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glimmeringtwilight · 2 years ago

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Playing Nice | Yandere Scaramouche x Reader

this wasn't even intended to be a fic but here we are. modern au scaramouche wooo. This was spurred on by a conversation with a friend about what job scaramouche would have in a modern au. She made a very compelling argument for marketing

CW: alcohol use (reader gets drunk), yandere themes, implied captivity, drugging mention

Word count: 3.1k

Scaramouche is a terrible coworker.

You both work in marketing, and though he's the department lead and technically your boss, he has no jurisdiction to actually fire you, as much as he may threaten it.

He's been more insufferable as of late, though. Constantly nitpicking your work, berating you if you show up even a minute late to meetings– and even then, most days it's because he sends you out on a fool's errand, last minute, before the meeting. You know he does it on purpose so he has an excuse to heckle you once you step into the meeting room, but you've decided on malicious compliance at this point.

Just last week, even, Miko called you into her office to discuss your tardiness because Scaramouche had some complaints. When you explained– as professionally as you could with Scaramouche glaring daggers at you– what the real reason for you being late to meetings (and sometimes even missing them entirely) was, Miko merely tittered and smiled knowingly.

You were sent back to your desk, listening to Scaramouche arguing with the boss through the door as it shut behind you. At the time, you'd wondered where he found the balls to do it. Though Miko's never been outright cruel to you, something about her makes you nervous.

Later, when you'd ranted about it to Sara in the breakroom, she'd told you it's because he's related to the CEO. It explains a lot. Namely: how he hasn't been fired yet or recieved anything more than a writeup or two after the dozens of complaints you've filed with HR.

You'd considered quitting. Multiple times. Scaramouche is, for lack of a kinder word, a prick.

...But. The pay is good, the benefits are phenomenal, and when you'd gone searching for jobs, none of them paid even half as much as your current one for this position. So, begrudgingly, you stay.

Miko even offered you a substantial raise when she gave you your first yearly review, as "acknowledgement for your professionalism and work ethic." You know how to read between the lines. "Thanks for putting up with him. Play nice," she means.

Maybe Miko thinks it's funny, watching Scaramouche burst a blood vessel over you. You honestly don't care. If she's going to pay you extra for tolerating him, you're not going to look it in the mouth.

It's not like Scaramouche is the worst possible coworker you could have. He's passive aggressive, sure. He's arrogant. He's got a fuse that's roughly the size of a hangnail. But his backhanded comments don't cut you anymore, and you're sure you’ve had worse coworkers– ones you weren't paid extra to play nice with.

Frankly, it's less his attitude and more the way he... fixates. Sure, he's miserable to just about everyone in the office, but you're not blind to the way he singles you out. He's even told you, once, when you asked him to have someone else do the coffee run, that you're the only one here who does an acceptable job.

Not a good job, no. He posits that only he can meet his own impossible standards (and you're inclined to agree, frankly), but that such things are beneath him and he doesn't have the time for it. Heizou jokes that he must have a crush on you, or something, because Scaramouche goes out of his way to pester you more than anyone else in the office.

"In fact, he actually used to keep to himself before you came along," He tells you, nudging your side and grinning as you pick at a lackluster tuna salad. As though you're supposed to find the thought of Scaramouche having a crush on you endearing.

You're sure it's not a crush, though. Scaramouche treats you like the bane of his existence– that's not how you treat a crush unless you're an angsty fourth grader. You think he just has some petty, asinine reason to dislike you, and it's not in his nature to get over it.

Then, one day, as though the universe had finally had enough of your plight, you hear the best news you've heard in your year-and-a-half of working at the company:

Scaramouche put in his two weeks.

Apparently, a headhunter from some big-shot startup had sought him out, offered him a high-paying position– a job with actual power to fire people on the spot. You know he doesn't deserve it. You already pity the poor souls who will have to work under him. But you still celebrate, and lie through your teeth with a grin as you pat him on the back and congratulate him on the job.

You don't ask him the company name, the details of his position, the specifics of his pay. You don't care about any of that. What matters most to you is that he's leaving.

For his part, the excitement of a new job wore off the day after he put in his two weeks.

He became... agitated. About what, you didn't know, but Scaramouche was constantly on edge during his last few weeks at the company. You didn't let it get to you, though– if anything, he was a lot more tolerable than he's ever been. He stopped singling you out as much, stopped berating you for minor mistakes, stopped hovering by your desk to correct spelling errors on whatever it was you were currently working on.

But watching the same man that would constantly berate you just... stare blankly out the windows towards the skyline, or at the wood grain of his desk... it was a little unsettling. After about a week of his weird, silent brooding, you decided to be nice to him for his last week at the company.

Not that you were ever mean to him, no! You were civil to him, no matter how much he tested you. But only just.

And besides, after this week you wouldn't see him ever again, outside the rare occasion he might visit his... whatever Miko is to him, at the office. The moping was starting to bother you anyways.

So, every day this week you've gone out of your way to bring him coffee in the morning, making sure to get his order right every time. He gives you a strange look each time you bring it to him, and stares at you from across the room for a full minute before even taking a sip of it, but you try to ignore it. He probably thinks you slipped laxatives into it (tempting, but you know better).

Then, on his last day, as you set the coffee down on his desk and are met with that same look, you tell him you'll miss him around the office.

You won't actually, but he doesn't need to know that. The bleeding heart in you does feel bad for him, as miserable as he is. He probably doesn't have many friends.

So... Even if it is a lie, you'll let him think he'll be missed. And you don't mention that you're definitely going to open a bottle of champagne once you get home after today.

But then he does something you don't expect.

"Have dinner with me."

You blink. "....Huh?"

Scaramouche's eyes narrow with obvious annoyance and he opens his mouth like he's about to snap at you, but then stops himself. You watch, dumbfounded, as he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose and repeats himself. "Have dinner with me."

"Why?" You fire back immediately, forgetting your vow to be as nice as possible to him. He must see the distrust on your face, because he backpedals.

"Not like that, idiot. A celebration dinner. You're free to invite anyone you like, I don't care." He waves his hand dismissively at the rest of the office, at Sara and Heizou, the latter of which you know is listening to this conversation.

You must be hesitating a beat too long, because Scaramouche adds, "It's on me."

"Deal."

He nods, mumbles a quiet "I'll drive you after work," then turns his attention pointedly away from you and back towards his monitor, signaling the conversation is over. You know him well enough by now not to be bothered.

When you sit down at your own desk and glance at Heizou, he immediately shakes his head. "I'll pass. As tempting as it is, I plan to celebrate on my own tonight."

You barely even glance at Sara before she pipes up, "No thanks."

You sigh. It looks like it'll just be you and your insufferable coworker, then. You could phone a friend, sure, but many of them work nights, and you don't think Scaramouche is willing to wait. At the very least, you'll take advantage of his sudden kindness as a means of getting free drinks.

A reward for your patience, you think. And penance for him being such a prick in the year you've known him.

So, when the day ends, you gather your things and head out into the parking lot, spotting Scaramouche by his car. He's leaning against the driver-side door, looking at his phone, and he doesn't even look up as you approach. Just jabs his thumb in the direction of the passenger seat and opens his own door.

You get in after him, buckling in and trying not to bristle when he props an arm behind your headrest to reverse out of his spot– the only spot with shade, and the one he insisted was only to be used by him. You can't wait to park in his spot every day after he leaves.

As you sit stiffly in the passenger seat and Scaramouche sets off in the direction of whatever restaurant it was he had in mind, you're struck by how... weird it is. You've known him for a year and a half, and you've never interacted with him outside of work, but he invites you to a celebration dinner out of the blue on his last day.

...Well. As long as you don't let him touch anything you eat or drink you'll be fine. You don't think he has it in him to drug you, but he is probably petty enough to slip laxatives into someone's food or drink. You can't put it past him, honestly.

Besides, you've already resolved that you're going to thoroughly celebrate his leaving. And if he's willing to pay for it? All the better.

His car is expensive, and surprisingly pristine. It looks like he hardly uses it, and it still has that new car smell– as well as something minty you can't quite place, but you don't see any air fresheners anywhere.

Still. The ride is awkward. Scaramouche drives in complete silence– doesn't try to make small talk, doesn't even spare you a glance. You're kind of afraid to ask him to turn on the radio, not wanting to sour his good mood and have him kick you out of his car, or something. So you sit in silence.

When you get to the restaurant, Scaramouche doesn't even wait for you before stepping out, and you rush to get out as well before the doors automatically lock on you. He's already halfway up the stairs leading to the entrance as you jog up to him, and if you didn't know any better, it's like he's trying to get away from you.

Still. You bite your tongue.

The two of you step into the restaurant and your jaw almost drops. It's... obviously expensive. You didn't look at the name before you entered, too busy catching up to your coworker, but from the decor to the way everyone seated at the tables is dressed, you can tell that he's taken you to a high-end restaurant.

He must want to show off, you think. He's getting a substantial pay raise, so you're not too surprised. But it doesn't ease the slight burn of embarrassment you feel at how... underdressed you are. You're just in your normal work clothes– a dress shirt and some black jeans that could almost pass as slacks.

Scaramouche, of course, is dressed appropriately. But only because he always dresses like that. You used to wonder why he would wear such expensive clothes to his regular office job, but as you watch the hostess greet Scaramouche with familiarity and ask, "your usual table?" you're beginning to understand why. Does he just... eat here after work? On a regular basis? You can't imagine him coming here on dates, with how high his standards are for everything else.

The two of you are seated at a quiet booth in the back, too large for just two people, but Scaramouche doesn't seem to care about that fact. He immediately orders for the both of you without glancing at the menu, as well as a bottle of wine, and waves the waiter off with a blasé sort of impatience that would have made your hackles rise if you still worked in food service.

Then, once the waiter's out of sight, Scaramouche leans back comfortably against the booth and stares at you.

You glance around uncomfortably and realize the other tables are empty. ...Maybe you should have forced Heizou or Sara to come, after all.

"So," He starts, and you jolt a little as he breaks the silence between you two for the first time since getting in the car with him. "You're going to miss me, huh?"

You're confused, at first. But then you remember the comment you made earlier. "...Yeah. It's going to be weird not having you there at the office." Peaceful, you leave unsaid.

He hums, a small, satisfied smile crawling onto his face, and you bite your tongue.

He doesn't say anything else, and, in fact, seems unbothered by the tense silence. You sit there unsure of yourself until the waiter comes back with the food and the bottle of wine as well as two wine glasses.

Scaramouche waits until you're a bite into your meal to speak again.

"Do you want to be my assistant?"

You almost choke on the bite you'd taken, sputtering and swallowing harshly to croak out, "W-What?"

He pours you a glass of wine and hands it to you, watching as you gulp down two large sips of wine to settle your coughing. You wish the waiter would have brought water, as well, but he's already left and you don't think many of the service staff check back here; especially not if Scaramouche treats them like he does his coworkers.

"I'll pay you double what you currently make," He continues, once you've stopped coughing.

"...Why me?"

"Because you do your job, and you do it well. What other reason do I need?"

"Oh," You mutter lamely, and take a slow sip of wine, holding the glass with both hands so you have something to occupy them.

Scaramouche watches you in silence, tapping his finger impatiently against the table. You realize there's no getting out of answering this.

"I... appreciate the offer," You start, smiling as kindly as you can manage when his eye twitches and he turns his head the other way, clearly no longer listening, "But no thank you. I like my current job, and money isn't a concern of mine right now."

You couldn't pay me nearly enough to work under you, you think.

Your coworker huffs, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Suit yourself."

The rest of your meal is spent in silence, with you uncomfortably downing probably three glasses of wine just to alleviate your nerves. You know you shouldn't drink quite so much, but Scaramouche tops off your glass before you can even finish it without batting an eye, and you're trying your hardest to make the best of this night.

The alcohol helps, at least. You loosen up, filling the silence with idle small talk, which Scaramouche half-assedly reciprocates. He looks mildly annoyed by your chattiness but it doesn't deter you.

You gather that his new job is still in marketing– this new company seems to be a tech company that largely deals with the military, actually, but some of their product will be sold to the general public. You don't really... retain much more than that, the night fuzzing together after that point.

The waiter comes back at some point for the bill, and Scaramouche pays in cash, already standing up to haul you out of your seat.

"We're leaving. Get up," He hisses, tugging you roughly up by the arm when you don't immediately move. "Idiot."

Whatever. You take it on the chin, letting Scaramouche lead you out of the restaurant– or drag, more like– and back to his car. You're used to his abrasiveness by now, and this is the last night you'll have to put up with him. Besides, he paid for your dinner and your drinks.

This time, he opens the passenger-side door for you.

"What a gentleman," You snicker, undeterred by the scowl you get in response. He lets go of you as soon as you're in, slamming the door behind you.

You don't remember the drive, dozing off as soon as Scaramouche starts the engine. There's bits and pieces– someone jostling you awake, stumbling up some steps as a harsh grip on your bicep leads you inside, then collapsing onto a bed.

This… is not your house. It's the first thing you register when you come to.

The room is dark, so you can’t see anything, but there’s an unfamiliar hum of the A/C coming from somewhere else in the house, the sheets are too cold and too soft to be your own, and the alarm on the nightstand reading 3:00AM is not one you recognize.

The second thing you register is the pressure of something around your throat, the arm wound around your waist, the chest at your back.

You meet resistance when you try to bring your arms in front of you, trying to process what's happening as your head throbs something wicked. Scaramouche must have brought you to his place last night. That’s… fine. You didn’t tell him where you live, and you were probably too out of it for him to ask. But why–

"I did give you the choice, you know," A familiar voice pipes up behind you. The arm around your waist tightens when you flinch.

Why are your arms tied behind your back? You tug again, meeting the same resistance and feeling whatever he used to tie them rub abrasively at your skin.

“What the fuck–”

"I should have figured you'd make this difficult," He sighs, nose digging against your nape as you're pulled closer. Blunt nails bite into your hip. "You always do."

You try to pull away and his grip turns crushing; the air is forced from your lungs by the arm wound around you. His other hand comes up to grab you by the throat when you open your mouth to scream.

“Ah, ah. Be good.” You shut your mouth and your skin crawls at the satisfied chuckle you hear from behind you as Scaramouche settles back down against the sheets. “See? Good for something, after all.”

The hand around your throat doesn’t budge. Your head is still reeling through the pain. A finger taps at your jugular and you flinch again.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

Scaramouche quiets down, and you stare blankly into the darkness of the room, wondering just what the hell you got yourself into.

…Maybe playing nice wasn't such a good idea, after all.

#i didn't realllyyyy edit this #i tried to edit it bc i sat down and wrote like 2.3k words in one sitting #but aughhh i just can't do it #i'm illiterate. sorry #literally what came over me though #anyway tag time #yandere #scaramouche #scaramouche/reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche/reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #kunikuzushi #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #my writing #dead dove do not eat #cw: alcohol #btw there is no drvggng it's just mentioned as like a possibvility #also eimiko is canon in this au. miko is his stepmom #im really tempted to write a p2 where miko ''''''helps'''''' reader out :)#and/or. maybe heizou and sara. weirdly enough this makes me want to write heizou/reader/sara #i didn't poke fun at scara as much as i thought i did in hindsight #there IS one short jab in there but it's not outright ''haha short''#friendly fire is turned ON at all times and i like to aim for the knees #i always feel a little goofy adding an edgy looking banner bc idk how to be Aesthetic™️

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vickyvicarious · 2 years ago

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Thinking about that post contrasting Mina and Van Helsing's management styles by @animate-mush in context of today's entry.

Mina:

[Jonathan] came back full of life and hope and determination; we have got everything in order for to-night. I feel myself quite wild with excitement. I suppose one ought to pity any thing so hunted as is the Count. That is just it: this Thing is not human—not even beast.

I thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do would be to post them in affairs right up to date. I knew from Dr. Seward's diary that they had been at Lucy's death—her real death—and that I need not fear to betray any secret before the time. So I told them, as well as I could, that I had read all the papers and diaries, and that my husband and I, having typewritten them, had just finished putting them in order. I gave them each a copy to read in the library.

We continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favourite topic.

When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first took ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he has been for many a long day.

Mina expresses eagerness and readiness to be involved in hunting Dracula down tonight. She meets individually with each person and establishes a connection with a basis of communication and compassion. She makes sure everyone is brought up to date on all the information.

She also follows the Renfield lead, getting a really good interview from him. I bolded a line which showed her not only seeking out relevant information but checking with Seward as she does so. Mina has consistently sought to work with others, and respects their expertise. She and Jonathan have been doing an excellent job these past couple days of dividing up tasks between themselves as best suited (Jonathan followingnup on lawyer connections, and conducting interviews with people that as a woman Mina may have had more difficulty meeting respectably/getting to talk to her in the same way). In speaking to Renfield, she asks Seward first and explains her reasoning, and then supports him and is willing to defer to him if necessary during the actual interview.

The result of Mina's approach is a clear boost in morale, with everyone feeling better than they have in a while.

Now, let's contrast Van Helsing.

As I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker's suggestion; at which the Professor interrupted me:—

"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain—a brain that a man should have were he much gifted—and a woman's heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are determined—nay, are we not pledged?—to destroy this monster; but it is no part for a woman.

When we met in Dr. Seward's study two hours after dinner, which had been at six o'clock, we unconsciously formed a sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as secretary; Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris—Lord Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the centre.

"Then it were, I think good that I tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of this man, which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss how we shall act, and can take our measure according.

The Professor stood up and, after laying his golden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I took his right hand, and Lord Godalming his left; Jonathan held my right with his left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our solemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not even occur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the serious work had begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way, as any other transaction of life:—

"And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed. If the latter, we must trace——"

...the Professor began to resume his statement:—

"We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so to speak, sterilise the earth, so that no more he can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak.

"And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part to-night, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good time.

One of the first things Van Helsing does is interrupt Seward to tell him that Mina needs to be left out of this matter in the future. Seward immediately agrees. Where Mina asked to work with Seward and looked for his acceptance/approval, Van Helsing cuts him off to tell him how things should go. It's not a one-sided thing, as Seward backs everything Van Helsing says, but it's a noticeable difference.

When they all join together, it is supposedly for a discussion. However, the language used several times relates this matter to a business. Van Helsing takes the position of board chairman or CEO, with Mina set up as his secretary. This puts new power dynamics into play - he is in charge and the rest of the group are his employees. Mina is put in a role where she handles documentation, but nothing else (also, a typically 'feminine' job, notable given Van Helsing's repeated emphasis on manliness). Furthermore, the so-called discussion consists almost entirely of Van Helsing lecturing to the group, like a professor in front of his class or possible a businessman leading a meeting.

He says "we" when speaking of planning a campaign, but then lays out a full plan himself and it is later referred to as a "statement." He's the only one giving much input. Now, that's not to say he isn't respecting anyone else's opinion or only ordering them about. He does ask for all of their cooperation and they all volunteer. He lets them all choose the amount of risk they are willing to take - except Mina, for whom he makes the decision.

When emotions are spoken of in Van Helsing's meeting, they are solemn, dutiful, businesslike. Again, this isn't necessarily a bad thing or out of place considering what they are gearing up to do, but it stands in contrast to Mina comforting each person individually and boosting their spirits that way. Van Helsing speaks of them being "men and are able to bear", but Mina acknowledges their emotions and supports Arthur as he literally cries onto her shoulder.

Van Helsing's final words (or nearly) mimic some of his first: he excludes Mina. Not only from the hunt itself, which she initially was clearly expecting to participate in in some way, but also from any further information they may learn.

Both approaches have their merits in this situation. For example, Van Helsing's lecture on vampiric weaknesses was necessary since no one else had that information, and the way he reviewed what they know so far was helpful too in case anyone had missed a relevant detail. It's good for the group to be determined and to solemnly understand the risks of this venture.

Likewise, it's important for them to have time to let their emotions out and to seek and receive comfort from one another. Sharing the written information to get them all on the same page was a vital prerequisite to Van Helsing's speech.

While both approaches have their merits, I can't help but notice how Van Helsing's is on the whole significantly more controlling, thus limiting the input from others. Mina works with everyone to bring out they best they all have to offer; Van Helsing directs them to what he believes to be their best use. Mina also uses fewer specifically gendered roles (though she does a fair bit more today than usual, it's mostly internal thoughts or in reaction to Van Helsing), while Van Helsing begins to assert some stricter gender-based roles. He also takes charge - where Mina's "we" statements are things like "we're all ready," his are instructions: "we must do this."

Overall, I definitely prefer Mina's approach.

#dracula daily #dracula meta #my meta

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bluerosesburnblue · 2 years ago

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I know that I don’t have too many HPHM followers, but for those who enjoy that content I figured I’d do a little check-in now that I’ve finished up the rest of Year 6 just to give some assorted thoughts on the whole thing. And uh... since it took me so long to make this post in the first place, I’m also gonna talk a bit about the first five chapters of Year 7

Starting off with Year 6, I finally get the complaints about Ben and Merula now. I mean, I’ve always hated Merula, but ugh. Being forced to work with those two as MC’s closest companions is just... like, the exact opposite of what I’d actually do and it was insufferable to sit through. Those two are the people I’d trust the least to lead the Circle of Khanna. Ben is too reckless, Merula is obviously only in it for her own revenge, and both of them are so moody and abrasive all the way through it. Every scene where the “Circle of Khanna Leaders” were together just made me want to slap both of them

It also just drives me nuts like the game actually wants me to believe that Merula’s in it for Rowan. Really? The person she bullied relentlessly for years? You really think that Merula, who has never shown remorse for or apologized for her actions, actually gives a shit about Rowan and isn’t just using their death as an excuse? Why do they keep trying to convince me of this very obviously untrue thing?

And I actually don’t hate the idea of the Circle of Khanna, I just think, like most things in this game past early Y5 or so, that it’s executed terribly. Despite having three fucking leaders, no one’s actually calling the shots and everyone’s just off doing their own thing without any sense of cohesion. Someone TAKE CHARGE, please. That, and they keep meeting at the very public Hog’s Head or the DADA Classroom instead of... literally anywhere private. I don’t think that the Secret Clubhouse existed yet at this point, but if it were up to me to write this story in hindsight, I think I’d designate the Secret Clubhouse as the Circle of Khanna meeting room. It would make sense from a story perspective, since every character is in one of the three clubs so they could all access it, and it would give the room some actual purpose because it’s been just such a nothing area since it was introduced. You could even turn it into a hangout thing, like “Study With a Friend” in the library

And it would give a reason to write out the twins and Beatrice. Seriously, why are they here? Why are we letting literal children into the Circle? I’d seriously thin out the ranks. No Fred, George, or Beatrice, and definitely no Ben or Merula for me, good lord...

Alanza is... fine? I, personally, found her annoying but I kind of get why she’s here, at least. She’s just so... nothing that she’s entirely forgettable

And the pacing at the end is so funny for how bad it is. I have to wonder if they were writing this week-by-week because the whiplash from “let’s do an in-depth investigation of the mole” to “OH SHIT WE FORGOT ABOUT THE CURSE LET’S GO TO THE SUNKEN VAULT REAL FAST” is so unintentionally comical. Like it legitimately reads as though the Merula as the mole reveal was going to be the end of Year 6 and then someone remembered the statue curse and went “hey, wouldn’t it be fucked up if they were frozen all summer?” so they scrambled to fix it. And the end result is that the Sunken Vault feels more like a rushed detour than anything, when that’s supposed to be the big climax

But, moving on from the negative, I do really love the design of the Sunken Vault. Whoever their location designer is, they’re doing a great job. I mean, just look at that:

It actually does have this nice, mystical, ancient feel to it that I can’t get enough of. It’s just so cool

And the way that the way that the vision upon touching the vault happens is fascinating as well. I do have to commend them on the presentation for it, because it’s so trippy and unsettling. The fact that it plays those scenes out in a black void, repeating endlessly, for an 8 hour timeslot is probably the most clever use of the game mechanics I’ve seen from them yet. You really do feel like you’re going crazy seeing Rakepick killing Rowan over and over while Merula taunts you

It’s just a shame that the confrontation afterwards with Rakepick is so generic. Oh no, everyone gets bodied except for MC who turns a spell Rakepick taught them back at her while Rakepick taunts like a cartoon villain about how she didn’t even know Rowan’s name, even though she was totally Rowan’s teacher for a fucking year and graded their essays. Wow. So cool. Very threatening

So, I guess that’s basically all I have to say about Y6. It’s kind of a mess, but I can appreciate how cool the presentation on the Sunken Vault was, at least, and I don’t hate the concept of the Circle as a whole, just a lot of the writing decisions involved in it

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

Now, for Y7...

Yeah, no. Hold on, lemme just...

Let’s see how that actually went, shall we?

Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. One-Depulso Dwyn sent her flying into that damn fountain and no one can tell me otherwise. Get dunked, you insufferable wretch

Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah, Y7

So I hate Corey. Like, a lot. I find them so insufferably stupid and annoying. “Oh, I’ll cast FUCKING BOMBARDA in the Library and get us sent to detention so that you can learn wandless magic from the House Elves.” You colossal dumbass. You moron. My dorm is NEXT TO THE KITCHEN. Walking in to talk to the elves without being in detention has NEVER been a problem. Pitts likes me! You’d risk getting the Head Boy and Head Girl in trouble for NO REASON? This was so avoidable! Madam Pince doesn’t deserve this!

And then they don’t shut up about the Wizard Sherlock Holmes knockoff. It’s every word out of their mouth. “Oh, this is just like Detective Conebrush and Auror Persimmons!” No, actually, this is reality. Shut the fuck up. What gets me is Corey talking about how the first person you suspect in a mystery novel is always a red herring type stuff, so I had Seren respond that they should just stick to the facts rather than, you know, assume that reality will follow the rules of a mystery novel. Then later, Corey has the audacity to say “well, you didn’t want to follow what Conebrush and Persimmons do so you probably don’t want to review the facts, but...” NO DUMBASS. That is NOT what I said. Reviewing the facts is one thing, but acting like real life is going to follow fictional tropes is another

And I’m sure all of this is just getting to me so much because we literally just met Corey and the narrative is already acting like we’re best friends. We’re not. I do not like you. I do not understand why we are expected to trust you when we have literally never heard of you before and clearly your grasp of reality is dangerously weak. Leave me alone, let me go slam Merula into the fountain again and if you get in my way, you’re going in, too. I’m not obligated to be your friend just because Dumbledore decided we were Head Boy and Girl

The only thing Corey brings to the table for me is Conebrush and Persimmons, both because I had my Jacob be a huge mystery novel buff, but he was raised Muggle so he probably wouldn’t have heard about it, and if he did he’d probably either be ranting about how it’s just a wizard ripoff of Sherlock Holmes with the names changed around OR he’d be really into it and coming up with crossover fanfics, and because the Detective/Auror pairing is legit just future Jacob, Seren, Talbott, and Tonks

And as a final point, I’m so mixed on the internships thing they’re doing. It’s just like with the Circle of Khanna, I like the idea but the execution is just???

Why does it seem like only select students get picked for the internships rather than this being a thing open to the student body? Is this Dumbledore favoritism for the plot-important characters? The writers could have done whatever they wanted for Y7 since the books never covered what the typical year looks like, so I can’t understand why they decided to make this seem like a big exception thing rather than just dictating that all Y7 students get to do internships. And the students picked are so random, too, and it reads like they were picked regardless of what they wanted to do, necessarily? It’s so bizarre

This one actually stands out to me more in hindsight thanks to another game about teens/young adults in a magic school that I play, Twisted Wonderland. That game is set in a 4-year magic academy, but the 4th year students all go off-campus to do independent research/internships and only come back to campus for big events and presentations. I think the way that HPHM is handling it would have always bothered me, but it bothers me even more now that I have another game to compare it to doing basically the same thing but better

Canonically, students are encouraged to pick a career that they intend to work towards before Year 6 so that their class schedule can be tailored to what NEWTs they need for that profession. So, logically, most of the student body would have had to have locked in something (with those undecided and taking a general course list probably being the minority). Wouldn’t it make more sense, then, to have students automatically be signed up for internships for jobs that their class schedules would lead them towards (i.e. Charlie and Liz both have Magizoology class schedules, so they both get signed up for internships in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the Magical Creature Reserve so they can try out different forms of Magizoology, like the hunting and containing aspect vs. the research and care aspect). Rather than, like... the Ministry randomly requesting specific students for no reason?

This would also solve the whole “why is Talbott, who has always claimed that he wanted to be an Auror, not in the Auror internships when he should have locked Auror into his class schedule, but IS in the St. Mungo’s internship when he’s never shown any inclination towards being a Healer” issue. All they’d have to do is say that, due to the significant overlap in needed classes, that he’s in both groups to try the careers out or something. Or they could just, like... have him be in the Auror group like he should be and if they really need the whole swan Patronus plot in St. Mungo’s they can make an excuse, like he was delivering something to Penny/Chiara when he saw it and keeps sneaking back in to investigate it

If this is a school-sponsored function, then why do MC and Tonks have to find their own Floo Powder and fireplace? If the faculty is shipping us off to be Hogwarts representatives, shouldn’t they be providing Floo Powder and letting us use one of the school fireplaces? Like, especially the one in Dumbledore’s office! Who the hell is like “good news, kids! I signed you up for this thing you have to go to! What? Transportation? Do it yourself, I can’t be bothered!”

And then there’s the whole introduction to it. Moody hold us up for, like, a minute and suddenly everyone’s gone and they’re nowhere to be seen? What??? Why didn’t the person in charge of the internship group wait? Take a head count and see if all of the listed students were there? Hello? Did you all just sprint off the second Tonks arrived like “haha funny prank, let’s ditch MC!”

And why did Moody feel the need to stop us before going to the Ministry if he’s our goddamned Ministry boss for the day? Like, dude, wait three minutes and they’ll drop me off in your office and you can take me aside and say what you need to then. We went through SO MUCH BULLSHIT because of you. And I get it, I get that it’s because the writers have no idea how to string sequences together and they needed an excuse for MC to get separated from the group so that they can find Impostor Amos Diggory and be introduced to Umbridge. There were way better ways to do that. Hell, all they’d have to do is have us get sent to the Auror office, Moody does his spiel about R agents in the Ministry, and then tells MC to deliver paperwork to Umbridge as a first task. Says to check the All-Purpose Room because she should be coming out of a meeting there soon. MC meets Not!Amos (and is actually suspicious of him because CHRIST, CHILD they are SO DUMB in canon when they meet him acting definitely off), but they have a job to do and can’t dwell on it. Not!Amos tells them they missed Umbridge, but gives them her office number, then we have the intro to Umbridge

There, problem solved.

Complaints aside, I do actually like how the internship stuff is structured from a gameplay perspective. The shorter tasks are a welcome reprieve and it feels like they’re all really unique. You basically get a mini story on the side. I dunno, I just think they’re a fun little break from the endless class grinding so far. Though maybe I only like it so much because these first few assignments have been for the Auror office and I find it unendingly hilarious that Moody personally trained Seren as an Auror only for her to immediately go “fuck the Ministry,” open up a private detective’s office with her brother, and use that training to make the Auror’s office look bad. And then she starts dating Auror Talbott. Can you imagine from Moody’s perspective? “She takes my secrets, she betrays my trust, and now she’s got one of my men wrapped around her finger!” The fucking drama, I love it

#harry potter series #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm #liz plays hogwarts mystery #i'm trying to be nice but it's so hard sometimes #there's little gems of potential here and there but it's so hard to find #for every good idea there's about ten bad ones

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giveamadeuschohisownmovie · 3 years ago

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I’m 7 episodes into “Squid Game” and I’m loving it so far. Here are my thoughts:

1) Justice for Abdul Ali!

2) I’m definitely going as Front Man for Halloween

3) Seong Gi-hun is a really good example of a “grey” protagonist. Even though he’s the main lead, the series doesn’t shy away from showing that he’s a scumbag. He gambles even though he’s deep in debt, he’s a shitty father, and he constantly makes bad decisions. But you also see his good points, like connecting with his fellow players and that even though he’s a terrible person, he’s trying to do better. I like that, it shows that he’s a very human protagonist, which makes him relatable.

4) Of the main cast, if I had to pick a weak link, it’d be Kang Sae-byeok. I know she’s the female lead but the series isn’t really doing a great job integrating her with the main cast. She has an interesting backstory and the actress is doing her best with the lines, but I’m just not feeling her character arc. They literally had to create a rando character (Ji-yeong) just so we can get to know Sae-byeok better. Pro tip, if you want to build up one of your main characters, you should probably have them interact more with the other main characters, not some rando who ends up dying in the next episode.

5) Speaking of Ji-yeong, I wasn’t feeling this character either. One of my least favorite tropes is “important right before they die” characters since it’s such a cheap way of doing character development and getting emotion from the audience. It’s basically a character whose sole purpose is to show up, have a sad backstory, then die in order for one of the main characters to get sad and have development.

That’s exactly what happened here. Ji-yeong randomly shows, she tells her sad backstory to Sae-byeok, and then she dies. I know it was supposed to be sad but to be honest, I felt way more for Ali and the old man. At least those characters had an actual ARC in the show.

6) My favorite character is Hwang Jun-ho. While everyone else is playing Danganronpa, this man is out here playing the best game of Impostor in Among Us. This man must have been blessed or something since he’s gotten lucky so many times. He should’ve been caught three episodes ago.

7) My second favorite character is Han Mi-nyeo. Whoever this actress is, she is CHEWING the hell out of the scenery, and I love it. She’s such a fun character and at times, I honestly wish she was the main female lead instead of Sae-byeok. Like, I know she was written to be annoying and unpredictable, but that just made her so much more fun and interesting.

8) Cho Sang-woo...I get why this man did what he did but seriously, fuck this guy. He’s basically Shane Walsh in The Walking Dead season 2.

9) Favorite episode so far has to be episode 4 (the tug of war). That was just stressful, but in a good way.

10) Okay, this is not meant to be an insult to the actress but whoever is playing Kang Sae-byeok has got to be the least convincing North Korean defector I’ve ever seen. She straight up looks like a supermodel who hangs out with Blackpink.

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ncssian · 4 years ago

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A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

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bemused-writer · 3 years ago

Text

VNC Chapter 54 Analysis

Whew! It has been a bit since our regularly scheduled meta. 8D A quick life update before we get into it: I'm currently in the midst of switching careers (in other words, job searching, interviewing, etc. etc.) and that is consuming the bulk of my time and thought, so expect further delays on this front, but know they will come all the same. I love writing the meta (and the fic) as you guys know. (^^) With that out of the way, let's take a look at this chapter because things sure happened in it. Honestly, it's kind of everything I could have hoped for. :D Namely, a theory I had going was confirmed.

And that theory is that Misha was not exactly being sincere about wanting to know Vanitas's memories. Sure, he probably would like to know, but his main goal was Noé's death.

He continues saying "You know I'm all you need! You'd be fine without that guy!" So, Misha is fully admitting his motives were incredibly selfish but in a different way than he presented to Noé. Previously he'd made it seem as though all he needed was closure. He just needed to know why Vanitas killed Luna! A self-serving purpose, but sympathetic all the same. The reality is that Misha is incredibly jealous; he wants to keep Vanitas all to himself and can't bear to share him with anyone else.

Furthermore, he cannot fathom what it is about Noé that has Vanitas doing so much for him. At this point, it's unclear how much Misha knows about their relationship, but he definitely knows they're working together and knows they're close (which is half the problem in his estimation). He figured Noé was the main thing preventing Vanitas from rejoining his perfect family. Of course, we know that isn't remotely the case even though we don't know why Vanitas killed Luna, but Misha is in denial about a lot of things, not least of which is this.

Throughout Misha's tirade it seems that Vanitas is maintaining some consciousness, though just barely. I'd guess he's going in and out of consciousness, but Mochizuki went out of her way to show he at least heard Misha's reasoning, i.e. that Vanitas shouldn't need Noé because he has him.

Now, speaking of theories I've had, one of them was proven wrong in this chapter as well, although it makes things more interesting: Dominique is not a curse bearer. We also have it proven that this isn't Louis, but another side of Dominique herself. Note that Louis's mole is missing, thus proving it's her:

As for why she's saying "our" name, I think this is just a grammar thing to be honest. (^^)" There are technically "two" people there even though they're one and the same. But these different reflections of Dominique are quite interesting. Here's what she has to say about this one:

I think at this point it's safe to say that Dominique's more "feminine" side is what she's equating to weakness and her more "masculine" side is what she sees as her strength. The problem she's running into is that she's separating her own personality into chunks, which has caused a rift within herself. Misha was able to take advantage of her because she was stamping out all of her doubt and sorrow and, perhaps most importantly, her past as a more unsure, innocent individual. But that's how she got to where she is today; she can't ignore that past much as she'd like to. I think that for Dominique she'll know real peace once she's reconciled these two aspects of her personality and found that they're ultimately one and the same.

Of course, her issues with Noé need to be addressed as well. Already she's seen that killing herself solves nothing. Noé cares for her and she wouldn't make life easier for him by removing herself from the equation. I think she has to confront there's a certain selfishness in trying to determine what would or wouldn't make Noé happy without talking to him as well, which I suspect will be discussed later in this arc. But most importantly, Dominique needs to learn to value her own life for herself and to prioritize herself for a change. I'm not sure that's something we're going to get around to this arc (baby steps and all), but I feel like she's slowly starting to get there. Right now, she's valuing herself only in terms of Noé caring about her and needing her. She's still prioritizing his feelings over her own and that's the biggest thing that needs to change.

As for Noé, he's only just realizing any of this, so a substantial part of this arc for him will no doubt be him coming to terms with how Dominique actually feels, not just for him but for herself, too. He's also going to have to deal with Vanitas and the fact that Vanitas still didn't offer to help Dominique (that is a problem that hasn't actually been addressed whatsoever yet) and the fact that Noé immediately became the thing Vanitas feared most in an effort to protect her.

This could possibly lead to Noé realizing two things: how much he cares for Dominique and how much he cares for Vanitas. The latter is already in motion. The former has been in motion for years, so it's really a matter of what tone it takes later this arc. Will Noé realize he shares the same feelings for Dominique that she has for him? Or will he realize that he hasn't been as good of a friend to her as he'd hoped? Very curious to see how that progresses.

As for Misha, well, he's taking everything very badly. XD As I've said many times, his plan was actually terrible and the whole thing has, indeed, backfired on him spectacularly. Even the book has backfired on him!

It's honestly kind of hilarious. Now, getting to Misha's abilities, he admits he can't alter a vampire's name, he can simply manipulate them for a time. I think that's what the random vampiric zombie horde is supposed to be: vampires he has manipulated to work for him. And yet, I'm puzzled. It's been heavily implied that Dominique attacked other vampires as a curse bearer, except we now know she isn't actually a curse bearer, so what was she doing? Was she spreading Misha's influence somehow? The vampires all have blood about their lips much as Dominique did when she stumbled back to Misha.

Visually, the dark matter coming out of Misha's book actually look likes blood, doesn't it? We haven't heard of the book being able to manipulate blood, but I find myself wondering if that's what he's doing. Might explain the zombie vibes of his horde. XD Regardless, blood seems involved somehow even if it merely represents the damage his book has done to those he controls.

I suppose we'll find out next chapter! I'm looking forward to seeing more zombies and Misha's abilities continually backfiring on him. I can't imagine Dominique and Jeanne will continue to fight each other seeing as Dominique has her independence back, but the two will definitely need to talk over some things. Ahh, there's going to be a lot of talking this arc; I really can't wait. :D

#vanitas no carte #vnc #case study of vanitas #vnc meta #vnc spoilers #bemused's post #text

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thelonesomequeen · 2 years ago

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Hahaha ridiculous of course its gonna be dodgeerrrr

Anon 2–Chris surely likes to keep things as private as he can but purposely hiding someone? They’re adults

Anon 3–Saying he knows who to take but he doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings could could simply be a cheeky answer. we all know he loves his mom, his dog is his everything and he loves all his family. He's probably just giving a funny answer. Celebrities say all sorts of things to seem funny and charming. Even if his answer is a girlfriend, lol people should just deal.

Anon 4–There’s a difference in being private…and talking in code to give them some secret message. 🧜🏻‍♀️ Right. I think people are so desperate for him to mention his status given everything that has gone on that they’re looking for clues where there aren’t any. That simple little comment has been blown out of proportion and people need to relax.

Anon 5–He would take his " girlfriend " to another planet but does not want to take her to his premiere with his family or wedding. 🤣 She must be a lucky girl. 🤣

Anon 6–its so weird how much people are trying to craft evidence out a random interview answer lol we don’t have any pictures or even rumors that would imply he’s seriously seeing someone yet a random disney interview question is the hint. like he doesn’t HAVE to be dating someone, sometimes silence is just silence not hiding someone lmao

Anon 7–I mean, I just took that comment about not telling us who he’d take to space as a lighthearted joke about not wanting to hurt other families members feelings (ie Scott, his mother, his sisters, his dad) but then again I’m not a crazed Stan that thinks everything Chris does and says is somehow a hint at who’s he’s currently involved with.

Anon 8–Let’s be real, we all know the truth. The “person” Chris would take to another planet is Dodger. //Even though Dodger is technically not a person, the answer is so obviously Dodger. Dodger is his ride or die. No way is Chris going to want to spend an unknown amount of time with a GF. I think that would be his worst nightmare. He would feel very enveloped with no way to escape.

Anon 9–The person he would take with him is likely a longtime friend but he doesn't want to play favorites😂🤣 It's like the question who would you save first from falling off a cliff. You cannot answer it, you will get shit for it.🤣😂

Anon 10–If chris’ hypothetical SO wants to keep their relationship, I think the best way to keep it like that is to simply not talk about each other at all instead of making comments that according to crazed anons are “dropping hints”. If they wanted to stay private, he wouldn’t have made that comment- he just wouldn’t have said anything or said his dog. Which leads me to believe there is no SO

Anon 11–WTF people??? The only people reading into what Chris said ,is fans. Wouldn't there have been something more official? (As opposed to alleged "hints") He was answering a question in an interview like he's supposed to do🤷‍♀️ That's all I personally can take from it. Nothing more!

Anon 12–I’ve wanted to say this for a while but never did. Here’s the thing anons on here constantly think that Chris is saying or doing things that hint at him having a girlfriend and if that actually the case, he’s doing a TERRIBLE job at that bc literally no big news platform (like people, US weekly, variety etc) r gossiping about these “hints”. If Chris truly wanted to do this, he could v easily do it in much more obvious ways. only tumblr is talking about this + he’s definitely not doing it for us.

Anon 13–Honestly some anons spend more time thinking about what Chris is thinking than he actually spends time thinking. The fact that y’all made that little joke about not wanting to hurt peoples feelings into him hinting that he has a girlfriend is just…. Crazy 🙄

Anon 14–So I finally watch the video and I don’t know where some of y’all getting that indication. I thought he was just joking around with taika.

Anon 15–Taika is in a public relationship and didn't mention anyone. That obviously means he and Rita aren't together anymore. That's how dumb the whole thing is. People also need to remember that not everything is about romantic love. Chris seems to have very strong platonic relationships. It literally could've been anybody. Or nobody 🤷🏽‍♀️

Anon 16–Maybe he wanted to say Dodger but he knew the humans in his life would be offended. Dodger seems to be the only one he wants to be around all the time, so maybe going with another person didn’t appeal to him and he felt like he couldn’t say that. I don’t think his answer is definitive proof of his relationship status like some people are claiming.

Anon 17–His answer to the planet question is not an indication of anything! These people are seriously crazy. When avenger came out he was dating minka and never talked about her in press but was constantly photographed with her, like give it up if he was with anyone we would have seen something already. Thank you for being normal in all this crazy

Anon 18–I mean. You know he’s got family right? His mom. Siblings. How is that in anyway an “obvious indication” he has a girlfriend? He could easily be referring to his mother and doesn’t wanna hurt his siblings’ feelings. 🧜🏻‍♀️ //Some people are blood hounds to connect every little thing he says or does to a woman. And this has been going on for years. It's insane. We also need to stop overanalyzing everything he says. Per his own words he's "mercurial", so he may feel completely differently tomorrow 🤷🏽‍♀️

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

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A great example of “RWBY+ can do no wrong” is the whole “Let Penny make her own choices” thing. They keep doing it over and over, yet while watching I never got the idea RWBY+ doing it was bad. They’re never called out, they never regret it, or anything. Ruby takes the scroll from Penny’s hand and answers Ironwood for her, and makes her human without her consent. I get the not killing Penny thing, BUT THAT’S THE ONLY THING THEY DO FOR HER. WTF?!

Yes let's take a hot second to unpack all this.

Now, I'm going to be focusing on late Volume 7 and Volume 8, but in reality this problem started way back during Penny's introduction. Namely, presenting her as a literal tool of the military who has to break the rules set down (go out, have friends, etc.) in order to be her own person. There's a small problem here in the form of making Pietro the shadowy scientist and then changing him into the doting father with no acknowledgement that he a) built Penny with the purpose of being Atlas' tool and b) went along with dictating her actions through that whole run. However, given that Pietro is a minor character we may never even see again, we have a much larger problem in the form of Ruby being entirely disinterested in Penny's plight. Ruby cares about making sure Penny feels real, not that Penny has all the freedoms a real person innately deserves. Admittedly, this is less of an issue back in Volumes 1-3 because RWBY was a less serious show then, Penny was a new friend, and Ruby was the teenager student. But come Volume 7 when our show is questioning the characters' morals, Ruby is an adult now, Ruby has her huntsmen license, and she supposedly has this incredibly strong bond with Penny, it's now a problem that she hears things like "Ironwood doesn't want me to have friends" and just... doesn't seem to care. Or do anything. Or suggest that Penny do something. It's a non-topic. Ruby only becomes interested in Penny's autonomy when that autonomy threatens Ruby's own goals. When Ruby is working for Ironwood, it's totally fine if Penny works for Ironwood too, no matter how she might be being treated. (Though, frankly, I think the show did a terrible job of establishing Ironwood's supposed mistreatment. The no friends rule makes zero sense when Penny is being sent to celebratory parties organized by Ironwood. So that's a whole other issue.) But when Ruby is against Ironwood... well, then Penny needs to be on their side. Of course she'd be on their side. It's presented as inevitable, despite the fact that it very much should not be. But the point is that Ruby cares about keeping Penny away from Ironwood and giving her an illusion of choice only once she is breaking away. Otherwise, Penny's autonomy is not her concern.

So that's where we're starting out which is pretty bad. Already Ruby's status as the contrast to Ironwood is falling flat, but the show admittedly helps smooth things over by giving us such an extreme. Meaning, we learn fairly early on that Ironwood want to hack Penny and take that autonomy away, full stop. Ruby doesn't. Ergo, Ruby is the lesser of two evils here. I can see why so many fans dismiss the scroll scene given its seemingly, comparative insignificance, but it definitely rubbed me the wrong way. Part of that is because Penny never gets to express her own opinions to Ruby. She gets to do it with Winter and, notably, Penny comes to a sort of, 'We can manage both' stance. The dilemma of going after Cinder or saving Winter and fighting Salem or saving the people of Atlas/the Relics are meant to mirror one another and Penny manages to achieve both. She saves Winter and keeps the power out of Cinder's hands too. Then, she's given the one key that controls the latter dilemma: the Maiden powers. So what will Penny decide? How does she view the situation to leave or stay? How will her decision regarding Cinder and Winter impact her decision about Atlas and Mantle?

It doesn't. We have no idea what Penny thinks outside of a 'I'm sad when friends fight' line (which, again, puts a huge damper on the idea that Penny was always Ironwood/the Ace Ops' puppet and should be glad to be rid of them). Penny is brought into Ruby's group and her opinions disappear because Ruby makes all the decisions. Whatever Ruby says goes and THAT'S why the scroll scene is so horrible. Because we just watched Penny deciding for herself what to do about Winter. We just watched Penny deciding to take on the Maiden powers, making herself the most important person in the Kingdom right now. And then Ruby picks her up and all that goes away. Penny is given the chance to decide things again when Ironwood calls and Ruby takes the scroll away, speaking on her behalf. It does not matter whether Penny actually agrees with Ruby's decisions here, the act of not allowing her to make those decisions for herself speaks volumes.

From then on Penny just stops making choices. Ruby is the one who talks her into forgetting about Ironwood and the Ace Ops. Jaune is the one who decides to split the team and Ruby decided they need to get Amity up. Pietro literally takes control of Penny's body to hack into the system. Penny gets cut off from the group due to the Ace Ops and Nora is the one who decides to help. Prior to literally being hacked, she was more of a puppet in their hands than she was with Ironwood because it's in Ironwood's employ that we actually see Penny pushing back: She's going to be friends with Ruby no matter what, she's going to challenge Winter on her views, she's going to take the powers because that's what needs to be done, etc. But that lack of agency is completely overshadowed by Ironwood's hack Penny plan. Everything looks better compared to that, even if what we're left with is pretty awful on its own. Remember, this is the point in the story where Ironwood is fully evil, post-shooting Oscar and the Councilman. The group can do whatever they want at this point and come off looking "heroic," simply by means of not being Ironwood.

The next time Penny makes a decision is when she stands up to Pietro. Note that prior to this everyone talked her into doing something she says she does not want to do: leaving the group to stay on Amity. Pietro suggests it, Ruby justifies it, Weiss says it might be for the best and Blake ends the conversation by saying they need to leave. Penny goes, "I guess we all have to do some things we would rather not." They all make that decision for her. So she goes, fights Cinder, and then Amity starts to fall. Pietro says, "You’re in no condition to do something like this. Even just the temperature out there could--" and Penny counters "It is our only option."

No, it's not. This is Ruby's option. You can very much not send the totally useless message out, supposedly risking your life in the process ("supposedly" because, again, why this is such a danger for Penny when she was just flying outside with Cinder remains a mystery). Penny treats Ruby's plan as something inevitable. They can't fall back after Penny hacked into the Atlas systems, Penny fought off the Ace Ops, Penny defended Amity from another Maiden. She has to go one step further and risk another death because the concept of saying, "Hey, Ruby's plan isn't feasible anymore" is just never on the table. Ruby is in the mansion sitting around while Penny does all the dangerous work to put her plan into action.

So she pushes back against Pietro in a way she NEVER has with Ruby, insisting that this is how she's going to live her life. Even Maria chimes in with a "we need to remember the big picture." (Wait, the potential death of a Maiden and the loss of the key to the vault isn't a part of the big picture?) Pietro is supposedly in the wrong because he cares about Penny, not the war, but if that's such a bad thing... then what does that make this?

We have a whole scene where Penny wants the group to destroy her to (again, supposedly) help them in the war - take her out as a threat - and they give a resounding, 'Fuck that.' Ruby doesn't want to see her friend dead for the sake of this war. Pietro doesn't want to see his daughter dead for the sake of this war. Yet Pietro is the one who is framed as too narrowminded. Penny standing up to Pietro is meant to be celebratory, but Penny giving in to Ruby is meant to be celebratory too.

And then, of course, once it's Jaune with a sword to her throat, Penny's desire to die is honored.

Then, finally, we have the Ambrosius fiasco. I've spoken at length about this already, but suffice to say we never got a scene where Penny expressed a desire to be turned human. As the above scene demonstrates, her desire to risk her life/die is ignored only when it's Ruby making that call. Otherwise, with Pietro and Jaune, Penny's agency is upheld (however horrible the circumstances). Does she want live a life with a flesh body? Does she have any other ideas how they might eradicate the hack? Would she prefer Ruby try to put her into a new android body first? We have no idea! We never see Ruby ask. We never see that Ruby cares beyond what she wants for Penny. They clearly had the time to hash out all these loophole wishes, but we couldn't have gotten a ten second scene where Penny goes, 'I'm cool with this'? Assuming that Penny knows what they plan to do and that she has no reservations prior to waking up with flesh hands doesn't work, not when her character largely revolves around agency and Ruby has not been showing her that particularly well.

Ruby decides that Penny is on their team (scroll scene). Then she decides that Penny will not die (contrast to Jaune and Pietro). Then she decides that Penny will be saved by stripping away a core part of her identity. Penny goes from being hacked to watching that part of herself actually die, glitching out while her friends smile about it. Ruby spent Penny's entire run insisting that she was a person just as she was, but then Ruby is the one to turn around and take that away from Penny, prior to leading her into a battle where she died again, likely because she was now a fragile flesh girl. Ironwood was given the extreme of trying to take Penny over completely, once he went full Bad Guy, but Ruby is the one who made decisions for Penny throughout this run, with Penny given no chance to speak up for herself. Penny, once at Ruby's side, subscribed to the overarching belief that Ruby is always right (fitting in nicely with Ren's arc of learning to stop questioning things). The story didn't even consider giving Penny different opinions, hesitations, anger, or anything that would truly jeopardizes what Ruby wants, because what Ruby wants is, consistently, treated as the only way to go.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas #death tw #suicide tw #violence tw

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trashlie · 3 years ago

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Generational Cycles in ILY: The Effects of Parental Trauma

Here’s what tonight’s ILY brain rot looks like lol (sometimes i feel like I post in the reddit too much and I have to move my thoughts somewhere else lol)

I Love Yoo contains so many fascinating themes in it, but the one I’ve been mulling over a lot recently is how all of the parents are so very flawed and kind of bad at what they do - which is something that I think is actually really reflective of reality and incredible writing. Even the parents who look like they’re doing their best - like Simhan Yoo and Mina Park - are deeply flawed and have unintentionally caused some kind of pain and damage to their own children. You have the extremes, too, in the case of both Yui and Rand, who have respectively screwed up Kousuke and Nol. Gun Kim both has set a terrible model for Sangchul as well as has been alluded that he just doesn’t parent. Shinae’s mom walked out on her and took her own sister. We don’t know enough about her yet, but we could even argue that Nol’s mom was doing things she thought was right and it backfired.

In trying to come to terms with how I was raised and the things I remain bitter over into my 30s, I think a lot about how difficult parenthood is, especially if it’s unplanned and happens when you’re young and not prepared. I think a lot about the responsibilities to raise a child and equip them with what they need for life, and how easy it is to damage their pysches even without trying. It’s daunting. As a parent, you are bound to screw up. When you’re younger, it’s even more frustrating, because they are responsible for you. You feel like as an adult and as a parent, they’re supposed to know what they’re doing, to have it all together, to do better, but the truth is that even as adults, we continue to flounder around, continue to screw up and hopefully learn. We are saddled with our own unchecked traumas - and that is the biggest issue with the parents in the I Love Yoo universe.

Take Mina Park for example. She shows overflowing affection towards Shinae, she showers Minhyuk with adoration, she runs a bakery that she has her children help her in. But the way she treated Maya, who existed for so long in the shadows that she developed insecuritiy issues towards Shinae, who became so jealous of her that her life is worse off and demanded the attention of people who didn’t give her the attention she wanted and needed. So many people villainized Maya for “being a bitch” but was constantly getting pushed into shadows by her own family. They didn’t do it on purpose - Minhyuk was upset at himself for doing that to her, and I don’t think Mina shafted Maya on purpose. But of course she was bound to develop jealousy issues when those feelings ran unchecked.

Simhan clearly loves Shinae and he does his best for her, to such an extent that it put them in trouble and created more stress for Shinae than had he not. He was so adamant that she focus on school and not take a job that it put them in deep financial trouble. But also making her focus so much on her grades created a sort of tunnel vision for her; she was so focused on the grades she never thought about what happens next, where she goes from there. And when the finances came to a dire point facing eviction, she was saddled with further responsibilities and put in an uncomfortable situation for money, that ultimately lead to her being injured, humiliated, and yet again taken advantage of. Additionally, Simhan faced substance abuse which cost both money and an injury that could have been far worse. It’s so much for a teenager to carry. It’s not that Simhan “is a bad parent”; this is the point I’m getting at. Even when you’re trying your best, it can still be messed up. Because Simhan was a teen dad, because he’s a single dad, because his stress, because his substance abuse, because he tried to be strong, because he tried to do it all on his own. All of these factors inevitably lead to Shinae struggling.

I won’t even pretend Yui is “trying her best” with Kousuke, because it’s so evident he’s merely a puppet to her so she can rule from the shadows, and he doesn’t seem aware of it just yet. The way she snaked behind Rand’s back all the time to undo the lessons Rand was trying to instill in Kousuke, the way she spoiled him so rotten that he never had a chance TO learn valuable lessons. Kousuke is so proud to tell everyone that the strict schedule he adhered to as a child was his own making, but he never would have lived that life had Yui never spent his formative years instilling in him a great need to become an impressive person, to become Rand - or more. There was never room in his life to explore anything else because she filled his head with this, created a sense of destiny that he had to fulfill. This routine also ensured he had no childhood, nothing to distract him from this weird direct-path to overtaking Rand, and in that course, he never developed necessary human skills. No empathy, no conflict resolution, no understanding of his emotions. When he faces conflict, he responds to it with anger and trying to take control of a situation. In fact, the only thing he knows how to do IS to control a situation. Kousuke’s situation feels even heavier, because not only does his stunted development affect himself, but it’s affected Nol the whole time as well. Fed an inferiority complex by Yui, a feeling of threat cultivated by her, Kousuke spent his childhood and even teen years!!!! degrading Nol until he felt he was nothing.

Of course, Nol gets it so bad having it from all sides - from Kousuke, from Yui, and from Rand. Somehow, Rand makes me the angriest, because I know logically he thinks he’s doing things to help Nol, he’s trying to nudge him in the only way he’s able to, because his hands are tied by Yui and whatever it is she holds over him. I hate the way he uses his harsh words to try to send a message to Nol that he’s unable to decipher because he’s so sad and broken he thinks his father believes he’s worthless. And to be honest, what is he even doing to prove otherwise? He uses those very words himself sometimes. I think he also makes me angriest because he reminds me sometimes of my own father, who only expressed himself for so long through anger, and whose anger made it easy to believe that he didn’t care, that he said harsh words with intent to hurt. I would love to write more about Rand one day, and about the things he says and the double-meanings that are lost on Nol, because he’s become so convinced his father doesn’t care and couldn’t possibly want anything good for him. And the thing is, even with Rand’s “good (?)” intentions, what good are they if the message is lost to him? If you’ve convinced him you hate him? He lost his family when Rand took this route, just a lonely child who tried so hard to be a part of his family and was shunned time and time again. It makes me angrier still because it’d be so easy to blame Yui, that Rand is trapped and knows that showing any affection to his bastard child would make Yui act worse. But the thing is: Rand made his choices. He entered a marriage that was likely purely arranged and loveless for the sake of business. He had an affair. He was involved in some way in that child’s life - helping with naming him, sending money. Nol’s mom probably believed there was a chance for them to be a family. Did Rand let her think this? Did he dream of this? Whatever the case is, Rand’s choices all lead to the abuse Nol’s endured. I really appreciate the complexity of the situation, that Rand is trying to do what he can with what he can, but ultimately in the end, he’s still a terrible father.

It will take so much for all of these kids to undo the things that have been done to them. Some, like Maya, are easier to tackle. But for Kousuke and Nol? My god, they’ll both require so much therapy, and frankly, neither of them really have any desire for it right now. There’s a number of generational cycles in this story (like Nol following Rand’s exact path) and parents passing on their trauma to children who will only grow up to become parents filled with unchecked trauma is certainly one I’m eager to see broken. I’m eager for these characters to find their paths to healing and processing what hurt them and how they heal from it. Plssssss.

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saint-eridell · 4 years ago

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A Silent Prayer (Midoriya Izuku/F!Reader)

I… honestly don't know how this happened. The words just kinda came out. I didn't start out intending to write a slow burn saga, but that's apparently what my brain decided to do with it. Might continue the series at some point, to be honest; this whole universe has its hooks into me.

Collab piece for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten's Citrus Dome server collaboration. 15k, completed, proofread, no beta. Pairings: Dryad!Midoriya Izuku/Human!Reader, Human!Toshinori Yagi/Dryad!Midoriya Inko Prompt: Gods Content warnings: Background character death, non-con (very brief, not explicit)

Read on AO3

Quick Guide (ctrl-F to jump)

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

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Prologue

Your village's clearing, while spacious enough to afford room for a small population, is essentially cut off from the outside world by the dense verdant wall that circles it on all sides. One of two paths out leads toward a well-maintained temple where the locals (and rare traveler) leave offerings to the Fae that populate the forest, and one leads out to the nearest trading post… which lies a week's away ride on a speedy horse. This clearing of hand-built homes and ancient looking shops is the only thing you've known. Your studies as a temple attendant began young, before you could even comprehend what you were training to do, and have kept you attached to the village with zero chance of travel.

That has suited you just fine so far. From what the hunters talk about seeing in the forest… you'd rather stay alive than "sightsee".

The first thing you're taught in your village is to respect the forest. Even the youngest of your people know not to step in Fae circles, or follow strange sets of eyes in the dark, or listen to any voices that come trickling out of the treeline on quiet nights. The Fae could be immensely giving, but they're fickle creatures on a good day and absolutely dangerous at their worst. Contact with any roaming Fae, regardless of the type or how friendly it seems, has long been banned among your people. Your job as an attendant, despite a common misconception that you have direct contact with beasts and monsters, is to maintain the temple, greet travelers, and meditate among the many gardens built within the temple walls.

Worship is a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the fruits of your labor at the altar. Every day you pray. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer… much less three times.

---

Part 1

The first time is after a terrible fire that razes half of the village during your first year of training. A roaming wyvern tears through the fields surrounding its back half in a fury, razing an entire cluster of homes and over half of the summer crops already suffering through a prolonged drought. The village finds itself in disarray amid the smoldering remains: one half wants to burn the temple in retaliation, seeing the wyvern as an omen that some Fae lord is on the warpath, while the other seeks to gather what remained of the crops as one final beseechment to whoever or whatever they'd angered.

Having just been initiated, your young mind goes directly to one of your first lessons: true offerings are of the heart. In your barely school age mind, that means offering something that means a lot to you. After some consideration you narrow it down - your favorite doll, a gift from a mother you never had the chance to know - and take it to the temple. You find a quiet altar to lay the doll down upon, and as soon as you find your knees to begin praying before it you catch sight of a boy hovering behind the marble pedestal.

His head is wrapped in emerald linen, but it rounds off enough to suggest there's densely packed hair underneath. A single curl peeks out at the center of his forehead, somehow even deeper than the rich dyed fabric over it, its point resting between huge green eyes that seem to peer right down to your very soul. It would be eerie if he wasn't smiling at you with a gap where one tooth should be, a bright beam of sunshine in an otherwise rather gloomy marble-lined room.

"Is that a doll?" he asks, and his voice chirps with the same excitement of the first few birds that poke out of the melting winter snow. You nod, frozen with trained hesitation that wars with your naive curiosity - he doesn't look familiar, nor does he look like the child of anyone who had recently come through the village. But he doesn't look dangerous to you. He's barely as tall as you, and he smiles too nice to be a threat… right?

You open your mouth to call for your matron but the boy holds both hands up suddenly, his eyes somehow widening even further with a bolt of fear. "Wait," he whispers. "I'm not supposed to be here. I heard people praying and snuck away from my mother." He tilts his head. "Did you sneak away from your mom, too?"

You shake your head in response. "I live here," you explain quietly, matching his hushed tone. "I'll work in the temple one day. I came here to offer my doll so our fields will come back."

The boy's face splits into a grin. "Does that mean I'll get to see you again?"

You aren't given time to answer: a sharp voice echoes into the room from somewhere beyond the open door, growing louder by the second as someone approaches. You turn your head to listen until a quiet shuffling brings your attention back to the boy, who's moved around the altar and taken the doll in one hand. He quickly tugs off the linen wrap covering his head and thrusts it toward you. You struggle to grasp it, shocked by a pair of tiny antler nubs that poke through the curls on the top of the boy’s head... or Fae’s rather. There’s no mistaking the point of his upper ears. "Here," he whispers urgently. "It's my favorite, so be careful with it. Wrap it around some ashes from your burned crops and bury it in the middle of the field." He waves as he steps back with another one of those beaming smiles, your doll clutched tight to his chest. "I promise I'll keep your doll safe. Maybe we can play next time!"

You blink, and as quick as he appeared he's gone. Matron Elspeth, a short and round woman with more than enough years in the temple to justify her limited patience (and the woman in charge of your temple training), appears behind you the second he’s gone. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she snaps as she grabs you by the upper arm and hauls you toward the door. “We’re convening the-

You dig your heels into the floor. “Wait!” you exclaim with all the assertiveness your tiny voice can muster. “I have something!”

The matron stops to glare down at you. You hold up the linen like it’s a prized tapestry. “A boy appeared in here and gave this to me. I brought my doll as an offering and he gave this to me.”

The matron’s brows knit deep between her eyes. “And you took it?”

You nod eagerly, but you aren’t prepared to see such a terrifying old woman blanch like she just witnessed a murder. She stops you both in the hallway, all sense of urgency abandoned, a wrinkled hand held to the wall as she breathes out a long, ragged sigh. “Oh, child,” she murmurs. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve just done.” She gives you a smile that’s softer than anything you’ve ever seen from her, and it’s disarming enough to have you stunned silent. Isn’t she supposed to be rapping you across the knuckles with her willow switch? “He was Fae, wasn’t he?”

You nod slowly, your excitement slowly twisting into pangs of dread. “I didn’t give him my name,” you burst out after a sudden realization - of course she’s worried, she thinks you just signed yourself away to the forest. What was the first thing she’d taught you? You wave your hands in front of you defenselessly, the scarf flapping back and forth. “I only said the doll was my favorite, and that I’d brought it as an offering. He said this headscarf was his favorite and that I should bury it in the field wrapped around some ashes from the crops and -”

“Eeeeeeasy,” Elspeth chides gently. She lowers herself to a knee to put herself on eye level with you, both hands wrapped around your shoulders. “You did the right thing. I wouldn’t have expected someone so small to learn our ways as quickly as you have.” She holds her hand out for the scarf and you hand it over. She turns it over gently, running her fingers over the seams with a pensive hum. “And you say he told you to bury it?”

“In the field, wrapped around ashes from the burned crops."

“And you absolutely did not give him your name?”

You shake your head fervently. “He didn’t even ask for it.”

Elspeth’s frown deepens. “Curious.” She rises slowly to her feet with a wince as both knees audibly crack under her shifting weight. You grab her arm to help her stay upright as she rests a hand on the wall once again with a low groan. “I’m getting too old for this,” she grouses. “You need to hurry up and grow already so I can hand off the robes.” Her wrinkled hand takes one of yours as she leads the way toward the temple’s main hall. “Tell me more about the boy.”

You go through everything you can remember - same height, pale freckled skin, lots of green curls, big eyes… “Oh, and horns,” you add on.

Elspeth stops you both at the end of the last hall. Several groups of people in various temple garb hover in the large foyer beyond, but your matron turns your back to them with both hands on your shoulders. She bends low at the waist to stare you down from only a few inches away. “Horns?” she hisses.

You nod, confused by the sudden change in her demeanor. “Tiny ones,” you reply. “Like when the young bucks grow their first set at the beginning of summer. I didn’t see them or his ears until after he gave me his scarf.”

Elspeth goes quiet for several seconds, her gaze averted to the throng behind you, and just as you open your mouth to question if she’s okay she’s steering you around and through the crowd with a purpose. “We need to speak to the temple Ascendant,” she urges quietly. “This is beyond both of us now, little one.”

---

Part 2

You hadn’t been approached by just any run-of-the-mill forest creature. If you really had experienced the entire moment (which the linen basically proved without a shadow of a doubt despite your own dumbfounded disbelief), you’d come across a young dryad. Or rather, he’d found you, which is an incredible occurrence in itself: dryads are known for being among the most reclusive of Fae, preferring to live in their heavily altered pockets of the forest where only their kind can survive. According to the ancient lore they’re protectors of a vast plane beyond the one humans live in, a vanguard of Fae hidden among life-providing vegetation and deceptively thick forest floor in wait for someone or something to come along and threaten their territory. The tomes in the temple library are filled with tales from “survivors” of attacks by wandering dryads, all telling of razor sharp teeth and sickly green skin and a heathenly worship of the old gods that on its own warrants avoiding them at all costs.

But in the whirlwind following your encounter with the young Fae, something becomes glaringly obvious: no one wants to talk about who had provided the linen that saved them all, despite it successfully bringing back their fields during a single earth-shaking rainstorm and assuring a solid harvest that would more than provide through the winter. All the villagers flock to the temple with offerings by the basket, but no one wants to acknowledge who had actually saved them. That reality sticks with you like a sharp thorn, as does the dryad boy’s hauntingly sweet voice as you grow older within the temple walls, your studies growing more intense by the year. By the time you reach adulthood, you’re actively involved with just about every aspect of temple life. You’ve grown popular among your fellow attendants and the temple-goers alike, even the ones who seem reluctant to be there at all. Your easy-going demeanor and disarming smile is able to diffuse even the staunchest of cynicism. You have, for all intents, and purposes, become the shining example of everything Matron Elspeth raised you to be. Nothing in this world makes you prouder than knowing you're on the way to earning her robes… and maybe, at some time in the future, the temple Ascendant's.

You remain faithful to your doctrine, but in the dead of night every full moon you pray that he’ll come back. You’ve had years to think about it: if you give him a “given” name, he’ll have to use that. It’s not yours, so he won’t own you. Dryads are attracted to beehives, presumably for the same reason pixies are attracted to berry bushes (an almost impulsive sweet tooth) so you’re ready with a clump of the temple’s finest honeycomb every time the moon reaches its largest point.

But despite your increasingly saddened prayers and offers over the years, no sign of him or any other dryads appear. There are rumors of the occasional peculiar looking traveler with big green eyes, but your temple work prevents you from wandering into the village unless it’s on a designated supply pickup day. Elspeth tells you to forget him and focus on your studies every time she catches you quietly moping: “We can’t have our future Ascendant being wooed away by some doe-eyed boy, regardless of if he’s human or not.”

On the evening after your confirmation and the following party, once you’ve returned from the village and gathered up your usual prayer supplies, you make your way to your favorite altar in the temple as the moon finds its highest point in the sky above. The room’s roof has been removed to give a full view of the sky for astral worship, but you prefer it for the way it allows moonlight to fill the center with a skirt of fading dark that swallows the edges of the room. It’s easier to focus here, to lay yourself bare before whatever force that lays beyond the clearing’s edge and let it speak through the beams of light emanating from above.

Elspeth disapproves of your “fixation”, but doesn't argue back when you request privacy for the rest of the evening. Your birthday this present is in the form of your matron keeping all wandering staff away from your prayer room, and that seems perfectly fair to you. You’ve already made plans to repay her empathy with a few of her favorite lemon pastries.

You lay out the contents of the basket hanging from your arm across the marble altar’s polished surface: green and gold candles, several lengths of high quality gold pendant chain, a large bowl of fresh, sticky honeycomb and an ornate goblet full of a rare winterberry mead you were given by the lead hunter’s son (“For the day you get free of that prison and decide to marry”, he’d boasted... his mistake, you’re keeping the mead and he can choke on the cork).

In the center goes a hand-sized velvet pillow upon which you set an emerald big enough to fill your palm. It had taken three years to save up enough for it, but in your eyes it’s the best thing you’ve ever bought. The moonlight dancing off the lines of the gem’s depths flicker and dance exactly like the Fae’s eyes had so many years ago. You pause to take in the sight, transfixed by the shifting planes that white themselves out before immediately shifting to deep green and then to inky black when you tilt your head.

A slight breeze rattling through the room snaps you from your reverie. You glance upward where the moon hangs directly overhead, a wide white circle set deep into an array of scattered stars and inky skyspace beyond. A vivid memory of pale skin dotted with freckles flashes across your mind’s eye and you have to force yourself to redirect to the present, shaking your head hard as the breeze fades away. “Focus,” you murmur to yourself. You don’t have long before the moon will move away from the center of the open roof.

Once the candles are lit, several cones of musky incense set into miniature cauldrons come next, wisps of pungent smoke permeating every dark corner of the room within seconds. You kneel before the altar once everything is in place with your plain white robes folding neatly under you. As you take your first deep breath, the incense fills your nose and drowns out anything beyond it; a hazy blanket hovers thick and heavy in your sinuses, even after you exhale.

This is an easy process for you. You've long mastered how to find your own meditative headspace through years of disciplined practice. You let the chirping of bugs beyond the temple echo around your ears, your breathing slow and light. You tilt your closed eyes up toward where you can vaguely tell the glow of the moon is strongest. "I have no crisis," you say in your head. "I seek no power, no glory, no riches. I only wish to see my friend again." A deep sense of peace radiates down to your bones as you let out a slow breath. The entire room comes to a standstill, even the wind seemingly reverent of your descent toward the lowest floor of your headspace. If you go any further, you feel like you could slip right through the floor.

"We're friends, eh?"

Your eyes fly open as a shriek tears through you, every semblance of calm shattered. You kick yourself backward and the cushion you'd been kneeling on flying forward to bounce off the ornate carving set into the front of the pedestal. You skitter in the opposite direction, prepared to take off running down the hall and find the first guard you come across, when you stop dead with your hands planted to the cold marble floor.

It's him.

The dryad boy is standing in the same spot he'd appeared in last time, smiling at you with that same beaming grin. Or… it looks like him, at least. He's taller now, but he still looks to be around your height, maybe just an inch or so taller. It's obvious he's been up to something strenuous: his tunic sleeves cut off around defined upper arms, where you can spot an array of thin scars set into his pale, freckled skin. He's dressed in emerald traveler garb, a linen wrap identical to the one he'd given wrapped loosely around his neck, and as you look further up you choke on a gasp.

You hadn't been hallucinating all those years ago. The tiny antler nubs he'd been sporting before have grown fivefold and now branch over his head in tall, proud spikes that circle his hair like a jagged halo. He seems to catch what your eyes lock onto and he dips his head, a scarred hand reaching to clutch at the fabric draped around his neck like he wants to throw it up over his head. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, and you're immediately floored by how achingly familiar the lilt of his voice is. You've heard it in your dreams enough to know it's him. "I didn't mean to scare you that bad."

You push yourself up to your feet with an indignant huff. "Scare me that bad?" you grumble back as you dust yourself off and right your robes.

He laughs again, light as air. Your anger slips away at the sound despite your best attempt to hold onto it. You're not some shrinking violet, dammit. "I had to take the opportunity when it presented itself," he replies through a fond smile. "Couldn't help myself."

You huff your disapproval, which gets you another chuckle. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he says as he takes a step forward with his hands raised in a show of surrender. "No more scares, I promise." He fixes you with another beaming smile. "Happy birthday. I'm here now."

Your heart flips sideways into your ribs. He'd really heard you. But if he could hear you tonight…

"Why didn't you come any other time I prayed?" you ask before you can consider the implications of your query. You slap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry," you say quickly from behind your palm. "I don't mean to say I expected you to listen or appear, I just…"

The dryad fixes you with a concerned frown. "You just what?" he asks back without a trace of anger, which catches you off guard. "I'm not gonna cut your tongue out or anything. You didn't offend me."

You let out your held breath in one hard burst. Thank every god in existence. You pause, waiting to make sure he really isn't angry and just playing head games, then proceed with only a tiny tremble: "I just hoped you would."

Something akin to pain dances across his face and you immediately regret your admission for reasons you can't quite figure out. "I'm sorry," you exclaim again, but he holds up a finger before you can try to babble through a reason why.

"It's not easy for my kind to survive here," he says with a solemnity that draws the entire room to a standstill. "The air is too dry for ones who haven't acclimated to it. I'll admit, the first time I tried I got incredibly sick upon returning home." His gaze flicks to the span of marble between your feet. "But I've been practicing. I should be able to stay a few hours now." He finds your eye again and the sincerity behind them smashes into you like a cannonball. How could anyone ever say his kind are hideous? Is it the antlers?

"If you'll have me, that is."

Oh gods above, below, and in gran's cookbooks. "Of course," you breathe back without hesitation.

His smile returns, wide and genuine, bright enough to narrow the room to just him alone. "I was hoping you would say that." He bows politely, his traveler's cloak brushing the floor as it sweeps back. "I'm sorry, I didn't have a chance to introduce myself before. May I have your name?"

A caustic jolt rushes up the length of your spine. Every hair on your body raises at the root as you cut a glare in his direction. Oh no no no, you didn't go through an entire childhood of Matron Elspeth's lectures to fall for his ruses that easily, no matter how hard he makes your stomach flutter. "No you may not," you say back with practiced ease. He sits up abruptly to give you another wounded look, but you're too on guard for it to work. "I'm sorry." You really aren't.

He huffs a laugh. "Fair play. I should have known better. May I have a name to address you by?"

You've trained for this your entire life. In no way is he going to get you. "No you may not," you say again. "But I was born under a sparrow's first nest." A meaningless fact that would at least lead him toward something you'll answer to without naming you directly. Elspeth is going to be so proud.

He hums, seemingly picking up your subtle lead. "Sparrow, then," he confirms. "It suits you."

You clear your throat as the collar of your robe shifts against your reddening neck. You can't hold eye contact and keep your flush contained so you opt for the former while your hands clasp respectfully behind your back. You're an anointed temple servant. You won't be reduced to a pile of girlish mush in your own temple. "Thank you," you reply with a polite bow. "And is there a known name I may refer to you by?"

"Deku," he chirps back. "You could have just asked. I'm not as picky with my known name as you humans seem to be."

You straighten up with a placid smile. "Can you blame me?"

Deku shrugs. "I mean, a little," he replies with an honesty that almost knocks you backward again. "I've seen the records humans keep on us. The way your "beastmasters" talk makes us sound like feral crypt monsters."

You catch the bitterness in his tone and squirm on the spot. You hadn't meant any insult. "We've had a lot of people killed by dryads over the years," you reply as gently as you can. "And even more that have disappeared around the same time one was seen. The people here are just fearful."

"Fear doesn't excuse ignorance." His jaw flexes and your frame draws tight with tension. He takes a slow breath as he pauses, and his anger visibly recedes. "But you haven't taken off running yet, so I guess it's safe to assume you're not as ignorant as the others."

Your voice drops to a murmur when you respond. "I remember what you did for us. We would have starved the winter after that fire if you hadn't brought our crops back."

"Thank my dad for that. It was his idea. He couldn't make the trip himself, so he sent my mom and I with instructions."

The pieces click into place with a weight that knocks the wind from your lungs. Deku watches you ponder as he steps around the altar and perches on its edge. "You didn't just save us. You risked your life to do it. But… why?"

"Because you asked me to-" He plucks the goblet and gives it an appreciative sniff. "-And you brought a worthy offering to go with it." He sips the mulled wine with a deep groan of approval. At least the idiot who'd been hitting on you throughout the entire celebration has good taste in booze. "Winterberries?" You nod, and he takes a longer sip before offering you the goblet. You take it with pride as he traces his thumb over his lower lip to catch a stray drop (don't stare don't stare don't stare don't stare). "Gods, this is fantastic. I hope your meadery has put in offerings, because they deserve whatever they were asking for."

You go to take a sip as he continues his praise, but another bolt of anxiety keeps you from raising the cup all the way to your lips. This isn't a directly outlawed interaction (you can't recall a rule that says you're not allowed to share an offering, as far as you can remember); however, something still feels… ominous about accepting such an offer. Or maybe you're just being paranoid. The lore books also said dryads instinctively kill humans on sight.

His features darken at your hesitation. "I can guarantee that I've already got a tolerance if you just tried to slip me something," he spits out with a mix of anger and raw hurt. The venom in his tone paralyzes you with fear and for a long moment all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes. You swallow around your dry tongue as you struggle to formulate a disarming response.

"It's not like that," you finally say back with the goblet held in both shaky hands. You raise it for a prolonged sip and make a display of showing that you actually took a drink, which seems to assuage his anxiety as much as it does yours, the mead warming your throat and chest as it settles in a warm ball somewhere deep in your core. The Hammerbar meadery doesn't mess around with the efficiency of their products, apparently. "See? If there's something in it now you'll know."

Deku shakes his head. "Then let's hope it's just mead. I'm sorry. I don't think you'd do that." He turns away to pick at the honeycomb and pops a corner into his mouth, which is received with another appreciative noise from deep in his chest.

The conversation is light and easy from the very beginning. He's young for his kind with double your lifespan ahead of him, maybe longer if he "ascends" (a term that has you both laughing in solidarity as you commiserate on your respective mentors). After a good hour of chatting a silence finally lapses between you, the buzz of cicadas filling the space as Deku picks up the last chunk of honeycomb. You sit at the altar's base, just within touching range of the leg he has dangling over the edge of the pedestal, his eerie green eyes trained on you with the sharpness of a royal blade.

He's ethereal in close range. The air around him carries a drift of something wild and feral, like an inaudible drumbeat that thumps in time with your heart.

"Do I make you nervous?"

That feels like a loaded question if you've ever heard one. He seems to pick up on your hesitation once again and tilts his head, his lips parted slightly around a faint smile that makes your heart skip a beat. "No," you reply, but it's a hollow projection. Deku raises a brow, a clear sign he caught your lie.

"Uh… maybe a little. You said it yourself, human understanding of your kind is apparently woefully inaccurate." Which bothers you a lot. You're one of the people responsible for interpreting every tome in the archive. How much else do humans have wrong?

Deku nods. "I know it's not very helpful, but we don't hate humans. The elders pity your lack of connection to wild magic, but that's a sentiment that's fading with the younger generations."

"And what do you think of us?"

The Fae pauses, his head tilted askew as he ponders your question. You have the urge to take it back before he replies suddenly, his teeth flashing in a grin that makes your stomach flip and promptly fall into your feet:

"I don't care about other humans. I care about you."

You swallow hard. You're completely unprepared for the weight of his tone. It's all you can do to remember to breathe normally as panic and excitement go to all-out war. You're vaguely aware that you've been warned about this: Fae rely on glamour magic to conceal their true selves while among humans. The closer you are to one and the longer you spend there, the more likely you are to fall for it. This isn't him, you say to yourself in a firm tone. You're seeing a spell. And yet you remain rooted to the spot amid the molasses-thick silence, his emerald eyes transfixed on you like he's trying to bore himself right down to your soul. Logic is no longer enough to make yourself move, to speak, to do anything but watch him with deep fascination. Part of you doesn't want to move at all, and you're vaguely aware that your lack of fear should probably be some kind of warning sign.

He suddenly pushes himself off the altar and lands on his feet, cat-like and eerily graceful, his hand extended to help you up as well. You take it and are immediately shocked by how rough his palm is under your fingers. He doesn't look old enough to have gone through years of hard labor, but his hands tell a completely different story. You frown at your palms where they're flattened together, his weathered fingers draped gently around the side of your hand. He radiates heat like a stone dock in summer. Even with a foot or two between you, you have to wrestle down the urge to step closer and draw yourself into the warmth that surrounds him.

He leans far enough to get your attention and flashes you another dazzling smile (you're not insane, he can't feel even warmer now how is that even possible). "I have a present for you," he chirps. A hand disappears into his satchel and reappears a moment later with a long piece of rich emerald silk. You can't help but beam until your cheeks ache: the delicate gold embroidery along its edges is identical to what is on the linen scarf you've held onto for all these years. The delicate silk threads are woven into a river of shiny deep green that pools around your fingers in feather-light ripples. It's clearly worth more than anything you've ever owned and everything you currently own combined, adding an extra level of surreal that has your head slightly spinning.

"I embroidered it myself," he says, pride radiating through his words. He holds it up with an encouraging nod toward you. "May I?"

It takes your brain a few seconds to catch up with what's happening, but when it does you nod slowly. He closes the gap between you in one slow step and oh, you aren't ready for the scent of earth and pine that radiates from him and the crackle of something intangible that hits you like a mallet once you're nearly standing chest to chest.

The scarf is draped over your shoulders in a single flourish. He secures it in an ornate knot at your throat, his knuckles dragging little brushes of electricity across your skin as you do your best to stay still. Gods, whatever glamour he's using is powerful because he's absolutely breathtaking this close. The freckles you remember from so many years ago are still there, softened by the slight tan of his cheeks but still a pronounced constellation under his soft eyes as he smiles down at you with a mind-nymbing warmth.

"Green is your color," he murmurs close enough for you to feel his breath ghosting across your throat. Your heart flies upward and, on a whim you can't wrestle down, you reach for his hand once again to deftly slide your fingers between his. Deku jumps, clearly startled, but he makes no move to pull away or retreat. In fact, he gives your hand a squeeze in return that makes every hair on your body stand on its end. He draws even closer, pressing out every bit of air between you. Your interwoven hands are guided to between your chests, the breeze and ambient noise from outside coming to a dead standstill.

"I never forgot you," he rumbles, eyes half-lidded from the close proximity. "Not for a second."

"I dreamed about you," you whisper back, and the last few inches between you are gone in an instant. You draw in synchronized inhales as a surprisingly strong set of arms wraps around your back. Your own thread around his waist to clutch at the Fae and keep him pressed close with a sudden flash of desperation. He seems to be of the same mind: he kisses you with a ferocity you've never known, demanding and insistent enough that your lungs' cries for oxygen go willfully ignored. When you finally rip apart it's with another unified inhale and a wonble as the world spins on its ear. You can feel yourself grinning despite the shock still numbing out your brain.

A Fae kissed you… and you kissed him back without hesitation. There's something unsaid in the room now and it hangs heavy in his stare, which has once again fixated upon you with trickles of gold dancing along the edges of deep green. You quietly gasp. You've never seen feral magic this close. Shouldn't you be afraid by now?

"Come with me," he breathes out of nowhere. Your knees just about give out from shock. What?

"I'm serious." He holds both your hands under his chin. "I can give you things you don't even know exist. Anything you want, I'll make it happen."

You gape back. It's the sort of dramatic offer you read about in children's books, but never in a thousand years did you think you'd really be offered something like this. "Deku…"

"I know it's a lot," he blurts out. "You've spent your whole life here and I would never want to separate you from the world you know, but if I can find you in the same spot twice I'm sure we can find a way to go back and forth -"

Something in you decided the second he asked. There's no question what your heart wants. You press in again while he's rambling to cut him off with another firm kiss. Deku grunts into it as he's forcibly quieted before a hand gently cradles the back of your head.

You pull away with less ferocity this time and hover in his space, hazy with giddiness. "I didn't say no," you whisper, unable to bring yourself to speak any louder. "But there are things that need to be done in the meantime. I have duties here, Deku."

"We can figure out how to do both," he replies with rapidly growing excitement. The thin gold veins around his irises have begun to overtake the emerald. Your heart thunders as his excitement edges on feral. "Please just consider it. If you want, I can come back this same time next year and we can figure it out from there."

A year seems long enough to your addled brain. "Sure," you wheeze. "One year from tonight."

"One year." Deku nods furtively, but as he lets go of you it's obvious you're not the only one who hates having to do it. He looks to the floor, then to the darkest corner of the room where he'd appeared, then back to you with a smile too heavy for the ones you're used to. "I'll be watching over you. The embroidery of that scarf is kind of powerful, so I'd be careful wearing it around anyone or anything that might pull it."

You look to the fabric tied around your neck and your frown deepens. "What's that supposed to -"

Too late. By the time you look up again he's gone, and the altar in front of you is empty.

---

Part 3

You hold his promise close to your heart and don't breathe a single word of it to anyone, even your mentor. Elspeth would have an absolute fit if she figured out you're planning on not only leaving the temple, but running off with a dryad of all things. And besides that, she doesn't deserve the disrespect of knowing all her years of effort might go to waste. You can't bring yourself to face that very real chance just yet.

You stick to your studies and daily duties as your matron's hearth declines through the year, and nearly a year to the day since Deku's last visit the inevitable comes. Matron Elspeth passes in her sleep with you at her side, holding her hand while humming her favorite hymns until you see her chest rise and fall for the last time. She lived to a blessedly old age, but that doesn't help the fierce tear of grief that rips you open when she's finally gone. Elspeth was essentially your mother along with being your mentor.

And beyond that, if it hadn't been for her, you would have never met Deku.

You head up the organization of her final ceremonies, as is your place. Her pyre is constructed along the edge of the clearing's small lake, a neatly organized stack of wood and highly flammable fabric from the temple with a gap in the middle for her remains. You make sure to include clippings from her favorite lavender box as a final personal farewell.

The pyre is set ablaze with your own torch. This is how it has to be. It's how she sent her mentor off, and it will be how your mentor sends you off as well. You can only hope you've given her the honor she deserves, every decision you've made considered.

You make your way back to the temple alone at sunset while the other attendants remain behind. You need time to think. You've spent every quiet moment that day crying alone. If you don't get a second of true isolation you're going to break in front of half the temple. Elspeth wouldn't like that. You're stronger than your grief, at least for the moment, so you make a beeline for your preferred prayer room and let your feet move in that direction on autopilot, emerald scarf drawn up around your cheeks. You hold it close and will yourself to remain calm until there's a door between you and the rest of the world.

You're running by the time you throw yourself into the altar room and shove the door closed behind you. It lands in its frame with a thunderous BANG that muffles the broken sob that cracks from between the hands you have clutched over your face, along with the shuffling of a second person in the room that had gone unnoticed while you were trying to escape everyone else. A boot heel slides along the marble floor and you whirl around, eyes wide as you peer through the strands of summer dusk that pour through the room's open roof. Your heart flies into your throat with a burst of excitement. "Deku?" you call out, shaking with the urge to throw yourself toward the person as he emerges from the darkest shadowed corner.

But it's not Deku. Elation flips to horror as the lead hunter's son appears with a lecherous grin. He's still a good ten feet away, but you can smell strong booze radiating odd him in nauseating waves. "Why are you here?" you demand. "Only temple attendants are allowed in the prayer spaces alone. You need to leave."

"Do I?" he asks back derisively. Ice floods your veins with his first step. You instinctively shuffle back toward the door. "Because I'm pretty sure I can do what I want. Your temple wouldn't have food without me."

"Without your father," you clarify in a sharp tone. All manners have already been abandoned: this is not the day, and you are not the attendant to bother. You don't want to deal with calling guards or causing a cacophony. You just want to be left alone with your grief.

Your comment makes him clench his jaw. "Without." He takes another heavy step forward, and as he draws closer it becomes apparent how much of a size advantage he has. "Me." He takes another heavy step as your bones ice over. You want to take off, but you're terrified that any sudden movement will just propel him toward you faster, and you're not strong enough to shove the heavy stone door open without a few seconds of effort.

"You're drunk," you point out in hopes of derailing his train of thought. You can feel your pulse thumping hard and fast in your throat. "Go home and sleep it off. I won't tell anyone you were here."

"You think I give a shit f'anyone knows I was here?" he slurs back with increasing volume. "You fuckin' demon worshippers are all th'same, so far up your own ass you wouldn't know a good offer if it kissed you right on th'mouth."

A realization hits you like a brick. "Is this about what happened at my birthday last year?" you ask, using his off-kilter focus to your advantage as you slowly begin to step backward toward the door. "You pushed yourself onto me and wouldn't let me go until I kissed your cheek, then you threatened to drop me off the roof if I didn't accept your marriage proposal on the spot. Do you…" You cut yourself off. Of course he doesn't remember. He'd been just as off his head back then as he is now.

"I was only joking!" he retorts. "Why would I drop m'future wife off a roof? Thasstupid. Y're nuts for thinking I'd actually go through with it."

You successfully baby-step your way to within reach of the carved inlet that serves as the door handle. Just keep him rambling. You can hit him with the door before you take off. "And you're nuts for thinking anyone would immediately accept a marriage offer from someone who reeks like the bottom of an ale barrel."

You know the second you shoot off your mouth that it wasn't a good move. He tenses on the spot, both hands drawn into club-like fists at either side, his stony features pinched with disgust.

"You sayin' you're too good for me, bitch?"

He rushes forward, too fast for you to get the door more than a crack open before he throws a massive shoulder against it to slam it shut once more. You scream as he grabs the front of your robes, praying it echoes down the hall with your heels dug against the floor in a fruitless effort to prevent him from bodily dragging you toward the empty altar. He's far too strong to break away from. Your nails digging into his wrists seems to not even register, even when blood wells under them. "Let go," you plead, wide eyed fixed on the pedestal as he drags you toward it clawing and kicking the whole way.

Nothing seems to faze him. He forces your upper half over the marble pedestal with enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs. You wheeze under the weight of a forearm that presses hard into your upper back, reinforced by extra weight that's too heavy to roll out from under. You struggle the entire time, unwilling to stop, with everything in you that isn't trying to escape screaming toward the Aether for someone, something, anything to see what's going on and intervene. You've spent your whole life serving this temple… why would the Fae abandon you now?

As you flail, a small brown sparrow lands on the edge of the open roof and peers down directly at you two. It chirps once, clear as a bell, and the sound hits something deep and instinctive in your chest.

You aren't given enough time to ponder. He grabs your scarf from behind without warning and the knot instantly digs into your windpipe as he yanks the garment back in an attempt to rip it off of you. You sputter and flail your hands to signal for him to let go, to warn him of the danger that lingers in your head with Deku's last warning, but it's not enough.

You hear a piece of embroidery thread snap somewhere in his closed fist. A gust of humid air blasts across you and the weight above you disappears immediately, followed by a nauseating crunch of bones breaking amid the shatter of cracked marble. You wail in fear, clutching to the warmth that had drifted through you with both arms over your head as you sob into the marble. You can't bring yourself to move yet.

Where are you? You said you'd be watching out for me…

You finally force yourself upright once you begin to lose circulation in your arms. You wipe your face, sniffling quietly as you turn. You nearly collapse as a petrified shriek rips itself out of your chest: the hunter had been thrown back against the marble wall next to the door with enough force to crater it inward. His unmoving frame is slumped over in the center amid a splash of red that drips heavily off the jagged edges around him.

It isn't the wall that grabs your attention, though: his tunic has been ripped with several round puncture wounds arranged in a rough circle, the apparent source of the blood pooling at his sides. You tremble from head to toe despite the summer breeze coursing through the room. The longer you stare at the hunter's chest wounds and the way they're arranged, the more they begin to look like…

"Antler wounds."

You smack a hand over your mouth like you'd just hexed someone. He really had been watching out… somehow. What kind of magic had gone into your scarf's embroidered edge? You run your fingers over it, seeking out the thread that snapped. The wind dies out in time for you to hear another set of feet shuffling in the room. It's almost too much; you nearly faint with the panic that latches around your throat. You sway back toward the altar to use for leverage as your knees once again threaten to buckle and are bolstered by a rough set of hands that press against your shoulder blades to keep you upright.

You're too strung out to do anything but gape as Deku - the real one, the same one from the year before with his antlers and freckles and big, terrifying green eyes oh gods he's finally here - steps around and immediately yanks you against his chest. You cling back with both arms circled tight around his ribs and let out another ragged sob into the soft fabric of his cloak.

"Are you okay?" he rumbles. You can only nod back and clutch him like he's keeping you anchored to the ground. You feel his head turn above yours, toward the cracked wall and what remains of the hunter, and a low growl vibrates through him. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I tried to get here as fast as I could." You feel his arms tighten around your upper half, boxing you in and insulating you from the sight behind him.

"You saved me," you manage to choke back. "You don't have to apologize for anything." You step back far enough to wipe at your eyes and clear your sinuses, trembling like a leaf in the circle of his arms. "What was that? What attacked him?"

Deku's mouth draws into a tense line. "I can't tell you," he replies. "But I know someone who can." You blink, confused by his ambivalence. "Have you considered what we talked about last year?"

…What? "Of course I have," you retort. Your head hurts. Where's that spiced wine when you need it? "But I hardly think this is a time to talk about-"

"No no no, think about it," Deku cuts in hurriedly. "I don't mean this in a threatening way at all, but the people of your village are going to get suspicious when someone turns up dead with a set of puncture wounds to the chest."

Your entire body numbs out with panic. He's right. Your gaze snaps to the top of his head, where a set of now fully grown antlers jut out of his wild verdant curls. You begin to count how many points they have, but shove the impulse away with disgust. You don't want to know. Even if you did, it's probably for the best to remain ignorant for now.

Voices echo through the open roof from somewhere beyond, possibly the temple courtyard. "I have to go," he says with a hint of genuine hurt. "They can't find me."

This is too much. The decision to leave was always supposed to be planned out. You've had an entire year to get everything ready, only to have your plans shattered into jagged chunks of broken marble by a drunk hunter and some creature powerful enough to kill him with velocity alone. You clutch yourself to his chest again as panic grips your throat with white-hot claws. "We'll find a way to come back, right?" you whisper with a silent prayer of hope to the entire cosmos.

He nods. "I swear it on my name." He pushes you gingerly by the shoulders so he can look you in the face again, his own tense with mounting anxiety. "We have to go now, my sparrow. Please… I'm begging you, come with me. I don't want to go back without you again." His hands tighten over your shoulders as tears well up along the edges of his wide green eyes. "Please."

It feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest and flung out through the open roof. You open your mouth to blurt out some pained apology for making him assume you'd say no, the voices outside growing louder and clearer in the pause, but can only choke around a whimper as everything you want to say jams in your throat. Instead you simply nod, a single weak incline of your head.

That's all it takes for him to scoop you around the waist again and drag you both sideways toward the corner where he appeared. "You might be kind of shocked when we get through," he warns as he hurls you both toward the marble seam you're convinced is going to split your head open on contact. "Hold your breath!"

The command is sharp enough to make your lungs draw in a deep inhale without conscious thought. Your eyes snap shut as your forehead approaches the shadowed corner; it meets only an icy wall of air as the lights beyond your closed eyelids pitches black. You can feel Deku holding you around the waist, an anchor that keeps you tethered to your own sanity as he rushes you through the dark at breakneck pace. The icy rush whipping against your face seems to deplete the lungful of air you're still stubbornly holding onto and within seconds they're screaming for relief. Deku smacks a hand over your mouth just when you think you're going to break and try to take a breath, and a second later you're both tumbling across the stone floor of an unfamiliar but warm kitchen.

---

Part 4

The second your head stops spinning long enough to see again, you realize there's a woman standing between you and Deku. You weakly recognize the faded emerald of the hair she has trimmed neatly at her shoulders. You glance her over and realize with a jump that the skin you can see around her modest summer dress is a pale shamrock green.

"By the gods, who's chasing you now?"

You blink from where you've landed in a sprawl sprawl against an ornately carved kitchen cabinet, too dizzy from the rush of air that fills your lungs when you take a greedy inhale to answer immediately (even though the question was clearly directed at Deku, who landed upside down with his long legs arched over his head against a stone hearth in a corner of the kitchen). You take another breath, but the bottoms of your lungs feel heavy like they've been filled with a thick gas. Deku slumps over to right himself and immediately looks to you. You're beginning to breathe faster as exhaustion gives way to panic.

The woman turns, fixing you with a look of shock that probably rivals your own. She's a spitting image of Deku, down to the ear points that poke out of her silver-streaked hair and the way her eyes go impossibly wide with genuine emotion. "You're human!" she exclaims.

You nod back, too panicked to form proper words. "Oh… oh, you're human!"

She jumps into motion like she'd just been zapped by a bolt of lightning. She procures a large wooden bowl from a cabinet and fills it with a few handfuls of herbs snatched from dried bundles hanging over the hearth, then steaming water from a kettle that she carefully pulls out from its resting place in the coals. She mutters something in a lilt you can't follow as the bowl is set on the floor in front of you, the woman following suit to kneel on the other side. "Lean down and breathe through the steam," she instructs gently, tilting down to encourage the motion. "The air here is different from the other side. You need to coat your lungs before they start rejecting the pollen floating around."

You tilt forward with a choked noise of panic and take as deep of a breath as you can with the steaming water wafting up across your face. Relief finds you immediately: you can draw a breath all the way to the bottom of your lungs, which takes the edge off your panic enough to finally slow down your respiration rate.

"There you go," the woman encourages gently. She rests a small, comforting hand between your shoulders that's shockingly cold for how warm the kitchen is. "You should be fine now." She turns to give her son an exasperated look. "You brought a human back without giving her anything to prepare?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Deku pleads back. "It was that or risk an entire war on their side-"

The woman holds up a hand to stop him and Deku immediately obeys. "Hold on," she says slowly, turning back to look at you with both brows raised. Her gaze drops to your neck and freezes. "You're the temple girl, the one he's been going to see."

The room goes silent, spare the crackling of the fireplace and your own rapid heartbeat. The older dryad watches, still as stone as she takes you in with one long look before staring at the fabric around your neck once more. All you can do is nod back. something akin to pain flashes across her face and she sits up with a fond smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but I think it might be best if you let my son explain a majority of them over some tea. You look exhausted."

My son. "So you're Deku's mother?"

The dryad wrinkles her nose. "Yes," she replies stiffly. "Though I very much dislike his chosen name. It's undignified." She turns to Deku again. "You haven't given her your name yet?"

Deku waves his hands in front of him and goldfishes for a response before you cut in. "It's not his fault," you quickly counter. "I didn't want to offer mine. I was raised in a temple that had some pretty strict rules against that in particular."

"Understandable. Though I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of my own son having courted someone for nearly an entire year-" (Courted, what!?) "-Without even having offered his name."

"I did offer it!"

His mother chuckles. "I have to fetch someone who will be of much more significant counsel than I, but that will give you two some time to settle in."

You nod in acknowledgment, but her words don't really process in your brain. Now that you're breathing normally again, exhaustion has begun to creep into your bones. You'd been going on fumes before the hunter decided to ambush you, and now that you've quietly literally been flung through a Fae circle it's hard to do anything but lean against the cabinet. The dryad brushes her hand over your shoulder as she passes on her way out. "My name is Inko" echoes through your own head with the contact, jarring you into a sharp yelp, which only makes her chuckle in the same light-as-air way as Deku.

"Well… this is a hell of a way to meet someone's parents."

Said dryad has found his feet and is watching you with a sheepish smile, a hand absently scratching at the base of an antler. "At least it's over now?"

Your head thumps back against the cabinet. This is too much. You need to sleep. If you don't find somewhere to lay down soon, your body is going to give out. "Could we just…" You glance around the kitchen and into the room beyond, where another hearth flickers around a circle of ornately carved wooden den furniture. Perfect.

He follows your line of sight and seems to catch on without you having to finish your request. He moves toward you, arms extended to help you to your feet. When you wobble upon standing he immediately seams your sides up to take a gentle lead toward the sitting room. The furniture all looks hand-carved, the seats made up of soft animal hides that look older than both of you. He lays you down on the longest bench with a small blanket under your head for a pillow, the deerhide that's draped over the back of the sofa gently pulled across you for a proper blanket.

"We can talk later." He leans down to press a kiss to your temple. You groan as he turns to move away, an arm shooting out from under the hide to grab his tunic and hold him in place.

"Wait," you plead quietly, fatigue tugging heavily at your eyelids. "Please stay with me, at least until I fall asleep." You have no idea where you are or how long you'll be out. All you know is Deku being gone means you're here alone and you absolutely cannot bear that thought.

A soft smile breaks across his face. "Of course," he murmurs back. "Anything you need, just like I promised." You scoot to make room and he steps over to fit himself between you and the back of the sofa without prompting. This is what you really needed: a space heater behind you, a fire in front, and a strong arm draping itself over your midsection to hold the knotted ends of your scarf as you both drift off. If nothing else, Deku has more than proven he'll kill anything that comes near you… or at least has access to something that can.

He's still there when you come to. The lighting in the room hasn't changed when you open your eyes to peer around, and it isn't until now that you notice neither the kitchen nor den have any windows. The fire has burned down to a low pile of flickering embers, which means you were at least out long enough to burn through what had been there earlier. With no view of the sun, however, it's impossible to tell how long you were out.

Your stirring rouses Deku, who grunts in his sleep and pulls you back into his chest. The arm cradled under yours has turned an eerie cold. When it registers you sit up to face him, concerned until it snaps into another bolt of shock.

You yelp and fall off the edge of the sofa. Deku's skin has turned a shade of green identical to his mother's, his freckles standing out in sharp contrast. He bolts upright as well, looking around for the source of the panic before he spots you on the floor, half covered by the deer hide you'd accidentally tugged with you. "What's wrong?" he asks urgently, glancing around again.

"You're…"

He gives you a puzzled look, then glances down to where you're staring at his forearms. "Oh!" His hands rub absently at the opposite forearm as his cheeks flush ever so slightly. "Uh… yeah. I told you you might be a little shocked."

Shit. You did it again. You push yourself up to scoot onto the end of the sofa near his feet, and he respectfully folds his legs up to his chest to give you room without having to make contact. It's a gesture you appreciate, but not one you (or him) necessarily need. You sidle up to his shins, where you lean your side with your hands acting as a chin rest on his knees.

"Surprised is more the word," you clarify before poking your tongue out at him playfully. "A little advance notice would have been nice."

"Hey now," Deku chuckles. "I tried. We had a solid plan going there for a minute." He reaches a hand forward and, with a twitch of hesitation, shifts a lock of hair off your forehead and behind an ear. His fingertips are ice cold, a sharp juxtaposition to the warmth in his tone and the care with which he brushes across your skin. "I'm glad you're here, regardless of how it came to be. I've thought of you every single day since my last visit."

How had anyone mistaken dryads for monsters? If the others are a fraction as kind as Deku and his mother, then they've been handed a grave injustice when it comes to human comprehension of their kind. You lean your head toward his hand and he opens his fingers. Your cheek brushes against his weathered palm, eliciting a shiver that courses down your back as the temperature of his skin clashes against the warmth of the den. For a long moment you simply exist, anchored by the green stare fixed upon your own and the callused thumb that smooths over your cheek. Whatever it takes for you to keep this kind of tenderness around will be well worth the effort. You've already decided (long ago, you silently realize) that he is the only one you ever want to be this close to you.

"Do I make you nervous?"

You're taken back to the altar room for a moment as you recall the image of Deku sitting on the pedestal, bathed in pale light with the cicadas humming behind his ethereal laugh. "No," you reply truthfully, hushed and reverent in the slowly disappearing space between you as you both lean forward. Both your eyelids lower as you both lean closer. It's a chaste contact when Deku leans in to kiss you, as soft as his tone and the way he brushes the rest of your hair from the side of your face. Within a few seconds, the soft contact is enough to have you melting against his hand.

A deep male voice breaks the reverie from somewhere behind Deku: "Ah, excuse us…"

This time you both jump hard enough to nearly land on your asses. Deku pushes himself back until he thumps against the arm rest of the sofa as Inko enters the room, followed by what can only be described as a mountain of a man with wild goldenrod hair and deep-set sclera black eyes, their vivid contrasting pupils locked directly on you as he and the dryad approach.

"I hate to be a bother and intrude on such a formative moment, but Inko was insistent upon checking to make sure you're both still alive." He bows his head in deep apology. You're startled by how easily he seems to hold himself level with the massive antlers jutting out of his hair; they're taller than his head and several inches wider on either side. As you force yourself to not take count of the antler points, you vaguely wonder to yourself how he fits through doorways or in anything less than giant-sized.

Deku rises to his feet, and you quickly follow suit. "Ahh, this is my father," he says quickly. "I get the feeling you two are going to be fast friends."

"If you're willing to risk traversal sickness for her, she's got to be worth her weight in gold," the man booms back. He approaches with a hand the size of a serving platter toward you, the deep lines of his face bent around a beaming grin you recognize on the spot. "My name is Yagi Toshinori. Don't worry, it's safe to introduce yourself to me. I'm not Fae."

You twitch your head to the side but take his hand to shake it anyway, suddenly flummoxed. "But the antlers…"

"A by-product of the life I've found for myself." He lifts an arm as Inko steps up to his side and lays it over her back. It's kind of amusing to see such a small woman under the arm of a moving mountain, but the care with which he moves about her is heart-warmingly familiar. "All by choice, zero regrets."

The two of them take a seat on a smaller bench in the den, and you and Deku take your seats once they're both settled. "The drop in is rough, eh? That ice tunnel is awful."

You frown back. "How did you find this place?"

"I didn't find this place." He puts his arm behind Inko's neck, who leans into him with an appreciative hum. "I found my wife first. She's the one who brought me here."

You can't help but laugh, and mercifully the other three join in. "That sounds familiar," you reply through a chuckle.

"It happens less than it used to, but it's not unheard of," Inko adds. "I had a feeling my son would be following in my footsteps."

There's just enough flatness to her words that you squirm on the spot. "I hope that's not a bad thing," Deku says as he draws himself closer to your side. "Unless my logic is severely flawed, there wouldn't be a son to follow in your footsteps if you hadn't done it first."

Yagi lets out an undignified snort. Inko tries to frown, but it breaks around a smile as she nods in defeat. "All the same, I wish this hadn't been so sudden," she adds. "Not that I'm upset you're here now-" She holds a hand up quickly toward you. "-It was just rather abrupt. I wish we could have had time to prepare a proper welcome."

You glance down to your lap. "Deku saved me from something terrible," you respond quietly. "We didn't really have a choice in the matter." You look up again to offer the older dryad an encouraging smile. "Though rest assured he's been nothing but respectful the entire time I've known him." You bow your head politely. "Your hospitality is much appreciated. Thank you for giving me shelter."

Something behind Inko's eyes softens enough to make your heart twist. She watches you for a long moment, studying you as you do your best to not squirm. "The door has been opened for this place to potentially become your home," she replies to break the silence. "No need to speak of it as a foreign place. You already belong."

You feel Deku draw in a sharp breath. When you glance up to him he's hastily wiping his eyes on the back of his free hand. "Don't mind me," he chirps with a slight tremble. "This is normal. Been a crybaby since I was a sapling."

"You are not a crybaby," Yagi jabs back as he casually swipes a thumb under one of his eyes. "You have a heart."

And I wonder where he gets it, you think to yourself as you lean into Deku's side to comfort him.

The situation that brought Deku's parents together is so similar to your own it's almost eerie: Toshinori had been a well-known hunter from another village who found himself "lost" during an extended journey into the forest; in reality, he'd been lured away from the village so a team of rogues could take him out and claim his hunting grounds. He reached out for Inko, who'd already been coming around in a similar fashion to Deku responding to your meditation, and she answered by snaring the entire group in a wave of venom-thorned vines before sweeping him through a circle and away from the chaos. They were married within a year, and Deku came along a few years after that.

"It's oddly romantic, when you take out the death-by-murder-vine part," you offer to keep the mood light. All three of them laugh, especially Inko, who chortles behind her hand until her cheeks turn pink.

Something is digging at you, though. You can't let the entire moment go without at least trying to ask. "You said you're human," you repeat to Yagi. "But you also say the antlers come from magic. I thought we couldn't access magic."

"We can't," he replies casually. Thank goodness, you'd been incredibly nervous about broaching such a personal subject. "Not by default, at least. Humans haven't earned the right as a whole. However, sometimes things happen and the magic itself chooses someone who might be worth it." He nods toward the scarf tied around your neck. "Not just anyone can affect a connection through something like that. It takes something predetermined by forces beyond our control for that connection to be forged at all."

The air in your lungs evaporates. "So this was fate."

Yagi nods sagely. "Yes, as was me coming here. We aren't the first, and we won't be the last." He jabs a finger at Deku, who's taken to clinging to your side like a newborn bear cub. "His antlers, however, come from a direct blood connection to feral magic. He's full dryad, and it'll be even more apparent once he's eventually the most powerful one."

The world screeches to a halt amid Yagi's beaming pride. You feel Deku go very, very still next to you. "Um… I beg your pardon?"

"The Ascendant," Inko answers. "There is a thread of feral magic more concentrated than anything else recorded in our history. It chooses who it resides within, and whoever that force chooses is essentially the most powerful being in our charted world." She inclines her head toward her son. "And one day that will be him."

You look between the two of them, then back to Yagi. "So that means you're the Ascendant."

"For the moment. My time is coming to an end soon. I've served my purpose, so it's time for the next cycle to begin."

"You don't mean…"

Yagi's eyes go wide. "Oh no no no, I'm not going to die, dear," he booms. "It's time for me to pass along my power. I'm fortunate to have a successor in time, and it would seem like this little excursion is a good indicator he might be prepared for it."

"We don't know that," Deku cuts in, and it isn't until now that you notice how flushed his cheeks are. "It'll happen if it's meant to happen, right?" You lay a hand on his knee that's immediately covered by one of his own. He sags into your side in quiet gratitude.

Inko nods. "And it hasn't happened yet, so we won't fret about it for now." Her tone is soft, but there's a comforting finality ronit that effectively ends the subject for discussion.

You're given a tour of their house, which Deku fervently clarifies is not the place where he's lived for several years (Inko replies with a smug "And yet there's almost always a third plate at the table", which seems to be more than enough for him to take a back seat with his dad and let Inko lead them around). She walks you through the lower floor, where several cozy bedrooms are situated around a circular pit set into the floor. The center is full of a myriad of cushions and pillows in an eye-catching pile of patterns and colors all jumbled together in a space wide enough to fit at least three Yagis with extra foot room. "You can pick any of the empty rooms for yourself," Inko says to you sweetly before shooting a pointed look toward her son, who drops his head and shuffles anxiously on the spot. "But I ask that you remain in yours. I know you're grown, but this is my-"

Deku squirms harder. "Yep, got it," he confirms hastily. It's clear there's literally anything else he'd rather be talking about. "Can we start dinner? I'm starving."

Your stomach audibly rumbles at the mention of food. Yes, that's an excellent idea for more than one reason. When is the last time you ate? If you can't remember, it's probably been way too long. Yagi sweeps everyone toward the stairs with both arms stretched to herd them forward. You silently thank him with a smile as he squeezes your shoulder on the way past.

Four people working at once means dinner is made with a quickness, something you're intensely grateful for when you finally sit down to ea. Your stomach hurts from lack of food so much it almost hurts more to eat until you've got enough sustenance in you to level out. You see to the tableware afterward as Deku cleans what remains of the kitchen mess. The other two take their leave for the night with one last round of greeting, Inko's eyes trained on her son as she warns him about "straying past boundaries" on the way toward the stairs, her husband chortling the whole time.

You and Deku wait in silence until a door audibly opens and closes again. "Well," Deku chirps as he turns to face you with an equally cheeky grin. "I guess I'll bid you goodnight here as well. I'll show you where I live tomorrow, once we've both had a chance to sleep." He takes your hand and kisses the back of it with a dramatic bow. "Sweet dreams, my sparrow."

You snort and take your hand back, but not before giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Good night, Deku." His grin turns sly as he moves off to his own room, leaving you to find the smallest unoccupied bedroom for yourself.

---

Part 5

The next morning both Inko and Yagi see you both out, the former not allowing her son to leave the house before he's verbally promised to come by soon (and in a hushed whisper to keep you safe). It isn't until you're outside that the lack of windows is explained: the front of Inko's home is set underneath the roots of a gargantuan tree that juts straight up toward the sky in a massive straight line. You peer upward toward the canopy, but it's so far above the other trees the bare trunk is swallowed by the forest crown on all sides with no way to see beyond. The house sits at the head of a narrow trail with more angled trees visible down the road. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get settled," he reminds, offering you a bent elbow.

You smile and slip a hand onto his forearm. You take the short walk to his home in lockstep, Deku's skin cooler in the open breeze where it brushes under your fingers. The air is heavy with humidity and the chill of a light fog that hovers over the trail as you walk down it, bugs chirping and creaking from the grass on either side of the path. It's… idyllic.

Deku's house is almost identical to Inko's, but it's only a single floor and houses, much to your delight, a natural spring under the kitchen. He waves you toward it with a grin and something about a fresh tunic, but that devious little glint in his eye is back when he meanders off to change his clothes as you see yourself downstairs.

The hot spring is a deep pool in its own room with a shallow end that slopes up to the water's edge. The torch-illuminated rock wall behind it shimmers with a stream of water that runs down from somewhere above and down into the pool in a soft, trickling wall, next to a sitting area has been carved out of the rock to the right side of the pool. You dig out a couple of towels and a robe made of butter-soft material from a cabinet before ridding yourself of your dirty temple garb and every garment underneath it, your prized scarf folded lovingly on top of the pile before everything gets placed in a basket next to the edge of the pool. You can't bring yourself to leave the scarf somewhere out of arm's reach, and your robes are the last real thing you own.

The water is hot when you step onto the shallowest shelf, not enough to burn but definitely enough to pull a groan of satisfaction from you as you eagerly step in until you're submerged to your bare chest. Every muscle in your back begins to unclench themselves within seconds. You sink lower into the water, past your chin with a slow inhale and all the way down until your knees touch the stone floor of the pool. Everything goes quiet in a rush of water: it fills your ears and drowns out everything else but the odd bubble of warmth you've found below the water's surface. Your nerves balm themselves over for the first time since flying through the ring amid the trickling quiet. I's just you here, with no one else to drop another surprise on you. You stay submerged as long as you can before pushing back up to breach the surface with a satisfied gasp, your head clearer than it's been for days.

You wipe at your face to clear your eyes of excess water and the first thing you see is Deku hovering at the edge of the shallow bank, a towel slung low over his hips. You yelp and jump back amid a slosh of water, partially out of shock and partially to keep yourself from immediately staring at his bare torso. It isn't enough to stave off the newfound knowledge that he's built like a sprint courier and that he's very, very much naked under the towel. "Gods, you've got to quit startling me," you whimper as you swipe a wet hand over your face.

Deku laughs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. To be fair, you were underwater when I opened the door."

You grouse back, but it has no heat. He's right.

"Can I join you?"

Your playful frown turns genuine. "I thought that was understood."

"You didn't say I could come close. You're vulnerable right now. If you tell me to stay out, I will."

"You're very polite for someone who's already stripped down."

His cheeks flush bright pink. "I was hopeful," he replies in an obvious attempt to be aloof, but it doesn't quite mesh with the way he keeps jerking his gaze away from the surface of the water (and, you realize with a bolt of mortification, a clear enough view of your naked form for him to definitely see). "But I meant what I said."

The urge to test him and see what happens flashes through you, but it doesn't seem worth the effort. At the end of it all, you do want him to come closer. You step toward him, willing yourself to keep moving as the water lowers enough to expose your chest. Deku seems equally dead-set on keeping his eyes raised, your flushes a matching shade of garish pink now and getting deeper as you come within arm's reach of him and offer a hand.

"Please?"

His hesitation snaps in an instant. Deku throws the towel aside and hurtles toward the pool, only giving you barely enough time to step aside and avoid the splash of water that cascades over you. He resurfaces and shakes his hair out before turning to face you, grinning from ear to ear. "Am I dreaming? Is this really happening?"

Given your own doubts, there's only one real way to tell. You take the initiative and glide toward him in two long steps and snake your arms around his neck. As soon as you're in reach he pulls you in by the waist and kisses the air right out of your lungs. You break away for a breath, but as soon as you've gotten it he tugs you again and the kiss quickly grows sharper with edges of teeth that clack together every time one of you readjusts your head. A hand pushes into your hair to cradle the back of your head; when you tilt into the angle of his hand he presses his tongue past your lips and all bets are off.

The delicacy with which he's touched you so far is gone. Deku kisses like he's been starved of contact for years on end. You give back everything you're given with enthusiasm until you're both struggling to inhale. A dam has been broken: every bit of excitement, fear, doubt, and loneliness that's eaten at you over the years rushes forth in a tidal wave and it's all you can do to cling to him and hope you're not going to wake up in your own bed at any second.

You finally separate with a wet pop. The both of you hover close enough to brush together as you struggle to regain some composure. Deku sighs quietly, his chest still rising and falling hard enough to disturb the water around him. "So I'm not dreaming," he says quietly. "Good. I dunno if I could have handled waking up without you again."

His admission wobbles around a thread of genuine hurt that has you pulling him into a tight hug, your arms wrapped around him tight. You circle your fingernails over the backs of his shoulders in lazy circles. "You don't have to," you murmur into his ear. "We're both here now." Which, wow that's a wild truth, but it's a truth nonetheless.

Deku clings back with his face buried in the crook of your neck. A silence lapses with only trickling water to fill the gap. There's no need for either of you need to say anything: there's a wealth of communication in the reciprocal drags of his nails, the tiny ghosting pecks he leaves under your ear, the little sighs when you drag your nails up toward his neck. You're more than aware of the fact that there's something hard pressing into your lower stomach that definitely isn't his abs, but your curiosity can wait.

He doesn't seem to agree. The pecks along your throat lengthen into full kisses as he settles above the thump of your pulse. A faint drag of teeth makes you jump and he muffles a laugh into your neck. "So jumpy," he purrs.

You give him a nip to an earlobe in retaliation. He jumps on the spot as you chuckle into his ear: "Who's jumpy?"

That seems to hit a switch. You're pulled up and out of the water in one unceremonious grab as Deku hauls you over a shoulder. Your yelp echoes off the walls but he pays them no mind, spare a wet smack to your bare ass. He doesn't leave you with any other real option besides being hauled out of the spring and up the stairs once again.

His room is somewhere deep in the house. It's impossible to ascertain exactly what anything looks like while you're slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, so when he shuts the door of a bedroom warmed by a crackling floor pit it's a bit of a shock.

You fully expect to be thrown down, but instead he braces you under the knees and neck to set you on an impossibly soft blanket stretched across his bed. He steps back, a look of apprehension on his features when they come back into view. "As much as I want this," he says as your sense of gravity corrects itself. "I won't touch you unless you want me to. That was rather… abrupt, and I apologize for it."

It takes a second for you to realize why he's even apologizing. The guilt twisting across his face is what makes it click: you hadn't told him to pick you up. It's your turn to frown as you lean toward him. "I'm not mad," you offer gently. "But I appreciate your apology. It's okay. I want to be here."

Deku's apprehension ebbs, but doesn't completely disappear. "You give me your word?"

You nod without hesitation. His smile returns immediately, radiant amid the firelight, and your stomach flips with elation as he eagerly closes the distance between you.

He settles low between your spread knees, a solid weight that keeps you in place without much room to breathe, let alone think. You're dizzy with the intensity, but you kiss him back with every bit of fervor you're given. Deku groans against your flattened tongues. "Can I taste you?"

You nod without opening your eyes and the weight above you slides downward. It's definitely for the best that you hadn't watched him move: a long, hot tongue drags up your slit and draws your back up off the bed in a graceful arc. He seizes you around the waist with a muffled groan.

He takes you apart with a ferocity that's almost scary. Sharp dives of his tongue punctuate the moments he's not wrapped around your core, alternating every time your wails start to get louder or shake apart. You grip at the blanket above your head for an anchor, but abandon it in favor of the verdant curls on top of his head when a cruel twist of his tongue has you pushing nearly all the way off the bed.

His name flying past your lips mixes with a weak moan from the juncture where his face is buried. "Watch the horns," he whimpers (gods, it shouldn't be so hot to hear someone's voice crack). "But do that again."

You tighten your grip obligingly. His head pulls ever so slightly against your grip when he returns to devouring you with a newfound focus. Something thick prods past your folds and you jerk your head up in surprise, but it's a critical mistake. You're afforded a full view of him with his tongue pressed flat to your core and two thick fingers burying themselves to the thickest knuckle and it rips you right over the edge before you can even draw a breath.

He coaxes you through it, drinking you down with your thighs wedged directly over his ears. When you can finally move them away, you're almost concerned you might have hurt him. But then he sits up, his chin shining in the dim light with a wet grin planted just above it, and there's absolutely no doubt he was just as into it as you were. Your own grin edges on feral. "You gonna stop there, or are you gonna take care of yourself as well?"

Deku snorts with an edge of derision that has you shivering. "You think I'm done with you?"

Oh.

He's back in position with one sharp swoop. This time he throws either leg over his own, splaying your knees wide around his ribs. A wave of self-awareness punches you square in the gut as he drags his eyes down the length of your exposed frame. "Incredible," he breathes. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you."

You squirm, but will yourself to remain still. It's almost too much. There's so much tenderness behind the wild thrum shaking through him you're not sure how you even deserve it. Thankfully, his patience seems to run out just as your resolve to remain still snaps. He kisses you again as something thicker presses into you, drawing out a prolonged moan from both of you that breaks off when your laps settle together. "Hang on," Deku grunts hard against your lips. "N-need a second."

He's shaking under your arms where they're circled around his neck, but that could very easily also be you. "Yeah. Gods, Deku, you're-"

"Izuku."

The entire room goes still. He locks eyes with you, his own blown wide with only a ring of gold-flecked emerald left. Fear jumps across them while his throat bibs around a hard swallow. "That's my name. I just want you to have it. You don't have to give me yours."

Fear twists your heart for just a beat before it's replaced by a heavy warmth. You reach a hand up toward his face where it hovers just above yours, tentative and soft, the finger that curls his hair behind an ear ever so gentle. "Soon," you whisper back.

Izuku beams. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

Your lips crash together again, both of them curved upward around matching smiles. Izuku sets up a pace that keeps you close while still allowing him to take the lead and kiss the air out of your lungs, skin softly popping together with shallow thrusts without stopping. He has each hip in hand again with a grip that slowly increases with his breathing. Before long you're both panting into each other's ear, your head thrown back while he worries your throat with his teeth and grunts with barely restrained need.

"Won't last long," he rumbles.

You nod your acknowledgment. You've been a puddle since the second he laid you on the bed and took you apart like a prized garment. It's only fair he ends up just as boneless as you. You set your knees around his ribs to lift yourself into him, but both knees are pushed to the bed just as quickly. Izuku is watching where your bodies meet with a feverish focus. He doesn't seem entirely aware that he's got you completely splayed open but he thrusts hard and deep anyway, guttural noises punching out of him in time with the snapping of wet skin.

He finds an angle that seems to hit right up into your midsection and it's all over. He rips a wail out of you before your mouths are sealed together again, his pace unrelenting. You fall apart hard enough to make your entire frame quake under his grip, which has tightened enough to leave deep bruises where his fingers dig into your thighs. Just when it feels like you might actually have to tap out or risk going unconscious he thrusts in one more time with a sharp growl, then another, then a final one deep in his chest as he rolls himself into your hips and finally paints your insides white hot.

You're both trembling like leaves when he finally collapses on top of you again. You run your nails through the damp curls over his temples as he returns the favor along your hips, idle and tender despite the harsh bruises you can feel blooming along your inner thighs. Your breathing comes back slowly as you lazily kiss through the aftershocks, hands never ceasing in their wandering. It's a perfect feedback loop of calm and relief with only the fire to witness in the otherwise empty house.

As your breathing returns to normal you nudge Izuku up enough to meet his eyes. They've gone back to their normal emerald, the flicker of the fire catching hair-thin veins of gold. With the curved points of his horns looming overhead and flush-kissed shamrock skin, he should be some kind of intimidating. Instead, you can't stop staring at him. He's ethereal, more so than anything you've ever seen in any tome or heard in any story. He's real. He's flesh and bone and big, soft eyes and a heart entirely too warm for a creature who could take down minotaurs bare-handed.

And yet he looks at you like you're made of Faerie porcelain.

The corners of your mouth curl upward. You beckon for him to lean forward again and he does so, seemingly as transfixed as you. You pull him down so your lips can brush the shell of his ear and, after a ghosting kiss to his cheek, you whisper your name.

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku imagines #bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha server collab #citrus dome collabs #my fics

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a-tale-of-legends · 3 years ago

Text

I'm thinking about how some of the main story lines of the main series pokemon games have, specifically the ones that fall flat to me.

For example, in FireRed/LeafGreen the story is very simple and while I don't personally find joy in playing through the games, it does it job right as an introduction of this world.

Hgss( or just the Johto games in general) the story is a continuation of what happened in FRLG. And that's fine! Great actually! But my problem is how some things could have been done better. Story wise, gameplay is a different story. In hgss , team rocket is having a revival and their end goal is to call Giovanni through the radio tower and regain power. And in my personal opinion, that just make team rocket look like a joke, cause there entire operation depends on one man. Maybe that was the point, but for the player character to try and stop something that the police should have been actively trying to stop already is very silly to me( though can you really trust the police of this world after all the shit that happens every year or so? Probably not). Not to mention the whole side plot with Suicune and the box legendary and how it's so disconnected to the main plot, when I feel it could have been connected somehow. Silvers arc is very good, but I feel like the revelation that he's Giovanni's son should come in main game ( like the mid-end), and not in a fucking event that doesn't exist anymore. Makes his hatred to Team Rocket more personal that that they're just weak. I have a few ideas on how the hgss plot could go with changes but that's a different post. Oh!

I wasn't expecting to enjoy Emerald as much as I did, but I did and it was so fun. I liked how at the end of the day, it was Rayquaza that saved the day, not the player. The characters that were important to the plot really filled their purpose. Though I will say, the evil teams reasoning could have been better, and Steven/Wallace honestly didn't do much other than a few battles( though that's still better than Cynthia). In my own timeline for my oc's, I want Oras and Emerald to be mixed a bit, which is gonna take a lot of planning and drafts from me, but that's for future me to worry about.

Dppt. Platinum specifically. The story is very straightforward, just like the past 3 games before it, and the characters are fun in their own right. I should just say it now that a good story doesn't have to be thought provoking, or a grand masterpiece. Simple stories are fun, and that's why I like Emerald and Platinum so much. The "problem" with platinum is just a few characters fall flat/ could have been expanded upon. Cyrus is a really interesting character and it would have been nice to understand him more other then the emotion thing. Cynthia *sighs* is such a disappointment as a character. I love her, I do, but she does LITERALLY NOTHING. Yes she gives some exposition, but she's, like, the champion! One of the strongest at that! Steven falls into the game category of letting the player do literally everything, but he is shown to be fighting the main evil team at. least once. Cynthia does nothing. And that's sad. She's so cool. And it's even sadder when you realize that's a trend among female characters in this franchise but that's a different topic for a different day. But other than that, the simplicity of Platinum is fine, in my personal opinion.

BW and B2W2 kinda caused a shift in the story telling of pokemon. The story was darker, the villain was more evil, the characters were just *chef kiss*. I will admit that I am biased towards these games, if that wasn't obvious enough from my ocs, so I have very little criticism. Not saying that criticism can't be made, and it should, but I can't think of anything other than the female character thing. Iris, I love you, but you too did nothing in B2W2 as Champion. I'm only excusing you cause your a literal child. Bianca is fine and deserves more love but I wish people would stop demeaning her( though I guess that was part of her growth)

XY! I used to hate it before doing a nuzlocke and now I'm just disappointed. In terms of story premise, it was good. Like really good. But in terms of execution, Arcues this was terrible. In my experience with the game, the way the game presented itself was so lack- luster, I felt like I was doing a chore than playing a game( the game was much more entertaining as a nuzlocke, but it still felt like a drag at times). The characters, I believe, where the greatest offender to this. There is very little for me, the player, to care about the rivals, let alone call them rivals, and some things feel so left-field and shoehorned in. Calem/Serena calling the player their friend near the end of the game when their was no proper build up to it? Shauna saying she's friends with Clemont and thus knows how to unlock a security door. The other two noy contributing to anything and just feeling like a waste of space. And is it just me, or was their supposed to be some sort of conflict between our "friend" group and just lead to nowhere, only to resolve itself??? Is it just me??? Diantha only appears twice before her battle, has a member of the evil team member as her elite four( who gets away just fine?????), and just does nothing. This, I feel, is the worst offender of badly written female characters in this franchise. Dear Arcues. I guess Lysander was interesting? Not really. This whole game is a mess.

SM/USUM, despite my grips with a few directional choices, are very good games. This post is getting long, so I won't go into it.

Same goes to SwSh. It's like XY, in that the plot idea was really good, but it feel flat. It's saving grace, at least to me, where the characters. And, well, the fandom just throwing out headcanons left and right, but that's a fanon thing, not a canon thing.

Okay that's all, and thank you for listening to my Ted Talk. Also female pokemon characters deserve better. And simple plot does not equal bad writing, unless the execution suck. Okay bye

#pokemon #pokemon storyline #i'm not tagging all of those games no way #its 4 in the morning #i'm not going through that

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kitkatopinions · 3 years ago

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(Rabbithole Anon) Y'know, I was going to send in an ask about just they could have made a compelling way to show how some people may have become hunters through pressure rather than an age excuse if they wanted to say some people weren't ready (joining to protect a friend who wanted to be one, wanting to travel for a variety of reasons, it being a general expectation but the person being hesitant) but it led to me wondering wait, would certain careers require a hunting lisence?

Okay, I love this rabbit hole. XD It illustrates a couple of RWBY problems here and it's the fact that they often are lacking in the character development/character journey department, and that they're often lacking in the world building department.

We actually have plenty of characters that can serve as examples for people who maybe should've thought twice about entering the Academy (when they did.) There are people who entered the Academy for the wrong reasons/not noble reasons, people who entered the Academy during a time they might not have been ready, and people who would be full on dangerous with a Hunter badge, and most of our mains fall under one of these categories (though mostly the first two.)

Ruby - Two years below the standard age of her class. Whether or not she was at the skill level of a first year (she was,) and whether or not she'd received special training from Qrow (she had,) Ruby was still essentially a kid, and her mind and body both hadn't developed completely. Ruby should have been traumatized after the Fall of Beacon and been allowed to show that more as a character, she should've had straight up PTSD, she should've been allowed to have emotion in Volume 4 than Jaune's sidekick who makes sad eyes when she sees him grieving. Weiss - Her main motivation for joining Beacon was to reclaim her family legacy. Yes, her desire was to reclaim it and use it for good, but it was still arguably more about personal and familial glory. On top of that, Weiss has been blatantly anti Faunus and has never so much as addressed that. Weiss's character journey should have reflected more personal growth, and either her unlearning much of her Faunus racism and clearly changing priorities from her name and family legacy and onto the actual people in need, or her flaws should've led her into being more of a morally gray character who displays her selfishness and pride (in a way that's actually addressed and treated like a flaw.) Yang - She expresses admiration for people like Ruby who want to help people and be kind, but her main point in becoming a Huntress was getting thrills and going where the wind takes her. She didn't join Beacon for any sort of serious purpose, and even when she rejoined Team RWBY in volume five, it was to be with her sister and not because of her own morals (not that I think she's lacking in morals, just that her main motive was different.) This could lead to her having to figure out a lot of what she actually wants, being unsatisfied with being a Huntress in Atlas, being in over her head when things get serious, being more mentally exhausted than the others after long days, etc. Jaune - Wasn't ready to enter Beacon. Idk if he just wasn't allowed to go to a lesser combat school like Signal or if he flunked out, but he wasn't up to scratch to get into Beacon and cheated his way in. On top of that, he lacked in the emotional maturity department as well when he entered. Jaune was a little more invested in his own appearance than Ruby was, but still seemed to have similar good reasons for wanting to be a Hunter. And he did grow a lot. But he was much less prepared, skilled, or equipped to deal with the training or the career and it's a miracle he didn't die in the initiation. Granted, Jaune was handled arguably better than anyone else, since a lot of this was addressed, but these days it feels like it isn't actually playing a part in his character anymore that he's way below the people around him, and I feel like it should still be impacting him. Penny: Honestly, Penny seemed very newly born during the Beacon Arc. She might have been combat ready, but she also started spilling secrets to the first person who was a little bit nice to her, and was clearly naïve and childlike. Imagine if it had been Emerald that had befriended Penny instead of Ruby. Penny dying and then getting resurrected should've been deeply traumatizing for her and it should've made her undergo some major changes and been treated with importance in the show. Qrow: Literally wanted to be a Hunter in the first place to try and learn how to murder Huntsmen. He might have changed later and it’s not exactly relevant, but he arguably shouldn't have joined when he did either. Meanwhile, Nora's just one big mystery, because we don't know why she joined, and Ren likely joined for good reasons, but neither of them have ever actually talked about their motivations. The only character we can safely say joined for noble reasons and who was up to scratch and ready when she entered is Blake, who also had good reason to not fully trust the system she was working with, so there could've been complications and character interest there as well.

Please don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean I don't think the others should've been in school, I love that they were! I just think the writers should've explored the various ways they might've been not fully ready, not completely well suited to the job they took. The characters are allowed to be flawed and to flounder and it'd make them more full, nuanced characters imo.

On top of that, we have other Hunters to look to as well, outside of our main cast. Cardin, for example, was a terrible person, still in school and already abusing what little power he had to target a member of an oppressed minority group and blackmail other kids into doing his bidding, while plotting revenge on someone for correcting him on his anti-Faunus answer to a question. People like him should not be Hunters, and he was arguably our first sign (of many signs) that the position of Hunter can and will be taken advantage of and misused by bad people. And although the After the Fall/Before the Dawn books aren't canon, while reading BTD (I haven't finished it yet,) Coco and all her team members but Velvet also struck me as people I wouldn't want to be Hunters and wouldn't want to wield any sort of power. Coco is proudly described by one of her friends as sadistic, lets her unfounded opinions of people cloud her judgement, shows respect and admiration towards criminals, and enjoys her classmates being afraid of her. Fox is self-described as sadistic as well and is a bully who tried to use a classmate's phobia against them in a brute-like interrogation. And Yatsuhashi is leagues above the two of them, but also bullied Neptune despite saying the words 'I don't want to be a bully' and threatened him.

There are so many ways the writers could've explored people who went to Beacon too soon, weren't ready, or entered for the wrong reasons. Instead, outside of one conversation in season two about the girls’ motivations and Ren exploding that Jaune cheated his way into Beacon all the way in season eight, it seems like the only take away we're supposed to get is 'all these kids are officially the thing they wanted to be in the beginning and they're all amazing at it, woo!' No acknowledgement of the fact that they could use higher education still, that some of them are still immature or naïve, that some of them are still below the combat level they should be in, that some of them kinda haven't done super well since they left Beacon (cough Ruby cough.) It's all just... Flat, lackluster. And meanwhile, characters like Cardin were written out of the show easily. We've had plenty of examples of corruption in the Hunter business, but the show hasn't paid any attention to that and still is treating being a Hunter like the only true noble goal and the only good and non-corruptible way to defend people, despite the fact that it clearly isn’t. Being a Huntress is not better or safer or more noble in-universe than being an Atlas soldier/Ace Op/Atlas hunter. I’m not saying that all of this needed to be featured, but exploring the differences in motivation and how the Hunter lifestyle affected the various mains could really flesh out their characters. Instead, by the time everyone is heading to Atlas in volume six, they all pretty much have the same reactions to everything and the same motivations and the same beliefs. The rare deviation - like Ren in volume seven and eight - is treated as bad and a mistake that must be rectified, rather than... A natural consequence of the group being full of different people with different upbringings and different motivations that result in different opinions. That sort of thing is only ever explored as a problem that makes someone lacking, and it’s really weird and it makes the show feel... Juvenile, and lacking in nuance or depth when it comes to the characters, which is a really big shame, since the characters have a huge amount of potential and exploring the differences between them and their reactions to being in way over their heads would be - I think - the natural place to take their characters? Especially because so far their storyline has been... Not the highlight of the show.

But, as for how semblances and Hunters should impact the world building, there’s a lot to say about that! They don’t explore a lot in RWBY outside of what’s relevant to the mains, leaving the world building feeling flat and like the world itself doesn’t matter much. RWBY often feels more like a video game world than anything else, which I believe @why-i-hate-rwby-now has pointed out, so credit to them for helping me realize it. There’s one large location per continent and a couple small villages where they only really talk to a town leader and village blacksmith, or encounter a fight, relevant NPCs and characters only going to certain locations that can further the plot, characters only mattering through the ways they interact with the protagonists and seemingly getting benched with nothing to do if they aren’t currently plot relevant, health bars that can be monitored over scrolls, every weapon and semblance has a name even if that name isn’t ever mentioned in show or might not really make a lot of sense, frequently encountered enemies of various threat levels who the characters can plow down without remorse because they’re not sentient or don’t have souls... The list goes on. But one of the ways that it feels very video gamey is that the magical powers actually don’t seem to impact the world.

We know people can have auras even if they don’t have semblances (Mercury, Torchwick, Watts,) and we know lots of even grown people don’t have auras (the citizens of Mantle in danger of dying of cold while our aura having mains aren’t,) but also that auras can be unlocked, by well trained seventeen year olds (Pyrrha,) and we also know that semblances can be unlocked from a very young age due to trauma (Ren, Neptune in EU) but some people are born with their semblances (Qrow and notably Blake use language suggesting they were born with their semblances,) and some semblances are passed down or hereditary (the Schnees.) Semblances can be passive (Qrow, Clover, Ironwood in word of author,) and uncontrollable, or active (almost everyone else,) and some semblances have carried personal negative effects like in the case of Qrow who was even named for being bad luck and Robyn who said people were on edge with her because she can sus out the truth via skin contact when she wants to. Also Mercury’s father was able to somehow take away his semblance.

That’s... Pretty much the extent of our knowledge and it doesn’t tell us much. What RWBY does is give each character abilities that make them iconic and different from each other as fighters, with a shield function that wears down slowly to explain how they can take certain hits and keep going while also allowing them to eventually suffer higher damage when that shield wears down. They had a character get this shield ability unlocked to explain the existence and function of it, and featured some characters who didn’t have the super powered abilities like Roman, an early enemy meant to herald in new, harder enemies who are more plot relevant, and Mercury, who makes up for it by having higher speed and functions exclusive to him through his prosthetics. And then they seemingly built a regular world unaffected by these powers. It sounds like a video game. Civilians just don’t have this power or the shield because they act as non-playable characters. In a way, it almost makes sense to me in conception, because when RWBY was originally created, it was high on visual appeal, fight choreography, and character design. The plot elements were small and the character stories seemed to be pretty simple, the only real complication to this being the White Fang plot, which has always been a major blight in RWBY. But one of the reasons why this video-game feel kinda worked at the start of RWBY was because the story and characters weren’t meant to be the focus of the story, so although the world building at the start was definitely lacking, the audience knew that things like auras and semblances were meant to hype up and add interest to the main highlights of the show: Design and fight choreography. At least that’s what I assume. But in volume three, they started to lay the groundwork for more, bigger plots, more focus on the story, the characters journeying to the outside world, undergoing personal arcs, and that’s what V4 and onward started focusing on.

To be clear, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I started really liking RWBY for its potential and concepts after getting through the first couple episodes of V1, but I actually really enjoyed quite a bit of V4 and V5 even though the design drastically changed and the fighting had gone way down in quality because I found some of the new focus on characters and the plot to be compelling, interesting, or to also have a lot of potential (though I was let down over and over in regards to pay off later.) However, with the new focus on the characters and storyline rather than design and fight choreography, they really needed to do some legwork on fixing the aura and semblance systems and paying attention to world building and making sure the world felt well put together, nuanced, and real. And I don’t feel like they ever did that.

Why is Pyrrha able to unlock auras? Well, because the writers wanted to explain the concept of auras and used Jaune - the unprepared - to do it. But now, auras are actually an important part of the story - for example, the people of Mantle don’t have unlocked auras, so will die of cold, but it doesn’t affect our heroes because they do have unlocked auras. So who can unlock auras? Is it a learned skill or is it hereditary? If it’s a learned skill, why isn’t everyone eager to learn it especially in places where it’s life or death if they don’t like in Atlas? If it’s a hereditary skill, why aren’t the people who have that skill put on a pedestal and being pressured into using that skill to save civilians in places where having an aura is the difference between life and death? In either case, why aren’t there people who professionally unlock auras? Why aren’t they on the pay roll in Atlas and Mantle? If it’s a skill that all powerful hunters have, why aren’t our heroes (who we’re supposed to think are now more powerful than Atlas’s best) unlocking auras for dying children in Mantle? Why don’t specialists and longtime fighters with Qrow, Winter, Robyn, Maria, or James have this ability if it comes with skill, time, or talent?

Why are semblances unlocking or morphing in times of trauma so rare? Why didn’t the Fall of Beacon unlock loads of new semblances and new semblance abilities? Why didn’t Ruby get a new semblance upgrade when she saw Weiss getting stabbed? Why didn’t Weiss unlock a new semblance ability when her plane was crashing? Why didn’t Pilot Boi unlock his semblance during the same occasion? Why is it that Jaune didn’t get a semblance upgrade when the light bridges were disappearing? Why didn’t Blake get a semblance upgrade when Yang fell into the void? Why did Ren get a semblance upgrade because he was upset while with the Ace Ops after Oscar got captured, but Nora doesn’t get an upgrade while she’s electrocuting herself? If semblances sometimes unlock in times of truama, why is it that some characters like Oscar and Torchwick and Jaune pre-V5 who we know have encountered lots of trauma just still don’t get semblances? If you can train your semblance into upgrading, why is it that we don’t see long time hunters and fighters unlock more semblance abilities, like Qrow, Winter, Robyn, Maria, or James? It just doesn’t make any sense! And I get that stories always have things happening just because the writers want it, but in RWBY, the hand of the creator is so obvious that it’s ridiculous.

And then there are other questions. Do people avoid bad labor practices out of fear of causing a semblance awakening? Well, from what we see of the SDC, the answer is no. So why not? Why weren’t they worried about an uprising? Work rights becomes a lot trickier when you have to add in tons of qualifiers. Maybe it’s illegal to use a semblance at work, but the SDC also has a history of child workers like Adam who can’t always control it (like Neptune couldn’t control his,) so are there laws protecting child laborers? Perhaps not, since you know, they were already child laborers, so were already suffering unchecked. Are there laws forbidding the use of semblances in government buildings, non-combat driven schools, or parks and libraries? And meanwhile, how would any of this apply to people with a passive semblance? How do you figure out that someone has a passive semblance? How do people know if they’re born with a semblance? Are there people that spend their whole lives having semblances that never get discovered? Do people have semblance detection... Semblances, that they get paid to use or do so out of charity? Did the Schnees rise to power due to their powerful and hereditary semblance, perhaps? Are people discriminated against if they don’t have semblances or pressured to become Hunters if they discover they do have semblances? Shouldn’t civilians in Mantle and Atlas be joining combat schools in droves in the hopes of unlocking an aura so they can better survive? And shouldn’t there be discrimination against people with certain semblances? Outside of Robyn saying she’s personally experienced mistrust, and Qrow’s self-hatred, we don’t see any real prejudice against certain semblance types, or for that matter, any praise or extra significance pointed to certain other semblance types. It would go a long ways towards world building if there were things like people having to divulge their semblance or lack thereof before entering Beacon, or for people to have to register a semblance evolution, or for Emerald to have lied about her semblance because “everyone knows illusion semblances automatically draw suspicion,” or for Qrow to comment that he’d never seen Clover in a Vytal Tournament, only for Clover to say his semblance was deemed ‘cheating’ back when he was in school so he hadn’t qualified. And on the flip side, you could have things like semblances being judged as better and more powerful based on how useful it might be, Pyrrha keeping her semblance on the DL because it’ll just bring more unwanted admiration on her, Sun keeping his own semblance on the DL too because it always make people put a lot of expectations on him, while Neptune’s semblance leaks and he deals with people treating him like he’s selfish and cruel for not wanting to use his own “gift of a semblance.” And people like Jaune could be bullied extra because he doesn’t have his semblance yet, and people in the stands at the Vytal Tournament could be chatting about “when are they gonna pull out their semblances?” and get annoyed and pouty when people don’t. To be fair, we do get things like Mercury’s father having declared his semblance a crutch, but... Still. why isn’t there more of this?

And we see the need for Hunter protection in villages like Kuroyuri and the village that Team RNJR stops to help on the way to Mistral. Small villages outside of the four kingdoms fall to Grimm, or are in danger of falling to Grimm. Ships get attacked by large and dangerous Grimm, we see (corrupt) Hunters on the train to Argus, accompanying for safety, and we see that with a rise of Grimm activity in Mantle, Hunters are dispatched to help kids travel to school. In a world like RWBY, fighting is essential for survival outside of the Kingdoms, and became very essential in the kingdoms as well once schools started going down. You’d assume there should be Hunters accompanying everyone traveling outside of the Kingdoms, resident Hunters living in villages outside the Kingdoms as their on-hand protectors (and more than one Hunters seems to be needed.) Hunters also could be extra protection for anything that’s definitely going to increase negativity, like hiring Hunters to bodyguard funerals seems like something that could be normal in the world of Remnant, and for visiting graveyards (we see Ruby get attacked by tons of Grimm when she visited Summer’s grave in the red trailer.) On top of that, celebrities and rich people hiring Hunters seems like it’d become pretty common. But all that we see outside of Dee and Dudley are traveling Hunters stopping to help people out of the goodness of their heart while they go place to place, and Kingdom Hunters who are assigned to things like border control, clearing out Grimm near or in the Kingdoms, and things like that. What we see is a Kingdom-centered morality complex our protagonists are one hundred percent invested in, Hunters are Kingdom driven and anything outside of that is a kindness, a job they can take or leave in passing. And on top of that, it seems like there aren’t a lot of people in the Hunter profession, and I feel like there should definitely be more. There are people like Jaune who didn’t make the cut but accepted that, we can only assume that there are drop outs too, so like... How many kids are there actually in a year at Beacon? I mean, look at where the Relics were found in the forest during initiation at Beacon.

This gives us a rough idea of how many people are in each year at Beacon. Assuming everyone graduates school and there’s no drop outs and no deaths, that’s a graduating class of twenty. That’s a very small number, comparatively. The job of a Hunter is dangerous. We know of Hunters that died (Summer, Pyrrha, Amber.) We know a lot of Hunters that have other jobs that take a lot of their time (Glynda, Ozpin, Robyn,) and lots of people who quit being Hunters too (Maria, Tai, Raven,) and Hunters who aren’t always on the field like Qrow who was a teacher for a stretch and acted as Ozpin’s spy, the Ace Ops who became part of Ironwood’s inner circle and therefore had a bigger picture, and even all of Team RWBYJNR, who got their Hunter licenses but are also more concerned with bigger picture stuff (if you don’t believe me just look at volume eight where JRY stopped defending Mantle to go rescue Oscar, and Team RWBN + Penny, who were involved in big picture stuff like launching Amity and then saving Penny the Maiden/their friend.) So out of a class of twenty, how many of them are even staying on the field? For a show pushing the narrative that Hunters are the ultimate saviors who are the only true good defense for the world, that condemns even the notion of an army... Like they villainized sending Team FNKI onto the battlefield while also treating it like proof of Ironwood’s evil when he didn’t want to stay and fight when Team RWBY said to, and also made Ironwood’s desire to move into having a robotic army to get soldiers off of the battlefield part of his... Over reliance on machinery, which is full on suspicious considering their ableism towards Ironwood and the fact that he literally has to rely on machinery, but that’s a topic for a different post and this one is already so long. But yeah, my point is that we’re meant to see the army as bad. So if we’re meant to see Hunters as the only true and pure form of defense (which is already off because we know it’s corrupted,) there ought to be way more people in the Hunter field.

As for the schools, we only know of a couple of schools that exist outside of RWBY as combat schools that seem to act as basic training before people go to Beacon. We know of Signal, the school Ruby and Yang went to that Qrow was a teacher at for awhile (I have lots of teacher Qrow headcanons, but sadly Qrow being a teacher wasn’t very well explored,) and we also know of Sanctum in Mistral and (in the EU) Oscuro in Vacuo, presumably one of these existing in Atlas as well. I personally headcanon that there are a lot of these smaller combat schools littering the whole of Remnant (but then again, I also headcanon that the Kingdoms of Remnant are bigger than just one very large city, lol) and that a lot of people attend these schools even if they don’t go on to join one of the Hunter Academies, but this isn’t necessarily supported by canon, I think. But as for other schools...I think it’s fair to assume that there are at least elementary schools, since everyone can read, write, and presumably do basic math, and what we do know is that Ilia went to a prep school in Atlas (which was info dropped in Blake’s pre-V5 trailer, not even stated in the show proper,) so we can probably safely say that people who don’t go to the Huntsman academies go to some form of high school, but you’re right that we don’t see this actually in action. I personally always headcanon that Whitley had a tutor, since Jacques wanted to avoid too much outside influence.

I am so sorry that this response got so away from me and I myself got into so many rabbit holes as well. XD I just have a lot to say about the world building in RWBY (or sometimes lack thereof.) Although I admit that I’m not as into or as good at analyzing as blogs like why-i-hate-rwby-now, but yeah, this is... A very long post. Sorry!

#rwde #anti rwby #rwby bashing #rwby hate #this post includes some #pro ironwood #pro james ironwood #also it's not like I've done a lot of extensive research so please be kind #if I missed something #IW antis please leave me alone

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friendofhayley · 4 years ago

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Hooray for all content creators in all fandoms! Y’all make the world go round! This is April’s round-up of fics I read and recommend from multiple fandoms. This fic rec includes 9 fics from the Teen Wolf, Harry Potter, and One Direction fandoms!

Drarry (Harry Potter)

1. Nero su bianco by @zuzallove | oblivious boys in love - we get to see what Draco could have been thinking during 7th year Hogwarts - lots of drama, if you’re into it - Narcissa knows all and is great - 40k

September 1997. Hogwarts is under the regime of Voldemort and the Carrows. Finding himself alienated by both his friends and his supposed enemies, Draco puts quill to parchment, and writes letters. He addresses them to the only person he can think of, as Hogwarts rapidly falls into chaos and ruin: Harry Potter. He goes to great lengths to ensure the letters are never discovered, and he’s pretty certain he’s done a great job.

Until the day of his trial.

2. What’s Eating Draco Malfoy? by @actual-howlinglikeaseaturtle | this is a re-read so it’s v v good - cw eating disorder, suicide ideation, alcoholism - Ginny & Draco being friends is just so special to me - also everything is handled very well - 75k

"Tragedy struck today when Anorexia Nervosa claimed a young boy's life," he spoke loudly. "Very sad. He will be missed by one person, maybe two. Awful. Now to the weather with Carl!"

Ginny could not help herself; she burst out laughing. She didn't know what was more absurd. The way Malfoy joked about his own death or the fact that he had watched muggle TV. Muggle news even.

"You're a bloody lunatic!" she snorted, and Malfoy's smile widened.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

3. Exactly Like You by Jerakeen | Pride and Prejudice AU whoo whoo!! - werewolves are known - stereotypical A/B/O - but everything else is the same except Scott leaves town with Derek after S1 - 70k

“It was Jackson’s idea,” Lydia explains, looking perfectly serious while standing in front of a March Madness bracket of Beacon Hills’ eligible bachelors.

Jackson looks smug. “It only makes sense.”

Stiles meets Isaac’s eyes over the heads of all the crazy people in the room. Isaac shrugs with a slight wince. “’Tis the season.”

4. But Then What... by Stoney | Derek is the same age as Stiles! - I just love how they’re written like real (horny) teenagers - they’re just so bad at communication - also Jackson is a Jackass - 24k

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

5. We’ll be Better Around the Second Time by @jordansaysno | I don’t know about y’all but this hits my wish fulfillment for running away from home in high school - side Isaac/Scott which is very cool - Stiles deserved better tbh - happy ending - 26k

It's been months. Months of fading contact with the pack. Months of the silent treatment from his father. Months of nothing but himself and the occasional lesson with Deaton to entertain him.

It's too much, and eventually, Stiles leaves.

For years, everything goes great, until of course his dad gets injured, and he is suddenly forced to deal with people he thought he left behind in his past for good.

6. Fireman Derek’s Crazy Pie [Cheeseburger Baby] by @thegloryof | this is such a classic and what I turn to when I’m really craving pie - NYC fic - some parts are just delicious to read (and not just for the food porn) - misunderstandings - 17k

“He can't blame me for the fact that I live in a building full of people united in the singular effort to ogle Hot Fireman as often as humanly possible."

Laura laughs, loud and echoing in the empty restaurant. "Hot firemen can make a girl do crazy things," she agrees, nodding towards her brother's name on the menu. "Derek won't let me date anyone from his company, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the eye candy."

"Send them my way," Stiles suggests, finally loading up a forkful of pie. "Apparently I'm incompetent enough that I need to be babysat at all times, because it would be cheaper than dispatching a truck every time I try to use a kitchen appliance."

7. Don’t Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8 | another classic fic that’s also hot - cw: Derek thinks Stiles can’t consent - werewolves are known - the jailhouse scene is constantly replaying in my head - 30k

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

Larry (One Direction)

8. take my hand (and my heart and soul) by @anylessreal | aaaaaa this was so good! - just so much misunderstandings, but it’s so cool that the audience/Harry don’t know what’s going on too! - amnesia - friends to strangers to lovers - 45k

Harry feels nauseous when he opens his mouth. "Hey. Um, hi. It's me," he mumbles before realizing with a jolt that Louis might not have his number anymore. "It's Harry... Styles," he tacks on, screwing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was a terrible idea.

There's silence on the other end for a long time. Harry understands. He shouldn't have called. He tries not to let the static swallow him whole.

"I – yeah. Hi," Louis finally answers, slowly, awkwardly. "I um. Sorry. I heard about your accident. You're alright?"

9. thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in by @absoloutenonsense | this was another re-read!! - traditional A/B/O - misunderstandings due to past abuse (not done by the boys) - get ready for some high/low emotions - 52k

Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

#sterek #hlsource #drarry #multifandom fic rec #monthly fic rec

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

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95. you just witnessed me kill a guy and I have a really, really good reason for it, please don’t call the cops

Sternclay as a super/vigilante au? sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! This is NSFW

Content note: this fic contains mentions of murder, serial killers, knives. Brief description of a porn scene with implied dub-con (you can skip from the part where Barclay sees the TV to the next section break). But I included lots of fluff to balance it out.

This is the best hook-up Barclays had in years. Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome has done nothing but compliment him all night, from the fit of his shirt down to his kissing skills. So now that he’s facedown on the bed in this guys brownstone wearing only his boxers, he’s so excited he can barely think.

“Almost ready” a shcck of blinds dropping, “I just need to grab one more thing. Then the fun can start.”

“Can’t wait.” He sighs, shuts his eyes as his date moves across the room. Then the movement stops.

“Who the fu-”

Horrible, sticky warmth spatters the side of his face. Startled, he opens his eyes in time to watch his date fall to the floor, dead. Behind him is a figure in dark clothes with a tactical mask covering his face and a gun with a silencer in his right hand. A figure who has just noticed Barclay is awake.

In five swift, purposeful steps he’s at the bed, and Barclay doesn’t know what to do, whether to bolt for the window or knock the gun away or beg or, or or-

“Are you alright, sir?” The voice coming from the mask is calm and businesslike.

“.........what do you think?” Is the reply his useless brain comes up with.

“You look like you’re in shock. Which is understandable.” A gloved hand touches his face, “shit, I’m sorry, I was hoping none of it would get on you. Here, hold still.” He rifles through a pocket while Barclay’s mind drifts further from his body. Why isn’t he just killing him now? Is this part of some sick game?

“Turn your face this way just a bit” the back of his hand nudges Barclay’s chin, “good, thank you. I’m going to get you cleaned up, once that’s done I need to ask you to stay here until I’m finished cleaning up the scene. And also to not call the authorities for help when I’m out of the room.”

“Why?” Nope, okay, that’s it, that’s the reply that gets him shot.

“For one, you’re not in any danger from me. You were in danger from the now-deceased Mr. Martin, which is why I killed him.”

“I, uh, h-how can you be sure?”

“Let me show you” he helps Barclay up, guides him to the body, “you don’t need to look at him, just at that.”

He’s pointing to the boning knife clutched in the man’s hand. Barclay’s guts turn to sour milk.

“M-maybe he picked that up when he saw you?”

The killer shakes his head, gently guides Barclay back to the bed and, after a moment of studying the nightstand, pulls out the bottom drawer. It contains two more knives, duck tape, pliers, and seven, severed human thumbs.

“Oh fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck?” He whispers as the man closes the drawer.

“Mr. Martin is the Bear Butcher. I doubt you’ve heard of him, because that’s the name the authorities use among themselves while insisting that there’s no need to warn the public about him. He’s killed seven men, all gay and all on the bigger side; you would have been number eight.”

“I’m gonna be sick” He tips forward, feels gloved hands catch him and easily half-drag him into what turns out to be the bathroom.

“Wait here and do what you need to. I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, less if I can manage it. And, um, you might want to keep your eyes closed.”

Barclay has no problem with that order, though when the killer (his hero?) moves the body into the tub he discovers both the reason for the warning and that he does indeed have more in his stomach to throw up.

After an eternity of iron and bleach in the air and bile on his tongue, he’s helped back into the bedroom. The man hands him his clothes, turning his back as he dresses. He’s changed too, though the mask remains.

“I, I didn’t bring my car.” Barclay says weakly, knowing he won’t have the energy to walk home and the thought of getting in a cab or rideshare sets his nerves screaming.

“I assumed, since he wouldn’t want it being abandoned to lead to someone calling you in missing. If you’re okay with it, I can give you a ride home.”

Barclay nods. The man ushers him out the front door, pausing at the threshold for a final sweep. Then he pulls off his mask. Black hair sticks up until he smooths it back in a practiced motion, and blue eyes regard Barclay gently from a handsome face.

“It’s the Altima, right on the corner.” He says, folding the mask and tucking it into his pocket. Barclay gives his address, sits stiffly in the passenger seat as a pop station plays from the speakers.

“Do you want to change the station?”

“No” Barclay inhales fine, but the exhale comes out shaky, “jesus, how are you so calm?”

“Because if I’m trying to help you stay calm, I need to model the behavior. And, um, this isn’t my first time doing this, in case that wasn’t obvious. I’ve never had a witness before, for all the usual reasons and I’d prefer not to traumatize someone. But he went off his pattern and picked you up tonight, and I was not about to let him claim another victim.”

“Thank you.” Barclay doesn’t know what else to say. His adrenaline brain suggests propositioning the man in gratitude because it’s not everyday a hot mystery man saves your life. But the rest of him is well aware that if anyone touched him right now he might scream.

“It’s my job. Or it’s supposed to be.”

His curiosity peeks out from where it’s been hiding behind his sense of self-preservation, “What’s your name? Or can you not tell me?”

“It’s Joseph.”

“Barclay.”

“I wish we’d met under better circumstances, Barclay. Oh, here we are.” He parks the car, engine still running, “do you want me to wait until you’re inside to go?”

It should feel safe; it’s his apartment, his home above Amnesty’s new location, Mama’s own little house just out in the backyard. But his hand can’t make the fucking door handle go.

“Would, uh, would you mind coming up with me? Just, just for a few minutes?”

The man raises his eyebrows, but nods. Soon he’s standing in Barclays little kitchen, hands folded politely behind his back while Barclay tries and fails to start tea.

“If you want to just point to where things are, I can do that for you. You should eat something too, if your stomach’s settled.”

Barclay declines at first, but when his stomach growls Joseph moves through the kitchen--making distracting small talk all the while--not stopping until he’s assembled a plate of crackers, cheese and apples.

“Ooh, you got the good stuff.” He steals a piece for himself while Barclay nibbles a Triscuit

“Kinda a cheese snob; comes with the job.”

They talk about food and food writing until his plate is clear, at which point Joseph suggests he get ready for bed. Without being asked, he stays by the door as Barclay finishes getting changed and brushing his teeth.

“I, uh, I’m not really sure how to, uh, end this night.”

Joseph cups his cheek, “Lock the doors behind me. You don’t need to worry about anything else; you don’t owe me a thing. You’re safe. That’s what matters.” He smiles at him for the last time and heads out into the early morning light.

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

“Hey big fella, you’ll never guess who put in an order.” Mama clips up the slip from the table she’s working; Amnesty has been busy in the week since they opened here, so much so that she’s had to help with the crowds.

“Who?” Barclay flips the pancakes he’s watching, checks the bacons for tables 15 and 9.

“Your late night visitor.” Mama winks.

He turns, spots Joseph at the far end of the counter. He’s in a black suit, blue tie setting off his eyes, and his hair is fully slicked back. On his chest is a badge identifying him as working at the nearby FBI offices. He’s clearly as surprised to see Barclay as Barclay is to see him. He’s less surprised that Mama saw him leaving; she gets up early and her window faces his back stairs

“Hold on” Mama nudges him, “did he give you trouble? Because you look pretty off.”

“No, no, just, uh, didn’t expect to see him again.”

Joseph orders hash and poached eggs, and when Barclay sends the order out, he hands Dani a slice of cherry pie to go along with it. He peeks over his shoulder; Joseph is looking at the free dessert, smiling. Then he takes a bite and makes a face that’s borderline orgasmic. Barclay looks away before he drops a hot waffle on his foot.

Amnesty's restaurant closes at 3, and as Barclay is locking the front door, he notices Joseph waiting for him in an easily visible, well-lit spot.

“You know, I meant it when I said you didn’t owe me anything. Not even the most delicious pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“I give freebies now and then” Barclay smiles, “no rule that says I can’t give them to someone who did me a huge fucking favor. And, uh” he blushes, “glad you like the pie.”

“The whole meal was incredible. You’re a very talented cook. Would it be okay if I came back?” His expression is hopeful, almost nervous.

Barclay touches his shoulder, “Anytime.”

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

“So, uh, I’ve haven’t had a chance to ask but, uh, when you’re not working or chatting with me here, what do you do? For, like, fun?” Barclay leans across the counter as Joseph licks his form clean of meringue. Barclay’s gone through twelve different pie recipes in the last month just to see which ones the other man likes best.

“I read a lot, cultivate an extensive knowledge of old horror movies, try to make decent risotto in my apartment...oh, I play frisbee golf sometimes, I picked it up in college.”

“Any interest in seeing that new Godzilla movie? It looks terrible but in a fun way.”

“Oh yeah, I like what I’ve seen of the design they’re using for the kaiju.” He notices Barclays hand resting millimeters for his own. He runs his thumb along Barclays knuckles, “are you asking if I’ll go see it with you, big guy?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’d love to.”

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

“Holy fuck babe, when you said you were running out to get breakfast I figured you meant, like, McMuffins.”

“Only the best for you, big guy. Consider it a thank you for making dinner last night.” Joseph finishes laying out the donuts from “Holes in One” next to the plate of bagels and lox from the only place that Joseph insists does them right.

Barclay wraps his arms around him, tickling his cheek with his beard, “you’re fucking amazing babe.”

Joseph kisses him, coffee flavored and light, “So are you. Still want to play chess later?”

“Uh huh. Winner gets to blow the loser?”

“I like those terms, Mr. Cobb.”

It’s been like this for the last three months; evenings at the movies or tangled up in bed, mornings in sleepy hazes on the couch or out the eat, days upon days of Joseph spoiling, servicing, and just generally loving the hell out of him.

There are also the nights or, more often, early mornings, when Joseph returns steeped in grim satisfaction. At first he avoided having Barclay over those nights or going to see him the next day. Lately, they’re together so much that it’s unavoidable that Barclay will see the lethal edge lingering in his gaze or rub knots from his shoulders that he knows were earned in some darkened room where horrors had been playing out for weeks, months, even years. He doesn’t shy away from it; he loves Joseph, and that means seeing him clearly, though sometimes what he sees sends chills across his skin. Chills that feel less and less like fear.

They’re out for a walk around the lake, trading bites of gelato, when a question tunnels it’s way to the front of Barclays mind. He waits until they’re sitting on a bench far from any prying ears to ask it.

“What made you decide to, uh, do what you do?”

His boyfriend studies him, then sighs, “A number of things. Fear was the first one; you said you don’t follow true crime, so I’m guessing you don’t know of the Janesville Strangler?”

“Nope.”

“He killed ten young women over the course of three years. He’s also my biological father. Michael Stern is my stepfather and, at my request, my adoptive one as well; my mom remarried as soon as she was sure my father couldn’t get out. He, he never turned any violence on me, but I suspect he used me as leverage with mom; she was a smart woman, I suspect she noticed something amiss but was frightened into keeping quiet. I was six when they locked him up, eight when she remarried. Mike is a gentle man, he did his best to raise me the same. But I, I never shook the fear that whatever drove my father to kill innocent people lurks somewhere in my genes.”

Barclay’s arm rests protectively across Joseph’s shoulders.

“I joined the FBI because I felt if I was able to turn whatever killer genes I have towards understanding serial murderers, I could use them to help others. Keep people safe. Ambition and skill moved me through the ranks quickly but” he sighs, “the more I rose, the more I saw how little was being done. How cases were mishandled, how if there was the slightest hint it was a cop or veteran doing the killing suddenly the case went cold, how a killer could pick off person after person and no one cared because the victims were the “wrong” kind of people. It came to a head two years ago; I’d poured all this energy into a case where the killer went after sex workers. He was prolific and obviously cruel, I fought tooth and nail for every resource I needed to track him. Officer Alex Brown was my main suspect, I was so close to getting a warrant to search his property and then they closed the case. Insisted the deaths were unrelated. I...I went up and searched on my own and” he looks at the sky, rests his head on Barclays arm, “lord almighty the things I found. I was right, I was right and I couldn’t do anything about it, he’d get to just go on preying on people and I couldn’t handle failing his future victims that way. I waited until he went on a hunting trip. Alone. Lots of things can happen to a man in the woods. And it’s hard to find evidence when his body just happens to fall near a coyote den.”

A little smile, one he tries to suppress, creeps up his cheeks, “I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life. I decided I’d still try to play by the rules but that if I knew, for certain, someone was guilty and being shielded by either ignorance or malice, I’d solve the problem myself.” He looks at Barclay for the first time since he started his answer, face turning to shame, “I’m sorry, I, I should have given the short answer. I didn’t, I don’t want to upset you, or scare you but it’s hard not to given-”

“Joseph” Barclay carefully runs his fingers over black hair, “it’s not like I forgot how we met. I...I’m not under any misimpressions about what you’re capable of. I just wanted to know how you arrived at the solution you did. It’s, uh, it’s not what I’d choose for myself, not something I could do but, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t going to push me away from you. And that it means a lot to me that you trust me enough to explain it.”

His boyfriend curls closer, “It means a lot to me, too.”

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

Black gloves on his throat, weight on his chest and when he opens his eyes it’s Joseph above him, steel in his gaze and between his fingers. He’s in a muddled dream version of Bear Butcher’s apartment

“Hi, big guy.” The thin knife slices up Barclay’s pants, “let’s get you out of these.”

“Please, please I-”

“Shhhh” Joseph kisses him, “I removed the man who threatened you. But you’re so handsome laid out like this, a victim just waiting for someone to make you scream.”

“Babe, I-”

“That’s not my name right now. Call me..” the hand no longer has a knife, is running roughly up his cock instead, “call me…”

Barclay wakes up still humping the mattress as he cums. Blindly, he reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s the fifth dream like that in two weeks, and they always leave him so horny he tries to get it up and get off again if there’s time. No such luck today; he has to be up in ten minutes.

He tries not to think about it during work, just like he tries not to think about it the rest of the time. Especially in bed with Joseph, his attentive, indulgent Joseph who puts all his organizational skills and professional practice at giving orders into domming Barclay so sweetly he stays in subspace for hours.

He’s still very much not thinking about Joseph gagging him so his screams don’t wake the neighbors as he climbs the stairs to his boyfriends place. Dani was a sweetheart and took care of his orders for him, so he was able to leave work early.

The T.V is on, volume up loud enough that he can tell what his boyfriend is up to before he even walks into the room. He fully intends to tease him for not being able to wait until Barclay was there to jerk off before hauling him into the bedroom. But when he sees the screen, he freezes.

A man in what looks like a cheesy camp counselor uniform is tied to the bed, his shirt stuffed into his mouth as a make-shift gag. Straddling him is a man in a black jumpsuit, knife near his hand and cock buried in the counselors ass.

“That’s it sweetheart, wiggle and try’n get away; you ain’t gonna and it feels so fuckin good when you try. This is what you get for leaving the window open.”

The counselor shakes his head, fear so palpable Barclay barely notices the fact the boom mic is in the shot. The killer pulls the gag free.

“Please, please, don’t kill meAH, ohgod”

A dark laugh, “I’m not gonna kill you, sugar. Thought about it, but when am I gonna find an ass this good again? Nah, I’m gonna take you back with me, keep you strapped down because you’re the, fuck, cutest goddamn specimen I ever caught.”

On the couch, Joseph tenses, cumming in the sleeve he’s using with a cry at the same moment the killer on screen cums and bends to kiss his co-stars tear-streaked face.

Joseph hits the remote, causing the T.V to go dark and reveal Barclay’s reflection.

“Shit!” Joseph leaps up, making Barclay yelp in surprise, “oh, oh thank the lord it’s just you….oh god how much of that did you see?”

“Some?”

Joseph drops to the couch, head in hands, “shit. I’m, I’m so sorry Barclay, I, I never wanted you to know about this habit, I’m sorry it’s awful.” The voice between his fingers sounds like it might cry.

“I mean, that wasn’t like a snuff film, right?”

“Those aren’t real.”

He can’t help but smile remembering Joseph’s rant on the subject, “what I meant was: those guys are just actors getting paid to do a scene like that, not some actually getting attacked.”

“Of course not.” Joseph looks up, horrified, “I’d never watch something like that. The, the whole reason I like this company is that they do horror porn under very ethical working conditions.”

“Then why are you acting like I caught you pissing in my coffee?”

“Does the fact I get off to this honestly not bother you?”

“I mean, people get off to all sorts of shit. Like, um, like” he twists the bracelet on his wrist, “like their boyfriend tying them up and threatening to make them scream.”

Josephs eyes widen. Then he shakes his head, “No. No we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I...I never, ever want to hurt you that way. Even in a scene. I can’t stand the thought of you being scared of me, of turning these impulses loose on you. It sounds fun until I picture it and then it makes me ill. No, this stays firmly in my head.”

“Okay.” He keeps his reply soft to hide his disappointment. Joseph is still on the couch, refusing to look his way, and so he circles it and kneels at his feet to better rub his arms. He thinks about the images on screen. About Joseph, blissed out then suddenly shame-faced. Joseph, two nights ago, calculated and loving as he worked Barclay over.

No, maybe the kind of scene he’s been picturing isn’t for them. But he can think of one that is.

“What if, uh, instead of giving into the desires that freak you out we kind of rechannel them. Like, instead of strapping me down to torment me, you’re doing it to show off?”

Blue eyes meet his for the first time all night, “Say more.”

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

“Ready?” Barclay bats his eyelashes at Joseph as his boyfriend finishes double checking the tightness of the rope he’s using to tie Barclays arms above his head.

“Ready.” Joseph stands, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes as he takes deep breaths. Then he frowns, “can you start us off?”

“Sure thing, babe.” He nestles his head on the pillow, “okay, you found me tied up like this. What’s your first thought?”

Joseph opens his eyes, gaze sharp, “That I’m so lucky someone left a handsome specimen like you where I could find him.”

Barclays cock twitches at being referred to that way, “You’re not gonna let me go?”

“Not just yet. You’re so perfect, will you let me make a case for staying here with me?”

“Please” Barclay whimpers as Joseph straddles him, knife in hand.

“I’m very precise, for starters.” He cuts slowly up Barclays boxers until he can pull the strip of fabric off. Repeats the process, lips a firm line of concentration, with his undershirt, “see? There’s not even a scratch. I have to be careful not to damage my perfect specimen.”

Barclay groans, rolling his hips. Joseph smiles, shifting so his cock rubs against Joseph’s clothed crotch.

“Fuck, Joseph-”

“Shhhh” a gloved thumb brushes his lips, “When you’re like this, my name is Sir.”

“Ohfuck.” Barclay rubs his cheek pleadingly in his palm, “Sir, please, please, untie me so I can touch you.”

“Not yet.” Joseph pats his cheek, scoots backwards on the bed, “besides, you’ll have lots of time to touch me once I take you home and make you my sweet live-in plaything.”

“Holyfuckingshit.” Barclay fights off a dozen tantalizing images of what that could entail to focus on their plan, “Sir? What, uh, what was the guy who tied me up going to do to me?”

His boyfriend settles between his legs, “He was going to take you apart.” He lifts Barclay’s right leg, “starting with these, so if you got free you couldn’t run. This tendon first” he kisses the back of his knee, making Barclay giggle. He pauses, then decides on holding both legs up at once so he can repeat the kiss on the other side. His lips move slowly down to his ankles, right side and then the left, before a final one lands on his arch, “he was going to cut here too. But not me” the kisses continue, “I’m going to rub them every evening so you’re never sore.”

“Fuuuuck” He sighs as Joseph straddles him once more, leaning forward so he can kiss and fondle his arms.

“He was going to slice alllll along here” Joseph’s breathing is picking up the longer he lavishes Barclay with kisses, “then he was going to take your fingers one by one” Joseph kisses each knuckle in turn, his free hand petting Barclay’s face and hair, “then he was going to commit a cardinal sin by mangling these” Joseph toys with his pecks, sucks happily on his left nipple for a moment, “what a crime that would have been.”

“Sir” it’s a whine as Joseph nips and kisses his way down to his navel.

He raises slightly, mouth just above Barclays cock, “and because he had no imagination, he was going to cut this wonderful appendage off. Which is not the treatment it deserves.”

“What treatment does it deserve SirrrrrOHfuck, fuckyes” Barclay pants as Joseph licks stripe after stripe up his cock. As Joseph licks and sucks him to a hard-on, he feels the plug slip from his ass.

“I don’t know what his plans were for that” Joseph sits up, undoing his pants and pulling out his cock, “but I know what mine are.” He pushes Barclays legs wide, works his cock in with slow, steady thrusts while Barclay tries to remember how words work.

“Shit, yes, god your ass is amazing, what kind of person sees it and thinks its for anything but fucking?”

“Nngh” Barclay clings to the ropes as Joseph’s thrusts quicken.

“Lord, I thought you were a perfect specimen before but I was wrong, you look even better taking my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot.”

Joseph grip his thighs tight enough to hurt, “well, big guy, will you stay with me?” His eyes glitter, his hair is coming loose and falling across his forehead.

“YesAH, yes, ohfucksirright there” He didn’t notice Joseph changing the angle of thrusts until his cock found his prostate, “I’ll be so good Sir, wanna be a good boy for you.”

“Oh good.” Joseph’s smile goes wolfish for an instant, “because I would have had to do some very mean things to persuade you if you refused.”

Barclay cums at that, staining Joseph’s shirt with white. His hands knock against the headboard as Joseph fucks him hard enough to make him sob with oversensitive pleasure.

“You’re going to be such a nice plaything for Sir, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good boyOH, ohshit, shit.” Joseph pulls out halfway through cumming, spattering it on Barclays thighs and balls. Carefully, he lowers his legs. Then his boyfriend collapses into his arms, panting and giddy.

“That, that was so fun. I’d say who knew but every time we fuck you show me just how fucking fun all this can be.”

“Aw, babe.” He goes to hug him and rediscovers the ropes.

“Ohshit, here” Joseph sets to work undoing his knots, “are your wrists okay? Not too sore? How about your shoulders?”

“They all feel fucking great, baby. I feel great. How could I not? I got you looking after me.”

Joseph smiles, “and out for you.”

“That too. Now c’mere, special agent, your next assignment is cuddling your boyfriend.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugy #taz amnesty

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