious eyes, but remains silent as she watches her talk in the language of the Roads, still so foreign to her Greek tongue.

“Touch me again and you will not have hands to touch with.” The Greek girl hisses without hesitation, and even if she cannot look at the men in the eye without tilting back her head, even if it is evident that she does not know how to end a life or how to defend her own; the shieldmaiden notices that everyone pauses for a moment.

The child’s parents would be proud, Sieghild hopes, to see their daughter become a woman in her own right, a leader that has not found her people yet, a ruler that needs only to fool a man into trusting her to gain control over the whole Mediterranean.

“Is that a threat, vixen?” The merchant laughs, the distaste for the people with the Byzantine looks and blood not something Sieghild can blame him for.

“It’s a promise. Now, will you pay me for my work?” The young woman insists, and Sieghild sees every bit of herself in her own youth when the Greek girl straightens her back and looks at the Arabian man in the eye, a challenge and an insult all in one.

The merchant moves for the sword at his waist, but the shieldmaiden is quicker. The edge of her blade finds the man’s neck before he can move to try and attack her child.

“Oh, I should have mentioned I am not alone,” The Greek laughs, a false bravado guiding her steps, “Should I call for the rest of the Varangians, or will my friend here suffice?”

The man eyes her dangerously for a moment, but finally throws the pouch of gold at the girl’s feet, and walks away from her and the shieldmaiden.

“Sieghild, did you see me?” The girl calls forth in an excited whisper, both hands grabbing a hold of the shieldmaiden’s arm. When she turns to look at the Greek girl, she catches the tremble in her frame, the fear still making her mouth tremble.

“I did,” She acquiesces, “Girl, what would you have done if he had chosen to fight? There are no Vikings here to aid me, or you.”

“I know that, but he didn’t,” She answers, delighted in her own madness. “They know better than to pick fights with your people.”

For a moment the shine in her eyes would make Sieghild think her naiveté is born out of her age, but the Greek has the face and body of a woman now, the ambitions of one too.

No, that girl’s light is born out of stubbornness, not innocence.

As they walk out of the house and towards the road once again, horses at their sides and a world ahead of them, Sieghild asks her,

“Where do you want to go now, little one?”

“Where would you take us?” The girl asks instead, a shine in her eye the shieldmaiden hopes she never loses.

After a breath, Sieghild answers, “I would take you back to my home. The Danes would be beautiful by time we arrive.”

“I thought you never wanted to return.” The Greek argues, but in her eyes her mother sees the glint of curiosity, the pull to agree.

“The world has changed, child. We could find a new life in Scandinavia. Ragnar Lothbrok is rumored to conquer Paris soon, a Danish woman rules over his kingdom, Vikings are stronger than ever before.”

“You sound proud.”

“Maybe I am, or maybe I’m just overcome with nostalgia,” Sieghild concedes, wondering not for the first time if she should tell the child what the Seer of Kattegat once told her of her fated return to the coastal city. Instead, she keeps her eyes on the orange skies ahead, and murmurs, “Maybe the Gods are summoning me home.”

She that had no need of me,

Is a little lonely child

Lost in Hell,- Persephone,

She finds her on the same altar she found her the night the Christians burned her mother. The one sheltered by familiar woods, depicting the Goddess that was half monster and half maiden sitting on her throne.

The young girl is furiously cleaning the dust and dirt from the old stone, reclaiming the altar from the vines and weeds that want it for themselves.

Sieghild knows her child is aware of her approach, but the frantic hands still clean at the old stone, the breaths are still labored, the cries are still muffled past gritted teeth.

“Talk to me, child.”

“They want to make me Hiereia,” The girl breathes out, quickly, as if the words were trapped behind her lips waiting for a chance to come out. It always was that way with her, at the end. All barely-contained enthusiasm and prideful honesty in her tongue. “I have no idea how to be what they want me to.”

“Then don’t.”

“It is not that simple!” The Greek bites out, hands clenched into fists, “They needed me here, I was off traveling the world while they needed me!”

“You are not your mother, so they can stick their needs right up th-…”

“Sieghild, please,” The girl breathes out, almost a chuckle leaving her lips, “I carry her legacy, even if I like to pretend I don’t. They make me Hiereia, they look to me for guidance, they…see her in me.”

“And you are happy with that?”

The girl starts shaking her head, but stops herself. Since arriving into this warm and sunny city, Sieghild realizes, her child seems to bite her tongue so much more than even when facing Arab mercenaries, seems to keep her madness under control even if she didn’t when sailing on a downtrodden ship over the Aegean, seems to carry a heavier burden in her shoulders than when she was left in charge of looking over a village that had fallen to a plague.

And Sieghild cannot help but hate this city for it. Hate this city, its people, its Gods; for asking a free woman to be slave to her past, to her legacy.

The girl finally answers, hesitating, “I…don’t know if I want them to see me at all.”

“What do you want, then?” Sieghild asks, maybe callously, maybe brashly, but her child knows better than to think it is not born out of love.

“Freedom?”

“Are you asking me?”

The Greek shakes her head, and the shieldmaiden watches as she straightens her shoulders, steels her very soul for the storm her desires will bring. A part of Sieghild will always want to protect her, keep the child at her side so that she is certain she is safe from men and power and both combined.

But the other part of her, the part of her that taught the Greek girl to wage war and fight -in her own, strange ways- for what she wants, that part of her longs for the day she sees her daughter rise to the height she is owed.

And the Greek woman whispers, “No. I…want freedom, for my people and for me. I want…would it be wrong to want retribution as well?”

“Revenge?”

The answer is a simple phrase in the girl’s lips, “They took my home from me, mother.”

A few moments of silence, and the Viking offers her the truth she knows, “No, it is not wrong, little one.”

“Then that’s what I want,” The Greek sentences, standing up and facing the statue of her Goddess with a new kind of fire in her eyes, “I want to be free, and I want to make them pay for the chains. No matter what it takes.”

Take her head upon your knee;

Say to her, “My dear, my dear,

It is not so dreadful here.”

She watches from the darkness as they take her child away, as the frail girl with a gentle heart is carried off in chains. The shieldmaiden cannot keep the smile from her weary lips as she watches her walk with the stubborn pride of a noblewoman, the relentlessness her mother left her with, the resilience Sieghild likes to believe she taught her.

Her child’s fire is still there, and Sieghild wonders for a moment if the youngest son of Ragnar knows the kind of inferno he got himself into.

And the Saxons retreat with their debts paid, and the shieldmaiden has no place to go for her home was the warm laughter, the stubborn frowns, the gentle heart of the girl she raised as her own.

Still, she shoulders her axe and starts a path to wherever Freyja may take her.

She dreamed many times of bringing her daughter to Scandinavia, have her see how big the world truly is, past the Silk Roads, past the Greeks and the Arabs, past the Byzantines and their laws.

She dreamed of returning home, having left a wanderer and returning a mother. She dreamed many times of growing old looking over that stubborn child and watching her be happy at the side of a lucky man, of being gifted grandchildren to spoil and teach the ways of the Gods like she taught her daughter, of fighting again or being a rallying voice for young shieldmaidens and communicating again with Freyja the way she has always known: war.

She dreamed of many things, and for many years she has carried those dreams, those old hopes and even older pains.

But now there’s no time for dreams. She greets the faces that recognize her when she arrives in King Angantyr’s hall, trying not to react when an old name reaches her ears.

____

So yeah, idk, I hope you liked it.

Thank you for reading, part 2 will be up right after this one, hope you like it. Best wishes! <3

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist

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sondepoch · 5 years ago

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Day 5

10 Days (Jumin Han x Reader)

You didn't expect to find yourself locked in an engagement to Chairman Han, but with your own mother forcing you into it, you have no way of denying her. But as time continues and things change, you begin to develop affections for your fiance's son: Jumin Han. But the sad truth is that there's nothing either of you can do to stop the marriage, and you only have these 10 days before your future becomes reality. 10 days with Jumin Han.

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

MASTERLIST

How much time passes before you understand what's happening? How long is it before a thought finally finds it way back into your stupid, foolish head, and you realize the consequences of kissing the son of the man you're engaged to?

Too much time.

You're on top of Jumin, straddling him with two legs on either side of him. His kisses are slow. Passionate. Lips trailing down to your neck, he sucks on the skin ever-so-gently, and it's only when you hear the lewd sound of your own moan that reality hits you.

You stiffen.

And Jumin notices.

"(Y/N)...?" Jumin asks, raising his eyes to yours.

"We can't do this," You murmur breathlessly. "We can't. I'm engaged. To your father."

With those final words, Jumin's eyes widen the slightest—as if he too had forgotten the fact—and you pull yourself off him. But he pulls your wrist before you can leave the couch.

"That can change."

The man's eyes are earnest, as if he genuinely believes what he's saying. But he doesn't know the truth. "We're meeting your mother tomorrow, no, today. In twelve hours, she'll be here, and you'll be free of your engagement and we can..."

You turn to Jumin. "We can what? What is there for us to do?"

"This," Jumin murmurs, stealing a chaste kiss from your lips. You let the moment linger, basking in its tranquility, before pulling away.

"My mother won't let me cancel the engagement, Jumin." You cast your eyes low on the ground. "My personal desires don't matter. I can't go against her wishes."

"You can." Jumin encourages.

"No, Jumin. I can't." You stand up, brushing past him to get to your room, ignoring even Elizabeth's innocent meow in your haste to hide your tears. Only when you get to your room do you allow them to fall, whimpering softly over your own inability to control your fate.

You press your back to the door and slide down it, trying your hardest to keep your cries quiet.

It's not fair.

Your whole life, you've been the perfect daughter. Even your mother had struggled to find excuses to take her anger out on you, until your father had sacrificed his life to save you from being hit by a car. From that moment onward, she had only needed one reason to hurt you: the fact that you were even alive.

Pitiful, isn't it?

It was a drunk driver who ruined your life so.

But your mother was still furious.

She loved Father, you realize bitterly. After that whole escapade with Jumin, you had your first taste of what a true relationship would feel like—if only it weren't forbidden to you—and you'd come to realize that whatever your mother felt for your father was akin to your feelings for Jumin.

It's not fair. You think, choking back a sob. It's all so unfair. Why must you pursue Chairman Han when you would be so much happier with someone else? You bite your lip as your mind automatically fills in the blank. Why must you pursue Chairman Han when you would be so much happier with Jumin?

The media would love it. The corporate heirs of BC-Sonic and C&R uniting in holy matrimony to pave the way not only their families but the enterprising future of their companies.

And Jumin's actually my age, you think, scoffing at the fact that he's still older than you.

You sigh.

You've stayed with Jumin barely five days, and he's already been the perfect gentleman. The perfect husband. And from those kisses, it's obvious that he wouldn't be opposed to a relationship with you.

Your heart feels a little bit lighter when you think about the prospect of a future with Jumin. It would be a future free of everything you'd been chained down to since your adoption.

It would be a perfect future.

But it's a future I can't have, you think bitterly, before dragging yourself to bed.

And that thought lurks in your mind for the rest of the night, through early morning, and during breakfast when you and Jumin sit opposite each other, separated only by the extravagant sea of dishes prepared by his private chef.

He sits across from you, already handsome and ready in suit and tie, despite it still being early morning. He cuts into an onion and cheese omelet, expression calm and controlled.

Even when he doesn't try, he's perfect.

And I can't have him.

"(Y/N)..." Jumin trails off, interrupting the silence. "We should speak. About last night."

You bite your lip. On the list of the many things that kept you up last night, this impending conversation was ranked high.

"Last night was a mistake, Jumin. We can't let it happen again."

"You expect me to believe you truly desire my father over me?"

"I expect you to understand that I have to desire your father over you."

You hate the bluntness of your voice, and how stern your responses are to Jumin's gentle questions, but you have to be firm. Because even a moment of weakness may lead to a recap of yesterday's events. And you can't let that happen.

Breakfast passes by quickly.

Too quickly, for your liking.

By lunchtime Mother will be here, you realize with a start. And for the first time since your arrival in this apartment, time seems to fly by. You do everything in your power to make things feel slower, the most mundane of tasks that make minutes feel like hours. But nothing works.

For the first time, as you close BC-Sonic's feedback logs, you find that the four hours you spent reviewing department productivity rates flew by and you have scarcely fifteen minutes before your mother's expected arrival.

And she's never late.

So all you can do it wait.

Jumin tries to maintain a facade of calmness, but you can tell by the way he's constantly straightening his tie that even he's nervous to meet your mother. Is he regretting inviting her here?

He should, you think, memories of childhood abuse flooding through your mind. The sheer thought prompts your hand down, where you massage the damaged skin on your outer thigh before you forcefully move it away.

The past is the past. And after this meeting, it will be behind me.

In another room, Jumin's grandfather clock chimes twelve times.

Midday. Noon. 12 o'clock.

Twelve hours ago, you'd been on this same couch, arms wrapped around Jumin without a care in the world. Now, all your thoughts are of the diamond ring on your finger and a single knock.

Your mother.

She only ever knocks once, too certain of her status to ever bother with more. It's an insult that I even have to knock, she'd told you once when you asked her why.

Your eyes dart up to Jumin, who instantly gets up and walks to open the door.

"Hello, Mrs. (L/N)." His tone is courteous, charming even, and your mother glances at him, eyes wary and cigarette in hand. You can see the distrust in her eyes, but she finally responds with a polite nod, her voice laced with only a thin tone of superiority.

"You were very discreet over the phone, Jumin," Your mother says as she places her purse on the couch opposite you, seating herself. Even with Jumin in the room, you can't help but feel like the same seventeen-year-old girl you'd been the last time she'd hurt you.

So much time has passed since then.

But only the exterior scars had healed. Inside, you're just as frightened now as you were then.

"I was wondering if we could discuss the details of (Y/N)'s engagement to my father over lunch," Jumin states calmly, and you try your best not to let your terror show on your face.

"Oh?" Your mother turns to Jumin, and you're relieved that she's not directing her question at you. Your palms as already sweaty and you can feel your threadbare thoughts loping into knots as you try to calm yourself. "And what could there be to discuss about two people in love?"

Jumin swallows, evidently not prepared for your mother's show of ignorance. A moment of silence passes before he speaks.

"I think that's the matter to discuss itself: whether these two people are indeed in love."

"It's very bold of you to make these claims, Jumin." Your mother says, smiling and taking a puff of her cigarette. Her smile is empty, though, and you can hear the hissing snake of accusation in her words. "What do you have to say about this, (Y/N)?"

Your mother turns to you, and her (e/c) eyes have never been so intense as they are now. Her gaze is penetrating as she stares you down, challenging you.

"W-well," You stutter, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "I think...that love...is a very strong word."

"Do you doubt that Chairman Han loves you?" Your mother states.

"N-not at all. I never mea—"

"Then it's only right that you should return his feelings wholeheartedly." Your mother offers you a smile, and her expression is prideful. I win, you can almost hear her say.

You can't bring yourself to say anything else. All you've said to her for the past two and a half decades has been in agreement with her. You'd been trained to tell her "Yes Mother" and "As you wish" without any hint of resistance.

Even if you knew what to say to her, you doubt you'd have the courage to.

Thankfully, Jumin steps in.

"For the sake of my father, I think that it'd be wiser to postpone the engagement until a time when (Y/N)'s feelings are more...developed. If such a time should come, then I think all parties involved would be pleased to watch her and my father partake in the marriage."

"If such a time should come? Jumin, are you doubting my daughter's feelings for your father? That's quite rude, I must say. If I were you, I'd apologize to (Y/N) at once for such a callous comment."

A fire lights inside you, at your mother's rudeness to Jumin. His eyes are round in surprise as he looks at you, and you fear that your mother's words have already gotten to him, so you speak before he can.

"Mother, Jumin is right."

The moment those words leave your lips, it's as if the apartment has dropped ten degrees. It feels like winter, and the chill rage radiating off your mother is truly terrifying. Her glare is ice cold, and you pull your eyes away. Instead, you look at Jumin who offers you a nod of encouragement for what you're about to say.

"I don't want to marry Chairman Han."

With those words, Jumin smiles at you. You can tell that he's proud you finally mustered up the courage to tell your mother the truth...but the moment you turn your gaze back upon your mother, you quickly realize that the truth isn't going to be enough.

"You think I don't already know that, (Y/N)?" Your mother drops her cigarette on the ground, lighting a new one before taking a sharp puff. "Very well. It seems I have to remind you why you obey me. Jumin, lock the door."

No...

"Pardon? The chef will be in with appetizers any moment now, so—"

"Lock the door."

Not in front of Jumin...

"(Y/N), strip."

Please don't...

"Now."

But your body betrays you, and you're no longer a proud businesswoman in her twenties. You're back to being the same foolish child your mother spent years abusing, and your fear won't let you do anything but obey.

With shaking hands, you remove your top.

"(Y-Y/N)!" Jumin sputters out, his temporary shock overridden by the sight of you actually meeting your mother's absurd request. "This is madness, don't—"

"This is the real world, Jumin." The snake that had been hiding behind your mother's words had finally come to play, and it was a hissing monster, vicious as it was cruel. "You made the decision to get in the way of my relationship with my daughter, so now you will see the consequences of your actions. Very good, (Y/N). Stand up."

Now wearing nothing more than your delicate (f/c) panties and a bra, you force yourself to stand, ignoring the vigor at which your legs are shaking. You keep your eyes fixated forward, unable to look at your mother or Jumin or anything else that might make your tears fall.

Your mother approaches you, ignoring Jumin and his attempts to stop her.

Even then, as he stands in front of your mother, telling her how ridiculous she's being, he doesn't understand the severity of the situation. For such a shrewd businessman, he still doesn't realize what's happening.

Your mother approaches you, drawing the cigarette from her lips.

And then you see the realization dawn on Jumin's face. He figured it out. Why you'd been terrified of your mother, why you were marrying Chairman Han at her request, why you had begged him to cancel today's meeting.

Child abuse.

At least, it had been child abuse. Once you turned eighteen, your mother decided that she had enough power over you to free you from the shackles of pain, and your skin had begun to heal, the burns fading into scars.

Until today.

Your mother twists your neck painfully and forces you to look her straight in the eye as she presses the hot end of the cigarette down against the familiar spot on your thigh. The scars had just begun to fade, you think helplessly as tears ran down your cheeks, the pain familiar but excruciating nonetheless.

You stood paralyzed before her as she continued to dig the hot stub into your upper thigh, bringing back years of memories from when you'd stood before her just like this with no escape before her merciless hands.

But Jumin steps in.

"Mrs. (L/N)!" He practically shouts, all but yanking your body away from your mother to pull your smaller form into his. Now he, too, is trembling, but he wraps his arms protectively around you. "Security! SECU—"

"Jumin," Your mother interrupts, a threatening glare on her face. She drops the cigarette she was holding onto the floor and pulls a lighter from her purse. With a single flick of the thumb, a flame has appeared. She holds it dangerously close to your skin. "Call your guards, and I will make certain that (Y/N) here endures much worse than anything she's had to handle with me. You both need to accept the truth. (Y/N) will marry Chairman Han. That is final."

Your mother returns to her seat on the couch, acting as if nothing had just happened, casually lighting another cigarette.

"Mrs. (L/N)," Jumin pleads. "Why are you doing this? I am the corporate heir to C&R, a marriage with me would be far more beneficial than o-"

"Oh? You want to marry each other? You two children are in love, is that it?" Your mother's smile is unamused. "Yes...I was in love with (Y/N)'s father before she ruined everything. Whatever affair you have going on here makes no difference. The press statement was released yesterday. I've already spoken to Chairman Han. He wishes to wed you immediately, (Y/N)."

"How immediate?" Jumin voices your thoughts, and you're so relieved that at least he has the courage to speak. The last of your strength sizzled with the cigarette your mother drove into your thigh.

"More immediate than you'd think. If I were you, I'd give your father a call. It seems that C&R is in some serious trouble," Your mother smiles pleasantly, confident once more in her power over you. "And he wishes to tie the knot with BC-Sonic down as quickly as possible to minimize damage. There's nothing either of you can do to change that."

Your mother stands up, confident that with her decision, this 'meeting' is concluded. "Do not call me again, Jumin. Apart from seeing (Y/N) at her wedding, I do not wish to see either of your faces ever again."

Your mother doesn't bother bidding either of you farewell, simply taking her leave. She's finished what she came here for and reasserted her power over you in the process with that cigarette.

Your eyes drop to the familiar spot on your thigh where the old scars have been further uglified by the fresh mark. At the very sight of the burned skin, you lose the last strength in your legs. If not for Jumin's quick reaction, you would have collapsed.

"(Y/N)?" He murmurs, holding you up. He uses his thumb to wipe your tears away. "Shit. Please don't cry, (Y/N), please." Jumin cradles you, and you let out a distressed sob.

You'd thought you were finally free, but your mother just demonstrated that it doesn't matter how far you flee or who you're with—the abuse will never end.

"Everything will be okay," Jumin murmurs, picking you up and carrying you bridal style. You continue to cry into his chest. Nothing will be okay. If your future had been sealed before, now it's airtight. Your mother won't let you do anything to change that.

You whimper as Jumin sets you down on the cold countertop in the kitchen, still half-naked. You tremble when he momentarily steps away, but Jumin is quick to pull you back into his arms once he has an ice cube in his hand. The kiss of the ice is biting as he rubs circles into your thigh, but it's still nothing compared to the pain of when she was actively harming you.

"Everything will be okay," Jumin repeats.

No, it won't, you want to scream at him, but your current state renders you unable to do anything more than tremble in his arms.

Before you register it, Jumin has carried you to what you imagine is his bedroom, lying you delicately under the several blankets. He never releases you, never halts his ministrations with the ice, never stops wiping your tears away.

He doesn't leave your side, not even for a second.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N)" Jumin murmurs once your cries have died down. "If I'd known that she'd...I wouldn't have...it's my fault. I'm so sorry."

You offer Jumin a weak smile, hating the expression of guilt he's wearing. He looks better when he's smiling.

"Don't blame yourself," You finally manage to say. "It's over. She's gone, and I won't need to see her for a long time."

At the back of your mind, you recall her words about Chairman Han. He wishes to wed you immediately.

"The future might be set in stone, but we have the present, don't we?" You say weakly, smiling up at Jumin.

"Don't think like that," He protests, pulling you up so he can look you directly in the eyes. "I'll get you out of this. You don't need to marry my father. You can marry...someone different."

"Someone like you, you mean?" You respond. The very thought brings a smile to your face. "I can't. I'm destined to be with your father. It's...it's for the best."

"Best for who? If you marry my father, only he gets happiness, and that's if you manage to convince him that you're genuinely in love with him. That's one person. But if we were to be together," Jumin brings a hand to cup your cheek. "Then the two of us are happy."

"When I wed your father, it won't just be him who's happy. It'll be the whole world. And the media. Everyone in C&R. And...and I think it'll make my mother happy."

Jumin instantly frowns when he hears that last part. "How could you compromise your own happiness for hers? She's abusive, (Y/N). She just burned you with a ci—"

"She's my mother," You say firmly.

"Adoptive mother."

"Exactly. She chose me because she wanted me to bring her happiness...and I stole her happiness when Father protected me from that car and sacrificed his life for mine. If I can give her even a little bit of it back..."

"Don't do this," Jumin whispers. "Don't let yourself get trapped in the guilt."

You sigh.

"I don't have any other choice, Jumin. If I displease Mother, you know what will happen."

"I'd protect you," Jumin murmurs, his voice getting desperate. "I'd do everything I could for you."

But you can't accept his love.

"I know you would, Jumin." You tell him, leaning your forehead against his as you did just last night. Only this time, the atmosphere is gloomy and miserable, both your minds heavy with the knowledge that your futures lies not in each other, but along separate paths.

And no amount of love, passion, or desire will be able to change that.

MASTERLIST

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

Word count: 3.5k

Notes: Woohooo! My hand has (mostly) healed and I am back in action! All the ideas have been stacking up - you're going to get so much content from me these next few days. :D And this series will officially begin updating on Saturdays AND Wednesdays! Whooopeeee! (sorry im so happy to finally be able to write again)

Comment & Like

Next Update: 4/29/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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fontofmercy-archived · 5 years ago

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Understanding BvS’s Lex Luthor: CSA and Repressed Homosexuality

(Re-posted with minor revisions after I moved accounts and accidentally deleted this post)

Lex’s motivations are quite explicit in BvS, he has a whole speech explaining why he is doing what he’s doing and what he says is consistently shown throughout his screentime. But I think there is a lot unspoken beneath the surface that most people wouldn’t think of, based on my observations I think that BvS’s Lex was molested by his father and that he’s sexually attracted to Clark, and that his issues with Superman partially stem from the duality of desiring Clark and being afraid of him. That may sound strange, especially the csa bit, but hear me out because there is quite a bit of evidence and it may give you a clearer perspective on the character.

NOTE: I just want to clarify that it is not at all my intention to equate homosexuality with CSA nor demonize CSA survivors, I’m simply observing this particular character who happens to be a villain. Lex being attracted to Clark doesn’t make him villainous, the way he deals with it because of trauma and internalized homophobia is the problem.

1.) Daddy’s Abominations?

“No man in the sky intervened when I was a boy to save me from daddy’s fists and abominations!”

This is quite self-explanatory, Lex just said that his father sexually abused him. The only other possible interpretation I could think of is a more general ‘my dad made me evil because he was evil’ but that’s a really weak explanation especially since the line is equated with the trauma of being beaten by his dad and the way he is very visibly triggered saying that line. When he finishes “abominations” he immediately flinches away from Superman and shakes his hand in front of his face as if desperately trying to erase what he just confessed.

2.) Lolita + Alice in Wonderland

“Plain Lo in the morning, Lola is slacks -“

“Late, late says the white rabbit”

Lolita and Alice in Wonderland...those are interesting choices of literature for a supervillain to quote. You’d think something more threatening and/or pretentious would be an obvious choice for a traditional mastermind-type supervillain rather than two obscure (not very masculine) classics that only have one thing in common: themes of sexual obsession and pedophilia.

Lolita is the story of a pedophile who uses his power as a step-father to groom and sexually abuse a child. Alice in Wonderland, while not having explicit pedophilic content, was written by a suspected pedophile and is obsessively focused on a child that there are photographs of the author kissing on the mouth. These are the two novels Lex relates to enough to quote them casually off the top of his head.

3.) The “it’s cherry” scene

So this is obviously a sexual innuendo but the question is, why this guy? This character is utterly unimportant on his own and this doesn’t affect anything plot-wise which means this action is entirely about characterizing Lex. What are they trying to communicate here? This guy represents a figure similar to Lex’s father, an older businessman who behaved as if he had authority over Lex, and Lex’s instinct to that is to assert dominance in a sexually suggestive manner. This establishes Lex as a character who uses sexuality to dominate and make others uncomfortable, and relates it to a man who who represents his father.

4.) Two Versions Of The Same Scene

Lex caressing Zod’s face directly parallels him caressing around Clark’s face, even the framing is identical. I think these are two versions of Lex confronting Superman, one with the actual Superman where he has to keep his distance and put on a callous front, and the other with a Kryptonian corpse he can project Superman onto. The scene with Zod I think shows how Lex truly feels about Clark. “You flew too close to the sun” he’s saying this and crying as he’s creating a monster to kill Clark which makes me think those words were not for Zod but the god he feels he has to kill. There’s no reason for Lex to cry for Zod, Lex has no relationship with him, it’s much more coherent that this scene is using Zod’s body as a substitute for what Lex can’t express to the real Superman.

EDIT: Upon rewatch I noticed a small moment where the Jolly Rancher Dude (I don’t think he has a name lol?) says with a smile “You want Zod’s body?” and Lex goes “Okay”, it’s a very playful interaction and it I think strengthens the connection between Zod’s body being an implied sex symbol of Superman.

4.5.) The Sexual Tension In The Rooftop Scene

Every moment of the rooftop scene (and all of this film) is so multilayered and intense, I could talk about it for hours but I want to talk a little more about the moment in the above gif.

Seconds before this, Lex was wagging his fingers inches for Superman’s glowing laser eyes but now when he knows Clark isn’t going to attack him, he won’t touch him? Lex is less afraid of having his fingers burned off than he is to touch Clark’s head knowing that he won’t do anything. Because Lex would be happy if Superman burned him, that would prove him right and give him an easy category to put Clark in but letting himself touch Clark in an ‘affectionate’ manner is terrifying.

A straight male villain that just wanted to use physical contact to assert dominance over the hero would have touched Clark here (and also would have no reason to caress Zod’s dead body) but Lex can’t even though he’s literally trembling with desire to and we know for a fact he’s not afraid of invading Clark’s personal space in an even more physically dangerous moment.

5.) The Dual Realities Of An Abused Child

“If God is all good then he cannot be all powerful.”

Now, I’m not an expert in psychology but I will do my best to articulate this. When someone, especially a child, is abused by someone they love it creates an extreme paradox in their mind. They love this person and they have to trust them but they also have to fear them, their brains are forced to compartmentalize when this person is a threat vs when they are a protector. In some cases, like Lex’s, this can lead to someone entirely thinking in absolutes and dualities.

It’s a consistent theme in Lex’s dialogue that he thinks in absolutes. The cornerstone of his ideology is people have to be “all good” or “all powerful” when really no one is either, there arguably is no such thing as either.

It’s also a theme that he has dual views of people in his life, the most prominent being his father and Superman. In one scene he’s reminiscing about wishing his dad would come back, in another he’s emotionally describing the abuse he inflicted. And Lex does the same with Clark as explained in point 4.

Lex even seems to have a dual view of himself. In the rooftop scene he points to himself as “the evil in the world” but his speech about Prometheus at the party is clearly meant to illustrate that he sees himself as a misunderstood savior of humanity (this is even confirmed in the bonus material).

6.) Internalized Homophobia

“I don’t hate the sinner, I hate the sin.”

Two things are important to me with this line. First is that it reinforces point 5 but also this is a very, very common phrase in homophobic rhetoric so for him to say this and gesture to Clark’s body as the “sin” has implications. And yes, yes, I know he meant that Clark’s powers are a sin but things can have double meanings and I sincerely doubt that anyone making a movie in the western world’s current political climate wouldn’t realize that phrase is strongly linked to homophobia.

To elaborate on how it reinforces 5: Lex is openly saying that he doesn’t hate Clark, he just hates his power, which brings us back to the idea of an abuse victim’s dual reality. It’s Clark’s power that is the threat to him but he can still love Clark, same way his father’s abuse was a threat but he can still love his father. Note: Lex calls Clark “my friend” and “Clark Joe” and similar affectionate names throughout their interactions which I think suggests that Lex sees Clark as partially a person.

7.) Conclusion

DCEU’s Lex Luthor was a fresh, contemporary take on the character so it was a jarring difference from the Lex we’ve seen in other recent mainstream media. I also think it was upsetting partially because it took away Lex as a male power fantasy; a buff, suave billionaire who’s hyper masculine and doesn’t let anything get to him including his canonical abuse. Now we’ve got this definitely charming and silver-tongued but effeminate and deeply traumatized Lex that I think is much, much more dynamic and compelling (and definitely fits this universe) but was uncomfortable for people that were attached to the charecter as a male power fantasy.

Nevertheless we need more villains like this. That can be both intimidating and vulnerable, that are human and offer a real ideological opposition to the hero. BvS could not have been the story it is without this Lex. BvS is a brilliant and nuanced film about how fear and trauma affects people’s worldviews, which is an important thing to explore when you have a Superhero that is the embodiment of hope. It’s important to show that not everyone can have hope so easily and to humanize those people.

Anyways this post is really long and I could literally talk for days about DCEU and this film especially so thanks for reading, please be respectful in the notes.

#dc #pro dceu #dceu positivity #bvs positivity #batman v superman #dc meta #my meta #lex luthor #lex luthor jr #clex #clark x lex #txt #my post

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loxxxlay · 5 years ago

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100 word meme

hiii, so I’ve been wanting to try this for a while since it seems to work out really well for @veliseraptor and i feel like it’d work out well for me too? so gonna give it a shot

rules are you vote for a fic and i write 100 words in it. so basically if u want a fic posted faster, vote for it, because a vote means i’ll actually work on it (hopefully XD). it’s mostly just a helpful way for me to have tangible goals that i can work toward without having to make decisions about what those goals are myself XD

[edit: oh yeah you can vote for up to 3]

so without further ado, here’s the list (as is traditional, with bonus excerpts as a reward for helping me with executive brain functions lmfao):

1. (Figment of Choice) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

“Oh, but dear, if I had known it’d be like this, I would have had you change ages ago. You’re simply beautiful!” He smiled and ran the ends of his fingers down Loki’s jaw.

Loki resisted the urge to bite them. Monster, he thought. Tears gathered in his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t do this to me—”

“Loki, we’ve talked about this.” The Grandmaster made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue. “Yesterday even. Didn’t I specifically tell your brother how I prefer those who are willing. Those who enjoy what Sakaar has to offer. What I have to offer. Are you telling me you’re not one of those people?”

“Yes,” Loki said by habit; then, “I mean, no—no, I am, I just—I don’t think—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” the Grandmaster said. “You know how much I hate hearing don’t and can’t. Come along, sweetheart, get up. As lovely as you are, I’m not only here for you. Time’s a’ticking.”

2. (The troy and lola story of my soul) [tw implied noncon/dubcon and csa]

Troy watched his friend disappear into his carriage, and then he watched a butterfly trail from flower to flower, and then he watched the sun approach the white mountains in the distance. His legs ached with the strain of standing as he watched, but he didn’t move. Moving would mean admitting the fact that his twin had been suffering for years. Suffering the same torment he himself had escaped. Moving would mean having to face the fact that his brother (sister?) might resent him.

As he stood, he tried—he focused his entire mind upon an imagined woman lying nude in the lounge of a brothel. He tried to feel what she felt. He tried to feel the weight of a body on top of his or the repetitive aching of his insides. He tried to feel the unbearable numbness infecting his limbs with cold. But there was nothing, no sense of life from his twin. Nothing except the ghosts of his own memories.

“My Lord,” Margaret called from the patio, “won’t you come inside?”

Troy sighed but didn’t turn. “You know to call me Theodore.”

“It’s cold out here,” Margaret said as if she hadn’t heard. “At least let me fetch your cloak.”

Troy didn’t answer, and a moment later, he heard the door bang shut. He waited a bit longer. For what? He didn’t know. But then the crickets started chirping, and the chill of nighttime wind raised goosebumps on his arms, and he managed to stomach his fear and turn to face the house.

3. (Forget Me Not, Remember Still) [tw domestic abuse, grandthorki shenanigans]

“You look so sad,” Thor said, and Loki hated that his voice sounded at all like the Grandmaster’s. “What’s bothering you?”

Unsure whether it was safe to answer, Loki pressed his lips together.

“Tell me,” Thor said, just as gently, but—Loki could sense the difference in his patience.

He took a breath. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s something,” Thor argued. “Now tell me—or do I have to remind you what happens when you try to think for yourself.”

Loki steeled himself against a flinch. Almost subconsciously, his hand came up and his fingers pressed against the bruises at his neck. The shirt he’d wanted to wear would have covered them, but this—it exposed him. It made him look weak, like a victim—and truly, was he not a victim now? Was he not being abused?

Wincing, he looked away from the mirror before the sight of himself could make him cry.

“Oh, Loki,” Thor said. “You’ve made some mistakes. All those marks show is that you’ve learned better. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

To you, Loki thought, and then shut the thought off.

4. (On Our Terms) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

The Grandmaster sighed loudly. “I don’t mean to offend you, but your society sounds quite borish.”

“It is,” the Valkyrie said, “but it’s the one we got, and I doubt you have room for three thousand potentially borish people here, so . . .”

“Yes, yes, your point has been made,” the Grandmaster said. “But you see—I’ve grown quite fond of these two, and I’m not quite sure if I want to let them go. Especially since they seem so eager to stay.”

“Yeah, I get it. So what’s your price?” she asked in a casual tone.

“My price? Goodness, gracious! I’m not the type to just sell these poor boys to the highest bidder. My dear dear 142, you should know better than to suggest such a thing! Absolutely unbelievable.”

There was a silence. Loki held his breath, closed his eyes, and tried not to think. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t matter what he did. It wouldn’t matter what he said. In fact, it might make things worse if he spoke, and things were already bad enough. The best he could do was keep silent and be good and just . . . wait. Wait to be dragged back into their nightmare.

Under the table, Thor’s free hand slipped around his and squeezed. Loki was numb, too numb, to care. He didn’t squeeze back.

At last, the Grandmaster gave a long put-upon sigh. “I suppose, I might be more . . . favorable to your wishes if you were to, hmm. Play a game with me.”

The Valkyrie shifted in her seat. “What kind of game?”

5. (thor ficlet whumptober chapter 4) [tw past noncon]

With a deep breath, Thor slipped on a robe over his nightshirt and pants (he no longer slept without a shirt), and headed toward the door. There was one person, in all of Asgard, besides her, who knew. His brother had every right to be angry. Even now, Thor remembered the things he had said the night before—before—and those had been his own words, not hers.

As he came to the door, feeling small and afraid, he remembered the morning after. How Loki had begged him for an apology and had not received one. How Thor had stood on the other side, unable to be anything but callous and cold. Their positions were reversed now. Thor prayed his brother would be more kind.

Trembling, he knocked.

Loki answered the door, not a minute later, robed in black and green, hair curly and disheveled. “Yes?” he said as he rubbed his eyes—and then, before Thor could answer, his face smoothed and his eyebrows furrowed low and angry on his face. “Did she try something again?”

“No,” Thor rushed to say, but Loki’s expression didn’t soften. Cheeks aflame, Thor fixed his gaze on the golden stone archway of the door and studied its numerous ridges and cracks. “I can’t—sleep,” he managed. “That—bed—” His throat felt hoarse. He returned his gaze to his brother and tried not to let the desperation seep into his voice. “I’m afraid to sleep alone.”

6. (IW AU thor whump) [tw violence]

“Let me make this clear,” Thor said. He ripped a strip of cloth free from his cape and toyed with it between his hands. “I follow the doctrine of my master because it’s what I believe. But even if I didn’t? Even if you somehow managed to convince me otherwise?” Thor lifted the red cloth and pressed it between the bones of her jaw. “I would follow him anyway. There is not one single thing you could say to dissuade me from his offer, universe be damned.” He tied the cloth in a knot on the back of her head. “Do you understand?”

Eyes blazing, Gamora kneed him in the thigh.

Thor stumbled. His heart sped, as he realized she’d been aiming for his crotch, and in a burst of rage, his hand clenched into a fist and raised in the air—trembling and white-knuckled and desperate to hit her back.

He didn’t do it.

There was something in her face that sparked a memory in him—one of Loki, handcuffed and bright-eyed and braced for a blow on the Asgardian skiff. The time they’d gone to avenge a mother who had left them alone too soon. The time Loki (seemed to have) died. For a shocking moment, the woman in front of Thor looked just like his brother. From the the tension in her shoulders, to the set in her lips, and to the glassiness of her wide eyes.

He lowered his fist. Grief cascaded over him, and it weighed like bricks on his chest and needles in his heart. In a count to ten, Thor reminded himself of the doctrine and of Thanos’s offer—the gauntlet, with all five Infinity Stones, would resurrect his brother. This woman—this traitor—couldn’t. The choice was easy.

“Get some rest,” he said, numb and cold. “Xandar is several hours away.”

7. (Zombie Post Apoc Novel) [tw grosss vagina shit, implied noncon]

At night, Helen catches her in the bathroom. The door is cracked open, and Cassandra is standing, one foot planted on the tub’s ledge and the other foot on the floor. Her hand is between her thighs and she’s holding the lighter under her clit, until the air sizzles with the smell of burnt flesh. She comes like that. Helen knows because tears leak from Cassandra’s face whenever her orgasm is real.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra whispers when she notices Helen watching. “I have to.”

And Helen doesn’t bother arguing. Larry may dead, but there are countless Larry’s, and even if there aren’t, Andrew hovers in their room sleeping on their bed. Something has to burn. So Helen just closes the door behind her, turns on the vent to clear the smell, and grabs Neosporin from a drawer under the sink.

Cassandra sits on the bathtub ledge. “Maybe we should stay,” she whispers. “Maybe it really is better here.”

Helen kneels on the bathroom tile. “You’re gonna kill yourself if we stay here, babe.” Then she rubs the Neosporin over the folds of her sister’s vagina, and when the burns are good and treated, tears of ecstasy leak down Cassandra’s face.

In the silence that follows, Cassandra bites her lip. “If it comes to it… I don’t know that I could pull the trigger.”

“You can,” Helen says. “Just pretend you’re holding a lighter.”

8. (Moment of Peace)

#gonna do a blanket tag of #cw noncon #because most of these fics have it lol #but each is tagged individually #lox talks personal #fic excerpt #placeholder writing tag #ask thing

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tomfooleryprime · 6 years ago

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I love Sarek. But he’s really not that great.

Sarek and Amanda are my favorite couple, not just in Star Trek, but ever. I’ve written more than half a million words of fanfiction about them. I’ve watched episodes featuring them so many times I secretly worry Netflix will put me on blast.

But I am not a Sarek apologist.

I’m pretty sure what draws most people to this couple is the age-old romantic notion that opposites may attract but the power of love can overcome anything. Cue cheesy instrumental music and a torrid kiss in the rain at a train station. I imagine a lot of women see themselves in Amanda, a seemingly regular woman with a regular life. Then they see a successful guy like Sarek, a dude who’s physically fit, well-educated, powerful, and absurdly intelligent, and it’s only natural that a recipe for hotness is born.

Because I’ve devoted literally years to dreaming up various ways this couple might have shacked up and vomiting the results all over AO3, I’ve also been forced to examine the personalities of both characters in great detail, and the only consistent conclusion I come to is fanon (myself included) gets it wrong most of the time.

Their marriage can’t have always been smooth sailing. If you’re not willing to believe me, then believe Amanda.

Oh sure, there are tons of one-shots where they have little spats, but they almost always end with both of them making heart eyes at each other and jumping into bed. I get that Star Trek originated in the 1960s, but that doesn’t mean Sarek and Amanda had one of those “golly gee” wholesome relationships that could put Ward and June Cleaver to shame.

Whichever version of Sarek you personally subscribe to, be it Mark Lenard, Ben Cross, or James Frain, it’s entirely possible to find the actors attractive but still think the character of Sarek could use some improvement. It’s also possible to love a character and admire their good qualities while being disappointed in their shortcomings. Maybe it makes me a shitty fangirl. Maybe it makes me realistic.

Literally decades of fanfiction and fan art have polished over Sarek’s unprettier bits, often portraying him as a hopeless romantic, a tender lover, a devoted father, and a man fiercely dedicated to his wife. I’m not going to argue each of those is patently false—hell, as a fanfiction writer, I’ve bought into some of those tropes myself—but I think some are truer than others. Let’s examine the canon.

When we first meet him in “Journey to Babel,” he’s callous and aloof. He’s Vulcan, I get it, more on that later. But seriously, the guy has a habit of summoning his wife and acts like he doesn’t even know his own damn son. No one should be standing up to enthusiastically applaud and hand the man a husband or father-of-the-year trophy. Even Amanda seems pretty resigned to the arrangement.

I already know what the pushback to this assertion will be. He’s Vulcan! You can’t judge a Vulcan by human standards! Well, his wife is human and one of his sons is half-human, so I would argue that it should at least be an option, but I wrote a whole other essay on Star Trek’s moral relativism problem.

Long story short, Star Trek glosses over a lot of moral and ethical dilemmas by using the argument, “Who are we to judge a culture we’re not part of?” I can’t answer that, but I will say someone once gave me a great piece of advice that I think applies to this idea of moral relativism: no person’s belief is inherently worthy of respect, but every person is. Maybe to understand Sarek as a person, we should look first at Sarek as a Vulcan.

Obviously Sarek subscribes to Vulcan philosophy, and while Vulcan philosophy seems pure as hell with its pacifism and its belief in embracing Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations (IDIC), I’m going to assert the Vulcan adherence to that philosophy seems to be a little lunch counter in nature. Yes, they take two scoops of resting bitch face and they’ll pass on the extra helping of tolerance. Sarek hails from a culture that is ostensibly exclusionary, sexist, and xenophobic in its practices.

When we encounter Vulcans in Enterprise, they’re people who mock humans for being too volatile, go to war with their Andorian neighbors, and aggressively purge the Syrranites for wanting to get back to the true meaning of Surak. But you might say, but that was before the Federation! They got better when they put T’Pau in charge.

Really? When we meet them next in the chronological timeline in Discovery, they’re telling Sarek they’ll only admit one of his weird social science pet projects (or as Sarek calls them, his kids) to the Vulcan Expeditionary Group.

In the Discovery episode “Light and Shadows,” Amanda reveals that Spock had a learning disability as a young child, which clearly embarrassed Sarek. Sadder still? Amanda explains there didn’t seem to be any educators on Vulcan willing to help a half-Vulcan child with a human learning disability.

In the alternate timeline, when Spock applies to the Vulcan Science Academy, the admissions folks give him a pat on the back for achieving so much, despite his great disadvantage of having a human mom. Replace the word “human” with any religious, racial, or ethnic group, and see how you still feel about that sentence.

Yes, Vulcans have racists and nationalists just like the rest of us and it doesn’t seem like they’re a rare breed either. Sarek is clearly attempting to be a better Vulcan, so kudos to him. However, not being an overt racist is not synonymous with sainthood.

It’s pretty obvious throughout canon that while Sarek loves his wife, he’s uncomfortable with humanity, and he’s doubly perplexed with the humanity she imparted in their son. She even directly accuses him of never truly respecting humanity, to which he replies:

Which, let’s be honest, sounds like the rough equivalent of the “I can’t be racist because I have a black friend” defense. So many things in canon point to Sarek being utterly baffled by humans, not cutely intrigued by them as so often seen in fanon. The only time Spock and Sarek seem chummy with each other is when they’re mocking Amanda’s human emotionalism in “Journey to Babel.” Whether or not he meant to (and he definitely meant to), Sarek raised a son who saw his human half as a thing to be overcome.

Discovery has also hammered a lot of nails into the affectionate father coffin. Up until the final episode in season 1, he never called Michael his daughter and instead referred to her as his ward. It’s nice that he finally got over that technical distinction, but it doesn’t exactly conjure up the image of him tucking her into bed and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

He seems to accept her humanity because, well, she is human, but his own son’s humanity isn’t ok? Not like it matters, because his plan was to mold Michael into a Vulcan-like human anyway, which is pretty weird when you think about it. At one point, Michael tells Sarek she knows he must have considered the effect a Vulcan education and lifestyle might have on a human child, but she wants to know what he wanted Spock to learn from the experience of having a human sibling. His reply?

Which is... nice? He doesn’t say the only reason he took Michael in was for her to be his son’s empathy tutor, but he does essentially admit he was worried Spock was becoming too much of a momma’s boy. So the theory that Sarek was just scooping up orphans all over the galaxy like some kind of Vulcan Angelina Jolie doesn’t seem accurate. It gives the distinct impression that even Sarek thought of his hodge-podge brood as an experiment, at least to a degree.

Now, some may argue that Sarek never told Spock that he had to follow Surak’s teachings, which is true-ish. But that’s like telling a kid, “You don’t have to believe in Jesus” and then sending them to a Christian school in the heart of the Bible belt. What decision did he imagine his son would choose when he decided to raise him on Vulcan and stand by when other kids beat him up for not being Vulcan enough?

Seriously, Spock was almost guaranteed to turn out one of two ways: either he would just try harder to out-Vulcan everyone, which he did, or he would give logic the middle finger, which, well, is the option Sybok chose to run with.

Despite fanfiction and fanart imagining him as this really hands-on parent who changes diapers and decorates baked goods (yes, I wrote a story like this and I’m calling myself out), he admits he’s the kind of dad who works late in the evenings, not the kind that reads stories at bedtime.

It’s also no secret that as a parent, Sarek holds grudges. In “Journey to Babel,” Amanda confesses that Sarek and Spock haven’t spoken as father and son for eighteen years. In “Brother,” Michael asks Sarek when the last time he spoke to Spock was and he concedes it’s been years. In “Light and Shadows,” he’s clearly [Vulcan] pissed that Amanda is harboring a fugitive, who also just so happens to be his own son.

Is Sarek just that logical that he believes in justice even at a high personal price, or is he embarrassed that his own estranged son has been accused of murder and appears to be in the clutches of a mental breakdown? As far as I can tell, it might just be a little bit of both.

Then there’s the idea that Sarek is a caring and devoted husband. Is there actually any evidence for this in canon, other than he was married to Amanda and had a family with her? Lots of people are married and have kids and don’t have a relationship that would rival that annoying couple on This is Us.

Their relationship doesn’t seem like an equal partnership based on compromise, but rather one where Sarek does what he damn well pleases and Amanda follows along as a dutiful wife.

Amanda gave up a lot of things to be with him: her home, her culture, and potentially even her own son’s well-being. The woman went to extremes for love not even witnessed on the Bachelor, and why?

In some contexts, that sounds like the powerful kind of love and devotion that epic-poems would be based on. In other contexts, it sounds almost like a pathological self-martyrdom. Did Sarek ever fully appreciate her sacrifices? It’s hard to say, but if he did, I doubt he ever voiced his appreciation.

In his later years, when Sarek is losing his mind due to an age-related degenerative disease and he mind melds with Captain Picard, he tearfully muses (as Picard), “Amanda. I wanted to give you so much more. I wanted to show you such tenderness. But that is not our way. Spock? Amanda? Did you know?”

He's strongly implying he never told Amanda he loved her out loud. I’m sure he did love her, but it hardly bodes well for the idea that he’s a flowers and handmade cards kind of guy. And as for the notion that behind closed doors, he and Amanda had a super intimate relationship that would make even characters in Harlequin romance novels swoon, please, point me to an episode that makes you think that. I will watch it every day for the rest of my life.

In summary, between his first chronological appearance in Discovery to his death in The Next Generation, Sarek had a lot of improving to do as a person and we see evidence that he most certainly did. He came to accept Michael as his daughter. He started speaking to Spock again after wrecking his childhood and turning him over to Section 31. Even though it clearly exasperated the hell out of him, he occasionally gave into his wife’s emotional needs.

But that’s still a pretty far cry away from galaxy’s best father, husband, or lover. I think that’s what draws me to this couple so much. Sarek and Amanda didn’t live happily ever after: they did the best they could and made it work, just like the rest of us non-fictional losers.

What little we have of canon depicts them as a couple who likely got married before they really knew each other, probably should have spent their first few years of marriage in counseling, eventually figured one another out enough to raise three kids who could all probably benefit from some therapy, and loved each other no matter what, even if it wasn’t out loud.

#sarek/amanda #sarek and amanda #brother #journey to babel #light and shadows #discovery spoilers #star trek #sarek #amanda #spock #Michael burnham #sybok #Star Trek Discovery #the original series #Vulcan #parenting #sarek x amanda

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kara-querl · 6 years ago

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7 Reasons why that Coluan in Supergirl #24 is Brainiac 5 and 1 Reason why he could not possibly be

Grab Supergirl #24 over on Amazon/Comixology

Now long time readers of the Legion of Super Heroes are used to the oft used marketing gimmick of DC pretending they are going to give you a Karadox storyline only to realize you have been horribly deceived. Starting immediately after Kara’s death with the Mystery of “Who is Sensor Girl”

to Supergirl Annual #2 1997 (which probable contained more making out than any Supergirl/Brainiac 5 single issue ever but had little to no actual romance and was not Kara)

to the Threeboot Legion where we had cover after cover of Kara and Brainy together but with Dreamgirl literally living in his head that relationship was never more than a tease to get fans to buy the comics.

Now in between we did get some actual Karadox stories mostly from the amazing Sterling Gates.

We have yet to learn whether we will ever get Karadox from the CW as they seem to go back and forth on it even during the course of single episodes. And they have brought on a Dream Girl allegory who seems specifically there to keep Karadox from happening. (Love Nia and Nicole, but man is that bummer when we were so close after all this time.)

After all that, we . . . ok I . . . built up a bit of a callous when it comes to Karadox teases. So you would think I would stick by my guns and not even let myself entertain the idea that this new Coluan traveling companion of Kara’s is Querl Dox...but then again ...What would be the fun in that...

Now I know full well that any clues I am laying out are simply in the book to draw me in and make me read even if I know the promises are empty because remember all of the carefully laid clues in the Sensor Girl arc all also lead back to Kara being the girl in the mask even though it did not turn out to be her. I do know I am playing right into that trap, but if even for a moment I am living in a world where it could happen that is better than having no hope at all. So without further ado let’s begin the overly self-indulgent geeky conspiracy listicle:

1. Optics: The most obvious one of course being that he is a young handsome Coluan (a species we do not see a lot of) who happens to be traveling with Kara who has pretty major history with a handsome green skinned Coluan. You show the wordless panels to any decently seasoned comics fan and their immediate reaction will be that somehow Andreyko pulled a coup and got Brainiac 5 for his Supergirl arc.

2. Klik: When Z’ndr Kol touches his watch to disable the gun of Kara’s attacker the button specifically makes the sound “KLIK” to most people that has no meaning, but it is the exact sound the button on Brainiac 5′s belt made when he released the Infinite Man to defeat the Time Trapper.

3. Convenient timing: He waits until she is unable to detect lies to tell her his entire backstory and even still... 4. Vague Backstory: This one may need a little breakdown

- He's Coluan Ok obviously so is Brainy - He hasn't been with his people since infancy Brainy is traditionally an orphan and rebirth Brainy has been shown as a child on Earth. Possibly adopted by RJ Brande because of his connection to Vril?

Also note that Rebirth Brainy likes bracelets.

- His family was killed Again Brainy is usually an orphan though the circumstances change (of course if he is not Brainy I am betting he killed his parents) - Wants to find a Coluan colony so he can know where he comes from This could be Brainy looking into the deconstruction of Colu just like Kara is looking into Krypton but it also sounds like a con artist looking to play on her emotions

5. Krypto Krypto notices him in his robed costume but does not really seem too upset to see him. Familiar smell? It’s harder to con a dog. .df

6. Devotion Gandelo mentions his devotion but does not say to who. To Gandelo? To the Circle? To Colu? or maybe . . just maybe . . . to Supergirl? In the last issue all we learned was that he would destroy her... if that was truly his goal wouldn’t he have just accomplished that at the end of this issue?

7. It’s Time When oooing and aweing over Kara’s ship He comments that it “Is so ahead of it’s time” not how advanced it is. Subtle but made a crinkle in my brow.

Ok so that is 7 now here is the big reason why he definitely cannot be.

Back in August the amazing Cori McCreery did an interview with Marc Andreyko which you should check out here https://womenwriteaboutcomics.com/2018/08/where-she-fits-talking-supergirl-marc-andreyko/ She cut to the chase and asked the question that was driving us all mad.

So as much as we are currently being lead to hope this is a certain Coluan that is pretty much assured to be a fantasy so now to think up other possible explanations

#karadox #brainiac 5 #krypto the superdog #mindcandy #self indulgent drivel #brainiac5

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amemixfan · 6 years ago

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“Promise me that, whatever happens, you’ll remember me.” uh, is there any way you could fit in alain, helena, and the mc? i really love the dynamic between 3. or, do you only take requests for 1 LI at a time, if that's the case could u do alain? btw, ty for posting all the fics, they are amazing

Name used is Hannah. ——Soliare’s cell is the last one in the dungeon. To arrive to it, we have to pass rows upon rows of empty cells. It is almost a surprise to see so many unused prisons. For someone as hateful and cruel as the Witch Queen, I had expected her to have hundreds locked up. My fingers trace the edges of the walls and bars. I try to get a feel of the area, magic skimming just past the edges of where the natural eye can see, and can feel the force of time past. Once upon a time, these bars held many that had suffered in my name. Now, they rest as skeletons baring empty echoes. “I hate this place,” I murmur under my breath. Behind me, I hear the shuffle of feet. Alain and Helena follow me just a footstep or two away. They have agreed to accompany me to my excursion. Helena steps to my right, edges of her skirt just slightly brushing my thigh, and offers me a reverent look. Her blue eyes skim the dungeon in perfect sync with the weariness I feel. She was against me coming down to this place from the very beginning. “We do not have to come here, my Queen,” she glances back at the doorway as if promising to whisk me away were I to give the request. Alain takes his place at my left. His armor clanks at my side and his own blue-gray eyes look uncomfortable. Like Helena, he worries for my mental safety.“Whatever message you wish to offer her, I can deliver it myself,” he volunteers. I wave them both off with my best attempt at a smooth smile. Although the dungeons remind me of dark times in my past, times where evil spirits rattled within me and drove me to commit terrible acts, I have to face them. The Witch Queen is dead within me, I feel her corpse just within the reaches of my consciousness, and I must destroy what little remains. To brave my past, as horrible as it may be, is necessary to set myself free. “I’m fine. Relax,” I soothe. My words echo against the dungeon just as, I am sure, screams had before. How many had the Witch Queen trapped here once upon a time? How many had met their fate in this twisted place because a part of me, something controlled by a malevolent being from an ancient crown, had wished it so?I push the thought away upon arriving to Solaire’s cell. Solaire is sitting on the metal slab that passes for a bed. Her eyes are closed but I can tell she is awake. Upon sensing my presence, she bolts upright. “Hannah,” she greets. Relief flourishes across her face when she realizes I am not here to continue whatever torture the others have subjected her to. “Solaire,” I reach out through the bars. There is a jagged cut to one side of her cheek. Dry blood dots her face and she winces when my fingers brush past it. “What happened?”Solaire huffs. “One of the Generals. Fond of knives, that one.”“Lennox,” Alain and Helena hiss it under their breath in unison. They glance at each other, surprised to be in agreement, before quickly looking away. Despite the truce they have declared in order to serve me, to be in agreement is a surprise to them. I bite the inside of my cheek in fury and quickly archive berating Lennox to my to-do list. “We can get you out of here,” I breathe out. My excitement returns full force and I press myself closer to the bars. “There’s a tunnel system beneath the castle. Alain can find an exit and you can go back to Reiner. Do you still want that?”Solaire doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. What about you? Do you want me to plead to Reiner on your behalf-all of your behalves?”She glances back at Alain and Helena. Helena’s expression is troubled, guilt twisting in her gaze, and Alain’s is uncomfortable, remorse burning in his. They’ve both done terrible things in their past, and to ask for help from those which they’ve hurt the most is blasphemous in their minds. They evade Solaire’s gaze and instead focus on me. I offer them both a look, one full of sympathy and fervent belief, and turn back to Solaire. “Would Reiner take us? We don’t have a stellar record.”I can’t remember the full extent of what I’ve done as the Witch Queen, there’s only bits and pieces to my memory, but I know I did things I will never be able to atone for. Lord Wolfson lost his entire family by my hand. To seek shelter from him now seems like a mockery of the pain I subjected him to. “If he has me pleading for your case, he will. My Lord is known for his mercy,” Solaire’s voice is fierce and her eyes shine with pride. She truly believes in Reiner. Some tension eases off my shoulders. Alain and Helena shift in place. “Tomorrow,” I close my eyes, “Tomorrow the Generals want to march out and attack the human domain. We can distract them until nightfall which will give you enough time to escape. Your wings can take you far?”Solaire nods. I pinch the bridge of my nose in thought. “Tonight we have that thing with the Generals don’t we?” I glance back at Alain and Helena. Their expressions twist to bitterness and they silently nod. My own expression sours and I bite my lip. “I’ll make up some excuse as to why we have to delay the attack until tomorrow night. Then, while they’re waiting for nightfall, we’ll slip out of the tunnels. Hopefully, we’ll be long gone by the time they realize they’ve been tricked.”Silence descends over us like a dark shadow. Each of us has something to mull over. My worry lies within the two behind me. We have talked about escape, discussed it the moment Solaire floated the idea, yet they both look concerned. A deep pain twists my stomach. How lowly do they view themselves because of their past crimes that they do not believe they can ever be free?I turn to Solaire and retract my hand from the cell. “Tomorrow then.”When she gives me her affirmative, I nod to myself and move away. Like clockwork, Alain and Helena take a step to follow. They fall into perfect alignment behind me and trail after silently. Their expressions are still conflicted and I know I will have to speak to them both later. They bear heavy guilts over their shoulders, strain against the full weight of their sins, and I want to ease some of the pain I have caused. Both of them killed on my behalf, and I love them both too much to have them bear that pain alone.

The hallways of the palace are desolate and silent. Our footsteps echo off the walls and I have to bite my lip. The castle, like much of that touched by the Witch Queen, is lifeless and bleak. The Witch Queen has left a trail of death and despair in her wake. Sorrow follows her and everything she touched wilts. Alain and Helena, behind me, have not been spared either. They each carry a large cross on their shoulders from everything they have done. Their hands are bloodied and they feel like they do not deserve to hope. It is my desire that they realize they are meant for more than war. They are more than just tools to be used for bloodshed. Their hands may be bloodied but they can rise again. I want them to know that life exists outside of death and they can be free from the shackles that once bound them to tyranny. I bite my lip as we come upon the dinning room. I can hear the sounds of the other three from within as they bicker and argue. Magnus, Jinhai, and Lennox are gathered for dinner and are seemingly quarreling over something. Dread fills me and I rub at my jaw uneasily. I halt before the doorway and straighten my posture. I hate my “Evil Queen” facade, but I have to play the Witch Queen a few more times before our escape. “Whatever I say in there, I don’t mean it,” I turn to my two partners. “Of course,” Helena replies. Her lips are pressed thin and she prepares herself to face the other three. She has made it no secret that she despises them. “We know,” Alain clenches his jaw. His fists are tight at his sides and he eyes the dinning room wearily. Like Helena, he detests the others and fears them. I turn back to the room and channel my inner Charlize. I hold my hands stiffly at my sides and project an air of cool confidence with just an edge of violence. My Witch Queen persona snaps into place easily, more easily than I feel comfortable with, and I wipe my face of emotion. The room tenses as the three of us step into the dining hall. The other three fall silent, argument dropping in mere moments, and their greetings are mixed. “Your Majesty,” Lennox greets. His smile is worshipful but his eyes are impossibly cold. He doesn’t rise from his seat when I enter and the fingers holding his wine glass tense around the stem just a fraction. “My Queen,” Jinhai murmurs. He rests back against his seat casually and folds his arms across his chest. His eyes are openly suspicious, lips thin in distrust, and he feigns reverence. Magnus echoes the greetings at one end of the table. Like the other two, his gaze is extremely suspicious and the corner of his mouth is twisted in a patronizing smile. I give them each a frigid glare and slide into a seat at one end. Helena and Alain slip into the ones on either side of me. Like me, they are putting on a persona of something they are not anymore. Alain slips into a mask of no emotion, the callous knight who blindly serves a tyrant, and angles his body towards me as if he wants to be able to shield me from a threat at a moment’s notice. Helena turns her own expression cold and locks her jaw in hatred. Her own body too is angled towards me as if to shield me from the other Generals. I feel her magic at my side, simmering just beneath her skin, ready to be used were I to give an order. Their protection boosts my confidence. I give Magnus a cool once-over as if he were nothing but an impertinent servant. “How are the battle preparations?” My voice echoes against the tense dining hall. The atmosphere is impossibly divided and harsh. One my side are Alain and Helena, we form our own sort of alliance and maintain our distance. On the other are the rest of the Generals. They grudgingly work together banded against a common enemy-us. “Ready for your call. We await your permission to attack Lord Wolfson,” Magnus’ reply cuts through the silence. His eyes narrow in suspicion. Although I have demonstrated my magic and have known things only their Queen would know, he is still holding his breath. He does not trust me and merely pretends to when I’m in the room. I have no doubt he and the others whisper conspiracy the moment I step out. I take my time cutting my food before answering. I need a way to hold off the attack long enough to give Solaire time to warn Wolfson and his retainers. “And how many troops are ready?” It is a struggle to keep my voice uninterested. Already, I’m struggling to reign in my panic. A hand from under the table gives my knee a calm squeeze. Helena offers me a small nod, an encouragement, sensing my inner turmoil. Not to be rivaled, Alain also skims his fingers on my other knee and keeps his hand there as his own way of helping me. “Enough for the battle. We await your orders,” Magnus answers. I clench my fingers against my steak knife and turn my full gaze on Magnus. I’ve dealt with enough jerks in my life to have mastered my frigid “Female CEO” glare. “Wolfson will fall once I have inspected the troops and assessed for myself that I am ready to march. One of our Generals is wounded,” I nudge my chin at Helena. Her wrist is bandaged from a previous skirmish with the other Generals. They had nicked her with a sword during practice. “My magic is not up to par for our Queen yet. We must wait,” Helena holds her hand up. The wound healed a long time ago, yet she continues to wear the bandage around her wrist. Her injury has been our common excuse to delay the attack. Jinhai rolls his eyes. “And when has one injury stopped us? Lennox was nearly decapitated once yet our queen marched on. We long ago decided that we would not let one of us hold off the rest.”“That was Lennox. He has nothing to offer asides from lies and deceit,” Helena hisses. The room tenses a further fraction. Lennox opens his mouth to retort something, but promptly closes it when Helena sparks her fingers with magic as a warning. He is a coward to the end and is unwilling to fight her outright. I fight a surge of pride at Helena’s display and hide my smirk by taking a bite of my food. Magnus is undaunted. Our delays have irritated him and it is only the fear of the Witch Queen that keeps him from openly challenging me. “Regardless, my men are ready. You cannot delay an attack forever,” his voice is almost sneering and he adds in a “my Queen” to the end of his sentence as a clear afterthought. It is a slight against me that does not go unnoticed. Alain tenses to my side and his hand moves just slightly for his weapon. “Your Queen gave you an order. Bite your tongue.”“You are one to talk. Do not forget which one of us here has more experience, boy.”This time Alain almost does unsheathe his weapon. His eyes are blazing with fury, but I notice it is not in response to the insult against him. Rather, he is angry Magnus is refusing to listen to me. I snag his hand beneath the table and give his fingers a firm squeeze. My touch is enough to relax him. He locks his jaw in anger but the argument is forgotten on his lips. I intertwine my fingers with Alain’s and turn back to Magnus. “Either way, my orders were clear. We will hold off until tomorrow night. Night will give us cover and enough time to inspect the troops. If Helena is not healed by then, we will leave without her.”Silence descends and the tension amounts. The other Generals are not pleased by my decision, but they are willing to relent. They have no power here, to openly question me is suicide, so they bite their tongues and turn back to their plate. After an uncomfortable amount of time, Lennox speaks up. He tries to mask his suspicion by plastering on the ever-creepy smile of his. “My Queen, have you decided what you will do with the fairy in the dungeons? My cult needs a sacrifice to better serve you.”Alain and Helena tense at my side. I give them each a warning nudge with my leg. Careful. “The fairy will remain in my custody. She will make a good maid,” I shrug. There’s a snort from beside Alain. Jinhai gives me a cruel look with a dirty sort of amusement. “A fairy as well? How is that for competition?”I narrow my eyes. He continues on, seemingly very interested. “General Richter and Klein once fought for your attention, your Majesty. It seems like they have added a new rival to their contest. For you to handpick a servant is a new one.”“Watch it,” Helena hisses. Jinhai gives her a curl of the lip, innuendo still shining in his eyes. He is not one to back down from a challenge especially not when he sees how it has hit Alain and Helena. “Or has the competition ended? Did you two draw a stalemate? Agree to share the Queen and alternate as she did all those years ago-“Alain tenses and his jaw is so tight I fear I will hear his teeth crack. Helena similarity grinds her teeth together and her gaze is suddenly pained. I suppress my own wince. ‘Alternate’. The Witch Queen had pit the two against each other for a long time. She had led them both on for years to ensure loyalty then broken their hearts to keep them wanting. She was a seductress, a snake. My fingers curl into a fist underneath the table as something lights in Jinhai’s eyes. He seems to guess at something, taking in the three of us with a new light. The putrid amusement is back on his gaze and I suddenly find it very hard to cool my temper. “Or has the competition ended permanently? Have the two of you drawn a new peace treaty? Decided to share?” He bares his teeth in a smile when he sees the rage in Helena and Alain. Both of them are shaking with fury. Helena’s magic becomes scathing underneath her skin and I hear the metal of Alain’s double bladed weapon slowly inching out of its scabbard. They’re both coiled to strike at any moment. Not for themselves, I realize, but for me. They want to defend my honor from Jinhai’s humor. Were I to give the order, the disgraced elf would be nothing more than a stain of blood on the marble flooring. Lennox snorts into his wineglass, looking down at his nose on Alain and Helena. Magnus’ lip curls with disgust. The three Generals look down on them. The affection and rivalry between Alain and Helena had been mercilessly insulted in the past by them and the Witch Queen herself. Each general around me served the Witch Queen for their own cause, and each one felt their cause was greater than the other. They all look down on each other and judge one another openly. I stand from my seat suddenly. My hands are curled into fists and I suppress the boiling rage underneath my skin. Just one more day. One more day of looking at these vultures and then I’m done. I raise my chin high and look down at the three from the bottom of my nose. It works, they suddenly look very nervous and pale. They may scoff behind my back and whisper treason, but face them head on and they are cowards. The Witch Queen has instilled so much fear into them that they still feel it in my presence despite the lingering doubt they have that I am not their queen.“Enough. I detest fighting among you. If you wish to fight, make it one to the death outside. Until then, my orders are my orders.”I spin around in my heels and stalk off. Seconds later, I hear Alain and Helena scramble to follow. “Tomorrow then,” Magnus calls out. It sound like a challenge. Tomorrow then, I mentally echo.

As soon as the door to the courtyard closes behind us, I relax. The Witch Queen’s facade falls from my shoulders and I move my neck sideways to crack it. I always feel icky after playing her. The Witch Queen had been someone so full of hatred and malice that it is a shock to be outside of her and back in my own skin. “Do you think they’ll listen?” I turn to Helena. She curls her lip in distaste and takes a seat in the courtyard bench. “They will have to. Magnus may distrust you, but he will not challenge his Queen openly.”“Even if he does, Lennox and Jinhai won’t follow. The two are cowards and won’t back him unless they are certain they will win,” Alain slides into the space on my other side, “And you have two on your side. It is a tie and they fear that.”“They prefer unfair fights,” I coldly remark. My gaze falls on Helena’s false wound. They had teamed against her and nearly broken the wrist. Helena moves her sleeve to cover it, but I can sense a sort of light in her. It warms her to know that I care about her. She spent so long being hurt by an abuser that let her down that she can hardly believe she has someone in her corner now. I bite my lip and take both of their hands in mine. They offer them without resistance and almost lean closer into me. Helena takes my right and Alain my left. I stare at our linked hands. The Witch Queen had pit them against one another to drive a wedge. Between all the Generals, Alain and Helena had been the closest. Had they not been led on by the same monster, they could have easily been friends. Instead, they had been led in a fierce-some fight for attention. They had despised each other by nurture all the while suppressing just how well they got along by nature. I had tried my best to settle peace between the two. Choosing between them was a torture for myself and them, so I had struck a new deal. The agreement felt foreign to each of us, neither of us having experience, but we were getting there. They were getting better at overcoming the competition that sparked between them. “What do you want to do with peace? Once the Generals are defeated for good, I mean,” I ask. The question feels heavy even as I ask it, but I want it spoken. War is not permanent and peace will win. The two at my side, former Generals who once believed their sole existence was for the sake of death and destruction, need to know that they are worthy of it. They each deserve the world and everything in it. “Peace?” Helena whispers the word like she doesn’t know the meaning of it. Alain’s features twist in pain and he looks away. The white roses he planted for a tyrant are everywhere. Flower petals blow in the breeze and some come to rest on our hair. Once, he had given me a rose to prove his loyalty-but then that promise had been twisted for compliance. How terrible it is to twist a knight’s innocent devotion to a war criminal’s cruel obedience. “Wars don’t last forever. Once we win,” because we will, “what will you two do? What do you want to do?”Alain bites his lip. “I never thought of it.”“Nor I,” Helena looks away. I frown to myself. Were they expecting to die for the Witch Queen? Had they never seen a future past that of a martyr’s?Quiet reigns for a few more seconds. I can hear them collecting their thoughts, letting their imaginations roam where they once refused to let themselves go, and I give them time. Finally, Alain speaks. He closes his eyes as if he could travel to whatever future he desires. I feel the way his fingers shake in my hand. “Something quiet,” he murmurs. “Quiet,” Helena echoes under her breath, “And free. Somewhere we will not have to worry about being recognized.”I let them continue and trace a pattern into their hands with my thumb. My touch sends sparks across their arms. I feel the way Helena shivers and Alain relaxes. “Outdoorsy, somewhere Nyx could roam free.” Nyx, Alain’s horse. “Somewhere by a river. The water relaxes me,” Helena replies. I bite the inside of my cheek. Whether they mean to or not, their futures are aligning. The two Generals have spent so long quarreling with one another that they seldom realize how alike they truly are. Affection for them both fills me and I close my eyes. “Where would you each want to go then?” I try to imagine a future with them both. One where Alain is free of the torment he endured. One where he can ride Nyx freely and for fun. One where his sword never tastes blood again. And one where Helena can practice her craft for herself and not for war. One where she can be free of the abuse she endured and let herself rise. One where she can flourish in peace without looking over her shoulder for fight. The future that comes to mind is a lovely one and I feel an urge to cry. I bite my lip. I will make them a future like that. I will give them the freedom they both deserve. Helena answers first. Her eyes are fervent and fond. “Wherever you go.”Alain, at my side, nods. His own gaze is loving and full of loyalty. “We will follow you anywhere.”I glance between the two of them, feel warmth flourish in me, and offer their hands a squeeze. ‘Together’ has a nice ring to it.

Helena’s workshop is a sacred place to her, she has put so much secrecy and care to her safe haven, that I can tell she is weary to let Alain in. She hesitates outside the doorway, one hand on the wood, and clenches her jaw. Alain, next to me, glances away in similar awkwardness. He realizes he is not welcome and feels awkward as well at the thought. I place a hand at Helena’s back. We don’t have to share. Not this. If she is uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else. I know the agreement she has settled with Alain is still difficult for them both. They have spent so long fighting that sharing is foreign. I am more than willing to respect their boundaries-But she shakes her head. She raises her chin and pushes the door open. The scent of magic and wood fills my nose as we enter. Helena had fashioned this station to serve as a home. The palace was never a home for anyone. Here, this space has offered her peace of mind and freedom. I drift inside and take the place in. There’s her in everything and I feel at ease in the atmosphere. This is the place where someone had bared her soul and found herself. “Give the word,” Alain whispers to Helena. Give the word and we can leave. Give the word and he will leave her alone. Helena shakes her head once. No, she is willing to share this. I watch their interaction with warmth. The friendship between them is still tense, they are learning to share something they had both spent so long trying to monopolize, but it’s come a long way. We take a seat at a table with peeling white paint. Helena sets a tea pot down. The scent of warm lavender wafts from the tea cups she pours for each of us. I wrap my fingers around mine and let the warmth seep into my skin. My muscles relax and the tension that had once lingered around us eases into an amicable peace. Alain and Helena have each brought treats with them. Alain made a lemon cake that takes me back to my childhood. The sweet takes me back to a life time of running with Alain through pastures and laughing well into the night. The recipe is Solaire’s and I can remember that it was once my favorite. He had spent years trying to recreate the perfect taste to please me. Helena’s treat is something foreign. It tastes of cinnamon and butter and is twisted into knots. It makes me think of her village and how she was trying to find a new home. It is a reminder that we can leave behind the past we all suffered through and begin anew. I set my fork down and bite the inside of my cheek. Night is descending around us and it brings tomorrow closer. Tomorrow we will have to put our plans into motion and flee. Hopefully Reiner will be able to defeat the Generals once and for all once we do. Hopefully the war will be brief and we can win it quickly. How ironic it is to fight a war for peace. “When will Solaire be released?” I ask the question at Alain. He prods at the desert Helena made with his fork, curiosity in his gaze. “I can have her out of here before morning light. I have the keys to the cell and am the only one who knows all the tunnels. She will be gone before they realize.”I digest this information and take a sip of the tea. The liquid leaves a pleasant taste in my mouth but nervousness still twinges inside me. This plan of ours is risky, but isn’t the outcome worth the fight?I turn to Helena then. She is staring at Alain’s cake silently. Her eyes skim the icing with calculation as if she could assess its worth. Despite my best efforts, there is still a competition between them. They had once each learned to bake to please me and outshine the other, and they still struggle with letting go. Their friendship is still in the early stages. “And you can take us as far as the outside of the woods? Have us gone by the time Magnus realizes what happened?”Helena nods and finally takes a bite of the cake. “We will be long gone.”I stare down at my cup and watch the tea swirl around the sides. The ball of anxiety in my stomach is still there, but I push it down. We will make it out of here. I will get them out of here. They deserve so much more than the lives of war criminals. I reach out to them both and take their hands. They offer it without resistance and turn their attention to me. Immediately, they are on alert. I close my eyes and picture every way tomorrow can go wrong. The vision is not a pretty one and I have to swallow down my fear. “Promise me something,” I whisper. “Anything,” is their reply in perfect synch. “Promise me that, whatever happens, you will remember me.”Remember me. Me. Not the Witch Queen who tormented you and made you bloody your hands. Not the Witch Queen who abused you and brought you nightmares. Not the Witch Queen who made you believe you were just pawns to be used and discarded for war. But me. Me.The me that was before and after a possessed crown. The me that tried her best for you. The me that tried to show you that you were deserving of peace. The me that tried to create a world where you could be friends and not enemies-The me that loved you with everything that she was and everything that she could be. Alain lifts my hand to his lips. He brushes a kiss to my fingers and closes his eyes. A shiver passes through him. “Always.” His promise is fervent, loving, and he tightens his grip on my hand. Helena lifts my hand to her own lips. She places a kiss on my skin and her eyes seek mine. Her gaze is burning with affection and so many other millions of emotions that I can’t make out. “Forever.”Her own promise is powerful, final, and I know she means it. I close my eyes and concentrate on their breath on my skin, on their presence next to me, and on their sworn oaths. I know not what tomorrow will bring, the future is so uncertain and so changing, but I know that I will fight either way. I will fight for them till the very end. The two at my side deserve a future that is more than just that of war. They deserve peace and love and everything I could possibly hope to give them-And I will give it to them. I know not what tomorrow will bring, but I know that I will give them everything I can. They promised not to forget me, and I, in turn, swear that I will not fail them.

#request #alain richter #helena klein #love and legends #lovestruck voltage #voltage amemix

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yuri-or-death · 8 years ago

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Spellbound: 02 “Special Class”

Main Characters: Matsui Jurina, Miyawaki Sakura

Pairings: JuriSaku, WMatsui, JuriMomo, NanaSaku (and more).

Summary: Matsui Jurina is the immovable ace of St. Hildegard’s School of Magic. Considered a protégé by many Wizard Saints, her technique and mastery is second to none. Enter Miyawaki Sakura, talentless, unrefined and socially awkward. Her golden ticket for admission into the elite school is her late father’s legacy.

What happens when Sakura suddenly gets transferred to the Special Class because of a lottery? Will the mysterious ace take interest? (Magic School AU).

CHAPTER: 01, 02, 03, 04

Chapter 02

A tall woman in her late 20s stood before the Headmaster's desk. She was decked in a burgundy suit and pants that made her look androgynous but no less captivating.

She and the Headmaster exchanged knowing gazes while the majestic hawk seemed to observe them in silence.

“You called me here to teach,” a tinge of displeasure was noticeable as she spoke. The slight arching of her eyebrow gave much more than what she intended. If it were solely her choice, returning to this Academy to serve this eccentric old man was the last thing she would do.

The Headmaster nodded slightly while opening his spell book, looking quite disinterested of what the woman before him had to say. He already predicted all routes of this conversation and none of them was worthy of an argument.

“Headmaster, you know that I have more pressing things to do than babysitting your brats.” The woman sounded quite vexed. She folded her arms in front of her chest impatiently.

“You'll find this year's roster quite interesting, Sae.” The Headmaster spoke still neutrally.

“Get someone else.” Miyazawa Sae, Captain of the Prime Minister's Special Anti-terrorism Division frowned severely. “The battlefield is where I belong, cooping me up in this campus will just be counter productive. I am not an effective educator at all, I am a practician.”

The old man sighed deeply, he did not appreciate the constant questioning of his stratagems. “We will not argue about this, the Board of Regents has already decided. You will be the Special Class' combat instructor.”

Something inside Sae snapped, “I'm no longer a student of this school to be ordered around by you.” Her voice clearly held defiance. Impertinent and callous she truly was, but she cared not as long as her intention rang true this time. After all, there was no use in playing diplomat with the Headmaster.

At her words, the Headmaster lifted his gaze from the spell book that occupied him so. He was engrossed in the theory of magical subterfuge but Sae’s condescension started to burn through his ears. “A student you may no longer be, but you answer to the Prime Minister and hence you answer to me.” It seemed his former pupil needed to be reminded of her rank, and a stern reminder he was very willing to give. He was a man who preferred inducement to force, but once in a while it was inevitable to use intimidation.

Sae bit her lip to stop herself from barking a retort, as if finally understanding the gravity of the request she received from the Board. The Headmaster was right, although the words were spoken by him, it was the order of Her Excellency—who was after all the biggest benefactor of the Academy. No matter how much Sae was wary of the old man in front of her, there was no room for insubordination when the Prime Minister’s orders had the force of law.

“Combat classes will start at the end of this week, introduce yourself to the students in the interim.” The Headmaster waived his hand, there was a mountain work of papers needed to be studied and time was of the essence. “You are dismissed.”

“Understood” Sae bowed despite such arrangement being against every fiber of her being. Begrudgingly, she took her leave without another word spoken.

The hawk perched beside the Headmaster cawed twice while the door sealed shut. The bird unruffled its mighty wings as the air around it hissed and swirled until a figure of a woman decked in ecru and reddish brown, the same color as the feathers of a red hawk, materialized. She stood beside the Headmaster, her lips curved into a playful grin.

“My my, Sae-chan’s a bit ill-tempered this morning.” The woman muttered, hand rubbing her chin as if in contemplation. “But you didn’t have to embarrass her, Headmaster.” Her doe eyes seemed to plead.

“Perhaps I was too harsh, but only because the last thing we need is for her to be so whiny. You know we’re losing time and it would be most agreeable for the Special Class to advance earlier than our calculations, Haruna.” His unspoken plans remained shrouded by shadows.

“Ah yes, of course…but don't you surmise it’s a bit hasty to involve these students? Talented as they may seem, these girls are nothing but inexperienced.” Haruna seemed pensive at the thought of involving adolescents in the Headmaster’s little chess game with mademoiselle jeopardy. But as usual, the Headmaster appeared unfazed by the risks. “Besides, for you to allow such an inept girl into the program, even if she is a Miyawaki is unheard of.”

A silver glint reflected from the old man’s glasses, his chin was resting on intertwined fingers. “She is ‘untainted’, that is all that matters now.” In many ways he was like a maestro, a conductor, orchestrating a master plan that was revolutionary but equally dangerous. Akimoto Yasushi was a genius for a reason.

Haruna sighed as if in resign. “I trust your judgment, however, even the highest mountains crumble when the earth quakes.” She said with sage-like wisdom that was far from the nonchalant façade enveloping her before. “Tread lightly, Headmaster. Only a few of us have wings.”

After her caveat she motioned for the open window and seamlessly transfigured into the large red hawk that used to guard the Headmaster’s office. The hawk soared out of the room like a predator in pursuit of its game, red tipped wings spread out like a sunburst.

The window closed on its own accord, the ornamental draperies of the curtain tied itself perfectly. A few books floated towards the executive desk and as quick as the hawk’s flight; the Headmaster was again immersed in scholarly silence.

*~*~*

Miyawaki Sakura had been standing in front the classroom’s door for the past 5 minutes yet time seemed to trickle much slower than usual. Perhaps it was her anxiety that stretched out the seconds into what felt like fractals of eternity. She had been contemplating whether or not to enter for too long. Sakura internally cursed the circumstances and lamented the fact that Haruka couldn't accompany her this morning despite finally being in the same class. By some twist of (mis)fortune she was forced to enroll into the Academy’s esteemed “Special Class”.

Imagine Sakura’s horror when she was told that Haruka was assigned as student liaison with Yokoyama Yui for an interschool caucus on Anti-Matter Development the same time she was supposed to report to class. Haruka just had to be the genius that she is, now rubbing elbows with St. Hildegard’s Student Council President and the prodigies of other schools, no less.

“Are you going to enter or not?” A girl with a condescending voice spoke behind Sakura. Her eyes were sharp and demoralizing. Her black hair was neatly tied in a high ponytail that made her features more standoffish.

Shiroma Miru, the third daughter of the Naval Command’s Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations, was also a member of the Special Class. Her privilege could be easily traced to her father’s rank as a 2-star General, notwithstanding their family’s close ties with the Prime Minister.

“Move it.” Miru shoved Sakura aside as she entered the classroom, her every step shrieked arrogance. She made her way to the front row of the U-shaped lecture hall that felt more like the Coliseum of Rome than a classroom.

The unwelcoming vibe was clear to Sakura. She was dead sure the rumors about her exploded like wildfire. Whatever was left of her reputation was certainly beyond salvage after the wretched “lottery” she believed was a scheme to oust her. Lo and behold, the incompetent girl didn't even finish the entrance exam and just happened to be so lucky she was transferred to the Special Class. She could start penning a soap opera of her life, in all honesty.

Before her feet could move in sync with the prompt her mind was sending—to just scurry away and retreat—a warm hand pushed her back gently as if to encourage her.

“It’s alright Sakura-chan.” Okada Nana in her purple cloak smiled at her. “You can sit beside me.” She grabbed Sakura by the hand and led her to the outer edge of the second row.

Sakura tried to contain her emotions, she felt so overwhelmed by this girl’s kindness that she wanted to throw her self over and weep. But there was no room for such frailty; instead she surveyed her surroundings to familiarize herself with who or what exactly she was up against.

Inside the room were 5 people she did not know; each wore a fleur-de-lis badge on their collar; they were 7 in all. Sakura noticed that the person who pushed her earlier still glared at her despite the attempts of two girls to get a fraction of attention from the girl with the high ponytail.

“Don't worry about Miru. She’s sharp-tongued but has some redeeming qualities once you look deeper.” Nana tried to lighten up the atmosphere; her eyes gleamed with compassion.

Sakura nodded subtly, she hated being a burden to others. “You don't have to trouble yourself with my affairs, Naa-chan.”

“I would feel bad to just leave you as it is.” Nana pulled her down for a hushed conversation. “Here, I’ll teach you the basics.” She murmured.

“The Special Class is composed of 12 students from the 1st, 2nd and 3rd years. It’s basically a joint class for the crème de la crème of the Academy. Every year a student from the regular classes is allowed to join through a lottery system. The regular student assumes the zero position.”

“Zero position?” Sakura repeated, she recalled that same nomenclature written on the Headmaster’s letter. It was her position.

“Basically, you’re a wild card.” Nana clarified, “At the end of the year, the students are ranked based on their performance and the 13th person,” There was dark edge in her tone, it was somewhat foreboding. “The very last one…is debarred.”

“That’s unfair, why do we have to fight for just 12 positions?” Sakura found it rather cruel and futile. “Why did the Board even include a regular student in the first place if she would only get cut off at the end?” It was as if the Board itself found some sort of twisted entertainment in watching schoolgirls pitted against each other. It was all kinds of twisted. “Naturally, the regular would be the weakest link.”

“Anyone can get expelled, Sakura.” Nana stressed, in this class there was no assurance. Wealth or influence was meaningless, it all boiled down to skill. One day you could be at the top of the food chain, the next day you might as well kiss the ground. Nana knew this through experience and she was determined to help Sakura weather through. “You can rise from the zero position, this is a challenge for you as the representative of the regulars.”

“I’d be happier to not draw in more attention.” Sakura sighed, an air of disinterest hovering beneath her breath. She had to put in ten times the effort of the members of this Special Class just to be on the same page, just thinking about it exhausted her.

“In a state of perpetual opposition, diamonds are born, polished and separated from lumps of coal” A cold, monotonous voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.

“I am Watanabe Mayu, my serial is DXVI.” The girl in front of them practically sounded robotic. She scanned Sakura from head to toe with her mechanical left eye. Numbers and symbols flashed through her pupil like some sort of code. “Initial contact successful,” Mayu muttered before holding out her hand. “Good Morning Miyawaki Sakura.” She greeted omnisciently.

“Wow.” Sakura gaped, internally debating if this girl was some sort of cyborg. The people in this school kept surprising her. “How did you…?” She shook Mayu’s hand nonetheless.

“I’m betting this is your first time to see an enhanced human.” Nana found it cute that Sakura was, in many ways, like a child on her first field trip. “Mayu is the first ever living being to achieve a synthesizer rate of 67%.”

“I have no idea what that is, but it sounds remarkable.” Sakura shook Mayu’s hand more eagerly. She was glad that Mayu wasn’t treating her like she was some leper, more than anything.

The bell rang signaling the start of first period. The door opened to reveal their instructor. A tall woman in her early thirties, with light brown hair that almost reached her shoulders entered.

Upon seeing her, the students stood up to acknowledge her arrival. “Good Morning my dear students. I guess by now, you all know the results of the lottery.” She turned her attention to Sakura, wasting no time.

“For the benefit of our new student, I am Shinoda Mariko, your potions instructor and also the adviser of the Special Class.” She motioned for Sakura to come in front. “Ms. Miyawaki, please introduce yourself.”

Sakura could feel all the eyes shift to her. Carefully, she made her way beside the podium where Mariko spoke. Nana nodded at her reassuringly. “I’m Miyawaki Sakura, It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” She bowed, the less things said, the less chances to make mistakes. She hated being thrown in the spotlight.

“Welcome to the Special Class, Sakura. You will receive your robe and badge within the week. Please sign this waiver before anything else.” Sakura returned to her seat while holding a non-liability contract. She scanned through the terms and hastily signed it.

Mariko then surveyed the room and frowned slightly at the realization that some of her students were still missing. “I recall Yui and Haruka will attend the caucus today. We’re still missing three people.”

As if on cue, the door swung open and a girl with black hair reaching her chin entered, she seemed aloof at first glance. “I’m sorry for being late.” She said, unable to stifle a yawn. There was an air of detachment in each stride she made.

“You’re late again, Sayaka.” Mariko sighed.

“Hey,” The newcomer greeted Sakura carelessly as she passed her by. She wore a leather jacket instead of their school coat and black boots instead of loafers. The black choker with a cross pendant completed her rock star appearance.

Subsequently, two figures materialized like smoke, standing at the end of the room like their flashy entrance was nothing but child’s play. Matsui Jurina and Kinoshita Momoka finally made their appearance and the occupants of the room stared at them with deference. At that time, Sakura could clearly feel how Jurina’s compelling presence affected everyone.

Jurina held Sakura’s gaze longer than she intended.

“Take your seats.” Mariko ordered. She pointed at the Roll of Honors framed up at the left side room like it was some Da Vinci masterpiece. “As per tradition there are 12 students in the Special Class, each bearing a number.” Mariko started. “Miyawaki Sakura…you are the 13th.”

I – Matsui Jurina (3rd Year)

II – Yamamoto Sayaka (3rd Year)

III – Yokoyama Yui (3rd Year)

IV – Kinoshita Momoka (3rd Year)

V – Shiroma Miru (2nd Year)

VI – Watanabe Mayu (3rd Year)

VII – Okada Nana (2nd Year)

VIII – Iriyama Anna (2nd Year)

IX – Kodama Haruka (1st Year)

X – Mukaichi Mion (1st Year)

XI – Kizaki Yuria (2nd Year)

XII –Nakai Rika (1st Year)

“Your job is to hone yourself, learn and persevere. That is the only way to survive this ordeal.”

“With all due respect, Professor, that girl narrowly passed the entrance exam. Perhaps it was even for the sole reason that her father was an associate of the Headmaster. I, for one, cannot support her acceptance to the most elite assemblage of this Academy. It will only bring us to shame.” Miru made her spiel with great conviction, she was resolved to throw Sakura out.

“It is kind of suspicious.” Mukaichi Mion, a girl with twin-tailed hair, sitting beside Miru spoke objectively. While she did echo Miru’s thoughts, she merely stated a fact. The circumstances surrounding Sakura’s acceptance was indeed peculiar.

“But it doesn't matter, she won the lottery.” Nana reasoned out in defense of Sakura.

“Don't sweat it Mirurun, Miyawaki-san will get cut off in then end.” Nakai Rika smiled repulsively sweet it made Sakura’s skin crawl.

“For a bunch of aristocrats, you sure are a nosy lot.” Sakura said unapologetically.

“Everyone settle down.” Mariko defused the tension. “It’s pointless to argue about something decided by the Board of Regents, Miyawaki will be part of this class.” She snapped her fingers and immediately a glass screen rolled down from the ceiling behind her.

“It’s time to start our lecture.”

As Mariko spoke of boron powder as the better substance for a fortification potion than diamond dust, Jurina gazed at Sakura’s back. She could not shake off the recollection of yesterday’s events. The feeling while they touched, as if all life force was draining out of her fingertips…what was it? Unconsciously she held her unblemished wrist, rubbing the skin where the mark of the serpent had materialized. She could distinctly recall the burning sensation and dregs of fear crawled at the back of her mind for the first time in a long while. These days only nightmares wrought terror upon her senses. But that force, that power she felt from the new girl, it shook her very core.

*~*~*

A delegation was currently holding a meeting inside a spacious ballroom. There was circular table at the center of the extravagant chamber that was adorned with golden fresco and gilded roses. The décor was successful in producing an ambiance straight from a Czar’s palace. At the side, an orchestra masterfully played Mozart’s Lacrimosa for their enjoyment. The waiters scrurried about, serving cold cuts, cheese and lavish wine.

A woman in her mid twenties sat before the round table, she was the only female among the esteemed delegates. Old, inexorably rich men surrounded her and yet she was undaunted. Her black hair was intricately styled to match the exquisiteness of the emerald studded serpent holding her bun in place. The serpent was the insignia of the Matsui House. The air of nobility about her did not shift the slightest.

“What I’m saying is that, we cannot allow the Salem group to expand their clout in southern regions. Even if we maintain control of the Capitol, the inflow from the south is still a quarter’s worth of our annual profit.” The woman reasoned out, her youth and gender was seemingly an inexistent handicap.

“We understand your reasons for expanding southwards, and while your logic is sound the Chrysanthemum Throne is still quite pensive of the merger with the Matsui Conglomerate.” An old man who seemed to be the most senior of them all spoke firmly. He caressed the large ruby ring adorning his pointing finger.

“With all due respect Masamune Ichihara-sama, the Matsui Conglomerate has been nothing but altruistic in its efforts to stabilize the position of the Chrysanthemum Throne. The only bargaining chip you have is the Emperor’s name. Everyone in this room comprehends that fact that the Royal Family holds scant power in this day and age.” Matsui Rena’s words were harsh and incisive, undermining every attempt of the Emperor’s adviser to increase leverage. A merger with the Royal Family was more like a charity work for the Matsui Conglomerate at this point; it was only the Royal name that was worth the bargain.

It seems Rena’s diatribe magnificently ruffled the old man’s feathers; he scoffed. “You are still quite naïve of the workings of this ‘world’, little miss from the branch family. Such big words for someone who stands on thin ice. I offered you audience out of courtesy; do remember that we only deal with the Main House.” Masamune felt that it was extremely fitting to attack Rena’s lineage.

Matsui Ryuzaki, the current Patriarch of the Matsui House had two sons. The first son earned favor in every way, yet he was unable to father a child. Rena was adopted to continue his line. Nevertheless, tradition dictates that only a descendant of the bloodline was qualified to become the successor. Though Rena was adept in every other aspect, she always felt second rate.

“I was sent by the Matsui Conglomerate as envoy to this summit, nothing else matters. It would greatly upset the Patriarch once he finds out that his decisions were trifled with.” Rena maintained composure but Masamune saw through the cracks in her resolve.

“You may have their name, but we only listen to the Bloodline. Even Matsui Ryuzaki-sama acknowledges that.” Matsui Jurina was the bloodline, the oldest legitimate grand daughter of the Patriarch and heiress to the Matsui fortune. This was a matter set in stone and no feat or cunningness of Rena could change it.

“Go back to Tokyo and send someone from the Main House, there will be no consensus otherwise.” Masamune knew they were powerless against the Conglomerate and yet he was dead-set in humiliating Matsui Rena for her insolence. The advisor of the Emperor will accept no insult from an outsider, no matter what surname she held. It was secondary that such directive would buy him time to counterbalance the noble house.

“Jurina will not waste time for you.” Rena hissed.

“Then send someone else.”

*~*~*

Jurina opened the faucet, allowing cold water to stream down the porcelain sink. The gothic structured lavatory was somber like the whole school building. Although the fixtures of the school were antiquated and eerie, the facilities were nevertheless impeccable.

The blonde girl splashed her face with cold water in the attempt to regain focus. She was unable to sleep the whole night, as the dreams grew more vivid and paralyzing. She honestly felt like collapsing was the better choice than to let the day languidly pass.

The door opened with a loud creek and Yamamoto Sayaka entered. “You seem out of your element.” She said matter-of-factly.

“I had a bad night.” Jurina did not expound on it out of worry that Sayaka might see through her.

“Well, it’s not my business.” Sayaka conceded, although there was a tinge of uneasiness in her tone, she did not let it break her mask of detachment. These days, conversations with Jurina grew more and more tense that part of her wished they could all just fall back to the time she, Momoka and Jurina were still good friends. But that was a thing of that past and Sayaka was careful enough to not tread on unstable ground.

“Sayanee,” The endearment rolled off Jurina’s tongue effortlessly despite not having used it for a long time. There was a broken edge to her call, resembling some choked bird asking for reprieve.

Sayaka turned back to Jurina somewhat surprised.

The blonde girl paused. The droplets of water slid down her face and chin like they were tears she wasn’t able to shed. The ace struggled with herself, searching for the next words to say. “It’s…nothing.” Was all she could resolve.

Sayaka lowered her gaze, disappointment glazed her eyes. She continued her way to one of the cubicles as Jurina went the opposite direction to take her leave.

*~*~*

Sakura absolutely hated gym classes. Being bad at spell casting was one thing she could live with. But being terrible at sports, which was hard physical labor, made her feel more of a loser. While sighing heavily, she zipped up the purple windbreaker embellished with a fleur-de-lis embroidery on the left breast and started to stretch.

“The eleven students that are present today will be paired up. We will proceed with an exhibition match thereafter.” Their gym instructor, Togasaki, was a man with a muscular built. His sun tanned skin was reminiscent of summers in a tropical paradise. “Nakai, you’re the referee.” He directed the frail girl to stand at the middle of the field.

Rika held a cage with a dainty mechanical falcon flapping its wings hysterically.

“Miyawaki, ever played Falconry before?” The instructor turned to Sakura who was fumbling with the point-counter fastened on her riding belt.

“Once or twice.” She knew the basics, how players had to race each other in destroying floating gems while riding griffins; how each color of gem corresponded to different points, how it was perfectly legal to eliminate opponents and how caching the mechanical bird yielded the highest score.

“You can’t use magic on the bird.” Mion reminded. “Well… not like you can anyway.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” A rider ‘catches’ the mechanical bird by snatching it through her griffin’s talons or beak. The sport was similar to assembling raptors to hunt their prey. In rare cases, a rider can also seize it by hand but it was least efficient.

“Let’s have a ten-minute break, choose your partners now.” Togasaki prodded before walking off to let the students pair up.

“I will not tolerate the sight of this dunce anywhere near me.” Shiroma Miru rolled her eyes, the mere thought of Sakura riding with them in a match irritated her to no end. “With her incompetence, she should be the referee instead.”

“I guess refinement can’t be learned even by nobles.” Sakura snapped, finally taking a bite on Miru’s ego.

Miru couldn't believe this flea was talking back at her, “I never expected a weed to know such a complicated word.” A ‘weed’ was a derogatory term to refer to commoners or individuals without magic.

“I’m not going to back down, not from someone like you.” Sakura was dead-set on meeting Shiroma Miru head on, let her awful magical ability be damned, she was not going to sit around playing ragdoll to a spoiled princess.

“Why are you so riled up, Miru? Sakura hasn’t done anything to you.” Nana spoke up.

“Why should I not be? She’s unworthy to even set foot on this campus. She’s just a weed.” Miru retorted. Her partner, Mion, held her by the arm in a vain attempt to placate her.

“Her worth or qualifications aren’t for you to determine, Shiroma.” Jurina finally interposed. She was resolved to distance herself from petty high school bickering but Miru’s insistence on shaming Sakura was growing tasteless.

Miru was positively surprised and even annoyed a Matsui seemed to be taking the dunce’s side. Someone of the Ace’s caliber and noble lineage should definitely know better about keeping the group unsullied by a commoner. Just before she was about to lecture Jurina on the importance of maintaining supremacy, a pilot light of idea struck her. She smiled slyly instead.

Miru pointed at the two girls. “Then will you be her partner for this match, Jurina-san?” It was a rare occasion to demolish Matsui Jurina through the ineptitude of her would-be partner. Surely, not even the mighty Ace could manage to save face with Miyawaki acting as dead weight.

Miru’s proposal caught everyone’s attention. Sakura honestly felt like her heart dropped. She shook her head frantically. “Please don’t, Jurina-san.” Embarrassing Matsui Jurina was the last thing she wanted to do. If she was to go down in this fight, she would go down alone.

Before Jurina could respond Momoka interfered. She found the whole proposition ridiculous. “And what are you trying to prove, Shiroma?” She was not so inclined to let Jurina compete with the new girl as her partner, especially with what happened to the curse mark yesterday.

“If Jurina-san approves of Miyawaki, or better yet, if their team wins…then I promise to let the matter go.” It was quite obvious that Miru was using her faux benevolent voice.

“The statistical probability for victory is 23.4035%. I would advise that you decline, Jurina.” Mayu recommended with her impassive mechanical voice. “If you proceed, it would be an overkill for Sayanee.” Yamamoto Sayaka actually stifled a chuckle at the cyborg’s latter comment.

“It’s becoming exciting.” Kizaki Yuria whispered to her partner, Iriyama Anna.

Everyone waited for Jurina’s decision. The Ace hated losing no matter what kind of match was involved, for her to willingly accept a handicap would be quite interesting.

“Fine.” Was Jurina’s simple reply, whether or not she was frustrated of Miru’s attempt to drive her in a corner, it did not even make a dent on her perfectly composed countenance. “Let’s take our position, Sakura.” She called the younger girl.

All the players took their stations beside their respective griffins before the gym instructor returned.

Sakura hesitated to speak as she watched Jurina stroke the griffin’s neck to soothe it. “I’m really sorry for dragging you into this, Jurina-san.” She lowered her gaze contritely.

“I chose you.” The Ace smiled and Sakura could distinctly feel a flush spreading on her cheeks. “You don't have to apologize for anything.” Jurina patted her head casually and they were both positively relieved that there was no surge of astral force as they made contact like their previous meeting.

“B-but yesterday…what if I hurt you?”

“Don’t worry, it wont happen again.” Jurina mounted the mystical beast effortlessly, she was poised to win. “Can you cast destructive spells?”

“A little, but it will take a while.” Jurina could recognize the panic in Sakura’s eyes as she rode the griffin. The Ace could tell that the younger girl did not have much experience in falconry, yet here she was riding with pros. Jurina mentally noted how she admired Sakura’s courage, there was an innocent allure about her that was quite cute.

“Alright. Then just focus on staying aflight and leave the rest to me.” Jurina winked and Sakura’s heart sank anew. She refused to acknowledge the slightest sliver of attraction. St. Hildegard’s Ace was dangerous.

The gym instructor grabbed the whistle chained around his neck and blew, signaling the start of the match. All players took flight and the sky was filed with gems exploding one after the other as each contender fought for the lead. Simultaneously, Nakai Rika released the mechanical bird into the fray.

The riders were trying to eliminate each other through an array of magical assaults. Miru directed an ice barrage towards Sakura and Nana, which the latter effortlessly deflected with a fire burst.

Sakura was thrown to the other side of the quadrangle by the impact, her griffin was wavering due to frost covering its plumage. A few meters from her the mechanical bird whizzed past Kizaki Yuria who was pursuing it intensely.

Despite the distance between them, Jurina encased Sakura in a spherical shield, her left hand moved quickly to gesture a reinforcement spell as Miru intensified the rain of ice against the transferee. With her right hand, the Ace continued to successively cast destructive spells against the gems floating around them. It was a wonder how Jurina could execute two magical sequences simultaneously.

“You’re wide open, J!” Momoka announced, she was hyped enough to be competing against Jurina this time. In the many falconry matches they played, she was always the one watching the Ace’s back, finally being on opposing sides undeniably thrilled her. She gave a nod to her partner and Nana executed a gravity warp just below Jurina’s griffin. Momoka on the other hand, threw an electric arrow, piercing five gems in a row. She zoomed away to join Kizaki and Iriyama in their hot pursuit of the mechanical falcon.

Jurina’s griffin became unsteady as it fought against the weight of the gravity spell. It was slowly loosing balance and Jurina struggled to keep it airborne with a levitation enchantment on her third magical sequence. The Ace was careful enough to maintain the defensive barrier around Sakura as ice pillars continued to rain down on her. Jurina cursed to herself and wished she wasn’t in such a bad shape, the simultaneous sequences were effectively depleting her stamina.

As a general rule, a mage can enforce one magical sequence at a time, but there were few gifted individuals who could carry out multiple sequences.

“You can’t keep up that one-woman show of yours, Jurina-san.” Miru flew above her effortlessly as if trying to mock her. She wanted to drive a point that Jurina’s decision to partner with the lowly weed was the worst choice.

“Are you trying to kill her, Shiroma?!” Jurina roared.

“A stern reminder to the participants, only Level 4 spells are allowed in this exhibition match!” Nakai Rika carried out her referee role. She examined each player from where she stood and followed each maneuver, ready to interfere if a mishap occurred.

“This is only a Level 2 ice spell.” Miru grinned. “It wouldn’t be as destructive if Miyawaki knew how to counter.”

Sakura felt suffocated by her powerlessness. She could see Jurina overexerting herself and knew that though the Ace was proficient and clever, she was not limitless. Sakura tried to neutralize the torrent of ice with a fire invocation but only mustered a small flame that was easily devoured by the frost.

Joining the fray, Sayaka whispered an incantation and the earth began to rumble below, a hand made of stone and dirt darted to latch on Miru’s griffin.

The bird tried to escape as Miru threw ruin spells against the clay hand that only regenerated every time. “Ruinox!”

Sakura sighed deeply as the rain of ice seemed to weaken. Yet, relief instantly turned to terror as it dawned to her that she was descending. The talons of the griffin she rode were too frosted to sustain its course, the bird cried out frantically unable to remain aerial.

“Break the sequence, Miru!” Sayaka shouted, the frosted torrent showering Sakura weakened but did not disappear.

“Even if I wanted to, it’s impossible to break a magic sequence once it’s casted!” Miru retorted, panic was coursing through her veins as well. She repeatedly tried to nullify her own spell.

As the referee, Nakai Rika imbued the bird with a flight talisman but it thrashed wildly in fear. The leather straps that kept Sakura attached to the bird snapped due to is brittleness after being coated in ice.

“She’s going down!” Nana exclaimed as she tried to cast levitation around Sakura but the falling girl was too far for her magical ability to reach. “Somebody help her!”

Jurina tried to enchant the bird but it was short lived. Her spell lasted for a few seconds before she was out of astral force. The barrier around Sakura that kept the pillars of ice from crushing her was taking its toll on Jurina, along with the magical sequence that was keeping her own griffin afloat. The distance was just immense for her spell to reach the plummeting girl.

“Magnus Fiehra!” Momoka released a massive wave of fire that engulfed Miru’s ice. The sky above was covered in warring flames and ice.

“Professor, please help her!” Nakai pleaded, tears streaming from her eyes.

Togasaki maintained his composure like a military general who was unperturbed by the kiss of death. He did not even lift a finger, instead he observed as his students scampered to control the situation. He was waiting for their next move.

“Impact to the ground in three minutes.” Mayu calculated while trying to decelerate the girl’s drop.

Nana continued to cast levitations spells one after the other as she zoomed towards Sakura, each enchantment lasted for only mere seconds before Sakura’s descent hastened again. She would have already used teleportation if the distance wasn’t so vast.

Jurina bit her lip and gestured with her pointing finger an unfamiliar magical circle. She was prohibited to use the art of subterfuge except in high-security operations but she would not risk Sakura’s life. “Abyssum Vaqui.” She whispered and in the next breath the gravity curse ailing her griffin was broken, the fire and ice spells casted in the sky as well as the earth golem disintegrated.

“She’s using the ‘void’, that idiot.” Momoka mouthed loud enough for Sayaka, who was just beside her, to hear. Both of them knew of the severe consequences for casting that spell, they watched Jurina pensively.

“Praemoria.” An enormous magical circle materialized around the Ace, it was rare to see her mouth off an incantation or even use insignias to invoke, but here she was doing both, it only highlighted her desperation.

Jurina vanished from her griffin and reappeared embracing a motionless Sakura, catching her as they both descended. The combination of spells she used in the last 15 minutes had inevitably depleted her aura. She tried to break their fall by imbuing them both with flight but it was useless. “I’m here.” She whispered as she held Sakura closer to her chest, bracing for the impact that never came.

A siren roared over the whole quadrangle as a white hue enveloped the expanse of the Falconry field. Jurina found herself floating a mere 2 feet from the ground, cradled by an invisible cushion that broke their fall. Thankfully, an emergency levitation enchantment imbued the arena. As the siren stopped, the white light covering the field dispersed.

Jurina and Sakura fell on the grass. The Ace’s arms encircling the terrified girl did not falter. Sakura herself held Jurina’s shirt in a death grip, she was shaking uncontrollably.

“J-Jurina..ssa..n…” Without warning the ever elusive mechanical bird landed on Sakura, nudging it’s beak on her head.

“It’s fine…you’re fine.” Jurina’s tone was careful and soothing. She held the mechanical bird by the neck and motioned for Nakai to retrieve it’s cage.

Togasaki clapped at each student’s display of skillfulness. “This is the first time that emergency sequence was used.” He called all the students to dismount. Everyone’s senses still burned with adrenaline. They looked at him with bewilderment.

Momoka and Nana helped the two get on their feet. Jurina’s right arm was still wrapped around Sakura’s torso, assisting her to stand.

“Professor, that could have traumatized someone, I sincerely hope you informed us first that she was in no grave danger.” Jurina spoke while recollecting herself; irritation was evident in her words. Her blonde hair was in disarray; dirt was all over her attire, scratches littered her arms and sweat made tendrils of hair stick to her neck.

“This is a lesson on solidarity and resilience.” Togasaki started his sermon. “When Miyawaki entered this class, some of you wanted her gone. You couldn’t accept how she was so different from you.” Some of the students lowered their gazes in guilt. “But when her life was in danger you all wanted to save her, didn’t you?”

Togasaki scrutinized each one of them. “No matter your status, rank or skill, in this class you will be treated equal. Why? Because death does not discriminate, pain does not discriminate. Failure or conquest does not know your name. You will all walk through fire, blood and tears...and she is now a part of you.”

Togasaki shifted his attention to the transferee from the regular class. “As for you, Miyawaki, this is a warning. The Special Class is not something to be taken lightly, if you do not have the resolve, leave now. For there will come a time when you must choose between your life and your duty.”

Sakura felt the weight of each word from Togasaki; there was pressure, intimidation but also trust. Despite her weakened state from the near death experience, she walked forward and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Professor.”

Togasaki nodded with approval, “That’s all for today, you are dismissed.”

Momoka approached Jurina after the gym instructor left them to retreat to his office. “Are you ok?” She held the ace by the shoulders.

Jurina winced in pain, sensitive to Momoka’s hand on her left shoulder. “I might have dislocated that.” She mumbled, pointing at the aforementioned limb, which carried her and Sakura’s weight as they hit the ground earlier.

“When did you start being so rash? Dishing out high level spells one after the other?” Sometimes Momoka seemed more like a mother to her than a bodyguard.

“Then you should’ve tried saving me the trouble by backing me when things went haywire.”

“Didn’t I try to stop Ice Queen’s Winter Wonderland?”

Jurina exhaled; she was too tired to retaliate. “Just get me fixed, please.” She couldn’t even cast a curia on herself.

“Jurina-san,” Sakura’s hesitant voice came from behind them.

“Everything all right?” Jurina asked, trying not to wince as she spun around to face Sakura.

“Thank you.” Words couldn’t encapsulate the gratitude Sakura felt. Not only did Jurina defend her from Miru’s insults but she risked her life as well.

The blonde girl felt indescribable warmth flood her as she accepted Sakura’s thanks. This transferee was slowly turning into someone she wanted to support. “I chose you as my partner, didn’t I? I had to protect you until the end, Sakura.”

The bodyguard’s eyebrow rose exaggeratedly. “Oh stop being such a flirt, J!” Momoka roared in laughter.

*~*~*

“Matsui Jurina’s subterfuge was able to simultaneously terminate levels 2, 4 and 6 spells today.” Togasaki reported to the Headmaster.

“How many sequences was she able to perform concurrently? Her last record was 3.”

“I apologize, but the record still stands.” Togasaki replied reverently, he noticed that the large hawk guarding the Headmaster was nowhere in sight but decided to say nothing about it.

“I see.” The Headmaster was too busy assembling a mechanical scarab on his desk; it would soon be one amongst the many trinkets displayed on his wooden shelf.

“On the other hand, Shiroma Miru’s ice based assaults have increased in destructive power, although she lacks in control and precision.”

“I’m sure that will improve.” The Headmaster nodded slightly. “How about Miyawaki? Are there any changes?”

“None as of the moment.” Togasaki bowed.

“Make sure to crack her open within the week.”

*~*~*

The first thing Sakura did when she got back to the dorms was to dive into her bed. She was just awfully tired and spent that she forgot to change clothes before dozing off.

Haruka crept inside the room after learning that her best friend neglected to lock it. “I’m sorry for not being with you today, Saku-chan.” She whispered while throwing the sheets over Sakura’s sleeping form; her loud snores echoed in the room.

Haruka muffled a chuckle. “Good night.” She said while placing a small red box wrapped with a ribbon on the desk.

Thick clouds obscured the moon tonight, as rain poured down from the ashen heavens, everything it touched – the roofs, the flickering lampposts, the pavements, the plants – was rinsed anew.

Outside, in the courtyard, Matsui Jurina dropped her umbrella; she lifted her face to meet the raindrops that started to soak her to the bone. She closed her eyes, listening to the wind howl with the storm.

She did not open her eyes again that night.

There was a loud splash as her body collapsed.

Author’s notes:

I am very very VERY sorry for this late update! I wanted to release this last May 13th but the court cases I’m handling *conveniently* erupted last week. So here I am slightly embarrassed that the quality of this chapter might not be topnotch as I am time constrained these days.

Still, I hope you all enjoyed and do drop me a line. Any type of feed back is definitely appreciated!

Ciao~

47 notes · View notes

placetobenation · 6 years ago

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Welcome to Seinfeld: The PTBN Series Rewatch! On a regular basis, JT Rozzero, Aaron George, Andrew Flanagan, Jordan Duncan and Jason Greenhouse will watch an episode of TV’s greatest sitcom and provide notes and grades across a number of categories. The goal is to rewatch the entire series chronologically to see what truly worked, what still holds up today, what feels just a bit dated and yada, yada, yada it will be a great time. So settle into your couch with the cushions flipped over, grab a Snapple and enjoy the ride!

Best Character

JT: I liked Kramer the most here. The mail story was the best of the bunch and he had some strong delivery in multiple spots throughout the episode, including one of my favorite all time moments when he pops in the apartment and says that he called about the van. The dummy bucket stuff was funny too as was his showdown with the Postmaster General.

Aaron: It’s David Puddy for his ten seconds of screen time. He busts himself up with the Maytag man line then walks off towards immortality. What an indictment of this episode.

Andrew: It’s Kramer. I get the sense he’s partly on auto-pilot here, but he’s mastered the small touches so completely that the character always works. The “You said ‘a mailman I know’ and you’re a mailman I know!” line has always stayed with me, even coming from one of the weaker episodes. This isn’t the most ground-breaking performance, but it’s still worthwhile to recognize competence.

Jordan: I’ll go Kramer here. Even for a Kramer storyline, I felt the mail storyline was a stretch. So many episodes in the past have seen me struggle to choose because of so many good options, here it’s a case of trying to find anything I enjoyed.

Best Storyline

JT: The van had its moments but Kramer’s battle with the post office stands out here. It had the funniest lines and overall concept and I really liked he payoff the end with Newman being marched into far the Postmaster General. George’s cousin plot was creepy and The Wiz stuff was weak.

Aaron: George’s parents having enough of him takes the cake here. It’s as though they watched the show, saw the monster that they created and cut their losses. At first I was put off by the cousin dating, but then it struck me that it may be the most sensible relationship George has ever had.

Andrew: Definitely the post office stuff for me. George’s parents cutting him loose has an absurdist bent I enjoy, but they don’t explore the concept any further. The paranoid conspiracy movie pastiche, on the other hand, is the most fully realized idea this episode has to offer. And with Newman, Kramer, and the Postmaster General, this storyline has the best performances by far.

Jordan: As I type it out, the episode sounds fine. The post office stuff with Wilford Brimley was solid, the van stuff wasn’t terrible, and I didn’t even mind George desperate for his parents attention. Yet in execution – they all kind of fell flat? I’m going with Jerry’s van just for the scene where Kramer wants to buy it and asks about trades.

Ethical Dilemma of the Week

JT: Is being starved for attention reason enough to bang your cousin? Probably not if your cousin is Rhisa. I will let you sort out the rest.

Aaron: I’ve often wondered about incest. I guess my main question would be is there less of a stigma towards homosexual incest as opposed to heterosexual incest because of the lack of potential abominations? Countless men have fantasized about bedding twins with little regard to the damage those poor sisters would do to their souls. No one seems to bat an eye when two brothers dance the night away before a certain trip to a certain town. Why do we stand in the way of cousins, or sterile siblings? THEY ARE STERILE! If we let them own a cat together we should let them express their love in a free and horrific way.

Andrew: Is it OK to stop getting mail? Should citizens be able to opt out of government services they don’t personally care for? No. When did this segment turn into Libertarian Corner? Oh, so now I’m setting up strawmen in an argument with myself, am I? No YOU sound crazy!

Jordan: I would like to confess that I once went to a BBQ and saw a girl who I thought was smoking hot, only to be told that she was my cousin I had not seen for years. It was difficult to come to grips with, but thankfully, I maintained my dignity and did not flirt with my cousin. Nor should any of you.

Relationship Scale (Scale 1-10)

JT: Frankie Merman wants all of Jerry’s babies. The love AND lust in his eyes shone through anytime they were together. He got Jerry that van because he pictured them taking family trips to the country together every Sunday. Just tell him how you feel, Summer George! Relationship Grade: Van’s a Rockin’/Don’t Come Knockin’

Aaron: What’s grosser: Frank and Estelle christening the van or George banging his wine cooler infused cousin? Either one is preferable to Elaine and the God Damn Wiz. Relationship Grade: 0/10

Andrew: This episode is full of abhorrent couplings. But David Puddy remains a golden god. Relationship Grade: 0/Hoochie Mama

Jordan: If I can take any solace in this, it’s that Elaine Benes’ standards are so ridiculously low, that I have a legitimate shot with her. Seriously – The Wiz? Learn to love yourself, Laney! Relationship Grade: I’M NOT THE WIZ, AND I’M… AWESOOOOOME/10

What Worked:

JT: Whitey Fisk; “Jackbooted thugs” makes me laugh; What’s Jerry going to do with the old looking phone?; PUDDY~!; George scripting his calls to his parents is great; Jerry asking Elaine if the man she met was Whitey Fisk; What was Kramer’s original idea regarding the choke point?; I always enjoy how George reverts to the third person when he gets angry, such a fun callback for the rest of the series; Kramer’s brick line; Newman telling Violet to take her three hour break and his sweaty conversation with Kramer; Kramer walking in and saying “yeah I called about the van” is one off my all time favorite moments; Puddy trolling Elaine over The Wiz; The Bucket stuff is a funny running joke; Frank bringing back “hoochie mama”

Aaron: I like the creepy gravediggers who inhabit the park, especially the fact that there were potentially undressed ones the deeper into the woods you strode. The moment where Kramer realized that his “revenge” on Pottery Barn was fruitless was perfectly played. Rhisa just going for it with George was a fun twist.

Andrew: The whole Junk Mail storyline works for me. Kramer’s impotent revenge at Pottery Barn, the bricked up mailbox, the whole government conspiracy angle, and most of all the Postmaster General, gave me the most genuine laughs of the episode. David Puddy laughing at his own jokes at Elaine’s expense is great. I may be in the minority here, but Jack’s absurd strut with the Wiz crown makes me laugh.

Jordan: I popped big for Wilford Brimley. Long before he was simply “Diabetus” to today’s world, he was a legit actor. I always loved his voice. Him calmly talking to Kramer was both soothing and threatening. He did great. I also liked that Frank and Estelle are basically just done with George. The van seat lowering into a bed was a nice touch, as was George commenting that it was “a rockin'”.

What Didn’t Work

JT: Frankie Merman always looks like he just ran a marathon; I didn’t need the mental imagery of the Costanzas having intercourse; the immediate leap George makes to date his cousin feels a step too far for both him and the show; the coincidence that Jerry stumbled into the Wiz commercial just as they were talking about Jack was a bit too much; Why did George have to drive deep into the woods to execute his scheme; Jack doing that fucking Wiz dance, go get fucked

Aaron: What is going on with Elaine? Remember when she was picky with men? Sure she always dated but now she’s basically turned into a complete whore. She dumps her boyfriend at the mere hint of another man looking her in the eyes. That’s why Puddy’s Maytag man joke landed. It’s true! Ugh. What an awful turn for a once-great character. Why does callous Jerry suddenly care about ANYONE’S feelings? There is no way the guy who dropped “that’s a shames” left and right would give a living shit about some freak burying himself to death in a park. He had contempt for a bubble boy for Christ’s sake. Kramer’s whole production during the van sale made me want to vomit the compliments I lauded him with in countless of these things. Look no further than the preposterous Wiz dance for a terrific example of a guy having no idea what show he’s on.

Andrew: There are some fun, absurd ideas here that just don’t land. A park full of weirdos digging holes to lay in is a wonderful image, but somehow the episode can’t get the joke to land. Likewise, a son who’s only known withering levels of attention from his parents being “cut loose”, who then responds by trying to win them back, is a solid plot idea. And yet I’ve never given that story a second thought after the episode is over. It’s generally a bad sign when a show has a bad plot device (George’s parents agreeing to pick up the van from the woods), but the writers just lampshade it instead of fixing it (No parking meters out in the woods!). This is one of those episodes that feels rushed and unpolished to me.

Jordan: Full disclosure here, I am entering my thoughts after others have, and I scanned what JT wrote, and he sums it up for me. These stories sound OK on paper, but they seem to just dive right in. George going right to “I’ll date my cousin!” seems really far fetched, even for him. There was no escalation at all. To me, it was the same with Newman warning Kramer about getting rid of mail, it all just hits these big moments out of nowhere. Also, Jerry making fun of The Wiz after some of the things he’s worn FOR FREE is hypocrisy at it’s finest.

Key Character Debuts

– Frankie Merman

– Rhisa

Iconic Moments, Running Themes & Memorable Quotes

– “He was not the summer you. Besides, you had a summer me. Whitey Fisk, the guy who snuck you into Last Tango in Paris.” – Jerry “I made him up.” – George “So you never saw Last Tango in Paris?” – Jerry “No.” – George “Too bad. It was erotic.” – Jerry

– “Well… I’ve had it with these jackbooted thugs!” – Kramer “‘Pottery Barn’?” – Jerry

– “After dark? Please. At their age, that’s like swallowing stun grenades.” – George

– “So, this is beautiful. You, and Puddy, and this new guy, in a big pot of love stew.” – Jerry

– “Will you look at this? More catalogs! ‘Omaha Steaks’, ‘Mac Warehouse’, ‘Newsweek’?! I can’t stop all these companies, so, I’m gonna attack this problem at the choke point.” – Kramer “Stop the mail?” – Jerry “That’s… even better!” – Kramer

– “Where’d you get the bricks?” – Jerry “Jerry, the whole building is brick.” – Kramer

– “Oh, that’s it. They have gone too far. They keep pushing me, and pushing me. Now I got no choice but to go down there… and talk to them.” – Kramer

– “Ah, shut up, Jerry. My parents think they can ignore me. Heh heh. Well, they better think again.” – George “Oh, no. George, please. What are you going to do?” – Jerry “You remember my cousin Rhisa? I’m gonna date her.” – George

– “That’s pretty pathetic.” – George “I know. They’re not even related.” – Jerry

– “Oh, it’s fantastic. We were out in front of the post office today, and not one person went in.” – Kramer “It’s Sunday.” – Jerry

Oddities & Fun Facts

– Legendary actor Wilford Brimley portrays the Postmaster General

Overall Grade (Scale 1-10)

JT: This is another weak episode here in season nine. I really liked the mail saga and there was plenty of laughs but the other three stories never quite clicked. Frankie was a weirdo, George was a creep and Elaine was an idiot. I don’t mind that they are getting a bit over the top here in their final season but some of this stuff is way too much and just not believable after a certain point. The Kramer mail stuff is a bit nutty but in line with the character’s motivations. A man digging holes in Central Park when his feelings are hurt and George wanting to bang his cousin to get his parents’ attention just don’t resonate at all. They still seem to be figuring out what they want this season to be and hopefully it all clicks together soon. Final Grade: 5/10

Aaron: I think I hate this show now. The barely-recognizable characters suck, the performances are stiff and wooden and when Frank and Estelle can’t save an episode we’re in serious, serious trouble. Man the writing has become awful too. Everything used to feel organic. Everything used to feel like it would actually happen. How on Earth is Frank Costanza finding that van in the woods? The over convenient situations have reached an absurd point. Fuck the Wiz. Final Grade: 1/10

Andrew: This is not a good one. I have fond memories of the post office stuff, but otherwise it’s pretty much a dud. Final Grade: 5/10

Jordan: This feels like an episode where they had to come up with something for everyone, rather than just fit everyone into on e story. I liked the mail stuff with Kramer, and feel like they could have just built the entire episode around that story -easily bringing George and Elaine into it somehow. Instead, we have a huge swing and a miss with George and his cousin, another miss with Elaine and The Wiz, and if I’m being generous, a base hit with Jerry’s van. But it’s not memorable at all. Final Grade: 4/10

#IFTTT #Place to Be Nation

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