#the reason to which i feel unworthy of such tenderness...

[bwat5-blog]

Vi's Ending

**Spoilers for all of Arcane**

I have written about and discussed Vi in significant detail. However it was pointed out to me recently that her ending is worth its own detailed discussion and I completely agree. For those who have been sticking with me on these, you already know Vi is my favorite character. She means a lot to me, as she does to many of you for various reasons. So before we dive in let me say this:

Vi is NOT the Jinx

Vi is NOT a bad sister

Vi did NOT get Jinx killed

I have written in great detail defending and explaining each of these points, and because of that I will not detail those here. But if you are interested I'd love for you to check out my other posts and share your thoughts! Ultimately I am just another fan, and I am really enjoying celebrating the achievement in story telling this show has become, and its legendary characters.

The End:

At the end of this story, we find Violet, sitting alone, drinking, humming powder's song from the very first moments of the show. She appears deeply in thought and is curled up on herself, only opening up when her beloved Caitlyn joins her. They share a tender moment where Caitlyn asks her if she is still in this fight, to which Vi responds "I am the dirt under your nails cupcake, nothings gonna clean me out" and lays her head on Caitlyn's shoulder allowing herself to relax as Caitlyn smiles softly looking into the fire. This seems to be our last look at the couple outside of the game if Riot is to be believed (money talks people, keep these characters popular and they may listen!), and it has understandably sparked reactions across the board. For myself, I found it bittersweet. Beautiful and hopeful in many ways, but recognizing the weight of what they have survived, and validating the healing they still need. I view it as Vi finally being on the road to peace, just not quite there yet.

The Heart of Zaun:

I have extensively detailed who Vi is in other posts and therefore will spare you the diatribe here. But to properly appreciate and understand why her ending was so meaningful we do have to understand who she is.

"You've got a good heart. Don't ever lose it, no matter how the world tries to break you"- Vander

Vi is not perfect. She impatient, quick to anger, stubborn beyond belief and impulsive. But these are things born of the dark and angry world she has been forced to survive in all her life. At her core, who is she really?

A Daughter

A Sister

A Warrior

A Guardian

What Vi proves time and time again throughout this story is that she is fiercely loyal, loving, and true. She is tough as nails and brave sure. But we also get these beautiful moments of fragility. Moments where her love, her fear and her hope bleed through the mask she keeps up showing us who she is beneath. Other lessons from Vander plays a major role in who she becomes as well:

"When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish"

"Who are you willing to lose?"

-- Vander

Vi was already trying to care for the kids around her, and had at a young age been through so much trauma and loss. But as any teenager would, she still displayed a lack of understanding about the potential broader consequences of their actions. After her talks with Vander, almost every decision she makes she is trying to protect those she loves, or trying to atone when she feels she has fallen short. Her own happiness becomes her last priority in almost every situation. And her journey to overcome this, to learn that its okay for her to know tenderness, and peace, and love and that those things don't make her unworthy. This is Vi's inner journey.

She deserves the things she fights so hard to give the people she loves. I meant to re-blog it and hope I did, but another user pointed out something I have never considered. When she and Vander are talking on the bridge, and he gives here these lessons, what does she say is the reason she wants to fight? - that she grew up knowing she was less than, but she wants more for her little sister and will bleed to do it. Even at that young age, before experiencing so much of the pain she goes through, she doesn't see herself as deserving of that same defense as everyone else in her life... She believes is meant to be the shield, and never the shielded.. An inspiring and heroic notion on paper, heartbreaking to recognize in a teenage girl who is only just beginning in life.

Back To The End:

Okay, with that refresher lets return to Vi's ending. We see this beautiful, tender moment between Vi and the woman she loves. And sure, on the surface of the moment alone it appears your standard happy ending. Safe, warm, and in the company of the woman she loves. These are all undoubtedly good things. But context matters. No decision in this show, no plot point, no animation, no detail is accidental. So we need to account for the following factors:

They have just survived a truly terrifying battle which no matter the result in terms of life and death ,would be deeply traumatizing

She and the woman she loves have made it through together its true (thank god). On a purely physical level, Caitlyn's heroic willingness to sacrifice a part of her own body to achieve victory has left her forever changed. And Vi's body has become a tapestry of scars from a life time of sacrifice and struggle

Caitlyn and Vi's reconciliation is a controversial topic in the fandom. I feel that it was justified in terms of us being given the necessary pieces to believe it, but rushed (the whole season was). Like if I asked a student to show me his work on a math equation, he got the correct answer, but he could only show me the beginning of each step he took to solve it. Correct, but incomplete. All of that to say this, their scene in the jail cell was beautiful, and it was full of meaning far more than the spicy quality (although god damn who are we kidding), but we are talking about months of time apart, with both of them living through an extremely dark period, all precipitated by an extremely traumatic "breakup". I don't think it's unreasonable to assume they have more to work through and heal from regarding this issue, although thankfully their love for each other remains strong.

The death toll of this battle is seemingly enormous although we are not given an exact number. The impact of this is obvious. And although I agree his character was not perfectly utilized, I saw Loris as the face of the countless faceless citizens of Piltover and Zaun who died in this conflict. His death right in front of Vi happening so quickly, and brutally.

Vander.. Vi had to watch her adopted father die not once, not twice, but three times. The first time after saving her life, the second time after they seemed so close to saving his, and the third time with him very nearly killing her. I'm not a mental health professional but I don't think I need to be in order to suggest this may leave lasting emotional and mental scars on her

Jinx. Vi's crusade for her sister's soul begins the moment she steps out of Stillwater with Caitlyn. The relationship between Vi and Jinx is far too complex and detailed to cover in a bullet point like this, and is one of the pillars upon which this show came to be. I'm not getting into fault or blame or any of that right now, because what it comes down to is this. Vi loves Jinx and fought so.. so hard to BE her sister again. And finally, right at the end when it seems like they are finally going to be okay, she loses Jinx. again (not dead but Vi doesn't know that). And why? because Vi breaks at the sight at the sight of Vander's body and Jinx sacrifices herself to save her. Vi's breakdown is heartbreaking. It its understandable, its realistic, its painful and its human.. But after a life time punishing herself for how she feels she failed her sister.. it hurts to admit the truth that as things stand now, Vi will probably carry the guilt of Jinx's death for the rest of her life.

I know that is all so bleak, and so heavy. And it hurts because you want to see Vi happy. We want to see her and Jinx living as sisters catching up on the time that was stolen from them. We want to see a world where she and Caitlyn are energetic and happy and healed. We want to see Vi in some way acknowledge that in the end, Jinx's sacrifice was not because Vi failed her. It was because Jinx saw that her sister who had always loved and believed in her, needed her this time. That the woman who had always stood for those she loved needed someone to stand for her. So Jinx became the shield Vi never believed she deserved.

That Vi is a bad-ass is never in dispute. We see her fight countless times in defense of those she loves, and do so quite well. Her journey is not to find her strength. It is to recognize that she is worth more than that. She deserves more. And our hope for her is born of the changes we see. As her relationship with Caitlyn evolves, and she sees her belief in her sister finally validated, She comes to understand she has more to offer than the strength of her arms.

Her relationship with Caitlyn: Their love story is so amazing, and complex, and layered. It is far too much to cover as a bullet point in another post like this and I do intend to deep-dive it soon. But in terms of this discussion, I want to stay this. That Vi and Caitlyn have their ups and downs is obvious. Its not that every moment of their time together is an unending parade of joy and romance, that would be not only bad story telling but not realistic. But the best romantic partners are those people who can fall into the flames together and walk out not untouched, but re-forged into something stronger. These two women are a great example of this. There are many important moments in their relationship that greatly effect Vi, but I am going to focus on just one:

Caitlyn Finds Vi in Jinx's Cell:

As I mentioned previously, this scene is so important for so many reasons. For our purposes, we need to remember what leads up to it. Vi immediately goes to rescue Jinx after confronting Caitlyn over her imprisonment, only for Jinx to stun her and leave her in the cell herself (there is so much context and meaning here in terms of Jinx and Vi/Jinx but we are focusing on Caitlyn right now). Then Caitlyn finds her. Alone. In the cell of the woman who killed her mother. Now there are a lot of ways this could go and Vi is clearly expecting the worst. She laments that she always chooses wrong trusting and believing in Jinx, and that this time its cost her everything. Her sister is gone. She assumes Caitlyn will be enraged, and not to mention she is in this incredibly vulnerable state, in a jail cell, after surviving seven years of false imprisonment that started when she was still in her teens. But it doesn't go how she expects.

"Sorry to say, you've grown a bit predictable"

Vi believes that this part of her, this emotional, trusting, vulnerable part of her is always wrong. But Caitlyn reveals just how much she knows that part of Vi. And not only knows, but accepts it, predicted it, and even stepped in to help the woman she loves, putting aside her own hate and bitterness. Its a powerful moment. It shows Vi just how much she is worth to Caitlyn, and it has nothing to do with her fists. Just her heart. And Vi's response to this revelation shows us maybe the first time in the entire story, where given this tiny seed of evidence that she may deserve to be happy, she chooses to let herself be. Right there in that cell with Caitlyn.

Her Relationship With Jinx:

Like Caitlyn, this relationship could only be explored properly through it's own deep dive. So again, I am going to focus on a single moment between these two as evidence of Vi hard earned affirmation of her refusal to quit on those she loves. When Vi goes to break Jinx out of jail, Jinx stuns her and escapes instead, leaving her locked inside. As Vi panics for her sister, Jinx walks away, pleading with Vi to let herself be happy, and to stop looking for her. This of course leads to the incident we just mentioned in which Vi claims she always chooses wrong in trusting her sister. "I really thought she'd help" Vi says to Caitlyn about her sister when Cait arrives. And how does her belief in her sister shake out? Jinx rides in on a war balloon at the head of an under city army, and saves the day... and then later on, saves Vi's very life at what seems to be (We know better) the expense of her own. Vi was right about her sister all along.. its just that some lessons are hard won indeed..

Conclusion:

Vi is an amazing character who has quite frankly, earned her rest. And that's what the end of the show is sharing with us. Vi is warrior. She has fought, and bled, and lost so much, but she has endured. Through her two most important relationships in her life she has found the road to the recovery from the many, many wounds her existence has left on her, and they are still wounds that need healing. There is grief, and pain, and guilt still dwelling in her. But we have seen the seeds of her self-worth beginning to bloom and it is in them that we place our hope for Vi. Because she has an inkling that what Vander told her, the same thing the woman she loves noticed within hours of of meeting her, and the same reason Jinx knew Vi would never give up on her, has always been a far greater power than her ability to do violence.

[meanbossart]

Hey! I was thinking of trying to write something for you about DU Drow but after a trying to gather stuff about him via your page I’m struggling to get something substantial for his personality- like I get it mostly (I think?) but it’s hard to put into words (which makes it easier for me) so if it’s not too much to ask; how would you explain DU Drows personality and maybe some of his values? - if you don’t mind! I love your art BTW!

Man, this is a tough ask and I MADE the guy. The fic is definitely the best place to see his personality in action, but it is also 20 chapters long so far - and I'm a fairly reasonable man.

Before I get to any descriptions, there's two important things to note: A) Overwhelmingly, his looks do not match his demeanor. and B) DU drow is extremely hedonistic in practice. He might claim to have certain beliefs or standards but hardly ever practices them.

Anyways, I present to you: The guy, more-or-less summarized to the best of my abilities.

BEHAVIOR: Purposefully standoffish. He wants to be noticed, but he does not want to be bothered. He's a little bit stiff with his body language and mostly makes use of head/neck gestures to assert his sentences and signal his level of interest. On that note, me makes it extremely obvious for the socially-versed individual to tell what he thinks of them - he hardly ever tries to hide if he's disinterested, annoyed, or having a laugh at your expense. He expresses emotion through his face a normal amount, but his default look is eerily bland, and subtle emotions might go unnoticed because of his eye-color and thin brows.

As it is with most people, the more uncomfortable he is with a situation the more stiff and inexpressive he becomes, and vice versa.

SPEECH: DU drow is very much well spoken, and simultaneously very blunt. He abides by most conversational formalities (definitely more formal than you would assume him to be) and basic etiquette. He will greet you and he will say please and thank you even if clearly not meaning it or feeling like you're unworthy of the gesture. Sometimes, he does it just to be patronizing.

With all of that in mind, he has a tendency to use violent turns of phrase and analogies to express himself, this applies to both negative and positive feelings. That being said he's aware of social norma and knows full well when things are or aren't appropriate, even if sometimes he chooses to ignore that and be weird anyway - usually with the purpose of intimidation.

He is the most earnest and sincere with very close friends (quite literally only Astarion and Shadowheart) and rather curt with everyone else unless you catch him in a particularly good mood. He's a little chummier with dwarves and duergar (he finds them amusing and fun to hang out with) and reserves a slight bit more tenderness and kindness for children and mothers, especially if they're elves. He's also fond of animals. He is dismissive of gnomes, goblins, bugbears, half/full orcs and hobgoblins. He despises githyanki and drow. He treats humans fairly respectfully but thinks they are a far lesser race than pretty much all others.

He has a very dark/offensive sense of humor and a tendency to make well crafted, but cruel jokes or quips about sensitive topics. This goes for everybody, including people he's on good terms with.

VALUES: Here's where things get tricky. DU drow is both a hypocrite and a unreliable narrator of his own story, not to mention deeply unfamiliar with his own inner-workings and feelings. Politically, he would be the guy who doesn't vote, doesn't want to pay taxes and dreams of living off the grid, who thinks everybody should pull themselves up by the bootstraps and that it's a dog-eats-dog world. He hates systems of government, authority figures, hierarchical structures and archaic customs. He believes it would a chaotic but functional world if people governed themselves.

In practice, he doesn't stand for anything and gladly overlooks injustices and things that don't align with his supposed values as long as they favor him, or just don't get in his way, and easily makes exceptions for things on a whim. He's indifferent to slavery; unless it's Astarion's. - He thinks humans are a worthless pet-race, except for his dearest and nearest friend, the half-elf Shadowheart. He thinks Half-orcs are intellectually inferior, but he will gladly be chummy with them if they amuse him and make for good-company during a night-out.

INNER WORLD AND INTIMACY: DU drow is extremely unfamiliar with his own emotions and very often comes up empty when he has to justify or explain anything that is based on feeling, while simultaneously operating on impulse and instinct for the vast majority of the time. He is subject to fear, resentment, and insecurity as much as anyone else, but carries a deep shame in acknowledging his own vulnerability at all. He is very intense when it comes to love, however, and shows no reluctance in expressing it through his words and actions towards the people he cares about. He does care for the levels of comfort of those dearest to him though, and doesn't bombard them with it unless the moment is right, or if overwhelmed into doing so. The same applies to physical affection - he's extremely comfortable with it, but cares deeply for respecting the boundaries of his loved ones. When it comes to strangers, he only touches them outside of combat if there is some kind of power-game at play.

A couple of other things that might be of note:

-He likes creature comforts, but is also fine with going without them and won't ever complain about having to live, sleep, or survive in less-than-ideal circumstances as long as he feels in control of the situation. -He can be enticed by valuables and gold because they make the immediate future easier, but he doesn't seek a life of vast riches. -He is not an alcoholic but probably has a binge-drinking problem. -While he is fond and respectful of animals, he has no issues killing them if the situation calls for it. -He pretty much always believes himself to be the most impressive person in the room. -He is not a vain man, but very much likes the way that he looks and to have it be acknowledged by his partner. -He believes faith, religion, and gods to be a waste of time.

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ╭ ⿻ ･ to the end of salvation

& maybe it is too easy to blame mortality on our capacity for love , the slow death that is putting your breath in another's body.

ଓ.° ・ sukuna. jujutsu kaisen. quote cr : ayumi hamasaki. safia elhillo. repost.

𝐈. humans are much stronger beings than i thought

but what does sacrifice mean to a god? bloodshed is of little significance unless he is the reason behind it / unless there is sanguine dripping from his claws, flooding an already bloodied land of worship. sukuna thinks little of humanity, deems it unworthy of anything but cruelty and the act of ruin.

he sits on his throne, apathetic, and examines the beings in his shrine. how superficial this all is, another supposed act of celebration that does nothing to impress him. it is dangerous for a god to be bored, he thinks, and he smiles at the thought of spilling blood for such reasons.

but there is yet another sacrificial lamb that kneels before him. in the middle of a revered shrine, your body trembles at the feeling of one’s scrutinizing gaze. it watches, hovers over your figure.

you were granted a life never meant for living, and he would think you’d be so desperate, that you would be so pitiful ( and what a silly thought, really, because you are lucky enough to still be alive in his presence for this long ). but there is something in the way that you force yourself to look him straight in the eye, and there is an anger so present that he can feel his existence strengthen from it.

“are you worthy, little lamb?”

“isn’t that something you should have decided by now, king of curses?”

the air stills. a pause. your heart threatens to shatter beneath the aching of it all.

divinity laughs : an echo chamber of malice and unspoken beginnings and ends. a red string of fate that knows nothing else but the hollow of your ribs and a nearing tragedy.

𝐈𝐈. that which is two became one, then became two / it's nothing more than that.

you live your days with uncertainty, waiting on edge, and nothing comes. this, perhaps, is the cruelest trial you’ve come to face.

and you think he would hurt you, this renowned god that everyone cowers before ( but you were once the same, truly, and you would be a hypocrite to pass judgment on another’s fear ). but there is no harshness in your coexistence, no matter how hard you search for it. because you know of the tales that the children speak of in teasing tones, the tales the elders pass on in hopes that their youth will not become the next sacrifice.

if they asked you if the stories were true, you wouldn’t know how to answer. because there is a destruction in his existence somewhere in the markings of his body and there is violence in the way his claws threaten to tear apart the red strings, but there is something unidentifiable in the way he looks at you when the moon lights up the sky.

“why do you treat me this way?”

you whisper the words into the night, hoping that they will be heard and unheard. ( but you know that he is always listening, always attentive to you. how strange he is. )

“in what way?” a taunt. sukuna places his hand on your waist, marvels at the way you shake under his touch.

“you treat me like you are made of tenderness.” you ignore the fear that runs deep into your veins, force yourself to speak up in what may be an act of foolishness. “that doesn’t exist in you.”

your voice trembles. a smile tugs at his lips; he kisses you with utmost gentleness that you almost think you have been wrong this whole time.

you are waiting for the day he will kill you. it will come soon, it will, and you cannot tell which will be more agonizing: the waiting game or the killing itself.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. the path spreading out is too narrow ; i can no longer walk with you

to be divine is to live in bliss and devastation. immortality is a double edged sword, granting a lifetime of glory and pain. everything, at some point, comes to an end. even the red string unravels until it is no more, and you think you tried to forget that.

you do not think you are in love with the king of curses and that’s okay. that was never the intention. you were never meant to live this long, anyway. you thought you could face the truth, get yourself ready for the suffering meant to come.

you look in the water and all you see is sorrow and the approach of heartbreak. the tearing of the soul, the filling of blood in your mouth and the emptying of what remains of your spirit.

“why do you wait? lambs are not meant for survival.”

his fingers wrap around your throat, but they never squeeze. his lips press against yours for a brief moment, and he pulls away.

“careful,” sukuna warns, “gods are the only ones who determine life and death.”

“it will be soon.”

your reply comes out involuntarily and he senses desperation in it. are you tired of waiting? have you become weak, unable to tolerate the unknown?

he forces back his grin, lips on your neck, and speaks in such low tones that your knees almost threaten to give out.

“do you want it to be?”

he waits for an answer. it never comes.

𝐈𝐕. i've been in the darkness a little longer / but it's time to go

you have never seen sukuna hurt. a curse knows little of suffering and so much of pain. but when you thrive on the negatives of humanity, what is it that makes you vulnerable? what is it that thrashes so wildly in your being and makes it all so unbearable?

you have not lived your life in misery. not at his side. but time moves on, and so must both of you. one of you will pass into another life, and the other will remain stagnant in the world he rules.

you don’t feel much, not really. it feels numb, feels like the end, but it feels okay. maybe you are afraid, but your grip is too weak that you cannot even hang onto him. sukuna holds you closely, doesn’t allow you to see his face ( and even if you did, it wouldn’t be any different. and who are you to think that you were important to him, anyway? )

“let go.” he orders softly. “don’t be frightened.”

you laugh. he will miss the sound of it dearly.

“who are you talking to?”

he doesn’t know.

this time, he is the one who does not answer. you are dying in his arms and it is more peaceful than you expect. it is beautiful and merciful and all the things you thought it would not be.

( YOU ARE TIRED. )

“was i worthy?”

( IT IS TIME TO CLOSE YOUR EYES AND REST. )

the feeling of his lips against your temple, and a quiet murmur drowned out by a fleeting consciousness.

“you were worthy, little lamb.”

[patrickjanebrain]

Patrick Jane's Problems with Authority

On the show there are two specific situations you can expect Jane to get excited about. The first is when he comes across a performer or another con artist, someone who is also in the craft of fooling people. No matter how skilled or clumsy that person is, Patrick is always intrigued. He likes to view the competition. He always perks up when he smells a scam. It’s endearing. 

The second situation is when Jane encounters a petty tyrant available for him to take down. It doesn’t matter how small the throne they sit on, if they’re in any way unworthy, he views it as his honor to kick over that chair and laugh.

It’s not just once in a while. It’s every time. Every tyrant. Every politician, principal, CEO, security head, or society snob. They don’t have to get in Patrick’s way or insult him (or Lisbon) either, although if they do, he strikes like a mongoose. No mercy.

Patrick Jane hates authority. He really does. He especially hates unearned authority, blowhards, and tyrants, but he does not recognize any authority over himself at all. As he tells the sheriff in Red Alert (3x13): “I’m not below or above, I’m to the side.” He sees himself outside the hierarchy, an authority to himself and the only authority over himself. If he cooperates at all, it’s only because it’s in his best interest to do so. Sometimes, even when it is in his best interest, his impulse to be a pain in the ass wins out over practical concerns.

As far as Lisbon goes, she doesn’t control him, and his affection and care for her is the only reason he occasionally lets her put the brakes on him. Not because she’s his boss (she is, but he doesn’t acknowledge it), but because his messes get her in trouble, and he doesn’t want her to suffer. 

Outside of the people he interacts with regularly, Jane has three basic approaches to people. 

AUTHORITY FIGURES

Any person in authority, he automatically begins to try to poke at their achilles heel. He’ll make little mocking digs or outright humiliate them. He’ll question their leadership ability or just embrace his naughty side:

See that flourish? Jane artistically adds it after he paints the last letter in “SNYDER SUCKS"? That’s a fuck-you flourish. The vandalism is enough to get him the principal’s attention (which Jane needs to expose the fact that he’s been illegally surveilling minors in the bathrooms). The message is one of (Patrick’s usual) disdain. The flourish, though: that’s for every kid who’s had to deal with this self-righteous, hypocritical prick. He’s sticking it to the man, almost literally. 

He just loves to do this. It’s not work for him, it’s a privilege. 

REGULAR  PEOPLE

When Jane questions average people who are not authority figures and who have information to give, he’s sort of a neutral version of himself. He can still be bratty, but it’s not in any way malicious. Sometimes he has to stir people up to get an answer or idea, but there’s nothing personal in that. He doesn’t want to hurt them or help them. He’s just doing his job, and often that’s making trouble to cause a distraction or get someone to reveal something. 

Jane was trained from birth to view regular non-carny people as marks, and it’s still a habit. He doesn’t get involved, and he doesn’t feel guilty about how he interacts with them as long as he doesn’t really hurt them. 

THE VULNERABLE

This is the facet of Patrick Jane’s character that is the most interesting to me: his care and tenderness with people who are hurting or are weak in some way. I’ve read commentary online from people questioning whether Jane is a psychopath or a sociopath, but I don’t think that you can view how he interacts with children, injured or sick people, and anyone who is vulnerable and call him incapable of empathy. He’s capable of enormous empathy.  

He has a personal understanding of grief and pain, and when he sees it in others, he softens. He doesn’t hug people, but he will give them careful, useful advice. Occasionally he will do little favors, like a quick hypnotism to help them break a bad habit, or show them his real self and what he’s learned through suffering. 

Interestingly enough, he will change his approach when he sees someone get downgraded from authority figure to a vulnerable person. He does this with Bosco once he’s injured, and he also immediately drops his desire to toy with the coroner, Dr. Steiner, who has shown him outright disdain in the past (and present!). In The Red Mile (3x18), as soon as Jane comes to understand that Steiner is sick, he goes out of the way to give him what he knows he needs: a front row seat to an adventure, breaking the rules to catch the bad guy personally. He also gives Steiner the great gift of sitting with him and distracting him while he’s committing suicide, though it clearly costs him to see death come and take another person he’s grown to like. 

Jane takes pity on Lorelei Martins after he understands what Red John has done to her, even though she tried to hurt him and engineer Lisbon’s death. 

It’s easy to see Patrick Jane as cool or funny or even cruel, but the reality is that he has experienced a ton of loss and trauma and that’s permanently altered the way he relates to people and how he sees them. Ultimately, I think the reason that he has so many problems with authority is because his father was very abusive and controlling. Every petty tyrant Jane takes down is a proxy for his father and a win for his younger self. He is taking back control for all of the times he couldn’t when he was vulnerable and had no other options.

[impossiblesuitcase]

Fighting, and Loving

“Do you ever take those off?”

Cinder’s hands were hauled up at her chest and gloved. The thin fabric was white, though it was hard to tell when they were so heavily stained with grease and soot. He didn’t think he had ever seen her without them, but then again, she had always been working in the few times they had met.

Few times? 

Kai realised, with surprise, that they hadn’t spent even a whole hour together since meeting. It felt much, much longer.

Startled but defiant, she clocked him dead in the eye. “No.”

Huh. This girl got more mysterious by the second, yet simultaneously felt like the most honest person he’d met in years.

Plus, she was pretty cute.

It was warm in the elevator—or that could just be him. He was already simmering all over from watery grief and rage that morning when Levana stood on his balcony and cast her control over his people. Manipulating them. Brainwashing them. 

His eyes were now barren, stickiness dried on his cheeks. If Cinder had noticed, she hadn’t said anything. She regarded him with a quiet tenderness; a condolence, but not surface-level like that of so many other staff and guards and representatives.

Stars, he wanted her to come to the ball. Needed her to, now that he knew the filthy Lunars had planted the chip in Nainsi to extract information.

He was a prince. He rarely faced rejection. While he did respect her right to decline, something in him was convinced that her rejection wasn’t completely true. It never reached her eyes, as though some force was drawing the words from her mouth. Why did she hesitate if she seemed so comfortable with him? From the little he knew of her, she did not strike him as the type to indulge someone’s feelings if she did not reciprocate. 

What was holding her back? He was a prince. He had resources. He could make those obstacles disappear. 

“I think you should go to the ball with me.”

Cinder’s eyes widened. “Stars. Didn’t you already ask me that?”

“I’m hoping for a more favourable answer this time. And I seem to be getting more desperate by the minute.” 

“How charming.” 

That wasn’t the cadence of a voice that was about to accept. 

“Please?”

They went back and forth; Cinder’s responses were still vague, never giving him an idea of why she refused. Until:

“Well there are about 200,000 single girls in this city who would fall over themselves to have the privilege,” she reasoned drily, glaring at her feet. 

Wait, was she rejecting him because she thought herself unworthy? 

“Cinder,” he started, softly. Soothingly. “200,000 single girls. Why not you?”

Cinder looked torn. Insecure. “I’m sorry. But trust me—you don’t want to go with me.”

Trust me, I do.

The doors parted, she scrambled outside, and Kai internally whooped when he saw the audience.

If she thought she was unworthy, he wouldn’t hesitate to prove otherwise.

“Come to the ball with me,” he declared.

Cinder froze. The staff froze. Kai could practically already read the hundreds of gossip posts that would emerge from their gospel testimonies. 

Let the whole world know that Cinder was worthy of his attention. Then maybe she’d believe it too.

She turned around with a sharp expression, oddly reminiscent of his mother when a seven-year-old Kai shattered her crystal lamp copying Taekwondo moves from a netdrama. The expression warmed him.

Cinder manhandled him back into the elevator—which would kindly exacerbate those rumours.

The doors shut incriminatingly and she sighed. “Listen. I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t go to the ball with you. You just have to trust me on that.”

He studied her. Her scowl spoke of irritation, but the firmly planted hand on his chest was at ease. 

She noticed his gaze and retrieved her touch.

“Why?” he appealed, almost whining. “Why don’t you want to go with me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to go with you, it’s that I’m not going at all.”

Aha. “So you do want to go with me.”

Kai was certain that he was seconds away from finally getting through Cinder’s barrier—assuring her that it didn’t matter if she couldn’t dance, trying to allay her doubts—when something…changed. Her whole body deflated as though he’d just delivered some terrible diagnosis.

“It’s my sister.”

“Your sister?” he questioned, puzzled. Was this sister selfishly barring Cinder from attending the ball due to some slight? 

“Yes. My little sister. She has the plague. And it just wouldn’t be the same without her, and I can’t go—won’t go.” Then, like it was the truest admission of them all, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

The weight of his insensitivity pressed into him. Great going Kai, he thought, you got so caught up in yourself that you forgot people have lives. All that flirting and pushing, even in front of a crowd! And the whole time, he’d been disturbing her.

He took a step back, reconsidering.

If she didn’t come, that meant that the ball would proceed as dreaded. Entertaining Levana, disappointing the world with his announcement, feeling the final tattered shreds of hope slip through his hands.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded, but it was a lie. He had no incentive to lie to her. “Levana thinks she can play me like a puppet. And it just occurred to me that she might be right.”

Nothing he did would change anything.

The warmth in Cinder’s gaze bandaged his wounds. He wanted to change everything.

“Imagine there was a cure,” slipped out unbidden, “but finding it would cost you everything. It would completely ruin your life. What would you do?” He leant closer, seeking some sort of surreptitious pardoning. An intimate assurance that, no, he didn’t have to marry Levana. It was completely fair for him to refuse and spare his own life.

Her face showed no hope. “Ruin my life to save a million others? It’s not much of a choice.”

Of course. Why was he even seeking that assurance? Cinder was a good person. Cinder was logical, as was he.

He would do the right thing. 

The right thing, 

the right thing,

She glanced at his lips and soon, he was doing the same.

An inner voice screamed at him. Now is not the time! You barely know her! Your country is on the brink of war and you have to find an antidote. Priorities!

But, being a teenage boy and all, priorities weren’t his friend when it came to pretty girls. 

“I’m sure this is horribly inappropriate, but… it seems that my life is about to be ruined.”

He couldn’t have changed his mind now even if he tried. Kai gently guided her elbow to have her facing him. He craned his head. It had been a long time since he’d kissed a girl and yet, he didn’t recall the thrumming of his heart ever being this loud. Cinder closed her eyes and tilted her head up. She thought this was the right thing too.

His pulse leapt up to his throat as they inched closer to each other. Her breath fanned his mouth, so hot her lips could already be on his own.

Then Cinder cried out and crumpled in on herself.

The band of tension snapped. Romantic distractions would turn into worried distractions, it turned out.

———

Kai could do with more distractions, he decided.

Despite the roughly eighty million pressing issues all demanding his attention, his thoughts kept sprinting away to Linh-mèi. Linh Cinder, who still wasn’t coming to the ball, who was still subject to some unspecified illness. 

Distraction. He pulled up his non-work related comms, hoping for a brand new alert that would pull him into something, anything. A ‘how are you?’ or ‘check out this vid’, or ‘dude, that levana chick be crazy. Stay away.’

His inbox was a barren desert.

Prince Kaito was loved by the world. Kai had no friends.

Cinder was a friend now, right?

Parted lips, her palpable jolt of surprise. Her scrunched eyes and tilted head.

Irrational disappointment gnawed at his chest. It was for the best. Kai had obviously been grief-stricken—no state in which to deliver a meaningful first kiss. Especially when for a whole second he’d looked at Cinder lying on the ground and found her face piercing and hypnotising and something was very clearly wrong.

She’d set her head in her hands, the spell broke, and he still had no idea what had come over him. Probably his sanity doing cartwheels.

Cinder hadn’t reached out. Still, he couldn’t resist shooting off a comm when he yearned for a friendly voice.

Hey, Cinder. I hope you’re recovering well. Like I said, if you need any tests done, feel free to come to the palace. We can’t have the city’s best mechanic in poor shape.  Yours, Kai.

A day passed, and nothing. She was probably resting. But an extra comm never hurt, right?

Hi Cinder, how’s things today? Any more malfunctioning androids? I’ll let you know if there are any in the palace—hopefully none of them are befalling the same fate as Nainsi. You know what I mean.

Three comms in, Kai realised he was a touch presumptuous.

“Your Highness?” 

Kai startled and flipped around to see a palace official in the doorway, head lowered in a bow.

“Ah yes, Park-dàren, a pleasure to see you.”

The woman extended a portscreen. “I have the final details for your coronation security checks. They require your approval.”

Kai shook off his distraction and strode over, once again falling into the skin of the responsible royal. When the official gave her condolences for his loss, he remembered that he would be assuming that role indefinitely.

He was professional with guards and servants, even Torin now. He wasn’t himself with anyone anymore. The Kai he’d been with his parents and classmates would be locked up somewhere in his mind. He didn’t know when he would see that Kai again.

“As you can see outlined in section eight, we are taking strict measures to ensure your safety. Once 80% of guests have arrived, we will instigate a cut-off time, in which no further guests can be allowed to enter. Citizens under criminal restrictions will doubtless attempt to enter under the guise of being late, assuming the name of someone who failed to attend—”

“Wait,” he interrupted. Clenching his fingers around the port, he deliberated. “Remove the cut-off time.”

A slow blink. “...I beg your pardon?”

Kai couldn’t help but imagine Cinder on the day, debating with herself if she would or wouldn’t come. What if she vowed to stay home, only to regret it more and more with the ticking of the clock until she raced over to meet him?

“It’s just, erm, with this time of mourning, many of the guests may feel overwhelmed at the thought of attending without my father present. But perhaps they may change their mind that very evening?”

The woman considered this—or perhaps was thinking of a way to gently inform him that that was a stupid idea.

“Of course,” she corrected finally. “Please accept my apology on behalf of our department. We had not considered that. I shall amend the protocol to allow for at least an extra hour.”

A smile tickled his cheeks, but understanding followed it, and at once he berated himself. Did he really just compromise their security for a girl? 

As he handed the port back to the woman he noticed her hands, well-kept and uncovered.

There was one person, recently, that he’d been himself with. 

“Excuse me,” he said before he could stop himself. “May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” she exclaimed eagerly.

He did not allow himself to back out now, despite the embarrassed tension caging his spine. “Do you ever…wear gloves?”

Her eyes widened. Her hands folded over one another as though self-conscious, and he studied their complexion. It was impossible to imagine Cinder’s scrappy gloves on such pristine knuckles and cuticles.

“Uh, not often, Your Highness. On formal occasions, mostly. I have a pair that I wear to the peace ball. I’ll be wearing them this year.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “Thank you. I realise it’s a strange question. I just wondered if they would make a nice gift for someone.”

An amused smile. “Any gift from Your Highness would be an appreciated one.”

Once she had left, Kai paced over to the window to ruminate on this new idea. He was used to being welcome in any room he entered. He was certainly used to girls admiring him endlessly, and he’d grown skilled at politely declining their advances whilst secretly basking in the feeling of adoration. 

But Cinder wouldn’t be so easily swayed. She seemed stubborn and grounded and unwilling to betray her values, no matter who asked it of her. 

Kai unclipped his port from his belt and checked his comms. Still no responses.

What was he trying to achieve by this? Would she even like gloves? Or would that send the message that he was so clueless about women that her workwear was all he could think to buy her?

But these would be formal gloves, no, ballroom gloves. For the ball. He would give them to her, kiss her gloved hand and lead her down the ballroom steps. He remembered how that surprisingly petite hand had been so stiff when he’d kissed it in Dr. Erland’s office, as though his very touch had turned it to metal. 

He liked to think that she’d been romanced by it. He liked to think he had an effect on her.

Her hesitant glance at his lips. Her pull towards him in an unconscious magnetism.

Maybe she would like gloves, so long as they were from him.

———

He’d made up his mind by the time his seamstresses were fitting him for his coronation garb. They would give him the best advice.

“Say,” he wondered aloud, aiming for naturalness. “Where could I find some gloves for a formal event, perhaps, the ball?”

One of the older women, Kaminari, pulled a pin from her mouth without a glance his way. She had scolded a five, ten, even fifteen-year-old Kai many a time for wriggling during fittings. “You have a collection of gloves in your closet, Your Highness.”

“No, ah…” Treacherous heat covered his ears. “I was referring to women’s gloves.”

Now she looked at him over thin-framed glasses. Her eyes were scrutinising yet she graciously answered after a brief hesitation. “Well, the city’s department stores have the largest collections. You’ll find many fine pairs there.”

Kai enquired further, lacing his voice with casualness as though he was barely interested in such a trivial topic. Not because he feared rumours would erupt—Kaminari was a shrewd woman—but because that shrewdness enabled her to read him easily. There begged a question of why the prince would want women’s gloves, and ultimately, the most plausible conclusion was as a gift for a lady.

———

Kai sent Cinder another comm that night. She would be finished her workday, he assumed, and he recalled her mentioning a sister and a stepmother, so he waited until it was late enough that any family responsibilities would be completed.

It was also late enough that sending a comm would glaringly imply that he was thinking of her, now, at this late hour.

His previous messages were admittedly quite formal. This time, Kai hoped a laid-back approach would soften her digital wall of silence. 

Just a thought, if you feel like taking up dancing—for no particular reason at all—I’d be happy to be your instructor. I can practically see you rolling your eyes from here, but hear me out. You never know when those skills may come in handy.

The sent icon blipped on the right side of the screen. He stared at the left, drumming his fingers, waiting for the icon showing that she was responding. For the next five minutes, there was none.

Okay Kai, baaack it up a bit.

Sighing, he slid out of the app onto his netlink. Holding two fingers down, he flicked them away from himself so the feed appeared—lifesize—on the holographic projector before his bed. 

Kaminari’s recommendation was scrawled on his hand with one of her pattern markers. Saying it aloud brought an array of fashions to life, cycling one by one a carousel.

Kai’s back straightened. He shuffled closer on the bed. “All right. Display: gloves.”

He knew immediately that the particularly flashy ones that passed by would not work. Nor did peacock feather accents quite seem that of a modest mechanic.

He specified some criteria. Ballroom, elbow length, and then, classic. The pink and frills were replaced with simpler options. With no idea what colour dress she would be wearing* (if she was even coming*) a neutral colour would be the safest. With white, some were toned with ivory, rose gold or pink, and others a stark white. He liked silver best.

One instantly caught his attention. Elbow length, silver white, not gaudy but not as plain as her work gloves. The hem was rimmed with pearls for a touch of elegance. Cinder wasn’t elegant per se, but she did have a sort of unmatchable grace, uniquely characteristic to her.

Something about them felt…familiar.

Leaping out of bed, Kai tossed the port from his lap and jogged over to his closet. The lights flickered on as he opened the door, illuminating the long room that seemingly extended almost to the other end of the palace. The eighth cupboard down, third drawer on the left.

Laying neatly folded in lush velvet casing were three pairs of gloves. Kai fished past the navy and gold for the white pair underneath. He pulled them out, holding them up and inspecting them under the light.

They were ivory instead of silver, with diamonds instead of pearls. His mother hadn’t been all that fond of gloves. She always said a hand was better to hold if you could feel the touch of it in yours.

They still smelled vaguely of her perfume.

Kai held it to his face, inhaling the only remnant he still had of warm hugs and soothing lullabies and innocence. He had vowed as a child that he would never forget her scent or her voice or her smile.

No image of wide-spread teeth could come to his mind. He usually had to reference old home vids for the singsong murmurs.

Kai set them back in the tray, folded to match the others, and trudged back to his bed.

How would Mum feel to know that he would be forced to marry Levana? 

His portscreen was still there on his covers, glowing in the dimness. He bookmarked the tab of the department store and shut off the holographs so the blue light wouldn’t keep him awake. In vain, of course. His sleep had fled weeks ago.

Kai settled back into his bed sheets, closing his eyes and willing himself to rest. Instead, his mind fixed on Cinder, and he indulged in a brief, fleeting fantasy of her reaction when he delivered his gift. Would she smile? Turn red in the cheeks and stammer out gratitude? 

Or, considering her clear vehemence against attending, would she scoff and toss them away? 

No, that wasn’t the Cinder he’d come to know.

Kai turned from his back to his side, smushing his cheek in his pillow. Even if it didn’t sway her a single bit on his offer, her smile would be repayment enough. It probably wouldn’t work. Really, he didn’t know why he was so determined to buy her a gift, but the best reason he could come up with was that he simply wanted to.

———

Imagining her reaction became a hobby of his. 

Kai woke the next day, quickly dressed and ate a lonely breakfast in the empty dining hall. He distracted himself by checking his schedule. A blank hour between meetings and preparations piqued his interest. It would be prudent to use that time to practise his speech for the coronation or catch up on his father’s unfinished work or spend time groaning over his next meeting with the Lunar Queen.

Instead, he decided that if Cinder was willing to go out of her way to return Nainsi to him herself, he should return the courtesy. It would take ten minutes to get to the store by hover, around thirty to weave through the crowds in the rush hour and purchase the gloves (fifteen, if he played the prince card), and another ten minutes to return. If he did play the prince card, he might even have time to deliver them now, but if not today, he would make the time. 

Kai scheduled a hover to be posted at the palace entrance at 12:00 and set an alarm to give him notice.

Right. Now he would…work.

Time passed agonisingly. Kai had no office and was adamant that he’d stay out of his father’s for as long as possible. It belonged to the emperor, and that was his father. It wasn’t his yet. Never would be.

Instead, Kai worked in one of his sitting rooms where Torin could locate him and inform him of his burgeoning reminders. But Kai knew his father’s—his adviser was refraining as much as possible, for his sake.

09:15. Reviewing the classified strategies the Earthern Union hoped to employ to gain control of Levana.

09:21. Realising that the strategies summated to ‘We don’t know. Let’s wing it.’

09:27. Cupping his chin, eyes wandering to the window, trying to recall exactly where he’d last left his sweatshirt.

09:30. Work. Memorising the final itinerary for the coronation.

10:00. Trying to recall if he’d washed the sweatshirt that had been worn in stifling humidity and he’d definitely been sweating—

10:11. Skimming the newest report on Letumosis figures. Heart dropping to his stomach at the figures. 

10:29. Thinking of the gloves.

10:40. Work!

11:12. Mapping out the fastest route to Cinder’s booth.

Kai rammed his fist into his forehead, steeling his thoughts into obedience. His wished his brain were a limb; his arm—he could force it down with the other. His foot—he could weigh down to stop movement.

His brain was where the old Kai lived, and like an infectious tune, she was what it strayed to.

Now that the Lunars were around, Kai wasn’t so enthusiastic about the words mind and control being in the same sentence, so instead he commanded his fingers. Pick up the stylus, put it to the port and work.

It obeyed. Kai managed to concentrate until the beautiful, blessed alarm chimed through the air.

He sprang up, beaming.

Torin entered, apology pencilled on his brow.

“What.”

“Your Highness, the queen has requested an audience with you.”

All the gravity in the room dialled up to eleven, dragging every molecule of his body down with it. Kai flopped back onto the chair, grumbling. So much for that idea.

———

Kai’s schedule remained unforgiving. An extra two comms to Cinder were fruitless, and no other free hours appeared. The gloves slipped to the back of his mind.

Two days before the coronation, Kai was closing the tabs on his port and saw the bookmarked gloves. He jolted upright, knocking the underside of the coffee table and startling the china vase. 

Kai gnawed at his lip, pulling up his schedule and flipping over meetings and duties in hourly and bi-hourly increments. There would be something, he convinced himself as Nainsi rolled in with a tray of hot matcha tea.

“Thank you, Nainsi,” he mumbled as he took the cup and sipped. The scalding water sloshed over the rim onto his fingers and he thrust it down, hissing.

“Are you injured, Your Highness?” 

He tucked his hand beneath his thigh. “I’m fine.”

Her sensor glowed yellow—what he’d always thought of as her version of a nod—and she began to roll away.

“Wait.”

Nainsi stalled and swerved her cylindrical body around.

“Nainsi, could you make an order for me?”

“I would be honoured, Your Highness.”

Kai sent her the details of the purchase which she processed without delay. “Where should I have it sent to?”

Kai had been busy reexamining the gloves, even when it was too late to change his mind. “Pardon?”

“I assume they are to be a gift since they would not fit you,” she observed in that ever-neutral robotic tone. “Should I have them delivered to the recipient?”

“No,” Kai blurted. Hesitated. “I’m sure I can find some time…”

He raced through his schedule for any open slot, knowing there was none. Every meeting and hour was dedicated to some very noble, very unavoidable cause. Except, he thought as his eyes stopped on an extra coronation rehearsal mere hours before the ceremony. He’d be fine, so long as he didn’t throw the crown like a frisbee at Levana’s head.

“Have it sent to me,” he decided, clicking the timeslot and sending out a note to cancel it. “I’ll deliver it myself.”

“Certainly, Your Highness.” 

As he closed his calendar the screen was replaced with a newsfeed—article after article on the protests in the Commonwealth. Guiltily he clicked on one and was instantly rattled to see the vitriol on their faces, but also the fear. They were right. Levana shouldn’t be here. He should be able to fix it.

“Would you like the gift to be wrapped in advance, Your Highness?” 

“Ah, no, that’s fine,” he murmured distractedly. Nainsi’s sensor glowed green with confirmation and she ambled away.

He picked up his tea, now cooler, and sipped as he looked through the feeds. The hysterical cries, scathing posters and critical journalists weren’t just a blow to the regal, world leader Kaito. They hurt the Kai locked away, too.

———

When his coronation day arrived, Kai was so overrun with visitors and preparations that he genuinely blanked when Nainsi informed him his purchase had arrived. 

The knock at his door jolted him out of his confusion. Kai sprung into action, rifling through his closet for the grey hoodie and wrestled himself into it.

The courier blinked in surprise when Kai came to the door to pick up the package, but all the same bowed and handed him the box as though it held the crown jewels. He had probably expected a servant, and certainly not one dressed for a winter marathon.

“Thank you.” Kai paused. It was a plain brown box. “Uh, was there any wrapping paper for it?” 

The courier’s mouth hung open. “...You requested it unwrapped, Your Majesty.”

Kai almost instinctually corrected him on the honorific but refrained. Technically, he would only be His Highness for a few hours more.

“Of course. That is my mistake. Thank you. Never mind it.”

The man ignored this, rummaging through his bags and producing a selection of paper and ribbons. “Do you like any of these?”

Kai picked out a gold foil and noticed a sturdy-looking white bow in the man’s bag. He pointed at it. “Do you have any more like that?”

The man cut a sheet of the foil and handed it over gingerly, avoiding crinkles. When he pulled out the bow, Kai saw it was already wrapped around a gift. Without hesitation, the courier unwound the ribbon and flattened it out.

“Oh no,” Kai attempted, shaking his head, “please don’t take someone else’s—”

The bow was forced into his hands. 

The right thing to do would be to insist he couldn’t possibly accept it. Conscious of the ever-dwindling time, Kai buried his courteous instincts, thanked the man, and rushed briskly past him.

As the elevator descended, Kai ran over his plan. He could always wrap the gift in the hover, except he would need scissors and tape. He didn’t even know where he could find them. Paper was scarcely used anymore, so scissors were solely for cooking or cutting hair or clothes making or essentially any activity that a prince never did. There was always a maid or servant delegated to that task.

It was very important to Kai that something for Cinder was something he did himself.

He quickly thumbed the doors-open button, landing him five floors above the ground level. As he emerged, the adjacent elevator opened to a group of maids. Seeing him, the man and two women bowed respectfully. Kai returned a kind nod. But when their backs turned, he called, “Wait.”

They turned around. 

“Pardon me, but would any of you know where I could find some scissors and, uh, some tape?”

The other two exchanged some surprise, but the shortest woman bowed again with confidence. “We can certainly locate some for you, Your Highness.”

It turned out that the servant supply rooms had everything a person could ever need, including a large, paint-flecked table. Kai assessed the supplies and got to work. He took his time, trying and failing to get a meticulous seal and clean fold. It was shabby but functional, so he moved onto the bow. One loop was larger than the other—his bow-tying abilities were strictly limited to shoelaces.

Kai remembered how his father would wrap gifts for his mother himself. It was never the finest job, and neither was Kai’s, but that didn’t matter.

Satisfied, Kai abandoned the supplies on the table and took the wrapped gift to the palace gate where the hover was waiting for him.

———

Cinder looked completely baffled when he presented the box to her. He might as well have brought her a strangled puppy for her horrified expression.

“What?” he protested. “I can’t buy you a gift?”

Cinder’s nose scrunched in disbelief. “No. Not after I’ve ignored six of your comms in the last week. Are you dense?”

Any regret for sending those comms dissipated. “So you did get them!”

Cinder huffed, turning away. “Of course I got them.” Her tone wasn’t angry. Of course I got them; Of course I read them. Enough, evidently, to know specifically that he’d sent six comms.

Hope awoke in his chest. “So why are you ignoring me? Did I do something?”

There was a haze over her, some kind of veil, and he just needed to lift it. “It’s just that I…” Cinder fingered the hem of her gloves contemplatively. Her mouth parted. She ducked her hands under the table and blurted, “Because you kept going on and on about the stupid ball!” 

Oh.

She was nothing if not obstinate.

Kai glanced down at his gift, startled. A laugh tore out of him at the irony of it all. “Stars, Cinder, if I’d known you were going to embargo me for asking you on a date, I wouldn’t have dared.”

Cinder looked away, grumbling.

He would be reasonable; asking a girl to be your personal guest at the most documented event of the year was more of a tenth-date level of request. This girl was mesmerising; intelligent, snarky, comfortable in her grease-spotted skin. But Kai knew how to read people. There was hesitation below that: anxiety, self-doubt. 

It needed to be non-committal. Casual. A first date.

He unleashed his winning smile. “Might I have the honour of treating you to lunch?”

As though she had a specific ‘reject any non-work-related activity involving Kai’ vendetta, Cinder continued to rebuff him.

She was deflecting, so he fought back. Ask the other vendors to tend to your booth. Ask your android. That last one seemed to irritate her the most.

His public speaking instructor would have told him here: when you’re at an impasse, there’s always something else to say. Another angle to convince them.

Cinder didn’t seem annoyed with him, but she wasn’t convinced, either.

It was all right. If she wasn’t coming to the ball, or she wouldn’t go to lunch with him, there would be other times.

Cinder regarded him in a way he thought—hoped—was almost regretful.

Could there be?

In a few hours, he would be emperor. If he were busy as a prince, he would have no time for respite now. And Cinder was…nothing more than a subject. A mechanic he sought a service from. She may have been willing to kiss him, but to let him court her?

One day—in the future. Maybe.

“Come on. I can’t take you to the…B-word; I can’t take you to lunch. Short of my unplugging the processor on one of my androids, this could be the last time we ever see each other,” he said nonchalantly, hoping there was no obvious tinge of disappointment.

Cinder stared at her toolbox. “Believe it or not, I’d actually kind of resolved myself to that fact already.”

Her words cemented it. No, he would not be able to escape his fate of marrying Levana. No, he would not be free to pursue a relationship with the only person left who made him feel like more than just a figurehead.

He didn’t allow her to give him back the gloves. All the same, he would treat her with kindness, and show his gratitude, and then perhaps she wouldn’t forget about him.

Pushing the box to her, he requested, “Take it. And think of me.” 

He smiled sincerely at her, hoping it would leave a lasting mark in her memory. Something just as indelible as she had become to him.

His mood soured when Cinder’s stepsister arrived, spoiling what may be his last interaction with her. And yet as he stepped back into the crowd, he turned once more to watch. The messy hair and grease-stained clothes and magnetising charm. That was what he'd remember.

———

Kai was an idiot.

Grade A idiot. World-class idiot. All his fans who called him charming and kind and benevolent were wrong.

At first, seeing Linh Pearl at the ball was just another nail in the coffin of the awful day that was his coronation. But her news struck an unexpected chord in his chest.

Cinder’s stepsister had died. The one she had mentioned in the elevator. The reason she hadn’t come to the ball.

Kai had completely forgotten that the girl was ill. And he’d marched up to Cinder’s booth, attempting again to get her to come to the ball; he’d even nagged her for ignoring his comms! Was he so dense?

Idiot.

For all the guilt, there was also a twinge of hope. Because if Cinder was in mourning, perhaps she wasn’t rejecting him. Perhaps it had just been the wrong time. So then if…

No. It was wishful thinking. Cinder hadn’t shown up to indicate anything. And tonight he had to announce his plans to wed Levana.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Kai to the girl, genuinely meaning it.

Pearl sniffed, though it was more haughty than mournful. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I know you truly do feel that in your heart. I can’t say the same of my awful stepsister.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“Oh, she is a monster. If only you knew what she’s really like. And don’t worry, I made sure she wouldn’t taint your generous gift with her filthy claws.”

“What do you mean? Those were a gift for her to use.”

Pearl’s sneer was frighteningly sincere. “Trust me, a creature like her doesn’t deserve them. You see, that awful, ungrateful wretch is a cy–”

A voice boomed over the speakers, spreading commotion amongst the joviality. Kai frowned at the interruption, too busy waiting to correct whatever nonsense Linh Pearl was about to spew. Then he heard the announcement.

“Please welcome to the 126th Annual Ball of the Eastern Commonwealth, a personal guest of His Imperial Majesty: Linh Cinder of New Beijing.”

Kai’s breath snagged, heart tripling in size. At the top of the stairs, Cinder stood in all her crowning glory. That being her version: a muddied, wet dress, mussed hair and—

Holding up the dripping silver skirt were silk-gloved hands. 

Every mouth hung as she descended the stairs. Heat rushed to his cheeks, then laughter to his heart. Cinder had come to the ball. She was wearing his gift. 

That had to mean something.

Cinder’s fierce eyes were trained on him as she marched forward. It didn’t even seem to bother her that her ballgown looked half dragged out of a sewer, the crowd around her staring blades and ice shards into her back. He didn’t know if she didn’t notice, or if she didn’t let herself. Kai rushed forward, blessedly excused from his delightful conversation partner. He was just preparing to meet Cinder halfway when she was intercepted by a woman. His feet stopped beneath him.

The two argued. Pearl scurried next to the strange woman to hurl accusations of her own. Cinder’s nostrils flared, and even the guards looked perplexed at whether they should intervene.

The woman raised a flat hand, Cinder flinched, and Kai saw scarlet red.

“Your Majesty!” the woman gasped out, as his firm hand locked around her wrist.

“That is enough,” he disciplined. He kept his fury contained, lest any shows of anger make Cinder even more afraid.

Pink filled the woman’s cheeks. “I am so sorry, Your Majesty. My emotions—my temper—this girl is…I am sorry she has interrupted…she is my ward—she should not be here…”

Her stepmother. “Of course, she should. She is my personal guest.” His tone was light, but commanding all the same. His eyes darted to Cinder. Traced over the shock on her face. The defused fear. The arms wrapped around her waist, cradling—or caging—herself.

He wished so fervently to strip that pain away.

Kai released the woman and ordered the merriment to resume, which everyone attempted half-heartedly. Then he pulled Cinder into his arms and into the most socially acceptable method to have a private conversation amidst a crowd: dancing.

Once having guided Cinder away, Kai was finally able to give her a closer inspection. That’s how he noticed the dark smudges on the silver silk gloves.

Okay. Maybe she had defaced his gift, but she was still wearing them. How could he expect anything else from the girl who had been so exponentially unlike anyone he’d ever met before?

Cinder gaped up at him, and while the damp glove was seeping cold into his shoulder, her waist was warm under his hand. It took only a heartbeat for him to realise that she was not experienced in the ways of waltzing. 

He chuckled. “You have no idea how to dance, do you?”

“I’m a mechanic,” she hissed, and it stirred a louder laugh under his sternum.

“Believe me, I noticed. Are those grease stains on the gloves I gave you?” he teased, because really, he couldn’t even make himself mad about it. He expressed that by twirling her under his arm, to which she stumbled and toppled into his chest.

A grin overtook him. Cinder cringed. She was wholly out of her element, and clearly uncomfortable by all the scrutiny. And yet, this flustered and dishevelled version of Cinder had come all the way to the ball for him, despite the opposition from her guardian. Despite her own self-doubts.

Then he remembered the other reason she hadn’t wanted to attend.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he started softly.

He momentarily thought that she might start to cry. “I didn’t know how.”

“I would have understood.”

The more he apologised, the more at ease she seemed. It was as though he was pardoning her, assuring her that being here would not dishonour her sister’s memory. She looked at him like she was seeing his face in whole for the first time; not just in pieces.

A voice came to him, Torin this time, lecturing him that this was a foolish pursuit; that he would still have to make his announcement of his betrothal to Levana. But it was a small heartache he didn’t dwell on it. Because something else Torin had once said came to him.

“Perhaps you’ll meet a girl at the festival. Have a whirlwind romance, a happily ever after, and have no more worries for the rest of your days.”

Cinder tied her fingers in the hair at his neck. She was here. Reasons she had rejected him didn’t matter now. He liked her. She liked him. There were no other reasons needed.

Somehow, ludicrously, Cinder being here meant everything.

As long as Cinder was around, he knew that the Kai locked away inside of him would stay alive. And, one day, return.

Fighting, and loving.

Notes

…And then everything crashes and burns spectacularly :D 

Writing Kai at this stage is so interesting because his life is falling to pieces and yet he is so effortlessly flirty with Cinder, making it appear that he's coping. Then you get to his povs and he is not coping, and when you read 'The Mechanic' you see how he wants to sound "witty" to impress her. He was holding in all those emotions so he could flirt effectively lol. Anyways I recommend reading these scenes in the actual book because I didn't include all the dialogue, just snippets to highlight Kai's perspective.

I am most indebted to @spherical-empirical for the line, "I can practically see you rolling your eyes from here, but hear me out." It was from a post from a long time ago, but I started this fic a long time ago. I am VERY happy that this is finished after TWO YEARS of it sitting in my drafts.

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @salt-warrior @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @icarusignite @kaider-is-my-otp @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @cosmicnovaflare @kaixiety @snozkat @mirrorballsss @skinwitch18 @vincentvangothic @bakergirl13 @wassupnye @linh-cindy

[kedsandtubesocks]

*stomps my little foot* I WANNA HEAR ABOUT HUSBAND JAVI P AND WHY HE MAKES THE BEST HUSBAND

ERI!!! ITS BECAUSE HE IS AND WE DESERVE TO DISCUSS IT!!

There’s a reason why he is tied for first in my heart against Din as my favorite pedro boy and it’s because he’s just…so good and is peak husband material and I am here to proclaim it with my entire heart!!

So I’ve been holding onto this ask because the perfect timing of you asking about husband Javi P even before I event sent you my one shot that includes husband Javi P??? Like?? We are on an IMMACULATE WAVELENGTH I SWEAR!!!

Also because I feel so dang serious about this I am going to full depth like it’s one of my dissertation papers and I apologize SO MUCH for how long this got lmaooo so…let’s get into it lol

(yes I’m using a pic of Pedro at the golden globes but I wanted to start off with this off because this look…this is Javi on his wedding day. I don’t know why but I feel it in my soul)

In Defense of Husband Javier Peña

When that lovely poll was making its rounds around on which Pedro boy has the biggest want for a housewife I had to vote for him… I just had to. And yeah it might be because I’m a Javi Girl at heart but it really is because I feel Javi would just be the most lovesick man in the world knowing he’s married, knowing he’s someone’s husband. He would treasure and cherish his spouse with his very last breath.

I imagine the possible base of how he views marriage comes from seeing his parents. Knowing how much love he witnessed built between them I feel is what Javi strives to have. But, he possibly just believes he doesn’t deserve that because he views himself as this unworthy corrupt guy who’s done bad things.

And while yes he’s made mistakes that doesn’t make him bad or evil or even a bad husband!!

When he rescues Helena the first thing he does is take off his vest to cover her. He’s tender and speaks to her with such compassion. Then later when they rescue Christina, there’s this moment when he touches her arm and then pulls her closer in the helicopter to almost protect her that just says so much!

He’s comforting and tender, probably even more than he lets on! Heck there’s even that small moment during that tense scene at the checkpoint with los pepes when he fondly pats Hugo Jr’s cheek in a reassuring manner. There’s just so many moments we see how soft he is!

So when you apply to the idea of him as a husband, can you imagine just how generous and wonderfully tender he’d be?

He probably couldn’t keep his hands off you!!! From playful winks (which we see him do so many times and they make my heart flutter every damn time) to simply wanting you in his arms, he’s a physical touch as a love language husband for sure.

Yeah he might miss a few anniversary dates or might forget to pick up a some items from the grocery store but he would extraordinarily caring and tender. And he’d be your rock in the storm and I stand by this.

(And yes I’m going to put this under a read more because I just…I have so many thoughts on this)

He’s seen so much, yet stays so kind. He would be by your side through thick and thin because that’s the type of man he is.

Alongside that, i feel having that unwavering loyal love again comes from his parents. I sadly imagine his mom passed away from an illness. And with that in mind, for Javi to see his dad stay by his mama’s side even if it got bad…I believe that became the cornerstone of how he views not just a marriage but a true deep kind of love.

He would be the exact same way with his spouse.

For better or for worse just as those vows say. And even if they didn’t Javi would just be there for you because that’s love, that’s what it is at its purest form for him.

Then I think about this one line Murphy says when Javi is about to leave back to the states. I can’t quote it exactly but it’s along the lines of “no American had given more” than Javi. He was there from the start, stayed in when it got bad and even showed how much he was willing to give of himself to fight. I know this can be argued of him being a possible workaholic but instead I think it goes back to my theory that he’s just truly so loyal.

He’s unwavering and sticks with it because that’s the type of man he is, that’s the type of husband he would be. He’s the type of husband who holds you as long as you need to when you cry, who would probably move heaven and hell for you because you’re it for him.

Javi was almost someone’s husband (which is a whole other tangent I could get on) and he probably might think maybe that time for him has passed. Or maybe he thinks because he’s done so much shit, seen so much, Javier again views himself as damaged goods who just isn’t husband material.

There’s that moment when he looks at Lorraine and her family that he pauses. He stares at them for just a second but it’s enough that we see him take this moment. I know it can be argued that it’s him just taking in the path Lorraine’s life has taken, but to me the look in his eyes is one of longing. Like he’s staring at something just out of his reach or that he’s not meant to have.

With that yearning, Javi seems like the type longing to be with someone who says yes Javier I pick you every time, I will stand by your side and be with you through it all the same way you would be for me, I see you, your scars, the darkness you hold onto, and your pure golden heart that means well and I will love you…

So when he finds you, realizes he’s gets to have that, gets to be your husband - he’s yours for life!!!! He would just get so overwhelmed at finally having that true companionship.

Yeah he would be grumpy and maybe tease you from time to time but he would be the husband who drives at midnight to go pick you up fries and a shake because you mentioned you had the munchies. He would face any of your demons with you by your side.

He’s the man who wears his wedding ring proud and probably sees you as his best friend. He’s loyal, kind, bit grumpy but tender with the biggest heart and he would hold your hand even when the sky is falling.

Just…Husband Javier Peña forever

[disneymbti]

The Duncan parents and PJ Gabe and Toby from Good Luck Charlie

Hi there, sweetie! I really hope you like this a lot!

Bob Duncan's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ISFJ [The Defender]

ISFJ types need time alone to re-energize. They are self-sufficient and independent thinkers.

They are very observant and prefer to focus on the details of every situation. They listen to and follow past experience and present understandings.

Defenders prioritize the emotional needs of others. They make decisions based on what feels right, rather than what might make most logical sense.

They also prefer structure and organization, tending to follow rules and processes to an end goal. They are responsible and have a strong work ethic.

Big Three: Cancer Sun, Libra Moon and Taurus Rising

Cancer Sun: Ruled by the Moon, Cancers are emotionally mature, intuitive, sensitive, and artistic. They are guided by their tender, loving, and protective hearts.

Libra Moon: Moon in Libra is makes for a relationship-oriented individual. They may base their decisions upon how they are viewed by others. 

Taurus Rising: Those with Taurus risings exude grace and sophistication, and handle business with a sweet disposition.

Enneagram Type: 9w8 [The Advisor]

Basic Fear: Nine wing eights are afraid of being separated from the world. They avoid this by preventing conflict; however, their eight wing also encourages them to be assertive, which can create an internal tension.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to be internally balanced. They seek to be at peace with themselves and others.

Advisors defend themselves by numbing their negative emotions through routine and repetitive patterns. They avoid facing their own internal struggles by distracting themselves in this way.

Amy Duncan's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ESFP [The Entertainer]

ESFPs are very outgoing and lively people. They thrive in groups and prefer not to spend too much time alone.

They are very observant, focusing closely on the details rather than the grand scheme. They think in terms of the present.

Entertainers tend to prioritize emotion when making decisions, concerning themselves more with how their decisions will affect others. They are empathetic and diplomatic.

They rely more on opportunity than rigid scheduling. They are spontaneous and playful people, with a passion for finding new adventures.

Big Three: Leo Sun, Aries Moon and Cancer Rising

Leo Sun: The Sun rules the sign Leo, which is why Leo Suns all about ego, will, and character. They’re known to be creative, playful, and bold.

Aries Moon: Lunar Aries are known to be emotionally responsive and impulsive at times, as they lead with fiery passions over than logic or reason.

Cancer Rising: Cancer ascendants tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves and take care of those they love.

Enneagram Type: 3w2 [The Enchanter]

Basic Fear: Enneagram type three wing twos are afraid of failing and being unworthy of love. They avoid this by setting and accomplishing goals, in order to feel successful and worthy.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to be admired and accepted. They seek value through accomplishment, which may push them deeper into their work.

Enchanters tend to adjust their persona to their audience, in order to feel as though they are easily liked, which may lead to playing a character rather than being themselves.

PJ Duncan's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ENFP [The Campaigner]

ENFP types are generally very outgoing and lively, preferring to go out rather than stay in. They love conversing with other people and generally process their thoughts externally.

They are great problem solvers and enjoy figuring out how everything is connected. They tend to focus more on the future than the present.

Campaigners like to keep the peace and avoid conflict. They care more about subjective principles than logic and fact. 

They are flexible and spontaneous, preferring to keep their options open. They dislike routines, schedules, and strict rules.

Big Three: Pisces Sun, Cancer Moon and Leo Rising

Pisces Sun: The planetary ruler for Pisces is Jupiter and Neptune, which gives Pisces Suns a sentimental, intuitive, imaginative, and dreamy nature. 

Cancer Moon: The emotions of Cancer Moons have no limits, restraints, or depths. This is a cosmic placement that often leads to sweetness, kindness, emotional awareness and responsibility. 

Leo Rising: Leo ascendants bask in the glow of sunlight, radiating positivity and charm. Performers through and through, those with this friendly, radiant, and outgoing placement exude confidence and strength.

Enneagram Type: 7w6 [The Pathfinder]

Basic Fear: Sevens with a six wing have a deeply-rooted fear of missing out. They want to be trustworthy and honor commitments, but they also want to leave room to allow for last-minute opportunities.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to feel fulfilled and happy. They express this by searching for joy in every small thing that comes their way.

Pathfinders defend themselves by rationalizing away negative feelings. They unconsciously convince themselves that they are happy, even when they are not.

Gabe's Duncan's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ENTP [The Debater]

As extroverts, ENTP types have higher levels of energy and love being around other people. They tend to avoid being alone.

They are more interested in the big picture than on specifics and details. They love solving complex problems and have a great sense of intuition. 

Debaters make decisions based on logic. They care less about what makes people happy and more about what’s right.

They dislike schedules and routine, preferring to keep their options open. They love surprise experiences and challenge the need for rules and regulations.

Big Three: Gemini Sun, Sagittarius Moon and Aries Rising

Gemini Sun: Geminis are chatty and talkative, priding themselves on being in-the-know when it comes to news and gossip. Their dualistic nature allows them to see situations from a number of perspectives.

Sagittarius Moon: The Moon is considered to be lucky in Sagittarius, as it brings excitement, adventure, and abundance. However, those with Sagittarius Moons can be defensive at times.

Aries Rising: Aries ascendants are known as the go-getters of the zodiac. They don’t let anything stand in their way of achieving their personal goals.

Enneagram Type: 7w8 [The Opportunist]

Basic Fear: Seven with an eight wing fear being deprived. They want to pursue new opportunities and avoid being controlled by schedules.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to content and satisfied. They love experiencing the world by travelling and going to parties.

Opportunists defend themselves by justifying others’ negative actions and rationalizing away bad feelings.

Toby Duncan's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ENTJ [The Commander]

As ENTJs, Commanders are talkative, high energy, and thrive around people. They seek action and tend to involve themselves in events. They prefer not to spend too much time alone.

They focus more on the big picture than on tiny details—they’re interested in how everything connects together and trust their internal thought process more than they trust past experience.

ENTJs use logic rather than emotion in decision making. They tend to follow what makes sense, rather than what feels right.

They are structured, organized, like to plan ahead and know what’s going to happen. They appreciate rules, processes, and schedules.

Big Three: Cancer Sun, Gemini Moon and Sagittarius Rising

Cancer Sun: Ruled by the Moon, Cancers are emotionally mature, intuitive, sensitive, and artistic. They are guided by their tender, loving, and protective hearts.

Gemini Moon: Ruled by winged messenger, Mercury, Gemini Moons enjoy discussing their complex feelings with others in order to gain a mindful and clear emotional perspective.

Sagittarius Rising: Sagittarius risings are jovial, optimistic, and full of energy. They sparkle with confidence, and you can't help but sparkle back when you're around them.

Enneagram Type: 8w7 [The Nonconformist]

Basic Fear: Eight with a seven wing fear being controlled by others. They dislike authority and prefer to work alone.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to remain in control of their own lives. They also want other people to be free, and are often advocates for those less able.

Nonconformists defend themselves by denying vulnerability. They don’t want to appear weak and therefore avoid situations that may leave them exposed or defenseless.

[whileiamdying]

Jane’s World

How Jane Austen has remained a phenomenon for more than two centuries.

By Martin Amis December 31, 1995

Photograph from BBC / Album

Currently, it seems, Jane Austen is hotter than Quentin Tarantino. But before we try to establish what the Austen phenomenon is, let us first establish what it is not. About eighteen months ago, I went to see “Four Weddings and a Funeral” at a North London cineplex. Very soon I was filled with a yearning to be doing something else (standing at a bus stop in the rain, for example); and under normal circumstances I would have walked out after ten or fifteen minutes. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Beside me sat Salman Rushdie. For various reasons—various security reasons—we had to stay. Thus the Ayatollah Khomeini had condemned me to sit through “Four Weddings and a Funeral”; and no Iranian torturer could have elicited a greater variety of winces and flinches, of pleadings and whimperings. One was obliged to submit, and absorb a few social lessons, in agonizing surroundings. It felt like a reversal of the Charles Addams cartoon: I sat there, thoroughly aghast, while everyone about me (save the author of “The Satanic Verses”) giggled and gurgled, hugging themselves with the deliciousness of it all. The only good bit was when you realized that the titular funeral was going to feature Simon Callow. I clenched my fist and said yes. At least one of them was going to die.

“Well,” I said, when it was over, “that was bottomlessly horrible. Why is it so popular?”

“Because,” said Salman, “the world has bad taste. Didn’t you know that?”

Still, bad taste doesn’t quite cover it. I can see that the upper classes might enjoy watching the upper classes portrayed with such whimsical fondness. But why should it appeal to four hundred berks from Hendon? In any postwar decade other than the present one, “Four Weddings” would have provoked nothing but incredulous disgust. A sixties audience would have wrecked the cinema. Yet now it seems that the old resentments have evaporated, and “the million,” as Hamlet called them, feel free to root for the congenital millionaires. They can lapse into a forgetful toadyism, and abase themselves before their historical oppressors. Class is harmless, class is cute; class is even felt to be classy. “Four Weddings” is of course deeply “sentimental” in the colloquial sense: it displays false and unworthy tenderness. But it is also sentimental in the literary sense: an exhausted form has been speciously revived. Houses, parties, house parties, amorous vicissitudes in opulent drawing rooms and landscaped gardens, do’s and don’ts, “p”s and “q”s, old money and unlimited leisure. To get in the mood for “Four Weddings,” imagine you are the Reverend Collins on laughing gas. It is Jane Austen, in a vile new outfit.

“Persuasion” has recently been filmed, and so has “Sense and Sensibility,” and there are three versions of “Emma” in the works (not to mention “Clueless”), and no doubt someone will soon knock off the amiably mock-Gothic “Northanger Abbey,” and someone else will find the nerve to tackle the problematic austerities of “Mansfield Park,” and that will be that. For “Pride and Prejudice” has been most comprehensively taken care of, in the BBC’s six-part, nine-and-a-half-million-dollar serial, which has been emptying the streets of England every Sunday night (and which will arrive on American screens on January 15th). Austen fever, or more particularly Darcymania, is upon us. Features editors have been reduced to commissioning interviews with lorry drivers and insulation engineers who happen to be called Darcy; tourist pilgrimages to Jane Austen’s house (in Chawton, Hants) were up about two hundred and fifty per cent in October, and sales of Austen tote bags, Austen crockery, Austen sweatshirts, Austen tea towels, and Austen aprons were comparably brisk; while you’re listening to “The Jane Austen Music Compact Disc” (stuff she might have heard or played), you can rustle something up from “The Jane Austen Cookbook” (all ingredients have been modernized); and so on. Much of this enthusiasm is, of course, collateral enthusiasm, or Heritage enthusiasm: a blend of disembodied snobbery and vague postimperial tristesse. No doubt, too, many of the serial’s ten million viewers watched it in the same spirit as they watched “Four Weddings”—contentedly stupefied by all the eccentricity and luxe. But such wastage is inevitable, and even appropriate. “Sense and Sensibility” and “Persuasion” play at the art houses. “Pride and Prejudice” plays in your living room; and—true to the book—it comes at you with a broad embrace.

Some may be funnier than others, but all Jane Austen’s novels are classical comedies: they are about young couples finding their way toward a festive conclusion, namely marriage. Furthermore, all Jane Austen’s comedies are structurally the same comedy. There is a Heroine, there is a Hero, and there is an Obstacle. The Obstacle is always money (not class—Mrs. Bennet’s origins are in “trade,” but so are Mr. Bingley’s). With the exception of Emma Woodhouse, all the Heroines are penniless and have no dependable prospect other than comfortless spinsterhood. As the Hero heaves into view, he will appear to be dogged by a female Rival—schemer, heiress, or vamp. The Heroine, for her part, will be distracted, tempted, or merely pestered by a counterfeit hero, a Foil—seducer, opportunist, or fop. The Foil can be richer than the Hero (“Persuasion,” “Mansfield Park”) and, on the face of it, much better fun (“Mansfield Park”). The Hero can also be uglier than the Foil. In her adaptation of “Sense and Sensibility” (which has a double Heroine), Emma Thompson does what she can to spruce up Colonel Brandon—the part is given to Alan Rickman—but the novel makes it plain that he is a pitiable old wreck of thirty-five. Brandon represents authorial punishment for Marianne’s unrestrained infatuation with her Foil, John Willoughby (played in the film by the charmlessly handsome Greg Wise). The flaws of the Foil will highlight the Hero’s much solider merits. While the Heroines have foibles, the Heroes are all paragons. Two of them—Henry Tilney and Edmund Bertram—are vicars.

In “Pride and Prejudice,” Austen turned up the dial that controls the temperature of comedy, giving it some of the fever of what we would now call romance. Both Rival and Foil are almost melodramatically garish figures: the self-woundingly feline Caroline Bingley, the debauched and self-pitying George Wickham. They create logistical difficulties, but neither is capable of mounting the slightest threat to the central attraction. For Elizabeth Bennet is the most frictionlessly adorable Heroine in the corpus—by some distance. And, as for the Hero, well, Miss Austen, for once in her short life, held nothing back: tall, dark, handsome, brooding, clever, noble, and uninhibitedly rich. He has a vast estate, a house in town, a “clear” ten thousand per annum. His sister Georgiana has thirty thousand pounds—whereas Elizabeth’s dowry amounts to about a quid a week. No reader can resist the brazen wishfulness of “Pride and Prejudice,” but it is clear from internal evidence alone that Austen never fully forgave herself for it. “Mansfield Park” was her—and our—penance. As her own prospects weakened, dreams of romance paled into the modest hope for respectability. “Persuasion” was her poem to the second chance. And then came death.

This autumn, as the new serial got into its stride, distressed viewers rang up the BBC in tears, pleading for the assurance that fate would smile on the star-crossed pair and all would yet be well. I was not among these callers, but I sympathized. And I quite understood why the “Pride and Prejudice” video, released midway through the run, sold out in two hours. When I was introduced to the novel, at the age of fourteen, I read twenty pages and then besieged my stepmother’s study until she told me what I needed to know. I needed to know that Darcy married Elizabeth. (I needed to know that Bingley married Jane.) I needed this information as badly as I had ever needed anything. “Pride and Prejudice” suckers you. Amazingly—and, I believe, uniquely—it goes on suckering you. Even now, as I open the book, I feel the same panic of unsatisfied expectation, despite five or six rereadings. How can this be, when the genre itself guarantees consummation? The simple answer is that the lovers really are made for each other—by their creator. They are constructed for each other: interlocked for wedlock.

Andrew Davies, who adapted the novel for television, was shrewd enough to regard his function as one of artistic midwifery—to get the thing out of the page and onto the screen in as undamaged a state as possible. After all, he had before him the example of the Olivier-Garson version of 1940 (based on a script by Aldous Huxley, among others): cold proof that any tampering will reduce the original to emollient inconsequentiality. Huxley’s reading is disastrously winsome; even Lady Catherine de Bourgh is a good egg. Still, the adapter has to do what the adapter has to do. The pious and vigilant Janeite looks on, ever ready to be scandalized by the merest breach of decorum.

Very early on, we see Elizabeth in the bedroom she shares with Jane, saying, “If I could love a man who would love me enough to take me for a mere fifty pounds a year, I should be very well pleased.” This puts us in the financial picture (and we will soon be seeing Mr. Bennet sighing over his account book); but it commits Elizabeth to a predisposed mooniness quite at odds with her defiant stoicism. Later, when the scandal of Lydia’s elopement breaks, and Darcy gauntly takes his leave of Elizabeth in the inn near Pemberley, Austen writes, “Elizabeth felt how improbable it was that they should ever see each other again on such terms of cordiality as had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire.” This translates as a one-line soliloquy: “I shall never see him again.” Austen’s lines show a brave face in adversity, Davies’ an admission of a love Elizabeth does not yet feel. Each shifted brick threatens the whole building.

TV is TV, and TV Man wants visual equivalents for every “it” and “the.” And the visual is always literal, funnily enough. Any protracted passage of background explication is accorded a lavish collage. Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth, with its revelations about Wickham’s character, inspires a scene set in Cambridge: Darcy in his gown and mortarboard, striding through a colonnade, mounting the stairs—and surprising the smirking Wickham with a half-clad scullery maid on his lap. We see Lydia and Wickham’s midnight flit (la, how they cuddle in the carriage!), we see Darcy pacing the festering streets of London in search of them, and we see the runaways in their bedroom at the rude tavern. Elizabeth and Darcy don’t just think about each other, they have hallucinations about each other. They’ve got it that bad.

Davies’ more minor interpolations are usually pretty deft and sometimes downright felicitous. But every Janeite is like the Princess and the Pea. Wickham doesn’t say that Darcy “refused point blank” (though he might have done—the epithet is sufficiently elderly). Elizabeth would never say (skeptically), “Astonish me!” Even Lydia would not wonderingly repeat the (invented) line, “A whole campful of soldiers. . . .” Nor would she say, “We shall have some laughs.” When Elizabeth refuses Darcy’s first offer of marriage, he notes that she spurns him “with so little effort at civility,” whereas the book has the clearly superior “so little endeavour at civility.” A few pages earlier, a nifty subjunctive is lost when “I expected at least that the pigs were got into the garden” becomes “the pigs had got into the garden.” I could go on. But by now I feel I am trespassing on the reader’s patience. Then again, I would argue that these tiny precisions, these niceties, are the atoms that constitute Jane Austen’s universe. And after a long immersion in her work, I find that her thought rhythms entirely invade my own. Normal social intercourse becomes increasingly strained. People look at me oddly. If, for example, the editor had called, to inquire after the progress of the present piece, I would have been like to reply, “Nay, Madam, I find I get on excessively ill. I need more time alone with Jane. May I extort, then, the indulgence of a further se’nnight?”

In David Lodge’s novel “Changing Places,” a tweedy little British academic goes to teach at Euphoric State University, on the West Coast, while a big brash American academic goes to teach at a rain-sodden redbrick called Rummidge. The American, Morris Zapp, wearily begins his seminar:

“What are you bursting to discuss this morning?” “Jane Austen,” mumbled the boy with the beard. . . . “Oh yeah. What was the topic?” “I’ve done it on Jane Austen’s moral awareness.” “That doesn’t sound like my style.” “I couldn’t understand the title you gave me, Professor Zapp.” “Eros and Agape in the later novels, wasn’t it? What was the problem?” The student hung his head.

The immediate joke here is the contrast in critical styles: the British still locked in the ethical battlefields patrolled by F. R. Leavis, the Americans soaring off into the architectonics of myth and structure. But Lodge’s deeper point is that Jane Austen is weirdly capable of keeping everybody busy. The moralists, the Eros-and-Agape people, the Marxists, the Freudians, the Jungians, the semioticians, the deconstructors—all find an adventure playground in six samey novels about middle-class provincials. And for every generation of critics, and readers, her fiction effortlessly renews itself.

Each age will bring its peculiar emphasis, and in the current Austen festival our own anxieties stand fully revealed. We like to wallow in the accents and accoutrements of Jane’s world, but our response is predominantly sombre. We notice, above all, the constriction of female opportunity: how brief was their nubility, and yet how slowly and deadeningly time passed within it. We notice how plentiful were the occasions for inflicting social pain, and how interested the powerful were in this infliction. We see how little the powerless had to use against those who might hate them. We wonder who on earth will marry the poor girls. Poor men can’t. And rich men can’t. So who can? We fret and writhe at the physical confinement (how desperate these filmmakers are to get their characters out-of-doors). Of all virtues Jane Austen valued “candour”; but candor, as we understand it, has no arena in which to exercise itself. One honest exchange between Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth and “Persuasion” disappears. We long to give them our pleasures. We wonder at their self-repression. And we are terrified by their circumambient boredom.

The BBC’s new serial has been touted in the press as revealing the latent “sensuality” of Jane Austen’s imagination; naturally it reveals much more about the blatant sensuality of our own. Austen, after all, is notoriously cerebral—a resolute niggard in her descriptive dealings with food, clothes, animals, children, weather, and landscape. But we in the nineties will not have it so. Thus at the outset, on our televisions, Darcy and Bingley thunder toward Netherfield Park on their snorting horses, while Elizabeth enjoys a hearty tramp on a nearby hillside. Later, climbing from the bath, Darcy looks out of the window and sees Elizabeth romping with a dog. Lydia is surprised half-clad by Mr. Collins—and gigglingly confronts him with her cleavage. In the throes of his imprudent passion for Elizabeth, Darcy takes up fencing. “I shall conquer this,” he mutters. “I shall.” Returning to Pemberley, unshaven, with the hot horse between his thighs, he dismounts and impetuously plunges into a pond. Here, clearly, we are moving away from Jane Austen, toward D. H. Lawrence—and Ken Russell. “There is a lot of pent-up sexuality in Austen’s work,” Davies has said, “and I have let it out.” But why stop there? Why not give her some Vitamin C and a backrub? Austen’s characters resist the ministrations of the therapy age. As literary creations, they thrive on their inhibition. It is the source of all their thwarted energy.

Now for the performances, which are a testimony to phenomenal strength in depth and to the accuracy and inconspicuousness of Simon Langton’s direction. Jennifer Ehle (pronounced “Ely”) is not quite the perfect Elizabeth, for such a creature could not exist in nature; Elizabeth, simply, is Jane Austen with looks, and such a creature could never have created Elizabeth. Ehle has the spirit and the warmth; she has a smile of almost orgasmic sweetness; she contrives to look voluptuous and vulnerable in the egg-cozy maternity outfits that “authenticity” has clothed her in; and she has the eyes; but she cannot quite inhabit the surrogate intelligence. Colin Firth is an insidiously persuasive Darcy, as he makes his journey from probity to right feeling. To know her heart, all Elizabeth needs is the facts before her. Darcy has to complete two centuries of evolution. The ensemble players are led by Alison Steadman. Some dull dogs have found her Mrs. Bennet too broad, too Dickensian, but in fact she establishes a miraculous equipoise between bitterness and boiling vulgarity (and this balance is sustained by the memory of her physical allure). Susannah Harker makes a languid, comfortably ponderous Jane; Julia Sawalha gives us Lydia’s “high animal spirits”; David Bamber is a marvellously contorted and masochistic Mr. Collins; and Anna Chancellor locates an unexpected pathos behind Caroline Bingley’s expert barbs. The one important failure is Mr. Bennet. Benjamin Whitrow’s line readings are thoughtful and confident, but he is too quick to take refuge in wryness and twinkle. The most cynical character in all Jane Austen, Mr. Bennet is the dark backing behind the bright mirror. He, too, is very close to his creator, and Jane Austen feared his weakness in herself. Mr. Bennet makes sport with his own despair.

The sensualism imported by Davies and Langton brings one unarguable gain: all those creamy, dreamy scenes in the bedroom shared by Elizabeth and Jane, with the candles lit and the hair down, make us feel the crucial heaviness of their sisterly love. We are reminded that the emotional argument of the book is intimately bound up with this relationship; and we feel its weight without realizing why it weighs so much. Watching Marianne’s near-death scene (lovesickness, fever) in “Sense and Sensibility,” I wondered why I was so pierced, and so desolated, when Elinor addresses her sister as, simply, “my dearest.” We are moved because the endearment is literally true—and may well remain true, for life. For the unmarried, no reconfiguration awaits the pattern of their love; their nearest are their dearest, and that is the end of it. In “Persuasion,” we sense Anne Elliot’s further privation as she probes for warmth in the humorless solipsism of her sister Mary. And we naïvely console ourselves that Jane Austen, whatever else she lacked, at least had Cassandra.

“Four Weddings and a Funeral” had something to be said for it; as a result of one typically embarrassing scene, an opportunist edition of ten Auden poems climbed into the best-seller lists. This book was called “Tell Me the Truth About Love” and had a photograph of Hugh Grant on its cover (and Grant, incidentally, makes a creditable Edward Ferrars in “Sense and Sensibility”). On Jane Austen, Auden was great but wrong:

You could not shock her more than she shocks me; Beside her Joyce seems innocent as grass. It makes me most uncomfortable to see An English spinster of the middle-class Describe the amorous effects of “brass,” Reveal so frankly and with such sobriety The economic basis of society.

We of the nineties would most certainly shock Jane Austen, with our vast array of slovenly and unexamined freedoms. Nonetheless, there is a suspicion of cant in Auden’s lines. “Brass” made Charlotte Lucas accept Mr. Collins (“disgracing herself” with a prudential marriage), but it didn’t make her love him. Elizabeth turned down Mr. Collins; and, with so little endeavor at civility, she turned down Mr. Darcy, too, with his ten thousand a year. Writing about Gray’s “Elegy,” William Empson said that the poem presents the condition of provincial oblivion as pathetic without putting you in a mood in which you would want to change it. But “change” is the business of satire. Satire is militant irony. Irony is more long-suffering. It doesn’t incite you to transform society; it strengthens you to tolerate it. Jane Austen was indeed an English spinster of the middle class. She died in unrelieved pain at the age of forty-one. On the other hand, she has now survived for nearly two hundred years. Her lovers are platonic lovers, but they form a multitude. ♦

Published in the print edition of the January 8, 1996, issue, with the headline “Jane’s World.”

[vxctorx]

❛  here , in our bed , you need only be yourself . i will love you regardless .  ❜ / from Zach!

@id1eyouth 𝙎𝙊𝙁𝙏 𝙒𝙊𝙍𝘿𝙎  &  𝙎𝙊𝙁𝙏 𝙎𝙆𝙄𝙉 

For Zachary to whisper those words whilst lying bare beneath him, his kind gaze overwhelming him with its affection, invites him to unveil his own vulnerabilities. Yet he cannot think of anything to say in return, for fear of getting interrupted by his swallowed tears, and so, with his heart brimming with tender emotions, he turns his head, and presses his lips to the hand which clings onto his shoulder as a show of gratitude.

There are a great many things he feels undeserving of, owing to his deception; the position and fortune that he is promised, the wife whom he cannot bring himself to love. However, in this moment, he does not feel an ounce of guilt which he bears towards Zachary, for all the other reasons behind his crushing sense of unworthiness.

[earlyspringtranscendence]

corin pushing past his own comfort zone to allow patrick the comfort of touch during a deeply traumatic time for p like literally im so fragile right now i can’t even begin to explain all of what’s going thru my mind. but i will.

like i think the biggest reason this mental image is so important to me is that andrew rowe’s writing with patrick (and mara tbh) has always held so much nuance & tenderness, like here’s this golden retriever type of boy who holds so much love and positivity in his heart, here’s this little nerd who loves the world he lives in & loves his friends so much theyre family (again, same goes for mara who im p sure was the one who said she needed family time while they were discussing blackstone banditry but it could very well have been sera which is still a win for me bc all these characters are so fantastic*) & he would do ANYTHING for coring — remember him being the first person to stand up to magnus for corin ?? remember corin being hit & his first thoughts are thank fuck patrick saw this? cause i dont think he’d have felt that way if it were anyone else, not even mara or sera or even derek or keras (though derek & keras ymmv bc they are still adults in this situation so theyd be far more likely to be able to do anything, but still theres the shame of it which i think would be more pronounced w them than it is w patrick bc he’s just such an unbelievably kind hearted character)

he doesn’t have the same sway over corin’s emotional intelligence as sera does but he still offers guidance by just being so emotionally intelligent himself, and anyway these are all his perfect traits but then not only that he’s also vulnerable (which is still a perfect trait but you get what i mean) and its not the first time he gets to be vulnerable but for the tables to have turned so severely that now its corin who has to be the brave, kindhearted one.... when patrick gets to be fr scared and hurt and young it’s by far one of the best parts of the books that happens outside of the story, because theyre ALL like that, bc in silence of unworthy gods im pretty sure theyre still only 18 (and you can tell the difference btwn an 18yr old who grew up in an awful family, an 18 yr old who grew up practically without a full family/her current family, an 18 yr old who had the best family but other circumstances denied her certain privileges and an 18 yr old whose home life idk jackshit about but i feel like it was probably pretty good bc a) how could u not adore patrick and b) well he came out bright as sunshine so you know, but anyway theres nuances in their maturity and patrick is by far the youngest but theyre ALL young & scared & inexperienced & going through far too much... i mean like read wobm keras is 21 in that im p sure and like ok yes he does go through a whole thing in book 1 fighting gods or whatever (overachiever) but his actual training is a piece of cake in comparison to what these guys go through)

anyway idk where that was going so nvm but its not only corin, it’s keras who .. ok to be honest i havent read more than the first book in 6ss which i need to get to bc i feel like im missing some context lately but keras clearly is in a very bad very stressed out place right now & mara telling him he needs to fucking COOL IT &&&& all of this being done through the medium of touch, which is such a taboo topic in AA because its from corin’s perspective and corin is you know. traumatised to hell and back.

its fucking magnificent. andrew rowe is so fucking good, not just for his worldbuilding but for his characters and his KINDNESS towards them, UGH !

* i was gonna go in depth on that but this is long enough so lemme just say im also loving sheridan this book i mean i loved them before but now that theyre like a more established type of love interest (.. sorta ??) it just makes me giggle bc there is no one for coring to end up with without me adoring the shit out of it. jin? im so down. cecily? i feel like itd be a little sad & they need to build to it but i LOVE cecily so sure !!! sheridan? literally i’d scream itd be so funny and SO good, LUTE ??? i mean. no ones even hinting at that happening but yes 100% yes.

plus i feel like corin has a crush on keras in that ‘thisman is 26 and beautiful & knows so much’ kind of way. anyway. AH !!! 

[distrxst]

' explain it to me . '

a raised brow and a slight shift in his gaze . resilience ,, a key piece of the flame pillars admirability , of his character , was not something to be wasted on the man that was giyuu tomioka . yet here he was ,, wasting valuable time trying to pry open a damned rotten oyster shell . there was a point at which persistence was fruitless , and it was better to leave the inadequate where he was content to remain and be about your day . but of course , kyojuro rengoku kept on-a-prying -- of course he did . ( why ? )

" not much to explain . i'm unworthy of my title . simple enough . "

teeth worry his bottom lip , a pinch to his own skin , a reprieve to his own self inflicted frustration . he doesn't get it . the flame pillar has no reason to get it . to understand giyuu's disgusting truth . stop pressing , he'd like to say -- it feels like the other pillars hand is hovering over a much to tender bruise , one that giyuu would like to swat his hands away from ; the mere thought of pressure making him ache with a familiar bitterness .

" there's nothing right about why i'm still here . " brows furrow and he huffs . it isn't even that farfetched , giyuu thinks . his survival is a mistake - a fact in his eyes . he's survived on his own sure , lasted this long ,, but a hashira who didn't even pass final selection was laughable . it's a harsh truth , and the way that the flame hashira is looking at him , giyuu feels like a bug having each leg pulled off . looking at him and expecting anything but intensity was a mistake -- so giyuu looks away once more . being stared at like that caused a bit of discomfort . too close , too vulnerable .

" you don't get it . "

quiet , with the expected sigh . giyuu doesn't expect him to . kyojuro is honorable , bright , an optimist ,, all things that giyuu is not . there is no bright side when you're drowning - but he can't expect the flame pillar to get why he thinks like that . gaze drifts back down to his hands - calloused , scarred , nail's chipped and skin marred by years of swordwork . hands that are unworthy of being called his own .

" i'm not much of a good memorial . i do my job and then i eventually die . that's it . " another sigh . his voice is flat . he's tired . " i'm not like you . "

  something tugs deep within the flames chest. it aches like a torn muscle. dual toned hues worriedly glance at the man of waves. they glance.. and somehow see through. The lingering looks of fear, worry, distrust any time someone got too close. Kyojuro saw it all. though never speaking on the matter do to the others constant "stick up his ass" demeanor. but perhaps they all had it wrong. perhaps deep down he was afraid to lose someone else. Just who had he lost though? What made the infamous water pillar so weary of simple friendship?

  なぜ彼はそんなに怖かったのか?

❝           Then explain it to me. I know i talk all the time, but i can listen when need be ❞

  There is no hidden agenda within his words. No sting of iron, or malice. Nothing but mild curiosity. A curiosity Kyo knows he should squash, but… if he didn’t ask now… then when would he find the time to do so? fireish hues continue to observe the hashira before him. a tilt of his head, brows furrowing downwards as he does so. doubt settles in his belly. making it churn and slosh uncomfortable. Was it really that bad? For Tomioka-san to not even look at him...

  the words spoken next illicit even the smallest spark of confusion. didn't belong? misplaced? that had to be incorrect. ❝           Tomioka… that's… Surely that cannot be. You have rightfully earned your place among us. ❞ a pause as the sigh reaches his ears. Bottle blues finally meet his own, and he frowns at the smallest of emotions swimming in them.

❝           I refuse to believe it. That person sacrificed themselves for you. should you not be trying to live up to their image? Instead of having this... ❞ hands move to motion in the direction of the others body. ❝           This.. pity party? I hate to put it bluntly, but that person died so you could live. So you could carry on. Living and sharing their memories.❞

[ronkeyroo]

Hello, i am one of your fans and i really love watching your content. I'm very sorry to see you've been distressed recently, i know i'm just a stranger on the internet, but I just wanted to tell you that, even if you think you're doing bad, you are already doing more than you might know. A lot of people give up and don't move on, and I mean a lot lot, but you, you've gotten up so many times with each fall, and while it may not seem like that for you, i think that's pretty amazing. It's okay to let it out every now and then, and whatever you do I will support you either way. I love seeing your art, seeing you being happy with all the fictional characters you adore, seeing how detailed and cool each drawing is.

I hope you have an amazing day being an amazing you. Wish you luck! ♡

Anon I...I never know how to properly convey the warm feelings stirring up within me as I read your note...The screen takes away so much of what I wish i could express most vividly..

If the possibility could present itself - I'd sit down by your side, hold your hand and pour every bit of gratitude and mutual fondness into our hold for the kindness, reassurance, and support you shone my way.

Its...I feel ashamed and defeated, having realized just how much i've been hurting the past year, what mess it brought out of me, and how long I've staggered under it. Every single day i but collect crumbs of whatever joy i can muster while the majority of my spirit is still shrouded in darkness. I wish i could shield you all from it, shield you away from worrying for me, for aching on my behalf... There have been countless times I was on the verge of giving up, but i've burned the meaning of what keeps me here so deep in my heart that even when i want to disappear, a big part of me aches to come back from it all.

To be here with my friends, to share the art i love creating, to know that despite all the hurt that exists; We can share on the wonderlust and joy that makes life any bit more bearable. I cannot begin, on how big of an impact you folks have played into this blooming joy...Strangers or not, the time I spent on Tumblr and its community has been a heart mending experiences that constantly, constantly lays a tender, warm glow on me.

I love being here with you all, I love sharing on my artistic shenanigans and expressions be it within my personal paracosms or the fictional characters I adore and it makes my heart soar to hear, to feel, and to experience this love back...Thank you for being here to enjoy it alongside me, Anon. For appreciating me & my art, for writing to me, for insisting on encouraging me even when i feel i don't deserve it with how sluggish and slow i've been with everyone...I want to get better, I want to stay so much.

I hope we both have an amazing day, and an overall kinder life. And once again, Thank you...

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine Vader falls in love with you. He’s been in angst after his recent encounter with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. But hope rises when he’s with you. You are neither too good nor too bad. You, in fact, are the balance he needs. Part II.

Warnings: smut; drama, angst. No minors. Part III is coming because boy this is going long again 😂

Warnings 2: inspired by Ed Sheeran’s song “Give Me Love”.

Recommendations: but some parts of here go out of the scope of the song, so in case you want to listen as you read it, here are other inspirations for this fic: “Easy on Me” by Adele; “I Bet My Life” by Imagine Dragons; “Laura Palmer” by Bastille.

***

Vader’s POV.

He did try to refuse you. Oh, Maker. He really did. But an strange and unnamed sentiment ignited a spark that is now starting to burn his self hatred. As he dwells in the matter again, in the darkest hours, Vader’s thoughts are drifted to how everything used to be easier when he was plagued by the pain he tied himself to; unworthy of the light that seems to dissipate the eclipse he’s been merged to, he tried to push you away.

But the day you decided to leave… no, he would not accept that. How could he cling to you like that? The conflict messes with him and he is rewarded with your patience. Even though there were moments both of you argued, you stayed. He stayed.

To train you with the Force that is so absurdly strong in you, though? Hell, no.

“I’ll be making the same mistake again. You should do best and refuse me like Ahsoka did.”

You, however, didn’t take “no” as an answer. Which prompted him to say:

“Why, by the Maker, you don’t give up on me?!”

“Stop pushing me away and you’ll see why.” It was the answer you gave him.

He rolls in his bed, wide awake. Troubled. Hurt. Vader cannot sleep. He runs his hand over his hair, flashbacks of Padmé coming back to the back of his mind. As if she tells him that there’s still good in him.

Here comes the salty tears again when he remembers the pain he inflicted on Ahsoka by trying to corrupt her to dark side too. The women he loved, however in different circumstances and by different reasons, are lost to him.

But he is distracted of his own angst when he hears you sobbing. Vader closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. He can’t ignore this anymore… It’s been a year and these nightmares don’t cease to give you peace.

Vader doesn’t request your permission to open the door of your bedroom. He is, however, surprised to see you in such a delicate state—much the opposite of the sweet tempered woman he’s grown used to. His chest weights on him when seeing your hair a mess, your eyes red and you gripping the sheets of bed as you sweat.

“Y/N.” Vader takes a seat and gently searches for your hand. You look at him as if you finally notice he’s there.

“What… What are you doing here?” You are breathless and feel so exposed, so fragile that you feel like pushing him away.

A feeling Vader knows well.

Nonetheless, to your consternation, he stays. He does the exact opposite you want him to. Vader takes your hand and does not let go.

“What are you doing?” It’s all you can ask.

“I know how you feel.” Vader’s metallic hand moved to your shoulder, and for the first time your skin, ever so warm, is under his touch, providing a stark to the cold that emanates from his fingertips. He swallows, but forces to focus in what actually matters. “I detest see you like this.”

Vader knows his behavior is atypical, but when he pushed you against his chest at long last and strikes your long wavy hair, you don’t fight away his tenderness. You embrace it. It never occurred you that you need it.

“It never stops.” You mumble, eyes closed as he rubs your back.

“They haunt me too. I’m my own ghost most of the time, but if I thought I’d find comfort in the sleep it’s when I’m the most tormented.”

You raise your eyes. Vader knows the silent question there is in these irises: are you opening up with me? Are you finally letting me in?

He is inclined to say, yes. But neither speak for some time until you break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Skyguy. It never occurred to me you have your own demons to deal with.”

“Your naivety never ceases to amaze me, Y/nickname.”

And just like that, Anakin comes to surface. You can tell, even though you never rejected Vader. You take him as he is, and the male knows it. Before both of you are aware of this subtle change, you lay down in bed with his arm cuddling you.

Vader watches over you, reading every sentiment you always thought you could hid from him. Where he is the moon, you are his sun. You seem to evoke the best of him without efforts.

“What you perceive my naivety is, in fact, my ability in making you smile when you think I’m not seeing.”

He snorts at you, but a smile comes to his lips. The same smile that once enchanted Padmé so many years ago, that warmed Ahsoka’s stubbornness. As his thoughts drift to them and to Obi-Wan, his smile begins to falter. But you, of course, distract him from himself.

“Why so quiet? No scoff at me? Am I consoling myself tonight?”

You slightly turn at him so Vader sees you. When he does, his eyes linger at your face and how your hair falls in messy waves. Where there used to be tears, your old sweet disposition seems to take the usual place. He smiles, and a hand is there to caress your shoulder.

“You know what? I’m going to train you. But…”

He scoffs when you embrace him, making your hair fly to his face as you lie your head on his chest.

“I don’t do with “but”s, Skyguy.”

He closes his eyes briefly, finding finally the peace he needs when his arms hold you against him. And just like that both of you sleep with no nightmares for the first time in years…

***

Your POV.

“You have to concentrate, Y/N!” He exclaims at you, impatient as you knew he’d be to you. “Stop giggling about whatever it is that is making you giggle. What are you, four?”

“If you think vociferating at me will get you better results, my friend, the only one frustrated here is going to be you.” You snap back.

He heavily sighs, pacing impatiently from one side to other. Skyguy seems to suspect that you are doing this on purpose to get him back at light, but whether this is true or not he doesn’t find out. However, once he does quiet himself, your meditation works better.

He watches as you breathe in and breathe out.

“Concentrate”, you are told. “Close your eyes and be mindful of your thoughts. Empty them away and focus on your surroundings.”

You suddenly feel anxious. It feels as if a door is open and so many things come out there. Your heart races. Old memories rush back to you.

“You will be tempted by your fears. But don’t hold onto them.” He says, his eyes on you. “You can do it, Y/N.”

No word comes from your lips. Silence remains, but you feel his eyes transfixed in you. The trainings have been occurring for a while, but, as patient as you have been, you don’t think you’ve progressing.

Until you successfully manage to levitate from small to bigger rocks. Apples begin to fall from the trees, but even so the moment you hear the fruit start to fall, you hold it back. It’s not until you get tired of it, that every thing goes back to its place. And when you open your eyes, you see he’s very impressed with you.

“By the Maker, Y/nickname! I never thought…”

“…that I’d make it?” You scoff at him. “Thank you, Skyguy.”

“No. I would say…” And your heart seems to skip a beat when he smiles warmly at you. “….that I never thought I’d find someone as powerful as you.”

You glance at him, positively surprised. You beam delightedly, the blush in your cheek giving away what had there been always in your heart. And he knows. He gently strokes your cheek, though hesitates in making a further move.

“Come now. Get your saber.”

You are disappointed when he removes his hand out of you. Where there had been warmth, there is cold. You swallow.

“That is awesome!” You take the saber he gives you. “Let me see what color is this…”

“Hey!” He exclaims when you are not managing it in a correct manner. “This is not how you hold the lightsaber, unless you’d like to have a quick and painful death.”

“Oh.” You are quick to grip it properly. “How about it now?”

There is something close to amusement twinkling in SkyGuy’s yellow eyes that make you soft. You clear your throat. This is not the time to concentrate yourself in sentimentalism.

You watch as he takes his saber. In opposition to the blue that is yours, his is red.

“Hold it tight, Y/N. I will not make this easier for you.”

You know he means it, but you are ready. So you are going now to the next level of your training at long last.

***

Vader’s POV.

It’s a rainy and cold day today. Once more you two are confined to your household. Impatience starts to grow in both of you.

“We should head to other planet. I’ve heard one where it is not under the full dominance of the Sith.” He is told. “It’s been a year and half under little changes and in all honesty I feel like I’m under household arrest.”

Vader knows you are joking, but he doesn’t share your sense of humor. He has his particular reasons why he isn’t willing to leave this planet, much so to expose you to danger.

Before his silence, you walk where he is and say:

“We deserve better than living in fear, SkyGuy.” After some hesitation, you add: “You deserve peace.”

“I don’t.” He answers almost immediately. “There’s no place for me in this world after all I’ve done.”

Vader is instigated at your constant support and patience, so when he turns at you it’s what he sees in your eyes. Perhaps something else too but he’s scared to find. He’s always been.

You gently stroke his cheek and place his curly locks behind his ear. It’s a little difficult doing so because he’s taller than you, which makes him smirk when realizing the difference between you two.

“I’m not giving up on you… Anakin.” His heart races upon hearing you calling his name for the very first time. Vader would hiss at you, but he is unable to. His eyes close, enjoying your touch. “I never will. Not only because you provided me a life of liberty that was unfairly stolen from me, but because…”

You hesitate. He knows the words by reaching your mind. To say he’s not affected by your thoughts and sentiment is to incur in self lies and self sabotaging once again. Somewhere inside him he’s prepared to leave the past behind and get ready to rewrite his future. However, in a seeming unending internal battle, there is reluctance.

Vader opens his eyes and glances at you. There is a long silence where he perceives your anxieties. Again, similarities draw one to the other.

“I thought I would remain a broken man for the rest of my life.” Vader tells you, cupping your face with his hands. “How could you stay after all?”

You smile and the sight of the blush painting your cheeks makes him smile too. It is so easy to love you, to admire you, but he is as scared as you are.

“What if I break your heart? Y/N, you deserve some better than me.”

“My heart has long been broken.” You lean into his touch. The callous hands a stark contrast to your soft skin. “Yet here we are. Let me give you the love you need.”

Vader’s heart race. Once a ghost, he feels alive again.

“I love you.” The words slip out his tongue, however hesitantly they may sound.

Your blush deepens and there is a spark of joy in these y/c irises that warms his heart.

“I love you too, Anakin.”

You are pushed closer to him and as your hands envolve his neck, Vader leans to kiss your lips for the very first time.

For someone so reluctant and for the other part so full of patience, the kiss compensates the long waiting. The balance is felt in the Force, perhaps even more than he’d like to—and there would be consequences, whether they were aware of it or not.

It’s a gentle kiss, full of affection and tenderness. It is as if after a long winter, where nights seem unending, spring comes and the days begin to prolong.

As he gently caresses your cheek, fingers moving to tangle your hair, there is no more fear to be loved. Vader pursuits your lips, but he holds back the intensity of the kiss, always careful when it comes to you because to him, you are fragile—not because he underestimates your strength, but as his counterpart, he wants to preserve your innocence, your light, your goodness.

And now that you are finally disciplining the Force there is in you, you begin to dive into the depths of his mind almost unconsciously—such is the strength of the bond that binds one to the other. You smile at his carefulness to you, the affection that irradiates from the sun there is in him after a long eclipse.

“You will not lose me.” You tell him as you break the kiss to catch your breath. You brush your lips against his. “I promise you, Anakin.”

He opens his eyes again and there is a smile growing in his lips.

“Thank you, my love, for saving me.”

Unbeknownst to him, the yellow that was once characteristically part of his eyes begins to dissipate.

***

Your POV.

You cannot help a smile to yourself when you feel his gaze transfix in you. You are now swinging your saber, proceeding to your saber exercises you do every morning, starting it before sun rises.

“Your discipline never ceases to amaze me.” You hear Anakin’s amusement remark.

That day your hair, which is now falling down to your hips, is tied in an elaborated braid. You are wearing the most comfortable clothes you could find to the training.

“How come? Because you lack the good will of leaving early?” You tease him.

“It’s not worthy waking 4h30 in the morning for that.” Anakin groans. “Once upon a time I did so. Today I value my sleep time.”

“Of course you do, my darling.” You leave aside your exercises to run to where he is and jump right to hug him; he catches you and holds you close like the little monkey you are. “You lazy head.”

He laughs heartily and you beam because in the last two years you’ve never heard him laugh like this. Not that you need any reward, but to see him this happy again is what you earn. You press tons of kisses against his cheek, giggling softly as he runs you around before you go back to the ground.

“You make me feel like a young girl again.” You poke his sides.

“Do I?” Anakin tickles you in response. He is mesmerized by how easily he makes you laugh, a sight he beholds in awe, which makes you blush. “You are a distraction to me, Y/N. That makes you very dangerous.”

You giggle at that.

“Some might actually agree with you. I was once called witch for absolutely no reason.” You twirl around yourself.

“Really?” Anakin folds his arms, interested. “Care to show me the big picture?”

You sigh. As much as you’ve made peace with your past, some part of you remains uncomfortable with it.

“I’m patient.” He adds when you hesitate in responding you. “I have all the time in the world.”

You know it’s unfair to pay the trust Anakin placed in you and all the demons he shared with you with silence. So now you take a seat on the floor and he joins you.

“I was a girl like any other of this planet.” You begin avoiding the curious glance he casts at you. “I had a family, we were neither poor nor rich. We had enough to survive. Our lives were happy to some extent: we had some share of problems every now and then. There was nothing extraordinary about it even though we lived in days of clonic wars.”

You make a pause. Anakin then asks, somewhat moved by this story:

“Did you, uh, have someone… like me and Padmé?”

You smile a little when he tells her name. You think his progress to balance is admirable, which encourages you to be open with him.

“Sort of. We were in the process to become that, I suppose.”

“What happened?” He asks you, eyebrows furrowed.

“He was taken from me.” You tell him, now unable to look at him. “We were no more than sixteen years when he was summoned to war. He promised me we’d marry when he came back. But he never did.”

There is silence for a moment as Anakin ponders your story. A tragedy he is familiar with, though ironically in different poles. His eyes are glued back at you.

“I’m sorry.” He says at last.

“It’s all right.” You clear your throat. “I’ve made peace with this long time ago. So after that, the war came to us when the Senate fell. It was a difficult period. Violence here, violence there, violence everywhere. It was when I felt the Force. I tried using it to protect my family but I couldn’t. It was how I ended up slaved.”

You see he’s frowning at that, a parallel even you sees to his life. You take his hand into yours and give it a gentle squeeze.

“How did you come to all this without descending into darkness?” Anakin asks you, looking at you impressed.

“Oh whoever says I didn’t?” You giggle softly. “It was not the same way you did, though. I never heard about Jedis or Sith. But I knew I was unwell when I discounted my rage and my fury into my enemies. However, due to the lack of discipline I was overpowered and easily defeated. I tried to follow the path of vengeance. It felt like hell.”

Again, another moment of silence where you both seem to contemplate the long journey that led you two to the present. You know Anakin is seeing through your mental images all your processes. All your struggles. All your victories. All your losses.

“That is how I have faith in you.” You close the narrative with serenity. “I’ve been there too, where you are now. I too had my doubts, my self hatred. Turns out, though, that light needs darkness as darkness needs the light.”

“The balance in the Force.” Anakin says, before pulling you against him. You gladly welcome his embrace, craving for his affection. “You’d be a great Jedi.”

“I don’t think so.” You look up at him. “Had you met me earlier you’d be shocked at how temperamental I can be.”

The idea of your fluff self being eclipsed by something darker and dangerous almost makes Anakin smile. You nudge his side.

“I mean it. I learned by myself that we all need to use our darkness to canalize the light and use it in our favor.”

“Aren’t you wiser for your age?” He looks at you in bewilderment. “And how did you come up to it?”

“I needed that”, you tell him. “I need to come to some sort of healing if I wanted to survive. Because if I allowed myself to go into the depths of hell, I would have become what my captors wanted to make out of me: a demon.”

***

Vader’s Anakin’s POV

He watches as you recreate the steps of a popular dance, typical of your planet. Your y/c hair is loose, the wind messes a little with your locks but your posture does not allow it to ruin your presentation.

There is no lyrics, no rhythm, but you dance like there is. Anakin’s eyes are all on you, the one who sparks the hope that is now igniting into a supernova. He smiles at your graciousness, the hand gestures, the way your eyes find his. And how, as a result, the corners of your lips pave the way for a smile.

He takes notice too of the gown you are dressing today. It’s shorter than the previous ones, so he can see a little of your skin. But Anakin still feels guilty for desiring you—yet he cannot look away from your moves. You are so beautiful, and somehow reminds him of the planet where, many years ago, he went with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan. The Force had led them there and the Light now seemed so similar to you.

“You are lost in your thoughts again.” You walk to where he is. “What are you thinking?”

“You are beautiful.” Anakin tells you. “Don’t look at me like that, Y/N.”

You blush. You lean to touch his cheek, cupping his face carefully, tending him like you did in the past twenty four months.

“You are the one I crave for. The one my heart came to know as the other half. I’ll go easy on you for as long as you want me to.” You press your lips against his cheek. “I came to stay, Ani. I’m not going anywhere.”

He wraps his arms around you, speechless. There is so much to be said. You are the best part of him, the cure he needed, the love he required. Even before he could ask you anything, you’d give. Because the words of his heart is long meditated in your heart.

Give me love. Redeem me of my sins.

The next events carry without his overthinking. As he walks back inside, you take him to your bedroom. The cold is not enough when fire seems to spark in you too.

And once the door closes, his lips are in yours and you push him against you. The urge of a personal touch moves you. Finally the needs are aligned. Anakin finally unlocks his desire for you as his hands are quick to remove your gown, lying you down in bed as he caresses your thighs and letting his shirt be tossed away by your needy hands.

“I want you.” You tell him, parting the kiss to explore his neck. You turn him to your bed, moving on top of him.

Anakin contemplates your state for the first time as he takes a seat and holds you against him, firmly wrapped in your legs. His eyes move up and down and the lust in his bicolor irises makes you shiver.

“Your scars…” he mentions it when his callous hand gently touches your neck down to your shoulder and chest. “My love, what have you endured?”

You lean forward, hands around his neck; moving up to his curly, sandy hair, you wrap your fingers around his hair all the while you rub your womanhood against his stiffness under his pants. Anakin groans in response at your provocation.

“I have endured enough.” You say softly. “But I’m here now, better and stronger.”

Anakin admires the iron underneath you. It arouses him more. You know it and smirk at him; loosing a hand right to his pants, where you work to release the pressure you find there.

“All for me, my darling?” You bite down his lips.

“Fuck, it’s been some time.” Anakin closes his eyes and lets you hold control for a while.

“Let me love you.” You whisper in his ear, planting kisses from his jawline down to his neck. “Let me tend your wounds…”

His chest goes up and down with anticipation as you slowly go on your knees. His eyes open again and that is the moment you lock gazes. A sly smirk runs on his lips when he sees he overpowers you with desire.

And that is how the game begins.

*

If yet he can call so when he buckles his hip to move right with you. Anakin is surprised to the synchrony with which your bodies moves. The darkness there is him comes like the announce of twilight. His intensity is shown as he kisses you hungrily, locking hands with you as he thrusts into you in fast pace.

His mouth leaves bruises in your skin, in your neck to your chest, taking a long time to each breast. Your eyes are closed, you mewl pleasantly under his lips, eager for more. You whimper as his lips twist and turn around your nipples. You’ve been wanting this for such a long time and he knows how to care your needs now.

It is, however, as incomparable when his fingers slip into your womanhood, intercalating with his thrusts. You cry so loud that Anakin raises his eyes to watch you. His face darkens in lust as your moans are like the sound of sin.

“Hmm. Come to me, Y/N. Let every sentiment repressed go. I want you to come undone.”

You lift your legs, eyes rolling back. Like the ocean sending great waves to hit the shore, it’s how you perceive the climax. Anakin smirks at how great is the effect on you.

More so when your juices are all over him. And it does not take longer before he seeds you inside, much to your delight.

“I love you.” He pecks your lips, never leaving your side as he holds you against him.

“I love you too.” You beam at him, cuddling close at him. “I’ll be here to love you, Anakin. Always.”

When he looks at you, he smiles in great content.

“I’ll never let you go, Y/nickname. That is a promise.”

Anakin plants many kisses around your face and holds you close. But the peace both of you know is not yet to last…

(To be continue)

[disneymbti]

My niece loves Sofia the First, so can I please have Princess Sofia, Princess Amber, and Prince James?

Hi there, sweetie! I really hope you like this a lot!

Princess Sofia's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ENFJ [The Protagonist]

ENFJs are high-energy people who dislike spending too much time alone. They take initiative and tend to talk more than they listen.

They usually trust their intuition and focus on the future. They are good at analyzing complex ideas. 

Protagonists are motivated by feelings and values. They work to avoid conflict and are very diplomatic.

They like to make lists and schedules, preferring to follow a plan. They are hard-working and responsible.

Big Three: Cancer Sun, Virgo Moon and Pisces Rising

Cancer Sun: Ruled by the Moon, Cancers are emotionally mature, intuitive, sensitive, and artistic. They are guided by their tender, loving, and protective hearts.

Virgo Moon: Virgo Moons use their calm nature to gain deep clarity on matters, filtering questions through their kind, but reasonable, lens.

Pisces Rising: The Pisces ascendant commits fully to their beliefs, and has an active imagination.

Enneagram Type: 9w1 [The Negotiator]

Basic Fear: Nines with a one wing are afraid of being separated from the rest of the world and losing what matters to them.

Basic Desire: They desire peace, both internally and externally. Their type one wing encourages them to make their idealized and peaceful world a reality.

Negotiators defend themselves by participating heavily in routine to distract themselves and avoid negative emotions.

Princess Amber's MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ESFJ [The Consul]

As extroverts, Consuls are talkative, energetic, and thrive around people. They prefer not to spend too much time alone.

Highly observant, their focus lies more on the details than on how everything connects together. They trust facts over theories—and they make decisions based on what they can see right now.

ESFJs are feelers who prioritize emotion rather than logic in their decision-making.  Empathetic and diplomatic, they do what feels right rather than what makes sense.

They’re structured and organized, preferring to plan ahead so they know what’s going to happen. They like rules, processes and schedules.

Big Three: Leo Sun, Aries Moon and Leo Rising

Leo Sun: The Sun rules the sign Leo, which is why Leo Suns all about ego, will, and character. They’re known to be creative, playful, and bold.

Aries Moon: Lunar Aries are known to be emotionally responsive and impulsive at times, as they lead with fiery passions over than logic or reason.

Leo Rising: Leo ascendants bask in the glow of sunlight, radiating positivity and charm. Performers through and through, those with this friendly, radiant, and outgoing placement exude confidence and strength.

Enneagram Type: 3w2 [The Enchanter]

Basic Fear: Enneagram type three wing twos are afraid of failing and being unworthy of love. They avoid this by setting and accomplishing goals, in order to feel successful and worthy.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to be admired and accepted. They seek value through accomplishment, which may push them deeper into their work.

Enchanters tend to adjust their persona to their audience, in order to feel as though they are easily liked, which may lead to playing a character rather than being themselves.

Prince James' MBTI Type, Big Three and Enneagram Type

MBTI Type: ESFP [The Entertainer]

ESFPs are very outgoing and lively people. They thrive in groups and prefer not to spend too much time alone.

They are very observant, focusing closely on the details rather than the grand scheme. They think in terms of the present.

Entertainers tend to prioritize emotion when making decisions, concerning themselves more with how their decisions will affect others. They are empathetic and diplomatic.

They rely more on opportunity than rigid scheduling. They are spontaneous and playful people, with a passion for finding new adventures.

Big Three: Leo Sun, Taurus Moon and Cancer Rising

Leo Sun: The Sun rules the sign Leo, which is why Leo Suns all about ego, will, and character. They’re known to be creative, playful, and bold.

Taurus Moon: The Moon loves to be in the zodiac sign Taurus. Those with Moon in Taurus delight in the earthly pleasures and seek out emotional security.

Cancer Rising: Cancer ascendants tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves and take care of those they love.

Enneagram Type: 7w6 [The Pathfinder]

Basic Fear: Sevens with a six wing have a deeply-rooted fear of missing out. They want to be trustworthy and honor commitments, but they also want to leave room to allow for last-minute opportunities.

Basic Desire: Their basic desire is to feel fulfilled and happy. They express this by searching for joy in every small thing that comes their way.

Pathfinders defend themselves by rationalizing away negative feelings. They unconsciously convince themselves that they are happy, even when they are not.

[ruki--mukami]

Tw: mentions of sexual assault, childhood sexual assault, kinda victim blaming? Idk and self harm

Ruki finds his lover sitting by the wall on their bed, their arms are warped tightly around their knees which are pulled up to their chest, their eyes are half lidded but they look as dead as they can be their nails are digging deep into their skin, and on their other hand, they're holding a sharp pencil, and their thighs are covered in scratches.

When asked what's wrong, they just start bawling and explaining everything.

From how their cousin forced them to watch erotic content, strip and then probably was gonna rape them when they were only 9,how their grandmother always gropes them everywhere and degrades them and threatens to rape them to how, just a few weeks ago, they got assault on their way back from school from a man that creepily rubbed their chest.

And then, they spill more terrifying things. About how their parent protected that cousin, how the parent just laughed when they were getting assaulted and threatened like that, how the parent BLAMED THEM for not making a scene in front of people.

They're troubled, soul rotten from inside and out, no smile on their face, just want hand grasping a pencil, and thighs turned into scratched up messes.

"I had no idea so many others touched you without my knowledge, lesser still denied such deplorable activities even happened when you tried your utmost to express yourself. Livestock... Whoever did this to you, surely I will make them pay. Even those who shoot you a lecherous glance, their heads will be rolling when I'm around. It's for this reason that I'll never allow you to leave my sight again."

Snatching the sharpened writing utensil from their hands, Ruki looked down at his lover's tarnished and marred body, sustaining pain from a source outside his fangs and even the pencil he just confiscated. An immense wave of concern drowned his visage as he threaded their fingers with his, urging them to release their knees or at least reciprocate his gaze. The other hand stroked their moistened cheek as gently as possible, shouldering the tears that fell.

"No one should have to suffer something this awful from such a young age," he said as he lightly embraced his beloved. "None of this is your fault whatsoever. If anything, the ones I will never forgive are your perpetrators, the ones who laughed it off, and the ones who will continue to harass you should I be absent from your side—which shall never happen again. From here forward, I'll watch over you. Ha, isn't that ironic...? An impure Vampire like myself, pretending to be some kind of guardian angel. It doesn't suit me one iota, but even so, since it's within my power as a demon, I will put those recreants where they belong. Six feet under, struggling for dear life in their graves. That's what people like them deserve for what they've done."

The comforting pats he administered along their spine differed drastically from any of the unwanted touches his lover once coped with, showing no signs of anything less than chaste as Ruki showed genuine, tender care. Rather than a hug between lovers, as they were, he embraced them as a protector. As a supporter and a nonpareil in the face of those who would dare to subject children and adults alike to trauma easily etched into the mind akin to his own from eons ago.

"You can rely on me when I say that I'll ensure the past won't repeat itself. So, don't shed your tears over those pathetic curs, your 'family' included. No, they can hardly be called your family if they treat you like the opposite; a stranger unworthy of their sympathy. When we're together, I want you to tell me immediately if you feel unsafe. Shout my name, call for my help, do whatever you can—even if the person seems leagues stronger and domineering, I'll eviscerate them. As for your relatives... I should like to speak with them about how neglecting one's child and grandchild will someday be their undoing. If they forsake you one more time, then I won't hesitate to steal you away myself and keep you somewhere you'll never be hurt again. Because I love you with all of my heart, Livestock. And those who hurt the one I love should just perish."

[pandoraimperatrix]

Wandering Worlds

DickKory | Core Four Centric | Cannon Divergence | Longfic

Summary:

Dick Grayson is dead. His life taken by his own brother. The Abel to Jason’s Cain. Consumed by grief, Rachel gives in to despair, losing control, a portal opens, but from it no destroyer of words come through. Instead a man who looks just like him, how can he be?

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

*90's infomencial voice* Tired of Dick Grayson getting no character growth every season? Can't stand the lack of development? The fact that we barely got any DickKory content since season one? I have just what you need! *normal voice* Okay, so in this fic Dick died, and Rachel pulled an alternative version of him from a dying universe, a version of him that will not take his family, Kory and his life for granted, he's not perfect, but he's doing his best.

————————————–

Chapter Seventeen – I don’t want to borrow

Why did she claim he was not interested with such certainty? Dick thought after she was long gone and apparently sticking to her promise of a cold shower – which brought vivid images of how his mornings used to start two lives ago – and not coming back. Because it took him a while to process that bombshell she just dropped on his head out the fucking nowhere. That woman had spent months pretending he was unworthy of the ground he was walking and he didn’t exactly disagree but it was still so much, how could she…

When he worked enough brain cells to move his body again, Dick detected a dire need of hitting something, not out aggression, but just to unload all that surplus energy of having all too many thoughts at once. He dragged the wooden dummy to the middle of the tatami and started with warm up drills.

Was she right? She seemed really sure of herself. Granted, last time he had told her no, but that had been when they were in totally different places. And if she wasn’t, what would that mean? Either way, should he just take that as his way out of an unnecessary complication? She had just acknowledged him as her friend after such a bad, complicated, start, and sex did take a big part on making it even messier than it needed to be and now…

READ ON AO3

He stopped a little, staring at the dummy but not really seeing it.

Should they risk everything again? Was even worth it? And could he really do it? Fuck her as a friendly kindness since she was obviously hot and bothered and be it? Nothing more? And if she wanted more… would he be able to give that to her? His Kory’s ring remained around his neck.

He touched it with his bandaged fingers, gathering the object made of alien metal in the middle of his palm, holding it fast until it’s edges bit into his skin.

And then let go to hit the dummy with renewed energy.

She said he didn’t want her. She had the certainty himself could never be sure to have. Still, attraction would always be, undeniably, there. But other than the primal desire of fucking each other’s brains silly, the other stuff, the reason why she went with him to Metropolis. The reason why she held his hand then, the feelings the led her to braid his hair – and he could still picture that moment in his head, the tenderness he thought he would never be the subject again – to joke with him, and talk him thorough his crises… What did belong to the two of them and what was hand-me-down affection from two badly unfinished love affairs?

It wasn’t fair to Koriand’r to project in her all the feelings he had for a woman lost, a woman he, was beginning to realize now, after so much was uncovered, may not even existed. Someone that belonged to another reality far more distant that the one he came, of entirely of fantasy.

Yet…

He had lost so much, yes, but gained so much too, would it be fair to let this chance of happiness hanging for a memory?

Was Koriand’r even offering?

He could very well interpret that last conversation as another rejection. After all, she didn’t even try to ask him before taking her own conclusions, and maybe, when she said she knew he didn’t want her, what she really meant was that, despite her attraction to him, despite of her body’s urges, her aversion to him was greater. 

Eventually, his body forced him to stop, and when Dick checked the clock it was way over one and half in the morning. Lying on the tatami floor he sighed, this felt very much like his first days in this Tower, that now he almost always forgot was not his own. The children might have seen him deep into training and fixed themselves dinner, which made his heat a little heavy, because even if the trip to Metropolis lasted lass then a week, Dick still regretted missing the few past dinners with them.

After taking a hot mind-numbing shower, his body finally started to relax and his plan was to eat something and hit the bed, but as he sat down with his cup of tea, a stack of papers on the table got his attention.

“How many times I have to ask to not bring paperwork to the kitchen table where anyone can spill liquid on them...” Dick mumbled as he organized the loose paper inserting them in the manila folder.

“Man killed by gargoyle” reads the headline of a tiny cut out from a newspaper. Puzzled, Dick starts reading, and the old feeling of chasing a mystery starts talking over, a feelings that he haven’t  been able to enjoy in years and that is welcome distraction.

***

“Dick? Dick? Are you okay?”

Dick awakens startled; Rachel was in front of him, a worried expression crumpling her young face. He blinked and stretched the arm he had been using as a pillow towards her, curling around her waist and pulling her for a hug.

“I’m fine,” he yawned, “Rach it’s 5am, did you fall from the bed?”

“Haha so very funny coming from a guy that didn’t even make into his,” she sassed back, although making no move to escape from their hug. Instead, she lied her head on his shoulder, looking tired, bags under her pretty blue eyes. He wanted to ask if she’s having nightmares again, but doesn’t  want to upset her, and just enjoys the feeling of having her close and safe in his arms for a while.

“Want some breakfast?” he finally asks.

“Does Krypto’s farts stinks?”

She still looked more sleepy and moody than normal, Dick snorts and stands up, stretching his arms over his head stretching again and that’s the exactly moment Koriand’r chooses to enter in the kitchen with the smallest bikini he had ever seen in his life.

Lord have mercy…

“What is happening here, were you kicked out of the bed?”

Rachel snorted and walked to Koriand’r for a hug, but it looked like she’s just hanging on whoever showed more disposition do hold her dead sleepy weight like a baby sloth.

“See,” Rachel mumbled, her voice barely audible, muffled by Koriand’r’s curls, “you have to be soulmates even the shitty jokes match.”

“Morning,” is all he managed to say in a pathetic tiny voice letting this arms fall.

“Are we going to the beach?” Rachel asked completely unaware or uninterested in the fact that he was in a melting pot of emotions behind her.

“Didn’t plan to,” mused Koriand’r petting the girl’s hair, also seeming to be unaware of how her surprise apparition was making him feel like a screeching kettle internally, “meant to sunbath in the roof to recharge, but that’s an idea. Do you have school today?”

Rachel rose her head and snorted again.

“Kory, it’s Saturday.”

Koriand’r beamed and his heart fluttered.

“Lets go, then.”

Dick clears his throat.

“Koriand’r…” he says her name letting the syllables stretch and licking his lips and ignoring that she bites hers as he does so, “we’re in the middle of October.”

Rachel detached herself from her undeclared mother as the woman moved further into the kitchen.

“So?” Koriand’r asks turning around and bending over to get her favourite mug from the washer and he is hit with a privileged view of her full butt. That woman said, just a few hours ago, that she was trying not to fuck him. What she was even doing by giving him that show?

“Humans get sick when you put them out in the cold,” he babbled in a tight voice.

“It’s not that cold,” Rachel tried, Dick tore his eyes from Koriand’r’s ass to gave Rachel a look, “fine, we never get to do anything fun around here, and this one spent the night working, I should have pulled a Dick that was less of a loser, but I don’t think such parallel universe exists.”

He watched incredulous as the girl walked to the living room, throwing herself on the sofa and turning the TV on, volume high. Dick searched Koriand’r’s eyes for sympathy but instead was hit by the vision of that literally out-of-worldly gorgeous woman leaning on the counter over her forearms, beautiful dark breasts gently pressing against the marble as she snickered at Rachel’s antics.

“There is no coffee,” Koriand’r complained pouting and shaking her empty mug, “better get it done before Donna wakes up, always so cranky in the morning…”

How come can she act so normal after what she said the night before? And for the love of… It’s like she turned a switch in his brain. He had fantasies with her before, of course, but he always berated himself internally convincing himself it was disrespectful, but now, well, now she was the one coming up with ideas, wasn’t her? Six-nineing on the tatami floor, she said. What was she thinking now when she stood half-naked in his kitchen? About him tearing off that scrappy excuse for a bikini she was wearing, tying her wrists behind her back and worshiping every inch of her smooth midnight skin with his mouth? Because maybe that’s what he was thinking too.  

“Come on, Grayson, stop standing there looking stupid, help me make some breakfast, you know I’m a shitty cook.”

He could feel the heat coming from her body as he carefully stepped further into the kitchen, crossing past her who only leaned back into the counter, legs that went forever crossed in front of her. She was wearing high heeled strappy sandals and looking absolutely out of place in his kitchen, like a model in a naughty calendar or the start of a porn movie.

“Any chance of getting some pancakes this morning?” Koriand’r asked, looking very aware of how she was affecting him despite her claims that he didn’t want her. Dick sighed and bent over to get his favourite skillet, he was unable to stop himself to steal a look of her long, long, creamy chocolaty legs and hit the top of his head as he rose.

“Real ones,” shouted Rachel from the living room, muffling Koriand’r’s giggles, “not those weird tapioca things.”

“I thought she liked them,” he mumbled sadly turning the stove on with one hand and massaging the top of his head with the other.

“She does, she just likes to complain about your healthy food more. Are you okay, Grayson?”

He would be okay alright, as soon as he pressed her to the fridge and made her feel just how hard he was quickly growing and made her beg for him to bend her over the counter and-

Breath in, breath out.

Again.

Breath in.

The child was just across them.

And him and Koriand’r were friends.

They let their gazes linger at each other after that, he licked his lips again, throat desert dry. Dick picked his apron, tying it a little loose around his waist. Koriand’r has a smile plastered on her face, and her eyes are dark.

She fucking knows what she’s doing, doesn’t she?

“Koriand’r...” he calls in a croaky voice. “About last night-“

“Shh, forget it,” she says dismissive, “I’m just getting side-effects from my powers coming back. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO FORGET THAT???

HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO IGNORE NOW???’

His face must had been very transparent of his internal turmoil since, she pressed her lips together to contain the smile on her face and moved away from the counter, approaching him. Her hand touched his arm sliding down to just above his elbow and giving it a squeeze. Dick could swear that the electricity of that little act could light up the entire town. And it’s only for a very little that he doesn’t forget the past, the kid on the other room, and all the reasons they definitely shouldn’t, and make a move on her right now and there.

“Well, I think it’s better to skip breakfast and head up before I try to convince you to come with me,” she says with a throaty laugh and then leaves swinging her hips.

“Whaddaya doin?” he hears Rachel asking, it takes him a while to notice her trying to look over his shoulder.

Dick jumps and notices that the bottom of his skillet is black.

“Dammit,” he said picking a towel and throwing the pan in the sink as the tap water make it screech.

“Still no breakfast? We have to forbid Kory from walking around half-naked around you when you’re about to feed us.”

“I wasn’t –“

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“Please, don’t even try, I saw you ogling her butt.

“I was not-“

“Pfff, pants on fire. I’m getting some cereal.”

***

He was back to his files, trying to read the same paragraph for the fifth time when Donna entered the library and threw a can of beer to him, that Dick caught without even rising his eyes from the paper.

“So, Rach says Kory is trying to seduce you,” his best friend begins as she clicks open her own beer.

In his mind, Dick answer as smooth as he got the flying beverage, but instead what comes out is a mess that makes his grateful for the coldness of liquid as his face heats up.

“W-what are you talking about? Seduce! Me?!”

Donna let out a laugh that came from the depths of her chest, Dick haven’t seen her laugh like that since… Well, since they were children.

“Down boy, we don’t want you to overheat and crash. Rach said she was walking around in those tissues held by a dental floss she calls bikini and that you almost burnt the kitchen, like, come on Dick…”

“Come on what, Troy?”

“Hera… I mean, she literally came back from that trip with you glowing, and the other night she tried to get me into bed, you have to tell me, you at least kissed.”

Dick’s head twirled.

“She tried what?”

“I said no, of course, I’m not Hank,” Donna said in an offended tone. “What I mean is: why you’re both dancing around it? We all knew it was just a matter of time until you decided to cut out the drama and began being embarrassingly in love.”

“We? Who is we?”

“Oh please.”

“Donna, it’s-“

“Complicated, alright. Tired of this same old bullshit conversation. But listen to me,” she said in a dead serious tone, “right now, Kory is in alien heat or whatever, and she was already, well, her before. Eventually, and maybe sooner than later, someone will come along and make things very natural and very simple unless you make a move. Got it?”

He just rolled his eyes, but started flipping the pages with way more violence than required, which was none.

They sit there in silence for a while, Dick drank the entire can of a beer in one go and used his pent up frustration to crush the foil between his hands.

“And your folks,” said Donna again in a more lighter tone, “how that went?”

Dick took a heavy breath and settled the files on the side table, resigning to the reality that he was not in the right mind for light reading such as gruesome murders and what looked like demonic possessions.

“It went surprisingly fine, actually…” and he told Donna all about the conversations he had with Bruce and Selina, not adding, of course, how Koriand’r’s presence and warm steady hand holding his, made it all possible to bear enough for him do listen everything he needed to hear and come through with a positive outlook.

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

So we have here, Dickie boy overthinking, Miss Kory taking decisions for the silly human and creating chaos by being hot, Rach serving sass, Donna serving sass and realness, and also, a little bit of foreshadowing. Girlies, you saw I updated the tags with the approximated number of chapters, 33, this is one longass fic. I’m so sorry. The idea was to finish before the new season, I’ll still try, but haha. Hahahaha.

Next time we have Mr Garfield’s 18th b-day, our baby is all grownup now! And we get to parte-y. What, another party you say? I’m a simple woman, I watched tons of The Vampire Diaries when I was a bored teen, and just like Julie Plec, I like to throw fictional parties. They are cheap. Cost literally nothing.

I mean, if Dick and Kory all sober are already trying to jump on each other’s bones, what can a little alcohol may do? Not bitter truth this time tho, maybe some margaritas…

Also, we’re are saying goodbye to someone.

Thank everybody for the comments, kudos, likes, reblogs and shit, you guys are the best and I love you.