#and hes frustrated and angry and generally resentful so instead of just leaving again like he normally does he confronts Arlo about it.

[bitchfitch]

Consumed with the need to draw a comic and consumed with the knowledge I'm Really bad at actually finishing comics.

[dimensionalspades]

💭 + Julian's view of his parents!

- headcanons || accepting -

Oh we just want an essay huh

By the time 'Doctor Bashir, I Presume' rolls around, Julian's feelings are negative. He still loves his parents, very deep down, but he's been no contact with them for over a decade and doesn't want to change that. Throughout the episode, his feelings grow more acidic because he realizes just how self-absorbed they are and it fully sets in that he was never his own person to them, just a "legacy".

But there was a time when he adored them. When he was a child and couldn't grasp what'd happened to him, he trusted his parents like all kids do. For quite a few years, Julian tried to be the perfect son to appease his father. But as time went on, the cracks started to show. Julian often couldn't process the overload of enhanced sensory information, leading to meltdowns and, occasionally, Julian shutting down entirely. His parents would grow increasingly controlling of Julian, forcing him to take up classes and tutors in an effort to shove every bit of knowledge and accomplishment onto him. They refused to seek therapy for Julian, fearing that someone would figure out what they'd done, and even went so far as to move on occasion if Richard felt even the smallest hint they'd be exposed. Julian tried to ignore his problems with very limited success, and instead buried himself in hyperfixations, with his parents intervening in interests they deemed not worth his time.

This built a deep-seated resentment that quickly turned into hatred, particularly for Richard, who showed Julian time and time again how shallow his love was. He only ever saw Julian as an extension of himself and punished him when he stepped outside of that role. Richard's "need" to have the perfect son completely demolished Julian's sense of self, and his refusal to help Julian manage the pitfalls that came with being enhanced and autistic left lifelong scars on Julian and is why he's so meticulous about masking.

While Julian knew how selfish his parents truly were, he still loved them when he discovered that he'd been augmented. The discovery shattered him completely, and if asked, he probably can't remember the full confrontation with his parents due to stress. Everything fell into place, and in an instant he saw what his father for what he was; a malignant narcissist who hated his son.

Amsha, however, is a more complicated case to Julian. In his youth, when he was struggling with sensory overload or just in general, he would run to Amsha. Often, when Richard grew angry with Julian or they got into an argument, Amsha would comfort him while reinforcing Richard's point of view. She enabled Richard's abuse, and many times grew just as frustrated with Julian's struggle to manage his emotions and socialize "properly". It actually wasn't until DBIP that Julian saw just how much Amsha agreed with and sympathized with Richard. While the reveal of what they'd done showed him that, her demand for Julian to understand their point of view of practicing eugenics on their son hammered home that Amsha wasn't a better parent than Richard, she was just better at manipulating.

Post canon when Richard is out of jail, they attempt to get into contact with Julian again, but Julian refuses, and goes so far as to leave the station if they ever try to visit ds9.

[high-lady-of-earth]

Warrior Heart

Chapter 1

Riven x Light Fairy Reader

Plot: After the ending of Winx Saga season 1, the reader must navigate the rest of her second year in the shifting school environment. She wants to learn how to fight and defend herself.

Chapter 2

It had been a month since Alfea had been taken over by Rosalind. Headmistress Dowling was still missing and Headmaster Silva had been arrested. Professor Harvey was still teaching, but you could tell that he was on thin ice with Rosalind. Andreas of Eraklyon, Sky’s father, had taken over Silva’s role of training the specialists.

You were an air fairy in your second year. Your powers, which allowed you to manipulate the density of air particles, were firmly within your control and you had been one of Headmistress Dowling’s prodigies.

In your first year, you had roomed with Stella and Rikki. You were there when Stella had lost control of her powers and accidentally blinded Rikki, who was sent away by Queen Luna. After that incident, you had lost one of your best friends and the other began to pull away from you. You watched from afar as Stella’s life at Alfea began to fall apart. Her magic was irreparably damaged. You knew Stella felt incompetent next to you, who had been labeled by Dowling to be the “most talented fairy of your generation”. You tried not to use your powers near Stella, but you still could still feel her resentment, even though you weren’t a mind fairy.

Now, Stella was rooming with first years and you were alone. You had mended your friendship over the summer, especially after she had broken up with Sky. Her new roommates became your friends, even though you lived alone. If you were being honest, it was actually kinda nice to have a room all to yourself.

But now, things were taking a darker turn. Stella’s mother was currently residing in the school, and no one liked her. Queen Luna was cruel, especially to Stella. She doted on you because you were a powerful fairy, but you wished she didn’t. It made Stella feel even more inadequate when she didn’t receive the same attention from her own mother.

Bloom was Rosalind’s protege. She did everything Rosalind ordered, without asking any questions. Bloom and the other girls felt like Aisha had betrayed the rest of them and you honestly just wanted to graduate without anymore drama after your fourth year.

Sky was more of a mystery. You couldn’t tell how he felt about his father’s return. You knew that even though Sky might be happy to see his father, he would never forgive Andreas for Silva’s arrest and subsequent absence. Sky seemed to be dating Bloom though, after another breakup with Stella. He mostly kept to himself, only really hanging out with Bloom. Sky also wasn’t talking to Riven.

Riven and Dane turned out to be Beatrix’s lackeys. They followed her every step and worshipped the ground she walked on. You were disgusted by how much Riven had changed. Before this year, he had been arrogant, but now he was just a straight up asshole.

The specialist presence on campus has increased immensely. Rosalind cited the burned ones as the reason for more security. You couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable whenever you walked to class, the stares of the guards like needles in your skin. You also hated how vulnerable they made you feel. The older specialists were a constant reminder that you were defenseless and you hated that feeling. That was why you were currently at the specialists training field at ten pm, trying to smash a dummy.

You had seen the specialists do it when they were training. They would punch the dummy and it would fall. It couldn’t be that difficult. Ok well, unfortunately it was. You had tried to punch the dummy at least six times already, and it seemed like it was doing more damage to you based on the state of your knuckles.

You put your arms back into position and struck out, this time pushing more strength into your blow. Your fist collided with the center of the target on the dummy and it fell backwards a little bit. You let out a small squeal of excitement at the first amount of progress you had made.

“Why are you so excited? You only made the dummy move a fraction of an inch and it took you eight tries.” Said a voice behind you.

You whirled around to see a person standing behind you, their identity obscured by the darkness. It didn’t matter that it was dark. You knew by the cocky voice exactly who it was.

“It was six tries and no one asked your opinion, Riven.” You replied.

“Well, I wanted to give it anyway. And here’s another one: you’re punches are shit.” He said. You rolled your eyes. It didn’t matter that your punches were shit, you didn’t like being told by him.

“What are you doing out here? Running from your homicidal bitch of a girlfriend?” You said tauntingly.

“1) she’s not my girlfriend. 2) I could ask you the same question, Y/n.”

“So, you were running from Beatrix.”

“No, I was talking a walk, but your pathetic excuse for a punch ruined it.”

“You could just leave then. The dorms are back that way.” You said, pointing to the specialist hall.

“I’m just leaving now. Here’s a free tip: widen your stance and use your core.” Riven said as he walked off. You turned around and did as he suggested, widening the distance between your two feet. Then, you brought your arm back and swung while tightening your core. Your fist hit the dummy and it sailed backwards and hit the ground. You let out a triumphant cry of joy and walked back to your room.

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

When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you noticed was your knuckles. They were red and raw. If any of your friends saw your hands, they wouldn’t stop asking questions. You put on a sweater which was just a hint too big and pulled the sleeves over your hands.

You walked to your first class, which was taught by Rosalind. Her teaching style was way different from Headmistress Dowling’s. Instead of sitting at desks, you were told to stand around the edge of the room. All of the desks had been removed from the classroom and a table small table had been set up in the middle of the open space. On it were three bowls that contained water, dirt, and sticks.

“Good morning, class. Today, we will be learning how to use our magic without the guidance of our hands.” Rosalind said. The class chittered with excitement. This was the most exciting lesson for second years.

“We’re going to be doing things a little differently. Headmistress Dowling taught you useless magic. I will be teaching you how to use it offensively and we will practice on each other.” Rosalind continued. Someone spoke up.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to use our magic on other students!” Your classmate said.

“Using your magic on each other is the only way to hone your skills. This new rule will be put into place effective immediately.” Rosalind replied.

You watched as Rosalind called up two of your classmates. One was an earth fairy and the other was a water fairy. Rosalind proceeded to teach them how to draw on their magic without using their hands. Headmistress Dowling and already taught you this, so you zoned out. Instead of watching the two fairies in the center try to battle it out, you thought about last night.

You were surprised that Riven had helped you. A part of his first year self had come through and you were pleasantly happy about it. It was good to know that he wasn’t just Beatrix’s lap dog.

“Y/n and Fiora, you’re up next.” Rosalind said. You rolled your eyes. Fairy parents were so unoriginal with names for their children. Of course Fiora was a fire fairy.

You stepped into the center of the room. You reached out with your mind and the air around you condensed, becoming a thick shield. It was invisible, so no one could tell that you had already armed yourself.

“Y/n, are you ready?” Fiora said. She was holding a bunch of the sticks you had seen in one of the bowls. Well, it seemed like her plan was to torch the stick and throw it at you, just like the three other fire fairies had done in the last few rounds. How unoriginal, you thought. You were honestly bored of this already.

You nodded and reached out with your mind once again. Fiora’s eyes lit up as she used her powers and stared at the sticks, but nothing happened. She knit her eyebrows in concentration. The concentration turned to confusion when the sticks turned black.

“What are you doing?” Fiora said to you. Everyone was now staring at you intensely. Honestly, it was really simple. Fire needed oxygen to light, so you had removed the oxygen in the air from around your the sticks, creating a little bubble around them. Fiora was just heating them up to the point where they charred. You tell she was growing frustrated and angry so you drew your powers back from her.

What you didn’t expect, thought, was for her to launch two fireballs at you. You had still kept the shield of air up around you, so they hit the barrier and fizzled out. Fiora launched fireball after fireball at you and she began sweating. She was wearing herself out, but you weren’t even fazed. You wanted to end this, so you reached out with your power and formed a hand with the air in front of Fiora. You used the hand to push her towards the edge of the room.

Rosalind began clapping while the other students stared at you in awe.

“Now that is a perfect example of offensive mental magic!” Rosalind exclaimed.

Hi!! I hope you liked the first chapter of this:) I will be posting the next chapter in a couple of days.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Cold Shoulder

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Rating: T 

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this nor do I own anything recognizable. Also, I edited after a glass of wine. So. I think I shall blame any mistakes on that. 

Word count: 2317

Warnings: Mild descriptions of violence

Request: Aragorn x Reader where he protects the reader but she is mad at him because of that and gives him a silent shoulder. Much fluff please (Anon)

A/n Anon, thank you for the request!! I enjoyed writing this and love me some Aragorn content <3 Also, for context, I placed the reader in the Fellowship. Okay, read on!

The sharp cry pierces the peace of the early morning.

“Orcs!”

Legolas, who had been standing watch and discovered the threat, immediately begins firing arrows, keeping the pack at bay. The rest of us spring into action, drawing weapons and shouldering our bags, looking to Aragorn to determine our next move. Despite the jolt of fear that runs through me, I know that luck is on our side. For one, our group had planned to set out shortly, meaning our camp is packed and we run no risk of leaving anything behind. Second, it was Legolas on watch, and his keen eyesight gave us critical early warning.

I feel a rough hand wrap around mine, and I’m yanked into a sprint. I nearly stumble at the speed Aragorn sets, but force myself to keep pace. A quick look at my surroundings tells me why we’re running — our camp is secluded, but there are too many high spots around us for it to be favorable in a fight. I can assume that we are making for higher or more open ground, so that we will not be at a disadvantage when the orc pack inevitably catches us.

There’s a muffled yelp, and I whip my head around to see Frodo tripping and falling roughly to the ground.

“Aragorn—” His name has barely left my lips when I feel his hands on my back, spurring me on, and he leaves my side, running back to aid our hobbit friend. Closer than I would like, the wails of the orc grow louder, and, at my right, Boromir speeds up, hauling Merry along with him.

The three of us break through the tree-line first, and immediately, an arrow whizzes above my head.

Damn it, they cut us off!

I don’t have much time to dwell on how the monsters got around us unnoticed, because a tall, imposing orc lunges in my direction. I raise my dagger and put all my focus into not letting the orc’s razor-sharp sword pierce my skin.

The shrieks and grunts of battle, as well as the shrill clanking of metal hitting metal fill the air. The orc jabs his sword at me, and I jump to my left. As the orc takes another swing, an arrow soars mere millimeters from my ear and imbeds itself in my attacker’s eye. I don’t even have time to shoot Legolas a thankful glance, because another beast catches my arm and pulls me against his foul-smelling side. I swipe at his arm with my dagger, and with a howl of pain, he throws me to the ground, raising his sword. I roll to the side, narrowly dodging the slice of steel, and push myself back to my feet. The orc is distracted, struggling with his weapon which is embedded in the ground, leaving the side of his neck exposed. I lift my dagger, and step forward, intent on ending this fight—

An arm grips my waist and pulls me back, moving me out of the way and slaying the orc.

I gawk at Aragorn, who, with the focused eyes of battle, rips his sword free of the orc’s neck and spins, killing a beast to his right.

“I had it,” I shout over the noise, unable to contain my frustration.

Aragorn straightens to face me, eyes wide. “Your back!”

Immediately, I turn on my heel and raise my dagger, pushing against the knife meant to impale my unguarded back. The orc is stronger than me, but if I can hold him off for just a few seconds more, I can reach for my other dagger and stab him in the stomach. As my hand twitches towards my belt, a sword passes around my side, impaling the orc with a sickening squelch.

Once again, I fix Aragorn with disbelieving eyes.

What was the point of investing all that time training me if I don’t get to use any of said training?!

The sounds of battle begin to fade, and, with a final swing of Gimili’s axe, the fighting is done.

We take stock of our injuries which are, thankfully, minor, and pull the dead orc deep into the tree line, not wanting to draw attention to our path. After the quickest of rests and a wash-up in the stream, we continue, Aragorn insisting that we cannot take any unnecessary delays now that we have orc interested in us.

We begin our trek, mostly in tired silence.

At the front of the group, Aragorn and Legolas do a mixture of scouting and chatting, seeming more relaxed the farther we get from the site of the attack. Aragorn doesn’t usually walk with me, preferring instead to lead with Legolas and keep an eye out for danger. Usually, I wish he would stay by my side, but today, I am grateful for the distance, as I’m not feeling too kindly towards him at the moment. I can’t stop myself from glaring at his back, resenting him taking away my right to handle myself in battle. But after an hour of lonely overthinking, resentment gives way to insecurity. What if he only jumped in because he thinks I’m weak? He’s probably not the only one…compared to everyone else, what advantages do I have? They probably all, to some extent, see me as a burden.

Gimli jogs up next to me, fixing me with a mildly concerned look.

“You alright, lassie? Not hurt, are ya?”

Aragorn’s head tilts in our direction. He’s listening.

Unable to contain my annoyance at his continued monitoring, I huff. “I’m fine, Gimli, thanks. Just tired.”

Gimli looks at the ground, seemingly unable to reconcile my usual friendliness with this foul mood. “Aye, well, t’is to be expected, after the morning we had. You fought well.”

I cross my arms, cocking my head to the side. “Did I? Because, as I remember it, I was barely allowed to fight at all.”

At this, I hear light sniggering behind me, and whip my head around to see a quickly composed Merry and Pippin looking anywhere but me.

Gimli makes a sighing, almost grumbling noise, and walks off to join his friends at the front of the group. Aragorn hangs back a little, waiting for me to catch up before resuming a slower pace.

“What troubles you?”

Getting right to the chase, then.

I huff angrily, my annoyance from this morning only growing now that I’ve had hours to stew about it. Because really, I am well-trained, I am capable, and he had no business neglecting his own safety to help me when I wasn’t in any actual danger. I had it all under control! And rather than feeling like a warrior equal with my companions, I feel like a girl who just slows them down and needs babysitting.

Aragorn stops walking and grips my elbow lightly, pulling me to stop with him. “I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

I glare at him. Can I handle nothing on my own?! “Well, maybe I don’t want your help, Aragorn.”

He sighs, sounding frustrated, but lets me go.

Neither of us makes an attempt to talk to the other for the remainder of our hike.

{***}

We stop when it is well and properly dark, making hasty camp. I drop my bedroll and begin preparing for the night, cleaning my dagger and shoes as best I can. The others sit on rocks near the fire, eyeing me warily.

Pippin elbows Merry and hisses in a low voice,“go and talk to her, something’s obviously wrong with her.”

Merry’s eyes grow comically wide, and he fixes his friend with an indignant expression. “Why does it have to be me, then?! I don’t want to get yelled at.”

“Because I checked on Frodo last Thursday when he was in a mood, and now it’s your turn.”

“I didn’t realize we were taking turns,” Merry whisper-shouts, oblivious to the fact that everyone can hear their argument just fine.

Sam fixes them with a pleading look before glancing over to me. “Miss Y/n, do you not want supper?” He hesitantly holds a bowl in my general direction.

“No, thank you,” I respond, cooler than intended. He blinks at me for a moment, and then hands the bowl to an amused Boromir.

I feel the weight of everyone’s questioning stares, hear their hushed whispers, and cannot take it one moment longer.

“I’m going to get more firewood,” I declare, tucking my dagger back into my belt and trudging deeper into the forest.

The woods are dark, but there is sufficient light from the moon, and I pick my way through the trees, looking for fallen logs and branches. I don’t stray to where I can no longer hear the voices of my friends, though — I may be angry, but I’m not stupid.

Less than two minutes later, the sound of light footsteps creeps into my hearing.

Aragorn walks to my side, bending to grasp and examine a log that might make for good firewood. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “Sam put aside some soup for you, though I would not delay if you wish to eat it. I saw Pippin eyeing it with interest.”

When I don’t laugh or give any indication that I heard him, he shifts on his feet, unsure. “I feel tension between us. I’ve upset you?”

I make a noncommittal noise and go a few yards deeper in the forest.

“Y/n?”

With a resigned sigh, I turn to face him, knowing that my silence is hurting him. “It’s stupid.”

Obviously pleased that I’m speaking to him now, Aragorn takes quick steps towards me, wearing an open expression. “If I have done something to hurt you, you have every right to be upset.”

I resist the urge to groan. Stop being so good and noble, it makes it hard to stay mad at you. I reign in my frustrations and sigh, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. “I feel like the weakest link. I’m the youngest, the only woman, I don’t possess any special abilities or extensive battle experience. I put a lot of work into being competent with my daggers, and still there are days when I question my right to be here with you all. So when you jump in to protect me, well-intentioned as you may be, I feel like a child that needs looking after rather than someone capable of standing her own ground.”

His face falls, and discomfort spreads in my stomach. But before I can apologize and take back my words, he offers his hands, and I take them gratefully.

“I did not consider how my actions would make you feel, though I understand now. Forgive me, Y/n?”

At his heartfelt words, my anger ebbs away. I use my grip on his hands to pull him closer and rest my forehead against his chest. “Of course.”

He pulls back slightly to bring my hands to his lips, pressing kisses on my knuckles. “I intervened during the fight not because I think you incapable, but because I wanted to keep you as much removed from the danger as possible. You are precious to me, Y/n. I won’t risk losing you.”

At this, he leans his forehead against mine, and I can’t help how I soften at his words. I didn’t think about it like that. “There is the slightest possibility that I may have accidentally overreacted a little.”

Aragorn rewards me with a deep chuckle, one I can feel vibrating through his chest, and shakes his head against mine. “Are you sure, my love? I think ignoring me all day was a completely proportionate response.”

I roll my eyes at the dripping sarcasm in his voice and raise a hand to smack his chest. Before I can get anywhere near him, his own hand shoots out and grabs my wrist —  an act that has me grumbling in irritation and him shaking with laughter. Once he regains composure, he brings my wrist to his lips and places the softest of kisses there, watching my face carefully for my reaction.

I look away, trying to distract myself from the fluttering in my stomach. He trails a line of kisses up my forearm, and I scramble for something to say before my brain gets scattered beyond help. “For the record, you mean the world to me and I would defend you in battle too, if the need were to arise.”

His lips pause against my skin. I turn my head back to him to see that he’s, much to my annoyance, trying to fight a smile. Unable to school his smirk, he raises his head, still holding my hand in his. “I thank you, dearest, but I hardly believe that will be necessary. I’ve been battling for decades, I can handle a few stray orc.”

I step back out of his embrace, crossing my arms and regarding him with raised eyebrows.

He realizes his mistake.

“Oh—um, I meant, I—”

I shake my head. “No, you know what? Not ‘should the need arise’, I’ll just do it anyway! Next fight, you better watch out buddy, I’m throwing myself in front of anything that comes at you!”

His eyes blow open and his voice takes on a strangled quality. “Y/n, please don’t, that’s just unnecessary—”

“Nope!” I stomp away from him, picking up branches at random. “You brought this upon yourself. Get ready to be defended!”

Before walking back to camp, I turn to give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I love you.”

Aragorn dramatically drops his head into his hands. “I shall die from stress.”

Our companions, who obviously heard our argument, roar with laughter.

A/n Thank you for reading! If you have a moment, I’d love it if you could check out my masterlist! Thank you :)

[kitkatopinions]

While other people have pointed this out before, I think what gets me the most about RWBY is the way having a differing opinion is portrayed? I grew up in a household where…yeah, generally you had to agree, and it’s not healthy. I don’t know why the writers seem to think that has to be a thing? It’s just pushing toxic behavior and it’s made like…even viewing RWBY to make fun of the flaws with friends unbearable. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it earlier, if anything.

This is absolutely one of the most frustrating things about the RWBY group.

Qrow doesn't agree with Ruby and Jaune about stealing a plane. That is framed as absolutely wrong and he is point blank told to either fall in line with what they want, or leave. Before this, Yang, Blake, and Weiss all are very quick to draw their weapons on him when they want to summon Jinn and think he might protest. The idea here is that they only are willing to have Qrow even in their team when he agrees with everything they say, and will even get ready to fight him the moment he really protests. Yang, Ren, and May all protest the actions of the general group or challenge them, only for that to be treated as wrong and surprising and they're treated as problematic at the least, terrible friends at the worst. Falling back in line and deciding that the team is totally right and that Ruby doesn't have to change made May and Yang totally fine. And as for Ren, he doesn't become 'fine' until he not only gives in and decides that Ruby and her team were one hundred percent right, but totally gives in with Nora too in their relationship and decides Nora is one hundred percent right. Emerald, Winter, and Whitley were all considered various levels of bad until they switched to Ruby's side, and on top of that, the writers specifically had Winter give tons of horrible dialogue in her fight with Ironwood that basically says "actually I never believed any of the stuff that I said and acted like I believed in the last volume, now I agree with Team RWBY on literally everything we disagreed about." Ozpin must beg forgiveness for having not trusted Team RWBY with everything within months of knowing them (despite the narrative of the story proving his hesitance well founded over and over and them having Ruby just as free with lies and hesitant with trust herself.)

There's more even than that I'm sure, but the point is that the mentality of everyone agreeing is uncomfortable to say the least. If I'm being generous, I might consider this writing a reflection of their inability to write fleshed out character dynamics and their struggle to write Ruby as a convincing or good protagonist. It's also reflective of their struggles with follow through and pay off. They have people challenge Ruby, but they don't have Ruby actually grow or change and they have her friends instead realize they're wrong. There's no pay off to Ruby being challenged because the end result is still "Ruby is right, Ruby is good, Ruby doesn't have to change how she acts." So instead it just looks like everyone is forced to follow the group mind frame, think and act the way they do.

The mentality of people being bad if they don't agree with or like the protagonist is prevalent in the treatment of Ozpin, Whitley, and Emerald. Ozpin's crime was keeping secrets from Team RWBY. Whitley's crime was wanting Weiss's position as heir and being snide. And yet both of them actually put in more work towards 'redemption' than Emerald, literal murderer who willingly tried to help Cinder kill Penny again mere episodes before her 'redemption.' Because the crimes didn't actually matter all that much. It just mattered that they proved they were on RWBY's side, and Emerald's actions weren't as personally against Team RWBY directly. Whitley made Weiss mad, so he had to prove himself at least as much as Emerald the murderous terrorist. Ozpin acted against Team RWBY, so he has to ask forgiveness and explicitly state that he was wrong and he has to bow to Ruby's will, let her make the standards, let the others make the choices, despite the fact that he has every right to dismiss Ruby as an inexperienced and ineffectual leader doing more harm than good. Emerald didn't even have to apologize, and she didn't even have to admit she was wrong, in order to be accepted.

Just look at the differences in the reactions when Emerald says she 'switches sides' and says 'you've been getting your asses kicked, some of that... by me,' which is as close as she's come to admitting she was wrong or apologizing, versus how they respond to Ozpin starting to admit he was wrong to not trust them.

Reactions to Emerald

Reactions to Ozpin

It doesn't matter that Emerald's actions were much worse, more serious, more deadly, and done with horrible intentions. It matters that Ozpin's actions made Team RWBY mad and sad, and it's treated much more seriously than Emerald's literal murder because of the mind frame carried out in the narrative of the show.

The show acts like disagreeing with Ruby and her goals is literally morally wrong, and anyone who doesn't fall in line with her all the time is in the wrong and needs to either change or apologize or get lost. You're right that it's full on unhealthy. Imagine how much better RWBY would be if people were allowed to disagree, if Blake was allowed to consider it wrong to steal a plane or if she stood up for Ozpin after they all see his memories that are eerily similar to her own past situation. If Yang didn't draw her weapon on Qrow in the snowstorm and instead got angry at Weiss and Blake for doing so, if she'd been allowed as a character to be on Ironwood's side, and then actually see through her concerns about Ruby as a leader. If Winter had been allowed to turn on Ironwood without throwing everything she'd believed in away so there could be later tension between her and Team RWBY or they could get across the message that disagreeing with some things doesn't make you evil. If Qrow had been allowed to be on Ozpin's side, or insist that Team RWBY shouldn't steal a plane unnecessarily (maybe causing the team to go behind his back or something,) or could be on Ironwood's side in V7. If Ironwood was allowed to have a 'save the many over the few' mentality instead of their 'risk the deaths of everyone on the off chance we'll be able to save everyone' mentality without being turned into a puppy kicking dictator. If Ren was allowed to be angry at Nora and to still disagree with the way the group was running even if he felt like he had no choice but to follow them and maybe took to looking to Ozpin as a mentor. If May was allowed to be committed to her demands that Team RWB actually choose something and try to help, and didn't throw it away later to comfort Ruby, instead letting her face hard truths. If Whitley and Weiss made up, but there was still tension and he still was acting resentful of his mother. If Blake and Yang were allowed to actually fight and argue and come out the other side stronger and still committed to each other. If Ozpin was allowed to come back angry at Team RWBY and not apologizing and instead being hurt by their actions and even more hesitant with them and feeling like the world is crashing down around him and expressing all that.

Idk, I just feel like the very worst thing you can do for your cast of characters is have this 'assimilate to our way of thinking or you're wrong,' mentality. Some of the characters don't feel like they have room to breathe and actually be full characters, other characters feel like they're hurting in-show and just acquiescing out of fear of abandonment or repercussions, and meanwhile it's hurting other characters in the originality and development department because the dialogue they have and their mentalities feel so copy and pasted that you can interchange a lot of lines and have it still feel the same.

In short, this is one of the most annoying writing flaws in RWBY.

[writinglizards]

If You Love It, Let It Go

Summary: Yennefer isn’t the only one Geralt pushes away on the mountain. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

Read on Ao3

Finding out about Geralt's djinn wish is like being gutted. Yennefer knows magic, knows how insincere it is, how cutting, how fake. Finding that this gentle feeling in her chest is manufactured, no different from a glamor or a charm, is world-shattering.

She lashes out, Geralt lashes out in turn. They both say things they know will hurt, will dig claws in, will bleed. When she storms away, angry tears streaking down her face, she has one plan: pack up the tent and portal out of here.

The shouting that follows mere moments later is...not surprising, exactly, but the bard that stumbles into camp, eyes rimmed red and looking lost is, just a little. Yennefer watches him out of the corner of her eye as she flicks her wrist, using magic to get the tent to fold down small enough to fit in her bag.

Jaskier stumbles over to the lean-to he and Geralt should have shared last night and kind of...stares. One of the dwarves is breaking their camp not too far away, gives a shout of greeting which seems to jolt Jaskier back to the task at hand. He starts packing his bag, slow and methodical, his expression blank and distant.

Something sits wrong with Yennefer about it. She hates the bard, hates the attention he gets from Geralt, the way Geralt can't shut up about him in that quiet way of his, hates him for the competition he presents, even if she'd been winning. But seeing him like this, blank and silent, it's obvious he's upset and he's hurting and she can guess whose fault that is. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

"Bard," she calls, pausing in her packing.

He jolts again, eyes passing over her only to slide away, expression vacant. "Sorry Yennefer, I--" he pauses, licks his lips, still crouched over his open bag, "I'm not up to par right now, I'm afraid. Perhaps we can do this later?" And oh, that's...upsetting. She's upset on his behalf which is just--

"I don't want to argue with you, Jaskier," she says, biting back the impulse to call him something less flattering. It gets his attention at least. His gaze drifts back over to her, settles.

"What could you possibly want, then?" he asks, voice soft. It's so defeated it hurts to even hear. It's the only reason she makes the offer she does.

"I'm leaving. Come with me." She's expecting some grand, overblown reaction. Instead, she gets a long stare, a slow blink in response.

"Why?"

"Because--" because he hurt you too, because if anyone understands this it's you, because I can't be alone, "--Geralt won't expect it. And you need as much of a break from him as I do." It's the truth, if only partly.

He looks...blank. It's unnerving--the bard is not meant to be still, to be quiet. "Okay," he says after an extended pause, no fanfare. There's not even a token protest. "I'll go with you."

They pack quickly after that. Yennefer finishes magically putting away her tent. Jaskier finishes packing his bag. He glances briefly at Geralt's things, expression gone vacant again.

"Jaskier," his attention slides back to her, slowly, "ready to go?"

He works his throat for a moment, no sound. "Yeah," he eeks out, "I just--"

"You don't owe him anything," she hisses, watching his gaze drift back over to Geralt's things, "we don't owe him anything."

"You're right," he sighs, closes his eyes. He doesn't ask where they're going when she opens the portal and she doesn't tell him.

They step out into her modest estate in Vengerberg, in the courtyard. She expects that now they have arrived, Jaskier will ask where they are. He doesn't. He just...stands there, looking lost. It’s irritating.

"Well, here we are," she prompts. Jaskier simply hums in response and it's too familiar--she's too raw. She snaps. "Are you going to fucking say something or are you going to stand there like a marionette for Militile's sake?"

He stares, eyes wide. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," she hisses, angry, "but if you're just going to mope you can leave." She doesn't care where the bard goes (except that maybe she does, just a little).

"Oh," he says, voice small. She sighs, forces herself to reign in her temper.

"Stay for the night, at least. If you're still--" she makes a vague gesture in his general direction that doesn't actually indicate anything, "--tomorrow, then you can go. But stay for today."

The silence is too thick. She thinks he'll reject her offer outright, but-- "okay," he says, nearly too quiet.

She sets him up in his own room, sends the house servants to check on him periodically, and tries to tell herself she doesn’t care whether he chooses to stay or go.

He's still there in the morning, looking a little more like himself, although his eyes are a little red again.

"Good morning, Yennefer, dear," he mumbles around a mouthful of sweet bread where he's perched at her dining table. She snorts.

"Sure," she huffs, stalking through to snatch the remaining sweet bread right from his plate. He frowns a little but doesn't argue it with her (not a good sign). They stare each other down as she nibbles delicately at the roll. "So--" she resents that he's making her ask, "--how are you doing?"

His expression doesn't shift from the pleasant blankness. "Fine."

"Bullshit, bard."

He sighs. "What do you want to hear, Yennefer?"

"The truth, for once," she tells him, point-blank. It feels a little like digging her nails into flesh, a little like picking at a raw wound. Whether she wants him to hurt or herself, she's not sure.

"What do you want me to say?"

"You love him," she accuses, angry. Those nails dig in a little deeper, draw blood, "and he'll never love you."

His expression doesn't shift, but his eyes look-- "yeah," he says, quiet, "I do." He doesn't dispute Geralt doesn't love him but doesn't acknowledge it, either.

"And he doesn't care," Yennefer continues, sweet bread forgotten. She wants to watch that blankness crack, "you love him and he doesn't return it, doesn't care, doesn't love you back. Why do you stay, Jaskier?"

"What else can I do?" he asks. It's infuriating.

"It hurts you, Jaskier. Why let him hurt you?" She finds she wants to understand. Love, the good kind, the kind she's always wanted, isn't supposed to hurt. Can't he understand?

The look he gives her is soft and sad. "You don't choose who you love, Yennefer. Sometimes--" he breaks off to stare at the empty plate before him, "--sometimes it doesn't last. Sometimes it never goes away."

"But it hurts you," she reiterates pointlessly, brow pinched in frustration.

"It does," he agrees, one hand pressed to his chest, "and we don't get to choose that, either." His smile is self-deprecating this time.

"Why does it have to hurt, Jaskier?" She's horrified to find fresh tears brimming in her eyes. She turns away, tries to tamp down on the surge of pain in her chest. Jaskier sits, silent. "I hate him," she whispers, "fuck, I hate him."

Behind her, the chair scrapes noisily across the flagstones as he pushes away from the table to cross the room, awkwardly pat at her shoulder. "It always hurts," he murmurs, "you get used to it."

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

They don't talk about Geralt after that, although he lingers in every conversation, unspoken. He loves Yennefer. He doesn't love Jaskier. Yennefer hates that her choice was taken from her, that she seems to love him anyway. Jaskier is resigned to scraps of affection, always no better than second best. All of it makes her righteously furious to think about, so she doesn't (except, of course, she does).

Jaskier doesn't ask about leaving and she doesn't ask him to go again, after the first afternoon. It's...good. To have someone around that understands. Because he does, even though they don't talk about it.

They establish a routine. Jaskier spends hours in her library, reading and composing and singing. She spends her day in the workroom. They meet in the kitchen for lunch, have an informal dinner in the dining room, spend evenings together around the hearth of her sitting room.

At some point, she stops thinking of him as insufferably annoying and only amusing, wonders if this is how Geralt thinks of him, wonders if he feels fond the way she does, sometimes, when Jaskier is more himself.

It would be easier if she loved him. Jaskier is so kind, so good, even when she doesn't deserve it. He gives as good as he gets, but he's never cruel, not the way she can be. How could Geralt have ever looked at him, held his heart in his hands, and turned him away? Jaskier deserves good, deserves better than Geralt, better than Yennefer. Destiny has been viciously unfair to the bard, setting him between the two of them, a willing target for their joint suffering, their joint pain.

And yet he smiles, he sings, he refuses to leave. Maybe she does understand Geralt, a little. And Jaskier, too, maybe. If you love it enough, you let it go. She needs to practice letting go.

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

It's really only a matter of time before Geralt shows up--he's been to Yennefer's Vengerberg estate before. The house servants let him in, leave him in her receiving room (not the library, not anymore. That's Jaskier's space).

"Geralt," she says, voice carefully void of emotion. She's angry, gods is she angry, but he looks...bad. The circles under his eyes, always prominent, are deep, dark bruises. He's a little too thin, a little too gaunt. He looks haunted.

"Yen," he says, voice rough, like he hasn't spoken for weeks (he likely hasn't).

"What do you want? You know I want nothing to do with you." She's not sure about that, really, but when she says it, it feels true. She doesn't want to see him, doesn't want anything to do with him. It's not that she loves him less, per se. She still feels whatever this is in her chest. She just...finds she doesn't quite trust it, doesn't want to indulge it. They've only ever hurt each other. She wants to stop hurting so, so badly.

"I know," he says, sounding tired, "Yen, I know, but--" he breaks off, sucks in a breath like he's steeling himself for a fight, "--I need your help."

She laughs.

"I know, I know. I don't deserve to even ask--"

"No, you don't," she says, voice like razor wire, vicious. He keeps going.

"--but I can't find him Yen. I've looked everywhere and I can't find him. I can't--" his voice breaks and he ducks his head, hides his face. She doesn't feel like laughing anymore. He soldiers on after a moment, voice wavering, "If he's gone and it's my fault, Yen, I--"

"Geralt." Her chest aches, painfully. This is what Jaskier's felt, for years, she thinks. This aching, creeping pain as she realizes that Geralt isn't here for her, despite his wish, despite how he’s tied them together. He's looking for Jaskier. Maybe she's had him wrong all this time.

"Please," he says, turns his eyes back towards her again. He looks hollowed out, like there's nothing behind that gaze. "I know I fucked up with you both, Yen. But please."

She thinks about lying. If Geralt doesn't believe Jaskier alive any longer, he'll leave the bard in peace, give him the opportunity to start to heal, to move on. Gods know Jaskier can't do that on his own. She wants to. The selfish part of her thinks if she can keep him long enough, Jaskier might love her that strongly, that fiercely, after a time.

She knows that's another lie, but she does entertain it, for a moment.

The other thing, of course, is choice. She's had her own choice of who to love ripped from her. Could she do that to Jaskier?

"Have a seat," she sighs, "I'll be back."

"Yen--"

"I said," she snaps, "I'll be back. Sit. Don't make me say it again." He sits. She leaves.

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

"He what?"

"He's worried you're dead, apparently," she says, feigning disinterest as she examines her nails.

"And you just--" he waves his arms about for emphasis, "didn't say anything and left?" His tone is incredulous.

She purses her lips and qirks an eyebrow--isn't that what I just said?

"Fuck. Yeah, yes, okay. Um."

"Breathe, Jaskier."

He takes a quick, shallow breath, something edging close to hyperventilating. "Fuck, okay, I'll talk to him."

"You don't have to," she says. Don't leave me she thinks.

"No, I do," he sighs, leans forward to catch her hand in his. A few months ago she would have turned him into a beetle for that. Now-- "Don't look so sad, Yen, darling."

"Shut up, bard." He's going to leave, like everyone else. Let go.

"I'm not going anywhere yet," he says, like he's the one who can read minds here.

"You don't have to stay," she shakes her head, pulls her hand back, too gentle.

"I know."

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

"Here," Yennefer waves behind herself dismissively as she reenters the room. Geralt sits up straighter. Behind her, Jaskier bounces a little anxiously on the balls of his feet.

"Fuck," he mumbles when he catches sight of Geralt over her shoulder, "you didn't say he looked so bad."

"Thought that was a given," she answers without looking. Geralt's gone very, very still.

"Yen--"

"He's been here since we left," she answers before he can ask. She can see him swallow from across the room. They’re eyeing each other, something in Geralt’s gaze she’s never seen before. It reaches into her chest and twists. "I'll leave you to it."

She leaves. No one stops her.

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

Jaskier is the one to come find her, after.

"He said you didn't want to see him again," he says as he settles into the chair opposite her. She's been--not hiding, she wouldn't call it hiding--in her study since she left them alone about an hour ago now.

"I don't," she agrees.

"You still love him, though," he says, soft and understanding. She puts the book she's been trying to distract herself with down, looks directly into his eyes.

"I do. I still don't know how real it is."

"Yen--"

"It doesn't matter. We're--" she cuts him off, shakes her head, "we're not good for each other, Jaskier."

"And he and I are any better?" he asks quietly. His words cut, draw blood. She's had the thought before herself.

"You deserve better," she tells him, eyes averted as she stares into the hearth fire.

"Aw, you do care," he coos, soft. Then, a lot more seriously, "you deserve better too, Yennefer."

She shrugs one shoulder, dismissive. "I do," she answers faintly. It isn't convincing even to her own ears.

"Yen--"

"I want someone to need me," she says, thinking back to what she told Geralt, on the mountain. Before things fell apart. "More than anything."

"That's why--" he trails off, doesn't finish. They both know what he means.

"Yes."

"You don't have to have a child to be needed, Yen. I've needed you, this whole time. You know that, don't you?"

"And now you don't," she says, trying not to sound bitter. He’s leaving, like everyone else. Found something better. They both are, this time. (It hurts, gods does it never stop hurting?)

"No," Jaskier shakes his head, gently, "just what I need is different."

"And what do you need now, bard?" She twists to face him fully, expression hard. She doesn't appreciate his lies.

"I need you to be there, when Geralt inevitably fucks up again. To listen. To talk to." It's not the same, but-- "I do love you, Yen."

"You're awful," she tells him, eyes downturned. There's a warm feeling surging in her chest, something tender and delighted, licking warmth melting the cold ice feeling of dread. He believes what he’s telling her--it’s the truth.

"I love you too," he smiles, eyes bright. "Are we good?"

She sucks in a deep breath. "We're good, bard." The smile that lights his face is radiant, perfect. In another universe, she might have loved him, the same way she might have loved Geralt, untainted by the djinn wish. The difference is that this is still clean, untouched by magic. It's not the deep, romantic love she's longed for since she was a child, but it's milder, truer. She believes him in a way she's never quite believed anyone else before.

If you love it, let it go. He may be leaving, but he'll be back.

[kataang-dungeon]

Turbulence

The rebels attack Katara and Bumi. Aang is furious.

Rated: M

Word count: 1520

Read here on ao3.

ooo

Aang is angry. The ripples of his fury sizzle through the earth and rock the ground Katara stands on. His hands are balled into fists so tight that his knuckles are bone white. His eyes are a dark typhoon that rage and turn from gunmetal gray to flashing silver. His thick robes fly with him on currents of sharp gashes of air, and Katara's parka is rendered useless with the chill he creates.

The two of them stand at the precipice of a cliff, of all places, and at the mouth of a gaping cave overlooking what used to be Yu Dao. It is now a bustling city with a new name and part of a new nation. It is a half day's flight away from Republic City by flying bison. A light dusting of hours-old snow coats the ground and the tiles of the roofs below. The sky is bleak and brewing with turbulence, and that is highlighted more by the leftover pillar of smoke rising from the now far-off city hall that looms toward the back wall.

"They attacked you while you were feeding Bumi," Aang growls. "They attacked my family and then called you...they called you—"

"A snow savage," Katara finishes with a tired sigh. Her shoulders slump. "And Bumi—"

"They called him that too!" snarls Aang. His eyes are fully on her now, seething. "It's a good thing Suki took Bumi to safety before we had to fight because I don't know if I could stand it if they got any closer."

Katara sees her husband, the way the anger rolls off of him in waves. There's a bruise on his cheek from where he had taken a punch for her. She had been protecting their baby boy with her body. She hadn't had time to waterbend.

It had happened all in a rush, and the next thing she knew Bumi was being taken by Suki away from the fight with the Fire Nation rebels and they were beating them into the ground. Aang had carried her away not long after that on his glider, leaving even Appa behind.

She is not sure what compelled him to leave it all behind after barely removing the threat. She thinks she sees the reason under his brows, in the crease between them.

She sees how tense he is, how tense he had been. His lips are caught in a sneer, and not one line of him is soft. He is rigid, a solid rock.

She tugs his arm. “Let me heal you,” she says with earnest. Her fingers brush against the purpling bruise and he grimaces.

He tries to fight it, but she insists. “Aang,” she says his name, and then they are going into the cave entrance where there is shallow light to guide them.

Katara sits him down. She takes the snow from the ground, and it becomes liquid at her touch. When she presses it to his cheek, she notices the way his gaze lights up, just for a second. A gentler gray with quieter blues. But the anger is still there, and so is the resentment.

She bends the water back to the ground and for a while they sit and stare at each other. His cheek is clean now with nothing to mar it. She sees the ghost of his fury just beneath his skin and she leans forward to kiss it away.

When he turns his face quickly towards her so that her lips are pressed on his rather than his cheek, the way he moves against her burns hot. There is desperation that comes with him, a scorching poker plucked fresh from a furnace. She feels him suck on her lower lip, itching for her tongue and her taste. He wants to bruise her too, to mark her, and somehow, she wants it too.

It isn’t easy to pull away, but she needs to know. So, she does, and his hands are still at her hips while hers are still firm at his chest.

“You took me away because you were scared,” she remarks. Her lips are swollen. She licks them and watches as his pupils dilate as they linger on the wetness left behind.

“I took you away because I was angry,” he snaps back. His fingernails dig into her sides. She can feel it through the piles of fabric.

But she remembers how the men taunted her, called her and their son names. ‘Snow savage’ was not all. They called her a perversion, an exotic bitch. “Your tits would be better in my mouth rather than that wind wanker’s spawn. How about I take you on instead?” one had spat at her. She had shuddered in righteous fury. That had been right before Aang had found her with Bumi, their child who had still been suckling on her breast.

She is sure he had heard everything.

“You took me because you didn’t want them to have me,” Katara adds. She knows she is right. The way he sags tells her enough. She grips his chin and lifts his head, so he faces her fully. “You know I wouldn’t have let them.”

He gulps. She is entranced by how his Adam’s apple bobs. “I know,” he replies. His voice is husky. They come closer together.

“You didn’t let them either,” she says. Her lips part over his, just a whisper away, an infinitesimal distance apart.

Something shifts in the air between them. It is stark, it is messy. He is crashing upon her and his teeth graze along her bottom lip again, but this time she moans when he bites into them. She breathes, heavy and with surprise. He separates from her enough that she finds herself pressed up against the cave wall.

“Take what’s yours,” she whispers hoarsely.

That is all the permission he needs.

The grainy, rough surface is a mere distraction. She lets him yank the parka off her torso in quick succession. She is cold and shivers, but he is fierce enough that she is ablaze.

He cups her breasts, lets his thumbs smooth over the fabric where the dampness of her milk still seeps through her tunic. She knows that Aang finds what he is searching for when his thumbs circle around her hardening nipples. She grips at his collar, urging him along.

“Your leggings,” he practically growls now, and goosebumps rise across her skin. She likes the commanding tone of it. How precise, how different.

She slips them off without preamble, including her underwear, only leaving her tunic on. He does not complain, merely tilts forward to play with her breasts, moves his tongue over where their son had done the same.

She trembles at the way he grips her in his arms, holding her fast against the shaking wall. And she notices with delight that the wall shakes because he is making it so.

Her hands are on his pants, and she tugs, insistent. He pulls her up now, drags her really. It is slow and languid and sensual in a way she does not think is possible. His face is still at her neck, kissing her from chest to earlobe, and then they are standing.

He steps back for a moment only to finish the job she started. His pants pool on the floor. He kicks them away, eyes never leaving hers, and dips into her again.

She feels his stiffening bulge against her leg as she waits for him to realize what she wants.

And he knows when she embraces him tighter. Her knees dig in between his legs, and she bucks forward.

She gasps when he has his mouth next to her ear again. “Flip over,” he commands. He sounds like a general in an army. It’s possible he was in a past life, and she wants to ask him if he has any more demands of her. She will comply without question.

She thinks that she likes this Aang, this Aang that orders instead of asks. She likes that he thrusts into her from behind, how his fury and frustration are a force to be reckoned with when all he wants is to keep her his.

He makes the earth move with them, and the thrusts are that more powerful. Pebbles fall from the ceiling, tickling her spine as they come trickling down with sand.

She shouts and shouts and begs.

But of course, in a fashion that is only Aang, he breathes down her neck and demands something of her that only he could. “Tell me they didn’t hurt you.”

It is hard to breathe when he is going so deep into her, hard to move when he is pleasuring her with reckless abandon.

Her eyes screw shut, her arms flat against the wall. “They didn’t,” she grunts. She starts to buckle when he hits just the right spot. “Aang I just want you.”

She bites her own lip and blood starts to pool, and she breaks apart when he forces himself inside her another time and another.

The earth stirs and Aang is all she knows.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Let’s Play Forever

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Yeonjun had always been confident. Some would say too confident even. It’s you, you’re some. It isn’t until he gets passed over for the leader position that you seem him doubting himself for the first time, and you gotta say, you don’t like it one bit.

A/N: this was gonna be a really nasty femdom fic but I got soft and it turned into a fluffy switchy mess, but it’s still nasty don’t worry and still femdom

Anger bubbles up in your throat and you grit your teeth to try and keep it down as you watch the instructor berate Soobin for the hundredth time.

“I’m sorry, Seongho-nim. I didn’t have enough time to practice.” Soobin mumbles with his head down.

“Yeonjun had the same amount of hours to practice and yet he executed the moves perfectly. Why can’t you?”

Of course he’d bring up Yeonjun, the star trainee. He was good at everything, and he was insufferable about it, parading around and showing off to anyone who would listen.

When you’d first gotten into the company and didn’t know any better, he took you to the wall where the names of the top trainees in each category were written, except they were all the same name–Choi Yeonjun. Your confusion only lasted a second before he smugly proclaimed that he was Choi Yeonjun. He’d gotten on your nerves ever since.

You hated how arrogant he was, but most of all, you resented how his proficiency in everything he set out to do only served to highlight Soobin’s mistakes, making them all the more glaring, and that was just unfair. Soobin worked just as hard as Yeonjun did, it’s not his fault that he’s naturally more clumsy and forgetful. Not everyone can be born blessed with impeccable coordination and sense of rhythm.  

“I guess he’s just the better dancer.” Soobin replies meekly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Yeonjun smirking at you and you turn your head to glare at him.

“Yeah, no shit. You better get your shit together soon or you won’t be here for much longer.” The instructor growls at the poor boy, and Soobin’s head hangs even lower. “Yes, Seongho-nim.”

You wait until the instructor is out of the room, all the while staring daggers at his retreating back, before you rush forward to comfort Soobin.

“Don’t listen to him, Binnie. You’re a great dancer!” You clasp your arm around his back, trying to shake him out of the horrible mood he was in.

“I don’t know, noona. I just can’t seem to get anything right. Maybe I should just quit.” You gasp. Quit? He can’t quit! You wanted him to stay.

“Don’t say that, sweetie.” You coo softly. Just then, an idea pops up into your head. “I know what we can do! I can help you practice. You’ll get better in no time!”

At that, his head shoots up and he smiles brightly, and you swear you could just smother him in kisses with how happy you’ve made him look. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I’d do anything for you.” There was no hesitation in your words. You’d really do anything for the precious boy.  

“You’re so nice to me, noona.” Your heart swells even more until you feel like it could just burst. And then it does, but not in the way you’d hoped. “You know, you remind me of my own noona. With you around it’s like she’s here with me.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” You choke when he engulfs you in a warm hug.

“Thank you for being here for me. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He pulls back but his arms remain around your waist as he smiles down at you innocently, not knowing what his proximity is doing to you.

You were in hell. On the one hand, it felt so good to be held like this by him. You were starved for any kind of intimacy from him. But on the other hand, the way he was looking at you was nothing but genuine and pure, and it killed you that he felt nothing but platonic love for you.

“It’s really no problem.” You say awkwardly, breaking the bittersweet embrace yourself. “Why don’t you go take a shower now. You stink.” You slap his arm lightly, and he laughs.  

“Ok. You’re the best, noona!” He kisses your cheek and runs around collecting his stuff.

As soon as he leaves the room, a boisterous laugh erupts from behind you.

“Wow, getting sister-zoned. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Fuck off, Yeonjun.” You turn towards the boy with a mean scowl on your face.

“Come on, noona, he’s never going to be interested in you. He’s too much of a good boy. He can probably sense that you’re bad news, like a little mouse smelling a snake.” He grins, sticking his tongue out between his teeth and making a hissing sound. “I don’t know why you bother with him when you’ve got me right here.”

You rake your eyes over his seated form, eyeing up his long limbs and his pretty face. He was staring you down too, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes dark. He looked hungry and sinful and that’s precisely why you didn’t want him. You liked good boys like Soobin, not arrogant assholes like Yeonjun.  

Turning away from him, you start gathering your own stuff. “Thanks but no thanks.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You’re not my type.”

He scoffs, offended by the mere notion. “I’m everyone’s type. You’re just a frigid bitch.”

That brat!

You round on him, stomping towards him and leaning over him with a sharp frown. “No, I’m just not interested in selfish brats who cares about no one but themselves.”

“I’m not selfish.” You hear him protest as you turn your back on him, but you ignore him, grabbing the last of your items before leaving.

________________________________

“You know this isn’t gonna make me do you, right?”

“I’m not trying to get you to do me.”

You glare at him suspiciously, obviously not believing him. There is no way in hell that Yeonjun would voluntarily offer to help you help Soobin practice unless it benefitted him in some way.

He rolls his eyes at your clear distrust of him. “I’m doing this to prove to you that I’m not selfish.”

“So you’re only doing this to make yourself look better? You’re right, that’s not selfish at all.”

He glares at you, “Yeah, and what about you? You’re only helping Soobin because you want to get into his pants.”

“That’s not true!” You splutter. “I care about him as a person!”

“And I care about you.” He shrugs.

“Whatever, as long as it helps Soobin.” You grumble, reluctantly accepting his assistance.

And it did help. To be honest, before Yeonjun joined you, you and Soobin were getting nowhere. Your efforts combined were just not as good as Yeonjun’s and despite the significant improvement, his skills still couldn’t compare to Yeonjun’s. Until the boy in question decided to offer his help.

After that, you weren’t needed that much anymore. Yeonjun was a much better mentor than you were, but you still hung around whenever they practiced together. At first because you didn’t trust Yeonjun. Maybe he was doing this to undermine Soobin in some way or just to generally bully him and lower his spirits. But much to your surprise, Yeonjun was a better instructor than even the company appointed one. He was strict but never abusive. He got frustrated with Soobin sometimes but that was only because he thought he could do better. And he was very creative in explaining things to Soobin–if the younger boy didn’t understand something, he found another way to teach it to him.

You had always suspected that Soobin was a good dancer and singer that could shine if he was given the proper direction and nurture, and with Yeonjun’s help, that’s exactly what he got. And you found yourself growing fonder of Yeonjun the more Soobin thrived under his guidance.

Now instead of attending their practice sessions to make sure Yeonjun wasn’t doing something fishy, you would go just to witness the older boy in his zone. You’ve never really paid much attention to him before–you refused to just because that’s what he wanted you to do–but now that you do, you could see how exceptional he really was. Yes, he was still annoying and his ego was larger than life, but you found yourself softening up to him.

The first time Soobin’s performance got praised instead of insulted by Seonho-nim because of Yeonjun’s help, you were so ecstatic that you had pulled the older boy out of the room and kissed his face off.

“I thought you said this won’t make you have sex with me.” He had smirked at you.

“It won’t.” You shut him up, kissing him again.

______________________________________

Ever since then, you couldn’t stop thinking about his lips. They were always so plush and inviting, especially when he pouted at you, which seemed to always be happening these days as he kept trying to get closer to you.

You didn’t mind it anymore, Yeonjun was an interesting person and you enjoyed spending more time with him and getting to know him. You had learned that, among the trainees, he’d been here the longest and that some of his friends who had left the company have already debuted–something that only fueled his determination to debut more.

Now that you think about it, Yeonjun wasn’t obligated to care for Soobin. For all he knows, Soobin might not even end up in the debuting team, or worse, he might beat Yeonjun for a position.

That’s why it must’ve stung so much when Soobin was chosen as the leader for Bighit’s new boy group instead of Yeonjun.

It was disconcerting to see him doubting himself. You were so used to his cocksure attitude and easy confidence that you almost forgot that he was human too and was subject to the same doubts and fears everyone was.

It shouldn’t bother you this much. Soobin was getting the acknowledgement he deserved at long last, and he was more than appreciative to you for it, gushing about how he never would’ve had the courage and will power to continue if not for your help. But you found yourself only half-listening to his words of gratitude, your mind occupied by the crest-fallen boy who for the first time ever actually looked unsure of himself.

“It’s not the end of the world, Yeonjun.” You told him, back at your apartment. You don’t know why you even invited him over, but you couldn’t handle seeing him look so angry and lost. “These leader positions don’t go to the best trainee. They go to the one who could mediate the group the best, and Soobin is a good mediator.”

“I deserve that position! What can he do that I can’t do?” He asks, and for once, it’s a question rather than a proclamation.

“Listen!” You yell out in frustration, “A good leader needs to listen and you never do.”

“I can’t believe that after all I’ve done, I still lost.”

“Don’t be stupid, Yeonjun. You didn’t lose shit. You still got into the group.”

“Yeah, but I’d have to take orders from him from now on.” He laments bitterly, and you know he doesn’t mean it like that. He’d come to be close with Soobin too, but it must hurt to have the person you helped train get chosen over you. “I’d rather quit.”

“What is it with you boys and quitting? No one is quitting!” You scold him.

“What do you care anyway? Isn’t this what you wanted all along, for me to fail and Soobin to succeed?” He crosses his arms, leaning against your table and looking at you like a wounded puppy.

You roll your eyes and march over to him, “I never wanted you to fail, Yeonjun. I just wanted Soobin to feel better.”

He scoffs, averting his eyes. “Well, he must feel like a fucking champ right now.”

Stepping ever closer to him, you corner him between your body and the table, “And what about you, how does that make you feel?”

“Like shit?” It comes out like a question as he stares at you in suspicion, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips in a pout, trying to figure out what you were going to do.

You place your hands on either side of him on the table, effectively trapping him. He looks so cute like this, all vulnerable and lost. You weren’t used to him being so docile, but it was fucking turning you on. And when his tongue darted out to nervously wet his lips, you couldn’t hold yourself back.

You cut off his startled question as you capture his mouth with your own. Taking advantage of his momentarily shock, you press your lips against his in small kisses that end before he gets to fully enjoy them, teasing him. His lips were as plump as you remember, and you take the bottom one between your teeth and bite down, making it swell up even more. His mouth opens in a gasp and you soothe over his now red lip with your tongue before slipping it into his open mouth.

Once he feels your tongue against his, he reciprocates the kiss, wrapping his lips around your tongue and trapping it inside his mouth as his own tongue moves against yours. When he starts clutching onto you, panting and hard, you pull away, earning yet another pout from his full and wet lips.

“Shh,” You can’t resist pressing one last quick peck against his glistening lips before moving along his jaw and down his neck, your kisses getting rougher the needier he gets.

“Are you doing this just to make me feel better?” He gasps out, pressing your body to his. You could feel how hard he was already and it made you want to devour him.

“Maybe.” You whisper in his ear before sucking on the sweet spot under it, earning a choked moan from him as his hips involuntarily buck forward. Truth is, you’ve wanted to do more than kiss him for a long time now.

“I’m worth more than a pity fuck.” He grumbles, and then gasps when you slip your hand down his pants, wrapping it around his hot member. “You are.”

He moans as your palm swipes over his slit, and spreads his legs to give you better access, his back arching as his hips buck up in time with your strokes.

Pulling on your hair gently, he pulls your mouth away from his neck and makes you face him. “Say it.”

Looking him straight in the eye, you say genuinely, “You deserve so much more, baby. You’re one of a kind.” You stroke him faster, watching hungrily as he gasps for air.

“And what about Soobin?”  He prods, one of his hands slipping under your shirt.

“He’s a good boy too.”

He frowns at that, pushing your bra up and pinching your nipple. You gasp, your back arching into his touch and your hand tightening around his length.

“But I’m better, right?“ He bites his lip, but his moans still come out as your strokes become more firm the more he plays with your breasts.

“This is what you wanted Soobin for, right? To be your obedient little fucktoy?” He asks brattily, one measure mocking and the other spoiled, and you feel your underwear sticking to you uncomfortable with how wet you were becoming. “It’s okay, noona, you can play with me instead. I’ll be your good boy.”

Taking your hands off him, you push him away to slip your pants and underwear down to your legs and kick them away. Then you switch positions with him so you’re sitting on top of the table and he’s standing between your legs.

Grabbing his dick, you slide it up and down your soaking slit. Every time it touches your hole, you push just the head of it inside before pulling it back out, leaving you aching and clenching around nothing, but it’s worth it to hear his whimpers each time.

“What a filthy mouth you have, baby. Such a bad boy who knows how to act good to get what he wants.”

“Hmm,” He buries his face in your neck, sucking big, wet kisses all over your skin. “Let me fuck you then.”

“How much do you want it?” You tease as you push more of him inside and squeeze your walls around him, only to pull it back out once again.

“So fucking bad.” He whines, grabbing your ass and bucking his hips forward, his dick sliding wetly over your pussy. “I can just fuck you stupid.”

“Yeah, is that what you fantasize about, Junnie? Fucking me until I break on your cock baby?” You goad him, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit.

“Yeah I want to fuck you until you’re so filled up with my cum and your pussy is so sore, I’ll ruin you for other men.” He takes his cock from your hand and lines himself up with your entrance and pushes inside.

“Go slow.” You moan, throwing your head back. He huffs into your shoulder as his body becomes flush against yours. His mouth continues abusing your neck as his hips swivel and grind against yours, the friction making you involuntarily close your legs, bringing him even closer to you.

“Good boy.”

“Yeah, I’m your best boy.” He boasts, hips pulling back ever so slight just to snap forward again, hitting you deep inside  in sharp little bursts. “You like having my cock in you? It fills you up just right, huh?”

“Yes, you’re just perfect, baby.”

“I can feel how your pussy is just dying to milk me dry.” He pulls back to take your shirt and bra off, and cups your breasts in his hands, pushing them together. “Can’t wait till you’re all stuffed full of my cum.”

"You can’t have it all, Junnie.” Your voice shakes as his thumbs twirl around your nipples, “Either you get to fuck me how you want or you get to cum inside me. You can’t have both.”

“And why not?” His hands massage your breasts as his hips keep grinding against yours, making you feel like you could cum just from this.

“Because it’s more fun for me this way.” You grin, dragging your nails down his chest and making his hips jump forward.

“So this is how you wanna play, huh?” He challenges, “Fine by me.”

Pushing you flat against the table, he grabs you by the hips and snaps his hips into you, fucking you roughly.

“Shit.” You bite down on your tongue, getting overwhelmed with the sudden spike in pleasure. If you had known the sex would be this good, you would’ve fucked him a long time ago.

“Is it as good as you imagined it, baby boy?” You tease him, using your own hands to play with your tits.

“Yes, noona. You’ve kept me waiting for too long.” He growls, his tight grip on your hips barely enough to hold you in place against his sharp thrusts.

“Poor baby.” You purr, tightening yourself around him and drawing out a long moan from his throat. “Is it too much for you?”

He scoffs and his hips stop moving.  You frown, “Why did you–”

You gasp as you feel him squeeze a finger inside of you, stretching you out almost painfully as your pussy widens to accommodate the extra girth. You whine and squirm in discomfort as his finger prods around the tight space, but he presses his other hand down on your abdomen and holds you in place.  

“Yeonjun, I swear to god–oh fuck!” You suddenly cry out as his finger hits just the right spot inside of you.

A grin stretches across his face as you realize what he’s doing but it’s too late because then he’s fucking you with both his dick and his finger, the combined stretch of his dick and the incessant way he was rubbing against your sweet spot has your legs shaking and trying to close up, the stimulation too much. But his body prevents you from closing your legs, forcing you to lie there and take it.  

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You grit out, feeling the sharp pleasure shoot up your body as he adds another finger to the one already inside.

“Yeah, cum on my cock, noona.” He groans and fucks you even harder, the slapping sound of his thighs hitting yours and your slick squelching around his fingers filling the room.

When you cum, your pussy almost couldn’t contract around him for how much it was stretched. “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t!” You cry out, your eyes closing against the intense pleasure and your body shaking under him.

“Ah–I’m gonna c-cum, noona.” He whimpers quietly but you hear it, and it tears you out of your hazy orgasm. You summon all your strength and sit up, pushing him out of you and closing your fist tightly around the base of his dick.

“No, no, no.” He shouts, his hips humping the air as he tries to hold onto his orgasm, but with your hand wrapped tightly around him, only a few drops of cum drip down his cock as it twitches in vain.

“What did I say about cumming inside, Junnie?”

“You’re a fucking sadist.” He growls, resting his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his breath and calm down.

“Now I could not let you cum just for that attitude.” You chastise.

“No, please, let me cum, please. I’m sorry.” He whines, kissing you, hot and desperate. His body vibrates in your hold and you could practically taste his desperation. “Please.”

“Okay.” You relent, if only because of the delicious burn in your pussy from the orgasm he brought you just seconds ago. As you jack him off, you spread your legs, putting your pussy on display for him, taunting him with what he can’t have. “Maybe if you’re good, you could cum inside me next time.”  

He was so close already that it only takes him a couple of strokes to cum, his seed landing on your pussy and inner thighs, contrasting prettily against your skin. He must like it too because he stares at like he’s committing it to memory.

“Fuck, thank you.” He grunts, taking off his shirt and wiping the mess between your legs with it.  

“Oh, you didn’t have to.” You say sheepishly, feeling sorry for ruining his shirt.

But he doesn’t care, chucking it to the floor and enveloping you in a sudden embrace, his breath warm against your ear. You let him hold you for a bit, stroking his back as his breathing evens out and his heartbeat slows down.

Pulling back ever so slightly, you cup his face between your hands and whisper to him, “I meant it, by the way. I think you’re amazing and you’re gonna do huge things in the future.”

“I know.” He retorts cheekily, and you roll your eyes and pull him in for a kiss.

________________________________

A/N: Feedback is greatly appreciated mwah

[munku-collar]

I would very much appreciate an analysis of the reasoning and song placements for you Macavity playlist whenever you get the opportunity.

- Signed, a big fat music nerd

Putting this guy under a cut cuz it'll be long! I'm just going brief with these but if there's one in particular you want a deeper look at I can def do that. Also I didn't proofread this before posting so i'm sorry for any typos ksjdbgksbdg

Dead Souls- It's a combination of the title and sound for this one. It kind of encapsulates that cool guy vibe that he was born with, that Tugger was born with too. Kind of slow, steady and strong. It covers his general essence, the sort of beat of his heart if you will, and then the lyrics speak to his loneliness as a child and the allure of giving into his worst impulses. He's just lost, looking for support which he unfortunately doesn't find.

How Soon Is Now?- Same idea here. He's left the tribe, he's on his own and every bit of positivity has disappeared. He's hopeless and tired of feeling "other" and not getting what he feels he deserves from those around him so focuses on building an empire instead, exploring crime and taking what he wants, because it won't be given to him. Essentially, he's tired of waiting and tired of trying to make things work at home. "I've already waited too long," if you catch my drift. And "I am human and I need to be loved," is self explanatory: All he wanted was to be accepted for who he was, and that wasn't happening, so he left.

Hungry Like The Wolf- He's hungry. He's hungry for power, for fame, and unbeknownst to him until he lays eyes on Demeter, love. He's ignored that bit for a while now and focused on taking things to fill the void instead, but when he meets her he's just blindsided with this desperation to have her. He's determined, and at this point he is quite a hunter. He knows how to read people, how to break them apart, to get what he wants. She doesn't make it easy. Honestly she makes it a little hard for him to think straight, and always does. He feels like a beast chasing after her, and luckily for him, he catches her.

Candyman- Demeter has fallen for his charms and for the bits of him that are still, whether he admits it or not, Jellicle. She's intrigued by him and has no idea of what she's going to endure by letting herself fall into his arms. And he has no intention of hurting her, never does, but to any bystander it's clear that he's dangerous, and that things won't end well. He can't help his nature, and she can't change it.

Don't Fear The Reaper- Whether he admits it or not, he's a reaper, and she starts to understand that, at least a little, but it doesn't bother her. They come to know each other better, shared their experiences and pain and believe they're a true match. They've been hurt and lonely and turn from strangers to "us against the world," or and naively think that they'll always be together. He hasn't fallen yet, but he will.

The Same Deep Water As You- He is at his core, really a sad figure. He thought Demeter would fill the void, and she does fill some of it, but not all, and in the quiet hours of the night between heists and fights and celebrations of his power, he crumbles in her arms and clings to her. But they're both starting to realize that maybe it's not for the best. Maybe they're not what each other really needs, and he hates that idea. It's her, or nothing, he thinks. He'll be damned if he lets her go.

The Killing Moon- This is really the shift. He's killed others now, and finds more joy in violence than anything, excepting Demeter's company. It's a kind of latent realization on Demeter's part of what she's gotten herself into, and how nothing she could have done would've let her avoid any of this. She's disgusted, and somewhat terrified, but knows that he won't let her go, and she still loves him despite it all. It's a cruel twist of fate. He's determined to keep her, reminiscing on their meeting and how he fell in love with her. Honestly the memory of it is sweeter than being with her now, and it's killing them both.

The Promise- She keeps distancing herself from him, and he keeps trying to get closer. He's given her so many promises, but at this point, they don't matter anymore. It's really upsetting, to see what they've become, and part of him knows it's his fault. He feels guilty for it, but he can't stop doing what he does, because he doesn't know how. Who is he without power, without bending others to heel? A scared, damaged tom, and that's worse than anything. He can't face his own reflection in the mirror, and that's his, and their, downfall.

Monsters- He's angry at her, she's angry at him, though they won't show it to each other. But he's not an idiot. He can see how her soft gazes have turned hard, how she doesn't lean into his touch anymore, and she watches him grow more violent day by day, until he well and truly is a monster. His frustration at her turns into frustration at everyone else, and finding new ways to be cruel to his enemies, and even his subordinates, is the only way he can redirect the pain it's causing him. But they're still hanging on by a thread. She's too scared to leave, and he's scared of her leaving. But there's no saving it, even if she cares about him and always will.

Vantablack- His romantic gestures used to delight her, comfort her, but now any attempt from him just makes her feel dread. It absolutely ruins him that she's not comfortable with him anymore, and when he tries to make things like they were, it's useless. He's let too much darkness consume him, and he can't hold on to her anymore. It makes him insanely angry, and he lashes out at others twice as hard as a result. He blames her for it all too, when she runs away, and leaves him all alone.

Not Just A Name- He really thought she was his match, that she was the one cat who understood him and wouldn't let him down. She made him believe that things could be good, that he could find happiness, but he didn't realize just how much of himself he would have to change for that to happen. He refused to change, couldn't bring himself to, and instead surrendered to his worst impulses, and now she's run from him. He wasn't who she thought he was, and she clearly didn't know him as well as he thought she did, and quite frankly, he's just hurt. (Even if it was all his fault, he doesn't see it that way.) "Made me someone I wasn't, it's not just a name." He didn't, and can't, meet her expectations, or be what she needs, and that might be the only thing he's ever experienced that really breaks his heart. And she won't ever give him another chance.

The Less I Know The Better- He tells himself he doesn't need her, that he doesn't want her back. He tells himself he couldn't care less if she rots out there on the streets without him, but really, he still cares. He still wants her. He's haunted by her absence, and wants nothing more than her at his side again. She really was the last tie to his humanity, his morality, and he's lost without her. He'll beg for her, if he has to. He needs her back, but she's moved on, and ironically, was pushed into his brother's arms.

Loner- He constantly flips between thinking of stealing Demeter back or burning everything to the ground. He steals and fights and commits crimes just because he can, just because there's nothing else to do, or feel, without her. He's entirely closed off. When she was there, one of his henchcats could sometimes ask him questions or have somewhat easy conversation with him, but nowadays that's an impossibility. He has completely put on a mask and only barks out orders, reprimands, or toys with others to pass the time. He's just this angry, lonely figure. He hardly feels like a person at this point. Without Demeter, he has no direction, and no connections.

Gimme Shelter- The more time passes, and the more he realizes he can't get Demeter back, the worse he gets. He's intentionally nefarious at this point, and hateful. He resents her too, even though he still loves her. If he ever gets his paws on her, he isn't sure if he'll caress her or choke her. It's a bitter, cruel world, he has remembered, and the only way to survive it is to be crueler than everyone else around you.

I'm So Afraid- He truly feels as if he's been alone his entire life, and loneliness is the root of his problems. He felt lonely and misunderstood as a child, driven away. He feels lonely without Demeter, without her love. Really, if he tried hard enough, he could come back from his darkness, maybe try to find a new life, repent for his mistakes, but he's too scared. He's afraid of losing himself, knows he already has, honestly, and there's nothing to do about it. Macavity is big and strong and clever and intelligent but underneath all that he's always just been terrified of emotions, of abandonment, and of himself, and whatever bits of him that are Jellicle, burried deep down, are disappointed, and it kills him. He hates that he still has those feelings, and wants to drown them, or lock them away forever. He'd rather feel emptiness than any of this anymore.

Lord Of This World- At this point his name is beyond infamous. No one remembers the more tender parts of him, and no one relates to him. He's been branded a villain, by everyone, and so assumes the role with a sick sense of pride. He knows he's not to blame for how he is, no matter what the others say, and won't let them judge him. He's in charge. He is a stronger, better leader than his old tribe could ever have, and this is his world. He bears that burden alone, but believes it was always his to bear, just like it was his burden to fall in love with Demeter and endure so much suffering for her kiss on his lips.

Double Dare- He invites his old tribe and in fact everyone around him to self reflect. They're not blameless, they're not better than him, and they're not as strong as him. They haven't survived what he has, haven't built something from nothing, haven't overcome his odds. He thinks everyone around him is weak, even Demeter, for not sticking by him He's angry at her for being with the Jellicles, and believes they've killed the stronger bits in her, the twinge of darkness that she also had, and allowed them to be miserable together. He won't be fooled, won't be changed, even at the cost of her, now. Either she'll be brave enough to come back to him, like he believes she should, because she was made for him, or he is truly the only brave cat in the world. And if that's the case? Then so be it.

-------

So yeah. This man is fucking delusional. Yes, he had a rough start to life, but it was his own arrogance and fear that prevented him from becoming a better person or adjusting. He turned to dark coping mechanisms instead, and ended up ruining the only positive relationship he's ever formed for the sake of remaining comfortable. If he wasn't so frightened of judgment and change, things could have gone very differently. But nope. Now he's hated by everyone, including the object of his affections, and he'll be sitting alone atop the cold throne he built for the rest of his life. He's really just driven by impulse and desire, despite his masterful approach to crime. It's an interesting juxtaposition. Someone so powerful and intelligent is really just constantly pushed and pulled by his emotions. He's one second from spiraling out of control at all times, and that's what makes him really dangerous more than anything.

[paradife-loft]

In the blood orange sky

Well. Does anybody remember a couple months ago when I made this post? Because apparently I’ve been thinking about it a fair bit.

And also thinking about... maybe doing a thing? A thing that involves writing various vignettes as I’m moved to, very low pressure, but all in the same continuity, about sequences of various events that are related to one another and a central premise...? So kind of maybe like a “multi-chapter fic” as they call them, but y’know. No particular goals for “finishing” something, or requiring they be in chronological order or any other strict structure binding them together. Just exploring things for fun, and I’ll see where it goes!

But yes, so, I have written a bit this week that I think does what I would like for a first portion of something like this, and... here it is!

1.4k words, Xiyao, post-canon, dark-ish mystery/intrigue/character and relationship exploration I guess?; warnings for injury and general unpleasant body stuff, and also unpleasant mental health stuff, and also discussed off-screen (mass) murder.

*

When he comes to this time, he is sitting - propped up in the gentle rays of early sun against something he can vaguely identify as soft, with enough give to cradle his shoulders. That alone is a departure from each time previous… and Jin Guangyao supposes he ought to be thankful he continues to wake up at all; that his condition upon doing so this one time at least is no longer face-down, body practically smeared into the dirt.

An unpleasant prickling in one of his legs prompts him to open his eyes again, lift his head from where it’d fallen back against a pillow. His neck throbs with the motion. He sees a pair of hands - familiar enough that the distortions between his sight now and his memories cannot help but unsettle him - moving steadily with needle and thread through a deep rent in his left calf.

Ah. That would explain that particular discomfort, then.

Viewing the sight on top of feeling the muted, distant sensation it evokes, gives him the perverse and contrarian instinct to kick out and abort the effort of cleaning him up as it’s only partway done - but he recognises well enough that it would be a waste, and even now he isn’t so far gone as that. And he doesn’t want his leg to remain ruined. And to repair it himself now would be… possible, but far more difficult.

All arguments he has to pull out in front of his mind’s eye, like a text one might recite, to convince himself not to protest this time; but he does hold himself still, does remain for the time being a silent, compliant patient.

(Not entirely still, he must admit: his eyes follow the tiny shifts in those hands, trying to reconcile the absence of both manicured care, and the unique pattern of callused ridges he had memorised once upon a time. And yet more important, more incorrect when compared to the state he is familiar with: Lan Xichen has never known how to sew.)

(And yet. And yet.)

He presses his lips together as Xichen approaches the completion of the task, drawing the words he resents needing to speak up like pitchers of water from a drying well. They crowd his tongue, sour the inside of his mouth.

"I take it you found me quickly this time, after your target was done with me?"

Lan Xichen starts when he hears his voice, head jumping up and eyes round. Jin Guangyao had not taken him to be so absorbed that he hadn't even noticed him waking, but -

(He should have, perhaps.)

Xichen's expression hardens into something resigned after that, the dam holding back a great dredged mass of displeasure. Pain and anger in a hundred or more shades, silt and loam and sand.

"You tore apart the gravesites of three prominent clans, scattering the bones, and then did the same with the bodies of their living families when they came to drive out the robbers who defiled their ancestors' remains. The entire village has been terrified since last night. The news was not difficult to follow."

Jin Guangyao resists the urge to close his eyes, staring down the spray of blood to his face with the same dispassion he once used to with regularity. He is out of practise, however: he can't stop the reflexive flinch in his mouth, or his one remaining hand. It curls stiffly in the blankets pushed to one side of the bed pallet.

It’s not that he hadn't expected something along these lines, from the moment he’d woken up and taken in his surroundings. He hadn’t particularly relished the anticipation of hearing it, and so allowed himself a few moments watching Lan Xichen work in silence before disturbing him, it’s true - but he regrets the pain and exhaustion on Xichen's face and in the set of his shoulders and limbs more than he cares to spend his sympathy on another (inevitable) group of dead strangers.

He glances down at the long column of stitches holding the greying flesh of his leg together around the bone, and wonders which hapless, doomed villager from this new feat of resentful destruction had managed to inflict the injury.

"So it didn't require all that much searching, then. Nobody was angry with you, stealing away with the corpse that had killed all those people instead of burning it?"

"Not enough to express it to me. I imagine it helped that I spent several hours in the interim helping right the disturbed graves, and set wards around several of the neighboring houses," Xichen replies. Stress still lines his eyes, flickering more prominent like a candle flame as he speaks. Reconstructing the sequence of events implied, Jin Guangyao feels a twinge of - something - surprise, or hurt? he can't quite say - that Xichen had apparently seen fit this time to seal him away and then leave him, presumably alone, for some significant time afterward, while he tended to the village. Even though it was presumably an effective distraction, not to mention well-deserved.

"I was intending on returning this afternoon, to add more wards to some of the other houses, and suppress any other spirits roused in the process,” Xichen adds. Half an afterthought, half an explanation.

The emotion, whatever it is, crystallizes into a spike of irritation. "Temporary wards aren't going to be enough to turn away a determined corpse-raiser of this strength if he has unfinished vendettas against anybody left there," replies Jin Guangyao, snappish.

Lan Xichen’s lips thin. "I would still prefer to comfort some of their fears, however unrealistically, in the time before the problem has been solved, than leave them with no help or explanation at all after such a loss."

Jin Guangyao knows this. Agrees with it, even; it had been one of many principles they shared in the nighthunts they used to investigate. If Lan Xichen is frustrated at having to reiterate such a thing to him specifically, rather than in general, it doesn't show amidst everything else on his face.

He does stand though, turning away from the bed, tucking the medical supplies he’d been using back into their pouch and going to check on an iron kettle perched over a fire.

“Where are we?” Jin Guangyao asks, preferring the abrupt change of subject to a continuation of the prior topic. Xichen glances back at him - not for long.

“The abandoned house of one of the walking corpses I suppressed a few months ago,” he replies. He pours hot water into a skin, tying it off, and then another steaming portion into a tea pot - drab by Gusu Lan standards, but still likely worth more than the entire roof they’re under. “Don’t get up on that leg yet; you’ll split it open.”

Silence clouds between them, as Jin Guangyao stops shifting his way toward the edge of the bed pallet and lets the leg stretch out in front of him, holding back his weight against his arm. His fingers itch.

He’s asked Lan Xichen before, how long he’s been living like this, although not in those terms; and Lan Xichen has responded only with obvious deflections, despite giving perfectly cogent answers to less savory questions, such as how he’s managed to take a room at an inn with a resentment-spilling corpse in tow. There are many people in need with no one else to turn to throughout the countryside. A simple glamour works well enough when neither the inkeep nor other patrons are cultivators. Spending nights at the house left abandoned after a prior nighthunt certainly sidesteps the minor inconveniences of the latter, but leaves him even less sanguine about the former.

Would you rather neither of you were here at all, and in all likelihood even more people were dead? his own mind poses snidely, while he sits and watches Lan Xichen putting the hot compress over his lower leg, manually drawing up the blood in his body toward the region. He sips the cup of medicinal brew pressed into his hands, despite strong doubt in its capacity to do anything now for him in particular.

When he can acutely feel the spiritual energy circulating through his through him - pushed by Xichen’s intent and core, urging tissue to repair itself in the same way it would in a living body - Jin Guangyao finally admits the need to push on the issue of what they both have surely understood by now.

“I need to come with when you leave,” he says. He doesn’t make it a suggestion.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, and Jin Guangyao’s still heart seems to squeeze like a vise. Go back to Gusu! he wants to yell; fuck the villagers, and fuck whatever further bloody deaths he won’t be conscious enough to care about causing.

Lan Xichen only nods, like it pains him. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

[wellhellotragic]

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal 1/2

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault. 

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: I'm a day late but hopefully not a dollar short. Happy birthday to @searchingwardrobes​. This woman has the most generous heart and I hope she knows how much she is loved and appreciated by all of us! If AO3 is more your jam...

She’s been listening to Annie drone on for the better part of their lunch break. The girl is sweet, she really is, but she talks. A lot. So much so that Emma started to tune her out sometime between finishing her chips and opening her brownie. She nods her head in what she hopes are all the right places. But when she hears Killian’s name, Annie has her full attention again.

“I wonder what he’s like in bed.” It’s said with the longing sigh of a high school girl with her first crush and Emma has to physically hit her chest to dislodge the bite of brownie she just choked on. “Have you and he ever...”

The sentence drops off but Emma knows exactly what Annie is getting at. Have she and Killian ever slept together. The answer is no, despite half of the station house being 100% sure they have before. Past tense. No one thinks it’s happening anymore.

“No.” Her voice catches and she hopes that the woman doesn’t pick up on it.

“Well he’s a goddamn masterpiece. I mean, just look at those arms!” Emma is well aware of how toned his arms are. She used to be intimately familiar with them. "I can only imagine how cut he is under that uniform. Like a flawless Greek God.”

It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.

But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself. It’s not his fault. Liam was always so headstrong and there was no way Killian could have talked him out of confronting the guy.

Sometimes she still has nightmares. She sees the gun raise in slow motion but she’s frozen. In her dreams the bullets get her too and she falls to the ground right next to Killian. She watches helplessly as he tells her that he loves her, and then he’s gone and all she can do is wait for her turn. That’s when she wakes up gasping for air, clutching her chest.

That’s not what really happened. But the truth almost feels worse. She heard him yelling for backup over the radio. Heard the officer down call and then nothing. The speaker went silent. She and Boothe raced there, sirens blaring, red lights run. They were the next on scene.

Liam was already gone. Boothe told her that, but at the time, her only focus was on Killian. There was so much blood and it was all she could do to keep it together enough to keep pressure on both of his wounds. Boothe tried to help, but she wouldn’t let him. She couldn’t bring herself to let Killian go, so instead she screamed at him to get away. That she had it.

She heard the ambulance coming, but it was still blocks away and Killian was fading. She pleaded with him to hold on. To stay with her. To stay for her. But he was tired and she knew he’d given up. When he told her that he loved her, that he’d always loved her and he was sorry that he never told her before, she knew it was a goodbye.

He lived by some miracle. The doctors couldn’t even explain it, but he didn’t come back whole. He changed after that. Those fleeting glances, the flirtations and innuendo, the easy physical affection all gone now. He’s shut her out. He’s shut out the world and whatever chance they once had is now long gone. She’s never stopped loving him, never will stop, despite him being lost to her now.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

He’s a Captain now, a dream that came at the expense of his brother’s life. One that he resents to his very core. He puts on a mask, but she can see it when he doesn’t know she’s looking. When he’s in his office with the blinds only partially drawn. The way his barely visible hands ball into fists. It’s a nervous habit, one she noticed for the first time when they were studying for the detectives exam.

He’s been clenching the armrest of the couch for the better part of twenty minutes, and while it didn’t bother her at first, realizing that he’s now starting to leave marks in her favorite sofa may be the final straw in an otherwise frustrating night. He knows all of the answers, more than her and he’s still stressed about failing, when it’s become painfully obvious that she’s the only one that should be worried.

It’s not that she hasn’t studied, she’s just not great with standardized testing. She over thinks everything and starts contemplating of all of the unnamed variables that could affect the answer, and how is she supposed to know if the drop of red paint is significant? Are they in an industrial warehouse or in the middle of a grassy park? Are they sure it’s paint and not blood splatter? How is she supposed to answer without knowing the facts?

He’s told her twice tonight to get out of her own head, to focus on her gut, that it’s never lied to her before, but it’s easier said than done, especially when she hasn’t been able to convince him of the same damn thing.

“Killian, you’ve got this. Why are you so worked up?”

He takes a deep breath and she can see a storm brewing behind his eyes. He’s rarely like this. So serious and stoic.

“It’s not,” he pauses, thinking over his words. He’s also rarely at a lose for those too. “Swan, I’m not worried that I’m going to fail the test. It’s more that I’m worried I won’t live up to expectations.”

“What expectations? Everyone up at the station loves you, lord knows why, but they do.”

She shoots him a wink, hoping that he realises the teasing for what it is, but the sad lift in his lips he gives back shows that her attempt at cheering him up has fallen flat.

“Liam wasn’t just top of his class in the academy, and he’s not just the fastest promoted officer in recent history. He’s always been the best at everything, and he’s one of only three people in the history of the Boston PD to get a perfect score on his detective’s exam. He’s set this bar and it’s so high that I’m scared I’ll never live up to it.”

She’s up and off the floor before she knows it, at his side, grabbing one of his clenched fists.

“Hey, you have to stop trying to compare everything you do to how Liam would do it. You aren’t the same person. Liam, he’s, well, he’s a little self righteous if you ask me.” He tries to interject, and she knows he’s about to defend his brother, but she won’t let him. “No, he is. And I get it. You two had it rough and he had to grow up too fast. But Killian, it’s okay that he’s so formal and by the books and that you aren’t.”

He’s eyes are fixed on hers, and she can still see the doubt, the fear of failure he lives with daily. He’s usually better at hiding it, but sometimes when it’s just the two of them, he lets the mask slip. He’ll let her in, just in the rare moments that he needs her support to fight away the self doubt.

“And just between us, of the two Jones brothers, yours is the company I prefer.”

She can hear him take a hard swallow just as she closes her eyes, letting her body move forward. Letting her feel his lips against hers, unresponsive, but only for a moment before he’s moving in tandem with her.

The kiss isn’t long. It’s happened a handful of times before, usually when one of them was drunk or had just made a big bust. And it never went beyond that. It’s never gone beyond that, and even though sometimes she fantasizes about what it would be like to be with him, to really be with him, she’s not sure she can take the risk that she's wrong about him. She’s been burned before, and can’t lose Killian that way too.

She thinks he understands, that he feels the same way since he’s never tried anything more.

They break apart and without hesitation, she moves back to her spot on the carpet next to the coffee table to grab her book.

“Just making you take your own advice to get out of your head for a minute.” She winks at him again and this time there’s an audible chuckle.

He got a perfect score on that exam, just like his brother before him. She did well enough to promote not long after him. She got assigned to homicide while he got his dream job in the narcotics division one floor up.

It was strange at first, not seeing him everyday on patrol, instead only getting glimpses of him on the elevator or in the lobby in the morning. Having to schedule drinks at the Salty Wench a couple of nights a week, which eventually became a once a month thing. It was okay though. Both of them were excelling in their careers. She got partnered with August within a month of becoming a detective, something she still thinks was likely a PR stunt from media relations. Something to boost the PD image. The two of them, the posterboard for troubled teens now respected law enforcement professionals. What a glowup story.

“And what pray tell are we talking about over here ladies?”

August wastes no time in pulling up a chair to their little table in the back corner of the breakroom. Emma’s always admired him that; the ease he has in any situation with any group of people. He’s always been confident in a carefree way. Guess that’s a win for nature over nurture.

“Oh, not much. Just the renasonician piece of artwork that is Captain Jones.”

“Whoa. That’s a big negative ghost writer. That pattern is completely full.”

Emma doubt’s that Annie understands the reference, but the point is made as Annie’s face falls.

“So he’s taken then?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that taken is necessarily the word for it. He’s just not into dating any of the lovely ladies right now. Hasn’t been for awhile.” She appreciates the way August keeps things casual. Taking the emotional boulder from Emma’s shoulders onto his own. “But, I can give credit where credit is due.”

There’s a moment, just after Annie notices the way August is taking in Killian’s form as he leans against a beam, reading a file while he waits for his lunch to finish warming up. Emma can see the exact second that it finally dawns on her. That August Boothe has a type that neither of them fit.

“Wait!” It’s almost a screech and Emma has to move her hand in front of her face to hide in embarrassment. “Is he? Are you two, you know?”

He’s about to make a quip, something that will leave Annie guessing for days, but she can’t do that. Can’t let the rumor mill stir up anymore about Killian than it already has.

“Please, he couldn’t handle it. Even on a bad day Boothe here is way out of Killian’s league.”

“Damn straight!”

She and August don’t even have to look at each other to give the perfect high five. It’s just muscle memory at this point.

August does make another quip, one about how the new DA is more to his standards and how he’d catalogue his evidence any day. It’s a stupid joke but it makes them all laugh. She doesn’t even think, the amusement slipping from somewhere deep inside her.

She usually tries not to call attention to herself when Killian is around, preferring to blend into the background like a wallflower. But this time she’s caught off guard, and between the three of them, they’ve made a scene. She stops, but it’s too late. Even without looking up she can feel his eyes on her, can feel the contempt he has for her even just being in his presence.

She doesn’t know how to fix it. The thing that broke between them. She’s not even sure what she did wrong. But it’s done, whatever it was, and there’s no mending it.

He grabs his tupperware out of the microwave, not even letting the timer finish and throws it away in the trash can next to the counter, and without so much as a word, only the tensing of his jaw, he’s gone.

It stays the same, day in and day out, week after week, month after month. She does her best to avoid him, and he her. Her assignments usually come by way of Lance, the poor middle man trying to keep the peace. Her case reports move through Lance as well. The only congratulations she and August ever get for closing some of their tougher cases comes from the lieutenant, or from their colleges. Never from the Captain.

It’s Emma’s birthday, or what she celebrates as her birthday. It’s a little hard to tell considering the way she was left on the side of the road. The way that anyone in the foster care system that might have known never bothered to keep up with the paperwork.

But it’s okay, because she’s got August, and he’s been there for almost every birthday since she was six years old, when they both lived with Ingrid. She still remembers that first cake, she’d never had a birthday party before, and even without having any real friends to invite over, Ingrid had made it so special, just the three of them.

She’s got friends now though. More than she ever thought possible. And she’s got August, singing along to Smooth Criminal with a childrens reverberating microphone that he bought just for that very purpose. She’s laughing harder than she has in months, the tequila in her veins helping her to relax for a change.

“Emma, are you okay? Are you okay, Emma?”

He’s not a horrible singer, but he’s not the best. Neither is Ruby from the forensics lab either, but the sound of cheers around her from most of the 56th precinct is music to her ears.

She’s so engrossed in Ruby’s encore of Hit Me Baby One More Time that she doesn’t even notice Killian standing in the doorway, but August does.

“Oi!” Emma realises too late what’s happening and is powerless to stop it. The mockery in August’s voice. “Look at this cheeky bloke here coming to get pissed with us mates!”

There’s cheers from the crowd, and now there’s no way Killian can just leave unseen. She also knows there’s likely going to be a massive pile of grunt work on her desk first thing in the morning as retribution.

“Captain!”

“I uh, I can’t stay. Just wanted to drop by and wish you all well.”

He’s waving them off, and Emma just prays that August knows well enough to let it go, but he’s had too much to drink to think clearly. His inhibitions are lowered, and long gone is his ability to think clearly.

“Bollocks! Come have a cuppa with us,” August continues, raising his nearly empty beer bottle, “in Emma’s honor.”

She can see the smugness forming on August’s face as he challenges Killian. It’s only matched but the sneer Killian shoots him in return.

Killian doesn’t say anything, just walks to the bar and orders a drink. She knows what’s inside the glass the bartender is handing him. She knows that it won’t be the only drink he orders that night.

Things mostly go back to normal. Everyone mingles amongst themselves, and as the night goes on, she assumes that August’s little outburst earlier was the worst of it. But August hasn’t stopped drinking, and a drunk August has awful judgement.

It’s almost midnight, and she should be leaving, knowing that all of the aspirin in the world isn’t going to save them from having to be at work in the morning. She’s trying to leave actually, but Ruby and Annie convince her to stay for just a few more minutes.

It’s one minute too long. Especially when August stands up near the bar, calling for everyone to be silent so he can give a speech. Considering that he’s probably way past the legal limit, the speech is actually impressive and emotionally moving. He knows her better than anyone after all.

It’s the perfect ending to the night, except that it isn’t. Because August has no plans of letting her leave without some words of encouragement from their mentor, Captain Jones. Killain declines, warning him that he’s drunk and should go home. August won’t let it go though.

“Seriously man, what’s your problem?”

“Boothe, you’re inebriated and you need to think carefully about what you say next.”

Emma grabs August’s arm, trying to drag him out of the pub, but he won’t budge.

“No, no. You’re right, I am inebriated. And what’s that saying? A drunk man’s words are a sober man's thoughts?”

“Boothe.” It’s a growled out warning. Killian’s never been a fan of August, even in the early days, and Emma knows that he’s been looking for any chance to put the man in his place.

“So here’s the thing. Both drunk me and sober me want to know what your deal is. What the hell crawled up your ass? Is it because she wouldn’t sleep with you, so now you’re punishing her?”

“Patrol duty, one week.” Killian’s malcontent is evident in every word he yells, and now the entire pub is silent, watching the carnage taking place.

And there’s nothing Emma can do to stop August’s arm from pulling away and decking Killian clear across the jaw.

There’s just silence, and the hissing sound August makes as he shakes his hand out.

“That’s it. You're suspended indefinitely.”

She hears Killian mumble the word prink under his breath as he makes his way to the door, and she’s torn about what to do. But when Archie hands her a bag of ice, the choice is made for her, and she goes after Killian.

Maybe it’s the tequila making her brave, or maybe it’s making her stupid, but she just needs to know what she did to make him hate her so much. She’s tortured herself, going through every interaction they had at the hospital. Trying to dissect every word, but she has nothing. No explanation for what could have happened between him confessing his love for her and then forbidding her to go to Liam’s funeral.

“Killian!” She has to jog to catch up to where he’s standing on the corner trying to hail a cab. “Here. Take this.”

She tries to hand him the bag of ice, but he won’t meet her gaze.

“Go back inside, Emma.”

Emma. He’s never called her that before and its stings for some reason. She turns, but the last shot if tequila is still kicking in, and she needs to know, and as horrible as August’s approach was, it’s the first real opportunity she’s had to be alone with him. Choosing to stand her ground for once, she turns back to him.

“Look, I know that this probably wasn’t the best way to approach this, but I think I deserve to at least know what I did. What was so horrible that you can’t even stand the sight of me anymore?”

“Go back inside, Emma.”

It stings just as much the second time, and gives Emma the fight inside of her that she needs.

“No. I don’t get it. I don’t understand. Please, just help me understand it.” She’s got tears forming in her eyes from the anger of it all, and he’s still just so damn dismissive. “You don’t get it do you? I saved your life and somehow I still lost you that night!”

“I was scared I was dying. I didn’t mean it. God, don’t you understand? I never loved you. You’ve just been clinging to me all of these years, this sad little orphan and I felt guilty, like I had to say it!” There’s so much spite in his voice.

“You told me you loved me. I was there, covered in your blood, fighting for you, for us, and you told me you loved me. You don’t get to just take it back.”

She hasn’t seen him in the better part of a year. It was only supposed to be a six month assignment, he promised her, but eleven months later, he’s still undercover. Liam won’t tell her anything, and even if he would, the chances are that he doesn’t know much either. Somewhere around month seven Killian stopped checking in regularly. He was paranoid that they were on to him and didn’t want anyone to see him with his handler.

The only reason she even knows that he’s still alive is from security footage at the docks where a deal had gone down about a week before. All of the men were in masks, and anyone else reviewing the tape probably would have missed it, the barest hint of a tattoo sticking out from just under his left wrist sleeve. From the camera angle, it looks like the tip of a dagger, but it’s a point, one of eight. She knows the meaning behind it too, a compass that he got etched into his skin on his eighteenth birthday. Something to always remind him of where he’s been and where he was going.

To keep him always moving forward in life. Aside from letting down Liam, Killian’s biggest fear has always been turning out like his dad, a poor, unfortunate soul. A lost boy who never grew up into a man worthy of his children’s respect.

It’s hard. Knowing that he’s out there, only being able to imagine what he’s going through. If he’ll still be ‘him’ when he comes back, not letting herself wonder ‘if’ he’ll come back. They’ve both seen what can happen when someone goes too deep, how they come back fractured. A part of them left behind, the humanity shed away, sloughed off to make room for their new toughened skin. Peter went too deep and came back in a bodybag, courtesy of a bullet from her gun.

He promised her he wouldn’t lose himself though, that he’d come back to her. That he was a survivor.

But then again, he’d always promised her he wouldn’t go undercover without talking to her first, and he’d broken that promise, volunteering without much prompting, only telling her as he was leaving the station for the last time. The truth was that they’d grown apart in the year before he left. Their careers pulling them in different directions, and she wasn’t sure how well she knew him anymore. Of course, she’d also never expected him to develop a romantic relationship with a heroin king’s sister, but she’d seen evidence photos of the girl sitting on Killian’s lap, so what did she know.

There’s a commotion coming from down the hallway near the bullpen, and Emma doesn’t want to be around people, not like this. Not when it’s taking everything she has not to let the tears welling in her eyes fall, not to scream and punch the wall. Trying so hard to hold herself together when she’s barely hanging on.

She takes a right, ducking into an evidence room, closing the door behind her. She walks to a table, lets her hands grasp the edges, the cold metal against her skin helping to anchor her to reality. She takes a few deep breaths, the air burning her lungs in a way that reminds her she’s still here. She has to accept it. He’s gone, and she’s just going to have to learn to live with that fact.

Except he’s not gone. Her eyes go wide at the sound of his voice behind her, not even realizing that someone had slipped into the room with her.

“Swan.”

It’s soft, like he’s testing the sound of it on his tongue.

“Killian?”

He’s standing toe to toe with her in a flash, his arms going around her, one hand tangled in her hair. It’s suffocating almost, how hard he’s pressing her against his chest, but she doesn’t care. Not when he smells of leather and salt air. Not when he’s there with her just like he promised.

“How are you here?”

He leans back and there’s something in his eyes that she’s never seen before. A fire burning behind the icy blue. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the door to the evidence room is thrown open and Emma can hear the proud bellow of his brother. Liam tells him to come to the bullpen, and Killian tries to object, but Liam won’t hear of it.

“I, we’ll talk later, ya?”

She nods, wrapping both of her arms around her torso keeping away the chill that’s entered the room, the way she feels the distance growing between them already.

They never talk about it though.

There’s something in his eyes that she’s never seen before. A haunting. Shadows filling in the recesses of his soul. And he’s encroaching on her space, making her feel like a small empty shell of herself.

“Killian, please. Stop it.”

“Liam was right you know. You’re nothing more than a pretty blonde distraction.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because, I want to hurt you, like you hurt me.”

He gets into his cab, driving off and leaving her alone on the sidewalk. It’s ironic, the way she’s ending her birthday just as she started her life. Completely alone and unwanted. But it gives her peace in a way. It’s a form of closure. The true end of what they had. She now knows that it’s over. That chapter of her life. She’s ready to finally close the book altogether.

Her legs carry her into her precinct, she doesn’t even bother with the elevator, taking the stairs instead. Just taking it all in. It’s been her home for years. She’s spent more time there than she has at her own apartment. She knows every dent in every way, all the uneven floor planks. She knows that there’s going to be food left out on Leroy’s desk, and that the only thing that will be on Arthur’s desk is an excalibur shaped letter opener that he uses as a fork more often than not. And she knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her desk will have someone new sitting at it before anyone else realizes that she’s gone.

She fills out the form, leaving it as ambiguous and impersonal as possible. It isn’t until she’s signing her name that she hears someone else walk into the bullpen.

“I thought it was your big birthday. What are you up here instead of celebrating with everyone?”

She looks up to find Lance standing behind her.

“And I thought you would be at home with those cute kids of yours.”

“I forgot my phone.”

It’s peaceful, this small moment shared between them in a dimly lit room.

He sees the form, and by the way his face drops, she feels like she’s disappointed him in some way.

“It’s our loss.” There’s something in the way he says it, and she knows he's talking about more than just the precinct transfer order she’s filled out. “May I?”

Emma hands him the pen he’s gestured to and watches as he signs the approval line. He hugs her before he leaves to rejoin his family. The calm feeling he left stays though, even after it’s just her there again, even when she steps into Killian’s office to set the form on his desk. There’s a picture of him with Liam on the desk. She picks it up, letting her fingers brush over Killian’s form, only the barest hint of her shoulder still showing from where he’d cropped her out.

Closure.

[mandochlorian]

secret (ben solo x fem!reader)

part I part II part III

PART FOUR

summary: So, the thing about your mom… it’s not that she’s possessive or controlling… well, she can be. But it’s just that she really has a dislike for Ben Solo, which is why she can never know that you sneak him into your room every Friday while she’s at work.

general masterlist

star wars masterlist

Ben.

Let me in...

Ben.

Nothing but silence.

Hurry up!

I’m freezing out here.

Ben.

Staring up at the window, you see shadows shift against the pale white light.

I can see that you’re inside, come on.

It shines against the alley beside Ben’s part-time quarters on Base. Back at your home, your bedroom door is locked and your lights are off. You’re feigning sleep, your parents are unaware - hopefully. Letting out a short sigh, you let your crossed arms fall in defeat. This dumb idiot boy. He literally begged you to come to his house tonight and now that you’re here, he’s not answering your call?

You stretch your hand out, a furrow reaching your brow as you slide open the window. Might as well let yourself in. Sucking in a breath, you bend your knees before jumping up to the window - with trusty help from the force. At once, you’re clinging to his window, a scowl on your face as you grunt at the effort.

“I trained all day,” you announce to him, “now is my only time off and I have to climb up-“

Your scowl drops when you look up from your position. Han and Leia both look at you, perched upon the ledge.

“You need to work on your patience, I think,” Ben gives you a curt smile, looking down at you as he stands beside his parents. He runs a hand through his black curls, willing his brain to think of something good.

You remain silent, shutting your agape mouth. There’s no way out of this one. Turning around, you glance down at the drop. Surely you could survive it. It wouldn’t be as painful as the tension in this room right now. You turn back around at the feeling of Ben’s hand on yours. He helps you from the ledge, shutting the window behind you before standing at your side. Han crosses his arms, trying so desperately to hide the amusement that threatens to mar his usual stoic expression. What can he say? The kid reminds Han of himself. And after how your parents acted, Han’s impressed that Ben has the guts to keep sneaking around. 

“What? No half-assed excuse?” He quips, giving Ben a slight smirk.

His kid just shrugs, his own smile appearing on his face, “I can’t talk myself out of this one, I know when to quit.”

Okay, maybe he can’t talk himself out but you definitely can. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry about - well, everything,” you can’t help but keep your eyes on the ground, avoiding the Pilot and the Generals eyes, “I understand that I’m not welcome here. I just...” you glance at Ben, holding his longing gaze for a moment before you cast your eyes away, “I’ll leave. I’m sorry.”

The prospect of having them tell your parents is frightening. But the idea of never seeing Ben again... that’s worse. On the other hand, there is no part of you that wants his parents to resent you. You want to know them forever - like you want to know Ben forever. And nothing has started on a good foot.

Ben goes to protest but Leia reaches a hand out, halting your actions before your boyfriend can speak, “Stay, Y/N. It’s alright.”

Ben looks at his mother, searching her feelings. There isn’t an inkling on her filled with anger. You tilt your head, glancing between her and Han, “S-Sorry?”

“You are welcome here, Y/N,” she admits, “any time. I know your parents aren’t the most... accommodating,” she places a hand on Han’s arm, giving you a reassuring smile, “But we’ll always be here to accept you into our home.”

Ben smiles. He can feel his chest rise with something. Something like joy. Excitement. Maybe it’s all mixed with relief too because he can’t stop smiling so, so wide. It’s a good look on him.

“Are you sure?” You can’t help but ask, furrowing your eyebrows, “My parents were... horrible.” 

You think back to that evening a few weeks ago. Not only did they insult Ben but they insulted the entire Organa-Solo family without even realising - or caring. You haven’t stopped thinking about it or feeling guilty about it.

“You’re not like your parents, kid,” Han admits, giving you a kind smile. At the time, Han had to control his anger. He couldn’t cause more of a scene despite your father's words. 

“You make Ben happy,” Leia admits, adding sternly, “though I’m not thrilled about the smuggling... I know that you take care of him. You take care of each other.”

“Yeah, you make a good pair,” Han admits, giving a nod in your general direction. Ben raises an eyebrow at his dad, returning his nod comically.

“Thank you.” You mumble to them, a gentle smile on your face. Something within you twinges with sadness but you push it down, not letting your thoughts ruin this.

“Honestly,” Han adds, “We’ve known for a while.”

“What?” Ben frowns. Leia hides a smile. “How long?”

“Oh, honey,,” Leia pretends to think about it, “About a year... maybe longer.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, kid.” Han nods. Hm, so they found out about the girlfriend before they found out about the smuggling. Ben can live with that. 

“Come over whenever you’d like, Y/N,” Leia adds, “This space is as much yours as it is ours.”

“Thank you,” you repeat, slightly stunned.

Before his parents head out the door, Han turns to look to you, “We have a front door, by the way. Might wanna start using it.”

You let out a small laugh, giving him an awkward smile, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The door to Ben’s room shuts, leaving silence and slight tension within. Two arms come to wrap around your waist and Ben leans his head against your shoulder, facing the crook of your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his lips brush against your skin. “That... kinda went well,” he muses, “I guess your lack of patience isn’t too bad after all.” 

“Guess so,” you hum back, staring at the wall opposite you. You take a breath, resting a hand on top of his as he presses a kiss to your warm neck.

Ben pauses, sensing the shift in your mood and he pulls back slightly. “Talk to me, baby,” he asks lowly, pulling away to grab your hand. He leads you to the bed, lounging comfortably on the dark sheets.

“What?” You ask innocently, laying down beside him and playing with his large hand.

“What’s wrong?” He looks down at you, his expression less than happy.

“Nothing,” you laugh gently, “I’m fine.”

“Come on.”

“I’m okay.” He doesn’t buy it. “I don’t want to ruin this moment.” You continue.

“You won’t,” Ben’s voice becomes more stern as he watches you in silence. A few moments pass, you holding his hand, playing with his fingers, before he speaks up. “Come on, you won’t ruin anything. Talk to me, I’m here.”

You let go of Ben’s hand. He just places it on your waist instead. “It’s dumb.” You admit.

“Well, so are you.”

“Nice.”

“I’m kidding!”

“Real nice.”

“It’s meant to ease tension - make you loosen up, talk to me a little. Hey,” his voice is serious now as he gazes at your expression, “Y/N, whatever it is you know that I love you.”

You smile, reaching your hand out to cup his warm, freckled cheek, “I know.” 

Looking into his eyes for a moment, you lean in to press your lips against his. In the quiet of his room the only sound is Ben eagerly inching forward on the bed. His large hand gently grasps at the back of your neck, further pushing your lips against his as he holds you close.

After a moment, it stops. Opening his eyes, Ben pulls back with a blissful and dimpled smile.

“Stop trying to distract me.” His words are serious but he looks so cute.

You frown, giving him a small pout as you lean in, “I’m not.” You capture his lips against yours, feeling him exhale a huff of air through his nose.

You reach for the bottom of his shirt. He hums loudly, pulling back. Ben moves his hand, his thumb pressed against the tip of your chin and angling your head up. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he whispers sternly and a little breathless. “Your sneaky tricks don’t work on me, Jedi,” Ben teases, his eyes subtlety glancing to your neck before he removes his hand.

Your smile slowly vanishes as he leaves you. All you can do now is let out a sigh. Plopping back down on the bed, you face his ceiling. Ben, who has been keeping his eyes on you, follows suit curiously. He looks up at his ceiling too but when you don’t say anything yet, Ben glances at you.

“Your parents are so lovely,” you finally admit.

“They like make a good first impression, I’ll admit, but you’ll get tired of them soon,” Ben answers casually, still trying to gauge your expression, “I mean, who knows? They’ll probably like you more than they like me.”

“Maybe.” You let out the smallest huff of a laugh, barely even audible. It almost makes you cry. You keep staring at the bright ceiling.

“You... you didn’t want them to know yet?” Ben wonders, staring at you, “Are you uncomfortable? I’m s-”

“No, no!” You shake your head, brows furrowed as you turned to him, “It’s not that.”

Ben doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t get angry or frustrated. He waits. Stars, this man is so patient with you. He just waits. Waits for you to find the proper words. Waits for you to feel okay. Waits for you to squeeze his hand back.

“I just wish-” you feel tears spring to your eyes as you face away from him again, “I wish something could just be good for once. Purely, wholly good. No exceptions. Just one thing. One single thing. Why can’t this one thing just be... good?” When you turn to Ben, he can see the redness in your eyes. “I love you. I really love you, Ben. Sometimes I think I could be happy on a planet just you and me. But it’s not that simple, is it? Nothings that simple. Why does something always get in the way? I love you. With all my heart. I always will - you’re my person, you know? And it’s always so good until it’s not. Do you... do you get what I mean?” Stars you feel like an idiot when Ben doesn’t automatically respond. You turn to him, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“I do,” he finally answers, holding your hand tightly.

“You felt like the one thing that was just... good, Ben. Solely good. Even if you were a secret.”

“That’s why you didn’t want to tell them?” He adds, giving you a gentle look, “Your parents, I mean.”

“I knew it’d all be ruined.”

“It’s not ruined,” Ben frowns, shaking his head at you, “It’s not.” 

“My dad laid his hands on you, Ben,” you remind him - though you know he doesn’t need it, “I don’t know how two people come back from that.” Ben just listens to you. He doesn’t want to agree with you, doesn’t want to give in to the idea that him and your parents may never get along. “What if you’re right?” You ask, staring back into his brown eyes, “What if this just... dies out?”

Ben pauses. You can see the way his eyes rake over your face, slowly, calculatingly, yet still gentle. “I’m never right.” Ben responds with a subtle shake of his head. He tries to ease the tightness that begins filling his chest at your words. His hand squeezes yours, just to make sure you’re still here.

“I’m just tired of nothing going right,” you sigh, facing the ceiling once again, “you know?” His hand feels heavy to hold.

Ben gazes at you for a moment longer, “Yeah,” he sighs, feeling the faint ghost hands of your father gripping and pulling him by the collar, “yeah, I know. Listen, Y/N... You and your parents, you’re different people. You’re living different lives. You decide how you live yours. They’ll come around to it - because they love you. You’re their daughter and I know that they just want what’s best for you, even if they don’t think it’s me. This sounds biased but... if you have something good that you love, don’t let him go.” You chuckle gently, resting your hand on top of Ben’s. You don’t try to look away to hide the tears anymore. Ben doesn’t say anything about them either. “Life is not ever consistent, you can’t count on it to be,” he continues, “things change and things go wrong. I know you’re upset, you have a right to be. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t let it be felt... I’m just saying, don’t let it overshadow the fact that this is still good - that what we have is still love. It’ll always just be... love.” Ben speaks to your metaphor, feeling a little awkward but covering it with a genuine smile, “And that’s good. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You smile back at him, feeling your heart pick up speed as you watch him leaning towards you. His eyes hold something within them, something elated and mischievous. 

“Say it,” he smiles, his forehead pressing against yours, “This is good.” Ben presses his soft lips against yours, unable to stop smiling into the gentle kiss.

You hold back a giggle, kissing him back and barely being able to respond, “This - is good.”

“This is good,” he whispers to you, his hands now finding their way to your cheeks. Ben gently holds your face, his soft, caring, attentive eyes staring into yours, “This is good.”

[bonesaldente]

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 6: The Interrogation

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

words: ~1800

_____

He hears the prisoner before he sees her. The woman who was so inconspicuous in the throne room is now cursing him, the troopers, and the entire Republic out at the top of her longs, her voice echoing through the corridor. At least he highly suspects it is her voice; it is undistorted and clear, much lighter than the voice he remembers.

“... And your brothers and every single person who has taken part in this, no mercy, no survivors, and if you think you can-”

The angry ranting stops at once when Obi-Wan steps into the woman’s view.

For a moment, his breath is taken away. This face… It is like he is back on Naboo, carrying the lifeless body of Master Qui-Gon. The memory hits him hard and unexpectedly, causing him to falter in his step for the fraction of a second before he regains his composure.

“You,” the woman looks daggers at him through the force field that separates her from the outside, suddenly not looking like the woman he remembers at all but much more like how one would expect Spectress to look like under that signature mask, except for much more… human. And vulnerable.

He does not like the swell of pity he senses rising in himself when he catches a glimpse of her bloodshot eyes and the bruising on her cheek - after all, she stood by and watched as Satine was killed, slaughtered by Maul, and even appealed for his own execution.

But Revenge is not the Jedi Way… And neither is resentment, no matter the deed.

“General,” The guards salute him. “We have confiscated her belongings and searched them for any tracking devices.”

“And you are certain that she is unarmed?”

“We’ve run several scans, sir.”

“Good.”

He assesses the situation briefly, taking in her hands that are cuffed to the table.

“Open the cell, I wish to speak to her.”

She has stopped speaking, only glowering at him when he enters the claustrophobic space.

“You got a lot of nerve-”

“Please,” he interrupts, sitting down. “Do not make this any harder than it needs to be.”

“I am- It was you who kidnapped me!” Her features are contorted in rage and with it, her light accent shines through otherwise flawless Basic.

“Kidnapped?” Obi-Wan questions. “You have multiple open arrest warrants and were complicit in the violent takeover of Mandalorian rule-”

“That took place in a neutral system and is thus not under Republic jurisdiction if I have to remind you. Besides, it was Pre Vizsla who pushed your duchess off her throne,” Her voice takes on another, more malicious undertone while she widens her eyes mockingly sweet, “Obi.”

The old nickname stings more than he would like to admit, especially coming from someone who was there when it happened, but he forces himself to remain objective... and fair.

“We have a few questions for you. If you cooperate and answer them truthfully, we will be able to lower your sentence considerably.”

Considering she is responsible for the assassinations of multiple senators, her prison sentence is still going to be at least two digits, but there could be worse things. Aside from that, Obi-Wan has seen how quickly one could escape from prison. Somebody like Spectress, who is already known for being one of the... craftier faces of the underground could probably-

“Lower my sentence?” She sounds almost offended. “After you unlawfully took me from my planet? I don’t think so.”

His heart sinks when it becomes painfully obvious that she will do anything but cooperate, even though he expected that going into it.

The prisoner leans forward on her elbows, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You will regret this, Kenobi:”

“Look, as much as you may dislike this, we have the upper hand here. We can start simple. Your name?”

“None of your concern.”

“Since you have committed crimes against the Republic, it is, actually.”

She rolls her eyes shifting away from him again, unresponsive.

“Perhaps something else, then. What do you know of the creation of the clone army?”

“The clones?” The mercenary furrows her brows. “What would I know of them? And why would you care, isn’t it you they work for?”

He chooses to ignore her last question, instead pushing further.

“We know you were acquainted with Jango Fett, and that you’ve been to the facilities on Kamino.”

She only quirks an eyebrow, in turn ignoring him.

“Pardon my choice of words, the clones don’t work for you, I forgot. They don’t get paid, do they?”

“What was your relationship with Fett?”

“Again, none of your concern. Hey, you!” The woman looks over his shoulder at one of the two guards standing by the cell. “Do you get paid for this? And did you choose to risk your life for people who don’t even care about you?”

Obi-Wan glances at the trooper, Flamer if he recalls correctly, who remains unmoving, though his back straightens almost unnoticeably.

“Again, it is my concern. Were you related?” She scoffs in response. “Were you a client? Partners? Lovers?”

The last word makes her grimace in distaste.

“We were friends, Kenobi, a concept I’m sure must be quite foreign to the likes of you.”

“Friends?” He raises an eyebrow. At last, something to go off of. “Do you know who hired Fett as a genetic donor?”

Her eye twitches.

“I find it quite presumptuous of you to be asking me all these things… After all, it was one of your Jedi knights who decapitated him. Perhaps if you had been more considerate then, you’d now be able to ask him yourself.”

For a moment, heavy silence hangs in the room like a cloud of smoke. “But you can’t,” she concludes. “Because you murdered him.”

Oh, her tone is so bitter, Obi-Wan knows his death struck her hard, even though it had been years back.

“I do not believe he was solely a friend of yours,” He comments. “I think he was more than that, or you would not be so caught up on his passing.”

“His violent murder? You are correct, it was quite memorable, not only to me but also to his son,” she spits. “I believe you’ve met him, haven’t you? How does it feel knowing one of you slaughtered his father before his own two eyes? How can the Jedi be so morally condescending after all the families they have ripped apart?”

“Your family amongst them?”

“Numerous families, Kenobi. And yes, most recently, you have torn me from whatever I had on Mandalore.”

“Did you consider Jango Fett family?” He presses on further.

“Does it matter? Certainly not to you, right?”

“We are trying to get to the bottom of a case here,” he explains calmly. “And any information you have may prove to be useful.”

“Why would I help you?” She snorts. “To get one life sentence instead of two? A cell with a window? An autograph from the famed Jedi general himself?”

Obi-Wan has a strong urge to bury his face in his hands in frustration. Instead, he puts on the kindest smile he can muster at this moment.

“Because I believe that you, contrary to popular opinion, do have morals. We are looking into something that goes deeper than a simple feud you have with our order, even deeper than the hatred Maul harbors for it… and me.” He closes his eyes for a second to reflect.

“I am asking you, in all seriousness, if you can give us anything that could possibly point us in the right direction.”

The woman looks at him differently now. The constant scowl is gone from her features, replaced by a slight frown.

“You speak of the Sith.”

“What do you know of them?”

She glares at him. “More than you.”

“Then I take it you know who the master is?”

Something flashes across her face, brief enough to miss it if he blinked. Silence ensues as she seems to ponder, intense eyes focused on something invisible in the air

He holds his breath, feeling the revelation so close.

“I…” she finally begins hesitantly, “He is-” She gulps and goosebumps rise on Obi-Wan’s spine when he sees her fingertips tremble against the metal table, wondering who could have the ability to instill this much fear in a person.

Her mouth opens to continue, but no words come out. She blinks in confusion, trying again and looking down to the side when the words refuse to leave her mouth.

“He is… he controls…” The words come out in a strained voice, but before she reveals concrete information, she starts choking as if something is closing around her windpipe.

True, sincere panic fills her eyes when her hands struggle against their restraints as she attempts to claw at the invisible force around her throat. Intuitively, Obi-Wan reaches out, despite there being no physical enemy. His hand drops when she flinches away from him, too, but in that moment the invisible attack ceases and she gasps for air, slumping forward, facing the sterile floor.

Neither party speaks for a minute.

“I can’t help you,” the woman eventually states, voice hoarse. “Just know you face an evil of a scale that you can’t… comprehend yet.”

The atmosphere has gone through such a complete change that Obi-Wan feels it is unwise to continue the interrogation much longer.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I am not cooperating,” she hisses, right back to being the renowned mercenary. “I just know we have a common enemy. Which does not” Her glare tells him she knows he was about to make a hopeful comment about working together, “make us allies. I still despise you and everything you stand for.”

“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We will resume tomorrow.” He pushes the metal chair back, moving to stand up.

“Wait.”

The urgency in her voice makes him freeze for a moment.

“Something else you would like to tell me?”

“Give it back.”

“Give what back?”

“My stuff, Kenobi. You have taken several of my possessions, some of which were,” she curls her lip, “of value to me.” “What exactly are you talking about? Perhaps if you show more willingness to work with us in the future, something could be arranged.”

“For one, I want my anonymity back, but you destroyed that option when you took away my mask while I was unconscious.”

The last words are delivered with force, her gaze downright deadly.

“But that’s not all. You took something else, something of… sentimental value.”

She glances at her hands.

“When I was kidnapped by your rebel friends, I was wearing a ring on my right hand and somebody took it. All I want is to have it back, is that too much to ask for?”

A ring? He didn’t expect a request so… mundane.

He gives her one last look before turning and leaving the cell.

“We will talk tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

_____

notes: Whew, quite a bit of dialogue in this one, though I have to admit that I do really enjoy writing it :)

See you all next week ~

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d 

[thistangledbrain]

Deliberately lumping 17 & 18 together this time, because 17 isn’t that big of an entry.

Day 17 - “Accommodations”

So from a *personal* standpoint, I need few or no accommodations, as I’ve learned to make my own & have my own coping skills - when you spend most of your life not even knowing you’re autistic, you’re less likely to ask for something to help you with “your weird hangups”.

But younger auties often DO need accommodations- like being allowed to wear headphones/muffs in school, having a quieter testing environment, smaller classes, and so on. And obviously, the more you struggle with certain aspects (like loud noises or crowds), the more accommodations you’ll need.

I admit I don’t have much experience with the kids who truly need the total SPED environments. *Most* (definitely not all) kids I’ve known have all been capable to a degree of adapting to a NT environment. It’s *exhausting*, but possible *most of the time*. So since I’m a child of “suck it UP!”, I’m unfamiliar with this outside of simple accommodations I asked for, for my youngest, when he was in his earlier HS years - like headphones being allowed, and letting him keep his cell phone on him so he could quietly text with me if he was having a rough day & we could walk through it together. As he’s progressed through high school, he’s needed these accommodations less and less. I’ve noticed as my boys have edged through puberty, they leave more and more of their younger struggles behind them.

Your results may vary, of course.

———————————————

Day 18 - “Someday”

Hm. Boy, that’s ambiguous. Maybe I’ll take this one on from a couple different angles.

Someday I hope NTs understand autism better. Someday I hope each autistic person can be judged on their OWN PERSONAL strengths and weaknesses, like NTs are, instead of lumping us all together and deciding we can or can’t do something, based on the fact we’re autistic. For example, I know *plenty* of autistic musicians who play in bands ranging from death metal & punk rock, to smooth jazz. “But I thought autistic people couldn’t handle loud sounds!!”, you exclaim. Yeah, and some of us can. Also, not all loud sounds are created equal. Or sounds in general. A good example for me is, I occasionally jump and let out a little scream when the toast pops up 🙄, but I don’t flinch at the sound of gunfire - because I love to target shoot (I do not hunt), and it’s something I’m really good at, so I enjoy it thoroughly. (I’m not going to get started on America’s gun violence problem because it enrages me. I can rant about that allllll day & already deleted two paragraphs doing just that. This was just a convenient example.)

I’ve been thinking about this a LOT lately, actually. We have our own hurdles, without NTs adding to them, anyway. But I think about “what if I knew I was autistic, before I joined the Marines? Would I still have been as determined?” YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT...BUT I would have hit a brick wall, because they wouldn’t have let me (if I was honest about it, anyway - I’m telling you right now, if every applicant was 100% honest about their background, almost NO ONE would be accepted). So what happened? Well - I was a damned good Marine, that’s what happened - because I didn’t let *anybody* tell me I couldn’t do something. And as I mentioned before...for certain types of auties, the military is actually a pretty fucking brilliant, comfortable environment that we literally thrive in. Again - we are all different. So this “someday” one is BIG for me. Someday I hope we are judged individually on our merits, someday I hope we are looked at through the lens of what we CAN do, versus what *someone else* thinks we cannot do. I have YET to meet an Autie who doesn’t go “OH YEAH?!” when we’re told we “can’t” do something because of our autism. (We might not always succeed, granted, but we really hate being told we “can’t” do something, based on what YOU think we can and cannot do.)

Someday I hope autism is actually celebrated, instead of thinking it’s some sort of scourge. I hope to see that happen in my lifetime.

Someday I also hope that people (the doctors and psych folks and whatever) realize there’s actually a *considerable* difference between male and female autistics - which is why females are so often diagnosed late in life, because we “don’t fit the profile”. I also hope they realize that some females are more like males, and some males more like females, as far as the expression of our ASD. In other words - back to HOW ABOUT YOU EVALUATE US INDIVIDUALLY, FFS. I hear all this shit about how “autism is a spectrum”, and it just seems like lip service - if you KNOW it’s a spectrum, then why are you still trying to pigeonhole us into the DSM-5 definition or whatever, and operating inside generic parameters?? Auties are the most complex human beings you will ever meet in your life - and I stand FIRMLY by that - so your attempts to shoehorn us into your basic understanding of it is frustrating as FUCK. Infuriating, even. No wonder we fight you so bad when you try it. How would YOU like it if we decided that every middle class blonde woman is a “Karen”, and treated you as such? Or if we decided everyone with brown eyes are slow and we should treat all of you brown eyed people the same, like infants? You’d be like, “what the FUCK?” Yeah. It’s a lot like that.

Someday, I hope more therapists understand the autistic brain better, so they can be more helpful. Sometimes the same advice you’d give a NT patient struggling with an issue (let’s say, the death of a loved one or executive function) just won’t ...WORK...for an Autie. As it stands now, most therapists I’ve known go straight to ABA, and that gets frustrating when you just need to let it all out so you can re-center and actually have a discussion. Speaking of ABA, someday I hope teachers and doctors and therapists understand the resentment and feelings of being “wrong” or “bad” that result from ABA. SOME of it is necessary I think, but mostly, all it does is teach repression & lets us know loud and clear that the way we are is “wrong”. I desperately hope ABA is reevaluated - with the input from ACTUAL AUTISTICS. Using ABA for to overcome a problem like, say, potty training or something, is often seriously necessary. But potty training isn’t part of *who we are*, if that makes sense. Most ABA is basically like putting your Autie kid in a dog training bootcamp, with little to no thought about “what makes that kid tick”. It’s all about training you to act in a way that NTs find acceptable (and I have lots and lots of cuss words about that........) I don’t even train DOGS like some schools or therapists train auties. Dogs aren’t beings to dominate, control, and condition to act in ways I find pleasing (but I’m also not a “general trainer”...I’m on the behavior side of things). They’re sentient beings who deserve to have their personalities discovered, their traumas and their hangups, and THEN we work inside THAT dog’s parameters until we’re solid...*then* we start working on pushing them outside of comfort zones and such. AFTER that trust and understanding has been laid down as a solid foundation, for *that specific dog*, regardless of my experience with past dogs (though I do rely heavily on past experiences of course; knowledge of what did and didn’t work with some other dog similar to the one I have now - that sort of thing - but every dog is a whole new being to me...because, well, they actually *are*). Nothing is “cookie cutter”. Every dog is a brand new exploration. I understand that’s putting a lot of pressure on SPED teachers. I understand they’re baffled when I tell them ABA sucks as a because they see “positive results”. Sure - you see positive results in your ability to repress that child. Positive results in the fact that they’ve now learned to hide themselves from you and others. It seems the current ABA methods don’t necessarily teach any sort of useful skills for actually adapting to the flow of the NT world for that kid - just how to repress who they are, so they fit in. In other words - ABA is successful for the NT world - not us. It actually depresses the shit out of me to think about how teachers and counselors view the rocking and flapping kid they’ve now trained to sit quietly in class feels like their work is successful. You didn’t help that kid - you BROKE them, you broke their spirit, you broke who they are. That makes me so angry. Same when these so called “star trainers” can force or intimidate any dog to performative good behavior. Same as the difference between how native Americans train their horses versus how Anglo Saxons or others did/do. In the native culture, we call it “gentling”. In AS culture *it is LITERALLY called “breaking”*. I’m not kidding - look it up.)

As for my personal “someday”....

Someday I’ll write a book about my adventures & struggles in life and what it was like inside my brain through each one. It’s not that I think I’m anything special, but I’ve been asked to do this, and the reasons were pretty logical. And I do love to write, usually. Or maybe it’ll be a book about how my autism is a HUGE advantage in “my line of work” (the dog thing...being sort of more of a dog/human “guidance counselor” than a trainer - since I hear your voice and feelings, and I also hear your dog’s, I’m less of a trainer and more of a bridge between the two. An interpreter, but also almost like a marriage counselor too LOL). I think that’s my biggest “someday” and the only one worth mentioning, because it’s such a huge goal...most of my other personal “someday” stuff, I eventually kinda go “well fucking why not TODAY, bish?!” and I just...DO it.

But generally, someday I hope it’s understood that no two autistic people are alike - but we share enough commonality that it’s possible to understand we’re basically in a different category of people from “normal”. Someday I hope NTs in general drop their stereotypes and get to know us one on one. Someday I hope people realize and understand that even nonverbals are whole ass human beings, with thoughts and dreams and opinions and a whole complex personality that you missed, because you were too busy judging the fact they can’t speak like you do.

Someday I hope you realize we *enhance* the human experience, we don’t detract from it. Someday I hope you realize we are not BROKEN, we are just different. Someday I wish you’ll stop being so smug and stuck up in your “normally functioning brain”, and stop PITYING us. For fucking what??? Experiencing life in a much more complex and deep way?? Bruh. We pity YOU, too. Your world perception often seems dull and wasteful. Limited. OPEN UP - there’s a whole universe out there that you haven’t even explored. So, someday I hope we can enhance each other’s human experience, like my friends and I do. I’d love to see that on a larger scale.

Someday.

[kangaracharacha]

Imogen and all the OC asks

What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about? ‘sparrow’, because she turned up with hawkeye and a sparrow is a little shitty hawk and tony stark thinks he’s funny

What is the color of your OC’s eyes/hair/skin? blue, blonde, white.

How tall is your OC? not very tall. very short. probably like 5′-ish.

What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC? there’s a long, ugly scar on the inside of her collarbone. otherwise, the general bad attitude mixed with the height is. amusing.

What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night? comfortable, practical clothing. dull colours, generic brands, doesn’t mind much what she looks like. for a special occasion, she’d dress down, but appropriate to the occasion.

What is one word you would use to describe your OC’s appearances? angry

Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar? scar on her collarbone.

How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like? I’m honestly struggling here. It’s just normal. Just a normal voice. Good at shouting. Very loud. Usually angry.

What does your OC’s bedroom look like?  His/her living area? kind of messy but like, organised chaos. she’s not really a chore-doer, yknow, she’s busy doing other stuff and she mostly lives alone so it doesn’t bother her or anyone else. it’s not really out of control or anything. apart from her clothes and stuff, she doesn’t really have her own space; in new york, she lives in clint’s apartment, an old, small space in an outdated building with second-hand furniture and a bunch of clint’s crap still sitting around, and if she has a place in sokovia it’s temporary housing and doubles as an office, so in the grand scheme of things she doesn’t really have a huge impact on the spaces she occupies while she’s there.

What does your OC keep in a special drawer? as sad as it is, nothing, she doesn’t really have a lot of possessions, definitely not special ones; the only things she brought with her from SHIELD were a bag of clothes, a knife, a gun, and a toothbrush, and since then she hasn’t quite settled enough to start collecting things - and living most of her life so far without a lot of stuff is just a hard habit to break.

What is your OC’s relationship with his/her mother? the evil scientist? she’s not a huge fan. kind of resents her like, a lot. imogen doesn’t remember anything about her except what other people have told her and the things she’s found out about herself, so she’s kind of just a stranger that set her up for a lifetime of frustrations.

What is your OC’s relationship with his/her father? nevr knew him, has like one vague memory of him being kind of nice, but in the end he was evil so she’s not really searching for any way to keep his memory alive.

How many siblings does your OC and what is his/her relationship with them? hah. she has one brother. having cut herself loose of that tie, she’s recently realised that that relationship was some kinda toxic and also he wasn’t afraid to kill her when ordered to so. you could say she’s not really interested in seeing him again either.

Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life? she’s a bit over parental figures and a bit too old for that kind of bond at this point in her life, but she does have a couple of ‘mentors’, people that she can rely on to point her in the right direction. clint barton is one, of course, you always have to have a good friend who can knock you out and tell you ‘hey maybe being on team hydra isn’t like, the most morally sound decision you could make’. pepper potts is a professional rolemodel she’s found she can look up to. she lowkey thinks she could be like pepper someday but she’ll never admit that ‘CEO’ sounds like a good job to her.  and shoutout to Agent Donoghue, whose name i had to look up because he’s in sparrow for a whole five seconds but. she feels really bad about this one. Donoghue was her last chance at SHIELD, he gave her every chance to be successful in that line of work and he really was a good mentor, she just wasn’t ready to change when they knew each other. she looks back on a lot of the things he said these days and regrets not listening sooner, just like she regrets how it ended...but things had to happen the way they did for her to want to grow and become a better person.

What was your OC’s childhood like? crap, mostly. well, it was fine in a way, but. her parents died when she was five and she almost died too but that wiped most of the memory out of her head at least. she was adopted by a neighbour who was actually just a hydra agent on a longcon mission to keep an eye on her, more because she was possibly useful for information on her parents than out of any concern. this didn’t really lead to a loving household to grow up in, and her brother, who is five (or maybe seven?) years older than her didn’t spend much time around the place, and got himself admitted to the SHIELD academy as soon as he could. she didn’t really deal with this whole situation very well, so she grew up struggling in school, getting into fights, constantly grounded and yet impossible to control. eventually, her brother managed to get her an admission into the academy as well, where she found some structure at least but wasn’t particularly well liked and was typically bottom of the class, problem student, one step away from being thrown out.

What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Why and how as that impacted him/her? she sort of remembers the murder of her parents, sort of, but it doesn’t really hit her the way she thinks it probably should? it’s just there in the back of her brain, blurry and disjointed and she’s not sure how much of it she’s made up and how much she’s actually remembering, and it doesn’t really impact her all that much although it probably did as a young child.  otherwise, the day that her brother, will, left for the academy. she has a whole lifetime of memories of people failing her, but that was the first time that he failed her, and though she didn’t realise it at the time, it was the final straw for her as a kid; she only closed off after that, gave up on people and on school and whatever else she was dreaming about. looking back now, she realises that she should have held on to that betrayal instead of eventually forgiving him, because that was her first red flag that he wasn’t as focused on her wellbeing as she thought he was.

What is your OC’s imagination like? not very good, she’s a very impulsive and in-the-moment kind of person, and a pragmatic and logical thinker who doesn’t leave much room for fanciful dreaming or thinking very far outside the box.

How many times did your OC move as a child?  Which area was his/her favorite? she spent most of her childhood in new york, shifting house a couple of times but otherwise in the same area, attending the same school, etc. they all sucked, honestly; her favourite place was her parent’s house. or it would be if she could remember it.

What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them? she used to have no tolerance for kids but she’s warming up to them slowly, the further she gets from being a loudmouthed, hotheaded teenager. she would have kids one day, but not for a while yet, but more because she’s just too busy and not settled in one place at all than because she doesn’t like them.

What kind of mother/father would your OC be? she’d be dedicated to being a good mother, and to settling down and living a life that is right for her kids. she wouldn’t be the perfect parent, she knows nothing about parenting and has never had one of her own in her life, but she would try her best. she might even learn patience.

Who are your OC’s closest relatives? none of her relatives are close. she doesn’t know any of her distant family, most of them are dead anyway, and her brother is the worst person ever, so she’d just like them all to stay very far away, thankyou.

Who is/are your OC’s closest friend(s)? she has a couple of good friends in sokovia, katja and sofia and vinn (but they are all ocs and so you’ll have to send me another ask to know more about them). clint and the maximoffs are her closest friends in the avengers circle of people, and i guess ruby (radford, hacker extraordinaire and Legally Dead) also counts as a close friend, if grudgingly.

Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with? people that challenge her, and people that have earned her respect, which she doesn’t give away freely. she likes to be pushed, whether in her skills or her wit or just as a person, and she has an acute sense of when people don’t really like her company - which is fine, she knows she has a personality that is grating to some people, but she would prefer that they just didn’t come near her if that’s the case. 

Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates? people that she feels are working against what she thinks is right. usually, this is groups of people - hydra, intel, certain rebel groups and militias in sokovia. otherwise, there are plenty of people that rub her the wrong way day to day, but she doesn’t really spend time actively hating them, she’ll just either get into a fight with them or avoid them as much as she can.

If your OC has a soulmate, who is it? (pietro, but don’t tell her)

Why does your OC and his/her soulmate work so well together? they’re both people that grew up lost and overlooked and angry at the world, and they were both manipulated by hydra and used and tossed aside by them, so they find common ground in that, even if it was on very different scales. they also tend to run in the same sort of circles as well - they find friends in the same people, their goals often align - but their personalities are different enough that they don’t just piss each other off. they share the same humour and the same brutal honesty and strong sense of right and wrong - they’re not afraid to call each other out, or argue, and they’re learning to apologise and forgive together. most importantly, they make the choice to be there for each other and to live new lives, and they stick to it. they both have an idea of who they want to be in the future, and both have the other in that vision.

What are some things your OC admires about his/her soulmate? she admires his commitment to his cause, how much he cares about his country and his friends and family and the responsibility he puts on himself to fix it. also, that he could put up with her for so long, without complaint; she’s always been used to people getting tired of her or taking off (or trying to kill her but we’re not going to talk about that), and she wasn’t really sure anyone could stand to be around her and still care about her for so long.

How did your OC and his/her soulmate meet? auntie stark playing matchmaker at a party because he was bored and he’s a meddler and they both annoy him in the same way.

What is your OC’s level of education? high school dropout and SHIELD academy dropout with no formal education, but she’s competent enough to get by in basic skills like maths and SHIELD related things like fighting and espionage.

Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they? is detention considered an extracurricular activity

What is your OC’s opinion of school?  What kind of student was s/he? school was a very negative experience. she hated every minute of it. she was that really annoying, disruptive kid that would physically square up to anyone who even looked at her funny and regularly punched people and things, yknow? bad grades, bad attitude, no friends, given up on a long time ago.

What subjects did your OC excel at? sports weren’t terrible, as long as they weren’t team sports. once she got to the academy, hand to hand combat was her best subject, except that she was used to fighting dirty and already too set against the system to sit down and learn proper technique.

What subjects interested your OC? nothing at school really interested her; all of her interests have really come to her in her 20s, when she’s free to discover them on her own.

What is your OC’s dream job and/or current profession? throughout the three fics about her, she’s a shield/hydra agent, a security officer at Stark Industries, and the director of the SRF camp in Nova Grad, Sokovia. she’s still figuring out where this is leading her, but the last two jobs have been perfect for her at that stage in her life.

How is your OC working towards his/her dream job and/or achieved his/her current profession? she’s been lucky enough to fall into each of her professions so far, which she is all too aware of and works hard to prove that she deserves it. her brother got her a place in SHIELD training, Clint helped organise the job at Stark Industries and called in a few favours so that she would get it, and she took over the SRF camp temporarily after an incident with the former director. she’s most proud of her work at the latter, and she’ll try to continue in that role until something else pulls her away.

What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession? she enjoyed working at SI well enough, the job was within her skill level, the people were okay, she was comfortable. she could have easily stayed there for a lot longer if other opportunities hadn’t presented themselves. she loves running the SRF camp, it’s just the right amount of challenging and a little bit dangerous but not too dangerous, and even if it’s a lot of paperwork there’s also something new and crazy happening every day to keep it fresh.

What is your OC’s biggest dream? to find a place to fit into and live a life where she’s making her own decisions, outside of the control of other people.

How does your OC react to and handle stress? she gets short and snappy with people, doesn’t have time for stupid or time wasting, can get pretty heated but doesn’t often get overwhelmed, she’s still got a handle on the situation.

How does your OC handle anger? loudly. she will physically fight people, if she’s riled up enough, but she’s trying to curb that habit.

How does your OC handle grief? processes inwardly, and puts on a brave face outwardly. very few people would see her express grief, and it would take a few weeks for it to really hit her like that.

What is your OC’s greatest fear? losing everything she’s worked hard to get in the last few years.

What makes your OC happy? uninterrupted downtime, when she can just do what she wants. it’s a simple life. oh, and people getting what they deserve. it’s satisfying.

What kind of sense of humor does your OC have? sarcastic, dry remarks, and finding humour in other people’s misfortune.

What are some things that greatly upset your OC? being disregarded as stupid or useless or annoying, situations in which she’s helpless or too far out of her depth to catch up

What are some things that annoy your OC? people that can’t keep up with her or say dumb shit, people in general, irritating noises 

If your OC has them, what are some regrets s/he has? she regrets not trying harder in school or the academy, she feels like those years were mostly wasted and wishes they hadn’t been even though she knows it’s not something to blame herself for. she regrets killing donoghue too; in the moment, it was all she could do, and what she had to do to survive, but it goes so against her morals that she’ll always feel guilty about it.

How easily does your OC forgive? not very. she’s been let down a lot in the past, and she’s cutthroat about removing people from her life when she thinks that they’re dragging her down. 

What are some of your OC’s vices? pride, wrath, anger, impatience, unkindness, spite

If your OC experienced trauma, what was it? the death of her parents. during flicker, she struggles with the knowledge that she has killed and seriously injured people before, and with knowing that she’s done these things while trying to learn how to live a normal life. in swift, sokovia offers her a very immediate and major seachange; she has to live through bombings, violent riots, shootings, etc. I think the most rattling out of these for her is having to play dead on a street filled with the dead, not knowing if her friends are alive or if she is going to live through this. up until swift, she doesn’t really see the worst that groups like hydra can do; she sees the blood and the death and the injustice of soldiers running blindly in to die, but this incident really hits home for her that she’s putting herself in the way of bad, terrifying people, and the things they are capable of are scary.

What secrets does your OC have? she used to be a hydra agent. she’s open about it if she has to be, if someone finds this information out themselves she’s very upfront and will tell them the whole story and let them make their own decision, but she’ll keep it secret until that time, she’ll never be the one they hear it from.

What are some of your OC’s morals? usually her choices come down to just basic human decency, sadly; she believes people should be free to make their own choices and to live their own lives, safe and in peace. in the scope of swift, she wants the people of sokovia to be able to retain their country under their own control, she doesn’t believe that the invaders and the rising militia should be involved, and that they should be free to choose their own government, but she doesn’t really think that riots and bombs are the way to go about it.

What are some of your OC’s motivations? her own drive to be better than she has been in the past, to make up for the time she’d spent with hydra (even if the things she’d actively done for them were minimal), to find her way in the world and the place she’s meant to occupy.

What is the health of your OC? it’s good. lots of scars, the regular kind of aches and pains from living a very active lifestyle. as of swift, she has restricted movement in her shoulder from a bullet wound - not enough to really bother her day-to-day, but she’s given up archery since recovering.

Does your OC think with his/her head or heart? with her head

What are your OC’s thoughts on death? she hasn’t really come to terms with death yet - it’s a scary concept, and she’s young. mostly, she just tries not to think about it at all, even when it’s staring her right in the face. she could probably find peace with it when it happens, if it’s for the right cause.

What are some of your OC’s strengths? she’s willful, determined, brave, she can speak her mind when she needs to and she’s not afraid to tell people what she thinks or to fight for a change. she’s open to change herself, and she’s willing to learn, where she wasn’t in the past.

What are some of your OC’s weaknesses? she’s quick to anger and slow to forgive, she often picks a fight that she should refrain from and can easily hurt the ones she loves. she’s closed off and that turns away many people and loses her many opportunities. she has a negative mindset and low self-worth; she makes life harder for herself often.

How does your OC take criticism? not well. she’ll get angry and start an argument or storm off, and take a few hours or days to process. it depends who is offering her criticism as to whether she’ll come crawling back to apologise or if her pride will be too much to allow her to do that.

What does your OC think of him/herself? she doesn’t think very highly of herself. she’s acutely aware of her faults - that she’s too angry and hardheaded, that she doesn’t listen enough and isn’t particularly talented at anything. 

If your OC could change one thing about him/herself, what would it be? some days, she would say that she would change her whole personality, take out the anger or whatever it is that makes it so hard for her to sit down and listen, or forget her whole past. other days, she wouldn’t want to change anything at all, even though she’s a whole mess. she really wants the latter to be her answer, but she’s still learning to be okay with herself.

What is the general impression your OC gives other people? standoffish, strong personality bordering on rude, takes no shit, short-tempered, unfriendly.

How emotionally/mentally vulnerable is your OC with other people? on a scale of zero to ten, i’d give her a solid one. she’s closed off, pragmatic, and thinks she has to do everything alone. close friends might get more out of her, and she’s learning to be softer and more open, and to work with other people, but for the most part she isn’t giving anything away.

How does your OC display love? sarcasm, mostly. she doesn’t outwardly express it, really, especially in public, but she’s always there as support or to listen or offer advice, if she can. and she’s always trying to do better and to commit herself to the relationship, even if she doesn’t make a big show of it.

What are some habits your OC has picked up? clint’s coffee addiction has rubbed off on her. 

What is your OC’s favorite drink? it’s quickly becoming coffee

What is your OC’s favorite food? doritos

What is your OC’s favorite sweet? chocolate

What is your OC’s favorite season? autumn

What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather? sunny, but not too sunny

What is your OC’s favorite book? she doesn’t really read

What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show? dog cops, she used to hate it but now she’s too invested to quit, shrek is her like, go-to movie when there’s nothing else which is weird and she’ll never admit it. but true.

What is your OC’s favorite kind of music (and song if there is one)? she listens to a whole bunch of different music, but her main genres would be pop, rock, rnb

What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment? TV/movies

What is your OC’s favorite color? blue

What is your OC’s favorite scent? salty sea air on a strong breeze. it’s just so crisp.

What is your OC’s favorite animal? she wasn’t a dog person until she met clint’s dogs. now she’s totally a dog person.

What is your OC’s favorite sound? s i l e n c e on a sunday morning.

What is your OC’s favorite time of day? morning, once she’s awake.

What is your OC’s favorite kind of ice cream? chocolate

What is your OC’s favorite dinosaur? pterodactyl

[adhd-wifi]

Jiang Cheng’s Deepest Personal Struggles 

I spent more time on the title than I did the actual post. 

Note: Wei WuXian is also very present in this meta, because Jiang Cheng’s entire story and development is so heavily tied to him that you literally cannot separate Wei Ying from him. And I thought Lan Zhan was bad. 

Personally, I find Jiang Cheng’s traumas and internalized issues so much more interesting than his siblings’. Wei WuXian’s issues were much more dramatic and intense, but not uncommon in fiction, while Jiang YanLi’s issues were not explored in canon. With Jiang Cheng, we see so much of his development and how it is mostly negative in nature. However, even though Jiang Cheng’s development is negative more than positive, it’s very interesting to see how it affected him and how he does maintain his old personality even despite what he’s been through, which makes him the most realistic character out of the three siblings in my opinion. 

In other words, I fucking love Jiang Cheng as a character so fucking much even though there are times in which I would gladly throw a book in his face and if you tell me he’s a badly written character I will break into your home at 4am on a Tuesday night and rearrange all your furniture before stealing all your spoons and leave a 27-page essay on why you’re wrong in their place. 

(I won’t actually do that. I’m lazy. But not lazy enough to not write this long ass post I guess.)

So Jiang Cheng’s issues are extremely obvious to us, the audience, even more than WWX’s, despite WWX being the POV character. (This is probably due to WWX being a bit of an unreliable narrator, ignoring his own problems for JC’s sake, but we’ll get to that in another WWX post.) 

We know the main problem is how he was raised, with JFM and YZY as parents. Between the two, we see that JFM’s neglect and favouritism towards WWX was actually much more impactful and damaging to him than anything from YZY. JC wanted his father’s approval and love, and while YZY berated him for being worse than WWX, JC at least felt like his mother cared about him in some way. YZY’s abuse was still extremely damaging of course, and she definitely contributed to JC’s problems by constantly yelling about how JFM cared more about WWX in front of JC. Still, the main problem was this: JC felt like he wasn’t loved by his own father, and then felt like his mother spent more time being angry at WWX than caring for him. 

WWX and JYL also weren’t as there for him as they maybe should’ve. Yes, they actively showed more love and support to JC than their parents did, but the problem between the siblings is that WWX and JYL were unable to give JC what he specifically needed, and also JC lacked the communication skills to tell them what he needed. Of course, this is none of their faults. The three of them were raised under the same abusive parents and all had their own ways of coping with their traumas, as I’ve mentioned in my previous posts (WWX version, JYL version). Something both WWX and JYL had in common despite their difference in character and responses was that they tended to internalize things and smooth out the conflict present in their family, but while JC did also internalize things, this coping response didn’t work for him as it did with his siblings (well, it’s not that great, but they don’t struggle with it the way JC does). When you realize that both WWX and JYL are more reflective of JFM’s nature, but JC is closer to YZY instead, it makes sense. Like his mother, JC is someone who needs to vent and get his emotions out, but he doesn’t get that chance. Or rather, he FEELS like he can’t, because no one else does except YZY, and YZY isn’t exactly a prime example of healthy venting (Pls Madam Yu your children are crying.) It’s hard to talk about JC without bringing up how he compares to others, especially WWX, since that is the core of his problems and insecurities in the first place. So let’s talk about that. 

JC’s competitive nature is mostly the result of his abusive home, but also because he’s the youngest sibling. Youngest siblings in general tend to be taken less seriously than their older siblings and thus often end up with the need to prove themselves more. This, combined with his parents’ lousy parenting, just made a recipe for a self-esteem disaster that blames others over himself. In WWX’s case, his self-esteem problems are “I’m the burden, I’m to blame”. In JC’s case, the problems are “They keep comparing me to others, I’m not as good as they are”. So, with JFM seeming like he doesn’t love JC (at least not as much as WWX), and YZY always berating him for not being as good as WWX, it’s really hard to fault JC for having an inherent idea of “WWX is to blame for his suffering”. 

Despite this, JC had also actively spent his life fighting this idea of his. He loved WWX and very rarely let his jealously show at all. Even during the time WWX had been recovering from fighting the XuanWu, and JC was angry and frustrated at his parents fighting in front of them all again, and voiced his concerns about how his father didn’t like him or his mother, leading to WWX comforting him and making the promise he would eventually break (along with my heart but it’s okay I didn’t need it anyway ;-;). This is after JC walked from Qishan all the way back to Lotus Pier without stopping, desperate to save WWX as fast as possible. With his inherent idea of blaming WWX for his problems, on top of not being recognized for such a valiant effort for his brother, JC was in the perfect position to take it out on WWX. But he never actually said it was WWX’s fault, even though we knew he believed it at the time. Yes, he blatantly told WWX that he was upset about his efforts being ignored, but JC’s wording at the time didn’t contain a single line of actual blame towards WWX. (WWX probably heard it different, but those are his problems, not JC’s.) Considering JC is someone who doesn’t think about his words when he’s angry or frustrated, it says a lot about just how much he tries NOT to blame WWX, because he still truly, genuinely loved his brother. As children, JYL told WWX that JC was secretly very happy to have a new companion, even though WWX was the reason for his dogs being taken away. And then we see baby JC crying about being unable to find WWX when he tells him to go away. Yes, there’s probably some fear of punishment from JFM, but if that was the only thing he feared, baby JC didn’t have to promise to chase dogs away to protect WWX for the rest of their lives together. JC loved WWX just as much as WWX loved him, he just has a very, very different love language from his brother. 

And then...the fall of Lotus Pier happened. And all of that came crashing down, burning away along with their home. JC finally blamed WWX for what had happened, years and years of pent-up, painstakingly internalized jealously and blame exploding at once. Because no matter what WWX did before, no matter how much trouble WWX caused before, it never cost them THIS much. WWX coming into their lives had never been any REAL trouble, and JC had been able to forgive everything else, because he loved WWX, and because WWX kept him from being lonely. But now his parents, who he desperately wanted the love from, were gone. His home was gone. WWX kept him from running in and taking revenge. WWX was the only person there when he let his emotions take over, and WWX happened to be someone he could blame. So what else could JC do but blame him? 

“If WWX hadn’t saved Lan WangJi, if WWX hadn’t provoked Wen Chao, if WWX hadn’t won the archery competition, if WWX hadn’t come into their lives...”

JC’s default response to grief and trauma is anger fused with bargaining. He finds blame in someone or something and focuses on the “What-Ifs”, because that’s what he was raised on. That’s just what he was used to, because JC could never vent like he needed to. WWX and JYL, his only real sources of comfort, never truly listened when he did actually say something. WWX would tell him “You’re better than you think”, while JYL would tell him “That’s how things are, but don’t worry”. While these were said and done out of good intentions, JC’s needs are never really met or even fully acknowledged. No one addresses or even really listens to what causes the problems, often knowing the cause but almost blatantly refusing to really talk about it. Again, this isn’t their fault. Both older siblings had their own coping mechanisms that clashed with JC’s, and their entire family have CLEARLY never been taught proper communication skills, so no one really knew how to communicate in the way they needed to. However, it’s still true that this affected JC the most, given his character. He NEEDED someone to listen to him, he NEEDED the validation that his feelings and person mattered, but he never got it. 

And yet...the sad thing about this was that JC himself clearly gave up on trying ti get it himself after Lotus Pier was gone. He let his emotions rule him, seeking revenge against the Wens with every intention of slaughtering them as they did his family during the Sunshot Campaign. We see his loss of morality and hypocrisy when he shows how he was perfectly willing to let WWX, as the Yiling Patriarch, stay by his side as long as he was the enemy of the Wens despite how much he used to be against WWX using resentful energy. We see the innocent child who had only wanted the love and approval of his family become a vengeful man burdened with trauma and the responsibilities of a Sect Leader at too young an age during a time of war.

JC was clearly traumatized by Lotus Pier, and to me, it seemed that he had manifested a fear of seeing his home fall a second time. We see this especially in his passiveness towards the other sects when he was put on the spot during the times WWX “caused trouble” as the Yiling Patriarch, and how much more reactive and unstable he was when talking to WWX before WWX decided to leave the sect. JC had been desperate to keep things stable, safe, that he was willing to abandon the debt he owed towards Wen Qing and Wen Ning. He didn’t want to make enemies of the other sects, because his family and old home were gone. When WWX brought up JFM’s teachings, JC was obviously really affected by it, and I think that’s why he accepted WWX’s duel right then. 

One thing I would like to say is this: At this point in their relationship, WWX absolutely wronged JC. Yes, it’s fully understandable why WWX did so, with his horrible misplaced guilt and unwillingness to drag JC into his choices any longer. But JC didn’t deserve this. He reacted badly to WWX after Lotus Pier, but we know for a fact that he was overwhelmed with grief and pain when he did, but despite how much he’d changed, it’s obvious that JC still loved WWX (still should’ve apologised tho). JC didn’t need to try and protect WWX, but he did. Some might argue that he did it for JYL’s sake or to keep power, but I doubt that. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have argued with WWX the way he did, screaming “I won’t be able to protect you!” if he only wanted WWX around for power or for JYL. JC did try, but WWX didn’t. WWX saw their relationship as a debt he owed to JFM and the Sect, and with the transfer of the golden core, he saw that debt repaid. Not once, however, did WWX truly consider JC’s feelings about it, too caught up in his own guilt and thus deciding what he thought was best for his brother. Again, it’s understandable, given what he’s been through. But after the war, WWX was definitely the main reason they fall apart, not JC. Not the mention the whole golden core transfer itself. WWX made the decision for JC, then refused to tell him and let his little brother abuse him as YZY did until they finally separated, WWX willingly breaking the promise he made to JC himself. WWX didn’t even try to reconnect, using the excuse of “the Wens needing him more”. Can you imagine how that must have felt for JC? He didn’t know what WWX did for him, so to him, he could only see his brother abandoning him for almost no reason. WWX was his closest companion his whole life, as well as the person who shaped him the most throughout his childhood. His life and character were dependant on WWX, both positively and negatively. WWX could live without JC, but JC couldn’t live without WWX, and he knew that. 

When JYL died, the trauma of Lotus Pier returned, and once again, JC was consumed by grief. So he did the exact same thing he did back then: Blame WWX. And this time, he no longer had a good reason to give WWX leniency. After all, WWX pushed him away. WWX didn’t care about him. WWX chose the Wens, strangers, over him. WWX neglected him just as his own father did. JC’s complicated feelings towards his beloved brother had finally morphed into hatred, and WWX had let it happen. So WWX died, and JC no longer had a physical target to blame. But he needed something, someone, to blame, because that’s how he copes. It’s unhealthy, it’s damaging, it’s cruel, but it’s his coping mechanism. It’s the only way he knows how to deal with things because he never had a single chance to learn to cope in any other way. Thus, he hunted demonic cultivators and tortured them, but his hatred could never be resolved because he would never be able to receive the closure he desperately needed. 

Then WWX came back, and JC learned about the golden core transfer. 

If you’ve ever had someone sacrificing their time for you without needing to, for example a friend staying up for three days straight to finish a birthday present on time while on a busy and hectic schedule, you’d probably know the momentary guilt of “OMG you didn’t have to do that!” while being grateful to them. Now imagine that guilt times almost 20 years of hating the person who did something so selfless for you while also knowing you mistreated them for a portion of that time. JC was absolutely devastated to know what WWX did for him, because what the hell, the man he hated and blamed, the man who pushed him away and abandoned him for a bunch of strangers from a sect that destroyed their first home, did something that was essentially cultivator’s suicide? For his sake? Because he actually cared for JC despite everything he did? But also, with WWX’s core instead of his own, didn’t it also mean that he was still Not-As-Good as WWX, because he never truly achieved anything great without WWX’s help in some way? The main, EXACT, cause of his insecurities and problems in the first place? Bruh I can’t blame him for having an existential crisis here. I really can’t.

At GuanYin Temple (admittedly I’m basing this off CQL cuz I haven’t gotten there in any other adaption so I don’t know if this scene actually took place there or not), when JC shouted at WWX for everything, JC was finally given a chance to properly vent and finally have someone listen. Yes, WWX being shouted at isn’t favourable, but honestly, I think WWX truly deserved it from JC here. JC was finally able to say things against WWX to WWX’s face, and most importantly, have the last person he grew up with that he used to truly love and treasure tell him his feelings were valid. But even with this, I still find it fully believable and probably even narratively better that JC and WWX never fully resolved their relationship (as much as I want them too, for my heart’s sake) by the end of the story. Because even knowing what WWX did for him, honestly, how on earth could JC trust him again? JC was too hurt for too long, and besides, they were incompatible in the first place. WWX and JC’s personalities and coping mechanisms and all that simply clashed with each other too much for them to go back to being brothers like they used to be. But at least there’s now closure between the two, and Jiang Cheng might be able to finally move on from the past he’s trapped in.

Like I said in the beginning, I find Jiang Cheng the most interesting as a CHARACTER out of the Yunmeng Siblings, and I haven’t even finished what I wanted to talk about with him. Gonna do a post next time about his relationships with others aside from WWX, specifically with Jin Ling probably. Also I don’t actually think Jiang Cheng was neurodivergent to begin with, but that’s also another post all on its own. Anyways I hope y’all survived this long ass post LMAO.