#the tragedy to unexpectedly fall in love at the worst time

[booasaur]

Special Ops: Lioness - 1x07

[amuseoffyre]

I’m emotionally ruined by the fact that Aziraphale hasn’t broken out of his heavenly conditioning. He still loves doing good. He gets happy when people tell him he’s an angel and says “it’s nice to tell people about the good things you’ve done now that I’m not reporting to Heaven”. He will literally put himself in harm’s way to make sure he does the Good and Right thing.

It can’t be understated how much Heaven’s influence still impacts on him. Aziraphale has been created, ordained and conditioned to believe it and he can’t just switch it off or walk away. Crowley didn’t get the choice. He was Fallen. He was kicked out and - as per the rules of toxic and terrifying cults - Aziraphale was always told for centuries and millennia, Falling was the worst thing that could happen. If you’re bad, you’ll be forced out. If you’re bad, you’re not one of Us. You’re one of Them.

When he did something he perceived as Right (ie. saving innocent children from death), but knew it wasn’t what Heaven intended, he broke down. Crowley found him a crying, shaking wreck afterwards because he was so convinced he was Evil. He was so convinced he was going to be dragged to Hell and that he was now a demon because he did one thing that saved some children but because it wasn’t a specific directive, it was Bad.

It shapes so much about him and it’s why the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it. He’s happy and excited and he’s doing his human-life things and having a lovely time, but he’s also constantly stressed because of the Need To Do Good. From the moment Gabriel turns up, he’s a nervous wreck and is trying to hide it by Doing Good, by Solving the Problem, by Fixing Things, by being so active and reactive rather than letting himself think about it. It’s a sign of exactly how frantic he is that he starts giving away his books and letting humans touch them.

Watch his face when the Archangels show up unexpectedly: that isn’t joy. That’s blind terror. He’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing in Heaven’s eyes, even though he made the active choice to do so because it was the Right thing to do. He’s a Guardian and he will protect, but he is so very afraid of the repercussions, even now. 

At the end of S1, Crowley said “they’re gearing up for the big one” so Aziraphale’s not oblivious. He knows a big one is coming. He knows something worse than the Antichrist will be on its way. And he’s trying so hard to pretend that everything is normal and fine and if he ignores all the looming bad stuff, it won’t happen. If we don’t say anything about it, nothing has to change.

But then the changes come knocking at his door holding a box and the choice is gone. He can keep trying to blinker himself to it, but then there are angels and demons in the bookshop and he’s had to use his halo and everything is falling apart.

So when he realises that he can get himself into a position where he can guarantee those repercussions won’t happen to Crowley? He will absolutely take it. He says himself “I don’t want to go back to Heaven”, but the instant the Metatron offers him a free pass for Crowley, to take Crowley out of both Heaven and Hell’s sightlines, to keep him safe (Another bee inside the hive, if you will), no wonder he grabs it with both hands.

The tragedy is that Crowley thinks that when they saved the world together, that was the end of Heaven’s influence in Aziraphale. When he was cast out the split between him and Heaven was sharp and clean. He doesn’t - he can’t - understand how deeply it has tangled around Aziraphale. It’s built into Aziraphale’s entire being and unravelling it isn’t that simple. Aziraphale’s trauma is a horrible, terrible Gordian knot and Crowley can’t understand that he couldn’t simply cut through it, because that’s just not how Aziraphale works.

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Four

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Was gonna make chapter 4 like 5k words but I decided to put it into two separate chapters.

Masterlist: Here

The weight of Sarah and John B.’s loss still felt like an open wound, raw and fresh, no matter how many days had passed since the funeral. Some nights, you could still hear Sarah’s laughter echoing in your head, still feel the warmth of her presence, as though she were just a room away. And John B., with his reckless optimism and that undeniable spark of life that had kept everyone around him grounded, seemed like a ghost that haunted your every moment.

But the hardest part was seeing Willa—tiny and innocent, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Her parents were gone, and she didn’t even know why she cried sometimes, why her little heart was breaking, why her world was changing so fast. And yet, it was you and Rafe who had to bear the weight of their absence, both trying to figure out how to hold Willa together while you were both falling apart.

The days were long and filled with small, seemingly insignificant tasks: feeding Willa, changing diapers, trying to soothe her when she cried. But underneath all of that, it was hard not to remember Sarah’s voice calling out to you, her bright smile in the mornings, the late-night talks about everything and nothing. Those moments were gone, and you felt like part of yourself had been ripped away with them.

And then there was John B. The spontaneous adventures, the way he could make you laugh even on the worst days, the way he’d always come through when you needed him most. Those memories, too, were bittersweet now—something you cherished but also something that threatened to suffocate you.

You tried to stay strong for Willa, to focus on the here and now, but there were days when it felt impossible. There were times when you’d find yourself staring at the little girl in your arms and wondering if you were doing enough. Wondering if she would ever remember the love her parents had for her or if she would only know the sorrow of their absence.

Rafe, for his part, seemed to bury his grief deep down. He rarely spoke about Sarah or John B., and when he did, it was as if the words hurt him too much to say aloud. He was always trying to maintain control—over Willa, over the situation with Ward, over himself—but you could see it in the way his eyes flickered with pain whenever something reminded him of his sister or her fiancé.

It wasn’t just the memories of Sarah and John B. that gnawed at him; it was the guilt. The unspoken weight of knowing that his family—his toxic, emotionally abusive father—was now trying to take Willa from him, from them.

Rafe had never talked much about his dad, not even to Sarah. But in the quiet moments, when the house felt too still and too silent, you could see the rage simmering behind his eyes. Ward Cameron had done unspeakable things to Rafe and Sarah growing up, and the idea of him having any claim to Willa, of him trying to step in as her guardian, cut deeper than either of them cared to admit.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was late one evening when the dam finally broke. Willa was asleep, her tiny body tucked beneath the blankets, and the house was finally quiet. You and Rafe were sitting on the couch, the exhaustion of the day heavy on your shoulders. The wine bottle from a few nights ago sat untouched on the coffee table. Neither of you had much appetite for anything anymore—food, conversation, anything other than the silence that seemed to speak louder than words.

Rafe was the first to speak, his voice low and uncertain. "I hate that they're gone. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that Willa won't ever know how good they were. How good they could have been."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the cracks in his tough exterior. He wasn’t the cold, distant person you’d been living with; he was just a man—broken, grieving, unsure of how to move forward.

"I hate it too," you whispered, turning to face him. "I hate that Willa will grow up never knowing how special they were. How good they were. Sarah was... everything. She made everything brighter. And John B. He had this way of making you feel like things were always gonna be okay. Even when everything was falling apart."

Rafe's eyes were distant, his gaze turned to the floor as if trying to bury the memories. "I should’ve been there more. I should’ve been a better brother. I should’ve been there for Sarah. I—I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t protect her from him." His voice cracked at the end, a rawness creeping into the words.

You could feel the pain in his voice, the regret, the anger that swirled with everything else. It was too much for him to hold, and maybe it had always been. Maybe Rafe had been carrying this weight for years, too afraid to talk about it, too scared to let anyone see him broken.

You didn’t know what to say at first. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he wasn’t to blame, but how could you? There were no right words, no magic phrases that could undo the past.

Instead, you simply moved closer, sitting beside him on the couch, the space between you closing.

"You didn’t fail her," you said softly. "Rafe, you didn’t fail any of us. You loved her. You loved John B. You’re still here. You’re still fighting for Willa. And that means everything."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But in that silence, something passed between you both. The raw honesty of the words, the shared pain, the understanding that grief didn’t need fixing—it just needed time.

Finally, Rafe turned to face you, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper, something more vulnerable. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a good dad to her—how to keep it together when it feels like everything is falling apart."

You swallowed, feeling the sting of your own grief in his words. "I don’t know how to do it either," you admitted. "But we’re doing it together. We have to. For her. And for them."

Rafe’s eyes softened, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for yours. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was everything. "I’m scared, [Y/N]. I’m scared of what Ward might do. I’m scared of failing her."

You squeezed his hand, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’re not alone in this. We have each other."

And in that moment, as the weight of the past few months hung heavy in the air, you both allowed yourselves to be vulnerable. For the first time since you’d become Willa’s guardians, it wasn’t just about fighting for her—it was about acknowledging that the fight was bigger than both of you, that the grief you shared had no easy solution. And that maybe, just maybe, you could survive it together.

But even as you held on to each other, even as the weight of the past few months began to lift just a little, a new storm was brewing.

The next morning, a letter arrived from Ward Cameron’s attorney.

The legal battle for Willa had officially begun.

And this time, you weren’t sure if you could win.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The tension in the house had been building for weeks. The constant phone calls, the late-night meetings with lawyers, the nervous energy that permeated every room. It felt like a storm was brewing, and no one knew when or where it would strike.

Ward Cameron was relentless. He wasn’t going to let go of Willa without a fight. The custody battle was a war neither you nor Rafe were prepared for, and with each passing day, it became more and more clear that Ward had no interest in doing what was best for Willa. He was driven by control, by pride, and by a need to take back what he saw as his.

You could feel the weight of it all pressing down on you as you prepared for the court hearing. It wasn’t just a matter of legal paperwork anymore; it was about Willa’s future. About whether or not she would be able to stay with the people who loved her most—or whether she would be taken away by the very man who had terrorized Rafe and Sarah their entire lives.

The morning of the hearing arrived, and as you walked into the courthouse, a cold shiver ran down your spine. Ward was there, sitting smugly at his lawyer’s side, his presence already like a shadow over the room. You glanced at Rafe, who looked tense but composed. He hadn’t spoken much in the last few days, but you could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“We’re gonna win this,” you whispered, more to reassure yourself than him.

Rafe didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the door as though he was bracing for what was to come.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It happened before the hearing even began.

Ward spotted Rafe as he entered the building, and in an instant, the calm atmosphere of the courthouse was shattered.

“Rafe,” Ward’s voice was like acid, dripping with disdain. “Still playing pretend, are we? Acting like you’re fit to raise her?” His gaze flickered to you, then back to Rafe. “You’re nothing. You always were. Just like your mother. You’re not good enough for her.”

You could see Rafe’s fists clenching at his sides, his entire body rigid with tension. He was trying to keep it together, trying to stay calm, but you knew Ward’s words were cutting through him like knives.

“Don’t talk about her,” Rafe spat through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low.

Ward smirked, then took a step closer. “Or what? You gonna threaten me, Rafe? You gonna get violent like you always do?”

Before anyone could react, Ward’s hand shot out, slapping Rafe across the face with a sickening crack. The sound of the slap echoed through the hallway, sending a chill down your spine.

Rafe stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for his cheek where the bruise was already beginning to form. You could see the pain in his eyes, but the rage was sharper—cutting through him like a blade.

“Ward, you don’t get to touch him,” you snapped, stepping forward, but Rafe raised a hand to stop you.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight with anger. But you could see the bruise already swelling, darkening the side of his face.

Ward laughed coldly, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. “This is the man you’re trusting with her?” He gestured toward Rafe, a mocking sneer on his lips. “Pathetic. This is all a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Before you could say anything else, security had already stepped in, and Ward was ushered away by his lawyer. Rafe stood there, silent, his face hard as stone.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the courtroom.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was packed, tension thick in the air. The judge, a woman with a stern expression, motioned for everyone to sit down, but you could still feel the heaviness of the moment.

Rafe sat beside you, his posture stiff, his hand gripping the armrest of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. You could see the bruise on his cheek, the darkening mark a stark reminder of the physical and emotional battle he was facing.

Ward sat across the room, his face set in a smug grin. He didn’t look at Rafe. He didn’t need to. He was confident he had already won.

As the hearing began, the tension grew. Both sides presented their arguments—Ward with his usual smugness, his words dripping with false sincerity, and you and Rafe, doing your best to argue that Willa belonged with the people who had been raising her, the people who loved her.

But as the court session continued, it became clear that Ward wasn’t playing fair. His lawyer had found every loophole, every flaw in your case, and used it against you. And with the bruise on Rafe’s face, there was no way around the implications it carried. The scene in the hallway, though quickly dealt with, was impossible to ignore.

Rafe’s history, his past with Ward—everything was being dragged out into the open, and no matter how hard Rafe tried to stay composed, no matter how much you fought back, the weight of their father’s influence was undeniable.

You watched, helpless, as the case swung in Ward’s favor. Every argument Rafe made, every truth he tried to speak, was countered with a lie, with an accusation. And in the end, it wasn’t about what was best for Willa. It was about who had the power, who had the money, who could manipulate the system.

And in that moment, it was clear who was winning.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The judge finally spoke, her voice cold and impartial. “Based on the evidence presented, and in consideration of the child’s well-being, I am ruling in favor of Mr. Ward Cameron for the temporary custody of Willa Routledge.”

The words were like a slap in the face. Your heart stopped, the world spinning in slow motion as you processed the finality of her decision. Rafe’s face fell, his entire body going rigid beside you. His hand, which had been gripping the armrest, was now shaking.

Willa was going to Ward. And there was nothing either of you could do about it.

“What?” Rafe’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held so much anger, so much disbelief, that it made your chest ache.

The judge didn’t respond, and Ward’s smirk only deepened, satisfaction radiating from every inch of him.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t believe it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Rafe stood up, the pain in his eyes more evident than ever before. He didn’t speak, didn’t argue. He just left. He stormed out of the courtroom, his movements sharp, angry, broken.

You stayed behind, your own heart sinking, as Ward’s lawyer turned to you with a cold, dismissive smile.

“This isn’t over,” you whispered to yourself, but deep down, you knew it was. The battle for Willa had just taken an unimaginable turn. And you couldn’t help but wonder if you and Rafe would ever recover from the blow.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[acertainmoshke]

Halara series master post

Dividers by @/tsunami-of-tears

Book #1: Cracks in the Stone

Years: 405-446

Ko’a grew up in the halls of a family-run inn with their single parent and older sibling, going to public school and dreaming of writing for the local newspaper. But just before their age of apprenticeship, they were swept away to court by the royal parent who had never acknowledged them over a prophecy that suggested they might save the kingdom. They had no interest in anything that grand, only in finding books to read and being kind to children in need of a friend. This bookishness and kindness led them to rise from servant to tutor and eventually earn the acknowledgment of their royal parent, granting them a noble title and an unwanted marriage. Later they would become a trusted advisor to their half sibling. But always, there was the threat and demand of that prophecy. And, sure enough, the worst happened and the kingdom was left in flames under a harsh ruler. But Ko’a found themself in exile with the rest of their family, unsure how exactly they were meant to fix it all.

Book #2: Blood and Ice

Years: 332-375

Aryel, as the royal child named to lead the army rather than rule at home, was resigned to a life of bloody battle as they struggled to win and end the generation-long war. At least they were well-loved among their soldiers and felt at home on the front lines. But after an unexpected tragedy meant they had to rule the kingdom as well, splitting their time between war and the quieter danger of court, the needs of all their people grew harder to balance. And the talk of centaurs as treasonous spies only made everything more complicated. To make matters worse, they weren’t winning and were running out of able soldiers. But they had to end the war somehow, and soon, or there wouldn’t be any kingdom left worth protecting.

Book #3: A Thread of Gold

Years: 184-231

Other than being dismissed as a simple child, Tlapil grew up with a charmed life at court. Their cousin, the heir, made sure of it: lessons from the best tutors, freedom to dance barefoot in the garden, the greatest bards playing their favorite tunes on repeat. As they grew up and discovered an interest in cartography and a friendship with one of the noble slimes at court, they left their own small world and demanded to be seen. They eventually became an advisor for their cousin and greatly improved mapmaking in the kingdom, falling in love with Flim, the first known human-slime relationship. They were graceful and happy and loved. But after Soter’s death, they struggled with their own grief as well as young Lalosh’s. Lalosh, the only remaining royal child, was too young to rule, and so for an 8-year stretch Halara had a foreign regent in their mother, Suzun. The kingdom was falling apart, but Tlapil were more concerned with their family falling apart, and found themself reluctantly embarking on an adventure to protect the people they loved—and perhaps to save the kingdom in the process.

Book #4: Midnight Mage

Years: 251-289

Anjet was just a spare noble child, one of many who came to court seeking a way to distinguish themself. But unlike the others, they caught the eye of the heir to the throne. Despite what others believed, the two really were in love. And despite what their own family seemed to think, Anjet was clever and charming and quick enough to talk the ruler into an arranged marriage based on feeling—but not without a price. Princen Zjuk’s parent was so impressed with Anjet’s quick thinking that they allowed the marriage, with the understanding that Anjet act as their personal spy. At first, Anjet was young and in love and mostly happy at court. Their spy duties didn’t seem like a big deal. But slowly more was expected of them, from complex and dangerous magic to political assassinations. But it was alright, of course it was, because the ruler was getting older and they’d stop when Zjuk took the throne. Only they were unexpectedly widowed young, and with no other viable heirs and no sign of dying, they could be working for this ruler for a long time. And then they were sent to another court to spy and report back instead, and with the culture shock and shift in politics Anjet noticed something oddly the same: the world was breaking. Dragons were leaving and with them, magic seemed to be turning sour. They had already done the unthinkable to protect their kingdom and family, what was a little more to protect the whole world?

Book #5: Garden of Smoke

Years: 494-517

Zi’altsa lived a more or less quiet life as a private investigator of mysteries too small or…delicate to be handled by the royal guard. It kept their mind engaged and allowed them to afford a private residence with a nice garden in the city. They handled cases for people from all walks of life—or very nearly. They never expected to hear from royalty. But when Fen, the spouse of the ruler themself, showed up on their doorstep alone one night, Zi’a’s entire understanding of the world was turned upside down.

Book #6: Shattered Scales

Years: 912-953

Eshara was born into a happy, free, equal time. Halara was the only local kingdom to still have hereditary royalty, and that royalty was little more than a single vote in the government. Eshara’s job would be largely ceremony and mediation, but they were still heavily trained in diplomacy and politics. And, despite it all, there were still games at work. Eshara lived in a free and equal age—so why could they never fit into the system around them? Why was their magic so wrong? Why did that scare everyone around them? And, with the world shifting around them again, would that give them what they needed to protect their people?

[reinemichele]

Translation here

Emerging on sleepless nights When dusk turns to dawn...  He lashes out on the filthy chatte (whores) of the alleyway. Ah... with an unseen arm he wrings their necks... That 《fantôme de rêve》 (phantom of a dream) Is merely a fragile, damaged ego... Drowning in ruthless lucidity, when he drinks and drinks...  He stumbles about the miniature Château (castle) of an attic. Ah... with an unseen arm searing with pain... That 《fantôme dolour》 (phantom pain) Drifts away in cheap liquor, allowing him to sleep... On the battlefield, the two men had a fateful encounter... A knight with golden hair (Laurant) ...  A knight with auburn hair (Laurant) ... Conflict spreads... the corpses stack... Who is the assailant... and who is the sufferer? In the shade of the setting sun,  A blade glitters in dark red. Stolen from him, along with his arm, Was sa vie (his life)— No longer able to work, his lover left him... All was lost, everything taken away; The worst imaginable la vie (life)— Living in constant fear of a pain That strikes without warning... "Le plus souvent (More often than not)... When your nightmares torment you, you beat me... And I fear... I'm going to die any day now... Au revoir (Farewell)… I love you dearly, more than anyone else... But even so... you'd never make a good père (father) To the child I'm carrying..." Wine… champagne… brandy… Ah... Slicing through the silence of the sleeping forest... He appears again... Racing on horseback… Like the vision of a nightmare… With auburn hair billowing all around… He brandishes the Reaper's scythe and swings— Harvesting heads… Like the vision of a windmill… With scarlet flowers blooming in all directions... Emboldened by a single guiding principle— Cloaked within the thinly veiled darkness... He awakens only to find That he's still in a dream (nightmare). His life depraved into one of drinking and lunacy, Trapped within a cycle of repeating pain. A scar in the shape of a cross marring the left cheek;  With blazing auburn hair and eyes of maroon— His arm aches to kill— His 『unseen arm』 burns to kill that man! Who is the assailant and who is the sufferer...? Hunt down the Reaper and bury him... "I'll kill you!" The chevalier (knight) mounts his steed once more… And as time quietly passes, the world begins to shift.  The two Laurants (men) meet again in a foreign tavern. The one-armed and the one-eyed; Ah... not a shadow remained of their former valor... The man lunged at him unexpectedly, Gripping the epee noir (black sword) And the sang (fluid) Splattered everywhere like pinot noir (red wine) In the act of pushing it in… Offering up the flower, "bonsoir" (good night) In the act of pulling it out...  Bringing light to the song, "au revoir" (farewell) "Out of my way!" "Who the hell are you... gh...!" "Bonsoir." "Au revoir." The name of the man who collapsed is Laurant. The name of the man who escaped is Laurencin... And yet another Laurant… Simply stood at the scene in stunned silence... Who is the assailant And who is the sufferer...? Victims upon victims, added to the pile.  Turning round and round, The revolving windmill of hatred… Swinging up and falling down, like wild, dancing flames... Ah... within the shade of a pillar, The boy remains unseen… With maroon eyes... intently watching... "Nothing in life ever goes my way... but... This pain is proof that I lived..." When the curtains close On the stage of the revenge tragedy… The man contemplates: His remaining arm... what remains of his life...  And the unseen meaning of it all— The taste of wine fills his cup… Bleeding into his heart... "I wonder if a 《story》 can be found there...?"

[wvba-ringside-gossip]

“Hello there, I’m Kaya! I saw the list of tragedies that happened to the Branch A boxers, and sorry to be a bother- But I’d really really like to know about the blight of the other branch as well (seeing as I’m not quite familiar with most of them, heh-) Thank you!” - Kaya 🌙

"Pleasure to make your Acquaintance, Ms Kaya! Now, this is a bit of a sensitive topic for a few of our boys so word of this must stay between me and you, Okay?

Now, here we go, hope you're ready..."

TW: SENSITIVE TOPICS

Birdie Blue: His family has an unfortunate gene that means they contract sickness a lot easier and are generally unhealthy. Birdie was lucky enough to not get these genes or fall into those habits, but he soon became the only able bodied person in his family and soon had to be at the beck and call of everyone, as early as the age of 7. He ran away shortly after and moved to Louisianna.

Gabby Jay: A Happy life with a beautiful wife and family. However, one day he became very ill and had to be taken to the hospital where he was diagnosed with Luchemia. He was given treatment for it and soon recovered thought slowly, returning home to find his wife was with another man and planning to leave him on the basis of him dying of his illness. She left with her new wife and the kids shortly after that, leaving a heartbroken and still recovering Gabby behind in shambles.

Piston Hurricane: Hurricane himself is very quiet, never speaking. No one knows why, and any bit of his past life isn't on record either. Rumor has it though that due to past trauma he became Selective Mute. No one can confirm if this is true and frankly, Desire prefers it stays this way.

Bob Charlie: One of the only ones in the WVBA with a relatively peaceful life. The worst thing that could've happened to him was that he banged his knee on the kitchen counter...dòt salo

Dragon Chan: His family home in Hong Kong resided by a huge factory, the place practically leaked pollutants and thus caused their home to become polluted, making it unsafe. As they were trying to evacuate the house, Dragon's eldest nephew got lost in the fumes and died to the poison. He and his family all soon left for America, but a year later he would return in the hopes of restoring his home to its former glory.

Masked Muscle: He grew up very poor and saw a lot of violence as a kid. He soon grew into this violent facade during his teen years and became quite the troublemaker for not only his town but his family, who had to bail him out of jail one too many times. He's grown to control this anger but every now and again he can lash out unexpectedly.

Heike Kagero: Born in a very prestigious family and moving to America at a young age, Heike had lost a lot of knowledge of his own heritage. This became a bigger problem as, at 19, he was set to marry many gorgeous Japanese suitors, all of whom were not just older than him, but proud and very traditional. This has caused him to become very insecure about his lack of knowledge around his own culture.

Mad Clown: He grew up in a loving home of performers, from many different branches. He got himself into the Opera, but when he grew tired of it and ran off to join the circus he found that life even more monotonous, causing him to become very grumpy and unnecessarily aggressive towards others. Due to this he doesn't have a lot of friends and lots of folks at the WVBA tend to avoid him.

Narcis Prince: He grew up very privileged and isolated from others. He grew up setting very high standards for himself others. This made him become a bit of a recluse, which lead to him struggling to make friends or even holding conversations with the people in his work space. He wants to try and be better at this, but it's a struggle for him to try and "lower his expectations" so he doesn't really bother.

Hoy Quarlow: Poor Quarlow was apparently burdened with a terrible secret that, according to him, if it ever got out, it would tear the WVBA apart. He won't specify what but based on how he looks at the ropes, I have a general idea...

Rick Bruiser: A generally happy fellow, there isn't a lot really WRONG in his life, however he has said several times how he misses his brother and wishes he would come back. He has admitted that both of them grew up in a very unforgiving household, and that Nick had to do something unspeakable to their parents, which caused them to run away when they were both in their teens, and he misses having that comfort of his brother beside him. He even mentioned that he gets scared that something will happen and the two will be separated again...guess he isn't as invulnerable as we thought...

Nick Bruiser: [REDACTED]

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Feel It Like I Do

ty to @writinglizards for the title and @contemplativepancakes for making sure Geralt didn’t wear a shirt into the bath 💖

At least in the terms of Geralt's long life, they haven't known each other long but Jaskier has fallen hard. He was lost from the start if he's honest, enraptured by golden eyes and silver hair and a heart that cares just this side of too much. But loving someone is not always easy, and loving an emotionally stunted Witcher is all that much harder - especially if your Witcher doesn't believe he deserves good things.

And it doesn't help that Jaskier isn't quite sure how to approach things with Geralt. Normally, things with him start with sex. It's quick and easy and Jaskier has never failed to get someone into bed with him. Normally, when he wants something or someone, he smiles and charms and flirts his way into getting it, but things with Geraly have never been that simple. And not for a lack of trying.

But Geralt doesn't even realize he's being flirted with, which is a tragedy. Nor does he notice now when Jaskier picks up herbs he's getting low on. Geralt is thankful and appreciative but dense as stone and Jaskier finds himself lost, unsure of how to approach this wonderful, difficult man that destiny has brought to him. He figures it out unexpectedly on a dreadfully damp and foggy day - in the middle of a swamp, of all places.

So maybe Geralt had asked him to stay back at camp with Roach, but Jaskier's never seen a water hag for himself and if he's going to write about them, he'll have to have the details correct.

The first time he gets mud chucked at him, he grumbles and complains, but he can hear Geralt's chiding voice in his head reminding him he should have stayed at camp and he holds his ground. A little mud in his face is nothing for the chance to see Geralt at work.

Geralt dispatches of the hags - there are three of them, in all - without much trouble, but he earns himself a pretty hefty swipe for his trouble and when he returns to Jaskier, he's favouring his left arm. Jaskier frowns, reaches out before he can think better of it, but Geralt just brushes past him and toward their camp.

Jaskier follows at a safe distance. Geralt doesn't much like to talk after he completes a contract, or at all when he's taken a potion, so Jaskier keeps quiet and sits across from him when he makes it to their camp. He watches as Geralt hauls his pack into his lap, wincing still as he rummages through it and he wants to help. Jaskier aches to reach across and take the bag from Geralt's hands, to find whatever is it he needs. To help. He knows Geraly would never allow it, but he crosses over to sit next o him anyway.

"Can I do anything?" he asks. Geralt just grunts at him in response and Jaskier sighs. Instinctively, he reaches out and touches a hand to Geralt's good shoulder and Geralt freezes under him.

Immediately, Jaskier realizes he's made a mistake. Geralt tenses up under him, his whole body stiffening at the touch, but then he does something Jaskier would not have expected. He leans into it.

Jaskier holds his breath, afraid to move lest Geralt realize what he's doing and pull away, but his heart is racing and that, apparently, is what breaks the spell. They've known each other a little over three years now and Geralt has never allowed him to so much as touch him before, not more than a simple brush of their shoulders as they walk side-by-side and Jaskier is overwhelmed.

When Geralt turns to him, he looks surprised, almost embarrassed and when Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, Geralt rises to his feet and stalks off out of sight. But Jaskier is determined, so he picks Geralt's pack up from the ground and replaces the vials that spilled from it in his haste to escape. Setting it with the rest of their things, Jaskier turns to lighting the fire and laying out bedrolls. It's the least he can do to ensure things are as comfortable for Geralt as they can be when he returns.

And he does, a couple of hours later, silent as always. But he's given Jaskier something to go off, a brief glimpse into what Geralt actually wants but won't allow himself, and Jaskier, armed with this new information, is determined to give it to him. It's not much, but it's a step in the right direction.

For the next few days, they're in and around town, so Jaskier keeps a close eye on Geralt, especially his interactions with others. He's not sure how he never noticed before, the way Geralt stands taller, straighter when other people are around, or the way his whole body goes stiff when someone approaches him unprompted. He's bracing himself for the worst; for pain and hate, like the words spat at him in the streets, and Jaskier finds himself wondering if Geralt has ever felt a kind touch that wasn't paid dearly for.

But Jaskier knows now that that's something he wants; Geralt longs for kind touches, like anyone who's been denied for so long, and Jaskier hates the people who have made him feel like he's not allowed. And since no one else is willing, Jaskier will have to do it himself.

He starts small that very afternoon, stepping a little closer to Geralt's side as they make their way out of town. He isn't pushed away and if Geralt notices his proximity, he doesn't mention it, so when they lay down to sleep that night, Jaskier lays his bedroll out next to Geralt's. He'll be a little further from the fire, but the late spring weather is warm enough that it shouldn't matter.

When he wakes in the morning, Geralt had shifted and he's further away than he normally sleeps. It's frustrating, but Jaskier isn't one to back down from a challenge - especially not where Geralt's well-being is concerned.

So that night, he tries a new tactic. Maybe if he can get Geralt to initiate the touch himself, he won't be so quick to pull away. They find themselves at an inn, so Jaskier's initial plan of closeness through cold isn't going to work as well as he had hoped, but when they arrive the inn is old and cold enough that it just might work.

Once they've laid down for the night, he wraps himself in the scratchy blanket provided for them and stares out into the room. Geralt has made himself a bed on the floor - much to Jaskier's displeasure. It would make things so much easier if Geralt would just climb up here and sleep with him.

"I'm cold," he whispers into the darkness. There's nothing at first, then a rustling and footsteps fading away and returning. A very small part of him hopes that Geralt will come back and lay down next to him, but as always, he doesn't.

"Take this," Geralt says, draping something heavy over him. Jaskier turns to sit up, but Geralt is already moving away, back to his makeshift bed on the floor.

Jaskier resists a sigh of defeat, if only because Geralt would hear him, and settles back into bed, pulling the new blanket up over his shoulders. Only it isn't a blanket and when Jaskier inhales, Geralt's scent engulfs him. A quick grope around tells him the new addition to his bed is Geralt's travelling cloak, thick and woollen and likely warmer than the thin blankets that they carry with them. Despite the failure of his plan tonight, Jaskier can't feel entirely disappointed, though he worries that the way his heart thumps heavily against his chest is obvious to Geralt, sleeping only a few feet away.

After failing to fall asleep that night, surrounded by Geralt's scent, Jaskier takes a different approach. It's probably easier for him to reach out to Geralt first, but he wants Geralt to be comfortable with touch and he continues his attempt to get Geralt to reach out to him.

He pretends to be hurt or to have an itch somewhere he can't scratch himself, but Geralt never falls for it and Jaskier just gets more and more frustrated. On the one hand, he can understand why, after however many years of being met only with hate and disgust, Geralt would seclude himself. But Jaskier has never treated him that way and all he wants is to help. Because he knows how it feels to go without, to spend weeks alone without the faintest trace of human contact. It's awful, he can't even imagine the need for it after years. There are occasional visits to brothels in the bigger cities, but even then touch is a luxury paid for when Geralt can find someone who'll have him. Because he's a Witcher. Because he's inhuman.

Only Jaskier has never seen him that way, not even in the very beginning of this complicated relationship, and he longs for Geralt to understand that. After Geralt has been turned away from brothels, Jaskier has considered offering it himself. He could set his own feelings aside to give Geralt what he needs, but he suspects Geralt would see it as nothing more than a pittance and that's the last thing Jaskier wants him to think. Geralt is so much more than what everyone thinks and says about him and Jaskier is on a mission to prove that. A mission that apparently starts with convincing Geralt himself.

So one night, when Geralt is called out to take care of a wraith that's been haunting the village graveyard, Jaskier follows him. Geralt hasn't been sleeping well lately, and Jaskier has insisted on him sitting this one out, but they need the coin and what Jaskier earned at the tavern last night won't even cover their room for another night. So Geralt, exhausted and worn out, traipses up to the cemetery unknowingly with Jaskier in tow.

Jaskier sits and waits as Geralt disappears into the crypt, but he keeps an ear out for anything that could mean Geralt's in trouble. It doesn't take long before he hears the sounds of a fight, and right from the start, it doesn't sound good. Then abruptly, silence and nothing more.

Jaskier aches to run in after him and make sure he's okay. His fingers twitch against his thighs, and he runs through what he'd do over and over in his head, but he knows there isn't much he can do against a wraith. Something physical, maybe, but this is somewhere he can't really help. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest and without realizing it, Jaskier's on his feet and heading to the entrance of the crypt when he spots Geralt, staggering through the arch and toward him.

Immediately, relief floods through him and his legs shake but manage to hold him well enough to get to Geralt. Without thinking, Jaskier ducks under Geralt's arm, pulling it around his neck and helping him back toward camp. He's surprised at how well he manages to support Geralt's weight, and it's not until they reach the unlit fire at their camp that Jaskier realizes how much of Geralt is pressed against him. And for the first time, he panics.

He helps Geralt down to sit on a stump near the fire pit and while Geralt sits and catches his breath, he continually assures Jaskier that he's fine. By now, Jaskier knows he can hear Geralt's heartbeat, how fast it's racing right now, and he knows the words are just to placate him. He knows Geralt must be injured but he doesn't trust Geralt to tell himself, so as much as he hates to push further than Geralt is ready for, Jaskier starts unbuckling his armour.

He stands behind him, laying each piece out carefully on the ground next to them, keeping an eye out for any hesitation, but Geralt seems resigned to this. It's not until his armour is off and piled neatly, and he's in nothing more than his tunic, that Geralt flinches when Jaskier reaches for him.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier breathes. "I can't see how bad it is with this on, can I-" He doesn't even finish the question before Geralt gives a curt nod and drops his gaze to the ground. He lifts his arms to let Jaskier pull it off, wincing as his muscles pull.

There's bruising all the way down his side and Jaskier fists his hands in Geralt's tunic, pushing out the anger that always accompanies seeing him like this. Maybe if the people who cursed him in the street could see him now, they'd think better of Witchers. Then again, he supposes, most of them are probably beyond changing. He shakes his head to keep from wondering about how it happened and steps away to find salve and bandages.

When he does, he digs a spare piece of linen from the bottom of his pack, using it to wipe away any remaining blood where the skin is broken. Geralt lets him, sitting still until Jaskier spreads salve on the worst of his wounds. He winces then and pulls away, turning to scowl at him.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier breathes, " just- please, let me help." After a moment, Geralt turns back around and rests his elbows on his knees, relenting.

Jaskier is as gentle as he can be, though suspects the only reason he's allowed to do this is because Geralt, despite his many talents, can't reach his own back properly to do it himself. It doesn't stop Jaskier, once he's finished bandaging him, from brushing his fingertips down Geralt's back.

He doesn't mean to, doesn't even realize he's doing it at first, but Geralt presses back into the touch and Jaskier tries again. He doesn't want to take advantage, but Geralt's muscles are tense under his hands and he knows if he can just get Geralt to let him, he can ease that stress.

Jaskier eases into it, touching him softly and just letting his hands drift over Geralt's skin to start. And slowly, Jaskier can feel him relax under his hands and he risks a little more pressure. Geralt's breath comes a little quicker as Jaskier's hands slide forward over his shoulders, but Jaskier pauses, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Geralt's collarbone until he feels the muscles there relax again.

Jaskier is elated to be allowed such a simple thing and he revels in the heat of Geralt's skin under his hands, the scent of his hair, though tinged with dirt and sweat. He lets himself get caught up in it, slipping his hands further down Geralt's chest and back up to rub the sides of his neck. Geralt's head drops back against his stomach, a soft groan slipping between his lips. Jaskier stiffens, afraid that he's pushed too far, but when he looks down, Geralt seems relaxed - more relaxed than he's seen him.

It's so rare that Jaskier - or anyone, he suspects - gets to see Geralt like this, that he feels almost like he's intruding on a private moment. He knows it's only due to exhaustion that Geralt submits so easily to him now, but he likes to believe a part of it has to do with trust as well.

Jaskier brings his hands back to Geralt's shoulders, fingertips pressing into the stiff muscle and working out the knots. He tries to concentrate, but Geralt keeps letting out soft little huffs of breath that are incredibly distracting and quite often he finds himself losing focus and slipping too far forward. He realizes his mistake when his fingers brush over a nipple and Geralt shudders under him.

Jaskier withdraws as Geralt sits forward shifting awkwardly. This time he knows he's pushed too far - accidentally, but he doubts that matters now. Jaskier shuts his eyes and as Geralt shrugs out from under his hands, he lets him go. When he rises to his feet, Jaskier realizes what the problem is and he hates himself for the initial heat that runs through him. He rips his gaze from where Geralt's cock is hard in his trousers, but he knows he's too late and he knows Geralt has seen him looking.

Geralt turns away and Jaskier curses himself as the Witcher stalks off into the dark. He tries to tell himself it wasn't his fault, but maybe he shouldn't have tried anything at all. He didn't mean to push, he didn't mean to turn him on and he definitely didn't mean to see. But Geralt was definitely aroused and the fact that Jaskier is the one who affected him like that is something he struggles to reconcile.

As far as his progress in getting Geralt to open up, this incident has a negative effect. Geralt closes himself off again afterward and Jaskier is upset with himself for taking advantage because it was the first time Geralt let him get that close and he went and fucked it up. For both of them. But he has to keep trying because Geralt does so much and gets so little. And he never takes anything for himself so Jaskier wants to try and give something back.

So he starts small again because he knows Geralt's trust isn't easily earned, and he finds his progress hasn't been undone as much as he'd expected. Geralt doesn't pull away when Jaskier walks close and even when their hands brush together, he seems unconcerned about it. Which is a relief and Jaskier doesn't think too much about why. He wants Geralt to adjust to his touch in any context, though since the incident with the wraith, Jaskier can't help thinking about making him feel good in other ways. It's a dream and nothing more, but it's in his mind nonetheless. He just wants Geralt to be more open, to be able to let himself have something good besides the sex he pays for.

For months, Jaskier works tirelessly to acclimatize Geralt to soft and gentle touches. He puts his own needs and desires aside in favour of trying to convince the most stubborn man he's ever met that not all touch has to be bad. On occasion, Geralt relents, but it's only when he's injured or exhausted and while it's a small victory, Jaskier will take what he can get.

But after a little while, Geralt seems to realize what Jaskier is doing. He doesn't back off like Jaskier expected him to. On the contrary, he'll even give a little back on occasion. If he's trying to hold Jaskier back, more often he'll press a hand to his shoulder rather than grabbing his clothes and pulling him back. The first time it happens, Jaskier is so surprised he stops dead in his tracks. But he appreciates the effort.

Then, one night, Gerallt surprises him.

It's been over a year now since the wraith incident and Jaskier always keeps that night in the back of his mind, reminding himself not to be too bold when Geralt gives him an inch. But he still thinks about it all the time, how he got Geralt hard with only his hands and how he so desperately wants to do it again, he just needs Geralt to let him. And it's not that things are going badly between them, but Jaskier has no delusions of anything like that happening again. Especially not intentionally.

They're in Temeria, staying at a little in that looks like it's seen better days and they've only just paid for their room when Geralt goes off saying he has to do something. Jaskier's sure something is heading to the local whorehouse and he wants to tell him he doesn't need to, but Geralt is determined and Jaskier keeps quiet. He heads up to their room alone.

He feels helpless and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do because he can't just come out and tell Geralt to fuck him instead. He wants to be able to, but it's so much more than just sex for him, even if maybe it's not for Geralt. But he wants Geralt to know that there's an alternative to how he's been living, that Jaskier is here to offer him more than just soft touches and a conversational companion. Geralt can get what he needs from someone who loves him, someone who wants to be with him. He can have kindness and affection without having to pay for it. He could be there for Geralt if he'd just let him. But every time he tries to offer, the words fail him.

Jaskier pushes the thoughts aside in favour of tidying the room and organizing their things before heading down to find his own company for the evening. He orders an ale for himself and sits at a table near the low-burning fire, keeping an eye on the crowd, but no one strikes his fancy tonight. If he's honest with himself, it's been a while since he's been truly dedicated to pleasing himself rather than Geralt.

He only stays long enough to finish his drink and by the time it's gone, he's still alone so he heads back to the room alone. Only when he opens the door, he comes face-to-face with Geralt, looking a little sheepish.

"I had a bath poured," Geralt says. "If you want."

Jaskier does his best not to show his confusion, but he's speechless trying to figure out why Geralt would order him a bath. The only words he can manage to get out are "I don't need it" and he regrets it immediately. He quickly corrects himself adding, "go ahead. I'm sure you would enjoy it."

Geralt doesn't look at him and for a second, Jaskier thinks he's offended him, but when he really looks at him, Geralt looks... conflicted, like he's struggling with himself.

"Join me?" he asks so quietly Jaskier almost doesn't hear him.

Oh. "Are you sure?" he asks, watching for any sign of hesitation, but if Geralt is wary of what he's offering, he doesn't show it. He just nods quietly and Jaskier is still trying to figure out what's happening because this is very unlike Geralt and he doesn't want to agree to something if Geralt is going to be uncomfortable about it later.

But he seems anything but uncomfortable. Geralt undresses like it's the most casual thing in the world and Jaskier catches him as he's unbuttoning his trousers, tugging his shirt loose. He finds himself staring, watching the way Geralt moves as he drops his arms backs to his sides, and Geralt notices. Just as Jaskier turns his head to look away, Geralt steps toward him and catches his attention again.

He reaches out, undoing the top few buttons on Jaskier's shirt and despite his careful composure, Jaskier's throat goes dry and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Geralt has never willingly let Jaskier get this close to him unless they're asleep and Jaskier is starting to feel like maybe all of his hard work has paid off.

"You can't bathe in your clothes," Geralt says by way of explanation which, Jaskier supposes, is true. When he looks up from where Geralt's hands are on his shirt, Geralt is looking at him so softly, almost nervously, and Jaskier's skin flushes under the attention. He wants so badly to close the rest of the distance between them, but Geralt is already putting himself out here in such a huge way and Jaskier want to let him take this at his own pace. Whatever this is.

He does reach out cautiously, letting his fingers brush over Geralt's shoulder and when he's met with no resistance, he lets his palm settle. And Geralt takes another small step forward, returning to Jaskier's buttons.

"Why do you always want to touch me?" he asks. Jaskier moves his head to meet his eyes, but Geralt is avoiding him, his focus solely on getting Jaskier's shirt undone. He hadn't realized Geralt had been quite that attentive. He'd thought his little advances could have been passed off as just trying to be closer or, well, something. But he should have known better.

"When was the last time someone touched you with kindness?" he asks and this time Geralt's head snaps up, eyes meeting his with confusion. "When was the last time someone touched you without getting anything in return?"

"Last winter," Geralt says without hesitation and the quickness of his response only makes Jaskier's heart sink further.

"Not every touch has to be hard and biting," Jaskier breathes. His hands rise on their own, softly wrapping around Geralt's wrists and lowering his hands from their task. "Not every kind gesture has to be transactional. You deserve good things just for the sake of it."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Geralt," Jaskier says a little more firmly, "if you don't understand by now that I care about you, I don't know how to convince you." Well, that's not entirely true, but he's taking things at Geralt's speed, not his own. "I know I don't have to do that, I don't have to do anything and yet, here I am. I want you to know I'm here for you."

Geralt shifts his weight, looking anywhere but at Jaskier like he's not sure how to process this. Maybe it's a good thing Jaskier can never find the words to tell him everything. Jaskier's heart beats a million times a minute as he takes a step forward into Geralt's space. He reaches out, meeting Geralt's eyes again as he presses his palms to his chest. Slowly, cautiously, he pushes his hands up Geralt's chest, slipping over his shoulders and around the back of his neck.

They're so close now that Jaskier can smell the oils on him and he realizes Geralt must have taken a lot of care in choosing them because the scents he picks up on are lavender and cedarwood, two of his favourites. And his chest constricts at the thought of Geralt putting that much effort into anything so frivolous, especially for someone else. Especially for him.

When he meets his eyes again, they're soft and every instinct is telling him to lean in, to press his lips against that soft mouth but the last time he pushed too hard, he fucked it all up. This time feels like something real and he doesn't want to risk making another mistake.

But he's leaning in without realizing and Geralt meets him halfway, bumping their foreheads together. All Jaskier can hear is the sound of his own breath and the blood rushing in his ears like thunder. He shuts his eyes and Geralt tips his head just so, bumping their noses together. And if Jaskier is feeling this overwhelmed by their closeness, he can't possibly imagine how Geralt is feeling right now.

"Jask..." he breathes and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and moves without thinking.

He leans in, just barely brushing his lips against Geralt's. He feels his breath against him as he draws back, hears a soft little noise that sounds something like relief and then Geralt's leaning in again and kissing him in earnest. His mouth slots against Jaskier's like that's what it was made for, hot and wanting, but Geralt seems unsure of what to do with his hands.

Jaskier never considered what with Geralt's want for a gentle touch that he might also want to touch. His hands hover in mid-air, just shy of brushing Jaskier's hips like he's never done this before, but it doesn't take much encouragement. Jaskier takes Geralt's hands and presses them against his own hips and it's all the direction Geralt needs to be given. He slides his hands up Jaskier's sides, pushing under his shirt and the heat from his skin sends a shudder up Jaskier's spine.

He moans softly against Geralt's lips, sliding his own hands up to tangle in his hair and Geralt hums appreciatively in response, one warm hand sliding up to the center of his back to hold him close. His lips part against Jaskier's, deepening the kiss and gods, Jaskier has never thought about how Geralt would kiss, but now that he's been given the chance, he doesn't hold back. And once he gets his hands on him, he doesn't let go.

Jaskier absolutely delights in how tactile Geralt is. Even his mouth doesn't leave his skin, straying from his lips only to press against his jaw and slide down his neck. Jaskier's head tips back giving him better access and Geralt groans against his skin, a low rumbling sound that rips right through him. The low simmering in his guts spikes and he wants to lean into the touch and press himself against Geralt but he draws back instead, not that Geralt lets him get far. Geralt looks at him with big, dark eyes and whatever reservations Jaskier was about to voice die on his tongue.

His breathing is shallow and as he meets Geralt's eyes, he can feel his chest heave with each breath. Geralt looks at him like he's just seeing him for the first time and he reaches between them, tugging Jaskier's shirt up over his head before slipping his fingers beneath the waist of his trousers. Jaskier tips his head down, watching as Geralt's fingers work open the clasps. Then Geralt pauses, tips Jaskier's chin up to look at him and kisses him again, hard and eager.

Jaskier's breath pulls from his lungs and he finds himself walking backward. When his knees hit the tub, he stumbles a little, but Geralt winds his arms around his waist, bracing him. When Geralt draws away again, Jaskier is breathless, and the way Geralt's hands move back to his trousers again doesn't help matters.

His hands slide over Jaskier's hips, catching on the silky fabric and pushing his trousers down. Jaskier holds his breath as the fabric slides over his heated cock and Geralt's hands slip back over his ass, forcing the roll of his hips. He's already half-hard, but he can hardly control the state of his cock with Geralt pawing at him like this. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and he lets out a low, breathy "oh" as his cock presses into Geralt's hip.

And he realizes maybe he doesn't have to be so cautious with Geralt after all. Jaskier risks a quick roll of his hips and Geralt rumbles pleasantly, pushing back against him. He kisses him again then, slow and sweet and just this side of too much and Geralt moves against him, lips parting as he presses against Jaskier's chest. He's so close and Jaskier can feel every inch of him, every tiny little movement of muscle and Geralt is hard against him which is a feeling infinitely better than any of Jaskier's wildest dreams.

He aches to touch him, to feel more than just the press of Geralt's cock against his hip, wonders if he could get a hand around him because he feels huge. Geralt breaks away to kiss Jaskier's jaw, down the side of his throat and Jaskier can't help the little gasp that slips from his lips. In a hundred years, he never expected Geralt to be like this when he was finally allowed free reign to touch.

Before he realizes it, Jaskier has a hand between them, snaking down to cup Geralt through his trousers. Geralt's hips jerk into the touch and he rumbles low in the back of his throat. Jaskier pulls back. He thinks he's gone too far again, that Geralt isn't ready for so much, but then Geralt's arms wind tightly around him and his feet lift the floor. A rush of excitement goes through him and he loops his arms around Geralt's neck as they head toward the bed.

"What about the bath?" he asks and Geralt meets his eyes with a dark look.

"Later," he growls and Jaskier feels the vibrations all the way through him. He'd mention the bath getting cold, but he doesn't think it would matter; Geralt is nothing if not focused and Jaskier is thrilled to be the one at the center of his attention. He's not about to sabotage it over a little cold water.

Geralt drops onto the mattress with Jaskier in his lap. He shuffles back, stacking the pillows behind him with one hand, the other still firmly curled around Jaskier's hip. When he's satisfied, he slips his other arm around Jaskier, too, tugging him closer and Jaskier groans at the way their cocks grind against each other. Geralt is still maddeningly hidden, tucked away just out of Jaskier's reach, which is so unfair he could cry. Because he's thick and hard and pressing up under Jaskier's balls in a way that makes him needy.

Then one of Geralt's hands slips down, squeezing his ass as he lifts him and pulls him close against him. His fingers slip down, pressing between Jaskier's cheeks and Geralt's trapped cock is pushed to the back of his mind.

Jaskier's eyes flutter shut as Geralt's fingers graze against his hole. He tips his head down, pressing his nose into Geralt's neck, speechless for the first time in a long time. If anyone had told him a week ago that this would happen, he never would have believed them, might have even told them off for teasing him and yet.

Jaskier rolls his hips encouragingly, and Geralt's mouth finds his shoulder, teeth grazing the smooth skin, but he doesn't give any more than he already is. But his grip is firm and Jaskier is happy just to be in his arms; it's more than he could ever have hoped for, considering Geralt's (apparently prior) aversion to touch. He's enthusiastic about it now, fingers lipping against Jaskier's hole in repetition, pressing just a little firmer each time. And Jaskier breathes praise into his skin, humming softly where he can't find the right words to tell Geralt how he feels without chasing him away. Because he loves him too fiercely already and Geralt is only just learning how to accept him as a friend. Although after this, maybe.

Geralt shifts under him, reaching out and Jaskier's eyes follow his hand to where it dips into one of their packs of the floor. He nips at Geralt's jaw, running his mouth along the line of it, and as Geralt settles back into position, he tips his head to catch Jaskier's mouth with his own. His gentleness is gone now, replaced with eager intent and for a moment, Jaskier is so wholly captivated by his mouth, that he doesn't realize what Geralt is doing with his other hand.

Cool, slick fingers slide against Jaskier's hole, prodding gently at the muscle and Jaskier nearly jumps in surprise. For his movement, he earns a soft huff of a laugh against his lips and that's- well, that's incredible. He draws away, smiling down at Geralt even as Geralt's fingers press into him, stretching Jaskier around him. Teeth dig into his bottom lip but Jaskier keeps his eyes open, enthralled by the little half-smirk that remains on Geralt's face, by the wonder in his eyes as he slides into Jaskier like that's where he belongs.

"Fuck," Jaskier groans, worrying his lip between his teeth. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, but he doesn't miss the way Geralt's grin spreads as he gives a couple of short thrusts into him.

Geralt is unsurprisingly quiet, apparently too caught up in Jaskier's pleasure to worry about his own. And he's barely giving Jaskier a chance to think, much less worry about anything but Geralt's fingers inside him. It's not exactly how Jaskier was expecting this to happen - not that he ever really believed it would - but Geralt seems more than happy with things as they are. Next time, Jaskier decides, if he gets a next time - he'll show Geralt just how good a gentle touch can be and he'll drag those noises out of him one way or another.

When Geralt gets a third finger into him, Jaskier groans impatiently. His hips work hard, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers and gods it feels good. And he needs this. As much as he wants to prove to Geralt that he's good and deserving of kindness, he needs this, too.

"I'm good," Jaskier huffs, but Geralt seems inclined to let him continue like this. His eyes are dark and focused where they roam over Jaskier's body and Jaskier can feel his cock beneath him. He feels the way it jerks, in need of attention, when Jaskier whimpers or pushes his hips down and he wonders if Geralt is already imagining the feeling of him, hot and tight around him. Jaskier lets out a soft moan at the thought, but it's not until he pushes Geralt's shoulders back against the wall, that he seems to break the Witcher's spell.

Geralt looks up at him slowly, meeting his gaze, but as soon as his fingers slip from Jaskier's body it's like a dam has broken. Both of them fumble with Geralt's trousers, getting them undone and shoving them open just far enough that Jaskier can pull Geralt's cock from its confines. He gives him a quick stroke before shifting forward and sitting back on him.

The stretch is a lot more than he was expecting, but he rocks back onto him, easing the way without having to slow down. Because Geralt's fingers dig into his hips and his breath comes in short heavy puffs. And when Jaskier lets himself relax when he sinks a little lower, Geralt's eyes roll back and he moans so sweetly. It's a sound Jaskier will never forget for the rest of his life and he makes it his job to draw as many of those sounds from Geralt's lips as he can.

When Jaskier fully seats himself, he feels like he can't breathe. He's so full of Geralt's cock that he can barely think straight, but his body moves on its own. He rocks his hips forward without rising up and Geralt follows the motion, pushing somehow even deeper into him.

"Oh fuck," Jaskier whines, lifting his hips to slide up Geralt's cock. He drops back onto him just as quickly and the growl he gets in response makes his own cock throb.

When Jaskier realizes just how much Geralt likes letting go, likes letting him take the lead, he leans back, bracing himself on Geralt's thighs. He works his hips quick and hard while Geralt touches him. Geralt keeps one hand on his hip, but the other slips up his stomach, fingers sliding softly up the column of his throat and over his jaw. Jaskier likes it almost as much as he likes the cock up his ass. He preens under the attention, presses his chest out, moans a little louder when Geralt's fingers press into his skin.

It's rushed and inelegant, but Jaskier's heart swells when Geralt tugs him into a bruising kiss. Jaskier pants against him, moaning into Geralt's mouth as they move as one. Like this, he can feel every little change in Geralt's body and he has to wonder if it's not similar to how Geralt always seems to know how he's feeling. A shuddering moan escapes Geralt's lips, a little gasp, and Jaskier knows he's getting close. He loves it, loves to know he's the one making Geralt feel this way. He's the one with Geralt's cock inside him and his hands on him and even as he leans forward to rest against his chest, it feels unreal.

Geralt's hips snap up and he wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulders, holding him close as he buries his face in his neck. He's mumbling something, but Jaskier can't quite make out the words, muffled by his own skin.

"Beautiful," Jaskier huffs, tilting his head and pressing his nose into Geralt's hair. He presses his cock into Geralt's stomach, rutting against him with every forward thrust.

When Geralt comes, he pulls his knees up, pushing Jaskier closer against him and letting out a moan that nearly has Jaskier coming undone right after him.

He works Geralt through it, fucking him steadily until Geralt's grip on him loosens and his legs drop back against the mattress. He mumbles a stifled "fuck, Jas," and pushes his fingers up Jaskier's back and into his hair, seeking out his mouth and kissing him softly.

Jaskier shifts without breaking the kiss and Geralt shifts under him, his fingers tightening in his hair. But when Jaskier moves to lift himself out of his lap, one of Geralt's hands drops to his hip, holding him down.

"No," he breathes, "don't stop."

"O-okay," Jaskier huffs, "do you want to-" Geralt cuts him off with a swift kiss and a quick snap of his hips. Fuck, he's still hard. Jaskier shifts his hips and when he's met with a groan, he looks up to meet Geralt's eyes. "Touch me," he whispers and Geralt's tongue darts out between his lips before one hand curls around the base of Jaskier's cock.

He lets out a sob, reaching out to curl a hand around the back of Geralt's neck. He's wanted to say those words for longer than he can even remember now, and in all that time, he was never expecting Geralt to be quite so eager to comply.

His hand is warm, even around Jaskier's heated cock, and he grips him firmly, stroking straight up to the head. He squeezes around the crown, rubbing his thumb underneath and Jaskier drops his head forward against him, hips jerking forward against his hand.

"Geralt-" he chokes, "oh, Geralt."

It takes him a moment to adjust to the additional sensation, but Jaskier manages to find a rhythm that suits them both, fucking back onto Geralt's cock and forward into his hand. He's already veering quickly toward the edge and when he shifts in Geralt's lap, he realizes he's not the only one.

Geralt's mouth drops open against his own, a soft moan escaping as Jaskier squeezes around him. Gods, it's barely been any time since he came and already Geralt looks like he's struggling to hold on.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathes, bumping their noses together, "are you close?" The only answer he gets is a quiet hmm, but it's as much confirmation as Jaskier needs. He works his hips a little quicker, wraps both arms around Geralt's neck and kisses him. He nips at Geralt's lips and when the pleasure threatens to overwhelm him, he buries his face in Geralt's neck, clenching his fingers in his hair. One hard tug is all it takes to push Geralt over the edge a second time and he pulls Jaskier tightly against him.

When Geralt comes again, Jaskier is right there with him. His legs shake under him and only Geralt's arms wound around his back, keep him from toppling over completely. His cock continues to rub against Geralt's stomach and Jaskier has to bite down on the Witcher's shoulder to keep from crying out.

Neither of them moves for a few moments, panting heavily against each other until Geralt shifts to pull out. Jaskier whines at the loss, but it's a weak protest and Geralt appeases him with a soft kiss, rolling Jaskier onto his side so they're facing each other. It isn't until then that reality sets in and Jaskier realizes exactly what they've done.

He opens his mouth to say... something, but Geralt moves closer, cupping his jaw and humming softly against his mouth. It's not a kiss, really, barely a brush of lips before Geralt pushes himself back up again, but it's enough to soothe Jaskier's worries.

"Would you still like that bath?" he asks and Jaskier smiles despite the prospect of very cold bathwater.

"It'll be cold."

"I'll warm it up," Geralt promises, setting a hand on Jaskier's hip.

"Okay."

He does, indeed, warm the water with igni before peeling himself out of his trousers and stepping into the bath. Jaskier watches from the bed. His legs are still a little shaky, but when Geralt tilts his head and spreads his knees it feels like an invitation, one Jaskier isn't willing to turn down.

He crosses to the center of the room, stepping into the warm water and Geralt's hands are on him again, turning him so when he settles he has his back to Geralt's chest. It's nice, leaning back against him like this. Bathing is one of the few indulgences Geralt allows himself and Jaskier is happy to be able to share this with him. Sighing softly, he tips his head back against Geralt's shoulders and runs his hands down Geralt's thighs, smiling as they only spread further apart.

"I like it when you touch me," Geralt hums from behind. His voice is soft and low, so much so that Jaskier doesn't quite hear at first, but as the words register, he smiles.

"I noticed that."

"I don't mean-" he lets out a little scoff, but his hands come up to cover Jaskier's fingers entangling with his own. "I mean like this, the small things."

"Oh?"

"Like when you pretend to be cold so I'll come sleep closer to you." Jaskier starts at that and leans forward to turn and face Geralt.

"You knew I was pretending?"

"Yes."

"And you still-?"

Geralt hums, a low rumbling sound that Jaskier would never tell him reminds him of a cat purring. "I told you," he says, "I like it."

"Well good," Jaskier settles back against him, bringing Geralt's hand up to kiss his palm, "because I have no intention of stopping any time soon."

[egelantier]

Tian Guan Ci Fu

where is it and what is it

it’s a chinese webnovel by mxtx, the same author who did untamed; it exists as a webnovel, finished and kindly translated here, the manhwa, the donghua (animated adaptation) happening right now, and there’s a live action adaptation in plans, directed by the same guy who did untamed. the donghua is gorgeous, the adaptation i’m unsure about but prepared to be hopeful, the manhwa seems to be very pretty. but all the adaptations only cover the very beginning of the novel for now, so i went ahead and read the novel, and i have no regrets. it helps that the translation is very good - not without awkward translatorese, but it has consistent and engaging flow and style, and it’s also pretty good at conveying mxtx’s humor without awkwardness. it reads pretty well.

what’s it about?

the world is split into two parts: mortals and various ghosts and demons and entities share the land, while ‘heaven officials’, aka gods, live in the heavenly kingdom in the sky. pretty much anybody can become a god if they do something really heroic or memorable and/or cultivate (meditation, training, virtuous behavior) really hard. when above, the gods rule their domains and fulfill their believers’ wishes; they work sort of like pratchettian gods, dependent on their followers’ beliefs and getting influenced by them. heavens are strictly hierarchical, with their own economy and pecking order, and the gods aren’t particularly sinless or benevolent; mostly it’s a question of scale.

our hero, xie lian, is a prince of a prosperous kingdom who’s been on a fast track to ascension for most of his very short life; he’s talented, he’s virtuous, he’s kind, he’s strong, and his only peculiar flaw is (somehow naive, but well-meaning) obsession with equality and value of human lives and so on. he becomes a god, unexpectedly, at seventeen, after slaying one especially dangerous god, and rises in heaven at the peak of his faith, influence and happiness.

…and then he finds out about drought and incipient trouble in his own kingdom, and, being a young and righteous god too close to his mortality, eschews heavens and returns to save everybody. it, to put it lightly, does not go well. at all. in fact, it goes catastrophically wrong, and, having lost everything, xie lian ascends again, only to get into a fight with the heavenly emperor, and get banished again, this time for good. he roams the mortal lands for next eight hundred of very lonely, luckless and hard years, technically immortal but not invincible, with his powers and his luck stripped away, and leans to make do, eking out a living as a scrap collector. his temples are desecrated, his name is forgotten, his kingdom is long gone, and - well. so it goes.

so it goes! until one day, to everybody’s great surprise, he ascends once again: a humble, gentle, immune to embarrassment, unflappable man, an embarrassment to heavens, a 'laughingstock of three realms’ who just wants to be left well enough alone. he’s Tired.

instead of rest, he gets sent to investigate a dangerous ghost stealing brides who pass through its mountain, and there, during the course of the interrogation, has his first (he thinks) meeting with a terrifying, old-powerful and vengeful ghost king named hua cheng, who likes to terrorize heavens from time to time. but said ghost king seems to be very benevolent and very interested in helping xie lian, and xie lian is pretty instantly smitten… with knowing what’s the cause of such interest.

…and meanwhile, in the beginning, there'was an unlucky boy, born under the worst stars, whom xie lian saved from falling once, while still mortal, and promptly lost track of. a lot of things happened to this boy, who wanted to be the most devoted worshipper to xie lian the god of the sword and the flower. as one does, you know.

that’s the beginning! from there on: investigations, heavenly secrets, old friends and enemies and acquaintances, thematic parallels, old tragedies, more pining than you can shake a stick at, grand acts of love.

is it good?

it’s very, very good. it’s the first fantasy cnovel i read (aside from the hilarious one about a guy traveling back in his own timeline and becoming a sugar baby to a mafia boss, which was in a very different league), so i don’t know which things are baseline and which things are unique, but it had a very solid foundation: ambitious multilevel, multi-timeline plot coming together in the end both events- and emotions-wise, beautifully iddy main relationship, maybe multifaceted characters who change and grow and clash together in fun ways, a clear and heartfelt understanding of its own core themes.

it’s also, unexpectedly, very funny, in this visual, slapsticky, begs-to-be-adapted way - i found myself laughing out loud over it a lot of times, and it possesses this gift of swerve between understated but earnest emotions and all-out jokes that i associate with… a bit of prattchett and a bit of gintama, honestly. take it as you will.

(oh my god the mecha. i will laugh over this one until i die.)

it also made me cry several times; granted, it’s not like it’s this time, but those were very heartfelt tears.

and the main duo?

first let me say that xie lian was lifted out, wholesale, out of my deepest character preferences. he fell really, really far, and did some bad things, and some very horrible things were done to him, and by the time we meet him he went through everything and achieved this effortless kind of traumatized, humble, accepting, wryly self-deprecating, utterly competent chill that makes a character incredibly appealing to me. he’s kind, and he’s sweet, and he’s gotten any possible embarrassment at least a couple of centuries ago, and he kinda made peace with himself and kinda didn’t. i love him.

and, thankfully for me, hua cheng, the ghost king, loves him a whole damn lot, a ridiculous amount, an epic, over-the-lifetimes, life-shattering amount, and he’s a terrifying presence to everybody else and a shy, protective, sweet dork to xie lian, and every time they’re together on page my entire heart is just. it’s AMAZING. he’s a great combination of playing the obsessive protective yandere stalker-lover trope straight and putting it on its head, by making hua cheng not just revere but respect xie lian, in all his good and bad decisions.

they are just so - good for each other, holy shit. they get each other so well. they’re the best ever power team. i love them.

(the rest of canon is various character reenacting “really? in front of my salad?” meme at them. it’s hysterical, and it’s the best. everybody teams up to tell xie lian that his boyfriend is Problematic way, way before xie lian clues into the fact that he does have a boyfriend, and he’s having none of it. i love it.)

and the themes?

okay, so. roughly half of this novel is ridiculous iddy pining, and a fourth of it is various tropes (off the top of my head: soulbond, sex pollen, body switch, de-age, various shades of identity porn… crossdressing…) played very shamelessly. but it also really benefits from having an overarching set of ethical questions, and while it deals with them a bit shounen-style, it still deals with them, and it makes the whole text fresh, and sweet, and bold.

is it possible to save everybody? should you try to save everybody? if you lack the powers to back your convictions, does it make you complicit? when is it possible to stop the cycle of suffering, what can you do if you want to but can’t? if you tried and people you failed turned on you, whose fault it is, where does the blame stop?

Detailed spoilers begin from here, and i would REALLY advise to stay unspoiled, because the domino reveals are very fun

i loved the various ways the novel sets all those pieces up and then overturns them and then returns to them. xie lian wanted to save everybody and it was arrogant naivete of an untried, untested, privileged young man who never had a real challenge before; his presence made things escalate quicker, and yet everybody around him pretended it was his attempt to make things better that ruined everything, and not a combination of factors outside of his control. and yet he accepts the blame, because it dovetails with his shame at not having enough powers to back his intent up; and yet his triumph over bai wuxian is that he doesn’t, after all, renege on his initial drive to help people.

my most favorite part of this novel is that its turning point, the lynchpin of the whole novel, the moment that keeps xie lian’s soul and safety intact, is not his personal purity and drive; it’s not even hua cheng’s devotion and sacrificial love. it’s just a moment of little, grudging, human kindness from a little, petty, rude man whom the history will sweep away soon. the bamboo hat in the rain. the rest of the plot keeps twisting and turning and coming back to itself, but this? this was unquestionably, beautifully clear, and i loved it. it’s never about the gods, it’s all down to - fallen human is human, ascended human is human, and human is not some state, virtuous or sinful, you get stuck with - it’s a multitude of choices, and there’s never a final one.

and incoherent spoilery screaming for people who read it already

oh my god i had SO MUCH FUN. i’ve been flailing on meme for days, because somebody just finished reading there too, and i’m still bursting with ALL THE FEELS. ruoye origins oh my god! that hat! jin wu’s backstory and ultimate end! e-ming’s praise kink! pei ming’s little shippery 'hoho’! hua cheng’s horribly handwritten stick and poke tattoo of xie lian’s name! the lanteeeeeeeeeeeeerns. feng xin and mu qing on the bridge, making up with each other and with xie lian! hua cheng trying to explain to xie lian that his habit of using himself as bait and pincushion at any given moment is deeply emotionally upsetting to him, and succeeding! banyue’s learning from xie lian to be a truly horrible cook! the entire deal with shi qingxuan and he xuan and the wind fan in the end. THE CAVE. THE GIANT MECHA. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and i am beset, beset by feelings. come scream with me.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hiiii! I saw you asked for fluffy requests!! I love your writing so i got excited hehe

I just went through a ROUGH breakup, could you write where Levi comforts one of his scouts (or members of his squad) who he likes after she gets dumped?

Thank you!!! Xoxo ❤️❤️❤️

Hey I hope you're feeling better I'm sorry you have to go through this but I'm here if you need anything sweet anon, this really made me write hurt/comfort once again, so I hope you like it.

Pairing: Levi/reader

Tags: eventual fluff, hurt/comfort, takes an unexpected turn that I hope you like

November Sunsets

Levi, ever since he could remember himself, was lonely, neglected by life and stripped of anyone he ever cared about. The cruel unfairness of life was something he was forced to accept from the moment he came out of the womb; whilst other children had a last name to claim themselves with he was just Levi, Kuchel's bastard son.

Thinking back, life was the most unfair for his mother as well. The way he would hear men would treat her, hidden underneath her bed, or sticking his head to her door while supposedly playing with other little bastard children. Children of his fate that he couldn't remember the face of. Did anyone remember his own face? Deemed ugly, unbelievably short, dirty and incapable of being bright, that's what life had set for him from his very first breath.

Everytime he had refused to accept his fate another tragedy would curve it's way on his body and soul, staining him with little reminders of how he should sit back and crawl his way through what was simple meant to be. Indescribable gory deaths had happened before his eyes, taking any blue hue he had noticed and liked away from them. Insufferable agonies in the form of nightmares haunted him during the night, his mind didn't want to let him rest.

His heart had to become cold and hard as stone, but the humane of his nature only managed to plaster this longing of his on his face. Perhaps being human was a punishment everyone endured, whether they were born noble, loved by everyone or in a brothel, with almost no one to want them in this world.

Only two years after he had set foot and is remaining days in the Survey Corps were never certain. He was aware that it was a given profanity at his agreement to join, and egoistically he would have chose this any other day over counting down days in the underground. In that rat hole, he was expected to fall ill and possibly dead at any given time in his late twenties.

He still looked like a phantom in the mirror. Whatever concluded his being was set and done unfairly, from the way his skin was as pale as snow and so sheer that made his purple veins show practically everywhere to his lacking height caused by malnutrition and lack of sunlight. Was it the veins around his lips or the ones under his eyes that perfectly blended with his sacked under eyebags? Was it that his nose was small if looked individually but looked elongated in the context of his face? Maybe it was that he was filled with scars.

Oh, and that he looked atrocious with those dark locks in combination with light eyes.

Despite never doubting his abilities, or letting insecurities get the better of him it was in moments like this that he felt broken.

By setting his clippers down on the sink, after making sure there was no single coarse hair on them, he slipped in his usual light gray button down shirt. He didn't bother to secure any strap of his gear on him yet; it was this early in the morning that no one was probably awake yet, only him and his throbbing head, so strapping himself with the gear could easily be avoided for the time being.

The flames flickered inside his cobblestone fireplace demanding to be fed with fresh logs in exchange for his warmth. His hands worked mechanically, throwing logs I the crevice delicately careful not to fill the room in ashes. With a maneuver stir the flames roared with rage, engulfing the wood almost too pleasantly to eye. He didn't hesitate to plouch down on the wooden floor, legs crossed and hands stretched towards the newfound warmth in an attempt to ease the lingering cold of his fingers.

Usually this was the time for the first tea of the day. Under any other occasion his brain would munch on him for the lack of the hot copper liquid in his stomach, but today was different. He contemplated on weather this mere fire could ever warm up anything other than tea but he refused to seek the therapeutic feeling of hot water entering his body. If he couldn't warm up on the outside why would he put any effort to do so in the inside.

The throbbing in his head ravaged the insides of his skull with striking rushes of pain at random places. When he went to rub on his forehead his ear would screech in ache, testing to see if his patience could handle such tag game.

Refusing to soothe any part of his aching body meant that he'd have to physically suffer throughout the upcoming day. Had he been any more grumpier he would be thinking about assigning everyone with another cleaning task, nontheless it didn't fit the nature of his mood. He felt like locking himself in his office to avoid as much human interaction as possible, he wasn't social to begin with so why shouldn't he be granted some days to recharge his ability to utter anything else than a grunt.

He sighed, head falling to face the floor as his eyes were framed by his ebony locks. He seemed to despise them, today more than ever. Was it because of you? It was a question that puzzled his mind for a couple of days, eating away any spare piece of logic he was ever left with. The only thing he knew, or supposed was that this feelings were probably meant to feel like that, at least for him.

Him, who shall never enjoy a simple pleasure of life such as experiencing the feeling of falling in love and having a lover to tend to his soul's wound. Of course he had to be dense enough to let such opportunity go as only a question arose days after day he'd spent with you. Did he deserve to be loved?

Yet those days with you, those days that he cut absurdly were fidgeting with his mind in the worst way possible, trying to torment him over the memory of your face.

It had started off as a simple admiration of your combat skills. The intimidating brushes oh your skin on his everytime he chose to spare with you out of all member in his squad, the sweat that dripped off of your forehead as your eyes gleamed with the enthusiastic power gathered in your fists.

Then, it was the way your hair flipped off of your shoulder when you would wrap your camel colored jacket on your form under the lingering tingerine lights of the sun setting behind the walls. The way it bounced on your back as you gripped the reins of your horse, leaving small encouraging sounds of victory as it seceeded its training tasks. He had taken notice of how well kept your hair was, always fresh and squeaky clean as it framed your face loosely.

Levi was smitten, wrap around your little finger in the blink of an eye, his nights agonising, his days filled with you mellowy blendind in any scenery and he couldn't get you out of his head. Your affections towards him were meticulously counted at first but he had sat back down and watched as you let yourself go around him, sparring smiles and watery glances to him during meals.

Before he knew it he had found himself longing to be in your arms every single moment of the day, much like a lovestruck teenager. As much as it seemed embarrassing for a man his age to swoon and melt like a candle at the sight of such youthful and sweet woman, he couldn't help it. His loner's manners had started to abandon him in your presence, the persuasion of your soft eyes had him giving in. The sweet touches of your hand on his cheek, allowing his head to rest on your palm as he talked about the enormous work Erwin had assigned him with, curved in his head forever, replaying every time he seeked some form of comfort.

Had it not been for Mike and Hange entering his office unexpectedly that one day he had forgotten to lock, he wouldn't have been forced to leave it all behind to avoid spoiling both his and yours reputation. It haunted him; they way he longed for you as his heart clung into his chest like a prisoner, but his words to you as you cried your eyes out that sunset kept reminding him he was not deserving of anything.

When news spread like a plague in the higher ranks everyone had turned on him and seldomly to you, whispering heart rotting comments. Among them that you were no good for eachother be it due to appearances or the context of your backgrounds. Levi knew the oxymoron of those dynamics, yet why did anyone have to point them out, to make him feel smaller than he was whether it was for teasing or not, he couldn't phantom.

Not only life was unfair to him, he had to strip his own self of the only thing he had a positive effect in his life just to go back to being a what the Scouting Region wanted him to be. Humanity's Strongest. The man with no weaknesses who slaughtered the gigantic beasts with skill and determination. His heart was supposed to belong to humanity, not you, not anyone else.

It hurt. To watch you give out your beautiful giggles to someone else through his office window ached him restlessly. The imagery of your sweet affectionate movements was right before his eyes, directed to someone else this time, during those beautiful November sunsets felt like gunshots aimed anywhere in his vital organs.

You had fallen for someone else, those were the news going around the squad lately. Petra bubbled enthusiastically about Gunther's encounters with you in the small alleyways of Trost on your day offs. Eld would scold you for dressing up appropriately for your dates and Oluo would miserably immitate him, giving you playful comments about reeking shit while biting his tongue. As Petra had informed him, his affiliations with you unbeknownst to her or any other cadet in the picture, Gunther was treating you perfectly, almost too good to be true. Something that made his heart fall into pits of darkness, all masked safely by his humane flesh and skeleton combines.

Would anyone ever treat you like he did? With such serenity? He knew, despite how short lived your fling had ever been, there would never be anyone like him in your life. And for that he had to be the one to punish himself. His fate would be pleased if he turned on himself wouldn't it?

Upon hearing the knock on his door, his mouth automatically spat the familiar inquiry on the knocker's intentions. It felt deaf to his ears; his mind was working on its own while he forced it to torment him with more what ifs. As his fingers brushed brushed underneath his nostril to scratch away any awkwardness that had gathered in the spot with a buzzing feeling.

"It's cadet (L/n) sir" he heard you yelp as you paused, unsure of what to say next. "Personal business if you don't mind!"

When you entered at his command, his eyes didn't dare to spend a second fixated on your bouncing locks. Instead they blinked into your (e/c) ones, staring at the melancholic expression that was plastered on them. Lower on your face, your lip trembled, teeth biting hard not to allow it to show but your efforts had already fell into vain as he quickly noticed it.

He hadn't realised you weren't sitting on the chair before his desk until he got up from his position on the ground, eyes immediately noticing you in his usual spot. You were curled up in a ball with your knees fitted to your eye sockets, silently suppressing what seemed to be the start of a brawling session as he sat there and watched, not daring to touch your back with his hand.

What had happened so early in the morning that had sent you in his office? The two of you weren't much on talking terms nowadays, a restriction he had forced on you from the day that he ended your shared endearments. As potential scenarios chewed on his thoughts your whimpers only grew louder and harsher.

"Don't you dare ask why I'm crying!" You spoke, small hiccups leaving the back of your throat as each time it roared with another wave of sorrow.

"It could be helpful to know."

His steel eyes never met yours as he spoke with his typical steady voice, although this time he had tried to take any nasal sound away from it.

"You're the reason I can't have anything work for me. Gunther said so himself." Another crashing wave of sobs overcame you and he watched frozen, unable to do anything just yet. Confirmation on your status had to be spoken, he wouldn't love to be touchy with another man's woman even if ever cell in his body ached for her.

"You're achingly beautiful, my heart will forever be yours and you knew it. Gunther' isn't fit to be a replacement for you. You get to be the one who comforts me for this breakup, for our breakup up, I can't talk about that shit with anyone else. You're all I ever had and you left me to pretend to be that weapom they want you to be." He had expected you to winch, to flinch or have any negative reaction to his touch on the back of your head, he had prepared himself for it, he had planned the words he'd say but such a reaction never came. You only have in to his lingering touch, hand reaching out for his in an attempt to pull him close.

He didn't feel the pain of his knees hitting the wooden floor as he coarsed you to his neck in full might, he ignored the heart that beat fast at the sound of you admitting you weren't over him, he chewed back at the thoughts that mocked you for calling him achingly beautiful.

The fidgeting of your fingers on the button of his shirt served as an action of your nervousness but all he could care about was that he could feel your heart beating at the right side of his chest almost in synch with his.

"I'm here." He soothed, one hand running through your soft locks as the other one pressed you to his chest. "I'm sorry" he admitted. Whether it was too late was up to your heart's desire to decide.

"You better be." You sniffled the goo that threatened to fall on his shirt.

"You should know by now. I can't bear to watch you thrive with anyone. Tch, I'm a smug runt myself for that."

He fell in silence as you tried to give into his caring comfort. It all felt too familiar, too rushed and too bitterweet to be real. He blinked at the thought and slightly bit his tongue to confirm he wasn't sleeping.

"I thought we belonged together, I thought... I thought I found something in you that was mine."

As your eyes brawled with hit tears once again your fists came to clench onto his shirt. There were distinguishable pauses in your crying; rashes of unspoken pain inside your chest that burned you to think about. It was all too familiar of a feeling to him and it only ever made him press you impossibly closer to his form.

"If it helps, I did so too."

It's only when your face lifts up for your wide eyes to look into his that he realises how much you've cried. Despite the practical darkness of the room your eyes are obviously bloodshot, painted with agony as they burn holes onto his skin, making him shut his in defense of his soul.

"I miss you so much and I can't sleep at night. I can't look at anyone and pretend they are you, they all see through this. I still love you and it hurts. I don't want it to hurt, Levi." Your confessions striked that particular nerve in him that made him numb, frozen on the spot, dumfounded over your words. Had he knew he'd be the reason that love pains you he would have never lead you on, he would have never looked at you with small looks of adoration as you ride your horse's together and most importantly he would have never let his filthy lips touch your angelic ones.

But he didn't find it in him to regret any of his actions.

Not now, not when his lips were begging him to be interlocked with the only pair then had declaired a match.

"I know I came here all of a sudden but it's been nights I haven't slept and I can't do this anymore. J-just hold me and once the sun is out I won't bother you anymore." Even if you tried to speak that nonsense with him you should have known better that it wouldn't work. He could already see the faint purples in the horizon, glazing over the glass of his windows as they lightened by every passing moment.

He knew why you were in his arms, he knew that pushing you away was never an option either. Thus, his hands came to rest under your face your face to tenderly direct it to his. His mouth opened but the words that he spoke took hours, years, eons to come out.

"What if I told you that I still love you, what would you say? Would you press your lips on mine and want to start over?" He inquired as he swallowed the hard lamp that had gathered in his Adams apple. "Would you speak your words in actions?"

The first light of the sky protruded behind the mountains, spreading a yellow light evenly around the sky. As you nodded and tugged your head close enough that your nose touched, your lips faintly brushed against each other's and his heart sped in unimaginable paces.

In the moment he wasn't a doomed underground ugly thug, his nose wasn't misplaced on the context of his head. He wasn't just Kuchel's bastard son that everyone wanted dead. He was that part that you had claimed as yours.

Small victories against his fate didn't always leave him hollow with unbearable loss after all.

My requests are always open, if you want to drop anything I'd be more than happy to write what you want ❤️

[ariainstars]

Thank You, Disney Lucasfilm… For Destroying My Dreams

Warning: longer post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So… I watched The Rise of Skywalker on Disney+ a few weeks ago. Again.

Sigh.

I guess it has its good sides. But professional critics tend to dislike it and even the general audience doesn’t go crazy for it. I wonder why?

  The Fantasy

When his saga became a groundbreaking pop phenomenon in the 1970es, George Lucas reportedly said that he wanted to tell fairy tales again in world that no longer seemed to offer young people a chance to grow up with them. The fact that his saga was met with such unabashed, international enthusiasm proves that he was right: people long for fairy tales no matter how old they are and what culture they belong to.

“Young people today don’t have a fantasy life anymore, not the way we did… All they’ve got is Kojak and Dirty Harry. All the films they see are movies of disasters and insecurity and realistic violence.” (George Lucas)

I’ve been a Star Wars fan for more than thirty years. I love the Original Trilogy but honestly it did not make me dream much, perhaps because when I saw it the trilogy was already complete. The Prequel Trilogy also did not inspire my fantasy.

The Last Jedi accomplished something that no TV show, book or film had managed in years: it made me dream. The richness of colorful characters, multifaceted themes, unexpected developments, intriguing relationships was something I had not come across in a long time: it fascinated me. I felt like a giddy teenager reading up meta’s, writing my own and imagining all sorts of beautiful endings for the saga for almost two years.

So if there’s something The Rise of Skywalker can pride itself on for me, it’s that it crushed almost every dream I had about it. The few things I had figured out – Rey’s fall to the Dark, Ben Solo’s redemption, the connection between them - did not even make me happy because they were tainted by the flatness of the storytelling reducing the Force to a superpower again (like the general audience seems to believe it is), and its deliberate ignoring of almost all messages of The Last Jedi.

Many fans of the Original Trilogy also were disillusioned by the saga over the decades and ranted at the studios for “destroying their childhood”. Now we, the fans of the sequels and in particular of The Last Jedi, are in the same situation… but the thought doesn’t make the pill much easier to swallow. What grates on my nerves is the feeling that someone trampled on my just newly found dreams like a naughty child kicking a doll’s house apart. Why give us something to dream of in the first place, then? To a certain extent I can understand that many fans would angrily assume that Disney Lucasfilm made the Sequel Trilogy for the purpose of destroying their idea of the saga. The point is that they had their happy ending, while every dream the fans of the Sequel Trilogy may have had was shattered with this unexpectedly flat and hollow final note.

I know many fans who dislike the Prequel Trilogy heartily. I also prefer the Original Trilogy, but I find the prequels all right in their own way, also since I gave them some thought. However, it can’t be denied that they lack the magic spark which made the Original Trilogy so special. Which makes sense since they are not a fairy tale but ultimately a tragedy, but in my opinion it’s the one of the main reasons why the Prequel Trilogy never was quite so successful, or so beloved.

Same goes for Rogue One, Solo, or Clone Wars. They’re ok in their way, but not magical.

The sequel trilogy started quite satisfyingly with The Force Awakens, but for me, the actual bomb dropped with The Last Jedi. Reason? It was a magical story. It had the spark again that I had missed in the new Star Wars stories for decades! And it was packed full of beautiful messages and promises.

The Force is not a superpower belonging solely to the Jedi Anyone can be a hero. Even the greatest heroes can fail, but they will still be heroes. Hope is like the sun: if you only believe in it when you see it you’ll never make it through the night. Failure is the greatest teacher. It’s more important to save the light than to seem a hero. No one is never truly gone. War is only a machine. Dark Side and Light Side can be unbeatable if they are allies. Save what you love instead of destroying what you hate.

Naively, I assumed the trilogy would continue and end in that same magical way. And then came The Rise of Skywalker… which looks and feels like a Marvel superhero story at best and an over-long videogame at worst.

Chekov’s Gun

“Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.”

(Anton Chekov, 1860 - 1904)

If you show an important looking prop and don’t put it to use, it leaves the audience feeling baffled. There is a huge difference between a story’s setup, and the audience’s feeling of entitlement. E.g. many viewers expected Luke to jump right back into the fray in Episode VIII, because that’s what a hero does, isn’t it? The cavalry comes and saves the day. And instead, we met a disillusioned elderly hermit who is tired of the ways of the Jedi. But there was no actual reason for disappointment: in Episode VII it was very clearly said (through Han, his best friend) that Luke had gone into exile on purpose, feeling responsible for his failure in teaching a new generation of Jedi. It would have been more than stupid to show him as an all-powerful and all-knowing man who kills the bad guys. Sorry but who expected that was a victim to his own prejudice.

A promise left unfulfilled is a different story. The Last Jedi set up a lot of promises that didn’t come true in The Rise of Skywalker: Balance as announced by the Jedi temple mosaic, a new Jedi Order hinted at by Luke on Crait, a good ending for Ben and Rey set up by the hand-touching scene which was opposite to Anakin’s and Padmés wedding scene. Many fans were annoyed about the Canto Bight sequence. I liked it because it felt like the set-up for a lot of important stuff: partnership between Finn and Rose whom we see working together excellently, freedom for the enslaved children (one of whom is Force-sensitive), DJ and Rose expressing what makes wars in general foolish and beside the point. So if we, the fans of Episode VIII, now feel angry and let down, I daresay it’s not due to entitlement. We were announced magical outcomes and not just pew-pew.

The Star Wars saga never repeated itself but always developed and enlarged its themes, so it was to be expected that delving deeper, uncomfortable truths would come out: wars don’t start out of nowhere, and they don’t flare up and continue for decades for the same reason. In order to find Balance, the Jedi’s and the Skywalker family’s myths needed to be dismantled. Which is not necessarily bad as long it is explained how things came to this, and a better alternative is offered. The prequels explained the old political order and the beginnings of the Skywalker family, and announced that the next generation would do better. The sequels hardly explained anything about the 30 years that passed since our heroes won the battle against the Empire, and while The Last Jedi hinted at the future a lot, The Rise of Skywalker seemed to make a point of ignoring all of it.

  The Skywalker Family Is Obliterated. Why?

Luke was proven right that his nephew would mean the end of everything he loved. The lineage of the Chosen One is gone. His grandson had begun where Vader had ended - tormented, pale and with sad eyes - and he met the same fate. Luke, Han, Leia, all sacrificed themselves to bring Ben Solo back for nothing. Him being the reincarnation of the Chosen One and getting a new chance should have been meaningful for all of them; instead, he literally left the scepter to Rey who did nothing to deserve it: merely because she killed the Bad Guy does not mean she will do a better job than the family whose name and legacy she proudly takes over.

I do hope there was a good reason if the sequels did not tell “The New Adventures of Luke, Leia and Han” and instead showed us a broken family on the eve of its wipeout. It would have been much easier, and more fun for the audience, to bring the trio back again after a few years and pick up where they had left. Instead we had to watch their son, nephew and heir go his grandfather’s way - born with huge power, branded as Meant to Be Dangerous from the start, tried his best to be a Jedi although he wanted to be a pilot, never felt accepted, abandoned in the moment of his greatest need, went to his abuser because he was the only one to turn to, became a criminal, his own family (in Anakin’s case: Obi-Wan and Yoda) trained the person who was closest to him to kill him, sacrificed himself for this person and died. And in his case, it’s particularly frustrating because Kylo Ren wasn’t half as impressive a villain as Vader, and Ben Solo had a very limited time of heroism and personal fulfilment, contrarily to Anakin when he was young.

The impact of The Rise of Skywalker was traumatic for some viewers. I know of adolescents and adults, victims of family abandonment and abuse, who identified with Ben: they were told that you can never be more than the sum of your abuse and abandonment, and that they’re replaceable if they’re not “good”. Children identifying with Rey were told that their parents might sell them away for “protection”. Rey was not conflicted, she had a few doubts but overall, she was cool about everything she did, so she got everything on a silver platter; that’s why as a viewer, after a while you stopped caring for her. Her antagonist was doomed from birth because he dared to question the choices other people made for him. It seems that in the Star Wars universe, you can only “rise” if you’re either a criminal but cool because you’ve always got a bucket over your head (Vader / the Mandalorian) or are a saint-like figure (Luke / Rey).

One of Obi-Wan’s first actions in A New Hope is cutting off someone’s arm who was only annoying him; Han Solo, ditto. These were no acts of self-defense. The Mandalorian is an outlaw. Yet they are highly popular. Why? Because they always keep their cool, so anything they do seems justified. Young Anakin was hated, Jake Lloyd and Hayden Christensen attacked for his portrayal. For the same reason many fans feel that Luke is the least important of the original trio although basically the Original Trilogy is his story: it seems the general audience hates nothing more than emotionality in a guy. They want James Bond, Batman or Indiana Jones as the lead. Padmé loved Anakin because she always saw the good little boy he once was in him; his attempts at impressing her with his flirting or his masculinity failed. Kylo tried to impress Rey with his knowledge and power, but she fled from him - she wanted the gentle, emphatic young man who had listened to her when she felt alone. Good message. But both died miserably, and Ben didn’t even get anything but a kiss. Realizing that his “not being as strong as Darth Vader” might actually be a strength of its own would have meant much more.

The heroes of the Original Trilogy had their adventures together and their happy ending; the heroes of the Prequel Trilogy also had good times and accomplishments in their youth, before everything went awry. Rey, Finn and Poe feel like their friendship hardly got started; Rose was almost obliterated from the narrative; and Ben Solo seems to have had only one happy moment in his entire life. Of course it’s terrible that he committed patricide (even if it was under coercion), but Anakin / Vader himself had two happy endings in the Prequel Trilogy before he became the monster we know so well. Not to mention Clone Wars, where he has heroic moments unnumbered.

The Skywalker family is obliterated without Balance in the Force, and the young woman who inherited all doesn’t seem to have learned any lesson from all this. The Original Trilogy became a part of pop culture among other things because its ending was satisfying. We can hardly be expected to be satisfied with an ending where our heroes are all dead and the heir of their worst enemy takes over. What good was the happy ending of the Original Trilogy for if they didn’t learn enough from their misadventures to learn how to protect one single person - their son and nephew, their future?

For a long time, I also thought that the saga was about Good vs. Evil. Watching the prequels again, I came to the conclusion that it is rather about Love vs. War. And now, considering as a whole, I believe it to be essentially Jedi against Skywalker. The ending, as it is now, says that both fractions lost: they annihilated one another, leaving a third party in charge, who believes to be both but actually knows very little about them.

Star Wars and Morality

After 9 films and 42 years, it still is not possible to make the general audience accept that it is wrong to divide people between Good and Evil in the first place. The massive rejection of both prequels and sequels, which have moral grey zones galore, shows it.

It is also not possible without being accused of actual blasphemy in the same fandom, to say the plain truth that no Skywalker ever was a Jedi at heart. As their name says, they’re pilots. Luke was the last and strongest of all Jedi because he always was first and foremost himself. Anakin was crushed by the Jedi’s attempts to stifle his feelings. His grandson, too. A Force-sensitive person ought to have the choice whether they want to be a Jedi or not; they ought not to be taught to suppress their emotions and live only on duty, without really caring for other people; and they ought to grow up feeling in a safe and loving environment, not torn away from their families in infancy, indoctrinated and provided with a light sabre (a deadly weapon) while they’re still small. A Jedi order composed of child soldiers or know-it-all’s does not really help anybody.

The original Star Wars saga was about love and friendship; although many viewers did not want to understand that message. The prequels portrayed the Jedi as detached and arrogant and Anakin Skywalker sympathetically, a huge disappointment for who only accepts stories of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. The Last Jedi was so hated that The Rise of Skywalker backpedaled: sorry, of course you’re right, here you have your “hero who knows everything better and fixes everything for you on a silver platter”. The embarrassing antihero, who saves the girl who was the only person showing him some human compassion, can die miserably in the process and is not even mourned.

Honestly: I was doubtful whether it would be adequate to give Ben Solo a happy ending after the patricide. I guess letting him die was the easiest way out for the authors to escape censorship. (I even wrote this in a review on amazon about The Last Jedi, before I delved deeper into the saga’s themes.) The messages we got now are even worse.

Kylo Ren / Ben Solo

A parent can replace a child if they’re not the way they expect them to be. A victim of lifelong psychical and physical abuse can only find escape in death, whether he damns or redeems himself. An introspective, sensitive young man is a loser no matter how hard he tries either way. A whole family can sacrifice itself to save their heir, he dies anyway.

Rey

Self-righteousness is acceptable as long as you find a scapegoat for your own failings. Overconfidence justifies anything you do. You can’t carve your way as a female child of “nobodies”, you have to descend from someone male and powerful even if that someone is the devil incarnate. You are a “strong female” if you choose to be lonely; you need neither a partner nor friends.

In General

Star Wars is not about individual choices, loyalty, friendship and love, it is a classic Western story with a lonesome cowboy (in this case: cowgirl) at its centre. Satisfied? 

The father-son-relationship between Vader and Luke mirrors the Biblical story of Cain and Abel, saying that whoever we may want to kill is, in truth, our kin, which makes a clear separation in Good and Evil impossible. The “I am your father” scene is so infamous by now that even non-fans are aware of it; but this relationship between evil guy and good guy, as well as the plot turns where the villain saves the hero and that the hero discards his weapon are looked upon rather as weird narrative quirks instead of a moral. 

In  an action movie fan, things are simple: good guy vs. bad guy, the good guy (e.g. James Bond may be a murderer and a misogynist, but that’s ok because he’s cool about it) kills the bad guy, ka-boom, end of story. But Star Wars is a parable, an ambitious project told over decades of cinema, and a multilayered story with recurring themes.

A fairy tale ought to have a moral. The moral of both Original Trilogy and Prequel Trilogy was compassionate love - choose it and you can end a raging conflict, reject it and you will cause it. What was the moral of the Sequel Trilogy? You can be the offspring of the galaxy’s worst terror and display a similar attitude, but pose as a Jedi and kill unnecessarily, and it’s all right; descend from Darth Vader (who himself was a victim long before he became a culprit) and whether you try to become a Jedi trained by Luke Skywalker or a Sith trained by his worst enemy, you will end badly?

Both original and prequel trilogy often showed “good” people making bad choices and the “bad ones” making the right choices. To ensure lasting peace, no Force user ought to be believe that he must choose one side and then stick to it for the rest of his life: both sides need one another. The prequels took 3 films to convey this message, though not saying so openly. The Last Jedi said it out clearly - and the authors almost had their heads ripped off by affronted fans, resulting in The Rise of Skywalker’s fan service. It’s not like Luke, Han and Leia were less heroic in the Sequel Trilogy, on the contrary, they gave everything they had to their respective cause. They were not united, and they were more human than they had once been. Apparently, that’s an affront.

The Jedi are no perfect heroes and know-it-all’s and they never were, the facts are there for everyone to see. Padmé went alone and pregnant to get her husband out of Mustafar - and she almost succeeded - although she knew what he had done and that he was perfectly capable of it (he had told her of the Tusken village massacre himself) because she still saw the good little boy he had been in him; Obi-Wan left him amputated and burning in the lava, although he had raised Anakin like a small brother and the latter had repeatedly saved his life. But Padmé was not a Jedi, so I guess she still had some human decency. Neither Obi-Wan nor Yoda lifted a finger for the oppressed populations of the galaxy during the Empire, waiting instead for Anakin’s son to grow up so they could trick him into committing patricide. Neither Luke nor Leia did anything for their own son and nephew while he became the scourge of the galaxy, damning his soul by committing crime after crime. On Exegol, Rey heard the voices of all Jedi encouraging her to fight Palpatine to death. After that, they left her to die alone, and the alleged “bad guy”, who had already saved her soul from giving in to Palpatine’s lures, had to save her life by giving her his own. The Jedi merely know that “their side” has to win, no matter the cost for anyone’s life, sanity, integrity or happiness.

Excuse me, these are simple facts. How anyone can still believe that the Jedi were super-powerful heroes who always win or all-knowing wizards who are always right is beyond me. Luke, the last and strongest of them, like a bright flickering of light before the ultimate end, showed us that the best of men can fail. There is nothing wrong with that in itself. But it is wrong and utterly frustrating when all of the failure never leads to anything better. If Rey means to rebuild the Jedi order to something better than it was, there was no hint at that whatsoever.

  And What Now?

The Last Jedi hit theatres only 2 years before The Rise of Skywalker, and I can’t imagine that the responsible authors all have forgotten how to make competent work in the meantime; more so considering that Solo or The Mandalorian are solid work. Episode IX is thematically so painfully flat it seems like they wanted us to give up on the saga on purpose. The last instalment of a 42-year-old saga ought to have been the best and most meaningful. I had heard already decades ago that the saga was supposed to have 9 chapters, so I was not among who protested against the sequels thinking that they had been thought up to make what had come before invalid. I naively assumed a larger purpose. But Episode IX only seems to prove these critics perfectly right.

The last of the flesh and blood of the Chosen One is dead without having “finished what his grandfather started”?

Still no Balance in the Force?

And worst of all, Palpatine’s granddaughter taking over, having proven repeatedly that she is not suited for the task?

Sorry, this “ending” is absurd. I have read fanfiction that was better written and more interesting. And, most of all, less depressing. I was counting on a conclusion that showed that the Force has all colours and nuances, and that it’s not limited to the black-and-white view “we against them”. That’s the ending all of us fans would have deserved, instead of catering the daddy issues of the part of the audience who doesn’t want stories other than those of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. I myself grew up on Japanese anime, maybe that’s one of the reasons why I can’t stand guys like James Bond or Batman and why I think you don’t need “a great hero who fixes the situation” but that group spirit and communication are way more important.

It was absolutely unexpected that Disney, the production company whose trademark are happy endings and family stories, would end this beloved and successful saga after almost half a century on such a hollow note. Why tell first a beautiful fairy tale and then leave the audience on a hook for 35 years to continue first with a tragedy (which at least was expected) and then with another (unexpected one)? And this story is supposed to be for children? Like children would understand all of the subtext, and love sad, cautionary tales. Children, as well as the general audience, first of all want to be entertained! No one wants to watch the legendary Skywalker family be obliterated and a Palpatine take over. The sequels were no fun anymore; we’ve been left with another open ending and hardly an explanation about what happened in the 30 years in between. If you want to tell a cautionary tale, you should better warn the general audience beforehand.

The Original Trilogy is so good because it’s entertaining and offers room for thought for who wants to think about its deeper themes, and also leaves enough space for dreams. Same goes for the first two films of the Sequel Trilogy; but precisely the last, which should have wrapped up the saga, leaves us with a bitter aftertaste and dozens of questions marks. 

We as the audience believe that a story, despite the tragic things that happen, must go somewhere; we get invested into the characters, we root for them, we want to see them happy in the end. (The authors of series like Girls, How I Met Your Mother or Game of Thrones ought to be reminded of that, too.) I was in contact with children and teenagers saying that the Sequel Trilogy are “boring”; and many, children or adults, who were devastated by its concluson. There is a difference between wanting to tell a cautionary tale and playing the audience for fools. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. Who watches a family or fantasy story or a romantic / comedic sitcom wants to escape into another world, not to be hit over his head with a mirror to his own failings, and the ones of the society he’s living in. Messages are all right, but they ought not to go at the cost of the audience’s satisfaction about the about the people and narrative threads they have invested in for years.

This isn’t a family story: but children probably didn’t pester the studios with angry e-mails and twitter messages etc. They simply counted on a redemption arc and happy ending, and they were right, because they’re not as stupid as adults are. I have read and watched many a comment from fans who hate The Last Jedi. Many of these fans couldn’t even pinpoint what their rage was all about, they only proved to be stuck with the original trilogy and unwilling to widen their horizon. But at least their heroes had had their happy ending: The Rise of Skywalker obliterated the successes of all three generations of Skywalkers.

If the film studios wanted to tease us, they’ve excelled. If they expect the general audience to break their heads over the sequels’ metaphysics, they have not learned from the reactions to the prequels that most viewers take these films at face value. Not everybody is elbows-deep in the saga, or willing to research about it for months, and / or insightful enough to see the story’s connections. Which is why many viewers frown at the narrative and believe the Sequel Trilogy was just badly written. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. As it is now, the whole trilogy is hanging somewhere in the air, with neither a past nor a future to be tied in with.

The prequels already had the flaw of remaining too obscure: most fans are not aware that Anakin had unwillingly killed his wife during the terrible operation that turned him into Darth Vader, sucking her life out of her through the Force: most go by “she died of a broken heart”. So although one scene mirrors the other, it is not likely that most viewers will understand what Rey’s resurrection meant. And: Why did Darth Maul kill Qui-Gon Jinn? What did the Sith want revenge for? Who was behind Shmi’s abduction and torture? Who had placed the order for the production of the clones, and to what purpose? We can imagine or try to reconstruct the answers, but nothing is confirmed by the story itself.

The sequels remained even more in the dark, obfuscating what little explanation we got in The Rise of Skywalker with quick pacing and mind-numbing effects.

Kylo Ren had promised his grandfather that “he would finish what he started”: he did not. Whatever one can say of this last film, it did not bring Balance in the Force. What’s worse, the subject was not even breached. It was hinted at by the mosaic on the floor of the Prime Jedi Temple on Ahch-To, but although Luke and Rey were sitting on its border, they never seemed to see what was right under their noses. It remains inexplicable why it was there for everyone to see in the first place.

We might argue that Ben finished what his grandfather started by killing (or better, causing the death of) the last Jedi, who this one couldn’t kill because he was his own son; but leaving Rey in charge, he helped her finish what her grandfather had started. The irony could hardly be worse.

Episode IX looks like J.J. Abrams simply completed what they started with Episode VII, largely ignoring the next film as if it was always planned to do so. We, the angry and disappointed fans of The Last Jedi, may believe it was due to some of the general audience’s angry backlash, but honestly: the studios aren’t that dumb. They had to know that Episode VIII would be controversial and that many fans would hate it. The furious reactions were largely a disgrace, but no one can make me believe that they were totally unexpected. Nor can anyone convince me that The Rise of Skywalker was merely an answer to the small but very loud part of the audience who hated The Last Jedi: a company with the power and the returns of Disney Lucasfilm does not need to buckle down before some fan’s entitlement and narrowmindedness out of fear of losing money. And if they do, it was foolish to make Rey so perfect that she becomes almost odious, and to let the last of the Skywalker blood die a meaningless death. (Had he saved the Canto Bight children and left them with Rey, at least he would have died with honor; and she, the child left behind by her parents, would have had a task to dedicate herself to.)

The only reason I can find for this odd ending is that it’s meant to prepare the way for Rian Johnson’s new trilogy, which - hopefully - will finally be about Balance. We as the audience don’t know what’s going on behind the doors. Filmmaking is a business like any other, i.e. based on contracts; and I first heard that Rian Johnson had negotiated a trilogy of his own since before Episode VIII hit theatres. Maybe he kept all the rights of intellectual property to his own film, including that he would finish the threads he picked up and close the narrative circles he opened, and only he; and that his alleged working on “something completely different” is deliberately misleading.

Some viewers love the original trilogy, some love the prequels, some like both; but I hardly expect anyone to love the sequel trilogy as a whole. What with the first instalment “letting the past die, killing it if they had to”, the second hinting at a promising future and the third patched on at the very last like some sort of band-aid, it was not coherent. I heard the responsible team for Game of Thrones even dropped their work, producing a dissatisfying, quickly sewn together last season, for this new Star Wars project and thereby disappointing millions of GoT fans; I hope they are aware of the expectations they have loaded upon them. George Lucas’ original trilogy had its faults, but but though there was no social media yet in his time, at least he was still close enough to the audience to give them what they needed, if not necessarily wanted. (Some fans can’t accept that Luke and Leia are siblings to this day, even if honestly, it was the very best plot twist to finish their story in a satisfying way.)

I’m hoping for now that The Last Jedi was not some love bombing directed at the more sentimental viewers but a promise that will be fulfilled. “Wrapping up” a saga by keeping the flattest, least convincing chapter for last is bad form. Star Wars did not become a pop phenomenon by accident, but because the original story was convincing and satisfying. Endings like these will hardly make anyone remember a story fondly, on the contrary, the audience will move to another fandom to forget their disappointment.

On a side note, I like The Mandalorian, exactly for the reason that that is a magical story; not as much as the original trilogy, but at least a little. Of course, I’m glad it was produced. But it’s a small consolation prize after the mess that supposedly wrapped up the original saga after 9 films.

We’re Not Blind, You Know…

- Though Kylo Ren (Ben Solo) has Darth Vader’s stature, his facial features are practically opposite to Vader’s creepy mask. This should have foreshadowed that his life should have gone the other way, instead of more or less repeating itself. - As a villain Kylo was often unconvincing; by all logic he should have been a good father figure. (Besides, Star Wars films or series never work unless there is a strong father or father figure at their center.)

- Like Vader, Kylo Ren was redeemed, but not rehabilitated. Who knows who may find his broken mask somewhere now and, not knowing the truth, promise “I will finish what you started”. - The hand-touching scene on Ahch-To which was visually opposite to Anakin’s and Padmé’s should not have predicted another tragedy but a happy ending for them. - The Canto Bight sequence was announcing reckoning for the weapon industry and freedom for the enslaved children. It also showed how well Finn and Rose fit together. - Rey was a good girl before she started on her adventures. Like Anakin or Luke, she did not need to become a Jedi to be strong or generous or heroic. - Rey summons Palpatine after one year of training. Kylo practically begged for his grandfather’s assistance for years, to no avail. Her potential for darkness is obviously much stronger. - Dark Rey’s light sabre looked like a fork, Kylo’s like a cross. - The last time all Jedi and Sith were obliterated leaving only Luke in charge, things went awry. Now we have a Palpatine masquerading as a Skywalker and believing she’s a Jedi. Rey is a usurper and universally cheered after years of war, like her grandfather. - The broom boy of Canto Bight looked like he was sweeping a stage and announcing “Free the stage, it’s time for us, the children.”

Rey failed in all instances where Luke had proved himself (so much for feminism and her being a Mary Sue): - Luke had forgiven his father despite all the pain he had inflicted on him. She stabbed the „bad guy”, who had repeatedly protected and comforted her, to death. - Luke never asked Vader to help the Rebellion or to turn to the Light Side, he only wanted him back as his father. She assumed that you could make Ben Solo turn, give up the First Order and join the Resistance for her. She thought of her friends and of her own validation, not of him. - Luke had made peace by choosing peace. Rey fought until the bitter end. - Luke had thrown his weapon away before Palpatine. Rey picked up a second weapon. (And both of them weren’t even her own.) - Luke had mourned his dead father. Rey didn’t shed a tear for the man she is bonded to by the Force. - Luke went back to his friends to celebrate the new peace with them. Rey went back letting everyone celebrate her like the one who saved the galaxy on her own, she who were tempted to become the new evil ruler of the galaxy and had to rely on the alleged Bad Guy to save both her soul and her body. - Luke had embodied compassion when Palpatine was all about hatred. Where he chose love and faith in his father, she chose violence and fear. - Luke had briefly fallen prey to the Dark Side but it made him realize that he had no right to judge his father. Rey’s fall to the Dark Side did not make her wiser. - Rey has no change of mind on finding out that she’s Palpatine’s flesh and blood, nor after she has stabbed Kylo. Luke had to face himself on learning that he had almost become a patricide. Rey does not have to face herself: the revelation of her ancestry is cushioned by Luke’s and Leia’s support. Rey is and remains an uncompromising person who hardly learns from her faults.

This is cheating on the audience. And it's not due to feminism or Rey being some sort of “Mary Sue” the way many affronted fans claim. Kylo never was truly a villain, Rey is not a heroine, and this is not a happy ending. The Jedi, with their stuck-up conviction “only we must win”, have failed all over again. The Skywalker family was obliterated leaving their worst enemy in charge.  Rey is supposed to be a “modern” heroine which young girls can take as an example? No, thank you. Not after this last film has made of her. Padmé was a much better role model, combining intelligence with strength and goodness and also female grace. The world does not need entitled female brats.

Bonus: What Made The Rise of Skywalker a Farce

- The Force Awakens was an ok film and The Last Jedi (almost) a masterpiece. The Rise of Skywalker was a cartoon. No wonder a lot of the acting felt and looked wooden. - “I will earn your brother’s light sabre.” She’s holding his father’s sabre. - Kylo in The Last Jedi: “Let the past die. Kill it if, you have to.” Beginning with me? - Rey ends up on Tatooine. - The planet both Anakin and Luke ardently wanted to leave. - Luke had promised his nephew that he would be around for him. - Nope. - Rey had told Ben that she had seen his future. What future was that - “you will be a hero for ten minutes, get a kiss and then die? (And they didn’t even get a love theme.) - “The belonging you seek is not behind you, it is ahead.” On a desert planet with a few ghosts. What of the ocean she used to dream about? - Ben and Rey were both introduced as two intensely lonely people searching for belonging. We learn they are a Force dyad, and then they are torn apart again. - Why was Ben named for Obi-Wan Kenobi in the first place, if they have absolutely nothing in common? - The Throne Room battle scene in The Last Jedi was clearly showing that when they are in balance, Light Side and Dark Side are unbeatable. Why did the so-called “Light Side” have to win again, in The Rise of Skywalker, instead of finding balance? - Luke’s scene on Ahch-To was so ridiculously opposite to his attitude in The Last Jedi that by now I believe he was a fantasy conjectured by her. (Like Ben’s vision of his father.) - Anakin’s voice among the other Jedi’s. - He was a renegade, for Force’s sake. - The kiss between two females. - More fan service, to appease those who pretended that not making Poe and Finn a couple was a sign of homophobia. - We see the Knights of Ren, but we learn absolutely nothing about them or Kylo’s connection with them. - Rose Tico’s invalidation. - A shame after what the actress had gone through because for the fans she was “not Star-Wars-y” (chubby and lively instead of wiry and spitfire). - Finn’s and Rose’s relationship. - Ignored without any explanation. - Finn may or may not be Force-sensitive. - If he is: did he abandon the First Order not due to his own free will but because of some higher willpower? Great. - General Hux was simply obliterated. - In The Force Awakens he was an excellent foil to Kylo Ren; no background story, no humanization for him. - Chewie’s and 3PO’s faked deaths. - Useless additional drama. - The Force Awakens was a bow before the classic trilogy. The Rise of Skywalker kicked its remainders to pieces. - The Prequel Trilogy ended with hope, the Original Trilogy with love. The Sequel Trilogy ends on a blank slate. - “We are what they grow beyond.” The characters of the Sequel Trilogy did not grow beyond the heroes of the Original Trilogy. - The Jedi did not learn from their mistakes and were obliterated. The Skywalker family understood the mistakes they had made too late. Now they’re gone, too.

  P.S. While I was watching The Rise of Skywalker my husband came in asked me since when I like Marvel movies. I said “That’s not a Marvel movie, it’s Star Wars.” I guess that says enough.

P.P.S. For the next trilogy, please at least let the movies hit theatres in May again instead of December. a) It’s tradition for Star Wars films, b) Whatever happens, at least you won’t ruin anyone’s Christmases. Thank you.

[greycappedjester]

Since I log the fanfictions I read, I’m realizing that June 19th marks the first day I read one of your fics! I read All in the Cards and was blown away by the storyline. Then, I continued to read your HQ series, the other cards fics, and your Dr.STONE fic too. I want to read your DC fics as well. I don’t know much background on it though, so I’m working on it. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your writing and how it has honestly made this past year a lot better. With all that being said though, what’s your favorite thing/theme to write in each of your individual series? Like world building, relationships, etc.? Also, what inspired you to write in the first place?

Ahhh, thank you so much! This is honestly such a sweet ask and I am so, so glad that I could make your year better.

For what's my favorite thing/theme to write in each series, that's a tough one as a lot of times in changes; but, after thinking about it, I think these are my favorite things overall for each....

(I also thought I'd do something fun and put what my favorite line to write was in the last few chapters for the ongoing works. I always wonder what lines are people's favorite so figured it would be fun to add mine)

Hq at Hogwarts: I really love writing Oikawa and Hinata's relationship. Which is kinda an odd thing to say since they purposefully only have a few conversations spread out through each story. But, they're my two favorite Hq characters to write hands down and so I absolutely love showing them as foils to each other in the series. That said, I also love writing them (and especially Oikawa and Suga) as foils/parallels to the Giant and Hisashi (Suga's grandfather). I love both foil relationships and writing parallels between generations--especially if the next generation is completely unaware/uninformed of the previous generation's mistakes

Favorite Recent Line to Write: Kenma met his eyes and his voice broke: “Why am I the only one you have to hide?”

*Note: Okay, technically not the most recent chapter but fun fact: I wrote the Kuroo/Kenma conversation waaaay in advance and used it a lot as a reference to where I wanted this relationship to be headed and I viewed this line as one of the biggest break points (along with "I am waiting" from the dance)

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Cards: This one is the most tricky for me to think of one since it changes a lot. I love doing the world building for this one (like the huge long time line I have for the history of the country). I love writing fantasy politics. As I consider a Hearts Civil War story more, I'm getting back into the groove of just really love writing Oikawa's complicated relationship with being King. And, of course, I love writing Tsuksihima and Hinata's relationship

Favorite Recent Line to Write: Oikawa swept across the office, never seeming to pause for even a second as he pointed a quill at Iwaizumi. “So, tell me, are invasions just like a semi-annual thing?”

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The Hq/Scooby-Doo AU (Investigations Inc.): the humor and banter

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Walking With My Eyes Open: I think this might be my favorite romance thing I've ever written. I really, really wanted to show a view of romance that emphasized the choice to be in love (and the work that goes into a functioning relationship). I especially wanted to do this with Hanahaki since this trope is so tied to the forfeit of choice on the patient's end and the inherent unfairness/weight on the person they're in love with. Couldn't imagine it with any other characters but Senkuu and Gen tbh.

Favorite Recent Line to Write: But, human shoulders weren’t meant to bear the expectations of divinity.

*Note: Lol, this scene got cut and reworded so many dang times in editing, the one thing that stayed consistently I feel like is me really wanting to keep this specific line

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After the Fall of Olympus: Three things and I find it really hard to pick which one is my favorite.

(1) I love that this story format lets me show the slow growth/aging of Dick as a character and (I hope) that each chapter shows how he's grown to the point that Dick at age 14 in Ch. 1 is noticeably younger in internal monologue than Dick in his 20s in the latest chapter.

(2) I love writing tricky political/social issues where all characters have their points and there truly is no write answer...with that, I love writing Dick and Jay Garrick's relationship.

(3) If I had to pick, I don't know if it's my favorite but I think it's the most important element of the story. I very much wanted to show a more realistic view of grief where it feels like the world ended; but, it's not actually an apocalypse. They recover. At the start of the story, it is without a doubt the lowest/most devastating point, but they rebuild. It's slow and there's set backs but they are rebuilding a world that isn't (and shouldn't be) the same but is there and is new and is important. I know a lot of stories that focus on grief view it as a tragedy and an end which it is in a huge way. There's the phrase "it gets better" but a lot of times I think it's viewed as "things will go back to what they used to be" which is understandably hard for people to believe because a lot of times, it fundamentally is impossible for what's lost to be regained. That doesn't mean it's the end of everything. I think sometimes we forget that the previous world (be it actual in this story or what feels like the entire world) may not exist anymore but something different can still be built. The new world and old should never be compared because they can't be. It won't be the same. But, it can be good and they can be happy.

Which is honestly the recovery of what Dick Grayson, to me, should represent rather than the constant grief/vengeance of Batman.

Favorite Recent Line to Write (technically the last line here, just doesn't make sense out of context)

“You need someone with you. I’m not just leaving you alone!” Selina shouts.

“No? Why not?” Dick spits back. “You’re so good at it !”

Selina flinches back and Dick is viciously, painfully glad.

“You don’t get to care just when it’s convenient, Selina,” he says and it hurts, a wound that’s never going to heal. “I needed someone eight years ago. I needed someone when Bruce died, when Batman was gone, and the city was falling apart, and you weren’t there. You didn’t call. You didn’t check on me. You didn’t even say bye. And that’s fine. I lived, I rebuilt it.”

He steps away. “But, you don’t get to come back now and pretend it never happened. I don’t have to let you just because it hurts either way.”

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Flash Facts of Bart Allen: Lol, what might be my least popular but in my opinion best written story. Favorite thing is Bart and Len's relationship hands down, followed by showing Bart's relationship with how he navigates the weight of the Flash legacy while feeling like he's fundamentally different than the Flashes that came before.

Partly since this is getting so long and partly because personal story, I'm putting why I started writing under the break.

I started writing for a lot of reasons.

My first fic--and the first book I ever finished--was the first Hq at Hogwarts story (Mirror of Erised). For background, I started the story when I was in my first year of getting my master's degree (which was surprisingly a lot less busy than my undergrad for a number of reasons but me getting sidetracked into that is a whole other ask about grad school).

My first reason I started writing was that I had more time. I'd had the idea for the story for years; but, I finally had enough details that I was like "okay, now, I gotta write it" so I did. I'll say exactly what the final straw was when I actually get the series finished since it's a major spoiler.

My second reason probably didn't consciously occur to me at the time but is what I consider the most important reason I write and continue to write. I fundamentally want to write stories that make people's days better. It doesn't have to be anything big; I just really wanted to write the kind of story that people could get lost in for a few hours when they're scrolling through AO3 and looking for a distraction. I wanted to write something with happy endings.

Here's the more personal part. I really don't mean this in a sad way so please don't take it as such. However, when I started writing and posting, my dad had just died completely unexpectedly a few months earlier and right before I had to move cross country for masters. It was definitely a hard time (though I had friends and a good support network, again please don't worry--it was years ago now). But, writing then definitely helped me be in a positive happy attitude while thinking of plots and friendships in my favorite anime that always puts be in a better mood.

My point here is that while that was never the reason that I wrote, it's something I reflect on a lot for why fanfic can be such a positive force. Someone can have either the worst day ever, a mildly inconvenient day, or a perfectly fine day and still want distraction. To have a community with both writers and readers interested in the things you're interested in. To have a site where fic can be easily shared and for free. There's something just wonderful about that.

So, most of all, why I write: I want to show people that care about each other. I want to make someone's day better and often that day is mine.

That's really all there is to it.

[andyquynhnickyjoebookernile]

The Betrayal

So, I was reading this amazing fic which is death, suspended by BeesKnees in the middle of the night and I was hit with this barrage of epiphanies. Also, before I get into those epiphanies, ‘death, suspended’ is an amazing fic that explores the idea of Joe and Nicky having been separated after the van scene. So if that intrigues you definitely check it out.

Anyhow, getting back to why I’m writing this post. I saw “The Old Guard” sometime this week and I know it is a utter tragedy that I don’t remember the date, so in the future I could pinpoint the moment my life changed but since that day I have been in a haze and when it cleared, I went to tumblr. I love tumblr, just going through the huge number of posts on the movie and especially Joe x Nicky has been the best part of the last two days. But, as I digged deeper I eventually got to the Booker discourse and Joe.

Truthfully, after having seen the movie, I would have been totally okay if they went along with Nile on Booker’s punishment because I got where he was coming from and I truly believed it wasn’t a malicious intent, it was self-serving but it wasn’t outright cruel but now, I’m rethinking that.

Let’s start with Nile. Nile was the one who was ready to forgive Booker immediately after and I realized this was because Booker didn’t betray her. Whenever Booker came up with this plan he didn’t account for Nile. Nile was a happy accident and she did get caught up in the fallout but she wasn’t the one being betrayed therefore, she was judging Booker on her own interactions with him which had been pretty good and even till the very end, I felt like if Nile had slipped away she could have escaped getting caught and being made into a lab rat. So, it makes sense that she is the most forgiving of this crime that wasn’t perpetrated against her.

But, Booker did make his plans fully aware of the fact that he would be betraying Andy, Joe and Nicky and they should be the ones to judge his actions because they are the ones most affected by it.

And, this is when I realized that irrespective of how desperate and depressed he had become, he was fully aware of how cruel his actions would be especially towards Joe and Nicky.

For a moment, I truly believe that he thought that Andy could possibly see his side of things. I feel like he really believed she would get where he was coming from and maybe even agree to his proposition for finding a cure to the immortal condition but that is something Joe and Nicky would never agree to.

For, Joe and Nicky immortality has been the biggest boon, it is the reason they found each other and centuries of happiness. I don’t believe either of them would chose mortality, if it really was their choice, anytime soon so they could never agree to Booker’s plan and Booker knows it.

Therefore, instead of convincing them and I believe he had a good chance of convincing Andy, he dupes them. And the moment he turns to outside forces, the more likelier it becomes that none of them can escape the fallout of his actions and decisions.

I briefly considered the fact that he was trading in the secret to immortality for a cure for himself and therefore he might have believed that Andy, Joe and Nicky could probably get out of this trial with their immortality and their lives intact. But, the more I think about it the more this line of reasoning falls through.

If this idea was something he had brought up to the other three, I feel like it would have been rejected, because Joe and Nicky don’t want a cure to immortality and they truly don’t believe that science can find a way to replicate it. Andy has the benefit of understanding both point of views, she gets why Joe and Nicky don’t want to get involved and why Booker does, so it’s anyone’s idea what her decision would have been. But, one thing the movie makes clear is that it isn’t Andy making the decision, it’s all of them and they all take equal responsibility for the decision they make as a team. In such a dynamic, Booker definitely wasn’t going to get his way of things.

So he looks outside for help and he finds it, he sets up the deal and his prize for honouring it. Logistically, anyone looking to help him through the scientific method would require all subjects because that way you can isolate the anomalies each individual might have and then cross-reference them to find the common ones making it easier to pinpoint the source of their immortality. So, to any outside presence it becomes vital that they get their hands on all four of the immortals they are aware of. Therefore, Booker essentially bargains three lives for want of one. This also works the other way around, finding a cure means finding multiple subjects to test it on and after animal trials you eventually do have to test it on humans and knowing all this, there is a very limited chance that any of them would have survived the fallout especially given the moral compass of the people in charge of this endeavour. Also, we have no idea what they might have looked at, one abject possibility is making them die of different causes to find out what brings them back and what doesn’t to find the answer to both questions.

This seems like a nightmare from anyone’s perspective, it’s already very clear that Joe and Nicky are horrified of dying and leaving the other behind and even more terrified of being the one left behind. To witness your loved one getting tortured or even being aware of the fact and not knowing when they won’t wake up multiplied with the uncertainty of them ever escaping this nightmare, is already horrific without taking into account the fact that they are also going to be aware of the same happening to Andy and possibly even Booker, makes it even worse.

And, maybe Booker really hasn’t thought this far ahead and he really believes they make it out, each with what they want, it still means that in doing this he was fully aware of the fact that the team wouldn’t agree as a whole and instead of living with this he decides to take their choice away.

I also wonder if Booker was to some extent motivated by jealousy because truthfully there doesn’t seem to be anything countering this particular point.

Which brings me full circle, to the fact that Booker’s betrayal is extremely pointed towards Joe and Nicky, they are the victims here and unfortunately the story makes them suffer the most for it as all. So, now I get why they can’t and why they won’t and truthfully why they shouldn’t let Booker off the hook.

Interestingly the only reason, I feel like Andy isn’t equally incensed as Joe and Nicky even though she has had her choice taken away just as much as they have, and this betrayal has been fully against her as well even though thankfully, she doesn’t have to suffer through it as much, is because she invariably gets everything she wants. She gets back her purpose for life through Nile and she now has an expiration date for it as well. She manages to come out of this ordeal better as a great testimony to who she is.

Also, for someone who seems to have lost her faith in humanity seemingly fairly recently, you also can’t discount how many chances she has given it. She is over six thousand years old and she seems to have managed to look at the very worst of humanity, has died because of it countless times and she can still at the end of the die find her way back to humanity. That just gives you an idea of her calibre for forgiveness because I have been on this Earth for some two decades and I haven’t remotely witnessed the worst of humanity and I’m still disillusioned by it. I mean I totally get why Andy was able to face and hug Booker at the end of it. She was also the best person to talk to him about it because she can see both sides of the coin and now having had her faith and purpose in life restored she can still look forward to it even knowing that she now has an out.

Also, faintly I wonder if Booker wasn’t actually horrified by what mortality would mean once he is faced with the fact that he could be the reason Andy dies, like I feel like that moment jolted him out of his head space and actually made him face what the consequences of his actions looked like. I even wonder if Booker was just skeptical about what Andy was telling them about Lykon until this point, given that she is the only witness to the event that he knows of, which now makes incredible sense. Having Andy turn mortal means that Booker has to realize that the fear that Joe, Andy and Nicky have is real and something that he should have also feared that their immortality and their life wouldn’t jump back into their lap every time and that there would be one final time to it. The very fear that have we have seen manifested in Andy and Joe’s eyes towards Booker and Nicky’s deaths respectively.

This definitely turned out way longer than expected and I unexpectedly ended up answering a question I didn’t even know I was trying to answer - why Andy turns mortal in a divergence from the comic canon?

[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Okay, so for my clannibal people, I have two recs where something very like The Dynamic has recently appeared in media. The first one has far more caveats than the second, but the first one is also the one where the ship is canon and has kissing.

The Method a Russian series from 2015 (it’s on Netflix). It’s about a young ingenue who decides to become a cop because of lingering trauma around an unsolved violent parental death (check), she’s accepted as the protege of an eccentric genius (check) through somewhat shady circumstances with some kind of ulterior motive (check). He, the eccentric genius, is not a serial killer- he’s a detective, but he is an absolute human disaster whose erratic behaviour and extremely questionable morals are tolerated by the police because they can use him as a weapon. He has totally killed people.

‘Byronic Hero’ is a vast understatement.

This show is grim, graphic, and very dark; it takes an extremely dim view of humanity in general and it doesn’t provide the hope or catharsis that Clannibal does- the protagonist does not get to have it all, so be forewarned on that. The implicit worldview and assumed ethical framework of the series is honestly appalling and the main characters are all fairly reprehensible by the end, so if you’re not prepared to deal with a whole lotta ugliness I would say don’t watch it.

The selling point to me is that the characters are interesting and the ship is very compelling. Again, it’s canon, so you will get satisfaction, but the actual romance is somewhat subtextual most of the time. Their connection is the lynchpin of the series, but it’s more about the protagonist’s ‘education’ into his world and an exploration of what that world is than it is focussed on them falling in love. He has no illusions or intentions about having a future (with her or otherwise), he’s trying to pass on his ‘method’ to a worthy successor, so his attitude is heavily informed by that. She is being broken of what idealism she ever had (told you it was grim).

Anyway, their relationship is very fucked up and the series has a legit horrifying (also aggressively stupid) conception of what mental illness is like, but it was very engaging and it was totally unapologetic about the romanticism of the dark love story, so there is a lot there for you if you want to see something like a Clannibal dynamic again. Just don’t expect the positive turn or healing. The ending is not happy or hopeful in any sense. You could make a good argument it’s a full-on tragedy, though I don’t think that’s quite the intent. And the tragedy is Titus Andronicus. If that gives you an indication of how grim we’re talking.

The plot does completely fall apart by the end (it’s like if OUaT were an r-rated crime show, it becomes that much of a mess), but the acting is good and it remains very compelling because of the characters.

Tell Me What You Saw a kdrama from this year. THIS is what I’m talking about. A young ingenue decides to become a cop because of lingering trauma around an unsolved violent parental death (check), she’s accepted as the protege of an eccentric genius (check), through somewhat shady circumstances with some kind of ulterior motive (check). She has to go visit him alone in a giant, creepy old building where he is confined (ooo, new check). He, the eccentric genius, is on the side of the angels and is again not a serial killer lol. He is a legendary criminal profiler and ex-detective who spends most of the series as a somewhat morally ambiguous anti-hero. He’s brilliant, he’s troubled, he broods and plays mind games from on high, and he’s always 17 steps ahead of you. I love him. Also, crucially, he is hot:

The first six episodes have great build-up to a not-totally-unpredictable but still fairly epic twist and then, sadly, the following episode is a bit of an anti-climax from what felt like it should be the jumping off point where the series kicked into high gear but turned out to be a bunch of wandering around aimlessly in very loosely connected episodic plots. There’s narrative justification for this, but I did feel like someone slammed on the breaks and switched gears. It takes a while to regain momentum and is never quite as focussed or well-balanced again.

The pros of the series are its very strong characters played by mostly very strong actors, quality atmosphere, great action, good suspense, and loads and loads of interesting relationships brimming with potential. The one that interests me most being, of course, the one between the protagonist and the profiler. It’s pretty much exactly the clannibal dynamic- he picks her apart and challenges her for his own reasons and then comes to enormously respect her; she is at first intimidated and angry but gives as good as she gets until she reaches a point of growth where she can challenge him in return. And, in the end, he has helped her self-actualise and become who she wanted to be and she helps him heal from his past to the point she can radically alter his outlook on life.

Their relationship is ultimately very positive for both and remains central to the series throughout. There are complicated feelings at play that are given some time in the spotlight, but it is sadly underdeveloped from what it should have been imo. Especially on his side. And there is no romance or explicit attraction, though I think the show supports her at least having a crush on him. If it had ‘gone there’ it would not have shocked anyone, let’s put it that way. They could have gone there. It is one of those flawed canons with good characters super ripe for fic. (Please watch this show and write fic so I can read it, is what I’m saying.)

The cons are that the story ends up being ridiculous on multiple levels and there are some intensely irritating moments of characters being profoundly idiotic and unreasonable just to keep the plot going. Incoherent motivation, mainly for the heroes, is a BIG problem. Apparently rampant police incompetence (including from all the main characters) is the second biggest problem. There is a fantastic female character who is the team leader for our main cops and she gets hit with both of these possibly the worst of anyone. The big reveal about her also makes no fucking sense. There was a maybe cliché but perfectly serviceable route they could have gone instead without changing anything, it seemed like they were setting it up, but they just go with... nothing. And in retrospect this undermines her entire character for the whole series. Which hurts because she was genuinely awesome.

So yeah. There are logic problems and all three ongoing major questions in the overarching story basically have terrible ‘solutions’, but it is extremely well-made in every other respect and the characters remained compelling enough that I couldn’t stop watching. The single-episode mysteries are usually very good with good pacing and satisfying resolutions. It’s consistently entertaining despite the frustration and it manages to pull out a fucking GREAT A+++++ ending right when you’re about to get super pissed off about more deterministic grim teenage nihilism ruining everything. The protagonist got to learn from all her experiences without losing her optimism, rise above adversity and be rewarded for her faith, and it was honestly so nice to get that. So unexpectedly hopeful and uplifting. I love a story that gets dark but never despairs.

If they make a second series with the same cast, I will be there with bells on.

[crackimagines]

For the Child!Blyth AU that you're doing, how would the class and possibly the staff react to Blyth doing something unexpectedly and extremely adorable?

EDIT: Child!Byleth Post Masterlist here!

—–

I can imagine that anyone finding what little Byleth did ‘Cute’ would be met with a face like this from him:

Regardless, I love this prompt!

Thanks for the ask,  merciful-chaos, I hope you enjoy!

—–

Sweet Hearts (FE: Three Houses Short Fic)

Child!Byleth Professor AU

It is revealed that the Tiny Professor has never had sweets, or anything similar despite that being a necessity for a child. It’s up to Flayn, Mercedes and Annette to help Byleth with this tragedy.

—–

Byleth didn’t know what to do with freedays. He was so used to working as a mercenary 24/7 and barely had any time for relaxation. Even if it did happen, it was only during the dead of night.

Now as a Professor, he was now able to roam freely on Sunday’s to his heart’s content.

Part of him wanted to grab his stuffed bird (Reference to this post!) and walk around the school for comfort, but he knew as soon as he did, he’d get everyone ‘aww’ing over him.

Plus, some of the students would look down on him for it. Considering he was a professor now, he wouldn’t be allowed the same luxury as before. He had to appear strong, although his height and age did not help at all in that regard.

All the while, Sothis was watching his internal conflict.

(Sothis) “You know, you’re making quite a big deal about carrying that toy. Why not do it? Your age permits it, does it not?”

(Byleth) “No. That would lead to complications with the students.” He replied, albeit he seemed reluctant to leave the comfort of his stuffed bird behind.

Uncharacteristically, he let out a sigh and left the bird on his pillow.

He began walking towards the door and opened it. It was surprisingly quiet, so he decided to go on a stroll.

Byleth made small talk with the house leaders as he passed by and as expected, made sure to bring up the topic of being a tiny professor into the conversations. He tried his best to be respectful, but that didn’t seem to get him anywhere.

So, he decided to visit the dorms and see if there was anyone in this damned academy that would talk to him normally like Jeralt or the mercs did.

Fortunately for him, he just came across Flayn.

(Flayn) “Oh, Byleth-er no sorry, Professor!”

(Byleth) “Byleth is alright on free days like this, Flayn.”

(Flayn) “Well alright then, Byleth! Would you like to accompany me to the dining hall? It’s the lunch hour, so everyone’s heading in.”

He silently nodded and followed Flayn. She talked to him, well more accurately AT him. He was far more focused on the fact everyone began chatting that the two kids being together was adorable.

it’s a shame too, he really did like Flayn, but had no idea how to actually talk to her, leading to the impression the tiny professor had a crush. Which wasn’t true. Probably.

When Byleth and Flayn grabbed their plates, they sat down near an empty table and began to eat.

(Byleth) “…Your plate just has fish.” He said aloud, quite confused.

(Flayn) “Yes, it’s a personal favorite of mine, I can’t have enough of it! Just like sweets!”

His plate consisted of the bare minimum, a bit of meat and veggies, though it’d be more akin to a snack.

He was used to the mindset of sticking by mercenary traditions so if the worst case scenario happened, he wouldn’t be reliant on the ways the monastery changed him.

It was then that he heard Mercedes and Annette behind him.

(Mercedes) “Ah, hello! Is it okay if we can sit here, Professor? There don’t seem to be other seats.”

That was a lie. As he and Flayn walked in, Byleth counted about 4 different tables that were open. 

He probably guessed it was so they can speak more with their ‘little professor’.

Byleth was very thankful that he didn’t quite understand emotions, because he’d be making the biggest pouting face imaginable, which would’ve made the situation worse.

Regardless, he did like the two students. They worked hard and took it seriously, making sure their teammates were okay was the cherry on top. 

He wouldn’t mind having to not deal with their coddling, however.

Before Byleth could say anything, Flayn nodded and motioned them in.

(Flayn) “Go ahead!”

Mercedes and Annette smiled and sat down. 

They also placed a giant plate of steak next to him.

(Annette) “As we were getting our food, we noticed you were eyeing that piece for a liiiitle bit too long! I bet you thought it’d be childish if you went for it!”

Byleth was sure that his inner child didn’t show up like the bird situation. Obviously, that had failed. Because they were completely right.

He hesitated going for the plate, but Mercedes saw it and pushed it closer.

(Mercedes) “Please, do not worry about it! The food here is quite good, and it’d be a crime if the staff didn’t even eat anything that they’d enjoy!”

She had a point. Besides, if Jeralt said if these kinds of actions was acceptable, then why not? Perhaps he was being a bit too cautious for nothing. He nodded in thanks and added it to his plate. Though his face didn’t move, everyone could tell he was quite satisfied.

Once he was finished, he politely put the silverware onto the table and looked at Flayn.

(Byleth) “Thank you very much for inviting me to lunch.”

(Flayn) “Huh? You’re not getting dessert?”

Dessert. Now that was a term he was barely familiar with. He didn’t really have the luxury of sweets as a mercenary, even during his birthdays that wasn’t exactly an ‘always’ thing.

He couldn’t remember the last time he tasted a candy.

(Byleth) “There’s…sweets?”

(Annette) “Jeez, the way you’re talking you sound like you’ve never had them, professor!”

(Byleth) “Actually I…I never-”

All three of them gasped before he could finish his sentence.

He was about to say ‘I never got too many chances to eat sweets’, but of course, Mercedes added fuel to a fire.

(Mercedes) “You’ve never had sweets, professor?!”

All the students from the Black Eagles, Blue Lions, AND Golden Deer turned to face their direction. He could hear the voices now.

“What kinda kid doesn’t have sweets?” “The poor thing!” “I feel kinda bad…”

Byleth honestly considered slamming his head against the table to knock himself out. She had just screamed that out, although he could tell she didn’t mean to. Though…WHY did she have to scream that?

Instead of Byleth slamming his head, Flayn slammed her hands on the table.

(Flayn) “We’re fixing this mistake right away then! Mercedes, Annette! Please fetch the Professor one of your best baked treats!”

(Mercedes) “Right away!”

(Annette) “Got it, let’s go, Mercie!”

They both got up to presumably go to their dorms. Flayn looked at him with the most serious face he had ever seen her have. Though, this was the completely WRONG reason to have it.

(Byleth) “F-Flayn, you don’t have to make a big deal out of it-”

(Flayn) “Yes I do! Even YOU deserve to enjoy yourself time to time!”

(Edelgard’s voice) “It’s true you know.”

Byleth saw Edelgard walk over while smiling.

(Edelgard) “You don’t know what you’re missing, Professor. Sweets can really make your day.”

(Claude) “How about that? Our Professor’s so gone off the deep end, he never got to enjoy things like candy!”

(Dimitri) “Hah, I can’t say I’m surprised to be honest. You should enjoy your youth, professor! When you get to our age, those things become scarce!”

WHY IS EVERYONE HERE!? He shouted to himself.

(Flayn) “Don’t worry, Byleth! Mercedes and Annette are the best bakers here, they’ll fix you up in no time.”

Everyone began to laugh, though Byleth wasn’t. Once again, his stone face prevailed over the embarrassment that was surging forth internally.

(Mercedes) “We have it!”

(Annette) “Here, take it professor!”

It was some odd brown-blackish square treat. It was soft, yet hard at the same time. What the hell was this thing?

(Flayn) “Ah yes, this one is a personal favorite! It’s called a ‘brownie’. It’s made of chocolate!”

(Dimitri) “My my, you two are bringing out the big guns!”

(Claude) “Hey, gotta have the first time be memorable, right?”

(Edelgard) “Well professor, dig in!”

Byleth knew if he refused, they’d force it down his throat. So he swallowed his pride and took a bite of the brownie.

His eyes sparkled upon tasting the brownie. It was the most delicious thing he ever had.

After the first bite, he quickly devoured the brownie. Making everyone’s smile even bigger.

(Claude) “Hey, I think he liked it!”

(Annette) “Oh, thank goodness! My heart was about to stop!”

(Mercedes) “This was our best treat we made, I’m so happy he liked it!”

(Dimitri) “What a relief. Honestly I would’ve said that the professor wasn’t human if he didn’t like it!”

(Edelgard) “Hah, how was it, professor?”

Everyone leaned in for his response, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

(Byleth) “G-Great…”

That brownie had made him lose all senses, and couldn’t really process anything else than wanting another one.

He began to blush a little as he looked down, speaking quietly.

(Byleth) “May…May I have another brownie, please?”

Everyone’s heart melted.

(Mercedes) “Of course! Come Annette, let’s get cooking!”

(Annette) “Right, we’ll be right back, professor!”

(Flayn) “We have now steered you off this dark path! Welcome to the light of sweets!”

Some of the students began clapping while others laughed and went back to their meal.

Claude chuckled and went back to his table while Edelgard and Dimitri did the same.

Flayn stayed with Byleth, and the two began discussing at length about how great sweets were, and of course, were treated to brownies.

Later that night…

Once the high of the brownies wore off, it was then Byleth realized what he had done to his reputation that he worked hard to maintain.

He fell onto his bed, clutching his bird in embarrassment as Sothis floated near him, a smirk growing.

(Sothis) “Oh, how mighty your maturity is, falling to your knees to a mere treat!”

She began laughing as he groaned into the fur of the bird.

Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard would no doubt spread word to the students. He wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon.

He began to regret everything he did during lunch today. 

Except eating the brownies. 

…Damn it, now Mercedes and Annette have even more of a reason to think of themselves as his ‘Big Sisters’.

He wanted to curse yet thank Flayn for introducing him to sweets now.

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 6: Flutter

Here’s Flutter, a soft-sweet one-shot with no warnings to issue. Just pure fluff! Yaaaaaay! I’m hoping that tomorrow’s prompt should be alike it in fluff, too. So if the heavy stuff’s not for you, you’re in luck.

I hope you enjoy it!

_________________

This was it. This was the moment. 

Kyoko sitting across from him; her face untouched by the purplish hues of poison. His own just as clear of the blues of bruising, and the white bandages across his fractured-for-the-second-time nose. Their bodies both exhausted from the work it takes to fix a recovering world, and their eyes soft as they stared at each other. It was so rare that they got a minute to relax and breathe, yet Makoto couldn’t bring himself to settle. While Kyoko had already taken to stretching out on the couch and slipping her work jacket off her shoulders; his heart pounded so raucously that he could hear it in his ears. 

To be fair, she could settle a little more, given that she didn’t know that he was about to confess that he was in love with her. 

He could only hope that she didn’t already know. She was a detective, after all. Knowing everything about everyone practically her job. Everyone struggled to keep secrets from her; himself included. At this point, he half-worried it was only a matter of time until she said something to him.

Or maybe she already had, and he just hadn’t noticed. She had kissed him, after all. In private. With no one else around. During a tender moment between the two of them; where she cared for his wounds. But how much could that really mean? 

Thinking about that struck fear in his heart. While he didn’t necessarily want Kyoko to know already that he was deeply in love with her; he also didn’t want everything to be meaningless to her. He’d greatly enjoyed their time together, and that sweet secret kiss they’d shared… If he confessed and she rejected him, he felt certain that he would die on the spot. 

“Wow… I did not think I would be this exhausted tonight…” Kyoko remarked, letting out a cute grunt as she stretched her arm towards the ceiling. He couldn’t help but notice how one of her eyes squeezed shut as she did so. Cute, he thought to himself.

He couldn’t help but shrug his shoulders in response. “Well, you are the Branch Leader. I imagine your job’s pretty tough right about now. I’m not surprised that you’re tired.”

It became the detective’s turn to shrug; her hands moving to play with her hair. He couldn’t help but notice how casual she was being, playing with her hair in front of him like that. She’d even swung her legs up onto the couch, so they were stretched across his lap. “These days, I’m mostly just stuck in meetings and doing paperwork. You have the important job, being a figurehead for public relations. I admit, I struggle to comprehend how you can possibly be so comfortable talking in front of people like that. It’s a gift of some kind.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a gift, per se…” But he appreciated her saying it. So much so that he felt his face start to flush, and not just because he was a couple minutes away from pouring his heart into her lap. “I guess I just… like giving people the reassurance that everything will be okay. Especially with everything we’ve been doing lately… The progress has been exceptional.”

She nodded in agreement; a grin threatening to overtake her expression. “It really has been superlative. I’m highly impressed with the job everyone has done. You, most of all.”

The smaller boy blinked, his voice squeaking as he attempted to answer.  “M-Me?”

She raised a brow, a smirk protruding through her iron mask. “Does that come as a surprise?” 

“Well… a little, I guess.” He laughed awkwardly. If he had to be honest, he wasn’t sure whether the praise from her made him feel more or less sure of himself. Was she saying that stuff because she loved him and wanted to indirectly know? Or did she just think he was a great employee? Employee-zoned. If she didn’t want to date him, he imagined he could respect it, but the thought of being just an employee to her made him nervous. He wanted to be her friend at least. “You know I don’t tend to think of myself or my work as anything special.”

Kyoko sighed, shaking her head. “I know… and I rather wish you would. You always do such an extraordinary job. I meant it when I called you the Ultimate Hope.” She leaned forward to nudge his shoulder affectionately. It was done with the awkward tenderness of someone who had never done it before. “I’m not so sure that there are many people who could work as diligently as you after going through what you did. It both impressed and worried me that you were so eager to jump back into the workforce after the Future Foundation killing game.”

Though he knew she didn’t mean anything by it, he detested how calmly the words rolled off her tongue. Despite the time that passed by, the incident still felt so fresh in his mind. Nightmares of the incident still haunted his sleeping hours, forcing him awake in a blur of horrifying memories. Kyoko’s passing was always his worst of all. Every time it crossed his unconscious mind, he woke up with a tear-stained pillowcase.

“I… needed something to take my mind off it I guess.” He murmured gracelessly; his eyes falling down to stare at his lap… and the legs that lay upon them. Her legs. He hadn’t realized how close she was to him until that moment. “There was a lot I learned during that killing game that I thought I could use to help people.”

“Such as…?”

The prodding didn’t mean much. It was just a simple means of conversation, but he knew he could get it to work in his favour. He swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat. If he worked this properly, it would be possible to segway it into the targeted conversation… although he hated to think of how easy it was to jump from death to love in such a short period of time.

“I feel like I learned so much more about loss and the value of life, and the differing ways that people cope with their despair… and what we can do to save them. I think what put the nail in that coffin for me was actually experiencing that low myself… where everything is dark, and cold, and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel… When it seems like there’s nowhere to go but down.”

He shivered at the memory; the calling of Kyoko’s voice in his ear. Even weeks after the ordeal, her tone was still so sharp in his mind. Or had the voice belonged to Sayaka…? The hallucination had blended together in his mind; his whole head aching when he thought of it. At this point, it was as if both girls had whispered the same atrocities.

You should have died instead of us. 

Kyoko tucked her feet up close to her body suddenly. At first, he expected it to be out of fear for his behaviour. But as her expression softened, and she shuffled closer to him, he realized that couldn’t possibly be the case. Kyoko wasn’t the kind of person to abandon a friend in need. 

“Don’t think about it if you don’t have to.” 

“I always have to… It’s always there.” He protested, closing his eyes tightly. “And I can’t make it go away. I won’t, but… It still taught me so much of what I need to know. Not just for helping people, but for going through life as well. It made me realize that you can’t always wait for the right moment for things to happen. That you don’t always have forever with someone.”

Kyoko’s brows lowered even further, and she placed a concerned hand on his thigh. “Makoto-kun… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that… that when you died, I felt like my whole world fell apart. Like I lost apart of myself.”

“Naegi-kun…” He couldn’t decipher the tone she spoke in, or the emotion it held. He knew only that she said his name.

“I mean it. When I thought I lost you, it was like I’d lost almost everything. If it weren’t for what you did for me, I wouldn’t have known where to go or what to do. Your life and your sacrifice meaning something… it’s one of the only things that kept me going, and doing things that were tough. I didn’t have it in me to let your sacrifice be in vain. I just… I couldn’t bear to have lost you, so it’s all I could rely on. I couldn’t bear it, because… Well, there’s a lot of reasons because…”

The lavender-haired woman leaned in closer; her voice near a whisper. “Reasons like what?”

Makoto stopped himself for a moment, and inhaled deeply. This would be it. This would be the moment.

“Reasons like… my being in love with you.”

Kyoko jerked herself back suddenly, blinking at him like he had randomly sprouted a second head. Shock wrote itself all over her expression; her mouth hanging open at his confession. Her eyes were wide and round as she watched him; a meek blush skirting across her cheeks and nose. 

“You were… in love with me?”

Makoto shook his head. “I am in love with you. Present tense.”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She fumbled with the studs on her gloves, unexpectedly unwilling to look him in the face.

Makoto could feel them now. The butterflies beating about in his belly. At the start of the conversation, he might have described their feeling as a light flutter… but now they were a thundering roar. They urged him to speak his truth, no matter the eccentricities of her reaction

“Kyoko, I’m… I’m madly in love with you. I think I have been for a long time now… even before the whole Tragedy thing. I know it’s a lot for you to hear, and you’re probably not ready, but I… I just… I love you, Kyoko. And I couldn’t live with you not knowing anymore. Not after what happened. I need to take this moment to tell you while I still have the chance.”

The air between them fell still. He found himself clutching tightly onto his work pants in some pathetic attempt to ground himself, for he felt rather certain that this wasn’t going to go as he’d hoped. Kyoko was kind, and beautiful, and intelligent. He knew thinking that someone like her would want to be with him was daydreaming a little too hard.

The look on her face wasn’t doing him many favours either. She began to run her fingers through the strands of hair that hung loose from her ponytail, her eyes focused on literally anything but his face. Despite the bowing of her head, however, he could see how rapidly she blinked. It almost seemed as if she wasn’t processing what he said at all. 

When the silence broke, it wasn’t with an answer. Quite the opposite, actually. It was a small set of words, uttered in an even smaller voice. Like Kyoko’s own had been stolen away from her in a matter of seconds, and replaced with a mockery of it.

“Are you sure?”

He gulped quietly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“But… why?”

“What do you mean… why?”

“I mean: why? Why me?” Her head lifted up scantly. As much as he craved it, he couldn’t read her expression. Some sort of mix between worried and auspicious, he guessed. It was all he could judge from the curve of her eyebrows and the glimmer in the pools of violet that were her eyes.

“You’re… amazing, Kyoko. You’re brilliant, and kind, and talented… not to mention incredibly beautiful. Being with you is like being on an adventure every day. We always have so much fun together, and you never let me short change myself over anything. You care about me and all of our other friends so deeply, even if you may not show it obviously. You’re like the coolest girl I’ve ever met. I might even say that my falling in love with you was inevitable.” 

The detective’s face turned bright pink. For a moment, it seemed as if she were unable to respond. Then, just as suddenly, she leaned towards him again. 

���Makoto. Could you say that again?”

“Say what again?”

She closed her eyes. “That you’re in love with me.”

He paused, biting his lip. Where was she going with this? 

“Kyoko, I’m in love with you.”

“Again.”

“Kyoko, I’m in love with you.”

“Again.”

“Kyoko, I’m in love with- mmf!”

Oh god. She was doing it again. Kyoko was kissing him again. In the form of the most ferocious affection he’d ever felt, he might add. Not that that made it unenjoyable — quite the opposite, if he were being honest. Feeling the softness of her lips against his own for a second time was just as extraordinary as the first; perhaps even more so this time around. His eyes fluttered shut without thinking, and he found himself wrapping his arms around her. She reciprocated just as well, choosing to drape her arms around his neck. 

It had been so little time, and yet he wondered how he could have forgotten the taste of her lips. This time around the flavour was caught somewhere between the sugary sweetness of the balm she wore, and the dark smooth taste of coffee. If he were being honest, he wasn’t sure which he loved more. Or maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe he just loved that he was kissing her the most. 

He wasn’t exactly sure when they broke apart. He only knew that for him, it was too soon. He assumed it must have been after awhile: both of them were panting and short of breath by the end. When they finally did manage to separate, though, he found himself staring at her. Kyoko’s gaze fixed itself so intently on him, and for a moment, it seemed like time had stopped. The only things that were allowed to move were the beating butterflies in his stomach, and her lips as she whispered the words:

“I think I’m in love with you too.”