#vantage point from which I’m making my arguments

[heyclickadee]

So, I wanted to clarify something here, because going through the notes made me realize that this really didn’t come across the way I meant. This wasn’t really intended as a criticism of the show (though you can take it as one), except in a sort of schrodinger’s criticism way, where it’s merely an observation if Tech is still planned to come back but can also double as criticism in the negative sense it if does turn out to have been planned as a death (I’m not yet convinced of this). I am simply pointing out that it isn’t written as a death as evidence he is intended to be alive.

The thing is, I think it’s the story they are still telling. I think a reunion is still on the table. I don’t think what we got was a return that was planned and abandoned—I’m actually not even fully convinced that CX-Tech was planned and abandoned—but rather a return and reunion that’s been set up and just hasn’t happened yet. Because the set up continues into and through the final episode, and there’s nothing in the epilogue that precludes it from happening in the 15 to 17 year gap.

(Further clarification under the cut. I’m sorry, this got really long because I got sucked into over-explaining my point of view to a kind of ridiculous degree. Short version is that I think the reason it isn’t written as a death at any point and that the reason Tech hasn’t come back yet is because there’s more story to tell. I will yap about this for days. Be warned of yapping.)

For one example of what I mean by set up, in this case a kind of structural set up, take, say, Crosshair’s and Tech’s relationship. It’s the relationship that’s left the most explicitly in bad terms at the end of “Kamino Lost.” Hunter and Wrecker both offer Crosshair olive branches in one way or another, Omega lays, “You’re still they’re brother Crosshair. You’re my brother, too,” on the table; and Echo doesn’t say anything but he is standing next to Wrecker and staring expectantly at Crosshair with his big sad eyes hoping Crosshair will come with them. Crosshair doesn’t take any of them up on it, but, “Consider us even,” (a statement directed at Hunter even if he’s responding to Omega thanking him for saving AZ) buries a lot of the animosity. The relationships aren’t healed, but there is a kind of uneasy truce.

Tech, on the other hand, just gets on the ship. He doesn’t stay past when Crosshair rejects Wrecker’s offer to come with them. Potentially because he’s even more upset than he’s letting on.

Meaning that the last exchange Crosshair and Tech have that isn’t Tech spouting exposition is this:

Crosshair: Why are you defending me?

Tech: I am not. Understanding you does not mean that I agree with you.

From there, on Tech’s side, Tech lets on that he’s still struggling with the entire Crosshair situation via the conversation with Omega in “The Crossing” and the conversation or conversations Phee references in “Juggernaut.” He’s the one who pushes the team into rescuing Crosshair the second he learns Cross did something to get on the empire’s bad side and landed in the clutches of a mad scientist who got kicked out of the Republic Science Corp for cruel and unnecessary experiments. And of course it’s largely because he loves Crosshair like he loves the rest of the family and, sure, he’ll respect Crosshair’s agency (to make stupid decisions) but he’s not about to leave Crosshair to die. But I also think there’s potential for it to be partly driven by the fact that he knows they left things off on bad terms, and he wants a chance to fix things if Crosshair is open to it. Then, of course, he falls without getting that chance or even a line to close out his relationship with Crosshair.

On Crosshair’s side, we have Crosshair making the choice to stay with the Empire at the end of season one. This leads him to Barton IV, which leads him to Tantiss, which leads throwing away the only chance he could have had to escape Tantiss on his own to warn the others about Hemlock, only for it to be the thing that leads directly to Tech falling because that message is the only reason Tech knew he needed rescuing in the first place. (I think this is why Crosshair doesn’t bring it up in the argument with Hunter, from a Watsonian perspective, anyway. He doesn’t exactly have a limit in arguments; this is a man who told a child he’d both kill and die for that he’d leave her for dead if he had the chance hoping it would be enough to get her to leave him. The only reason he wouldn’t use Tech’s sacrifice to get at Hunter is because he blames himself too much to have the heart for it.)

Crosshair never deals with or confronts this, he never even approached it, until the very last episode of the series where the show makes it explicit that a big part of his problem is that he feels responsible for what happened to Tech and to clone force 99 as a squad. “Clone Force 99 died with Tech,” is the preamble to Crosshair calling for Plan 99 and declaring that he deserves death and worse—and the only pushback he gets is Wrecker telling him that they all know—that Tech knew—things are dangerous, so they’re not letting him do this alone. Crosshair never gets over his guilt over Tech, and he never takes the statement that he deserves to die over it back. And when you’ve got a character who has spent the bulk of the show implicitly suicidal suddenly declare himself explicitly suicidal right before he tries to get himself killed six or seven times, you really need him to bring him to a point where he explicitly wants to live in order for him to feel fully cooked (unless it’s not time for that yet and you have more plans).

That’s where we leave that relationship. Completely unresolved, with unfinished business in both sides.

And that’s not even getting into how CX-Tech—still a possibility in my book, since CX-2 is never revealed on screen as not Tech, and since they killed the man two other times before he popped up fine five minutes later, meaning I’ve got my doubts as to whether he’s actually dead—actually could push this unfinished, unresolved relationship further, how it works really well if he’s the shadow of Crosshair’s guilt—not Cross’s dark side—that Crosshair hasn’t overcome yet. That could be its own post. Bht just focusing on what we know for sure, that Tech and Crosshair left things off in bad terms and never got to deal with that—

The thing is, you can have a story where a relationship is cut off with no closure and left with unfinished business. You can! But if you do, you have to explore that. You still have to have a resolution. In this case, if we wanted to leave no room for Tech to return, that would look like Crosshair explicitly coming to terms with the fact that he’s not going to get the chance to fix things with Tech, and perhaps being dragged kicking and screaming to the knowledge that Tech thought the sacrifice was worth it for his sake and that Tech wouldn’t want him to be miserable.

That isn’t hard to do, and there was time to do it if they scrapped a return plan halfway through writing the third season. I’d want an entire half season arc about it, but all it would take is one direct conversation between, say, Omega and Crosshair, where Omega is finally coming to terms with the idea that she is never getting her big brother back (something she never does—you can actually make the argument she thinks he’s alive up through the end of the series) and trying to get Crosshair to see that Tech falling wasn’t his fault and that Tech wouldn’t blame him.

Omega: Tech thought saving you was worth the risk. I did, too.

Crosshair: What if you were both wrong?

Omega: I wasn’t. And Tech seldom was.

There. Three lines, and depending on how you play Crosshair’s reaction, you wrap up Crosshair’s guilt about Tech, his relationship with Tech, his reconciliation with the batch as a whole (because now he’s reconciled with the one who’s missing), and (if you get his response right) his reconciliation with himself. Clarify Omega’s stance on Tech’s status. Replace the meditation b-plot in the Fennec episode with Crosshair dealing with this.

Or, put it in “Point of No Return,” in the scene where Omega makes the decision to sacrifice herself. Have her invoke Tech as a reason why why she’s going to go sacrifice herself to save Pabu, like Tech sacrificed himself to save them, and frame Crosshair stepping aside and allowing her to do so as him coming to terms with Tech’s sacrifice, that part of it was to save him, and that he’s going to pay it forward by making sure that Omega’s sacrifice works and that she is going to get a chance to come back from it. Then, in “Juggernaut,” retroactively and posthumously put closure in Tech’s mouth by expanding on Phee’s interactions with Crosshair and have her make it 100% clear to Crosshair that Tech would have never blamed him and had no remaining animosity towards him.

Or, hell, if you were planning on bringing the man back all the way up to the finale and then had to scrap it then, have the closure for the relationship between Crosshair and Tech come in that episode. Have there be a real rebuttal to Crosshair’s, “I destroyed our family so now I’m going to get myself killed over it,” moment. Have it come from Hunter, with Wrecker backing him up. Or visa versa. Have someone rebuff Crosshair and say (the more cleanly written equivalent of), “Clone Force 99 isn’t dead, and it’s more than just a squad. We’re a family. What do you think Tech sacrificed himself for? We’re going in together, and we’re coming out together, too.” Have a moment where Crosshair has the chance to kill himself for the sake of the others and then finds another way to help that doesn’t involve dying explicitly because throwing his life away would also be dishonoring what Tech gave and everything the rest of his family has worked towards so far.

It’s stuff that kind of writes itself if you are suddenly writing from the perspective that Tech is dead and you’ve abandoned a plan to bring him back, or if you never had one and always thought about him being dead. There are lots of options for giving that relationship closure that don’t require bringing Tech back!

Except they don’t take any of those options. Instead they:

1. Refuse to show us the moment when Crosshair learned about what happened to Tech. This allows them to sidestep one of many opportunities for reinforcing Tech’s death as a real thing that happened. And if he got the news from Omega, it also hides her feelings on what happened, meaning you can hide whether she thinks he’s alive or dead, and allows them to sidestep confirmation on Tech dying as told through our target audience POV character. There’s a reason to avoid this moment if you’re writing the character as alive but not bringing him back before the end of the series.

2. Remind us late in the last season that Tech was still struggling with Crosshair’s choices (“Tech told me all about your…sparkling personality.”) without doing anything to imply he got past that struggle.

3. Let Crosshair confront his guilt and despair over every other situation (Mayday, Barton IV, Howser, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, and especially Omega), while refusing to let him engage with losing the brother who supposedly died on a mission to save him and letting that pain bubble under the surface until the very last episode where he declares that he’s going to go get himself killed over it. Crosshair never overcomes this. He’s never at peace with himself. He comes to understand that his family—Hunter and Omega in particular, in a moment that’s a beautiful reversal of the scene where he saves Omega at the end of “Kamino Lost”—trusts him with their lives and beyond, that Hunter trusts him with Omega’s life, which is a huge deal and fully reconciles his relationship with them…but he never reconciles with himself. Not even his sunshine baby sister Omega can help him do that. For all the progress he’s made, his self-estimation is still where he was at the end of “Confined.” He still thinks he deserves to suffer and die because he’s left thinking that the most selfless thing he ever did—sending that message from Tantiss knowing he’d be recaptured and tortured—was not enough to fix the one mistake that snowballed into Eriadu and Tech. We leave him there without processing any of that or bringing closure to his relationship with Tech. Every opportunity to do any of that was avoided. Fastidiously.

Meaning that the only way to actually resolve that relationship, the route into which the writing has kind of locked itself, is bringing Tech back and resolving it that way.

Now, I’m using the Crosshair and Tech relationship as an example, but there are so many examples in the series that are just like this. Avoiding closure, avoiding reactions that would reinforce the idea that Tech is gone, avoiding answers, avoiding resolution of plot points and character arcs to which Tech is connected, and consistently so. A clear death is the easiest thing in the world to confirm in show, there are a lot of lines and conventions that you kind of have to work to avoid if you’re coming at it from the perspective of writing a dead guy, and given that the season is stalling almost to its breaking point in the last half there was ample opportunity to fit them in. TBB avoids all of them.

When I say that it isn’t written as a death, I don’t mean that I think it’s a clumsily written non-death. I mean that it consistently, deliberately, through the end of the show, avoids categorization as a death. Dodging closure, resolution, even open discussion that could lead to clarification means space is left for Tech to come back. More than that, the sheer amount of setup, foreshadowing, and resolution that needs Tech to be present, since they didn’t resolve in his absence, requires him to show up alive in a future chapter in order for the story to work. Not as something they might come back to, but as something that needs to be revisited and almost has to be baked in in order for it to have been written like that in the first place. It’s like a slower, perhaps more intense version of Ahsoka’s “death” at the end of season two of Rebels and the handling of its aftermath. That’s the pattern it and all the handling of it afterwards fits.

So, again, not a return that was never planned, or was planned and scrapped, but a return that continued to be set up and just seems to have not happened yet. Whether it’s because it was always planned to be a story split across more than one show, or whether there was originally a one show plan that got split into two during production of this one (or maybe a hybrid version of these two ideas), I really think the reason we didn’t get a Tech return (or a clone rebellion, for that matter) is because it has a place in the next chapter of the story where it’s going to be allowed to breathe without being truncated or overshadowing the stuff around it.

Now, whether I’m even close to the right track remains to be seen, and if I am? Whether splitting this particular fakeout, if fakeout it is, across two shows was a good move is a whole other question (my personal opinion is that it has the potential to be incredible from a writing perspective and that I will probably have very few issues with it from that view if it turns out I’m right, but oh dear lord someone tell the Lucasfilm marketing team that the lack of disclosure makes for idiotic audience management). But that is my working theory and the framework from which I’m writing a lot of my posts.

But it’s also a slightly different angle than the framework the fandom is generally using, which means I forget how things are generally going to be read.

The thing with Tech, “Plan 99,” and its aftermath that I keep coming back to is that it isn’t written as a death. Not that’s it’s a badly written death, not that it’s a death I think shouldn’t have happened, but that it isn’t written as a death at all.

[mylovelies-docx]

Social Cues

A/N: Wow. Okay. So it's been a couple of years since I've written anything and since I promised everyone that I was working on a Cassian fic.

Welp. Here's that fic now - only two years later than I was expecting.

My bad.

Take this 20k fic as an apology/your due/something that I wanted to give you years ago.

Plot: You and Cassian go undercover as a married couple, but things take a turn for the worst when your past finds you.

C/W: Angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, reader has an abusive mother (featured heavily), gendered reader (daughter), no use of Y/N, *SMUT* (18+, Minors DNI), Not beta'd, also not proofread (if I spent any more time on this, I would never get it out here). Probably more, let me know if I need to include something.

I started writing this before the show came out (which I have not watched... I know, I know.) Anyway, as is always the case with any Cassian fic that *I* prefer, there is no such thing as canon.

“Married,” you echo quietly in disbelief. You have never been more shocked in your life; and when you quickly glance over, Cassian apparently hasn’t been, either. His jaw is tense and his eyebrows have raised slightly.

General Draven had just dropped the specifics of your mission, and it was not one that you could have anticipated. You and Cassian were to pose as a married couple that had just moved into an affluent neighborhood full of Imperial officers, weapons dealers, and senators.

In other words, right into a Sarlacc pit. Only this situation was thrice as deadly.

“With all due respect, General, this isn’t something either of us have experience with. Would it not be better to send Rishi and O’tal?” Cassian suggests diplomatically. 

You nod your head at Cassian’s idea, showing your support. Rishi and O’tal are a real married couple in intelligence for the Alliance, so they are uniquely fit for this specific placement. 

“They’re currently on assignment right now. And besides: you two are the best intelligence officers we have. Mothma and I don’t want this handled by anyone else.” Draven’s compliment of your abilities would have been more than enough to placate you if you weren’t still reeling from the previous revelation.

“Yes General, I know what you’re saying and I thank you sincerely for the commendation, but I’m still unsure if this is a wise decision,” you rebut. You have never once doubted a mission assignment, and you know Cassian hasn’t either, but this was territory neither of you have ever found yourselves in. “This will be the first joint mission for either of us. Would it not be possible for a different relationship? Perhaps a hired guard would suffice for one of us?”

Sure, you’ve seduced and courted marks before, but bringing along a partner that you needed to present a sense of physical and emotional intimacy with? That is something entirely out of your realm of expertise.

Draven is stationed at the head of the table, using the projection screen in front of him to present information, schematics, and diagrams. From his vantage point, Draven watches a slight frown mar Cassian’s face at your suggestion, but it’s gone just as soon as it appears.

“I understand your hesitancy, Captains, but rest assured that we have exhausted all other avenues,” Draven consoles. “But you both will be in control of the gritty details, so you can make it work. We’re only providing the accommodations and whatever alibis you require.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Cassian acquiesce with no further argument. You look at Cassian out of the corner of your eye, hoping he can’t see the real reason for the hesitation.

This is going to be an adventure neither of you can prepare for.

***

“This is going to be a difficult enough mission, so I think sticking as close to the facts as possible is our best option,” you explain to Cassian, jotting down bullet points and ideas on your datapad to relay back to Mon Mothma and Draven so that they can fabricate your history once it’s been decided.

“I estimate a 33% chance of your entire plan falling apart, Captain (Y/L/N),” K2 chimes in.

“Agreed.” Cassian ignores K2’s comment and speaks directly to you. “We can use our first names for simplicity, but we need a surname,” Cassian recommends from the co-pilot's chair. 

“Would you like to know why?” K cuts in.

You appreciate the fact that you and Cassian are on the same wavelength about using your own names. You haven’t discussed it with him yet, so your similar logic on this bodes well for the rest of the discussion and the mission as a whole.

“Why don’t we just stick with Andor, for simplicity’s sake? It’s a common enough name and you’ll respond right away if someone calls for us. Plus, we both go by so many codenames that no one will ever think to search for us by this one.” 

You’re swiping away on your datapad to avoid either of them seeing your reddened cheeks, so you don’t see Cassian’s ears flush subtly at your suggestion as well. Your heart flutters madly, causing a pang in your chest to the beat of your ‘new’ name.

Cassian clears his throat and readjusts in his seat. “That could work,” he remarks coolly while rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

K2 turns his head quickly to observe Cassian, the metal joints whirring with the motion. The droid begins to speak and Cassian glares at him, but there is no reigning in K2.

“Because two can keep a secret only if one of them is dead,” K elaborates on his one-sided talkingpoint, still observing Cassian’s reaction to your recommendation on becoming Mrs.Captain Andor, however temporarily.

You hurry on to get your mind off the impossible fantasy the name has conjured up for you. “Great. I’m just trying to think of the likely scenarios that will be brought up at dinner parties or Imperial galas. Obviously how we met, connections to the Empire…”

K is just being a bugslut with his next comment.

“And I’d prefer if it was Cassian who remained living.”

The aforementioned man shoots K2 another glare, wordlessly saying “behave”. The droid shrugs his large mechanical shoulders and mimes a zipping motion with his fingers over his audio port.

You roll your eyes at K2’s insistence that your plan will be a failure and at his obvious distaste for you. You’re unsure what it is about you that he finds so distasteful, but you find yourself wishing he tolerated you a little more. Perhaps then, Cassian would join Rogue One more often on small adventures and get-togethers.

Being around Cassian is easier than being with anyone else; you don’t seem to exhaust yourself as quickly or as often with him. He is a source of calm, controlled energy that speaks to the weary parts of your soul.

Focus. 

“So. Instead of saying we met during a Rebel council meeting, how about we meet in the middle of truth and lie? Keep the time frame the same, just change the location. So for instance: we met five standard years ago at the launch of an Imperial class-II Star Destroyer. There were so many of those around that time that no one should question it – and even if they do, we could pretend we were too drunk on Merenzane Gold or love or whatever to notice anything but each other.” 

You are proud of yourself for keeping this discussion so professional despite your intrusive thoughts. Your heart is racing and your hands are slightly trembling with anxiety, but your voice is steady and you still sound confident. Maker! Why can’t you find the same focus and steadfastness that you have on missions? You can only hope that your professionalism will kick in once you land and begin the assignment in earnest.

“You were wearing a pink dress,” Cassian murmurs, staring distantly at the stars passing over the cockpit’s transparisteel. He mutters it to himself mostly, but you still hear.

You snap your head up, eyes large and mouth slightly parted, finding that he has his hand spread across the lower half of his face with his head turned away from you. You had been operating remotely for the Alliance for a while in various social circles and planets prior to settling down on base. You had just finished with a mission and were wearing a pink dress when you met Cassian for the first time during a debrief of your findings.

You shouldn’t be surprised that a man who had grown up as a spy can recall details as small as what you had been wearing, since you can also do the same. But you had been absolutely nothing to him then, so why would he bother to pay you any attention?

“And you had your A280-CFE heavy blaster strapped to your thigh,” you divulge. 

Your mind is still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Cassian had been watching you for far longer than you realized. He turns his head to look at you in surprise and catches your eye. Your puzzled expression is revealing too much of your thought process, so you drop your gaze from his and return to your holopad.

K2 breaks the tension with his usual tact.

“There’s a 93% chance you’re both lying to yourselves.”

“That’s enough, K,” Cassian reprimands, not for the first time.

“I’m only stating facts and highly calculated odds,” K defends himself.

“Facts as you see them,” you point out distractedly.

“Oh, I see a lot more than you do. A lot more.”

You’re still too self-involved to reply further and Cassian steers the conversation back to a safer topic: your mission. 

“Anyway.” He clears his throat. “Let’s say we were dating for...six months? Eight months? Enough time to get to know each other, but short enough to accommodate our ‘love at first sight’.” Cassian lets out one compact ‘ha!’ at the notion of falling in love with a total stranger without knowing who they were.

“Eight months seems reasonable. That would give me a few opportunities to let you meet family and friends, and vice versa. Speaking of: do we have any?” you question, back to yourself after banishing any and all thoughts of Cassian’s motivation to study you so intently. You can only hope to gather more data as the mission progresses.

“Hmm,” Cassian ponders, unsure what option would be best. He scrubs a hand across his stubbled chin and cheeks in thought. “No family seems suspicious, but we don’t want to create too many to keep track of.” He reasons out. “These people are well-connected and will be looking into our history, so we need to think of how our team back at base can create the strongest alibi.”

“True. And there’s no doubt they would recognize our infamous friends by name. That really narrows down our options.” Your lips are pursed to the side in thought and your chin is resting on your closed first. 

Your thinking pose works because you have an idea come to mind. Cassian stops his musings on ‘our friends’ to find your delighted expression when he turns at your little ‘a-ha!’ and finger snap.

“Do you remember anything about my mission on Aria Prime? My alias had a few family members we can repurpose.” You’re relieved that you’ve figured out a way to use established plants and make the intelligence officer’s work back at base easier.

“Antolin and Mauria, yes?” He confirms.

“Yes,” you verify, flustered yet again by Cassian’s attention to detail. “I’m glad you read my report – makes this easier for us.” 

“I read all your reports,” Cassian remarks before realizing his error. “I mean. I-I read all the reports. Everyone’s. It’s best to have a clear understanding of the bigger picture,” he corrects hastily.

You’re struggling to understand why, why, why, but your heart flutters nonetheless at the small thrill you receive. 

“Like I said,” K-2SO’s modulator is pitched to where only Cassian can hear, “lying to yourselves.”

***

This discussion had started a parsec ago, but is still going with no end in sight. Neither of you can agree on this, but neither are willing to yield.

“The more we use pet names, the less people will remember our real ones. First introductions we only give our names once and then use only nicknames after. People like them will be too embarrassed to have forgotten a name and won’t ask for them again.” 

Cassian is making excellent points, but your insides squidge in a nice uncomfortable way whenever he offers up an example. You can’t help but remember all the times your marks had forgotten your name, so they used demeaning pet names to refer to you. Maybe that’s why you were so easily onboard for using your names on this mission when you’ve never done it before. One: because it’s easier, and two: because you don’t feel as if you hear it spoken often enough.

Three: because you don’t want Cassian to forget your name when this war eventually claims your life.

You’re making yourself unduly anxious with the thought of that eventuality, and your response comes off melancholic. “They won’t remember me anyway.”

Cassian is thrown off by this. How could anyone forget you? He had a hard time not thinking about you some days. 

“Why do you say that?”

You give him a sad sort of expression, a wry smile turning your lips. “Isn’t that our job?” you question him. “Making yourself completely unrecognizable to the point that if your target ever saw you again, they wouldn’t even notice?”

Cassian can see where you’re coming from, but the look on your face and the tone of your voice makes him wonder at how lonely you feel during missions.

“As long as you are yourself around those you care about, it makes it worth it. Yes?” Cassian counters.

A small, wondering smile graces your lips as you lean back against the hold and look up. “Yeah, I guess so…”

You’re thinking of all the fun you have with Jyn and Bodhi when she drags you both away from base to explore, or when you’re all laughing at the exasperated look on Baze’s face when Chirrut walks into blaster fire with only his prayers to guide him. 

Or when you catch the relieved look Cassian throws you after a near-miss, like he’s impossibly glad that you’re okay. You always point finger-blasters at him with a smirk, trying to diffuse the situation, but he usually just shakes his head and tells you to focus.

Ahh. There you are, a voice in your mind whispers suddenly. It’s a cool and sinister voice, one you had not heard in some time.

You startle, knowing that the disembodied voice cannot see you physically does nothing to prevent a sense of overwhelming fear from taking over. You try to take a series of deep breaths to calm your racing heart and slow the pounding of blood in your ears. Hoping repetitive and familiar motions will calm you down and refocus your mind, you begin to rub up and down one arm with your knuckles. With the amount of pressure you’re using, you’ll end up with bruises but the dull pain helps.

Cassian sees you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns toward you, you’re already up and walking to a more private area.

“E-excuse me,” you stutter out. Your legs feel weak and you run one hand along the wall to keep you steady.

“Are you okay?” Cassian asks, preparing to stand up and follow you.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine. Just give me a moment.” Your voice is quiet, but you throw a shaky smile over your shoulder to try and stop Cassian from following you. You make it to one of the rooms and slide in, the door hissing closed behind you.

“That,” K2 says.

“What?” Cassian asks his companion, confused by the non sequitur.

“That is precisely why I don’t trust her. She hides too much,” the droid explains.

“She’s one of us, K,” Cassian defends. “We all have secrets.”

“Yes, but our secrets don’t make us run away. She’s hiding something big: I know it.” The droid asserts, giving his head one sharp nod to drive the point.

***

You survey the progress of your “home” being put together from the lofty heights of the balcony overlooking the foyer. Everything is white and gray and black, mimicking the Empire’s color scheme.

You hate it.

The only pop of color is your elaborate dress. The emerald gown is the height of Coruscant fashion, and you needed everyone who saw you and Cassian dock to know that you are important people.

Your quarters span the top two levels of one of the tallest towers in a swanky residential sector. The prestigious location alone should influence everyone’s opinions, but you also need to look the part of a spoiled and arrogant wife. So you have to dress and act accordingly.

You sense Cassian walking up behind you; his presence is unmistakable and you recognize his gait as his shoes tap against the expensive flooring. 

Your fingers grip the balustrade imperceptibly tighter, the only reaction you will allow yourself. Since shutting down on the U-wing to try and prevent the voice’s return, you’ve been able to keep your thoughts and emotions in check: no racing heart, blushed cheeks, or errant feelings. This is the only way you know how to keep your mind your own.

Cassian places his hands on either side of yours, trapping you between his warm body and the railings. His chest is pressing into your back and his sharp chin is resting on your shoulders. You weren’t prepared for this level of fake intimacy so soon, so your breath hitches in your throat and escapes as a soft gasp. You feel his warm breath fan across your ear as he pretends to nuzzle into your neck.

“Kay and I placed the data collectors throughout the public rooms.” Cassian mumbles, moving from one side of your neck to the other. You tilt your head in the semblance of allowing him room to kiss along your skin, growing hot where his breath fans now and goosebumps where it had once been. “We’re ready for the company to arrive.”

“Hmm,” you hum in acknowledgment. You’re developing a pit in your stomach at the proximity, but you grasp Cassian’s hands under yours for the illusion. Your palms are sweating and you’re sure that Cassian can feel it, but he continues resting his lips near your ear.

You glance down at the individuals moving your furnishings throughout the rooms, catching one gray-skinned and multi-eyed lifeform watching the two of you surreptitiously. You scowl down at them, feeling Cassian’s head turn enough to give them a side-eye as well. They turn back to arranging the many fire-waters and spirits you bought in preparation for your first gathering as new residents.

Some aliens begin making their way from where they were setting up the sleeping quarters behind you and Cassian. As they’re passing, Cassian pulls away from you. You take a deep breath to recenter yourself and cool your skin.

“Come, Love. Let’s break in the new bed,” Cassian says, loud enough for the passing workers to overhear.

You feign a saccharine smile and allow him to place his hand on the small of your back. Cassian leads you to your shared bedroom, dropping contact as soon as the door closes behind the two of you. You both sweep the room for any foreign devices and find none. You remain standing on opposite sides of the room, aware of the awkward atmosphere.

“I am sorry for that. A few of the workers were watching us,” Cassian apologized. One hand is scratching the scruff along his chin to hide his discomfort.

“I saw. It was an effective way to give them observations to take back to their superiors if some are spies like we suspect.” You carefully place yourself on the edge of the luxurious bed, taking this time to rest your feet before you need to get ready for the evening’s plans.

“Yeah…” Cassian draws, giving you a quizzical look. 

He knows that you’re on a mission now, but your tone and mannerisms are throwing him off. He always felt at least a sense of comradery with you, but this pliant and civil manner you’ve taken up bothers him for reasons he won’t can’t name.

You ignore his probing eyes. The voice in your mind is too recent an experience to let yourself relax even slightly. Your muscles are rigid from the straight posture of the elite woman you’re playing and from the stress of keeping your mind calm and under control. A headache is starting to form.

“I take it that K is situated?” You inquire of Cassian as you stand with bare feet. You pad over to the extensive closet space, selecting an outfit for tonight.

“Yes. He’s taken the ship to the lower levels and will stay there while we’re here; he’s close enough if we run into any issues.” 

Cassian’s voice is still low as he follows you to the wardrobe, just in case any of the movers are lurking outside the door. You both stand back to back as you each survey your arsenal of clothing for this mission. You run your hands lovingly over the soft fabrics, happy that your sensitive skin won’t have to endure anything rough for this mission. Cassian’s clothed shoulder blades scrape along your exposed back, sending imperceptible shivers down your spine. 

You quickly pull out a beautiful dress and move away from Cassian. You call over your shoulder to him as you near the refresher. “I’m wearing pink, unless you don’t have anything to match.”

“Of course I do. You selected the wardrobe,” he reminds you. 

You hadn’t seemed yourself since the ship, which Cassian picked up on immediately since you were so sure and confident at the beginning. He is trying hard to understand your abrupt change.

You shut the door on Cassian and take in the immaculate space around you. You hang the dress so it can air out while you apply your makeup and arrange your hair and try to enjoy the solitude while you can, knowing that tonight and all the nights to come will wear you thin. 

***

Cassian comes in a while later, taking note of your elaborate hairstyle and details of your thoad-eye makeup. He feels the nearly overwhelming need to comment how stunning you are and how similar you look now to when he saw you that first time, but holds his tongue. He doesn’t want to make this any more awkward for either of you.

You had been staring listlessly into the mirror before you until Cassian walked in. You can barely recognize the person staring back; hollow eyes, down-turned lips, dull skin. She isn’t you, but she is who you need to be until you’re sure the phantom hasn’t found you.

You move your eyes to study Cassian as he stands in the doorway. He looks handsome in his party-ware, the organic tones complementing his features and your pastel gown nicely. But you don’t dwell on how the sight alone of Cassian in something other than his everyday wear threatens the stability of the winged creatures in your stomach. You want them to be dormant, need them to be, but something about the man behind you sets them to tittering.

Since closing yourself off from your emotions and the galaxy at large, you have come to realize that you haven't been as careful as you should have. Despite your better judgment and without conscious effort, you have formed attachments in the Rebellion. Found yourself building relationships that mean something to you. Your fellow rebels from Rogue One are your life-line in this never-ending war.

Your bond with Cassian is one you are especially fond of.

You have grown to care for the man in a way that you know you shouldn’t. Your detachment now allows for you to reflect on your feelings in an objective way, understanding that you put yourself and the entire Rebellion at risk without fully realizing.

It stops today.

You harden what little bit of your heart you can still feel and fill in the small, Cassian shaped hole that had started to carve itself there.

You take your eyes from where they had locked onto his own. You can sense his hesitation to approach you and his inner turmoil that feels so like your own had earlier in the day. So while dabbing under your eyes for fallout and around your lips to neaten the line, you speak up.

“I’ll be done in time to greet our guests with you, but I need a few moments.”

Your voice is flat and devoid of any warmth that it once held for the man. Cassian notes immediately that your countenance has taken another turn, one that has pulled you even further away from him. His chest tightens. He sets his mouth in grim acceptance and leaves with a small nod in your direction.

***

All throughout the evening, a sense of foreboding had settled itself deep in your bones. You can feel it getting heavier and heavier as the party drags on, weighing down your body and worsening your already sickening headache. You continue to laugh and smile demurely despite it, but the bright light from the chandelier hanging above your head is sending bolts of pain behind your eyes.

In order to present a united front to these Imperial officers and sympathizers, Cassian has his arm wrapped around your waist and you’re resting your hand over top of his on your hip. The warmth of his hand as it caresses your curves sends heat between your thighs completely against your will. Your mind and heart know what you can’t have, but your body has wants of its own.

When an interesting piece of information comes up in conversations, one of you will squeeze the other’s hand in silent communication to pry further. It arose through no effort on either of your parts, but Cassian feels the rightness in the subtle exchanges. It feels like you’ve been partners for longer than a day, fake married for longer than a day, fake intimate for longer than a day with the way it feels to hold you. 

He can’t get over the rightness of having you in his arms. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, even with the few past partners he’s allowed himself to have between missions. He can feel the heat of your skin beneath his palm and through the fabric of your dress, making him want to pull you all the more closer as the night wears on and the open windows bring a chill to the crowded room.

You’re both in the middle of a conversation with a commanding officer when it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, like a cabin losing pressure out in space. Your eyes widen and your heart races as your sense of foreboding from earlier ramps up into full fight-or-flight mode. You’re hastily scanning the faces in the room, terrified.

Cassian feels you tense in his arms. With a quick glance at your face, he knows something is wrong. Your eyes are flickering around the room and the pulse in your neck is prominent against the stiffness of your body. He tries to catch your eye or squeeze your hip, but he gets no response.

Quickly and subtly shifting your body behind his, he excuses the two of you from your conversation. You don’t feel yourself moving, too caught up in trying to find the source of this feeling. 

You’re intimately familiar with this presence, having spent years in its company. You had tried so hard and traveled lightyears away in order to escape, but all your efforts seem futile now. You should have gone into hiding, should have locked yourself away on a little no-name moon, should have done something more. 

A whimper escapes your mouth without permission, and Cassian’s heart lurches at the frightened sound. He’s always known you to be the bravest, strongest person he has ever met, but the woman in his arms right now looks like a scared child, looks like someone he doesn’t know. He would take your cold and detached manner from the previous day over this. 

Because this? This scares him. And Cassian does not scare easily.

He leads you into a secluded area of the penthouse, away from prying Imperial eyes and whatever has caused your body to convulse with tremors. He still has his arm wrapped securely around your waist holding you close to him, and his other hand has a gentle but firm grip around your upper arm that is pressed tightly into his side. Cassian is practically dragging you away as your knees refuse to hold you up.

Cassian finds a small cupboard furthest away from the party. He looks around to be sure no one is near enough to listen in, and pulls you inside. A dim light turns on above your heads and Cassian places you gently against a wall. You start to slide down, but he puts his arms under yours, giving you support.

You can still feel her, can sense her proximity and her sinister presence in the back of your mind. It’s been so long since you were last with her, but your body must have known somehow that she was drawing nearer. Your headaches and anxiety that had only heightened throughout the party should have made you think.

But you didn’t.

Having Cassian at your side had made you feel safe, no matter that you were actively avoiding having any feelings for him. You have known his character well from watching and interacting with him over the years, learning to trust him and his calm and reserved nature. You were remiss in thinking that you could keep yourself and your feelings away from him during this mission. 

Now that the walls you carefully constructed on the ship have crumbled around you, you can’t help but feel again. Can’t help but feel the warmth radiating from his chest and into yours from where he’s standing so close to you. Can’t help but feel his breath against your face as he’s begging you to tell him what’s wrong. Can’t help but feel the pressure in your head slowly dissipating as you force yourself to breathe in time with Cassian’s instructions.

You readjust against the wall after a short while, standing taller and trying to regain feeling in your legs. Cassian’s hand shifts from the wall and cups the side of your face so that he can look into your eyes. You can see the question in his concerned gaze and answer in a still-weak voice.

“My… my mother. She’s here.”

Cassian’s brow furrows slightly as he wonders what that could mean for you and this mission. He opens his mouth to ask for more details, but you shake your head.

“She’s - we’re - I don’t know!” You cry out softly. You bring your hands up and grasp the lapels of Cassian’s shimmersilk jacket as you try to ground yourself and explain. “She’s in my head, Cassian. I can feel her. I can hear her. I couldn’t get away, and now she’s found me.” 

You suck in a deep breath through trembling lips. You look deeply into Cassian’s eyes, watching as a dawning understanding fills them. 

“I’m scared, Cassian,” you admit.

Cassian wraps both of his hands around your head with his palms against your neck, using his thumbs to sweep softly under your eyes, catching the tears that had fallen without you noticing. Your breathing is still stuttering in and out of your lungs, and Cassian can feel your pulse as he continues to stroke your cheeks.

“I know. I know, Princessa. But it’s okay, we can figure this out together, hm?” Cassian murmurs to you. 

You nod your head and close your eyes as you lean back against the wall, drained of energy. Cassian takes both of your wrists into one of his and holds them against his chest when he feels your grip slacken, hoping that you can feel his heart’s rhythm and use its steady beat to come back down from your adrenaline rush.

“What do we need to do?” Cassian asks after a moment. “I can signal K and we can leave right now.”

You shake your head as you look back at him. You can’t let this opportunity for information slip away because of you. And you’re definitely not giving K-2SO any more reason not to like you.

“No. No, Cass, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just… give me another moment or two. Please,” you implore. 

Rational thought is coming back to you as you finally match Cassian’s heartbeat and breathing. You start to feel embarrassed about your breakdown, but Cassian’s sympathy and understanding prevent you from doing so. You’re now focusing on the shift in your mission.

“The good news is I’m using my real name, so she can’t ruin us immediately,” you begin slowly. “The bad news is now we have to contend with her story and timeline of events. I haven’t been with her since I ran away, Cassian. I haven’t spoken to her in years, but she’s been in my head a few times since then.”

What you have to tell Cassian next is hard, but he needs to know. For your own selfish needs, you want somebody to know what you’ve been through. 

“She… she studied under the Sith in her childhood, but never completed training. When she had me and realized I was force sensitive…” You’re pleading with your eyes and your grasping hands on his jacket once more. “She raised me on the Dark Side. To become the Sith she never could be.”

Cassian tries to pull away from you, shocked and angry by your perceived betrayal. His face hardens and his hands drop away from you, but you’re quick to hold tighter to him, keeping him from leaving you.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Cassian! I never joined the Rebellion for her or anyone else. I stopped training and cut myself off from the Force after my 16th year because I knew what she was teaching me was wrong. I joined you because I wanted to make up for all the awful things she made me do, to give myself over to a cause that I believe in.

“I never intentionally put the Rebellion in danger. Every time she found my consciousness, I shut myself away from whatever I was feeling that let her in and left the base until I was sure she hadn’t found me,” you explain. “I don’t know why she’s here now, but it can’t be good. We have to find out, and I’m the best shot we have.”

You can see Cassian’s mind moving at lightspeed to determine if he can trust you. You’ve never given him any reason not to, but this secret is explosive enough to shake his faith in his own discernment. His eyes are shifting between yours, staring into each to find any trace of duplicity. You keep your expression honest and open. It’s the first time you’ve ever presented your emotions – true and real emotions – to someone. You’re vulnerable in this state, but Cassian needs to see it.

And he does. Cassian’s shoulders drop imperceptibly and the tension you can feel under your hands loosens.

“Does Mon Mothma know? She’s the one that recruited you, yes?” He asks, looking for a solid reason other than his gut instincts to guide his decision.

You nod. You hadn’t told her the full truth all those standard years ago, but she knew enough to think of you as a worthwhile risk.

Cassian exhales and reaches for your hands where they clutch at him. He gives them a squeeze in acceptance and you can’t stop a small smile from coming to your lips in relief.

“What’s your plan?” He asks you, deferring over to you on how this mission should move forward now that there’s a massive obstacle to manage.

“I think…”you hesitate, already dreading the series of events your next words are going to set in motion. “I think I need to get close to her again. Not ‘close’!” You reassure Cassian when a troubled look comes over his face. “Just make her think I’m still on the Dark Side. Being here already lends itself to that.”

“I don’t know. Putting yourself directly in her path like that is dangerous,” Cassian reasons.

You give a short laugh and look at Cassian with amusement. “We’re Rebel Intelligence currently undercover with elite Imperial officers and weapons dealers. I think we’ve been in danger.” 

Cassian mimics your small grin and rattles your hands around a bit. “Smart aleck.”

You’re feeling better than you have been since the U-wing. A weight has lifted from your shoulders and now you can breathe easier, safe in the knowledge that someone knows your secrets. Knows a large part of you, and doesn’t hate you for it.

Cassian’s smile fades. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever this moment is, but you need to go back to the party. 

“I’m going to signal K-2SO; we might need him for security.” At the thought of K running his mouth off near all these officers, Cassian decides that he’ll instruct the droid to disable his modulator. “Are you ready?” he asks.

Your face drops into a determined expression. You gather all your strength and prepare to greet your mother. You’re going to need it.

***

“Well there’s my darling daughter!”

You keep your expression neutral, but quirk one eyebrow up as you look to the direction her voice is coming from. You watch as your mother saunters over to you, pulling along a middle-aged man in an Officer’s uniform; he must have been her way in, since you hadn’t seen her during your reconnaissance phase. He was of low-rank and low-importance, but you invited him because he could still harbor important information.

Your mother has aged: wrinkles line her eyes and crease her forehead, gray hairs are dyed an unnatural shade, and the skin on her neck and hands is thin and dry. Her dark robes swathe her frame in an abundance of fine fabric, perhaps to distract from all that you are observing.

“Mother,” you reply in a clipped tone. No one but Cassian notices the beginnings of sweat on your forehead. He leans in to place a kiss on your hairline, wiping away the droplet with his dry but soft lips. You grasp his hand tighter in appreciation.

“I knew I would find you here…” she taunts, but trails off as she eyes Cassian beside you. 

You stiffen because you know that look. You angle yourself to where your breasts are pressing against Cassian and you lay a possessive hand over his chest, clearly indicating he was ‘yours’ in the only way she really understands. 

But she hasn’t changed in all this time, so she tries her hand with Cassian. Even though her escort has an arm around her stomach in a not-so-subtle effort to keep her close to him and away from your partner - or anyone else in the room that catches her eye.

“My, my. Who is this handsome man you’ve conned into spending the night with you, daughter?” She addresses you, but bats her eyelashes coquettishly at Cassian. “I’m sure you’ll have much more fun with me, young man. I can give you anything you want,” she tries to whisper seductively, but fails in your opinion. 

Her date looks at you and Cassian contemptuously, as if you were the ones to blame for her behavior.

Your mouth curls into an uncontrollable sneer and your expression morphs into one of disgust and anger. How dare she proposition Cassian in such a way? What a lewd and demeaning way to come onto someone! 

All fear is forgotten in your outrage. You’re about to respond with vicious words as you start to move your hand towards the poisoned blade hidden under your dress, but Cassian stops you as he tightens his arm around your waist and pulls you further into him so that you’re basically looking over your shoulder - you’re full front is pressed against his as he takes his own hold on you. His hand snakes down to cup your ass in a proprietorial way to show your mother that he already has his hands full. 

Your heart quickens at the possessive act. Focus.

Cassian gives an uninterested nod as his greeting, making a show of looking her over and finding her lacking. It’s cruel, but it fills you with a spot of joy.

“The husband, actually,” he remarks coldly. “Weapons Specialist.”

“Oh.” She pouts for just a moment, disappointed that he wants nothing to do with her. “Well!” She claps her hands together and steps out of her date’s arm. “I’m sure you gentlemen won’t begrudge me a moment with my long-lost daughter,” she bids. She flaps her hands around as she says, “You boys talk amongst yourselves.”

She walks off, expecting you to follow like a kriffing Kath Hound. One of your eyes twitches in agitation as you look to Cassian. He uses one hand to adjust a piece of your hair, wanting to draw attention away from his lips as he mutters to you.

“Do not let her get to you. I will be right here when you return.”

“I don’t think I can follow through on the plan. I don’t think I can get close enough without failing,” you whisper. 

You are terrified of this woman and what she can still do to you, what she can still make you endure because of her connection to the Dark Side. But… you can’t really sense anything from her. You allow what diminutive control you have on the Force to surround her and probe for information, and you find very little. 

You’re wondering now if whatever prevented her from completing her training as a Sith has been depleting her midichlorians since then as well. Her voice in your mind has been diminishing for quite some time now; the event today having been the first time in over a year, when you used to hear her every other month.

A hypothesis begins to form. But in order to explore further, you need to follow your mother.

You rub Cassian’s cheek with the palm of your hand in farewell and his stubble is rough against your skin. He takes your hand from his face and places a soft kiss on your knuckles, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

 After your revelations in the cupboard and dispensation of some of the fear you had been holding all your life, you’re finding it easy to fall into this level of intimacy with Cassian -- false as it may be. You are no longer held back by thoughts of your mother reentering your life and wreaking havoc for the Rebellion. She’s found you here with Imperialists, ‘married’ to a war profiteer, and presumably on the same side.

But Cassian is still Cassian and you are still you. Public displays of affection make both of you uncomfortable, but you’ve been pushing it aside for the sake of the mission. You let go of each other and walk away from him, but you can still feel his eyes on you as you go to your mother.

“I never imagined you as a credit-seeking harpy, daughter of mine. Always so toffee-nosed and self-important. You never agreed to a single match I tried to make for you,” your mother starts in as soon as you’re close enough to hear. Some party-goers glance in your direction, but your glare sends them looking away.

“Perhaps you never set your sights high enough, mother. Maybe I sought better for myself than you could provide?” you retort, channeling Cassian’s cool demeanor into your character for this mission. 

You had never imagined as a youngling that you could ever be brave enough to face your mother in this way; she had dominated and dictated every facet of your life, refusing you free-will and a normal childhood. But you need to complete this mission and find out why she’s here, so you don’t have time to dwell.

She looks at you now with thinly veiled contempt. You imagine she thought you would still be that girl who was too afraid to speak out against her. And if it wasn’t for this mission and Cassian dragging you from the party so you could collect yourself, you would still be.

Your hands are trembling where they’re hidden behind your back and beneath the capelet on the dress, and gravity seems to have broken: incredibly strong at your feet and incredibly light on your head. It keeps you rooted to the floor while also making you feel like you’re floating away. Rationally you know it’s your fear response, so you work on taking inconspicuous breaths.

“‘Sought better for yourself’; don’t make me laugh! Those ‘friends’ you had were barely sentient! Let alone have any connections to elevate you anywhere,” your mother mocks.

You’re momentarily dumbfounded: how did she know about your friends? You made sure to never mention them or hang out with them when your mother was on-planet. “What friends?” you ask quietly.

“Don’t play ignorant with me, daughter, it’s so unbecoming of a Sith. Did you forget? I’m in your head.”

You jerk away from where your mother has leaned in towards your face, taking a step back. Her last words had been inside your head. 

“I’ve missed this, daughter,” your mother coos telepathically. She brings a wrinkled hand up to cup one side of your face while you’re struggling to breathe. “I’ve missed having you under my thumb.” 

At this, she drives her thumb into your cheek, pushing your head roughly to the side. She has a firm grip and directs your face back to where you have to look at her. You’re breathing fast and shallow, panic taking over. Your hands have flown to take a hold of her wrist and forearm, struggling to remove her nails from your soft flesh.

You finally wrench her hand away, just in time to feel a strong arm snake around your waist and pull you backwards. Cassian steps in front of you in a protective stance, one arm still holding you against his back and the other pointing his blaster in your mother’s face.

If looks alone could kill, your mother would have evaporated under Cassian’s glare.

You can feel his breath escaping him in angry heaves, nostrils flared. His mouth is set in a thin, angry line, and you can hear his teeth gnash together as he clenches his jaw. His eyebrows are furrowed over his hard, piercing stare, your mother the sole object of his ire at the moment.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look at Cassian as her focus is still on you. Staring down certain death and one of the most intimidating men in the galaxy, she doesn’t move a muscle except to smile cruelly.

“They were so heartbroken when I told them you were dead,” she mocks as you stare at her from around Cassian. “It was quite fun to watch them suffer.”

They thought I was dead? Your hands grasp Cassian tighter at the thought. Is that why they never tried to contact me? 

Feeling your shaking hands on his back and unsteady breaths against his neck, all Cassian wants to do is blast a hole through your mother. As soon as he saw her lay a hand on you, he was racing over to the altercation – blaster drawn and heart on his sleeve. He knows how strong and capable you are, but this mission is asking more of you than he can stand to watch be taken away. 

He feels your warm hand slide around his where it grips his blaster. You bring his arm back down to his side and step out from behind him.

Your nerves are shot and you’re so nauseous that you could vomit at any moment, but you need to take control of the situation again. Your mother is making you look weak and incompetant in front of the Empire’s largest figures. The party had come to a screeching halt when Cassian drew his weapon.

“It’s alright, my love,” you say loud enough for those around you to hear. “I believe our guest has forgotten who is in charge here.” 

You snap your fingers in K’s direction where you see him stationed against one of the columns beside the entrance. You’re elated when you see him actually heed your command and stalk over. He grips your mother’s arm and waits for your command.

“I do believe it’s time you and your date left now,” you say as you wave your hand in a dismissive gesture.

Your mother is absolutely fuming as K2 leads her out of the hall, stopping to grab her date as he tries to make himself small amongst the crowd. You can see her trying to move her arm out of the droid’s grasp, but she’s unsuccessful. Her date’s jacket sleeve is nearly ripping at the shoulder from how unwilling he is to be pulled along by her.

Cassian is immensely proud of you for standing up to your mother. After he watches her being dragged out by K, he turns to you with a glimmer in his eye, only to notice the sallowness of your skin and the movement of your throat as you swallow multiple times.

Cassian immediately turns to your guests and makes an announcement so you can sneak away unnoticed. “Now that we’ve weeded out the undesirables amongst us, it’s time to get this party started. Fosu–” Cassian calls to the Ortolan leading the live band “–let’s go!” 

You make your way out of the crowded hall with one hand fisted over your mouth and the other holding your stomach. You hear the band start up as you reach the nearest refresher and bolt inside. As soon as the door slides closed and you’re alone, you promptly empty the contents of your stomach into the vacc tube.

-------

You’re shivering against the wall when Cassian comes in some time later. Your body has lost all ability to function after trying to purge itself of these mephitic feelings, so you’re collapsed into a seated position on the floor with your head leaned back to rest against the wall. The expensive stone interior of this refresher is beautiful to look at, but severely uncomfortable to sit on. 

Cassian crouches down next to you and hands you a crystal flute full of water. You give a small smile in appreciation and sip from the cup, closing your eyes as you feel the cool liquid slither down your raw throat and into your empty stomach.

“You did good,” Cassian says to you.

You peep open one tired eye and look at him. His face is sincere and his eyes hold no hint of the disappointment you feel for yourself. You scoff at his words and close your eye again.

“The entire mission has gone completely barvy because of me,” you mutter harshly. If your mother hadn't shown up, you would have completed this mission without any problems. But as soon as you felt her presence and realized that she was in the same room, you broke down. And when she spoke to you and grabbed you...

At the thought of your mother’s touch, the anxiety in your stomach rumbles into nausea again. You press a closed fist up to your mouth to fight off the feeling. “I can’t even think about her without wanting to spew my guts up.” You roll your head to the side so that Cassian can’t see the self-deprecating expression you know is on your face. “How pathetic is that?”

A warm, rough hand encircles the wrist that still hovers in front of your mouth. The firm pressure brings your face up and forces your eyes open. Cassian is leaning towards you with an arm outstretched to you and balancing on one knee. You can’t help but feel bad that he’s ruining such a nice suit just to get you to look at him.

“Nothing about you is pathetic, Princessa,” he urges. “The way you handled that situation? There is no one else in the galaxy who could have gotten through the way you did.” He moves his hands in an exaggerated gesture to emphasize the shape of the galaxy around you, but your wrist is pulled along for the demonstration since it is still held between his fingers. 

“I didn’t really do anything. I asked K to kick her out for me. I’ve probably lost any ounce of power and respect we scrounged up in such a short time.” 

Your eyes are downcast as you say this, so you don’t notice Cassian’s other hand reaching up from where it was hovering over his bent knee. He oh-so-gently grabs your chin in the same place your mother had, but the difference between the two touches are immense. His thumb ever so softly brushes along the side of your mouth where a bruise is most likely forming, and his fingers perch below your chin as he pulls your face up to meet his gaze.

“If anything, you gave us more respect. You effortlessly took away all her power and turned her into the laughing stock of the party; these sorts of things are the highlight of any event for these people. You’ve just ensured that they’re all going to be coming back just on the off-chance that something like that happens again.” 

His eyes are so intense on yours and his hand so kind against your abused jaw that it brings a flush to your face. You shouldn’t be relishing in the closeness you’re feeling in this moment because he is only trying to comfort you and get you ready to be hostess of the party again, but you can’t help the warm feelings and fluttering of your heart at his proximity.

You think he must have noticed your blush and became embarrassed for you, because he drops his hand from your face and rises from his crouch. Cassian clears his throat and pulls your wrist up towards him, indicating that it is time for you to stand as well. You push against the wall with your free hand and stand in front of him.

You’re unsure of what else to say besides a whispered, “Thank you.”

Cassian nods his head in acknowledgement and drops your hand. The loss of contact stings a little.

Cassian quickly starts ruffling his hair and jerking his clothes until they’re disheveled. Your questioning look is answered a second later as the same realization comes to your mind. A married couple locked in a bathroom together for some time after an apparent power move? Everyone at the party is going to think that show of dominance got Cassian hot with desire for you.

Your blush reappears with a vengeance as your hands remove some pins from your hair and ruffle through it. Your heart thunders in your chest as you grab Cassian’s shoulder as he is preparing to unlock the door. He looks back at you and you drop your hand.

“It.. it would be more believable if some of my makeup…” you flap your hand towards his face, indicating what you mean.

Understanding crosses his face as he slowly leans towards you. You take your thumb and smear it across your lips, dragging the lip color from its place and around your mouth in a facsimile of the chaos a kiss would create.

You take your makeup covered thumb and firmly glide it across Cassian’s lips. The contrast between the softness of his delicate skin and harshness of his stubbled chin remind you that your face and neck need to be more red.

Making to take your nails and redden up your skin, you’re stopped by Cassian’s question of, “Can I?”

You look up to see his hands reaching for your face and you allow him to hold you. He brings his face into yours and presses his stubbly cheek into your skin. You hold back your gasp of shock, but the inhaled breath allows in the intoxicating smell of him. You close your eyes in order to maintain some semblance of control over yourself. Your hands are itching to run through his hair and dishevel it even more, but you refrain in case it makes him stop.

Cassian is nuzzling into your neck now and you can feel a slightly shaky breath leave his lips and fan across your ear. A shiver races down your spine and lands hotly in your lower abdomen. The sensitive skin of your neck is red now from both his ministrations and your increased temperature.

All too soon, Cassian pulls away. You're warm all over except for the irritated skin on your neck that feels cool without Cassian’s warmth against it. He looks at you unsurely, probably worried that he overstepped a boundary.

“Your hands wouldn’t have left the right pattern,” he mumbles out. 

He doesn’t seem unsure of himself, but not wholly convinced that you necessarily wanted him to do that. You nod your head too quickly when you agree with him to reassure that you do not mind. At all. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, but swings out one elbow as an offer to you. You take a deep breath to calm down and place your arm within his before exiting.

***

Weeks pass and you and Cassian have been inundated with dinner offers, gala invitations, and special meetings from members of the Empire and their allies. It seems that Cassian was correct in saying that everyone at the party - and not at the party - would be clamoring to get into your good graces after taking so much power away from a prominent member so easily. 

When the topic is brought up, you always smile and laugh haughtily so they think such a thing was no big deal to you. The problem is that it was a big deal. You never stood up to your mother like that when you were younger - you always took the abuse until the day you jumped on a random cargo ship and ran away. You had always thought you were weak and powerless against your mother, but Cassian and these Imperial scum are beginning to make you realize that you’ve grown enough that she no longer holds power over you.

This realization makes you feel strong and more competent than ever. You’re fully ingratiating yourself with the beings around you, pretending that the Empire is the only way forward and that the Rebellion is just full of useless chizks. 

Ha! If only they knew they were being played like an Ewok drum by one of those ‘useless chizks’.

As you’re laughing at what some high-brow weapons dealer is saying, you glance around the room to find Cassian. You were separated when someone dragged you away to have a ‘female talk’ that was excruciating to sit through. You spy him across the hall, but your heart drops as you watch him follow a beautiful Twi-lek into a side office.

Over the past few weeks, you and Cassian have gotten close. Or you thought you had. You were both becoming increasingly comfortable in each other’s arms and Cassian had even taken to kissing your lips when others were around.

You couldn’t help but take those little kisses and tight hugs personally. You know that, rationally, he is only doing those things to keep up the pretense of a happily married couple, but your touch-starved heart was going soft for the Rebel captain.

And maybe it’s that soft heart that makes you excuse yourself from the current conversation. That soft heart that makes you follow in the pair’s footsteps. That soft heart that constricts and feels as if it’s crumbling away when you hear the soft murmurs coming from behind the closed door you have your ear against.

You’re unable to make out anything being said, but the closeness that whispering requires crushes your soft heart. You know this is a mission and you both need to get intel at any cost. Cassian is one of the best spies in the Rebellion – kriff, the whole galaxy – so it shouldn’t come as any surprise that seducing a target is one of his methods. 

But we’re supposed to be married, you reason out. Happily!

You hear the Twi-lek whine. Your chest tightens and your eyes start to burn for no reason. You shake your head to try and force the tears back. Taking a deep breath, you channel your current persona and feel her wrath and anger at the situation funnel through you.

You twist the handle and barge into the room. You stand scowling at the two as you eye them up and down. Cassian is unruffled and holding onto the Twi-lek’s shoulders as if to keep her at a distance. The Twi-lek, on the other hand, has her dress pulled down past her shoulders to expose her chest and her hands clasped onto Cassian’s lapels and fingering the buttons of his shirt.

Their eyes turn to you: Cassian’s relieved ,and the Twi-lek’s shooting daggers.

“Husband,” you deadpan, “what’s the meaning of this?” 

But you’re not looking at your fake husband, you’re eyeing up the female who still has her dress around her waist and her dirty hands on your man.

“Princessa,” Cassian seems to plead with you. You flick your eyes away from the Twi-lek and onto him. Princessa has become a normal term of endearment from Cassian since your heart-to-heart in the fresher, and you can’t get enough of how ardently he always calls to you. But now the name sends a pain through your heart, because you’re just now realizing he may have used it for others during missions as well.

Your eyes threaten to start burning again, so you look away from Cassian and back to the one that pulled him in here. You notice that she was hanging out with the one that pulled you away for that ‘talk’, making you think that this had been their play all along.

Your nostrils flare as you stare her down. “Fix your gown, find your friend, and leave this house. I will not repeat myself,” you growl at her. 

The Twi-lek’s eyes widen a fraction at the venom in your voice, hopefully understanding the danger that your persona emanates. She pulls her hands from Cassian and slips them through the sleeves of her dress before scurrying from the room.

You turn to watch her leave, narrowing your eyes as you catch hers as she shuts the door. You hadn’t only turned to make sure she left, you also turned so that you didn’t have to look at Cassian. You didn’t want to look closer and see what they were up to.

“Thank you,” Cassian murmurs as he walks up to you. “She seemed to think that I would sneak off with her willingly.”

“Didn’t you, though?” 

Your question catches him off-guard and you see his furrowed brow in your peripheral. You tried not to put any emotion into your words, but don’t know if you succeeded or not.

“What do you mean?”

“You were gathering intel, right? It’s part of the job to seduce targets.” You’re still looking to the door and away from him, but Cassian turns his body fully towards you and raises a hand in your direction. You lightly step away as you finish. “I just didn’t know our cover had changed, is all. I won’t interrupt you next time.”

Cassian calls out for you, but you’ve already left the room.

***

No one notices anything out of the ordinary after you re-enter the party, but you can feel eyes on you the whole night. Whether they’re Cassian’s or others’ is hard to say – once you returned to mingling with the guests, you started wrapping them around your little finger.

You aren’t discriminating against anyone that seemed interested in you. Any being that you felt had even an inkling of knowledge about something and would only give it up if persuaded, you flirted with. Subtly, of course, since you are ‘married’, but enough to let them know you find them just as interesting as they find you.

You’re only laying the groundwork tonight, so you don’t have to worry about planning any rendezvouses. You wish that Cassian had discussed seduction with you while you were both laying out plans on the way to Coruscant. 

No. 

You wish that seduction wasn’t part of the plans at all. Because as selfish as it is, you want Cassian all to yourself – if only for this mission. 

Stop lying.

As selfish as it is, you want Cassian. Period.

***

You don’t enjoy yourself tonight. Not like any of the other events had been times to enjoy, but at least for those few weeks Cassian had been at your side for most of them. Even so, you can’t pinpoint exactly when Cassian began this part of the plan, which means you are too distracted to be doing your job correctly. You internally berate yourself for the slip up. 

It’s late by the time you and Cassian are standing on the landing platform waiting for your cruiser to arrive. The wind this high up causes you to shiver and cross your arms to try and protect yourself from the chill. While you’re thankful for your thin clothing inside the incessantly warm buildings, walking out into the brisk night air always catches you by surprise. Cassian in the past has always draped his jacket over your bare shoulders when he noticed that you were cold, but he refrains tonight. He stands several feet away from you with his hands clasped behind his back and his jaw tight.

The tension roiling between you is uncomfortable. There were no soft touches or easy conversations between you this evening like you have grown used to. After you left the office and Cassian behind, you had avoided him at all costs. But you’d catch him staring at you as you laid a hand on someone else’s shoulder or whispered into another’s ear. 

You know that he’s upset with you for tonight, but you don’t know what for specifically. Did he think you were too bold in your attentions? It’s not like you had snuck off into a private room with someone in full view of the entire party. 

The thought briefly crosses your mind that you’re trying to make Cassian jealous, but it’s quickly brushed away. Why would it make Cassian jealous to see you flirting with others? It’s not like this is a real relationship anyway… no matter that you were starting to think it was.

Your transport arrives and the doors slide open. The warmth of the ship draws you in and you clamber in on your sore feet. The high-arching shoes you’ve been wearing are kicked off quickly so that you can pull your legs up to rest on the seats beside you. You’re fully reclined when the journey to your suite begins, but Cassian is still rigid in his seat in the farthest corner of the ship from you.

The warm transport grows stifling as you feel the heat of Cassian’s gaze on you. Your eyes are closed where your head is resting on the hull, but you’re too tired to open them and stare back.

“Go on and say whatever it is you’re upset about,” you challenge wearily. The events from earlier in the night and your subsequent ‘star of the party’ mode had worn you to the point of exhaustion. You were ready to be alone and to sleep for the next standard year.

“You do not think that was too much?” Cassian hurls at you. “You throwing yourself at them? We are supposed to be happily married. Why are you not acting accordingly?”

The force of his anger surprises you; you knew he was displeased with your actions by the look on his face throughout the event, but you didn’t think he was angry enough to yell at you. Nerves begin to course through your blood at his raised voice. It reminds you too much of your mother’s anger when you were younger – you have been invisible ever since then, so no one has had a reason to scream abuse at you. 

Until now.

Despite your weariness and building anxiety, the growing sense of your own power helps to bolster you. You will not let him lambaste you for putting your all into this mission. You’ve been here too long as it is, and you need to get away from Cassian so that you can get back to the right headspace without thoughts of him getting in the way of your duties. You’ve been too consumed with the feelings that his touch and presence bring you when you’re together. Too consumed with the thought that maybe he finds your presence just as all-consuming as you find his.

Your hands tremble slightly with nerves and anger as you plant your feet on the floor and turn to face him with a fierce stare.

“You will not speak to me that way, Cassian. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime. And I do not need you questioning me when you’re the one that started seducing targets without consulting me! I also thought the plan was to be ‘happily married’, but imagine my surprise when I found a half-naked Twi-Lek in your arms!”

The transport has arrived at your dwelling by this point, so you grab the hem of your dress and your footwear before stomping off into the entrance hall. You can hear Cassian muttering expletives under his breath as he races after you.

“If you would let me explain,” he begins after grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him. You jerk your arm out of his grip with a hiss.

“Don’t grab me,” you growl out. “We’re done for tonight. I’m sleeping in the guest quarters.” 

And you stalk away, leaving Cassian angry and alone.

***

Night turns into day, and the day turns into many more. Neither of you would admit to what was really the cause of the anger and the fight, not even to yourselves. 

You still attend functions and dinner plans, but the small and casual affection between you and Cassian has disappeared. Instead, quick pecks and a loose arm around the waist was the only physical contact.

You hate this. You hate that you’re acting this way - so unreasonably. If it were anyone else, you might even laugh at their blatant flirtations with others. But with Cassian… any time you see someone else on his arm or someone else whispering in his ear, you see red. The fire you felt that first night with the Twi-Lek comes back with a vengeance and you can’t help but feel stupid for it.

Your ‘home life’ isn’t any better. You both sit at opposite ends of the dining table, staunchly ignoring the other. At least, you try to ignore him. Cassian is still your friend, despite the silence lingering between the two of you. You want to break the war of no words, but it seems like every event resets both of your tempers.

You had yet to return to the extra cot in the master bedroom you used to share with Cassian.

It all came to a head one afternoon. The same Twi-Lek, Anansi, had put her hands all over Cassian in the middle of a crowded dinner party the night prior, eliciting murmurs from the other party-goers about your and Cassian’s physical relationship. Or lack thereof.

You had glared daggers at the both of them, catching Cassian’s eye and snarling your lip at him out of hurt more so than anger. If he wanted to flirt so openly and auspiciously with the targets, then so would you, you rationalized. You found the most eligible officer and made it abundantly clear that you were willing to do anything to stay with him just a little longer. So you went back to his quarters once the party was over. You didn’t stay over for long, stumbling back to your and Cassian’s penthouse long before the suns even rose.

You don’t even fully undress before you fall into a deep sleep. 

You neglect to leave your bed in time for the first meal of the day, but you make it to the small offering a few hours later. Cassian is already seated at the head of the table, so you avoid his eyes as you move to your place across from him.

Nothing is appealing right now, the firewater moving its way out of your bloodstream making you slightly dizzy. You glance up when Cassian’s utensils scrape across his dish.The noise sends shivers down your spine.

“Could you not?” you question quietly.

Cassian looks up with a quirked eyebrow. “Why? Enjoy yourself a bit too much last night, baby?” he taunts, scraping his plate again.

You send him a deadly glare, daring him to do it again. “I’m sure nowhere near as much fun as you had with Anansi last night. Another office, really?”

Cassian slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up forcefully. “At least I didn’t take her home, unlike that officer. Couldn’t even leave the party with your own ‘husband’ – you just had to leave with him. Did you at least get anything from him?” he demands, glowering from across the spread of food between you.

You smirk at him. “Oh, I got plenty from him last night,” you taunt as you stand as well.

You’ll be the first to admit that was a low blow, but Maker did it feel good to give right back as good as you were getting.

Cassian growls and stalks over to you. The sight of his taut shoulders and ridged jaw send you backwards until you’re up against a low table against the wall. His hands land either side of your hips, caging you in. 

Your heart is thundering and you’re slightly shaking with adrenaline. A warm sensation fills your gut and you can’t believe that his anger is making you feel this way.

“Yeah?” Cassian asks in a low voice, his breath fanning across your lips. His face is so close and his eyes are staring deep into your own. “I bet I can give you more.”

And with that, Cassian’s lips are on yours and it’s hard to even breathe. Your arms snake up around his neck and pull his lips closer to yours, deepening the kiss. His hands move from the table and grab onto your hips, allowing him to grind against your abdomen. A hungry growl escapes his mouth when you bite his lip at the action.

Cassian reaches down to your thighs and hauls you onto the table that had been digging into your lower back. You gasp into his open mouth when he spreads your legs wide and settles between your thighs.

The days of anger and pent-up frustration explodes between you both and there’s no stopping the desperate kisses and wandering hands. You grab the side of Cassian’s face with one hand and slide the other down his chest to lay flat on his lower abdomen. You feel his muscles tense as your fingers slip under his waistband to tease him, forcing his hips to rock into you.

Cassian leaves kisses from your waiting mouth and along your jaw until he reaches your ear. He whispers huskily, “I bet he didn’t kiss you like this.”

You groan as Cassian sucks harshly on your neck, leaving red marks. The dress you have on rides up your legs and bunches around your waist as Cassian’s hand trails up the outside of your thigh. When he reaches your hip, he lets out another low groan at what he finds. Or doesn’t find.

“Nothing on underneath? Did you leave him a souvenir? ” he breathes harshly into your mouth, using his other hand to palm your breasts through your dress.

“Ha,” you laugh shakily. You can do nothing except throw your head back against the wall as his fingers travel towards your wet folds. Nothing had prepared you for this interaction with Cassian, but kriff were you glad you weren’t wearing underwear.

Cassian’s thumb presses harshly on your clit and you grasp his wrist tightly to keep him in place. He slowly teases one finger into your aching hole and grabs your neck to force you to meet his eyes as he feels you flutter around his finger. A small whimper escapes you at the hungry look in his eyes and the second finger nudging at your entrance.

“I know you didn’t get this wet for him,” Cassian purrs, still staring into your eyes. It’s hard to keep them open as he pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, but the look he’s giving you is impossible to look away from. 

Your free hand that had been on the table below you to keep you upright takes his hand at your throat and makes him squeeze. You gasp softly at the pressure and Cassian’s eyes blaze. He forces himself closer to you, moving his thumb harder and faster against your nub and forcing your chests together so that there is no space between you. Your eyes slam shut when he scissors his fingers to open you wider and you hear the noise of your juices echoing throughout the room from his movements.

His hand around your throat pushes you back against the wall so that Cassian has a better angle at which to see his fingers moving against you. His mouth waters at the sight of his hand glistening down to the wrist. 

You’re rising higher towards your peak, but not quite there when Cassian leaves you altogether. You cry out at the loss of contact and immediately open your eyes to glare at him. Only he’s no longer face-to-face with you – he’s down on his knees and propping your thighs onto his shoulders. Cassian licks his lips as you stare at each other across the distance of your quivering body.

Your heart beats erratically in your chest, and when he licks his lips it sends another flood of heat towards your pulsing pussy. “Tell me how much you want it,” Cassian murmurs as he kisses your inner thighs while still looking up at you.

“Yes,” you breathe, panting and squirming to get his mouth closer to where you want need it. 

“‘Yes’ what, Princessa?” he questions while blowing lightly along your slit.

“You. I want you,” you gasp out. “Now. Please.”

And that’s all it takes for Cassian’s mouth to finally close in and taste you. Your hands fly into his hair and your shoulders are bearing all of your weight as you lean into the wall for support. You tug and pull at Cassian’s hair, ensuring that he’s in just the right spot at all times. A harsher pull at a particularly good lick causes Cassian to moan into you and you nearly come just from the sensation.

He suckles your clit into his mouth and pushes his fingers back into you. You cry out at his ministrations and try to grind against him, but his arms are pressing you down securely and you can hardly move.

“Yes. Please – please. Cassian!” you chant, trying hard not to dig your nails into his scalp and shoulders as your hands grab onto him. You’re so close that you can taste it.

“Did you scream his name last night? Or were you pretending it was me fucking you?” Cassian nips your folds when you don’t answer immediately, causing you to jerk and moan.

“I-I didn’t– Ah!” 

Cassian once again pulls away from you, raising his eyebrows in challenge. You’re determined that this is the last time he leaves you right on the edge, so you lean over and grab him by the shoulders and haul him up to you. You wrap your legs around him to keep him in place and begin to undo his shirt.

You deliberately let your hands press and knead as you tease him, wanting him as needy as you are. Cassian grabs your jaw and kisses you hard as you reveal his chest. He treats you in kind by pulling the straps of your dress off your shoulders and below your breasts. He palms them with both hands, tweaking the nipples when you reach for his pants.

Cassian rutts into your hands as you work him out of the confining fabric. He’s hot in your hand when you finally release his cock and pump his length. He groans into your mouth again and moves a hand down to yours and pulls it away. 

You try to fight against it, but he guides your entwined hands to your center and makes you soak your palm with your own fluids. Getting the gist of his actions, you rub yourself with his guidance. You’re panting into his mouth as he continues to kiss you. 

You deem your hand thoroughly soaked and place it back on him. He pumps into your fist until his cock is coated in your essence. You reach your free hand around his waist and pull him into the crux of your thighs, guiding him to where you desperately ache to be filled. Cassian pulls your hand away from him and places it against his neck, while his other hand keeps him positioned at your entrance.

He edges into you and stops when he meets a slight resistance. He looks into your eyes for permission to continue, and you nod your head vigorously.

With your acknowledgement, Cassian thrusts in to the hilt. You keen loudly at the sudden intrusion, but the fullness quickly turns all discomfort into an overwhelming need. You open your eyes from where they had closed suddenly and see Cassian already looking at you. He grabs one of your legs to hitch it up further around his waist and uses his other hand to cup your jaw and lean you back against the wall.

Cassian follows you and leans all his body against you. Your naked flesh moves against each other when he begins thrusting into you quickly. You gasp and shake against him, using your arms to keep his mouth on yours as you climb higher and higher once again.

Cassian can tell that you’re close. He raises your leg even higher and places one knee on the low table you’re fucking on, causing him to reach such a deep angle that you see stars with every movement. He’s practically on top of you now, bearing all his weight on his other arm that is grabbing hold of the back of the table to give him even more leverage.

He uses this new angle to thrust hard, slow, and deep. Your eyes water as the head of his cock slams into your g-spot over, and over, and over again. You can barely breathe with all of the pressure against you, but you drag in just enough air in order to scream as your orgasm washes over you. Your arms and legs go rigid around Cassian, forcing him to stay close as he continues to pump into you.

He can feel you pulling and squeezing his dick as your walls try to milk every last bit of pleasure, which leads him to his own finish. Cassian comes inside you hard, groaning in satisfaction. He continues to push into you softly as you both ride the last waves of your highs.

Your legs lose all muscle control and the one not being held up by Cassian drops down against the table. You’re gasping hard, trying to draw in a breath that will allow your head to start clearing from its post-coital fog. You can’t for the life of you remember ever having better sex.

Cassian slowly extracts his length from you and you cry out at the hollow feeling. He chuckles darkly. He pushes the hair that had fallen into his face back with both hands, removing all contact with your skin. “You won’t forget about your ‘husband’ now, will you?” Cassian smiles ruefully.

It takes you a moment to process the thinly concealed venom in his words. You still in disbelief as you puzzle out his meaning. 

Wait… wasn’t that? Didn’t he–?

Your face burns with embarrassment at having been caught out. You’ll admit you were angry at your ‘husband’ at the beginning of this experience, but you threw your anger out the very high-rise window of this dining room as soon as Cassian kissed you.

You replay the words he had said during sex in your mind. You had been too busy at the time to pay much attention to what he was actually saying. He really thought you slept with that officer last night? A Rebel captain, sleeping with an Imperial officer? Who did he take you for?

You thought… but that look in his eyes when he entered you. The-the kisses and the closeness and the feelings. The intimacy that comes along with sex. Doesn’t he…? 

You sit upright and grab the fabric of your dress to cover your breasts. The movement of your hips causes Cassian’s cum to leak out of you, and you watch his eyes trail the droplet as it races downwards.

You don’t understand. You don’t.

Did he not kiss you because he wanted to? Because he has feelings for you? Or did he only do it out of anger?

Your feelings for Cassian have grown over the weeks you’ve been together on this mission, and you thought he felt a similar way. All the intimacy in public and pretty words – even if it has been a while – were they really just an act this whole time?

You stand slowly, feeling your eyes grow hot with tears to mimic the warm wetness between your thighs. You bite your lower lip as you look at the floor by Cassian’s feet.

“I–” you start. “I didn’t sleep with him…” You look up to see Cassian’s eyes widen a fraction. You can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or surprise. “You really think I’d do that?” You question him.

“I don’t know…” Cassian whispers, shaking his head imperceptibly. His hair falls back into his eyes, but he doesn’t make a move to fix it.

You look away from him and towards the skyline outside, avoiding his gaze. You tug your dress back onto your shoulders and wrap your arms protectively around yourself once again.

“I thought you – I thought we… I don’t have sex with just anyone, Cassian.” 

Your voice comes out as a whisper and you wrap your arms tighter around your chest. Your heart constricts in fear and anxiety as you utter your next words. 

“I really like you, Cass. I kind of thought the feeling was mutual…because of – you know.” You shrug your shoulders self-consciously. “I thought as soon as you... felt that I hadn’t been with anyone in a while, you stopped pretending to be mad at me.” You look back to him with sad eyes, tears threatening to fall any second. “We were pretending, right? Because we were jealous?”

Cassian repeats your name in a whisper, sounding like an apology, beginning to lift a hand towards you but seemingly thinking better of it. He closes his mouth and shakes his head in a definitive ‘no’.

That hurt. That hurt bad.

Tears overflow your lashes and a small hiccup leaves your throat, but you nod your head and turn to leave. You feel ashamed of the feelings you had poured into your love-making, realizing that he hadn’t felt it. Realizing that he hadn’t done the same.

You shuffle softly to the door, your steps quiet. Your shoulders rise as a hiccup escapes your lips. You press one hand against your mouth to stifle the sob that is sure to follow. You’ve nearly reached the door when you hear Cassian take in a shaky breath.

“She said she was looking to sell weapons and wanted to know if I was interested. I went with her under the assumption that we could gain ammunition for the Rebellion.” Cassian says to your back. 

His voice is soft. Pleading. Begging you to turn around and understand. Cassian doesn’t know why he had said those things to you just now. Why he had to go and ruin one of the best things that had happened to him in a long time.

He sees you pause in your steps, so he takes a deep inhale to calm his emotions before continuing. He needs to get this right so he doesn’t lose you.

If he hasn’t already.

“I did not mean to hurt you,” he begins. All of his focus is centered on you, so far away. “I can not begin to apologize enough for the things I just said to you. Because I was jealous. Very. But those words – that is something you do not deserve. It was uncalled for to act in the way I did. I was angry at myself for not being brave enough to tell you how I feel. For letting you leave with someone else when all I wanted… when all I feel...is...” Cassian shakes his head in confusion while trying to come up with the right way to say this.

You take a moment before asking the question burning burning between you. 

“...How do you feel?” 

You wring your hands nervously in front of you while awaiting Cassian’s answer. Your heart is racing and you begin to feel light-headed from the anxiety coursing through your body in anticipation.

You feel more than hear the quick footsteps that stop just a hair's-breadth away from your back.

“Like…” Cassian begins, struggling to find the right words to convey just how attached he is to you, “like the galaxy wouldn’t be worth saving without you in it.” A tell-tale warble in his voice sends a stab of pain through your chest.

There’s a light touch at your waist, like he’s afraid that you’re going to run away at the slightest movement. That touch sends the chill that had seeped into your skin burning away and leaves you feeling all the warmth that had disappeared when you sat on that table alone. You let out a sob before spinning around to wrap your arms around his neck and cry into his neck.

Cassian hugs one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders so that he can cup the back of your head. He squeezes with all his strength and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. He whispers “I’m sorry” over and over while you shudder against his chest. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I should not have accused you of sleeping with an enemy when I know you would never.” Another kiss to your temple, then one to your cheek. “I let my jealousy overrule my thoughts. I am so sorry.”

You hiccup again as you turn your face to press your forehead against his neck and bring one of your wrists down to wipe the tears from your face. “We were both wrong,” you tell him. “I misread the situation and didn’t give you the opportunity to explain. I just jumped to my own conclusions and caused this whole mess. I’m sorry.” 

Your throat is raw from your earlier activities and your crying spell, but you feel so much better now that your feelings are out in the open and you’re communicating about how’ve you’ve wronged each other. 

Cassian pulls away slightly and moves his hand from the nape of your neck to smooth along your cheek to collect the tears that are still there. His eyes are soft and sorrowful as he sees what he’s done to you. He makes a silent vow to never be the reason you cry again.

“It hurt to not be near you these past days,” Cassian whispers, resting his forehead against yours. “We’ll promise to talk everything out from now on, yes? 

“Yes.”

You both close your eyes and breathe each other in.

***

You wake late in the evening, the suns a few moments from setting. You feel Cassian’s warm breath against the back of your neck and his whole body as he cradles you from behind. You smile at the closeness, once again relieved that you both apologized and confessed your feelings for each other. 

Cassian escorted you back to the master sleeping quarters when he realized just how exhausted you were after this morning’s events. He’d slipped your dress from your form and pulled the covers up around your shoulders when you slid onto the bed. He crawled in on the other side and moved closer, placing a kiss in your hair before wrapping his arms around you.

You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe. If the universe was kind, you would willingly spend the rest of your existence just like this. You turn over as softly as you can, not wanting to jostle Cassian. When you’re looking into his peacefully sleeping face, you can’t help but lift a hand and trace along his features with the back of one finger.

Cassian’s eyes open for a brief moment before closing again, a hum escaping his lips. You laugh softly at his unwillingness to wake up and continue your tracing.

“We should probably check on the status of everything,” you whisper. “We’ve been MIA for a while now.”

“We have, haven’t we?” Cassian’s gruff voice responds. He lets out a deep sigh and pulls the arm that was around your waist up to catch your hand. “Tickles,” he murmurs while twining your fingers together and leaving them to rest on the pillow between your faces.

What’s a few more minutes going to hurt?

***

This is not good.

Cassian had just called you over to review footage and audio that has been recorded inside your suite from the past couple of days. You noticed an odd gap of time between when one crewmate entered the hallway leading to your private quarters and when they returned. This in and of itself wouldn’t have been enough to warrant any worry, but you saw them slip a piece of your Rebellion issued surveillance equipment into one of the pockets of their uniform as they walked away.

There is no way some common staff member could have found some of the only evidence linking you and Cassian to the Rebellion. No way unless they were smart enough and trained in the same occupation as you. 

You’ve masqueraded as household staff enough times that you should have realized that this was a distinct possibility when hiring a crew to keep up appearances.

You’re barely getting over your shock as you move to watch the next clip of the Adarian’s movements around your quarters. You take note of every movement of their cranial aperture as they scan their surroundings for sounds. Cassian had risen from his seat beside you in order to confirm that one of your signal jammers had indeed gone missing and to then send an encrypted message to Mon Mothma and General Draven to let them know you are now compromised. 

Cassian is just returning to you when you come to the last holovid recording. He’s too riled to sit down again, so he stands behind your chair and lays a hand on your shoulder. You place your hand over his and worry your lip.

You watch as the Adarian closes their eyes and presses their head against a wall adjacent to the entryway from the landing pad. You're wondering what they could be hearing when Cassian’s hand grips your shoulder.

You look up at him and open your mouth to ask what the problem is, but he stops you.

“Look at the time.”

You furrow your brows and glance at the timestamp. Your blood runs cold in your veins.

“They heard us...” you breathe to Cassian as you tighten your hold on him.

“I mentioned buying ammunition for the Rebellion…” Cassian remembers out loud. Your lip is nearly bleeding with how hard your teeth are working it.

“Kriff,” you mutter.

Cassian flexes his fingers under yours before sliding back across the room to update the message to your superiors about your immediate removal from the situation. You ponder the implications of ending the mission here, now, and realize that if someone knew enough to plant a spy within the staff that the Rebellion hired directly, then they knew enough to be dangerous.

You stop Cassian before he can send for an escape vehicle. “This is the only one that has shown any subversive behavior.” You begin. “We need to follow them and find out who planted them here.” Your eyes bore into his as he takes the time to deliberate between escape and possible death.

Cassian finally assents. “They’re to finish their shift in the next standard hour, so we’ll have an opportunity then.”

You spend what little time you have planning the recon details with heads together and hushed voices.

***

The alias given by the Adarian, Sulet, didn’t turn up anything useful when the Rebellion ran the initial background check before they were employed, so you are now confident that this is a false identity. Their history is incredibly detailed and in-depth, so whoever they work for has good connections.

You and Cassian follow Sulet onto a hyperbus that takes you to another sector close by, where they are soon picked up by a private hovercraft. You have to commandeer a speeder left nearby, deftly connecting wires and slinging yourself onto the vehicle. The small seat has you pressed up against Cassian’s back and feeling his muscles move as he steers. 

Cassian follows the craft from a distance that still allows him to watch its movements, but not be detected by the passenger. The insane traffic pattern soaring between the buildings on different levels makes you glad that Cassian is the one driving and not you, since your eyes are watering from the wind. You have a hard time focusing on anything further away than Cassian’s elegant neck and windswept hair. You burrow your head between his shoulder blades to escape the biting wind as you both race after the hovercraft.

You feel the speeder slow as the hovercraft drops Sulet off at some upper level quarters. The prime location and size alone tells you that they have the credits to employ their own personal spy.

You watch from above as the Adarian looks around furtively and moves inside.

“What do you think?” You ask Cassian.

“It could be a trap,” he replies. “They were smart enough to figure out we’re part of the Rebellion, they had to have known we’d be able to follow them at any point in time.” He peers down at the unassuming penthouse below.

“Especially with that device and what they heard this morning after we… after.” You blush profusely at the memories that are only hours old and remembering how loud you were when you came on Cassian’s hard…

Stop it.

“We need to be careful,” Cassian murmurs. “Backup will not arrive for a while yet.”

You nod against his shoulder blade and have him settle the speeder down onto the same landing pad the hovercraft dropped the Adarian off. You grasp your blaster firmly in your hands, ready to defend yourself. Cassian follows you as you both dismount and make your way slowly and cautiously to the doors.

You settle either side of the opening and look into each other’s eyes, signaling your readiness after not hearing anything from inside. You both jump away from the wall and bring your blasters up, pointing directly into the darkened living space. There is no sign of movement, the Adarian nowhere to be found.

Sparing a quick glance at Cassian, he motions for you to search your half of the room. You nod. Creeping along the wall, you scan behind the sofa and nudge the window coverings.

Nothing.

You look over to Cassian and find him already looking your way. He shakes his head, not having found anyone either.

“I don’t like this,” you mouth. Cassian agrees with another head shake.

You’re just turning to face the closed door keeping you both out of the rest of the home, when the door suddenly flies open and there’s a blaster pointed right at you.

Your eyes widen in surprise. Your training kicks in and your blaster seems to aim itself while you dodge for cover. Your blaster isn’t the only one that had gone off – Cassian slams into the cushions behind you and rolls down to crouch on the floor with you, his blaster smoking.

Adrenaline is high as you and Cassian take turns to give covering fire as you make your way slowly back towards the landing pad and your stolen speeder. You’re hunched behind a sturdy end table, waiting for your blaster to cool off, while Cassian fires on your assailants. He’s positioned not far from you, his back to the exit to cover your next move so he doesn’t see the figure land just outside the doors.

“Cassian!” you yell desperately, reaching a hand towards him to drag him down and out of the way of blaster fire. Your gun is still too hot, incapable of taking out the figure that has the two of you pinned down. Your hand clutches Cassian’s shirt, twisting him and throwing him down to the floor on your other side. Unfortunately, his weight destabilizes your center of balance, causing your bent legs to give way and making you topple sideways over Cassian’s now prone figure.

A sharp pain slams into your left shoulder blade. You cry out, but still whirl around to fire, hoping beyond hope that your blaster has had enough time to equilibrate. A bright red beam soars from your gun and hits your opponent square in the chest. They go down with a soft thud, leaving your escape path clear.

You turn back to Cassian, planning to grab him and run, but you’re frozen by the look on his face and his hands around his throat. Cassian sputters as if he can’t breathe, trying desperately to claw at his throat to relieve whatever invisible force is closing his airways.

Force.

Maker be damned.

You move your eyes back to the doorway where all your adversaries had seemed to pour only moments ago. Bodies litter the ground, the Adarian’s among them, courtesy of your and Cass’s excellent aim, but there was one person still standing.

A familiar figure you hadn’t seen since you kicked her out of your ‘home’ at your first party.

Your mother stands there, one hand directed at Cassian, fingers curling inward.

“Daughter,” she greets smugly.

“Let him go.” Your voice comes out as a hiss, spitting venom towards the woman in front of you. You already have your blaster pointed directly at her head.

Your mother clucks her tongue. “Now, now, dear. You wouldn’t want to make me kill your husband now, would you?” 

Her fingers come closer together, and Cassian falls to his knees. Your heart twists in your chest at seeing Cassian in pain, but you dare not take your eyes and your aim from your mother.

“Stop.”

“Lower the weapon and I’ll let him go,” she croons with a smile on her face. She is enjoying watching you plead for Cassian’s life. You’re tempted for a split second to do as she says, but Cassian interrupts you before you even move.

“No. Princessa, no,” he gasps. “Kill her.”

Your eyes meet his, and you see determination blazing through him. His strength lends you the power to turn back to your mother and pull the trigger.

Instead of your finger squeezing the trigger, you feel it extending away. You curse and try with all your might to fire your blaster.

Tutting softly, your mother shakes her head.

“I was giving you one last opportunity, daughter.”

Her fingers close the gap between each other and Cassian slumps to the floor.

“NO!” you scream, panicked. You watch Cassian’s chest for any sign of movement, but before you can confirm anything, you feel your own throat being squeezed.

You gasp and turn your focus back on your mother, trying desperately to think of any way out of this before you, too, lost consciousness.

A short sigh leaves your mother’s mouth. “Look what you’ve done, now.”

“Me?” you struggle past your lips. “This is all you.”

“No,” she says firmly. “This is all because of you. Everything I do is because of you.”

Rage burns through you and your words come out icy. “Everything you’ve ever done is all for yourself, mother.” You take as deep of a breath as you can to continue. “Nothing you ever did benefited me.”

“I made you strong,” she growls.

“You abused me!” you cry. Big, fat tears drop from your eyes and what little breath you’ve been able to pull in leaves you in stuttered breaths. “My entire childhood was ruined because of you! My only solace, my only happiness, my only friends. You made them think I was dead!”

“Friends,” she scoffs, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “We don’t need friends. We’re better than everyone else! They should worship us, our strength, our power! We are above them!”

“No,” you whisper out. “We are not better than anyone. We are not anything! You! You think that way. You hurt and maimed and killed so many people because you thought it was entertaining! Because you thought it would teach me ‘strength’.” 

There’s blackness creeping along the outsides of your vision, all the air you’re expelling in your tirade causing a loss of oxygen in your lungs and brain, your heart pumping overtime to accommodate. You gasp big, heaving breaths as you collect yourself.

Your mother stands rooted, anger apparent in the severe set of her mouth and deeply furrowed brows. Her eyes could set the whole city on fire.

You know that there is no coming back from this moment – that whatever happens here, there will only be one of you to make it out alive.

The problem you’re facing now is that you haven’t used your power in years. Over a decade, maybe. The mental muscles you used in adolescence have atrophied in the years that you’ve pushed this part of yourself into the background, trying to forget. 

You pull with all your might, forcing your awareness to focus on your mother. You search deep within her, past organs, past muscle, past tendons. You reach into her cells, finding those miniscule particles she had taught you were the key to your powers. 

You call out to them. Asking, begging, pleading them to obey you. Wanting them to do something that will stop your mother.

Stop her from killing you now. Stop her from hurting Cassian any further – if it wasn’t already too late. Stop her from continuing on this dark path that can only lead to death and destruction.

You feel a rush when the little beings begin to vibrate. It begins as a quiet little shiver, but slowly builds.

Your mother’s eyes widen in fright, her focus broken between cutting off your air or protecting herself from you.

“What are you doing?!” she shouts, arms quivering. She can barely stand, her legs are bowing at the knees and she begins to sink down onto the ground.

The shivering envelopes her cells, vibrates her muscles, quakes her entire body, until she can no longer maintain her hold over you. She collapses forward, crying helplessly. 

The rage you’ve suppressed for your entire life boils through your veins, setting you alight. You feel good. Strong. Stronger than you’ve ever felt; the trials and tribulations she put you through growing up not even comparable to your feelings now. 

“Please. Please! Daughter, stop! Stop!” she sobs into the carpet, curling into herself as if to protect herself from a violent beating, from a violent person. 

But no other threat exists. Only you.

“Why?” you whisper hoarsely, voice barely loud enough to cross the distance between you and your pathetically weeping mother. “You never did.”

With a violent yank, you grab onto the essence within your mother, pulling it away from her and towards you.

She screams for a split second as the power leaves her body, and then she falls unconscious. All the power that once filled her now dances around you. You can feel the energy they house, their want of a new host, their preference for you.

You allow them in.

There’s a tingling sensation across your skin, a warmth enfusing into your blood. You shiver softly, close your eyes, and take in a deep breath. You feel at peace, calm. All your worries have disappeared knowing that your mother could never hurt you again.

A pained groan fills the silence that had settled around you. You jolt, realizing that you need to check on Cassian.

Feeling immensly guilty for taking so long but also incredibly grateful that he is still alive, you rush over to his side. He still lays on the floor with his eyes closed, but you see his chest moving rhythmically with each breath. As you place a hand on his chest, Cassian’s eyes flutter open.

You grin down at him, enjoying the contact as he places his hand over yours.

“You…” he breathes. “You did it.”

“Yes,” you say. “I did. Finally.”

Cassian smiles up at you, pride evident in his eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Princessa.”

The warmth from both the power and Cassian’s hand travels to your heart, filling it with love and hope for a long life with the man here with you. 

“Come on,” you urge gently, tugging Cassian into a sitting position so that you can help him stand. “Let’s get back to base so that you can rest.”

Cassian comes to his feet and you pull one of his arms over your shoulders, allowing him to place his weight against you. You both begin to shuffle away when Cassian turns his head to look back over his shoulder.

“What about her?” he questions.

You glance back as well to see the crumpled woman on the floor. You no longer feel any fear, or anger, or hatred towards her. You feel nothing at all.

“I honestly don’t care,” you reply. “When our backup gets here, they can take her or leave her. I don’t care what happens to her after today.”

Cassian reaches across his body and clasps your hand within his. He gives a firm squeeze, then interlocks your fingers. Placing a soft kiss on your temple, he urges you to keep moving forward.

As you both walk into the fading sunset, you see a picture in your mind. A murkiness around the edges trying to invade the focal point of the image. But that center pulses with an overwhelming feeling of love, and safety, and contentment. 

You and Cassian stand together inside the image, holding onto each other and never letting go.

[gothicprep]

i don’t know why i waste my time looking at noxious ~gender war~ bs, but i always find myself floored by how people making arguments from the standpoint of biology manage to get everything wrong.

the “men were evolved to just blast their load everywhere” is, like, red pill fanfiction. i have no idea where anybody got this from. I’m assuming it’s from something called “arkham asylum crowd sourced biology textbook”, which isn’t a physical book, it’s something that appears to you in a dream if you don’t eat for 3 days.

so, if I’m remembering this correctly, with primate species, whether they have monogam-ish norms or not is heavily correlative with testicular size. smaller testicles = more monogamous. humans are on the small end of the spectrum.

or, as I’m certain biologists call it, the nicki minaj hypothesis of species monogamy:

so, going off this information, I’d make the semi-educated guess that sexually dimorphic libido in humans probably has something to do with ovulation windows being relatively short. gotta be prepared, or goddamnit, the species dies out.

biologists in chat, feel free to correct me if I’m way off. from my vantage point, this seems like a fair conclusion, but this also isn’t my lane at all.

granted, asking these types of people to engage with anything scientific is like feeding a chimpanzee nothing but gin and lead paint chips for three years and then telling them “now go and write the next great american novel”. the results you get from this range from “disappointing” to “complete unmitigated disaster”.

[urhoneycombwitch]

How do the roommates handle the holidays? I’m envisioning arguments about what movies/shows are actually classics, or which songs are the Best ones, spats about how early is **too** early to put up lights—all resolved by bumping holiday uglies.

well their latest fight happened yesterday because Argyle gave Eddie this beautiful wood carved marijuana leaf that's meant to go in the center of a wreath, but you guys don't have a holiday wreath for the apartment door yet. and plus,

you think it looks unfestive on its own and probably should not be hung on the front door for all your neighbors to see. Eddie disagrees on the neighbor point but also refuses to drop 5$ on a proper Christmas wreath, so he's currently digging around the building's property line (in 5 below weather) for branches to make his own out of spite (from your cozy warm vantage point at the window above the sink, tea in hand, wreath making does not appear to be going in his favor)

also. upcoming. sneak peek for my beloved rebelfell <3

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary233

5/5-6/2024

sunday - monday

read an interesting thing about ai,

there it is, the thing.

i think it says a lot of what i tend to say about ai, things i've said here though in a very different way, the convergent regions are that ai as it is talked about tends to wash away involvement of humans, both in the creation of the data, which she notes here as being consistently and always ideological/ideologized. it is also a kind of labor often ignored or rather we use the sheen of technology and development to imagine it away. beyond this convergence, there is the other that ai is not inhuman or outside the human, but that it is of the human, informed by it and importantly, now informing it. the author writes:

"Computer vision doesn’t learn to see like humans, but the other way around; the task of labeling vision datasets conditions our seeing."

this is not to say, i think, that our involvement in the development of this supposed/fantasized outside makes us inhuman, or whatever, i think the point, for me at least, is precisely that this is the writing of humanity, the creation of new disciplines, a new monologic formation , or perhaps simply, nothing new, the classically monologic, formation, yes this is better, this is right i think, that develops the category and science of the human. we are defined in the negative by the creation of the outside, the outside enables us to act in certain ways by washing hands of intent. as she describes here these systems which might merely suggest killings are in truth, using categories and annotated information already labored upon and spat back out, to offer direction to killing. everyone is signing off on things, sanitizing themselves of the act. this is then, the human.

she says as much here

"Due to cultural depictions and the imprecise and fantastical language we use to talk about it, we have reified AI as something outside of us, something alien and inhuman summoned from elsewhere which strains towards the phantasmagoric goal of ‘approximating’ human intelligence, and that is what is incorrect and dangerous. It is perhaps one of the most human of engineering systems we have ever built. If we want to form a coherent critique of technology, capital and militarism, it is then even more important to be clear-eyed about what we mean when we say ‘artificial intelligence’—without metaphors, anthropomorphization or alarmism—given the seriousness of the stakes."

it develops, fashions, enables the human to go on, the processes of the enlightenment subject, the rationality we assume, so on and so forth. under this monologic gaze, madness becomes less and less a form of life, and more and more it becomes a problem as one might see in the ai, the metaphor develops that beyond the norm lies error, rather than refutation. it is not solely a technology of, maybe barely even a, efficiency

perhaps my biggest disagreement here would come from her rather well stated though maybe, missing something, argument that ai is mostly this nothing-apparatus. i do think that, in its math, it does something beyond enable these awful decisions, this laundering (she says eventually, against myself here: "I’m not trying to say that AI is in itself just a conceptual cheat"), it does something. nothing good or defensible, mind you, this connects to my sense of it as a custodian of language, creating the possible of expression, creating the norms and measuring them and ensuring they are spat back out. we are not training it, we learn from it, from our supposed outside which observes from vantages we feed it, that we maybe lose sight of because of some sort of, idk, through so manay apparatuses the evolution of the system i guess makes it easy to lose sight. this is likely intended. i suppose the custodial aspects aren't special to ai, rather that it is a technology that enforces the human while expanding the human capacity, labor becomes mechanized in one's self interest, one's mind turns to the norm as repeated and safely guarded, again, repetition here becomes important i guess. scattered thoughts dealing with computer stuff as i speak (going well, though).

a final point, relating to this quote which i will pull:

"The excessive pride over our domination of the natural world with technology leads to the delusion that humanity encounters itself and only itself everywhere it looks; a species-level narcissism which appears to be reflected in, for example, the hand-waving we do in order to relate artificial neural networks to the biochemical mechanisms of the human brain."

i think here is a missing opportunity though i know the author is not fond of tiqqun as far as i am aware (i think more regular-ish marxists tend to dislike them because they can be... anarchists, i guess, i d k!!). but what she outlines here is without a doubt part of the cybernetic hypothesis, that nature is a system, is one, and that humans being of nature are another system, via the elucidation of, research into, the science of / creation of technologies to measure these systems, "ai" becomes possible. this is nothing short of the creation/refashioning of the ideal of the human into something more utile, or rather, the taking up of the project of the human as something to extract more out of. the cybernetic hypothesis when thinking of this narcissism of the vision of nature and worldly / bodily / existential functioning/living becomes indispensable i believe.

i want to put a pin in this article and come back tomorrow maybe. it is very ripe and i am not getting my thoughts out as i would like, but it is very very true, in most ways. and it's very useful for me as a referent.

another thing from today, that i have lots of odd feelings about.

i tend to be fond of birardi, here i don't think much less of him, for the most part, though i must say the end is rather odd. i think it's easy to respond to it kind of uh, not as well as he'd like. is what i might say. really it feels mostly like his point might be semi-salient but to put such little hope into, or to assume that everyone has no faith in, hamas. it just comes off as someone who doesn't really entirely get, as i do not entirely get, the factions of the region or islam. i can't suggest i know anything beyond the fact that i really feel it is impossible for me to assume much of what discourses go on over there or what they know or think. my windows into that are limited, i would like to know, but basically so much of what circulates comes off as totally racist and islamaphobic that you have to be pretty guarded when these discourses appear.

as i write that, i see in my yt recs, visiting the most dangerous country on earth, afghanistan. no comment really beyond, why be so awful.

alright, the system image thing didn't work (dumb of me) but whatever. i think i can figure something out. i can basically get most everything back, and then i need to just... re do a couple things. should not be too much.

beyond that, i was just watching cutie honey episode 1, the old 70s one, it really is just better than kill la kill in every way.

i also watched one of the violence jack ovas. i didn't expect so much. it was kind of insane and terrible and stuff but really good also. so that was fun. i kind of want to rip bits out for a music vid.

anyway, that's a lot of stuff done today, and time wasted basically buuuut... tomorrow things should be better with the computer. it seriously stresses me so much when it doesn't work, i got drenched with sweat!! i was like panicked and stuff and it made my hair all screwed up kinda and stuff. i hate it but it'll be okay. i will figure it out. i have to!!!!

i simply have to

so with that,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[scaranation]

Hi are you open for requests?? I wanted you to try making a story out of this thought I had in my head about scaramouche. So like reader died but here's the thing she keeps getting reincarnated and would always found her way back to Scaramouche. The first time she died Scaramouche thought that the reader's passing was another betrayal so he was sad and angry about it, years later he met with reader but has no recollection of her past life but she's still the exact same person, same everything. Idk whats next...

Just Scaramouche realising that reader never left him.

You can throw this away if this doesn't pique your interest.

I’m so sorry this is also late I was intending to write it since a while ago and it might be slightly short but I did my best <3

Also the prompt was so good ahh I’m just scared I haven’t covered the scope of it

༊*·˚ 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄

Pairing: Scaramouche x GN!reader

Content: Angst, fluff, comfort, death

In which Scaramouche thinks you’ve betrayed his affections at your death, only to realise years later that you’d never truly left.

The first time you fell for Kunikuzushi was under the shade of a maple tree.

Leaves swaying in the wind, gently swishing as his hands gripped yours in earnest. In a promise of sorts, as you realised that you loved him as more than just a friend. At that time, Kunikuzushi decided he wouldn’t ever be able to bear losing you - and his hold on your hands turned into a desperate plea to keep you with him. He hadn’t yet joined the fatui, and so his eyes were bright as they searched yours for the same promise.

Sunny afternoons and dates underneath cheerfully vibrant leaves turned into a norm for the two of you during summer. Words were often unneeded, rather, you would simply sit by each other in quiet companionship. Watching the clouds drift by from your vantage point, feeling as though time no longer mattered.

The feeling of your fingers gently carding through his hair, the peaceful silence of the Inazuman scene. Kunikuzushi was certain there was no greater pleasure than this. The love you shared wasn’t overly dramatic, but it was constant. Enduring, despite small arguments or difficulties. He never had much to do, so Kunikuzushi always waited for you - a member of the Kaedehara clan - to return to your meeting place each day and gently hold him in your arms.

-

The first time you’d betrayed Kunikuzushi was also under that same maple tree. Crumpled crimson leaves splayed around your body like rivulets of dry blood, his hands holding yours once more - not in tentative love, but in hurt and anger.

It was almost as though he refused to register the blade embedded deep in your chest, refused to piece together the fact that you’d been assassinated on account of conflict within the Kaedehara clan. Rather, the young puppet could only focus on how you’d left him.

Had you thought of him, as your eyes glazed over? Not that it mattered. With the one constant stability in his life ripped away, that was the last betrayal Kunikuzushi needed.

-

And so, you couldn’t blame Kunikuzushi - now called Scaramouche - for his reaction when, decades later, he saw you again under the withered branches of that tree, looking as though no time had passed at all. You couldn’t blame him for being distraught when you held no recollection of your past life, only offering a meek smile as he collapsed at your feet and begged for you to stay.

How cruel, fate was, to put you in front of him like this - and yet have you remember none of your past. And yet, instead of stinging betrayal, Scaramouche could only feel relief as he clung to your confused form. Relief that at least, you were somehow alive again. Truly, you had never left him.

You, on the other hand, were confused as to why a fearsome harbinger was burning his face into your neck and wrapping his arms around your waist - but the ordeal felt surprisingly natural.

As though you’d done this thousands of times before.

[bastardfae]

“oh, that’s genius. yeah! yeah, we should. nobody’s gotta know our business but us, right? ‘m sure they’ve got books in the library about historical codes an’ stuff. we’ll take inspiration from the past. i mean, how hard can it be to make up a code?” there was no doubt in arnon’s mind that it would actually be more than a little challenging to piece together what would effectively be an entirely new language between the two of them but with a little motivation and determination, the halfling was confident that they’d be able to come with something. it took arnon by surprise to be offered the small pleasure of asserting a boundary. since being forced into servitude under tiernan’s command, arnon had practically forgotten that boundaries were even a thing. he blinked a couple of times as he processed gibson’s kindness before offering a brief nod. “oh– yeah. yeah, ‘course. if it’s ever a problem, i’ll let you know. but you’re not a dick about it, so i don’t think it’s gonna be an issue. ‘s nice to have the option for once, though. thanks for… letting me have a say in stuff, i guess. kinda forgot what that felt like.”

the question caught him by surprise for a moment but arnon wasted no time in reassuring the celestial as best he could. “are you kidding? of course you can. i’m not even smart, i jus’ lack a filter and get too passionate about stuff. give it a little time, yeah? once we’ve gone through a few study sessions or whatever, you’ll retain stuff faster than you realise. ‘s kinda like muscle memory, y’know? the more you go over stuff, the more it sticks in your head. some things you won’t ever forget. fuck knows what, but there’s bound to be a few things that’ll stay in that head of yours.” arnon never would have considered himself qualified enough to be any kind of tutor but considering the subject matter they’d primarily be focusing upon, the halfling doubted there would be anyone better suited for it than himself. it wasn’t as if abbàn would be pitching in – the old bastard hadn’t even bothered to properly visit him yet, after all. “give it a little time. we’ll get there. soon enough, you’ll have more information stored away than you’ll know what to do with. trust me.” 

gibson’s praise of the fae brought a bright grin to arnon’s face instantly – such kindness was in desperately short supply around the castle, unsurprisingly, but that only made it all the more flattering to hear. “exactly. the declaration of war only came about ‘cause they didn’t agree with vampiric domination across the board. i mean, yeah, there’s the whole argument that the faeries wanted to usurp one totalitarian regime for another, but i don’t think they would’ve ruled anywhere near as cruelly as the leeches up top do now. not if it was a seelie majority in charge, anyway.” arnon’s grin remained in place as he listened, nodding enthusiastically as gibson spoke. “uh huh. that’s right. according to my sources, this place was used as a fortress for the fae during the second war. kept ‘em safe for a while. was an excellent vantage point, too. it also functioned as a place to hold any prisoners of war which is… less great, but that’s jus’ a side effect of war, isn’t it? ‘s never pleasant.” it was oddly comforting to think of all the times he’d accidentally retraced his father’s footsteps without realising it whilst exploring the castle – even if they were forced to be apart from one another for now, knowing that minuscule traces of abbàn still remained took some of the edge off of being held captive within the castle. 

“you say strong, everyone else i know says stupid, guess ‘s perpetually up for debate.” arnon gave a halfhearted shrug as he contemplated gibson’s words. “i don’t think it’s really got anything to do with being strong, necessarily– it’s jus’... wanting what’s best for everyone, y’know? none of us deserve to be stuck here. each and every one of us deserves to have our freedom reinstated. there’s no justifiable reason to adhere to the rules an’ regulations put in place by those freaks up above,” arnon’s grin quickly dissolved into a sneer as his gaze flickered up to the ceiling, scowling at the realisation that various members of the council were idly going about their day without a single care or concern for those forced into submission by their rule. “i mean, really, what’s the point? we’ve gotta do what they say jus’ because they’ve said so? yeah, no. that’s not a good enough reason. anyone can make up a few rules. doesn’t mean any of us need to abide by ‘em. they’ve gotten away with shit for too long. ‘s time to start undoing their mess an’ to carve out a future that actually means somethin’ for the rest of us.” forcing himself to take a breath, arnon heaved a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to gibson with an apologetic smile. “sorry. didn’t mean to rant at you. ‘s annoying, that’s all.”

"We should code them so they seem like stupid riddles that mean nothing if someone who isn't us sees them. And then if we like people we can tell them out to decode it. But if we get caught it'll just me silly little scribbles. I think the masters think I'm kind of an air head anyway because I space out a lot." The idea of a secret between the two of them made Gibson excited. Something just the two of them would share unless they wanted to loop in other people. Gibson practically beamed in joy when he was told that he was a special exception of physical affection with Arnon, Gibson loved contact and affection. Being locked up in a cage for so long he was touch starved, and it was nice to connect with people again- and more so he found himself already fond of Arnon. With a little laugh he hugged Arnon a bit tighter and rested his head on the top of the half fae's head. "That makes me feel special. If you ever don't want me to touch you just tell me." he said making sure that Arnon would know that his comfort was more important to him than hugs. Even if Gibson loved hugs.

"You think I can be smart like you? I've read lots of books but I don't think I'm smart. It's like all the stuff I know is floating around in my head- sometimes it comes to me and sometimes it doesn't." he said with a little laugh giving his head a playful little wrap with his knuckles. "Sometimes it's like my head is empty. And then pop. Ideas. Or thoughts just come in." Gibson listened to Arnon talk about fate, and destiny. Both things that made sense to him. He had always felt the same way- while he had never met any sort of creator or God. He felt like there had to be some guiding force in all of this. "Faeries make a lot of sense. I can see why they were in charge of the war effort. That and like they had a military and stuff. Someone told me this castle was a faerie castle. But it seems kinda scary now...not like how you'd like a faerie castle would be like in stories."

Gibson was really in awe of Arnon, his courage. Sure Gibson could bring himself to commit small acts of rebellion. A lost paper, dragging his feet when being told what to do- the absent air headed smile he had when asked questions by masters sometimes. But Arnon was really out there challenging them on their shit daily. Though that did make the angel worried and scared for him. "You're so strong. Like crazy strong."

[averagejoesolomon]

Surprise! This is one heck of a chapter and it was eating away at my brain all week, which has resulted in a quicker-than-usual chapter. Have some Matt and Rachel!! If you're new here, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3.

Chapter Ten

“What are you doing here?”

It’s well past sunset, but the sky hasn’t yet forgotten the light of day. A low, radiant blue eases up from the horizon and stretches toward the dark and deepening promise of an oncoming night. The grounds of the Cameron estate have faded to a pale, strained gray, which might explain why Matt hears the voice before he spots its source. With less than ten minutes until total nightfall, Rachel is little more than a silhouette as she rounds the crest of a shallow hilltop.

Matt turns away. “You told me to get lost,” he reminds her. “So I’m getting lost.”

He doesn’t add that it’ll be another fifteen minutes before his cab arrives, because the last person he told was a burly, cross-armed bouncer at the mansion entrance who told him to move along. With the party still in progress, Matt was ordered to wait further out of sight, which is how he finds himself at the edge of the property line, tucked alongside a budding willow tree and the pond over which it weeps. That’s just as well. This is a better vantage point anyway, and he can finally give up on this ridiculous, bow-tied cover.

But even when he’s hidden away, Rachel still finds him, and she’s walking with the kind of purposeful, powerful stride she usually saves for rogue agents, right before she takes a swing. “That’s not what I’m asking,” she bites, “and you know it.”

She’s still got that thread of cruel fury strung through her every word. When Matt hears it, he can’t help but snatch it from the air and pull. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”

There’s no stopping Rachel when she sets her mind to something, which means there’s no stopping her as she charges straight through the evening with her hands twisted into fists. Matt drops his duffel on instinct, defaulting into a defensive stance, but with every step, he sees more of her—the wrinkles in her dress, the disheveled hair, the way her heels sink into the muddy hillside. She dissolves from strength to sorrow right before his eyes. “Langley says you’re supposed to be in Romania,” she shouts. “Abby says you’re flying in from Texas. And now you’re running around my home, starting arguments with my—”

“I didn’t start that argument—”

“Enough.” She lands right at his feet. “Just enough, already. You’re going to stand there, and I’m going to yell at you, and you’re going to listen—”

“No, you’re going to listen.” His finger lands inches from her face. “I’ve had just about enough of you riding in on your high horse and looking down on me—I’m not that clueless kid you met at Camp Peary anymore, and you’re gonna stop treating me like I am.”

Her teeth grind against the set of her jaw. “You’ve got three seconds to get your hand away from me before I snap it into ten different pieces,” she tells him. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

Wrath is stealing his patience, and his goodwill, and his logic, but even with all of that heat pumping through him, he knows better than to tempt Rachel into following through on a threat. He lets his finger fall, but raises his voice to make up for it. “Why shouldn’t I talk to you like that?” he says. “God forbid anyone disagree with the almighty Cameron sisters—”

“You leave Abby out of this. This is not about Abby.” 

Matt’s whole life has been about Abby since the day he met her. “Of course it’s about Abby,” he says. “Everything’s about Abby, because she makes everything about her. She twists the whole world around her little finger and then she acts surprised when someone says they’re in love with her, and then she—”

“When someone what?”

“I told her,” Matt barks. “And she totally blew me off, because she’s selfish, and reckless, and she can’t commit to anything—not even herself.”

“Hey, do not talk about her like that,” Rachel snaps. “You do not talk about Abby like that. What has gotten into you lately—and don’t you lie to me. Do not lie to me. I know when you’re lying.”

“On account of how you know everything, huh?”

Rachel takes another step forward, frantic and fast. Just short of a jab. She’s right up to his chest when she says, “You have been looking for a fight since you first got here—so guess what? You finally found one.” Budding tears gleam against the empty sunset, but they ain’t the product of sadness. These are the bitter, burning tears of righteous rage. “If you’re going to be angry with someone, then you better start with me, Matthew—and you better strike me down quick, otherwise I will come back at you blow, after blow, after blow until that bruised jaw is the least of your problems.”

There’s a part of him that can’t stand the sight of a woman like her crying in front of a man like him, but it’s small, and dwindling fast compared to the part of him that wants to twist the hurt deeper into her core. In that slim instant, all he wants is to humble the Hell out of her, the same way the Circle has humbled the Hell out of him, and it’s only after she makes the offer that Matt realizes he does want a fight, actually.

It’s real annoying, that she gets to be right about this, too.

“Why can’t you just admit that there are some things not even the mighty Rachel Cameron knows about?”

“There’s plenty I do know—I know you’ve been doubling up on missions.”

“So what?”

“I know you stopped going to church.”

“What’s that got to do with—?”

“I know you just kicked my dear friend into the ground, and threatened him to the point of tears.”

“Yeah, and that guy’s a real prize, by the way.” His words freeze against the springtime air and mingle with the fog on her breath. “Honestly, Rachel, you deserve better than him, and the fact that you don’t see it—”

“I do see it,” she shouts, and to emphasize her point further, her bare left hand cuts through the mere inches that separate her face from his. “That’s why I’m not married to him, you virtuous asshole. But even if I was, you can’t just throw people around like a rag dolls—”

He grabs her wrist and holds it there, hand shaking at the same furious frequency as his voice. “You’ve got no idea what I can and can’t do,” he says, and it comes out like a warning—low and ragged. A blinding white tension teases every last nerve he has. “Not one damn clue.”

But Rachel’s chin stays high, her voice even as ever. “Get off of me,” she says, and when Matt doesn’t listen, she gives the order again. The second time comes with a shove that sends them both backwards, stumbling through slick clumps of grass. “Get off of me.”

Instinct sends his hand out to catch her elbow, aiming to steady her, because he’s given enough farm tours to know heels and mud don’t mix. Except Rachel sure don’t see it that way. She just pulls further back, because Rachel has never needed anyone else to keep her steady. When she does catch her balance, she pauses. Studies him. Her eyes pass over him from top to bottom, searching, until a great, round tear finally grows too heavy and trails down the curve of her cheek. 

Her voice shakes with his. “What… happened to you?” He wonders how long she’s been dancing around this question, because now that it’s finally out in the open, it feels tender and wilted. “You used to be patient and kind. You used to show mercy to everyone you met.”

Matt has to swallow, hard, to keep back indignant tears of his own. “Yeah, well,” he snaps. “Maybe all that nonsense was making me a godawful spy.”

“Maybe it was,” she agrees, with all of her stubbornness and pride. “But I know plenty of good spies, Matthew. It’s not often I meet good people. And it’s a shame, and a waste, and a categorical disaster that Joe wrung that out of you—”

“Don’t.” He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to fight this particular fight. “Don’t even start—this ain’t about Joe.”

And for the first time all evening, Rachel’s voice drops to something just above a whisper. He’s got no choice but to key in and listen good. “Everything you do is about Joe.” Her face grows long, holding back the quiver in her lip as she keeps each word steady and concise. “And I don’t know how you haven’t figured that out yet.”

It’s real easy to get lost in this line of work. Matt sees it all the time. He’s seen analysts lose hours of their life to encryptions that can’t be cracked. He’s seen field agents get buried under guilt, or grief, or paranoia. Some people get so lost in the world of espionage that despite their greatest and most determined efforts, they never land back home at the end of the day.

Matt ain’t lost, because Matt’s got Joe. And the same goes for Joe, just the other way around. There’s a tether tied straight through their centers, wrapped tight around the parts that keep them grounded. Whenever one strays too far, the other is around to pull him back in. And they do. Pull at one another. Day after day, night after night, minute after endless minute, he feels Joe’s tug against his gut, begging to be drawn back into safety. And when that feeling fades, Matt knows its time to call in reinforcements of his own—sure enough, Joe always knows just how to reel him back in.

But Rachel’s watching him like all she wants to do is reach out, pin him down, hold him right by her side, and he wonders if he’s stumbled into another one of those unnoticeable things. He wonders what Rachel notices, staring up at him through disappearing daylight.

“Matthew.” His name sounds secure on her lips. “What are you doing in Baltimore?”

“Rachel—”

Try again. “Who is trying to attack my father?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Try again, try again. “Who are you running from?”

“No one, I swear—”

Try again, and again, and again. “Then who are you running toward?”

In the silence that follows, the crickets begin to play their song while an icy breeze rolls over the lake. It sends ripples through the water and catches in the long, billowing branches of the nearby tree. It’s hard to tell if Rachel’s shivering is the result of rage or the steadily dropping temperature, but Matt supposes it don’t much matter either way. 

He shrugs the jacket from his shoulders, sliding his arms free one at a time before wrapping it around her. Rachel promptly refuses the offer, wriggling free of his reach as she brings a hand up to wave him away. “I don’t want your jacket,” she grumbles. “I don’t want your help.”

“S’not my jacket,” he reminds her. “You bought it.”

She wipes away the second tear as it falls. “Well I don’t want it.”

“You’re freezing,” he says, trying again. “Can you give up on being stubborn for thirty seconds and just let me help you?”

“Not until you let me help you.” She swats the jacket away once more. “Not until you tell me what he’s got you doing, and how much trouble he’s gotten you into.”

“First of all, he hasn’t gotten me into anything—if Joe had things his way, we’d be sipping Romanian wine on the patio of a three-star hotel right now.” Matt shoves the jacket onto her shoulders and holds it there. “And secondly, when things went sour in there, Joe was the guy who stuck up for you, so maybe you ought to give him a little more credit—”

“He was sticking up for you.”

Matt just shakes his head. “I’ve seen Joe stick his neck out for me plenty of times,” he says, and it’s true. But when Joe fights on Matt’s behalf, it’s different. When Joe fights for Matt, there ain’t nothing holding him back—that is, of course, except for Matt himself. “That one was for you.”

Rachel considers this, absentminded hands grasping at the lapels of the oversized jacket and pulling it shut around her front. Her face twists up in that same way it always does when she’s thinking, calculating, strategizing, and Matt just knows that she’s trying to balance new information with the instinct in her gut. “That doesn’t change the fact—”

“One of these days, you’re gonna have to realize trust go both ways.” He lets his hands fall, and she stands a little taller without the weight. “One of these days, you’re gonna have to realize I know what I’m doing.”

In a business of identifying patterns and understanding assets, there ain’t no one better than Rachel Cameron. That’s the truth, through and through. In an instant, she can piece together mannerisms and character traits that would take most people years to notice, handily storing them away in her head for future use. Matt’s seen her process in action on more than one occasion, and it’s amazing to witness. So when Rachel says, “You’re different, now,” he knows it to be a categorical fact observed by an expert in her field. “You’re different than you used to be.”

And it’s hard not to agree with her. “I’m different than I used to be.”

He’s not sure when it happened. There was no glorious, enlightening moment in which he became a fully capable intelligence agent, with some secrets so secure not even the CIA knows about them. There was no ceremony, celebrating his promotion from shining rookie to rugged professional. When someone has run as many missions as Matt has, maybe it’s inevitable that slowly, without warning, he becomes the kind of guy who chases leads across continents. He becomes the kind of guy who bashes Russians with billiard balls and kicks know-it-all NSA agents to the ground. He becomes the kind of guy who fights with the friends who made him this kind of guy in the first place, and he becomes the kind of guy who doesn’t have enough energy left for mercy.

And when she lays it all out for him, right there in that springtime chill, Matt starts to realize that maybe he doesn’t like the kind of guy he’s become. Rachel certainly doesn’t, and Matt very much wants to be the kind of guy Rachel likes.

Her voice is softer now, but still has an edge that can cut right to his middle. “I don’t know what path you’re on,” she tells him. “But if you keep walking that way, I won’t follow. I swear to god, Matthew, I will not watch you sacrifice yourself to espionage. I won’t do it. You’re too good for that.”

Throughout his career, plenty of people have told Matt that he’s good, but none of them have meant it in the way Rachel does now. They say he’s talented, gifted, skilled. Rachel says it with her soul—good. The way saints are good. The way God is good. The way him, looking at her, is good. “I don’t…” he tries, but the words get lost somewhere along the way. He has to restart. “I don’t know if I can stop. I have to keep doing what I’m doing. It’s important work. It’s good work.”

In the distance, tires crunch across the stone drive and Matt turns to clock the noise. The headlights meet him dead-on, exposing the pair of them in an otherwise dark night, so he throws his hand up to block the glare. Sure enough, a bright yellow taxi sits idle at the mansion doors. He turns back to Rachel with so much left to say and not enough time to say it.

She beats him to it. “Then you better find a good way to do it,” she says, with a subtle sniffle. “Or you better figure out how to do it without me.”

With one, easy motion, she pulls his jacket from her shoulders and shoves it into his chest. It knocks the air from his lungs as he strains for another argument, but Rachel isn’t willing to listen anymore. She pops her heels from her feet and lets them hang by the fingertips as she turns away. Matt picks up his duffel and follows her lead. It’s a miserable trudge for the both of them, cast in two opposite directions—one toward a cab he doesn’t want to take and the other toward a party she doesn’t want to attend.

When he reaches the taxi, Joe’s already waiting inside, ready to reel Matt in. “We’ll get a hotel for the night?” he asks. “Flight’s not until late tomorrow evening.”

Matt slings his muddy bag onto the floor at his feet. “Sure, you get us a room,” he says. “I’ve got a stop I have to make first.”

[youjunnie]

drowned butterfly

in which an average dinner with a heaping side of a nearby couple's argument escalates

[nakamoto yuta x reader]

Word count: 2.9k

Genre: first meeting, pining(?), humor if you squint, yuta's ex is... not a nice person

ao3

A/N: my love letter to red haired yuta in all of his beauty. also the first entry in my “how many ways can i describe yuta's beauty” counter.

ﾟ･*☆ yuta’s beauty counter: 1

“Shut up! Don’t  tell me to calm down!”

You glance at your friend, and the look on their face confirms that they’re eavesdropping on the neighbouring table as well. Probably along with the rest of the restaurant, judging by the sheer volume of the woman’s voice. “Gonna be honest,” you murmur, “Did not see this coming when I agreed to this meetup.”

They just shrug, looking more bothered by the choice of vegetables on the plate than the argument. “At least it’s interesting.” After the one-sided staredown subsides, they finally relent and spear the broccoli floret. “What’s dinner without a lover’s spat?”

“You mean normalcy?” You deadpan. Your response comes in the form of — well, no response. They’re just switching between chairs to try and get a better vantage point. You can only sigh.

That aside, you can’t fathom how this woman is willing to instigate this in a restaurant out of all places. Having so many bystanders witness something like this? You would rather crawl into a hole and perish, thank you very much.

“Are you even listening?” The woman barks, clearly unimpressed by the silence.

“You told me to shut up,” her companion smoothly replies; a man who looked about your age. Unlike your friend, it’s way too easy for you to snoop from here. All you had to do was look up and you had an unobstructed view.

He’s attractive, admittedly enough. The sort of looks that you could never bring yourself to approach. Longer hair isn’t something you found particularly appealing, and neither were dyejobs. But somehow, the half ponytail of copper red hair makes you reconsider those preferences.

It’s also painfully apparent that he doesn’t want to be here at all. A dissociated expression, vacant eyes that focused on nothing in particular. Practically radiating boredom. You wondered how pretty his eyes would look if a smile reached them. And then you hastily dismissed that thought.

“Using my words now?” The unadulterated contempt in the woman's tone makes you wince, even if it wasn’t directed at you.

He shrugs wordlessly, wholly unaffected as he lifts the wine glass to his lips. You look at your friend when you hear a snort, and they waggle their eyebrows at you. “Cold,” they whisper, glee twinkling in their eyes from this unbidden dinner entertainment. And it’s your turn to shrug, shovelling a forkful of pasta into your mouth. Before you become too obvious with your staring.

Cutlery clinks against china, and the woman practically spits out her words. “You’re pathetic, Nakamoto.”

“And you’re just Mother Teresa, aren’t you?”

You nearly stab the roof of your mouth at that, spluttering a little. “Woah, chill. You okay?” Your friend asks, their hands stilling. You nod quickly, reaching for the glass of water.

As amusing as that retort was, it only serves to thicken the already suffocating tension. “You are not the man I thought you would be,” she says. “Hell, I’m wondering if you even are one.”

When you glance over, Nakamoto’s face is blank, his elbow propped on the table as he rests his chin on his hand. Tense jaw, eyebrows knitting together — he’s pissed alright. But he doesn’t raise his voice. “If you think I need you to validate my existence, you are far more delusional than I thought.”

Then his eyes flicker over to you, and you quickly duck your head. Fuck, fuck. So much for trying not to be obvious. “I think he saw me,” you hiss a little too frantically.

“What?” Your friend asks with no shortage of confusion. “What do you mean he saw you?”

“ Think! ” You stress on that word, but you doubt it would help your case much. “I think he did. I’m... I’m not sure if he actually did.”

“Well, why were you staring that much then?! That’s literally the only rule, and you broke it!”

Because he’s handsome.  But you keep your lips pursed, and you just miserably stab at the food on your plate. Your friend just shakes their head, dabbing their mouth with a napkin. “Fine. Extraction plan. I’m gonna look at the desserts, and we can leave after that, alright?”

“Mm.”

“Good.” Their chair scrapes a little too loudly against the floor, but even that pales in comparison to the voices from the next table. “Don’t set this place on fire.”

You flip them a discreet finger. Of course, it does nothing except make them laugh as they walk away. When your friend disappears behind a corner, you tune back into the argument. The woman sounds like she’s inches away from flipping the table. If this was a cartoon, steam would actually be pouring out of her ears. But it’s real life and you feel a little precarious with your vicinity to ground zero.

“You’re fucking around with other women and think I wouldn’t find out?”

Oh. Honestly, a part of your brain had been camping on Nakamoto’s side in this whole altercation. You quickly wrestle down the smidge of disappointment, a little concerned about how misplaced it was.

“I am not,” Nakamoto sighs. You shoot a (quick) glance at him, but there’s only exasperation written on his face. No panic at being exposed, no desperation to cover up. Is he being honest? God, why were you even invested in this? You were irrelevant, a mere bystander.

But whatever the truth was, the woman clearly didn’t buy his innocence. “We are through ,” she screeches, slamming her hand on the table. Elegant manicured fingers wrap around a glass, and a sharp flick of her wrist sends water splashing onto Nakamoto’s face.

A deathly silence falls over the restaurant. You’re just openly gaping now, barely processing the soap opera move she just pulled. Nakamoto, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He just lifts his hand, pushing his damp hair out of his face. “Are you done?”

You’re in awe. Mostly for his ability to maintain a calm tone despite the humiliation, and partially for the gleaming droplets of water trickling down the column of his throat. But you’ve learnt from your mistakes, so you avert your gaze before you get caught again.

“You wish,” she sneers. Heels click sharply on the floor, and you briefly wonder if it’s a herald for the harbinger of chaos.

Cold.

The sensation spills down your neck, spreading over your back. It takes you more than a few seconds to realise that it’s water trickling onto your clothes. Your head shoots up. Said harbinger is in front of you, nostrils flaring and an empty glass clutched in her hand.

“What the actual fuck, lady?” You splutter, not bothering to keep the disbelief out of your voice.

“That’s for being a whore, bitch,” she hisses, venom dripping from her words. “Maybe you should think twice about looking at someone’s boyfriend.”

Instinct tells you to protest, but the words lodge firmly in your throat. She was right. You had been staring. And oh god, you can feel the eyes on you. Judging. Whispering about how you had to have done something to warrant that.

Shameless. It prickles; an uncomfortable sensation that rivals the feeling of cold wet fabric clinging to your skin. You drag in a breath, trying to ignore the sharp constrict of your lungs.

“Leave innocents out of this.” A weight falls on your shoulders, and you look down. It’s a black jacket, still warm and slightly water stained. Huh?  “Anyone would be looking over with the racket you’re making.”

She looks less than impressed, eyes narrowing into slits. “Of course you would try and play the white knight, Nakamoto.”

“Yes!” He snaps, and you jump a little. The first crack in the calm demeanour he’s been exuding. “Because you just fucking threw water at a stranger!”

“I’m sorry, is everything alright here?” A man approaches the table, brows furrowed in concern with a waiter in tow. Recognition sinks in, and you realise it’s the same waiter who served your table.

“Of course it’s not!” The woman shouts. You wince at the pitch, fingers reflexively gripping the jacket’s lapels. Too loud.

“I have to agree,” Nakamoto interjects. He’s reverted to the quiet and calculated tone from before, but the firmness behind his words is unmistakeable. When you catch a glimpse of his eyes, they’re gleaming with barely contained anger. “This woman here just harassed a patron of your restaurant, and has been disturbing the other diners for the past twenty minutes.”

The manager sends you a cursory glance, probably taking in your current resemblance to a drowned rat. You just turn away. It’s beyond your ability to feign a polite smile right now.

“Ma’am,” he says, dipping into the overtly familiar customer service voice, “I’m going to need you to leave the premises.”

There's a pause, before there's an indignant splutter. "Are you actually saying that to me?"

"Take a look around, " Nakamoto chimes in. "Who else would it be?"

She scoffs, and you could literally sense the shift into defensive mode. “Please. As if I’m ever coming back to this shithole.” You lift your gaze to see her slinging her handbag over her shoulder, smoothing out her dress. She glowers at your waiter who’s been standing a little off to the side. “Get away me,” she snarls, making a point to elbow him as she storms away.

It’s not until you see the doors swing shut that the awaited relief sinks in. The voice of the manager apologising sounds distant, and you’re not sure if you had nodded along. Eventually, that too fades. You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling slowly.

“I’m so sorry about that,” a low voice says. When you open your eyes, Nakamoto is crouched beside your chair. There’s no trace of the fury from earlier, only an apologetic earnestness with a softer gaze. Worryingly, that makes your heart clench a little.

“It’s alright,” you reply, shaking your head slowly. A nervous laugh slips out, and you tug the jacket tighter around you. “I don’t think any of us expected to get a faceful of water,” you joke weakly.

Nakamoto sighs, pushing back the loose strands of hair with more force than necessary. “You shouldn’t have been involved in the first place. This had nothing to do with you.”

“Nobody wanted this to happen.” You reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Please, get up.” Then the comprehension of what you’re doing hits you, and you fight back a wave of embarrassment.

But he does get to his feet, and you yank your hand back before you cause any more mental upheaval. “Still, I should apologise.” You glance at Nakamoto; a decision that only brings regret when you see the shirt clinging to his waist, the dampness turning it sheer enough to reveal the outline of a butterfly’s wing. Because of course he has a tattoo.

You look up at his face. The arguably safer option, yet it does nothing to quell the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “You don’t have to,” you reply when you feel like your voice won’t waver too much. “Everything’s alright now, no?”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile, and he shrugs a little. “No.” He seats himself on the nearest chair, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “Not really.”

You blink, a mild panic bubbling up. “What?”

“It wasn’t entirely a misunderstanding,” Nakamoto says. He hitches an eyebrow and tilts his head slightly. “I was looking at you, just as much as you were looking at me.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you purse your lips tightly. Was the confirmation more embarrassing, or was it the strangely intense look on his face? It’s hard to tell. “I... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I take it as a compliment.” Nakamoto waves a waitress over, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a leather wallet. “You’re here with someone, right?”

You nod slowly. “Yes. A friend.”

“Thankfully.” Before you can ask him about that odd response, he hands a sleek black card to the waiter. “Put this table on my bill.”

Pause. “Wait, what?” You splutter. “No!” But she’s already walking away with his card, and the only one around to hear your protests is Nakmoto. Your head snaps towards him, qual parts baffled and horrified.  “Why would you do that?”

“It’s the least I can do for ruining your evening.” He flicks his wrist, glancing at his watch. A frown tugs at his lips. “I’m sorry, but I need to take my leave.” Nakamoto stands up, bowing his head slightly. “Once again, I’m sorry about what happened. I hope you can still enjoy the rest of your night.”

When you manage to piece together another vehement protest, he’s already left. You stare at the chair he was just in, mind still reeling from the whole encounter. Did… Did he seriously just do this? Groaning, you close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Woah. I know I told you not to burn the place down, but I didn't mean you should go dunk yourself in the aquarium.”

You give your friend an exasperated glare. “No. Just no.”

They shrug, sitting down. “I heard some commotion. What did I miss?”

You quickly fill them in, and they chuckle when you’re done. “Fucking hell. I'm never gonna go look at sweets again if this is what I'll miss out on.”

“Really? That’s the only takeaway you're getting from this?”

They shrug. “What else am I supposed to say? Cool jacket?”

Jacket…? Right!  His jacket! Your palms slam down on the table as you jump out of your chair, dinnerware clattering. “Jesus!” Your friend cries out. “The fuck?”

“I gotta go, I’ll text you!” Grabbing your phone from the table, you don’t bother waiting for a response and just make a run for the exit. God, is he still here? Or has he left? You mentally plead that it’s not the latter.

The cool night breeze greets you full blast as you stumble out the doors. You glance around fervently, praying that you’re not too late.

Then you see him. Standing poised and handsome by the kerb, looking nothing like a man who just got dumped as he scrolls through his phone. “Hey! Nakamoto!”

He looks up, eyes wide with surprise. When his gaze hones in on you, he looks a little confused, but thankfully, not displeased. You hurriedly jog over, pulse hammering in your ears. “Um... Sorry. I…” Hesitation shackles the words on your tongue, but you force it out. He’s already seen you staring anyway. “That’s what I heard her call you.”

He locks eyes with you, and a shiver courses down your spine. You quickly pull the jacket around yourself. “Yuta.” He slips his phone back into his pocket. “You can call me Yuta.”

You swallow nervously, wetting your dry lips. “Y-Yuta?” And the smile that follows — a beautiful smile that creases the corners of his eyes, and reveals a small dimple. You can’t help but blush at that, and you feel the tiniest surge of confidence from his reaction. “Yuta,” you find yourself repeating.

He tilts his head slightly, the breeze plastering flyaway strands to his cheek. “What is it?”

“I…” You fumble, trying to conjure up any remaining braincells you had after that. “Ah!” Shrugging the jacket off, you do your best to fold it as neatly as you can manage. “I... I remembered this.” You hold out your less-than-perfect work. “I thought I should give it back.”

Yuta’s gaze flickers downwards, and he takes it. But he proceeds to unfurl it before taking a step closer and placing it back on your shoulders. He’s close enough for the headiness of his cologne to hit you, a rich and woodsy scent. “It’s cold tonight,” Yuta says, his low voice nearly drowned out by the wail of a distant siren. “Keep it. You can return it next time.”

Your brain is essentially flatlining, and you can only stand motionless as he adjusts the jacket. “Next time?” You repeat blankly.

“Yep.” His fingers tug at the collar, fussing with it one last time before he takes a step back. You blink slowly, taking in a deep breath. There’s a small smile on Yuta’s face, and a knot tightens in your stomach at the tenderness of his gaze. “There’s a number in the pocket.”

“...What?”

Yuta’s hand is on a cardoor, and you’re mortified that you hadn’t even noticed the taxi pulling up to the kerb. “How else are you supposed to return my jacket?” Yuta asks, a delightful mirth adorning his words that makes a smile unwittingly form on your lips. He shoots you a wink. “Call me.”

Wait.

“What?!” You exclaim when your mind fully processes his words. But Yuta’s already buckled into the backseat, and he gives a surprisingly cute wave as the taxi pulls away.

... The fuck?  It takes a good while before your legs feel like they won’t give out from the slightest motion, but it’s a waft of cold air that jolts you out of your stupor. You shiver, slipping your arms into the jacket sleeves. And then you pause. “Pocket…?” You murmur, patting down the jacket. You rifle through the pockets, and eventually you find something in the breast pocket.

Pulling it out, you find yourself holding a napkin. It’s from the restaurant, and you turn it over to find a phone number scrawled on the other side. You stare at it, wondering when had he written this. Guess that’s something for you to ask him next time.

Next time.  You purse your lips, before folding the napkin and slipping it back in the pocket with more care than you would admit. Next time it is.

[astral-catastrophe]

@science-lings (and @tachvintlogic bc you said you also wanted to be tagged) heres the blood curse fic! Based off of this post

warnings: very minor injury, canon typical violence, and the ending gets kinda dark

its also around 4,100 words, which is shorter than i thought it would end up, so yeah, enjoy <3

Blood and Ashes Turns to Malice

“Nope!” A young voice was loud enough to send the birds in the trees flying away at the noise. “Run, run, run, run, run, go, go, move!” The voice cracked on the last word, clearly straining to even speak. 

Large trees shook as loud footsteps rang through what used to be a calm forest. Trees trembled and fell due to the larger than usual hinox that prowled the area. A glaring yellow eye followed every movement in the woods, looking for the small beings who had dared come near the waterfall where the hinox resided. 

Several young heroes darted into the nearest forest clearing and as far away from the falling trees as they could manage before they stopped to catch their breath.

“What do we do?” Asks Sky frantically, wringing the sailcloth in his hands, looking to Wild. “That’s one of yours, right?” 

Wild, who was leaning against a large boulder while trying to catch his breath, nodded wordlessly. “Yeah. But my hinoxes aren’t usually that large or fast or deadly.” The words came out in a rush as he took in a big gulp of air. “Usually, they are slower moving and easy to take down if you have a lot of patience.” 

“It’s infected then,” Twilight said, stating the obvious, eyes darting back to the trees as if he expected the hinox to be watching them. 

“We should get moving again.” Time offered a hand to Wind and Four, who had both sat on the ground the second the group had stopped running. “We should find a higher vantage point and attack from there.” 

“Good idea.” Hyrule was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with anxiety. “Should Wild and I scout ahead?” 

Legend opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Twilight. “That’s not a bad idea. You two are the fastest in dense woods like these, especially since it’s your era, Traveler.” Twilight glanced at the two, gaze almost saying: don’t you dare get lost at a time like this. 

Whatever argument Legend seemed to have died before he could say a single word. “Be careful. Use that slate to contact Wind’s pendant if you find anything good.” 

Wild nodded quickly, “Of course,” he said before turning and dragging Hyrule after him. 

Once they made it out of earshot from the others, Wild released Hyrule's arm and began to speak. “Okay. This is your world, but with my monsters, which is a terrifying combination. Do you know of any cliffs or higher ground we could get to? Usually I attack hinoxes from higher places with my bow.” 

Hyrule nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I do know a place.” He racked his mind, sorting through caves and cliffs before settling on one. “It should be a five minute run from here.” 

“I thought you had terrible navigation skills,” joked Wild as the two of them sped through the thicket of trees. 

Hyrule just shrugged in response, leading Wild through twisting plants and trees for several minutes before motioning to a chunk of land that jutted into the sky. “If we could get up there, that would be a great spot.” 

 Wild had started to climb before Hyrule even finished speaking.  

Wild had made it up first, and by time Hyrule had joined him, Wild was shouting directions into his slate before tossing a bow and arrow at Hyrule. Wind’s voice screeched from the other end and Wild winced at the noise before speaking to Hyrule. “Distract the hinox, I’m gonna make sure everyone else gets here alright.” 

Hyrule scooped the bow into his arms, simply copying the position that he had often seen Wild adopt when it came to archery. He was a swordsmen, not an archer. He had abandoned the bow after his first adventure for a reason after all. That reason being his eyesight was shit and he didn’t want to waste money on arrows. 

Hyrule waited, waited, waited, and finally when the hinox was in sight, he shot the arrow. His aim was accurate enough to hit the giant in the side of the face, and with renewed confidence, he shot again. 

Each arrow missed the eye, but each arrow served to annoy the hinox. 

“Everyone on the ground is attacking the hinox. It’s easier than them all making their way up here. And faster too.” Wild reported, turning to show Hyrule the slate. “Keep shooting him, and I think we will have him beat in just a moment.” Wild said as he pulled out his own bow. 

Hyrule continued shooting. 

Soon enough, from joined efforts from above and below, the hinox fell. 

“Ha!” Wild cheered, throwing down his bow. “That was a black blooded hinox!” And without another word, he gathered both bows and made his way down the cliff before Hyrule could even blink. 

Hyrule scrambled after Wild, falling the last few feet down the cliff. 

Wild grabbed Hyrule’s arm yet again, pulling him to his feet, looking at his slate and dragging Hyrule in the direction of the others. They walked in silence for a moment. 

“Fuck!” Wild suddenly yelped, turning and pulling Hyrule in a different direction. 

“What?” Hyrule yelled, tugging his arm out of Wild’s grasp. 

Wild pointed at the new group of monsters chasing the two, and without another word, the two ran even faster. 

Two teenage heroes sprinted out of a thicket of trees and into the previous forest clearing, which was now completely empty and void of life. Without stopping, the two sprinted back into the trees with a swarm of keese, one lizalfo, and a handful of moblins taking chase after them. 

“Move faster! Run!” Wild continued, pushing Hyrule ahead of him and nearer to the rocky wall to their left. 

Hyrule almost tripped, looking back at Wild. “What do we do?” Hyrule, even though he had been traveling with the group for several months now, still was unsure about fighting in groups. He normally turned to one of the older links, waiting for them to tell him a plan that he could go off of. 

“Keep running and we can put some space between us and the monsters. Then we can figure out a better way to either get away and back to the others, or attack.” 

The traveler nodded and continued running. “Wild! There’s a crevice in the wall up ahead, we could hide there,” he offered. He didn’t even need to look back to know that Wild had agreed. 

Hyrule turned left, moving closer to the wall. Tripping over roots and weeds between the trees, Hyrule ducked into the wall, pulling Wild after him. The two watched as the monsters ran past in an almost comical way. 

Hyrule pushed Wild back out, and the two followed the monsters with near silent steps, slowly unsheathing their swords. 

Wild rushed forward, chopping down three of the keese at once and turning to a moblin. “Who the hell is this?” Wild asks, stabbing at an odd looking moblin with his almost broken sword. 

Hyrule spared a second to glance over and a jolt of panic sent through his system. “One of my moblins,” he whispered. His chest felt tight. 

Wild nodded and simply decapitated the moblin. 

Hyrule turned to the last moblin, hanging back for a second while he waited. The moblin took his split second hesitation and moved, the spear that it held grazed Hyrule’s side and the traveler grunted as he drove his own blade into the gut of the moblin. 

“Hyrule!” Wild rushed over, “you good? Looks like that spear-“ 

“I’m fine,” Hyrule said quickly, pressing his hands to his side. “I’ve got my spells, remember?” His fingers began to glow. 

Wild then glanced up at the familiar laughter of a wizzrobe who was now dancing through the branches of the trees. He pulled out his bow, ready to take aim, but the sky rumbled in thunder and Wild paused.

Wild watched, shocked as the newly found wizzrobe fell to the lightning Hyrule had summoned from the heavens. Wild’s hands had cramped around the bow before he tore his gaze away to look at Hyrule. The traveler stood before him, leaning on his sword and breathing heavily. 

Wild sprung into action when he pitched sideways. 

***

And from the edge of the forest, the rest of the heroes heard the roar of thunder, pausing when blinding light filled the sky above the trees. 

Nobody so much as spared a single glance at another before they wordlessly ran into the trees. 

They had to find Hyrule and Wild. 

***

Hours later, the chain just sat awkwardly around their campfire. Nobody had spoken in roughly two hours, and nobody dared to pull out their normal hobbies as a distraction. 

“Hyrule,” began Warriors, looking at the traveler. Eyes turned to the Captain, watching curiously. “Why did those moblins and wizzrobes target you?” 

Hyrule took one glance at the Captain before retiring to his bedroll for the night without a single word. 

Another tense hour passed in silence before Legend seemed to deflate where he was sitting between Wind and Four. “We should all go to bed soon.” And despite the many nods, nobody made a move for their bedrolls. 

“Why did those monsters only go after Hyrule?” Warriors asked into the silence, trying again. “We should all know,” he said, pointing glares at both Legend and Wild. “For the group’s safety, we should know exactly what we are up against. I don’t want something like this to be the reason we lose a fight.” 

“Hyrule doesn’t want you to know.” Answered Legend, eyes locked on the form of the sleeping traveler, worried he would wake up. Just weeks earlier when they had visited Legend’s era, Hyrule had told him everything about the curse. Hyrule figured someone might as well know, just in case. “If he did, he would have told you.” 

Wild fidgeted nervously. “Hyrule wouldn’t want us to tell, but you should have seen what happened.” He looked up, a haunted look in his eyes.

The looks of worry from the rest of the links was enough to make Wild speak. Wars did have a point, them not knowing could put Hyrule into more danger. “It was terrifying, Hyrule’s spells, I mean. I don’t know much about his part of the story, but I can offer what I know already. See, I think that I come somewhere after Hyrule on the timeline.” Wild glanced at the sleeping traveler before sighing shakily and starting to speak. “Some of the old stories from before the calamity match up with what I already know about his adventures.” Wild shifted uncomfortably, unused everyone watching carefully as they talked. 

“When I first started to regain some of my more normal memories, I remembered something I had asked Impa about the previous heroes sometime before we dealt with the Calamity. 

“From what she knew, there was a hero before the first Great Calamity 10,000 years ago, and from what I know now, the evidence is a bit iffy, but it must have been Hyrule. And if he isn’t actually the hero of the first Calamity, then he must still be tied up in the story somehow. Although, you guys should have seen him earlier, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s the same hero.” Wild blinked hard, trying to mentally burn the image of Hyrule- bloodstained and alight with pure rage -out of their mind. He continued to speak. ”That hero from so long ago, had been hunted and died young, and all due to cursed blood. Even if Hyrule wasn’t that hero, I think that eventually, someone else came along to finish the job and the kingdom went back to its normal state and never again thought about cursed blood.” 

“Cursed blood?” Wind asks, gaze darting from Wild to the resting traveler. “How can someone’s blood be cursed?” 

Wild half shrugged, glancing around and taking inventory of the others. Sky, Wind, and Four were huddled under the sailcloth, with Wind braiding Four’s hair. Time and Twilight sat shoulder to shoulder. Twilight stared at the fire while Time star gazed. Warrior sat next to Legend on the other side of the fire, occasionally glancing at the sleeping bag Hyrule was curled up on. 

Wild shook his head but started to speak again. “I once heard stories about how Malice in my world was made from two substances: the ashes of Ganon, and the blood of a hero. The tales never specified which hero, or how much blood, but when the blood and ashes came into contact with most anything, that thing could become corrupted. Monsters, lakes, rivers, people.” He shuddered. “There’s entire bodies of water that have been turned to malice from just a drop of corruption. Thankfully, this was all a direct product of the original Calamity and I never had to deal with it. Hyrule really didn’t want to say anything about it, and I still don’t know much about his side of the story-“

“Hyrule didn’t want you guys to know,” Legend huffed. “He’s gonna be pissed once he finds out.” 

Wild frowned. “Leg, I’m doing this for his own personal safety. I’m not worried he’s gonna do something rash, but I’m worried about monsters from his world targeting him more than they already have. What if they single him out in a fight and we get separated? We should be prepared for that situation if it ever happens.” 

“Hyrule can fend for himself,” Time hummed from where he sat in front of the fire, gazing blankly at the stars. “We all should know that much by now.”

“I know,” Sky began. “But I still think that this wasn’t the best-“ 

Sky was interrupted by the rustling of blankets as a drowsy Hyrule sat up on his bedroll, hair messy as he squinted at the group. “So you guys sure enjoy talking about me while I’m asleep, huh?” Asked the traveler, tone scathing and eyes blazing with a quiet fury as he fixed the Hero of the Wilds with a harsh glare. “Funny how a conversation about me doesn’t actually include any of my own input.” 

***

Hyrule didn’t want to die. 

Never truly did. 

But it didn’t seem like he would make it out this time. Sure, Hyrule had been in tight spots before-quite literally if you considered the cave in he and Wild had gotten trapped in- but this time it seemed like he was actually doomed. 

His friends had each gone back to their own homes weeks earlier after they finished off the Shadow in the same temple where Hyrule had fought his own shadow roughly a year and a half before. The goodbyes were rushed as each Link had been pulled into their respective era. The final farewells were frantic and loud before everything went quiet, leaving the Hero of Hyrule to his own thoughts and near silent cries. 

Hyrule had come to accept the absence of his family, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was glad they were gone. He couldn’t count on anyone helping him. He wouldn’t have to sit and wait while he prayed for someone to save him. He didn’t have to be a burden anymore and didn’t have to worry anyone. 

It was okay. 

Hyrule had accepted his fate years ago, when he first defeated Ganon in that dark dungeon. Bumbling around in boots that were too large with a sword almost as tall as he was, he had finished off the beast with his last silver arrow. 

Ganon’s dying words were imprinted into his mind, playing on a loop in his nightmares every night. 

“I will rise again, hero.” Hissed the voice of who Hyrule had been convinced was the devil. “You’ve only prolonged my reign, and doomed your own blood. If so much as a drop touches the soil we live on, I will return and won’t stop until I have destroyed your very flesh. You will never be safe again. And even if you evade me, I will win in the end. I am the inevitable end for the kingdom and for the hero.” Ganon’s voice had rung through Hyrule’s mind as the arrow pierced the thick hide of the beast. And near tears, Hyrule had left the room and found Zelda standing there waiting. 

He didn’t even have a chance to say a word before the princess was thanking him, hugging him tightly before asking him one small question. 

“What is your name, hero?” 

“Link,” he had whispered back. “My name’s Link.” 

Hyrule didn’t feel like the name fit anymore, now that he thought about it, and he was sure that if he had the chance to explain to Dawn she would understand. Link was the name of the hero, and if Hyrule had been doomed to this fate, he was a terrible hero, even if Dawn might not agree about that part. 

It was an unavoidable fate that the goddesses had assigned him, and he knew that. 

And Hyrule knew it could only get worse from here. 

He returned to the Great Palace, hoping against hope that he would be able to find a way to return to his friends. 

But instead, he came across a very rude lizalfo who was hellbent on stealing all of his items along with his life. 

Fun. 

The quiet sounds of watered-down malice dripping down the walls and ceiling of the temple were hardly noticed underneath the noise of boots and claws clicking against stone flooring. 

Snarling, a lizalfo narrowly rounded the corner, claws catching on the outer tunic the traveler always wore. Tugging the near shredded material over his head and abandoning his favorite tunic, Hyrule continued to run without a break in his stride. The lizalfo could have his tunic if it gave him extra time to try and fix the terrible situation he had gotten himself into this time. The lizalfo already had his rods, potions, and shield, so what was a simple outer tunic in comparison? 

Hyrule turned another corner, ducking into a corridor with dark grey stone and what reminded him of malice from Wild’s world dripping from the walls. It was the same texture, goopy and sticky looking. Hyrule skirted around the substance, harsh memories of the stuff gathering on his arms after one particular incident while traveling with Wild. 

He still had the scars. 

So Hyrule kept running aimlessly, hoping he’d come across one of the exits. 

But of course, as is the luck of a hero, he found himself in a large chamber next time he entered a doorway. 

The lizalfo entered behind, snarling an almost human-like chuckle.  

Hyrule reached over his shoulder, the magic sword a familiar weight in his hands as he shifted his weight on his feet. Hyrule tugged at that small ball of energy that lay dormant, nestled comfortably in his chest, coaxing it to life as he felt the energy dance down his arms. Fire burst to life on his sword, and he lunged forward, burying the blade into the lizalfo’s hide. 

Sure, it might have been overkill, but Hyrule deserved to let loose in a fight for once. He had always held it back when he traveled with the others anyways. 

Turning around as the lizalfo vanished in a cluster of purple sparks, Hyrule kept his sword up. He wasn’t alone in this room. 

More monsters flooded through the doorway and away from their hiding places near the walls, and Hyrule just kept moving. Sword whirling through the air as he cut down enemy after enemy, magic lighting up the entire room like strikes of lightning with every strike of his blade.

Hyrule allowed his magical abilities to take almost full control of the situation, fire blazing forth as enemies’ attacks bounced off of a bright red shield. Lightning rained down from the ceiling, thunder in the distance shaking the stone of the dungeon. Sword beams bounced off of the walls, adding to the chaos and monsters falling. 

Hyrule only slowed his brutal assault when he noticed one last enemy in the room. 

A familiar, cold chuckle sounded from where the tall man had made himself known. Leaving his observatory spot near the wall as he unsheathed a terrifyingly sharp sword. Hyrule winced, remembering cold nights with colder laughs reminding him of the blood curse. 

“They’re Yiga.” Wild said, sheathing a blade he had referred to as a “windcleaver”. The chain had been in Wild’s era, and Wild was clearly upset with the situation. The Yiga had become a major problem in the kingdom again, but this time they hunted their new target; a forgotten hero from centuries before their own time. “The scum of the earth. They used to be part of the Sheikah, but are now traitors to the crown. They are looking for ways to bring back Ganon, and they’ll stop at nothing to achieve this goal.” 

Hyrule wasn’t glad that he was alone. Not anymore. He wanted -prayed- that one of his friends would appear and save him. Just the thought of Time, or Legend, or Wind, Four, Sky, Twilight, Warriors, or Wild appearing through one of those swirling purple portals was enough to dispel the energy that sat in Hyrule’s limbs. The thought of his friends appearing to save him gave him momentary comfort as he allowed himself to hide in the sweet reverie. 

Wild’s shaky voice rang through his head, reminding Hyrule of the day that Wild had explained how he already knew about the blood curse. 

“I’m so sorry, Roolie,” Wild looked at the Hero of Hyrule, hands uselessly fidgeting at his sides. 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Hyrule’s voice was venomous as he looked away from the cook, eyes burning with tears. “You knew, but you didn’t say anything!” 

“I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure-“ 

“I hate you!” Hyrule had gotten to his feet, “I hate every single one of you! You all must think highly of me huh? Never telling me shit. I never know what’s going on until it happens, and even now, you all end up withholding information that has to do with me and with my future.” The traveler stumbled backwards from the campfire, almost tripping over the blankets he had been tangled in. “How often do you share information about me while I’m asleep? Why-“ 

“Hyrule,” Sky began, hands held up as he slowly made his way to the traveler. “Listen for just a second, that’s not what’s happening-“ 

“Stop!” Hyrule yelled, fingers fisting in his hair. “I don’t want-don’t have- to listen to any of you!” Then with those words the traveler had darted off into the trees, the blankets tripping him only momentarily. 

“I’ll go get him-“ began Legend, already standing up. 

“No,” Wild got to his feet. “I should go get him.” 

Nobody would even know that he fell to the Yiga, purely because he was all alone in a world that never cared about him. 

So he just stood there, sword held weakly, accepting his fate as the Yiga closed in. The fire on his blade died, and with it, went most of the light in the room. The sword clattered to the ground and Hyrule dropped to his knees, bad joints and injuries screaming out as he fell limp. 

The laugh sounded again, red flashing on the outskirts of his vision as more Yiga swarmed the room. 

Wild had found him hiding halfway up after roughly an hour later. 

He had just climbed up the tree, right next to Hyrule. Wild had simply offered comfort as the traveler moved in for a hug, nearly silent. 

He hadn’t wanted his friends to be burdened with the thoughts of his curse, but they had all taken it surprisingly well. Hyrule was grateful. 

So when Hyrule had been brought back to camp later that night by Wild, nobody questioned either of them or brought up the curse. 

The next few days were strained and tense, sure, but eventually, everything felt normal again. And eventually, Hyrule found himself comfortable enough to explain his curse, and what he had done to get the curse, and how it must have been all his fault when the world would inevitably fall into ruin. 

Again. 

He saw the faint shine of a blade rise up, and he closed his eyes, too tired to fight back. Yiga laughed, jeering at the sight of the hero so meekly waiting for his own death. The whispering of the Yiga who didn’t laugh filled his ears, drowning out the other sounds resounding through the dungeon- distant fighting, if Hyrule’s ears were reliable as they always have been. 

This was fine. 

Hyrule had accepted his fate long ago, and he was just surprised he lasted that long. He pushed himself back up, tilting his head up. Even as he died he refused to look cowardly. 

So the Hero of Hyrule accepted his fate with open arms, staring defiantly into the mask of the Yiga, not moving when the sword finally came down. 

It was okay. 

[evil-fact-checker]

Well, well, Toradora, you really came out swinging this time. But it seems you're doing a lot of tap dancing around the core of the argument—distracting from the obvious and leaning heavily on revisionist narratives that are, at best, inconsistent and, at worst, laughably wrong.

Let’s get into it, shall we?

1. “CNN and other news outlets were actually in favor of the war for the most part…” Sure, many mainstream media outlets supported the war initially, but your claim that there was no significant pushback until moderates soured on it is oversimplified. Major outlets like CNN started questioning the validity of the war pretty early on, particularly around the time when the lack of WMDs became evident. It wasn’t just “dragging on” that caused opposition. It was the mounting body count, the lies, and the human cost. And FYI, public sentiment turning on the war is relevant to media coverage, but it’s revisionist to imply outlets like CNN were consistently pro-war.

2. “Obama started 5 new wars…” Ah yes, the classic “blame Obama for everything” tactic. Are we talking about interventions (Libya, Syria) or are we stretching definitions to make it fit your narrative? I’d love to see this list of “5 new wars” and how they’re somehow equivalent to the invasion of Iraq. And media defending these? Which outlets? Because most major media outlets critiqued Obama's drone policies and handling of the conflicts in the Middle East extensively. Selective memory seems to be at play here.

3. Buchanan vs. Liberals & the Red Scare I’m glad you tried to clarify that liberals weren’t the primary target of the Red Scare—because they weren’t. That was the whole point of the Red Scare: to root out communists and socialist influences. But, you want to act like McCarthyism didn’t disproportionately target liberals or leftists who weren’t Marxists just because they didn’t toe the hard-right line. It was nuanced repression based on fear-mongering. And guess who benefited from that?

But let’s not stray too far into your world of "who counts" and "who doesn’t" as if you get to decide history’s categories.

4. Villainizing vs. Demonizing Look, I appreciate the linguistic deep-dive into the roots of these words, but you’re playing semantics here. Yes, “villain” and “demon” have different etymological origins. Congratulations, you’ve passed English 101. But in modern usage, when you villainize or demonize someone, you’re discrediting or delegitimizing them, often to the point of stripping away their humanity, their agency, or their value. You’re right that the degree to which Trump has been targeted is unique, but acting like this wasn’t foreshadowed by years of rhetoric aimed at Democrats, liberals, feminists, and pretty much anyone who wasn’t conservative is hilarious.

Conservatives perfected the art of creating enemies long before Trump ever hit the stage. Reagan’s “welfare queen” rhetoric was a masterclass in demonizing (yes, demonizing) people of color and the poor. Limbaugh's “feminazis” (yes, he coined it, not “angry feminists”) and Fox News’ daily dose of fear-mongering set the groundwork for decades of us vs. them narratives. So, don't act like Trump is some kind of innocent scapegoat here.

5. The “Mellowing Out” of the Right Here’s where I really have to laugh. You think conservatives “mellowed out” after the 90s? Seriously? What timeline are you living in? Because from my vantage point, the Tea Party, the rise of alt-right movements, and the proliferation of conspiracy-fueled rhetoric all say otherwise. Just because a handful of Christians and Republicans shifted towards libertarianism doesn’t mean the base mellowed out—it fractured, and a loud, reactionary wing got even more extreme.

6. Trump as “Literally Hitler” Oh, boy, here we go. I get that hyperbole can be a lot to handle. But framing Trump as a unique threat to democracy isn't unfounded when you have a guy openly flirting with authoritarianism, praising dictators, and playing footsie with white nationalists. So, yeah, people comparing him to figures like Hitler might feel over the top to you, but it's based on legitimate concerns about democracy and human rights. The fact that you don't see this is telling.

Finally, I love how you casually toss in that Rush Limbaugh wasn’t calling feminists Nazis, but hey, it was “just satire.” Good satire punches up, my friend—not down. Limbaugh was punching down. Hard. You might have lived through some “mellowing out” in your echo chamber, but the damage from his rhetoric and others like him had real-world effects—effects we’re still seeing.

In conclusion: If you’re going to debate, at least try to stick to arguments that have more factual grounding than your personal anecdotes and cherry-picked history.

[iam93percentstardust]

If you’re still taking prompt, could you please write something with Steve loving Tony’s big doe expressive eyes, plus him giving tony lots of slow deep kisses and maybe a comforting talk bc Tony’s anxious about something? 🥺

Sure thing! Hope you like it!

(Thank you to @therollingstonys for helping me brainstorm and, as always, this fic can be found on my ao3)

~

Tony is already in bed by the time Steve comes up. Their room is dark, even the windows shaded to block out most of the light coming in from the city, and it takes Steve a moment to realize that the dark mass huddled under the blankets is, in fact, his wayward husband. He sighs softly and runs his hand through his hair, thinking of the dinner he’d prepared for the two of them that had sat out for an hour before he’d finally decided Tony wasn’t going to join him. He doesn’t know why he’d expected otherwise. He knows how Tony gets the night before something big and Tony’s been withdrawing from him for the last couple of days; he should have seen this coming.

“So this is where you’ve been all day,” he says quietly. Tony shifts but doesn’t move out from under the blankets. “JARVIS, lights to 15%.”

JARVIS obligingly turns the lights up, raising them just enough that Steve doesn’t have to strain his eyes in the dark. Tony doesn’t protest the change, which is a good sign. It means that he’s stressed and anxious but he’s not actively trying to hide away.

Steve crosses the room, shedding clothes as he goes so that he’s down to only his boxers by the time he reaches the bed. He climbs up and stretches out over Tony’s body, hovering above him on his hands and knees. From his vantage point, he can see the tiny tuft of hair that’s sticking out from the blankets but that’s it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tony makes a dissenting noise and the blankets shift, like he’s shaking his head.

“Can I at least see you?”

Another dissenting noise.

“Come on,” he cajoles. “Can’t I see those beautiful brown eyes?”

“No,” comes the grumbled reply.

He bites back a smile. Wouldn’t do to look amused when Tony’s clearly so distressed. “Are you sure? I haven’t gotten to see them all day,” he asks instead, voice low and teasing, devoid of anything that Tony might take as disapproval. If Steve is right about what’s going through Tony’s head right now—and he’s pretty sure he is—he needs to be very careful about what he says.

It takes a moment but Tony eventually shifts enough that his entire head is poking out from under the blankets. He looks exhausted, worn out from stress and worry, and there are deep shadows under those brown eyes he loves so much, but he’s still the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.

“There they are.” He smiles fondly at his husband and leans down to kiss him. It’s meant to be a quick, reassuring thing, but as so often happens, he gets caught up in the feel of Tony’s lips against his, how he tastes, how perfect he looks in that single moment before his eyes flutter closed, and Steve finds himself drawing the kiss out into something slow and lingering.

When he eventually pulls away, Tony’s eyes are dazed and slightly out of focus. Steve can’t resist leaning back down again and brushing a kiss over Tony’s right eyebrow. Tony’s eyes slip closed again as he sighs and Steve kisses each trembling eyelid before pulling back.

“What’s got you so worked up, hmm, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Tony wiggles out from under the sheets just a little more, enough so that his whole head and the tops of his shoulders are uncovered. “I—” he begins and then bites his lip.

Steve thinks he knows what this is all about and he thinks Tony might be feeling too seen already to admit what’s going on in that big brain of his. He rolls off of Tony, onto his side, and slides under the covers, tucking himself up against his husband’s side, who rolls over to face him. Steve shifts them so that Tony’s leg is thrown over his hip, his head tucked under Steve’s chin, into his chest. He can’t see Tony’s face like this—he’s already missing the sight—but he thinks Tony feels like he needs to hide so he can be open as he should be.

“Better?” he asks.

Tony nods, his beard scratching on Steve’s naked chest.

“So is this about tomorrow then?”

Tony nods again, voice muffled when he says, “I’m going to be a horrible father.”

“You’re not,” Steve says, even though he knows it’s a platitude that barely even makes a dent in Tony’s lack of self-worth. He just can’t stop himself. He hates hearing Tony put himself down like this.

“I am,” Tony says matter-of-factly. “I’m going to be just like Howard and I’m going to ruin this child.”

Steve bites back a sigh—Tony would take it the wrong way right now—and instead presses a kiss to Tony’s hair. “You’re not going to ruin them.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

Because for one thing, I’ll be right here to help you raise them, which puts me ahead of Maria for one, he thinks. But he knows better than to voice that opinion out loud. He doesn’t know why Tony is so insistent on idolizing his mother, who was so frequently absentee, except that she was slightly more loving than Howard had been. And to Tony, so very attention-starved as a child, even slightly was better than nothing.

“Because you’re already thinking about them,” he says. “You’re already worried about how you’re going to take care of them, planning contingencies for every little thing that could possibly go wrong. Parents like Howard don’t do that.”

Tony is quiet for long enough that Steve lifts his chin up and kisses him again, trying to soothe away Tony’s anxieties with every sweep of his tongue. Tony’s arms slide around his waist, clinging to him as he kisses back. Time slides by as they kiss, minutes, hours, who knows? All that matters is the feeling of Tony’s body against his, the taste of his tongue in his mouth.

“This could go so badly wrong,” Tony whispers when he finally pulls away.

Steve tells himself it’s pointless to mourn the loss of Tony’s kiss and points out, “Sweetheart, that would be true even if we were the best parents in the world and had successfully raised five other kids.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Steve interrupts firmly. “You’re not alone. I’m here right by your side. Pepper and Rhodey are here with you. Nat, Bucky and Clint—oh wait, maybe we shouldn’t count Clint.”

To his relief, Tony laughs, tucking his head back under Steve’s chin as he shakes. Steve smiles and brushes another kiss over Tony’s hair, holding him as close as he can. He wishes they could be like this forever, but at the same time, he’s so excited for what tomorrow will bring.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” Tony admits once he’s stopped laughing.

“That’s what parenting is,” Steve says softly. He’s just as terrified of getting it wrong as Tony is, but he knows that there’s no one way to get it right. “We’ll make mistakes, but we’ll do it together and hey, I think between the two of us, we’ll manage to raise a pretty decent kid. If they’re even a tiny bit like you, I know we’ll have done a great job.”

“Or like you.”

“Oh no, definitely not. I pick way too many fights.”

“But for all the right reasons.”

“That’s not what Bucky says.”

“That’s because you keep dragging Bucky into your fights.”

“That sounds like a him problem.”

“It wouldn’t be if you would just pick your battles.”

“I have picked them,” Steve argues. “I’ve picked all of them.”

Tony laughs again and raises his head to peck Steve on the lips. “Okay you’re right. I hope mini-Stark doesn’t turn out anything like you.”

“I hope they’re just like you,” Steve says, smiling down at him. He’s so lucky. Not everyone gets to spend their life with the person they love more than anything, but Steve not only gets to have Tony but their child as well. “Beautiful and generous and too smart for their own good.” He can see the argument forming on Tony’s face so he quickly adds, “Did Pepper ever decide what she wanted for her present for being our surrogate?”

Tony groans. “Jimmy Choo’s entire spring line.”

Steve winces. “Sounds expensive.”

“Good thing you married a billionaire then, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Good thing I married you.”

Tony’s smile is soft and sweet. “Everything changes tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

“For the better,” Steve promises.

This time, Tony just nods and says, “Yeah,” instead of arguing. Then his smile turns a little coy. “Last night we’ll have to ourselves for a very long time. We should make the most of it.”

Steve grins and takes the hint, leaning in to kiss him again.

~

He comes home from his run a week later to find Tony asleep on the couch, a newborn Morgan Stark-Rogers also asleep on his chest. Tony’s hand rests on her back, keeping her safe against him. Steve smiles at the sight, a wave of affection for the two most important people in his life washing over him. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the two of them together, setting it as his new lockscreen. Tony will have another anxiety attack eventually and when that happens, he’ll pull this picture out and show it to him.

Tony thinks he won’t be a good parent.

Steve looks at him and knows he already is.

They’re going to be just fine.

[anonil88]

Malcolm and Marie live blog

I don't usually do liveblogs for movies but yea.

Spoilers ahead!!

I love that its modern timed but very 70s stylized.

A tune indeed.

When you are high and drunk on success and

How the white critic reacts is why I feel like gatekeeping my scripts. At the same time some things I do make are about race or involve.

Marie sitting on the patio smoking is a mood whenever men are talking.

So he's pretentious and unaware.

Whoever chose the music for this, I feel like we would be Spotify mutuals.

Can this nigga stop pacing.

Also can he stop talking;

Marie is so tired and unimpressed.

Also little booties matter and are to be bitten.

Oooo the tension and the jazz.

Title Card over mac and cheese.

Shitty boxes mac and cheese but still mac and cheese.

Tbh i always wonder if spouses/significant others get upset when their spouses don't acknowledge them during speeches.

John sounds so much like his dad but I really hope his acting style differs from his dad a lot.

Guilty confession?

He did not profit off of his partners backstory and then not even acknowledge her.....I.....

If that ever happened to me catch me cussing my partner out during the beginning credits, the end credits, in the car, and at home.

GASLIGHTER!

The way I'm excited for Zendaya to give me some, oooo can she work with Regina King. Please on my knees I pray.

Um no that's not your job to coddle your lead.

He's a dick and the type of dick who makes himself look like a good person around other people.

If Sam Levinson is trying to make his viewers more of misandrist, it's working.

I feel like Marie has her flaws probably a lot of them and we will surely see as this continues, but Malcolm needs to learn how to apologize sincerely.

70s vibes! 70s vibes!

Them kissing and talking about criticism and dreams makes me miss a partner. A partner that I've had and haven't had.

Women really are behind every great man.

Yea sir you fucked a happy moment.

Oh visual allegories for looking in from the outside and cat and mouse chasing and looking from the outside in.

She's saying she doesn't feel noticed by you.

Gas lighter :0 he called her an emotional support dog, bruh.

I would LOVE to co-write or take a writing class held by Sam Levinson. The fights i write are very much in this same realm of reflection and anger and monologue.

Sam.....sam.....are all the sides inside of you doing okay sir?

The ugly side of dating and being in a relationship with someone who struggles with their own demons.

Honestly I could close my eyes and listen to this script being read without seeing these characters visually. Just close my eyes and get a sense of these characters like it was a radio story.

Oh. Oh this is a new wheelhouse of Zendaya acting; a different voice is like breaking through here and her expressions aren't the same we are used to. You can literally hear another character in there....hmm.

Mans is outside really fighting with his invisible demons lmfao.

Selfish ass, how after everything she said you came out of it thinking about your own craft and self instead of how you hurt her.

So she's conditional.

Me: did sam (a white man) say nigga this many times in his script or are the actors adding their own inflections. Not just the lingo used but the topic of race and directing etc. being written by a white writer about black characters is always gonna be a critique when you're writer is a white person.

Alexa play Broken Girls by Saba

He is so hurtful.

A clown nigga a clown look in the fucking mirror you bozo head ass looking like you need some Mehron clown white and a size 16 in clown shoes.

John is doing a really swell performance and reading of these lines.

He is reading her for her insecurities by bringing up his experiences with other women and that.....is yikes.

Arguments can get messy like this in real life but it takes a lot of maturity and control to either not let it get to this point or have a healthy conversation afterwards.

This film is really shot on some very crisp lenses.

They sitting there like 🚬🧍‍♀️🧍‍♂️.

Leftover Mac and Cheese and unfinished cigarettes.

The nyt etc. pay walls are so annoying, but there is a work around look at the articles on incognito or add a period at the end of the url.

He sounds like his daddy so much here, weird, this is the only part I'm eh on the dialogue it feels real but a bit out of pace in how they are bouncing off one another.

Nail scissors? So the end is not the only part he based off of Marie. 🙄

ITS A GOOD REVIEW YOU DINGUS but also its a full review they are going to critique things. She isn't wrong though he did profit off of a woman's story that was not his own to profit from.

Yes Malcolm because unfortunately all marginalized people look through a lens of life that is inherently political because of the world they live in.

He is so mad and upset and had a lot on his chest. But I think he Malcolm and Sam are talking about something thats an issue and a non issue. Being critiqued for you art is hard but also Malcolm is not super self aware. He's like a stand in figure of for example rich depop sellers who wanna be oppressed so badly they yell at others instead of examining their own personal behaviors and ethics.

Oh Marie, when you know the spark is gone and you pick fights because.

He ain't even ask her to read?

One critic I have for most of hollywood actors is they learn their cry and that is it. A change from this is Margot Robbie, I adore her fluctuations of crying being similar but the crying is carried differently for each character. If I had to say any actor that does a cry scene amazing its this woman right here (Amy Adams)

You stole her story from her and gave it away, she has a right to be upset and angry and a rubber band ball of emotions.

Citizen Kane, not the cinematography, but the story is it even that good? (Unpopular opinion but meh, maybe in my rewatch it will be better.)

But that is what people want authenticity and whatever authenticity means to them. What is real for one is false for another.

To be honest look at the criticism of Euphoria, well earned, but a lot of people were like this isn't real even though he literally wrote about his own life. People said it was inauthentic like....wtf.

Ahh the smoking is just a habit, he quit and she didn't.

CAST ZENDAYA IN A HORROR MOVIE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING. Get Lupita and Zendaya and some more black actors preferably less known ones in a horror movie. One with a interesting script and story, directed by Regina King. Please and thankyou.

I love Marie yep that was amazing.

Behind every great man is a greater woman, one that deserves her credit for how she has stood behind. I wonder the stories of those women, what they have sacrificed or not sacrificed. Their thoughts and feelings when the world is surrounding their partner and views them as a plus one. (I'd write a short script about this but I think do I have the time, can I, or am I equipped ?)

He is a shitty person for bringing up his exes, like she even said I don't wanna know any of that.

Imagine being on anti depressents and rarely having a sex drive and then when you do your partner starts talking about their exes and tearing you apart for all your faults.

I love when you see peaks of Zendaya's cadence in roles.

Tension, what if's and he didn't even bring her up in his speech.

Marie to herself and the audience:

He is not afraid that he will loose her but as my character says in my unreleased story, "i can't wait til you give me a fucking reason to leave your ass." Malcolm expects everything in order for not even doing the bare minimum and she is only asking him for something as simple as consideration. She just wants him to be considerate. He wants to get married and considers their relationship like rolling down a hill at full speed and he cannot apologize, he cannot be considerate, and he cannot admit his wrongs. He can only offer her I love yous that he probably does mean but he does not back up outside of what he's done for her in the past. The past which was more of her experience than his and he sees his part in it as a burden. He doesn't use his own vantage point of the past to further his career he uses her. He does all of these things without a real apology or thankyou because he is not afraid to loose her.

The restrictions of quarantine and the panorama have made Sam's writing very no frills. I wonder how other films from other directors and writers that are filmed in small contained crews like this will be structured. But this was a very good movie gonna add to my letter box 3.3-3.5

Oh shit this is my song,

Ratings/overall thoughts:

Script is like a C+, B- : I could go into my heavier big brain thoughts on the script but I don't feel like it. You catch hints of it above it centers conversation on race and privilege, mainly the writers and questions i have that won't be answered but Sam did make me grow disdain for Malcolm over a short time. Which is sometimes hard to do because im one sympathetic person but the sympathy i have for Malcolm is at 0. Maybe a 2 at some scenes but then it quickly goes back to 0. Some parts of the dialogue miss the mark or hit the are off balanced. While some of it like Malcolm's bathroom speech albeit mean is really strong or their conversation when he comes back from peeing really shines for me.

Performances: B+ to A- because they carried the script further than it could of gone with less talented actors. The monologues do well to showcase their current skill levels which are already high af and leave room for anticipation in where these actors go next.

Zendaya holding a knife: A+ with a gold star. That switch on and off and on is delectable.

John being a shitty boyfriend but following Marie like a lost puppy: B+ with a good job written at the bottom of the paper, Malcolm being nervous a frantic dialed up with more realistic nervousness would have sold me completely on Malcolm's anxious waiting.

Cinematography: A and a participation award.

The mac and cheese: A+ for the easy mac. Wish it was like Annie's or Velveeta.

Cigarettes: Participation award and their picture hung up for student of the month. Why the grill lighter? Everytime Malcolm opened up his mouth Marie was like sparks fly.

The music: A++ with a prize. Whoever picked the music probably makes good Spotify playlists.

[alexandriteobscuraarchive]

WOE.BEGONE starter sentences

Sentences taken from seasons 1 - 2

tws: blood, death, self harm, animal death, paranoia. murder

“Maybe being so far in the lead will grant me some leniency.”

“Just because you got used to the falling doesn’t mean the descent is over yet.”

“My brain has patiently learned how to better understand extreme amounts of pain so that I can savor every little morsel. I have become an injury sommelier.”

“I’ll get to why s/he’s tied up and not dead in a second.”

“If you came all the way out here for answers then I guess you deserve the truth.”

“Seeing someone pop in from the future makes for an extremely compelling argument. I should know, I’ve done it a few times.”

“_____ is/was probably great at dragging corpses into the woods.”

“What do you want with me? What will happen to me? What will happen to me? What the fuck will happen to me?”

“I’m somehow still bad at doing dangerous shit, even though doing dangerous shit has been my whole life for awhile now.”

“I thought the point of this would be to maintain that humanity---I thought there would be something about myself still remaining that deserved to be protected.”

“I have been in complete meltdown mode for so long that from my current vantage point, it seems like a miracle that no one died who wasn’t supposed to.”

“Why, _____, you have me all wrong. Of course I didn’t come here to kill you!”

“I have permanently exceeded my ability to comprehend traumatic events.”

“Things are about to get interesting or _____ is about to become a corpse. I don’t really see a third option.”

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised at how good at this whole brutality thing I am.”

“It had become cold and clinical at that point, just doing a job.”

“The past remains locked away, the future remains a mystery.”

“From all angles, it appeared set on killing me, possibly eating me, though I’m not much interested in its postmortem plans for me.”

“I guess I’m doing a lot of work to justify a murder.”

“There is an even deeper feeling inside me: a knowledge that it is absolutely vital to kill you in order to survive.”

“ This is/was the beginning of my indelible need to destroy _____.”

“The only solace I can hope for is that I can reduce you in the way that you reduced me.”

“I got to my current position by acting quickly and without regard for my own body.”

“The goal is to be able to enact your heinous plan, not to keep them from ever feeling skeptical or suspicious of you.”

“I’m less in control of my life than I have ever been, at least it feels that way.”

“I look awful. I feel like if I were someone’s pet, the veterinarian would put me down out of mercy.”

“Can I actually do this? What if I get partway through it and can’t finish the job?”

“Before ______ I didn’t consider myself a violent person. Not a good person, but not a violent person either.”

“It’s over. It’s over. There isn’t any more of this. There can’t be.”

“Kill me if that’s the plan. I don’t have anything else.”

“Your blood seeped through the floor and dripped onto the people living downstairs.”

“I wish that I had saved my “Jesus Christ”s and my “fuck”s and “goddammit”s for this heightened intensity.”

“I hate it. It makes me feel like a child.”

“On the count of 3 I want you to be as calm as you have ever been in your life.”

“I spent an inordinate amount of time researching how to cut my arm off.”

“Maybe you’ll kill me and I’ll just hit the ground before I can get the words out.”

“The body seems so fragile most of the time. We are frail sacks of blood that can be knocked over dead by the slightest thing.”

“That wasn’t a happy ending. It wasn’t an ending at all.”

“I’m okay. I’m not actively dying right this instance, which is what “okay” has gradually come to mean for me.”

“This pain is all going to mean something, someday. When that will be and what will lie in-between still horrifies me.”

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Ultimatum”

Welcome back, everyone! We had an unexpected break last week due to the horror going on in Texas. I'm glad we did. Not because of any salty "RWBY is bad right now yay free Saturday" feelings, but because keeping to a schedule for a fictional webseries should never take precedence over peoples' safety. I can't believe I need to type that sentence out, but it's true! Over the last seven days I've seen fans who are not merely disappointed by the mini hiatus (understandable) but outright hostile towards the crew because they... were ensuring everyone survived during an unprecedented emergency? Yeah. Given the highly critical nature of these recaps — including today's! — I want to be clear that my thoughts towards Rooster Teeth's creative choices are distinct from any thoughts about the crew itself, including the most basic forms of compassion like, “I sure hope everyone is okay over there.” In an age where it has become horrifically common to harass creators and even send them death threats over stories, it has likewise become necessary to remind people: Don't do that shit. Never do that shit. If I can teach anyone anything at all, let it be that!

Anyway, dark fandom reminders out of the way, let's dive straight into our delayed episode. It was certainly a doozy. Titled "Ultimatum," we open on a trigger warning for flashing lights. Good on Rooster Teeth for including that, though I do wonder if creators shouldn't be including time stamps as well? Or perhaps a note that you can find those time stamps in the credits, avoiding any (minor) spoilers for everyone else? I'm not photosensitive myself, so I certainly don't mean to speak for that group, but my first thought was, "So how would I watch this episode if I was? Hand on the pause button, hoping I stop fast enough as soon as the lights start?" Hard to do given the surprise nature of the scene. Really, my answer would be, "Wait for the fandom to post warnings of their own, likely including where it happens so I know when to skip" which is perhaps an indication that this information that should be included from the get-go.

But I am glad the warning exists, regardless. The episode itself begins with a shot of Ironwood looking down at the kingdom. He's used his windows as a vantage point since Volume 7, so that's nothing new, but something about this particular shot reminded me of Ozpin, looking down from his tower. I'm sure the response from many would be simply, "Ah yes, the two power hungry dictators watching over their victims," but I think there's a much more nuanced reading here about leaders being expected to fix the literally unfixable and what that responsibility does to an individual. Of course, it's a nuance that is absolutely obliterated by the episode’s end, but the implication existed for a hot second!

Two other soldiers are in the room with Ironwood, reporting that Cinder has helped Watts escape. They try to soften this with news that they still have Jacques in custody, but receive only a, "I don't give a damn about Jacques Schnee." Which, fair. He's pretty useless at this point. It's when Ironwood learns that both Qrow and Robin escaped too that he really gets mad, something his subordinates have been expecting given their scared expressions.

Now, I'm treading lightly here because I realize how this is going to sound given the end of our episode, but I still want to note that outside of that ending... this is a weird take? Just hear me out. Since Volume 7 the show has worked very hard to make Ironwood seem scary and unstable — bad setup for what we end with today — but the problem is that none of it works in context and it certainly doesn't work when compared to other characters' actions. They are literally in the midst of an unwinnable battle and thousands of his people are dying. If the audience wants a human being — who also just lost a limb and was betrayed by half his allies — o remain perfectly poised and polite during that, sorry, but that's not how human beings work. But even beyond this, what’s the message here? Ironwood raises his voice, so does Yang. Ironwood hits his desk, Qrow hits a child. If we're going to examine how Ironwood handles his stress and anger, he often handles it better than many of our heroes. Namely, by continually taking that anger out on inanimate objects. I kept waiting for him to attack his subordinates or attack Winter this episode, especially given where we end up, but it never came. Ironwood always has enough control to break the desk or punch the wall, not the person in front of him. Which, of course, would not be a good thing in the real world. I want to be clear given these sensitive subjects that if someone is breaking things in your presence that's a major problem to address. But this isn't the real world. This is a fantasy world in the middle of a war, populated by other characters who express their anger by punching people, slamming them into walls, or screaming at them until they run away. The story wants us to fear Ironwood long before he makes his objectively horrific choices and it tries to achieve that by showing us characters who are clearly terrified in his presence, by giving us a string of broken objects in his wake. But those details don't land well when we compare them to other instances of stress. In the same volume I have watched Ironwood take a deep breath to calm himself down when things have gone horribly wrong. I've also watched Weiss start a conversation by threatening her defenseless brother. So again, what’s the message here? It can’t be that acting violently towards someone = villainous behavior because, as established since Volume 6, that’s common for the heroes. Why are these subordinates terrified about Ironwood slamming his fist on a table, but Whitley has no problem hugging the woman who threatened him? Obviously there is a HUGE difference between our main group and Ironwood when it comes to other actions (cough-bomb threats-cough), but these day-to-day moments don't match up. The show wants to use violence as a way for us to easily identify the Bad Guy while ignoring all the times when our heroes do the same thing. 

All of which isn't meant to be a defense of Ironwood. As we'll see in a bit, there is no defense for what he's done. Rather, it's a way of acknowledging just how badly he's been written. Why does a man who consistently reins in his anger and takes it out on objects suddenly shoot a councilman for literally no reason? Why does a man defined by wanting to save as many people as he can suddenly threaten to bomb his city? Ironwood's characterization is all over the place, in the sense that they keep writing him as the morally gray, sometimes harsh, but ultimately compassionate man he started out as... up until they need a villain. Salem isn't here yet, so Ironwood can shoot Oscar. Salem isn't attacking yet, so Ironwood can shoot the councilman. Salem is currently reforming, so Ironwood can threaten YJR and Mantle. He's the B-plot villain whenever Salem is out of commission, which is a problem for both their characterizations. This filler doesn't make sense for Ironwood and it severely undermines the threat of Salem. You finally introduce the Magical Big Bad and our heroes are facing more of a threat from a guy with a broken army and three loyal allies left? Hmmm.

The tl;dr is that Ironwood's arc is a disaster and, frankly, it's gotten old reading simplified takes of, "It's just a realistic look at what white U.S. men will do in power sweetie :) " RWBY does not have the context capable of conveying that sort of critical take because our world is not besieged by literal monsters and an immortal witch, to say nothing of how real life good guys do not get deus ex machina canes that fix the problem instantaneously. Ironwood is not an example of anti-U.S. imperialism, he's an example of writers who don't know how to write.

Anyway, I'm getting severely off topic. Obviously Ironwood is a major part of this episode, but the problems demonstrated here are two years in the making. This is the culmination of things I've been discussing for months across hundreds of posts... so I should probably stop trying to summarize it all in a few paragraphs lol. Perhaps when RWBY is over — or Ironwood has died — I'll do a single meta on his character, try to pull everything into one, unified argument.

For now though, we have an episode to analyze.

While Ironwood is receiving this news we get flashbacks to Qrow and Robyn. Qrow attacks a soldier in his bird form, which is hilarious. Someone GIF that please. It does raise some interesting questions about this magic though: does Qrow retain his aura and strength in this form (something I thought given his choice to transform during the explosion), or was that soldier just so shocked at being attacked by a crow that he went down easy? We'll never know, because that would require establishing concrete rules for this world. The point is Qrow is going feral in his freedom, throwing punches left and right — did he kill that guard? — while Robyn watches it all from under a rock. They're apparently still somewhere in the facility since all the exits are guarded, but that's not the good thing Ironwood seems to think it is. After all, Qrow is out to murder him. He wants to be there.

We all see where this is going, right? The show is going to ignore Qrow's crazy belief that Ironwood got Clover killed in favor of a "Qrow saved Mantle by murdering Ironwood"/“Qrow got revenge for Mantle by murdering Ironwood” ending. Who cares why Qrow wanted to kill him in the first place now that Ironwood has his finger on the trigger? If RWBY is good at anything, it's writing moments that encourage you to ignore everything that came before it. We'll be seeing more of that in just a bit.

"Damn it!" Ironwood yells, because the show is leaning into its cursing. He orders that the subordinates not return until "you have Qrow Branwen in custody." Here we have another great example of the show conflating what the audience knows with what other characters know. See, we know Qrow has a vendetta against Ironwood. We know their relationship is the important one to the story and that Robyn is incidental. Ironwood doesn't know that. There's no reason for him, as a character, to specify that they only bring Qrow back, but it makes sense for the audience who has the whole, thematic picture. Our understanding of the situation is influencing Ironwood's dialogue, which is... not great.

This entire scene we've had creepy music to hammer home just how evil Ironwood is. Except, as said, he takes a breath to calm down and the music fades. Instead of flying into a rage, hurting someone, or doing anything the music suggests he might, Ironwood calmly calls in for an update — which is when the explosion hits.

It's MASSIVE, seeming to originate from a lightning strike, which is weird, since it's coming from inside the whale, but whatever. The animation is very dramatic and pretty, as we've come to expect of RWBY, but the actual plot is lackluster at best. It's funny though because I thought for a hot second, when Winter and the Ace Ops were caught in the blast, that RWBY had actually done something exciting. I mean, holy shit! There are the deaths we expect from a battle like this. My god, what is everyone going to do when they realize that Oscar's needless attack took out five characters, including Weiss' sister —

No wait, never mind. They're fine.

Let's talk about that "needless" descriptor for a moment though. Do you all remember, two weeks ago, when I went, "Hey, why isn't anyone telling Oscar that that Ace Ops are approaching with a bomb? They're on a time limit! If someone would just mention that Very Important Information then Oscar wouldn't keep standing around to fight Salem." See, at the time I was frustrated because of how the plot was needlessly allowing Oscar to put himself in danger (especially when the whole point of this mission was to rescue him). Now, I'm frustrated because that same plot needlessly wasted the most powerful weapon the group had. There was no reason for Oscar to use literal lifetimes worth of stored energy when the heroes already had a bomb to do the same job! What was the point of that? I guess he took out the other grimm too, but without the whale that still would have been a challenge with a finite end, one Ironwood's army and the remaining huntsmen should have been able to handle. It doesn't feel justified to have Oscar use a weapon kept on the bench for lifetimes when there was another option literally minutes away.

There's so much wrong with this I need another list. So:

Ozpin's cane supposedly stores kinetic energy, which may contradict what we've seen from it before. Regardless, we’ve never heard about this. The all powerful weapon comes out of nowhere

It also begs the question of why Ozpin wouldn't use that power at Beacon and why he wouldn't insist that they try to get their cane back while captured. You had an out this whole time! But we’re going to ignore that because Oscar is a little hesitant? 

Which makes YJR's presence even more useless than it originally was, which was already pretty useless. Oscar essentially rescued himself

This kinetic energy miraculously doesn't hurt any people or buildings, just grimm

So what is the point of Silver Eyes? That's been their MO since they were first introduced. Sure, Silver Eyes can be used far more often than Ozpin's cane, but it still feels like a let down to learn that the Big Secret behind this weapon is... the exact same thing Ruby has been doing for years

Like Ruby, Oscar likewise didn't need any practice or training. He just set off this massive attack perfectly and without issue

We have now eliminated the biggest threat to the cast instantaneously — the whale and the other grimm — with no effort from the rest of the heroes. Like the Hound, the stakes are obliterated with no satisfying work on the part of our protagonists 

Instead, as said, the actual plan already in place never happened. The bomb just... goes back. Kind of like how Cinder attacked and then just went back to Salem. Penny woke up and then just got knocked out again. We continue to go in circles 

This is because no one took two seconds to tell Oscar, "There's a bomb on the way"

Because this threat is gone the show needs a new one, hence Ironwood randomly threatening Mantle with said bomb

The one way we might have justified Oscar blowing up the whale instead of Winter is if he did it to save Hazel, but Hazel is implied to be dead

Maybe he's alive, but if he's not that happened off screen and we're not sure how. It couldn't have been because of the blast itself — everyone else is fine — so what, Salem somehow killed him before she was blasted to bits? While he was holding her? 

And there's no body?

Salem was torn apart multiple times during that fight and reformed instantaneously, yet now, conveniently, she's taking her time

None of the characters mention the issues above. None of them admit that there was no reason for Oscar to waste LIFETIMES worth of power when they already had a solution in the works. Fantastic

I need to take a moment to acknowledge that so far this recap feels... bad. Disjointed. Bit all over the place. Which makes a certain amount of sense because that's where my thoughts are at. There's so much going on in this episode — so much wrong with it — that I don't know how to boil it all down into a few, neat claims. This episode is a mess! We're barely a few minutes in and the combined issues of Ironwood's characterization and Oscar's choice have left me reeling. So if you're still reading this, bless your patience, I think we'll both need it for the rest of this journey.

Let's snag a neater plot-point to discuss. Amidst all the chaos Neo literally skips away with the Lamp, clearly thrilled at how her own life is going. Later in the episode she'll text Cinder with the obvious: Salem is going to be pretty pissed when she realizes this is gone. “If you want her name you know what you owe me." 

So wait... what is Neo leveraging here? Is she agreeing to give the Lamp back so Cinder doesn't get in trouble with Salem? Give Salem the password she's been looking for? Or give Cinder the password to use the Lamp for herself? What would Cinder even want the Lamp for when she's after the Maiden powers? I'm confused about what Cinder is being blackmailed with. Regardless, she needs the lamp for something and presumably what she "owes" Neo is Ruby. We get a cut to her just to hammer that home.

(Side note: both pictures of Neo are hilarious.) 

Before that though, back at the whale, everyone is taking stock of the situation when Marrow cries, "Hey, they were still in there!" I feel like this is another scene meant to make him look like the one good guy in the group — he cares about YJOR while the others can’t be bothered — but as always, that reading doesn't fit well with the situation as a whole. The others have barely had time to realize they're alive. I don't think it's a moral failing that they didn't instinctually worry about four betrayers, one of whom attacked them, while they're still checking that they have all their limbs intact. Besides, why does Marrow assume they're dead? The Ace Ops were caught in the blast as well, yet miraculously came out unharmed. They clearly didn't set their own bomb off, so it's logical to assume that YJOR did something themselves. It feels weird to have a "Marrow mourns them and Winter is the only other character who cares" moment when everyone is recovering from bomb shock and no one even knows if the others are dead. But, of course, the show is out to portray only two of these characters as good people, so ignore the logic and run with the emotion of the scene.

All of which is bolstered by Elm pulling away when Vine puts a hand on her shoulder. Why is she acting cold towards him now? Because they're not friends, remember?

While we get more ridiculous relationship dynamics, Ironwood calls in and congratulates them on the bomb working, but tells them to get back because they have another problem in the works. That would be Qrow and Robyn. Winter decides to tell him about the bomb in person.

We cut to Watts and Cinder watching the remnants of the blast from a rooftop. Cinder has tried calling, but no one answered. Unsurprising, given that Salem doesn't have any other allies left. Cinder says that the plan hasn't changed, she's still going to take the Winter Maiden's power for herself, and Watts can help her by bringing Penny here. He explains that he doesn't have full control over her. Rather, he implemented a virus that is setting her on a single path: open the vault, then self-destruct. Cinder, as one might expect, is furious.

She snags Watts by her grimm arm and threatens to toss him over the side of the building. Thus begins the best part of the episode, hands down. Despite the danger he's in, Watts throws common sense out the window in favor of dragging Cinder in the most satisfying manner possible. 

“You think you’re entitled to everything just because you suffered, but suffering isn’t enough. You can’t just be strong, you have to be smart. You can’t just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been is a bloody migraine!”

It's true! You know what else is true? This speech could apply to our heroes as well. Accusations of entitlement and reminders to be smart as opposed to just strong hit hard, considering those are the same flaws our protagonists are struggling with. The difference is that Cinder, miraculously, listens, pulling Watts back to safety and going to cry by herself. That moment is simultaneously more growth than Ruby has gotten and more sympathy than Ironwood has gotten. The woman who murdered Pyrrha is treated more kindly by the narrative than one of our initial heroes and our very first villain has taken more time to reconsider her choices than our title character. You know a show is falling apart when excellent choices are applied to the worst possible character.

So Cinder is crying while Watts looks guilty and we cut back to YJOR's group post-blast. Yang is finally able to answer a call from Blake who is obviously overjoyed to see her. Weiss gives them directions to the mansion and they ask what in the world they'll do with Emerald, currently on her knees, mourning Hazel.

Thus begins the third most frustrating part of this episode. See, on the way back the group continues the conversation about what to do with Emerald, with Yang and Jaune distrusting her vs. Ren and Oscar encouraging cooperation. I can't believe I'm saying this after's Ren's speech and Oscar's entire existence... but I'm team Jaune and Yang here. Look, what Oscar and Ren say — the literal words coming out of their mouth — is nonsense. Ren goes, “We can’t let all of our actions stem from fear," as if Yang and Jaune are being ridiculous for mistrusting Emerald, one of the established villains, after years worth of harm from her. It’s weird that Yang points to her arm as something Emerald is responsible for, rather than being framed or the deaths at Beacon, but the general sentiment of, “She’s done horrible things!” is true. Ren’s perspective is the same simplification that was applied to Ironwood last volume, wherein everyone acted as if he was crazy for fearing an attack on his kingdom... post an attack on another kingdom and pre an attack on his kingdom. Putting generic lines in Ren's mouth about not being afraid makes him sound willfully ignorant, as if choosing to believe that someone is good will magically make them so, to say nothing of thinking it will erase all the harm they've already done.

Oscar at least acknowledges the difficulty here, but then follows this up with, “You don’t have to forgive her… just give her a second chance."

Oscar, honey, that amounts to the same thing in this situation. Allowing Emerald a second chance means working with her, which means trust, which means emotionally reaching a point where these characters can put aside the harm she's done them in an effort to give her that chance in the first place. This actually ties into a post I saw last night, one I've come across before, that claims redemption arcs don't require any suffering on the part of the person who has done wrong. I agree in theory, that prolonged suffering doesn't help anyone, but the problem is that people tend to conflate suffering with consequences and someone who has done this level of harm should face consequences for their actions. The problem with redemption arcs is not that the bad people suffer too much —  emotionally and physically beating on them as a form of revenge  — but that the people they've harmed are put into situations like this one. If Yang and Jaune let Emerald go like she suggests, they are agreeing that she doesn't have to face any consequences for the damage she's done (which, keep in mind, involves multiple deaths, not including all the lost lives here in Atlas). If they agree to give her a second chance, they are forced to jump straight to some level of forgiveness. We might claim they don't have to forgive Emerald to work with her, but from a practical perspective how are they meant to function, especially during a warzone? Anything she provides them with — information, watching their back in a fight, undertaking missions, etc.  — requires trusting her enough to allow those things to happen: working with that info, letting her protect them, allowing her that responsibility. It's all about trust, trust she has yet to earn. In order for a redemption arc to be successful, the power has to be in the hands of the victims. They need to be able to see some justice for what was done to them, be offered some proof that the person in question has truly changed, and have the ability to walk away if they decide no, I don't forgive you, glad to hear you've improved, but please stay out of my life. Jaune and Yang have none of that. There are currently no systems in place for Emerald to face consequences for her choices, she has offered them no proof of her remorse or true motivations, and the other half of the group is pressuring them to give her that second chance without closure or reassurance. None of that makes for a good redemption arc and reducing that to, "So you want to see poor Emerald suffer, huh?" ignores the suffering she has already caused. The group are her victims and they are under no obligation to give her a second chance, particularly under these circumstances, which makes the story's choice to have Ren and Oscar act like Yang and Jaune are being stubborn or inconsiderate a problem. The conversation boils down to, "Give the woman you know to be a liar, manipulator, murder accomplice, and servant of our enemy a second chance based entirely on unfounded faith. If you don't you're letting yourself be ruled by fear."

RWBY's touchy-feely themes really don't sit well within its realistic, morally gray premise. We cannot continually have these characters go through hell one moment and then have others accuse them of being paranoid the next. The fact that all of this is wrapped up in the group trusting Robyn, Emerald, and Hazel over their established allies remains beyond frustrating.

Because yeah, you know how Oscar finishes his speech? “I’ve already gotten a lot of help today from someone I don’t exactly trust right now." Meaning Ozpin.

The story is trying to compare Emerald and Hazel to Ozpin.

"Oh hey, I kept a secret from you after lifetimes of watching that secret lead to betrayal and death. I keep apologizing for my mistakes while ignoring that I had no reason to trust a bunch of kids with such world-shattering information and also that you tore it from me in the most traumatic way possible."

"Oh hey, I willingly joined our world's version of the devil and helped her destroy your school, leading to numerous deaths including your friend and headmaster. It was his death that put Oscar in this position in the first place! I then continued to attack your group, leading to another near death of a friend, and a kidnapping, and the destruction of Amity, until I became scared enough to make a run for it."

Which one of these characters is granted an instant second chance? You'll never guess who!

And I do think the word "instant" is important here because just like Jaune and Yang have the right to have distance and justice from Emerald, they had that right with Ozpin too. The difference is they got it. They had the power in the situation, as evidenced by their use of the Lamp and physically attacking him. Ozpin heard what they needed from him — leave us alone — and did that without complaint. They were given months to come to terms with the secrets he kept. They were offered apologies and acts of service to demonstrate intent: saving them in the airship and continually saving Oscar. I don't believe Ozpin ever needed a redemption arc, but even if we think he did, he had it. After three volumes of material Oscar's perspective is still "I don't exactly trust [him] right now" but Hazel and Emerald have earned at least the same amount of trust in a matter of hours? They're really having my boy look at the guy who has tried desperately to do right by him despite unimaginable circumstances, and the guy who tortured him to get information for Salem, and went, "That first guy. He's the one we need to watch out for."

To make things even worse, Oscar tells the others that Ozpin took on all the torture so he wouldn't have to. So he did that and they still don't trust him? If you had told me back in Volume 6 that two years later the group would still be hostile towards Ozpin, while simultaneously urging one another to trust Emerald, I would have said you were lying. RWBY has its problems, but it's not that bad. Yet here we are. I suppose the one silver lining here is that Ren smiles when he realizes Ozpin is back? So at least one of them isn't prepared to draw their weapon at the mere mention of his name.

Both these moments raise more questions though. How in the world did Ozpin take on that torture when we clearly saw Oscar getting pummeled for a good portion of the kidnapping? Is that a weird merge thing the story hasn't bothered to explain? I wouldn't be surprised, considering Oscar said last episode he didn't want to use magic because it hastened the merge, he uses the biggest explosion of magic we've ever seen, and nothing has changed. Ozpin is still in the back of his head, thanking him for the tinniest shreds of decency they get. Ren, meanwhile, seems to be back to mindreading. How in the world does he know that Ozpin is back? I assume it has something to do with his semblance, but we don't know what. They could have shown us Oscar from Ren's perspective, perhaps with two distinct emotions swilling around to imply that he sees two different people now, not a useless shot of Emerald with purple flower petals, whatever purple means.

Oh, but no, we shouldn't have gotten either of these scenes. Remember that Ren's aura broke a very, very short time ago? Is it back already? Can he use this part of his semblance without it? Considering it was near impossible to see Ironwood's aura breaking in the Watts fight and we were then mistakenly told he used his semblance in the office, I'm going to go with, "The writers forgot."

Oscar explains that the cane had "lifetime after lifetime" of power in it and though there's still some left, "we have to be careful with how we use the rest." He says that Ozpin trusted his judgement and of course he did! Ozpin also didn’t know that there was a bomb on the way. Yet funnily enough, no one else mentions that, whoops, your choice made in ignorance was a waste and that's due entirely to us prioritizing hugs over basic mission information.

Also, all these explanations take place in front of Emerald. Half the group doesn't trust her, but they'll freely discuss their powers and limitations here. Remember how the group once wanted to talk about magical relics in front of the old lady they'd just met? Yeah, they've learned nothing.

Combine all this insanity with the fact that Ozpin's magic saved the day before Ironwood's bomb could do the same... while Ruby sat in a mansion drinking tea. Who's our hero again?

So things are a hot mess, to put it lightly. Their conversation finally ends when they hear voices and round the corner to find all the Atlas citizens huddled in the subway. For once the show actually writes them in a sympathetic manner, emphasizing how terrified and helpless they are. This image doesn't lead the group to any revelations though, certainly not anything that would tie back to Ren's earlier speech in the snow. No, once again the justified criticisms here are ignored as we hear that “However this fight ends, we could really use someone like you, [Emerald.]” That's it then. Discussion over. We knew as soon as it started that blindly trusting her was being presented as the "right" thing to do and now here we are, deciding that conclusively, despite Jaune and Yang's complaints. By the time the group reaches the mansion, Oscar is defending Emerald from Ruby. We're supposed to just accept that she's a part of the group now, only minimal pushback allowed.

Before that though we return to Ironwood getting news that their bomb never went off. He briefly wonders who else could have done that, but puts the currently unanswerable question aside for what he does know. They still have the bomb and it could be "useful." See, this moment — like shooting Oscar and the councilman — is when Ironwood just randomly goes off the deep end. One minute he's talking about what they've lost and cradling his new arm, 

the next he's saying that he should have tortured Qrow to get Penny to obey him! Which doesn't even make sense since I'm pretty sure Penny hasn't ever spoken to Qrow. She wouldn't want anyone to suffer, true, but it's not like Ironwood had a close friend like Ruby to use as leverage. Qrow is just Some Guy to her. Regardless, he thinks Yang, Jaune, and Ren are decent replacements, despite Penny also having no relationships with them. This is what happens when your characters only start breaking up their teams eight years into the story, the response to Ironwood wanting to torture Ren to hurt Penny is, “Does Penny know Ren exists?” But, you know, torture is torture, right? Maybe. Probably not. I mean, if they're going to turn Ironwood into a cartoon villain, they could at least keep him smart.

Because all of this is just the height of stupidity. Ironwood wants to torture people Penny barely knows to make her listen (so just grab some civilians? It would do the same job...). Ironwood wants to shoot down empty ships, even though no one, including us, knows where in the world those ships would have gone. Ironwood wants to destroy an entire city to try and save another city. He wants to use a bomb meant for a comparatively small whale and acts like that alone will take out the majority of a kingdom. None of it makes sense! And I know the easy comeback for that is, "Well yeah, Ironwood is crazy and evil" but he's not. I mean he is. Threatening torture and bombings is obviously evil, but he's never been insane, or stupid. As said before, his arc (or lack thereof) is an absolute disaster. The fandom assumes so many things about Ironwood given the opportunity — the whale is a suicide mission. He expects the Ace Ops to die on his order — and the writing hints at so many things that never happen — he's going to hurt his subordinates, attack Winter for disobeying him — and every time what we actually get is a far more compassionate, level-headed character... until he randomly does a 180 and goes, "Let's murder a whole city now!" I never wanted Ironwood to be the bad guy, but they could have at least given me a persuasive decent into this level of horror.

So... yeah. Ironwood has got to die by the end of the volume, yeah? Between Ruby warning the whole world about him and him going into full villain mode, there's no coming back from this.

Neo sends her text to Cinder and the group makes it back to the mansion. Remember Yang's criticisms of Ruby's leadership? The ones she conveniently forgot about when Ren started to agree with her? Yeah, those are entirely gone as the sisters hug it out and, presumably, forgive one another for... daring to admit that things are bad? Look, I'm not going to deny that Ironwood's scene with Winter was creepy as fuck, 

but I'm not of the opinion that the heroes are any better when it comes to the theme of obedience. They've attacked one another, screamed at one another, and any dissent from Ruby's leadership results in the questioner being left behind in the snow. We'll accept you again when you fall back in line. I used to adore the relationships in this show, but watching them now is just discomforting. The show might be 100% more obvious with Ironwood, using creepy music, a smile, and that hand on Winter's shoulder, but the concept of, "Sorry I dared to question you before! We won't ever do it again :)" isn't healthy either. The fact that the show keeps erasing theses problems with hugs — Weiss hugs Whitley now, Yang hugs Ruby, someone will probably hug Emerald soon — doesn't make the circumstances any less uncomfortable.

None of this even gets into the Blake and Yang hug. First of all, why is Blake acting like they had a fight and Yang might not want to see her? She's hiding inside rather than rushing to greet them, ears down in a devastated expression until Yang touches her. Combine this with Yang's "Do you think she's mad at me?" and it feels like the writers cut a fight in the final script and then didn't bother to remove the fallout from that. Seriously, where did any of this come from? You can't just have characters act like they've been fighting when they haven’t.

Also, can't forget this.

At this point there's nothing more I can say in regards to RWBY's almost-queer baiting. Is touching foreheads more intimate than the hugs Yang gave the others? Absolutely. Is that an appropriate stand-in for overt representation? Absolutely not. This would have been a perfect time for them to kiss. Take out Blake's nonsensical fear and replace it with them both reuniting after their first separation since Volume 5, working under the knowledge that either one could have been killed, finally admitting their feelings. Hell, they don't actually have to kiss. Not all girlfriends are interested in kissing! But they could use the terminology that makes things unequivocally canon.  Another forehead touch when we got that in Volume 6? It's not enough, especially not when our straight couples have all been allowed their rep.

Ren at least wants to know where Nora is. He's presumably told what happened off screen as Oscar tells Ruby that Emerald is their friend now.

Then an emergency call from May interrupts the reunion and the group learns that Ironwood is bombing the Schnee ships. “Those ships… they were going to save people” Weiss whispers. How? Tell me how they were going to save anyone. Where were you going to take these people where they would be safer than where they are now? RWBY continually asserts things without explaining them, meaning there is precisely zero emotional weight here. Again, Ironwood is far past the point of defense, but I'd be a whole lot more critical of this particular action if I had a better sense of why it's bad. He appears to be endangering the people given May's shout to run — falling debris? — but the further implication is that Ironwood has doomed the people of Mantle by denying them these ships. It's that part that makes no sense based on what we've been told.

Which finally comes to the ultimatum of our episode title: Penny opens the vault, or Ironwood bombs Mantle. Great! So glad this plan is wicked smart and works well for his characterization. It's definitely not a nonsensical, unfounded, overblown change that feels like it belongs in a child's cartoon, complete with dramatic spotlight. Nope. Excellent writing choices all around.

Our final line of the episode is, “I hope you live up to the title I gave you," referring to Penny's job as the Protector of Mantle, and you know what? That line could have been very cool if it was delivered by an Ironwood with a persuasive fall and a halfway decent plan in place. I love that we've twisted the concept of a protector and turned the title into a horrifying, rather than honorable responsibility... I just hate everything surrounding those details. 

So, usual RWBY fare.

(At least we get to see that Nora is awake!) 

Will things get better over the next four episodes? I doubt it. We're still expecting the rest of the Ace Ops + Winter to ditch Ironwood, someone getting the vault open, the fall of Atlas, now the potential destruction of Mantle, and none of that includes Salem who should reform at any moment. Frankly, I'm not looking forward to any of it. The final leg of a season should make its audience excited to see how everything turns out, not dreading it. I've heard from multiple people that this is the volume that finally got them to drop the show and honestly? I'm not surprised.

As a final (happier?) note: we've finally got a bingo! I completely forgot our board last time, which was a terrible oversight, but we can update it now.

Our army of grimm can't kill anyone now that it got KOed by Oscar (that is the third one hit defeat of a major enemy we've seen this volume. Yes, I'm including the Hound considering it was obviously on its last legs after Ruby's eyes.)

I'm likewise including "Ozpin apologizes for everything including his existence" because he's done nothing but apologize since he came back. The emotion is there even if the literal words are not. Oscar reminded everyone of how untrustworthy he is, but kept the group from jumping them again. And Ozpin thanked him for it.

Neo didn't literally backstab Cinder (shame), but the Relic still counts.

So a triple bingo! Is that how bingo works? Idk, I've never played. I feel like I should have thought up some sort of humorous prize, but sadly I've got nothing. If you think of anything, let me know lol

That’s all then, folks. Until next week! 💜

[agentrouka-blog]

When people say Sansa being tied to power will be miserable for her , they mean she will live her life in a cottage far away from her home and not be a threat to other characters. The game Sansa is wary of is the Littlefinger style of "Game of Thrones" which is based on lies and treachery. Even Ned disliked playing the game and power was suddenly thrusted upon him when all his life he was groomed to follow. At the end, Ned does a decent job and by ADWD, it's his legacy that is shining . Most of these arguments about Sansa not ending up in a position of power , are coupled with the idea of "she will never go north and will meet their favourite pedo and live with him for eternity ".

I don’t even know. I don’t care what motivates them. It’s simply wrong.

The thing is, the lemon cake quote the anon used actually proves the opposite of what they wanted to say, when used in context. Sansa IS interested in this stuff.

Ned is holding court as Hand of the King and notices her up on the gallery watching - and is pissed!

From his vantage point atop the throne, he could see men slipping out the door at the far end of the hall. Hares going to ground, he supposed … or rats off to nibble the queen’s cheese. He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa beside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. But the septa could not have known that today’s court would be anything but the usual tedious business of hearing petitions, settling disputes between rival holdfasts, and adjudicating the placement of boundary stones. 

(AGOT, Eddard XI)

Followed by Sansa III, which is all about Sansa telling Jeyne what went on in the throne room in great detail and with much enthusiasm. Because - even if it is still colored by her idealised notions of chivalry - she cares about this sort of stuff.

“He wouldn’t send Ser Loras,” Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. “I think it was because of his leg.”

Lord Eddard had taken his supper in his bedchamber with Alyn, Harwin, and Vayon Poole, the better to rest his broken leg, and Septa Mordane had complained of sore feet after standing in the gallery all day. Arya was supposed to join them, but she was late coming back from her dancing lesson.

“His leg?” Jeyne said uncertainly. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl of Sansa’s own age. “Did Ser Loras hurt his leg?”

“Not his leg,” Sansa said, nibbling delicately at a chicken leg. “Father’s leg, silly. It hurts him ever so much, it makes him cross. Otherwise I’m certain he would have sent Ser Loras.”

Her father’s decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she’d been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan’s stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father’s decisions.

(AGOT, Sansa III)

She went there on purpose to watch, not knowing it would get exciting, she stayed there ALL DAY and then she thought about his various decisions and spent the evening telling Jeyne about them.

Yeah, she hates the intricacies of ruling. Not.

Arya has different priorities. Both in how she spends her time (”dancing”), and in what kind of interaction she prefers:

Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface."

(AGOT, Arya II)

Arya prefers a more equal connection, an immersion in the people of the household. She wants to know them all and she gets into their business, the setting she prefers is semi-private and personal, related to practical details and bonding, not the formal exercise of power involving thoughtful political decision-making on a much larger scale.

So when Jeyne keeps interrupting Sansa, it is irritating because Sansa cares and the only thing that can mitigate it is the cause of the interruption: friggin’ lemon cakes. Alayne Stone bankrupted the entire Vale of lemons for a lemon cake. That’s the scale of how much they mean to her.

Jeyne yawned. “Are there any lemon cakes?” Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. “Let’s see,” she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya. The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lord Beric form up his men.

She still makes sure to follow up the proceedings of the court day by watching Beric ride off before dawn even though she stayed up late.

Are her thoughts about what goes on still immature? Yes, she is a 12-year-old girl. But she IS interested, she had the patience to listen to this stuff for hours and recalled the details with enough enthusiasm and clarity to nerd off about it to Jeyne, who clearly could not have given less of a flying horse shoe. That boring crap even Jeyne can’t bear to listen to? Sansa lives for it.

The idea that Sansa would be, specifically, miserable in this setting is simply fiction. The idea that Arya wouldn’t be is also a stretch.

Can and should they learn from each other? Yessss. Sansa would definitely benefit from more contact with the smallfolk. Arya’s strength there is something Sansa needs to emulate.

Does that mean their personal inclination for what they enjoy would change? No. In a formal courtly rulership position, Sansa is likely to thrive.