#dangerous slope because i’ll start making posts like this for any character i like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katierosefun · 4 years

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well, even though literally no one asked, am i going to do a whole analysis on how the red album is also lowkey about tcw? sure. sh, let me indulge 12/13 year old me.

state of grace:

our wonderful opening track. the lyrics “just twin fire signs / four blue eyes”—from this line alone, i think a lot about anakin and ahsoka and obi-wan, just because what color are their eyes? blue. check and mate.

but on a more serious level: “and i never saw you coming / and i’ll never be the same” speaks to how each of these characters’ lives were interrupted by the presence of the other. obi-wan certainly didn’t expect anakin to come into his life, and i doubted anakin ever expected ahsoka to come into his life.

“love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right” and “these are the hands of fate / you’re my Achilles heel” speaks to how this whole theme of love and how both raw and burning and ruthless love can shine in this specific universe. specifically anakin’s kind of love. additionally, the idea of Achilles heel...i’ve already discussed the parallels between Achilles and anakin and don’t feel like rehashing, but it’s def. worth noting.

“this is the golden age of something good and right and real”...golden age. the war was messy and terrible and shouldn’t have ever happened, but also, i think for that brief moment, disaster lineage was at least together.

red

look me in the eye and lie to me about how this song doesn’t sum up the exhilarating rush that must have been being around someone like anakin skywalker.

“losing him was blue like i’ve ever known / missing him was dark grey all alone / forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met / but loving him was red”: this entire refrain is about that kind of ruthless, very fiery-seeing-red-everywhere kind of sensation that comes with love. (or, as the song alludes, a kind of dangerous love.)

and if we’re talking about dangerous kind of love—“fighting with him was like trying to solve a crossword and realizing there’s no right answer / regretting him was like wishing you never found out love could be that strong”...thinking thoughts about how there must have been all these times for the people around anakin to clash heads. bro. what even is that.

“remembering him comes in flashbacks, in echoes / told myself it’s time now, gotta let go”. ha ha. you ever think about the people who live after order 66 and wonder what the hell happened to the person they loved. ha.

treacherous

alright, time to put on the anidala hat. this song is supposed to be all about loving someone and constantly feeling like you’re sliding down a slippery slope. a treacherous path—a reckless path—and yet, and yet, “i like it”.

the whole concept of these two being put in a whirlwind romance matches perfectly with these lyrics: “i can’t decide if it’s a choice / getting swept away / i hear the sound of my own voice / asking you to stay”. this mess of a relationship that probably shouldn’t have happened, but it happened, and now the only choice for these two is to hold on...bro.

i knew you were trouble.

ohhhh god, do i need to explain how this is an anidala song or—

“i was in your sights / you got me alone / you found me”,,,the fact that anakin skywalker really looked at padmé amidala after ten years and automatically went “i love her”. a part of me will always sigh and want to pat anakin’s head that please, please, please control yourself, but what am i supposed to do anyways—

but also, the way this song also addresses all the dangerous things that come with a love that probably shouldn’t have started / shouldn’t have been born with so many secrets. the damning / basically self-loathing lyrics like “the joke is on me” and “shame on me now” is honestly kind of sad, and while i don’t think padmé ever regretted loving anakin (and i’ve covered this so many times, but i think anakin and padmé genuinely loved each other), there was def. a sense of constant danger and fear that one day, all the secrets will come tumbling out / something’s going to happen. and all that ultimately bubbles over in revenge of the sith, right when padmé looks at anakin and just doesn’t see him anymore.

all too well

tbh, this song deserves a whole long post on its own, but i’ll try to be concise. i genuinely think this could be about any of the tcw characters / tcw pairings, but because it’s my post and my obsession, i’ll discuss the disaster lineage. there’s something so quietly sad about the line “but you still got [my scarf] in your drawer, even now” and how that speaks to how obi-wan has anakin’s lightsaber / how anakin has ahsoka’s lightsaber both as himself and as ahsoka after ahsoka left the order / after order 66. the fact that you still have a piece of someone you love(d), long after they’re gone...

the fact that this song is so full of memories and longing and aching and grief over a loved relationship. thinking about the lyrics “you tell me about your past, thinking your future was me” is especially sad because while i don’t think anakin was ever completely open about his childhood / past, i like to think he must have told some stories to obi-wan and padmé and ahsoka about happier moments—and you have to wonder what kind of future anakin saw for himself with his loved ones.

“maybe this thing was a masterpiece until you tore it all up” speaks to how for a rare, rare moment, we see anakin skywalker as the hero we’re all supposed to like—and we see how it all crumbles apart so fast.

“but you keep my old scarf from that very first week / because it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me” hits especially hard when you think about how vader still has ahsoka’s lightsabers, or the fact that everything goes “back to when i loved you so / back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known”...thinking. a lot about anakin and how the love he felt / received from his friends were real, realer than anything that palpacreep could ever give him. it was all real, and now they’re all memories.

okay, this is just a fun song so i can’t really apply it anywhere, but i like to think there must have been a birthday somewhere along the line / some kind of happy event where there’s some chaotic tcw fam shenanigans. ditching the whole scene and “end[ing] up dreaming instead of sleeping”...i like to think they must have had some kind of happy moment like that.

i almost do

this song honestly reminds me the most of anakin and ahsoka. do you ever think that ahsoka might have wanted to reach out to anakin at some point? how “it takes everything in me not to call you”—how she might wish that she could talk to him again but every time she doesn’t, she almost does. (and ha. this makes their S7 reunion even more painful.)

the whole “i bet you think i either moved on or hate you” and “i bet it never ever occurred to you that i can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye” speaks mostly to that very same reunion. the fact that ahsoka and anakin leave so many things unsaid—the fact that ahsoka restrains herself, cites that reason for the fact that they’ll just catch up another time...when that another time never happens.

we are never ever getting back together

hahaa, i can’t quite laugh about this but also i can because i kinda made a crack edit of disaster lineage + this song over the summer, and it really is just a joke but also...lol vader + ahsoka + obi-wan, but more specifically ahsoka and vader in their reunion in rebels lol. they’re never getting back together, geddit? they “used to think [they] were forever” and “[sigh] he calls me up again and is like i still love you and like,,,this is exhausting, you know?” yeah, me too sis. 🙄

stay stay stay

okay, okay, okay, maybe going a little bit into crack-y happy tcw feelings, but all i’m saying is that i love the image of these dorks staying for each other, you know? the whole “you took the time to memorize me” and “all those times that you didn’t leave / it’s been occurring to me i’d like to hang out with you for my whole life” and “no one else is gonna love me when i get mad” makes me kinda soft but also sad knowing that one of the tragedies of tcw fam is that no one really stays.

the last time

highkey the whole clovis arc in season 6. but anyways, especially the lines about “this is the last time i’m asking you this / put my name at the top of your list” speaks a lot to me about this hunger (yeah, this is @ anakin) to be someone’s first choice. it’s about the anger and jealousy and dull pain of knowing that everyone else’s priorities are elsewhere (and that’s not their fault, but you still feel like it is).

but if we’re thinking about the clovis arc especially, i think a whole lot about anakin + padmé, as well as anakin and obi-wan, esp. in these lyrics: “you wear your best apology / but i was there to watch you leave” and “all those times i let you in / just for you to go again”. we know anakin and padmé were...going through it in this arc, but specially anakin and obi-wan’s conversation—the one where obi-wan’s trying to reach anakin? we see obi-wan briefly open up (ie. about satine!) and anakin quickly shuts it down, and when obi-wan leaves, we see the pain on both of their faces because this wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go.

but also, if we’re circling back to anakin and padmé’s relationship in this arc especially: the really, really painful lyrics about “this is the last time you tell me i’ve got it wrong” and “this is the last time i say it’s been you all along” and “this is the last time i let you in my door” and “this is the last time / i won’t hurt you anymore”...this arc truly explores just how deep the hurt can run when you have a secret relationship. how quickly love can blur into possession and jealousy and anger, and we see that in how anakin and padmé just...both crumble apart, especially in that one bit when padmé basically says she doesn’t want to see anakin for a little while. like. idk. it’s just sad, because this arc really showed just all the issues and problems within a relationship built on lies.

holy ground

oh god, what a fun song. but anyways, just to kick things off: “and darling, it was good / never looking down / and right there where we stood / was holy ground” speaks to a relationship that was good, even if it was wild and brief. which. disaster lineage.

the whole “i guess we fall apart in the usual way / and the story’s got dust on every page” and “i see your face in every crowd” vibe too—these idiots miss each other, and they probably see each other where they’re not supposed to. there was nothing unusual about their falling apart, of course, but something about this song compels me to think about how even in the grief and pain that ultimately drags ahsoka and obi-wan down especially, i think they still are fond of their happier memories with anakin.

also, “tonight i’m gonna dance for all we’ve been through” and “but i don’t wanna dance if i’m not dancing you” makes me a little sad because i think a lot about the fall of the empire and how the whole galaxy is out celebrating, but there’s a certain togruta woman who can’t completely celebrate because now she knows that. her whole family. really is gone.

sad beautiful tragic

this whole song is so tragic, but. anyways. more tragic disaster lineage vibes. the words “words, how little they mean / when you’re a little too late” makes me want to scream because i think a lot about how in rebels, ahsoka tells vader that she won’t leave him—not this time—and obi-wan crying that he loved anakin—the real tragedy here is that these were all words that anakin should have known deep down, but he didn’t, and they all felt late. their timing is terrible.

and “in dreams, i meet you in warm conversation” screams to me this one passage about how obi-wan dreams about anakin, although those dreams are anything but warm. but the idea of how obi-wan still dreams and how “time is taking its sweet time erasing you”—because in the kenobi novel especially, obi-wan explicitly struggles...a lot with anakin’s loss. he definitely gets...sad and tries to remember how the hell it all happened. he keeps pulling out anakin’s lightsaber and just. forcibly puts it away because he knows looking at it would cause just more grief and oh yikes.

the lucky one

ngl i forgot how fuckign good this song is,,,bro. anyways, i think this def. speaks to the og prequel trilogy trio especially, because i think they were all seriously going through with the whole...reputation thing. thinking mostly about how anakin, padmé, and obi-wan are all supposed to be these heroic / cool / beautiful figures who everyone’s supposed to look up to when in reality, they were all struggling with something. also lol the fact that obi-wan and anakin were both propped up as war propaganda figures in-universe because of palpacreep def. speaks to that whole “they’ll tell you now you’re the lucky one”.

and “they tell you that you’re lucky / but you’re so confused because you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used” and “you wonder if you’ll make it out alive” hurts the most, i think, just because how they apply to all those in prequel trilogy. anakin, obi-wan, and padmé—not to mention all the other jedi and the clones, oh god, the clones—were all fighting a war that ultimately didn’t matter, and they were all fighting a war that didn’t leave them as heroes. it just left them as pawns.

but i think if there’s any hope—any hope at all in this song, i think it’s in the last lyrics: “and they still tell the legend of how you disappeared / how you took the money and your dignity and got the hell out” reminds me the most of probably ahsoka and rex, or the people who survived the mess that was the clone wars. granted, rex didn’t exactly have the choice that ahsoka had, because she was the one who really made the big decision to look around herself and say “nope, i can’t be a part of this order”. she got the hell out.

everything has changed

hear me out, but i just think this makes for a cute anakin and ahsoka song, esp. their very cute beginnings. just like. as soon as they meet each other, both of them are ultimately changed. the fact that ahsoka has been noted to be the key to understanding who anakin is—the fact that it’s ahsoka’s relationship / interactions with anakin that ultimately makes him a better person because they’re siblings, your honor—yeah. very much the cute “all i know is we said hello”...the lyrics going on about “i just wanna know you better” and “your eyes look like coming home” makes me soft because. i think that while yes, they had their own rocky beginning, the difference between anakin and ahsoka’s relationship vs. anakin and obi-wan’s (rip i love anakin and obi-wan and i genuinely believe that obi-wan was the best teacher for anakin, and i think their bond is incredibly special, but.......boys please communicate better) is that i think anakin makes a really explicit effort to make sure ahsoka knows that like. he wants her around.

idk—i’m not saying obi-wan didn’t want anakin around! but i think one of the greatest tragedies of their relationship is that anakin always seemed to just. not click with obi-wan’s own demonstrations of love / i want you to be here messages. (the gambit duology goes a little more into this—only in those books, anakin and obi-wan actually talk a little about their feelings! which is nice!) but anyways, point being: anakin and ahsoka really looked at each other and were like “oh yeah. you’re my idiot now.” and i think that’s really cool of them.

starlight

oh god, this is kind of an anidala song but i also am tempted to say obitine song just because of that one line about “pretending to be a duchess and a prince” because,,,lol duchess geddit? and overall just think it’s really cute because. summer love!!!

but also, i do see this as an anidala song because “he was trying to skip rocks on the ocean, saying to me / don’t you dream impossible things?” because i see anakin as most certainly that dreamy-eyed boy who looks at padmé and is just. like that. (and we see a whole ton of that, esp. in aotc and how padmé initially is like “this is a terrible idea” and eventually winds up falling in love anyways, as one does.)

begin again

this song is odd because it doesn’t really give me overwhelming star wars feelings, but it does remind me a little bit of how ahsoka must have felt getting with the rebels crew. because i think ahsoka must have “watched it begin again” when she noted kanan and ezra’s interactions with each other, and i feel like when she’s with ezra, she sees a lot of the young padawan she used to be, and i think there must have been a point where she recognizes that “what’s past is past”. she’s watching everything begin again.

the moment i knew

this is another one of those songs that makes me sad about anidala because it seems like they’re always getting interrupted? the idea of being told that someone’s going to show but it might not happen because life (ie. war! there’s a war!),,,and still not being able to be really that sad about it in public makes me sad. just. i’m reminded of this one moment in tcw where anakin has to leave early because of something and just. the lyrics “what do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn’t show”—like, of course, we see anakin sneaking off, but i def. think in that one tcw episode, we get a glimpse of. how lonely life might be if you’re just. waiting for someone to come home, only to realize that they might not show.

come back...be here

ha....hahahahaa weirdly both anakin and ahsoka and obitine feelings? give me a second.

okay, so as for anakin and ahsoka first: “i can’t help but wish you took me with you” hits hard just because of the time anakin tells ahsoka that he knows what it feels like to want to leave the order. just. oh god.

and then there’s this bit of “this is when the feeling sinks in / i don’t wanna miss you like this” hits hard, esp. considering the whole utapau arc where anakin accidentally slips in ahsoka’s name. he misses her, and i don’t think he really wanted to show that—but it sinks in so hard and fast for him, and it hurts so much oh god

also, the “right when i was just about to fall”: i know that in this context, fall is supposed to mean falling in love, but. the fact that anakin is literally about to fall like,,,a few days after his reunion with ahsoka. i cry now!

as for obitine: ahahahaha. pain, esp. considering how they probably separated after their year on the run? thinking about how that goodbye must have been like—mostly thinking about how there’s so much history between the two. how strange it is that they “didn’t know each other at all”, and how they might have had “the feeling they could know so much without knowing anything at all”, and now i think about how both of them could have “stumbled through the long goodbye”. i think a lot about those years of separation and how satine confesses how she had been in love with obi-wan for a long time—and how that in itself...wondering how or when satine knew for certain that she had fallen in love with the young jedi who came to her aid. thinking about how her “falling in love in the cruelest way” is how that whole falling in love—and realizing just how in love she was—is so cruel, because like. you know. when you’ve been in love / are loving someone for like...ten years....that’s kinda intense ngl

girl at home

lol this song doesn’t really fit with anything star wars related because i don’t think anyone in tcw would actually cheat on their loved ones? still 100000/10 a bop of a song though, and i still think it’s one of swift’s more mature songs, 10000/10 recommend.

#caroline talks #my essay #can you believe i spent 2.5 hours writing this

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honeycobie · 4 years

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Ephemeral

part of the round the world tbz collab held by @ukiyoexo and @juyeonzz

[teaser]

» pairing: sangyeon x reader

» genre: fluff/angst, time travel au, historical au

» word count: 16.2k

» a/n: uh hello...i’m back momentarily to post this fic that i put my blood, sweat and tears into and then i’m gonna disappear again :D i wrote on a google docs first and i wrote 36 pages ;;; yeah, i went overboard. anyways, hope y’all enjoy this! pls don’t flop or else i’ll cry because i spent so much time perfecting it and i’m still doubting my writing skills. goodbye for now (don’t worry, the angst isn’t that sad)!

» disclaimer: the characters may be based on real-life historical figures but they are not real and are portrayed as needed for plot purposes. although i have done some extra research on the joseon dynasty, i do not have much knowledge on this topic so please excuse any mistakes on the history/events.

» now playing: i swear i’ll never leave again by keshi

» round the world masterlist please please please check out all the other fics! they are all *chef’s kith*

You step out into the sunshine, smiling brightly as you inhale deeply. “Doesn’t the air smell different here, too?” you ask, your suitcase trailing behind you.

Your friend gives you a weird look. “Yeah, pollution,” she remarks sarcastically, sliding on a pair of sunglasses.

Ignoring her, you tilt your head to admire the bustling city of Seoul and the cloudless, vast sky. The pleasant weather felt like the city was welcoming you warmly with open arms.

“I’m so excited to visit all the tourist spots in Korea!” you exclaim, already running through the mental checklist of things you wanted to do.

“I can’t believe you made me come with you,” she begins, glancing at you grumpily. “I’m sure you could’ve survived on your own.”

“I know you’re looking forward to it too and besides there might be some cute boys around here,” you laugh, nudging her playfully in the ribs as you squint, looking around for any building that might resemble the hotel you were supposed to be staying at.

Your friend can’t help but smile at how enthusiastic you are, her mood brightening after a long flight. “Which hotel did you book?” she asks, slowing down her pace to peer at your phone.

“Four Seasons Hotel,” you respond, showing her the map. “I don’t see it though? It should be this street.” you furrow your eyebrows, confused as you try to navigate through the busy crowd of Seoul.

Groaning, she snatches your phone out of your hands, giving you a pointed look. “You’ve never been good with directions.” she chides, examining the map carefully.

Pouting, you don’t reply, turning your gaze to the towering skyscrapers and buildings of the city, the sunlight glinting off of glass, rendering it so blinding that you had to avert your eyes. The streets and sidewalk were busy, bustling with people and cars with their own destination. You take in another deep breath before your face screws up, feeling a cough rise in your throat, hacking when exhaust from the nearest car hits you.

She was right, it did smell like pollution but there was something about Seoul, the way the city was teeming with life, swarming with both people and vehicles, making it special, different from any other big city. Time seemed to fly fast here, a blink of an eye and hours had already passed but at the same time, it slowed down when you took your time to take in your surroundings, to take a deep breath to ground yourself.

You jolt back into attention when your friend calls your name. “We should’ve made a turn on a street before. I take back my previous statement. You wouldn’t be able to survive here without me.” she grumbled, exasperation written all over her face.

Grinning, you hook your arm through hers, halting in the middle of the sidewalk. “And this is why I love you.” you coo, batting your eyelashes at her.

Shrugging off your arm, she feigns disgust, speeding up her pace so she was well ahead of you. “You can pay me back by treating me to dinner,” she calls, smiling cheekily.

You dash after her, your suitcase bumping wildly on the concrete of the sidewalk.“Wait a minute-” you start to argue with her, trying to negotiate as you know how much she could eat. That girl could eat a whole buffet if she set her mind on it. She just waves you off dismissively, ignoring your pleas as she hums to herself as if you weren’t next to her.

»»————-　　————-««

Letting out a sigh, you shrug off your bag, flopping on the couch in your hotel room after indulging in delicious Korean cuisine. Staring at the ceiling, you shift into a comfortable position, closing your eyes as you were starting to feel sluggish, your limbs heavy and you had to fight to keep your eyes open.

The moment you gave into the insistent pull of sleep, you were promptly interrupted by a pillow pelting your side with a soft thump. Stretching languorously, you sit up, blinking the drowsiness away.

Sitting on the bed across from you, your friend scowls at you. “Don’t we have somewhere to go this evening? I remember you blabbering in my ear the entire time at the restaurant.”

Eyes widening, you sit up, your sleepiness vanishing in a flash. “Right! We’re visiting Gyeongbokgung Palace! It was the main imperial palace of the Joseon Dynasty.”

“You read up on it, huh?” she teases, giving you a cocky smirk.

Gasping, you place a hand on your chest, offended. “I did not! I’m just smart!” you retort. Okay, maybe you did but for the sake of your pride and dignity, a white lie wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Just admit it, nerd.” she scoffs, jabbing you in the side. She knew you too well, seeing through the lie that only served as a flimsy barrier from the truth.

Swatting her hand away, you stick your tongue out. “On that topic, we’ll be following a tour guide so we’ll be in a group with other tourists.” you utter, reclining back, your arms behind your head.

“What the hell? Why can’t we just explore on our own? What’s the fun in following a tour guide when we can be adventurous and spontaneous? It’s a vacation for god’s sake.” she complains, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“Being too adventurous and spontaneous can result in us getting lost. Besides, it’s not like we know our way around Seoul. We’re just tourists too.” you remind her, rolling on your stomach so you could look her in the eye.

"You just had to go in the evening. If we went in broad daylight, I bet we wouldn't get lost. Who would even go for the nighttime viewing?" she whines, burying her face in the duvet.

“It’s only for an hour or so. Just suck it up. Besides, the palace will look even more stunning at night.” you reassure, rolling your eyes at the dramatic display she was putting on.

“Fine. What time is the tour?” she queried, giving up.

“It’s at 8 pm but we can always arrive early,” you state, smiling triumphantly. “It’ll be a good opportunity to take some photos,” you add, knowing that she loves photography,

She perks up the moment you mention photos but she swiftly erases her excitement, replacing it with a facade of indifference. “Whatever.” she huffs, turning her back on you as she scrolls through social media.

You scoff, shaking your head, knowing that you had piqued her interest before standing up, shuffling to the bathroom to start getting ready.

»»————-　　————-««

Passing through the main gate encircling the perimeter of the palace, you slow your pace to admire the architecture. You reach out to cautiously brush your fingertips over the dark crimson doors, marvelling at how gigantic they are.

You refrain from peeking through the arched entrance as you wanted to see the grandeur of the palace when you arrived at the foot of the steps. Brushing your hand against the rough granite of the foundation, you try to picture the king and royal officials passing through the gate.

For some reason, you were holding your breath as you passed through the archway. Your gaze drifting upwards, your jaw drops at the sight of the palace in front of you as you take in the sheer beauty of it. Although you had seen pictures of the palace online, it barely did it justice as it looked even more majestic in real life.

A wide, paved path leads up to the stairs towards the palace and you notice the elegantly sloped roofs and intricate details with lotus flowers and characters carved into the wood. The use of vibrant green and red draws your eyes and although you would expect the colours to clash, they complement each other, creating a strangely soothing effect.

The evening sky adds to the etherealness of it all, the full moon glowing, shining on the path as a crisp breeze lifts your hair, stirring it into motion.

Your friend strolls beside you, equally in awe, her eyes sparkling with amazement as she examines the palace. "Where are we waiting for the tourist group?" she questions, both hands gripping tightly on the straps of her backpack.

You suppress a sigh at the scornful tone of her voice, bitterness dripping as she purposefully put emphasis on the two words, “tourist group”.

“Just at the entrance of the palace,” you reply, leafing through the pamphlet that was handed out amongst the crowd that mingled around the gate.

There was a map on the back of the brochure and your eyes sparkled as you examined it. It could give you the opportunity to slip away and admire the palace as long as you desired without fearing that you'd get lost.

You and your friend look around for the tour guide, scanning the crowd for any sight of someone who might resemble one. Spotting the tour guide carrying a sign with the name of the company, you nudge your friend before dragging her towards the group.

Huffing, she hefts her camera, adjusting the strap. You smile giddily to yourself, skipping like a child and you banished all the negative thoughts, allowing yourself to lower your guard, to forget that you were a mere tourist travelling in a foreign city with unknown dangers. Nothing could go wrong, right?

Of course everything had to go completely wrong.

»»————-　　————-««

First, you had bumped into a fellow tourist, causing you to fall gracelessly, landing on your backside, the pamphlet fluttering into a puddle of murky water as you hastily apologized.

To your utter dismay, the ink started to fade, washed away from the water and rendered the map useless. You could hardly interpret it so you didn't bother to pick it up. You ignored your friend's snickering as you accepted her helping hand.

Well, time to say goodbye to your plans to explore on your own.

As if pushing your luck, you were now lost. You fought down the rising panic and racked your brain, trying to come up with solutions. Even worse, your phone was dead. You swore fate hated you, always wanting to tamper with your plans.

You squeezed through the crowd, aiming for the gaps in between to slip through, squeaking out an apology when you accidentally step on someone's foot. Squinting, you peer for any sight of your friend as you hold your bag nervously, hands squeezing the strap.

You stop at the end of the hallway, eyes shifting from the different corridors that open up from the end of it. You rock back and forth on the balls of your feet as you contemplate, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Left or right?

As if answering your question, the corridor to your right glowed brighter underneath the moonlight and you gaped, rubbing at your eyes, convinced that you were seeing things. You blinked a couple of times but it only seemed to make the walls of the corridor brighten, washing the walls in shimmering tones of silver and pewter. Despite your instincts screaming at you to walk down the corridor, you were reluctant, feeling foolish to follow your gut instincts and making a decision based on it when you ought to have analyzed thoroughly. Shrugging, you started down the path, eyes drifting on the walls, reaching out to aimlessly drag your fingers against the wall, rough plaster and concrete scraping against skin as you marvel at how it practically shines underneath the moon.

Too busy admiring the architecture, you don’t notice the steps a few steps away until your foot comes in contact with space where the floor should’ve been. Eyes widening, you find yourself tripping, letting out a gasp into the silence as you screw your eyes shut.

Red floods your vision as the pain comes. It was worse than any other injury, sharp aches throbbing in your skull as you hit your head against the concrete. You open your eyes, attempting to sit up but stop as your vision starts to swim, black dots invading your vision as your head sways, only intensifying the pain. You hiss, closing your eyes and slowly counting to ten, trying to tamp down the panic and bile that rose in your throat.

It’s no use, the panic rising and swallowing you whole as you feel your consciousness fading. The last thing you remember is the blurry visage of the corridor brightening, causing you to squint to shield your eyes.

»»————-　　————-««

Regaining consciousness, you sit up quickly, regretting it as your vision swims, blurring everything momentarily. You close your eyes, grimacing when a dull ache throbs in the back of your head.

Right...you had lost footing and missed several steps, slamming your head on the concrete. You sigh as the memory surfaces and you press your hand against your hand gently, screwing your face up when it feels tender and sore to the touch.

Eyes fluttering open, you're met with an unfamiliar room. Your brow furrowing, you observe your surroundings with keen eyes.

The room was fashioned from dark oak, with sliding doors made from white paper, sheer enough to see shadows moving from outside, but still providing enough privacy. Candles flickered jovially on the low tables and judging from the absence of natural light, you guessed that it was currently nighttime. Looking down, your eyes travelled the length of the pallet you were sitting on, noting the intricate embroideries curving through it. You reached out and gingerly ran your fingers against it. Judging from the material and the delicate ornamentations, it was probably very expensive.

“My lady…you’re awake!”

A rejoiced voice grabs your attention and you turn slowly to meet the owner of it. A girl, around your age kneels at your bed and sets down the bucket of water, dousing a clean cloth in it. You blink in confusion, realizing that she was wearing a hanbok, the traditional clothing of historical Korea. You exhaled softly, tense shoulders relaxing as you inferred that you were in one of the residences near the palace, where you were able to rent a hanbok and experience how ancient Korea used to be. The girl gently wipes the wound on the back of your head before undoing the gauzes, replacing it with new ones.

“My lady, you mustn’t be so reckless while riding a horse.” she scolds lightly, shaking her head.

“E-excuse me?”

You didn’t remember anything about a horse. Momentarily, you wondered why the girl was being so formal with you before your thoughts started to wander. Toning out the girl’s rambling, you stared emptily at the nearest candle, flickering and jumping like it had a life of its own.

Catching a section of her sentence, you come back to your senses. “Could you repeat that, please?”

“Arranged marriage with the eldest son of King Sejong?” she repeats, brow creasing in concern. “Are you alright, my lady?”

“King Sejong?” you laughed hysterically, convinced that you had hit your head so hard that you were seeing and hearing things. “What is this? Joseon Dynasty?”

“Precisely, my lady.” she responded, concern creeping onto her features.

“You’re awfully good at acting. Hollywood should recruit you.” you mumble, flopping back on the pallet with a groan, eyes tracing the wooden arches and pattern of the ceiling.

“Hollywood..? I don’t think I understand, my lady.”

Sighing, you sit back up, eyes heavy with fatigue. You were tired of arguing with her so you decided to play along. “Ok then, where am I right now?”

“It is 1437 in Joseon, during the reign of King Sejong.”

You scoffed, disbelief written all over your face. “There’s no way.” Regardless, you stumble to your feet, ignoring the girl’s feeble attempt at stopping you. Stopping in front of the window, you eye the wooden shades before unlatching them.

Expecting the soaring skyscrapers and buildings as well as milling groups of tourists and busy traffic in the streets, your heart almost stops when you see a rustic village, with people leading around horses, resembling nothing of Seoul. Seoul was a city of metal and glass, of advanced technology and modern inventions, yet here, the midnight sky was clear of dust and smoke and you swore you could see every star in the Milky Way.

Stout buildings made up this village, mainly made of wood and brick and the well-trodden dirt path was dimly lit by torches. It was quiet outside, with few people still wandering the streets, you assumed they were all inside, based on the amount of well-lit houses. Gradually, you realized that they were all wearing the traditional garment of historical Korea and although you frantically surveyed the landscape, your eyes scanning every single nook and cranny of the town, everything still remained unfamiliar and foreign.

Leaning forward, you feel the wind whisper its secrets in your ear. “There’s no way.” you whisper to yourself, dragging a hand down your face as you shut your eyes, hoping that this strange world would disappear, replaced by the comforting familiarity of Seoul.

It was not possible to travel back in time...right?

»»————-　　————-««

Numbly, you sit and let Eun-ji, the girl who was apparently your handmaiden, brush your hair. The wooden brush was methodically soothing against your scalp, but did nothing for your frazzled nerves. From listening to Eun-ji, you were Lady (Y/n), supposedly the daughter of a noble family in the Joseon Dynasty, about 6 centuries before your time.

Blankly, you stare at the wall in front of you. As the only daughter of the family, you were supposed to be married off to a rich man to improve your family’s reputation and financial standing, proving how corrupt society was.

However, your husband-to-be was the crown prince, which was a rare occurrence. You supposed that you were lucky, but you suspected that the prince was just another posh and spoiled jerk who was accustomed to the leisurely and luxurious ways of life.

“Say...I can’t avoid the wedding right?” you chirp with false positivity, dislodging the brush from your hair as you turn around to stare at Eun-ji with hopeful eyes.

“A-absolutely not! My lady, this is unavoidable! Your father already agreed and gave out the dowry.” she stuttered, appalled at your question.

“Besides, you’re lucky to marry the crown prince! He’s really handsome, courageous and respectful. I heard a servant girl once fainted after seeing him smile at her.” Eun-ji gossips dreamily, clasping her hands together.

You shook your head. Of course the crown prince would act like that in public. How else would he work his propaganda and trick everyone into supporting him? You drift off, toning out the girl’s wistful fantasizing, anxious over the fact that you had travelled back in time, which shouldn’t be physically possible. With basically no experience or knowledge on the Joseon Dynasty, you doubted you’d be able to survive a second without getting tricked or lured into danger. Tuning back into the one-sided conversation, you manage to catch the last bit of Eun-ji’s sentence.

“...travelling to the imperial palace tomorrow.”

Travelling to where now?

“Everyone is so busy preparing tomorrow’s trip. We’re so excited that you’re getting married! And to royalty at that! Don’t worry, my lady, I’ll be accompanying you!” she declares, grinning sunnily at you, either purposely ignoring your apparent concern or she just didn’t notice.

You reluctantly recline back in your seat, shoulders screaming with how tense your muscles were, allowing Eun-ji to continue to brush and detangle your hair, trying to digest all the information your poor brain was just told. You wouldn’t be surprised if a war started next morning, with how bad your luck currently was.

Closing your eyes, you channel all your strength into resisting the urge to punch a wall and let out a string of curses. Not only was it deemed un-ladylike, possibly earning you the disappointment of your parents, it could potentially draw suspicion and unwanted attention.

All you could do for now was to go along with flow and figure out an escape later, when you had milked all the answers and surprises out of Joseon.

»»————-　　————-««

You throw the windows open, frowning when you are met with the sight of ominous gray clouds gathering. It was as if the heavens themselves knew there was something wrong. You squint, trying to find any hint of the sun hidden behind the clouds, but to your dismay, it was dark and dismal, reflecting your mood.

You wave away the maid hovering nearby, silently commanding her to give you some personal space. The moment you hear her light steps recede, you slouch, pulling a face. Today was the day you would be entering the palace, and a couple of days later, your marriage into the imperial family.

You swallow thickly, gripping the material of your night robes nervously. You eyed the distance down from the window, wondering if you could jump down without breaking an ankle and run away from all your problems. Before you could seriously contemplate it, footsteps alert you of another’s presence and you hurriedly straighten your back, pulling your shoulders back into what you hoped was a confident and elegant poise.

You turn around, meeting the gaze of your supposed mother. Although you felt uneasy addressing her as such, you felt comfort knowing that there was an older figure who could guide you and give advice.

“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, standing close enough for her arm to brush against yours. You stiffen, making sure to give off an air of confidence. “I am feeling fine. After all, it is my job to bring honour to our family.” you replied, flashing a smile that weakens when she doesn’t return it, instead staring back at you with wise eyes.

“(Y/n).”

You tense, before giving a smile so forced, it felt like your lips were stretched too far. “Don’t worry, mother.” The word “mother” felt bitter on your tongue. It felt wrong to address this woman as your mother, even if she had similar qualities to your mom in your time.

The woman hesitated slightly before nodding curtly. “Then, you should start getting prepared.” She turned away, gesturing to the servants who were waiting with countless trays of jewelry and garments as well as combs and cosmetic products.

Your mother’s trusted lady-in-waiting approaches you, an older woman with graying hair at her temples and lines around her eyes, tilting your chin up, frowning at your eye bags and dark circles. You offer a meek smile when she tsks, barking out orders to the waiting servants. They hustle around you, reminding you of bees buzzing busily around a blooming flower. Several girls work silently on coaxing your hair into an intricate updo while the rest observe your face and prepare the clothes and accessories.

You sneeze when the lady-in-waiting pats powder on your face, earning another disapproving look. You slouch, letting them do whatever they want. The moment your hair and features are perfectly done, you’re dragged behind a screen as they strip you, folding your night robes neatly as they work to squeeze you into a lovely garment, shimmering silk of vivid amber and vermillion, plain yet exquisite, seen from the expertly sewn hems and edges and the gorgeous material.

Squeaking, you straighten hurriedly as the lady-in-waiting tugs sharply on the ribbon, tying it into a delicate bow at the back. A mirror is thrust into your face and you hesitate slightly before taking it. Gasping, you peer at your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself, exuding an air of grace and elegance, your hair swept up as your features were flawlessly accentuated and the bold colours of your clothing brought out the life in your eyes and the ruby-red of your lips. You stare at your reflection, not missing the lady-in-waiting’s smug smirk as she dabs rose water on the sides of your neck.

They push you out the doors of your chamber and you stumble unceremoniously before regaining your balance. Outside, your mother awaits you, tears filling her pretty eyes as she takes you in, pride and affection lighting up her face. Stepping forward, she grabs your hands, tears slowly falling down and automatically, you brush them off with feather-light touches.

“Are you ready?” she whispers, squeezing your hands. Your features soften when you notice the genuine concern in her eyes. You nod, smiling tenderly. Your father approaches you, a heavy hand falling on your shoulder. Although he seems indifferent, you can decipher love and satisfaction in his midnight-black eyes. Awkwardly, he pulls you into an embrace and you choke back a laugh, tears filling your own eyes. Even if they weren’t your parents, past (Y/n) was lucky to have them.

“Bring honour to our family, (Y/n).” His thunderous voice rumbles through you and you sense the vulnerability in his tone before he pulls away, the proud smile on his face making your heart soar.

Raising your chin, you match his smile with yours. “I will.”

»»————-　　————-««

You wait in the palanquin, your hands clenching the exquisite silk of your garment anxiously. Hearing giggling, you lift the screen obscuring the small window to your right, peering out into the sunshine.

"Do you think she'll survive in the palace?"

"I know she's not going to. Have you seen her? I bet she can’t even last a few days in the palace without embarrassing herself.” The taller girl sneers, lips curling in contempt.

You watch as the girls titter elegantly behind their fans, your anger simmering as your grasp tightens, knuckles whitening. Lifting your chin proudly, you vow to prove them wrong.

»»————-　　————-««

“Are you not excited to see your bride-to-be, Sangyeon?”

The crown prince turns to see his brother smirking slyly at him, his gaze implying. “Don’t be immature, Sejo,” he replied rigidly, fixing his gaze on the horizon, jaw tense.

“I heard she’s quite a pretty thing. I wouldn’t mind having her by my side.” Sejo continues, inspecting the scenery nonchalantly.

“Stop referring to her like she’s a plaything. Besides, you know there’s still Hwi-bin.” Sangyeon sighs, not even looking at his brother as he adjusts his robes carefully, palms smoothing over the navy silk and the slight scratchiness of the gold embroidered on it.

Sejo rolls his eyes at the mention of Hwi-bin. “There are plenty of gorgeous and noblewomen clamouring to be with you, yet you’re still captivated by her.”

“I am not you. I am interested in having a stable and mutually loving relationship. After all, I am not the one going to pleasure houses in Hanseong.” Sangyeon retorts, and although he sounds aggravated, his eyes twinkle with amusement.

A chuckle escapes from him when he hears Sejo mutter "boring" underneath his breath.

In response, his brother scoffs but a smile plays on his lips. Turning his gaze to observe the scenery, he becomes solemn, the smile disappearing. “You’re going to have to break things off with Hwi-bin, brother.”

At the change of topic, Sangyeon groans, throwing back his head. "It's not as easy as it sounds."

"You're going to have to do it, for the future of our country." Sejo reprimanded, uncharacteristically serious, unsettling the prince.

“Now you’re starting to sound like father,” Sangyeon grumbled, massaging his temples with his fingers. Lately, he hadn’t been able to sleep well, evident by the dark circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks. The lack of sleep clearly didn’t do wonders for the recurring migraines he had everyday, and all he wanted was to get the marriage over with, if only to stop his parents’ nagging.

Sejo sighed dramatically, already opening his mouth to yap away but Sangyeon turned away, squinting into the horizon, seeing a palanquin in the distance, the tiny tassels dancing as the platform swayed rhythmically, the family crest held up proudly.

Squaring his shoulders, he inhaled sharply before vaulting himself on the horse, who nickered softly in greeting as the male stroked its nose. “They’re here.”

»»————-　　————-««

Hearing the door slide open, you turn around, seeing Sangyeon in the doorway.

You bow deeply, averting your gaze respectfully. Only when he acknowledges your presence do you straighten, the silk of your hanbok rustling softly. The journey here was nothing remarkable, and although you thought the riches of your home was extravagant enough, the furniture of the imperial palace was outrageously lavish, your home paling in comparison. You inch away from the jade vase you were gaping at previously, terrified of shattering it.

"What are you here for, Your Excellency?" you ask politely, your gaze settling on him.

"My father has commanded me to show you around Hanseong. He hopes for you to see the glory and learn the ways of the imperial city." the crown prince states, his voice void of any emotion as he studies you, his eyes narrowed slightly.

Hesitating, you nod, giving him a tiny smile. "I would love to."

"I shall call for a palanquin then," Sangyeon responds and although he turns away, you can see the flash of distaste on his face. When he steps towards the exit to leave, you call out, causing him to stop.

What is it, Lady (Y/n)?" he turns around, raising an eyebrow.

You wince at the way he addresses you so formally. Although it served as a form of respect, it felt foreign and it made him feel even more distant.

"Is it alright if we could go by horse?" you dare to ask, anticipating his answer. After suffering through the whole journey to the imperial palace in such a suffocating space, you were determined to never experience it again.

When you notice the blank look on his face, you shake your head quickly. "Pretend I didn't say anything, Your Excellency." you hastily add, lowering your gaze.

Sangyeon's lips part slightly as he considers. He has to admit; he was pleasantly shocked by your request. Many distinguished ladies such as yourself were quite comfortable inside a palanquin, shielded from the world and its dangers.

He preferred experiencing things first-hand, on the back of a horse, racing through golden fields of wheat and feeling the wind tousle his hair. It provided a sense of freedom before he returned to the restraining imperial palace. Sangyeon hated travelling in a palanquin as it reminded him of his royal status and how it prompted others to treat him differently.

"Of course. We will leave at dusk then," he says stiffly, before proceeding to leave, the dark lacquered floorboards creaking slightly under his footsteps. Raising your head, you watch his figure disappear from your sight, a relieved sigh escaping your lips.

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curl into a small smile.

Perhaps you weren't as dreadful as he thought.

»»————-　　————-««

Just as planned, you found Sangyeon waiting with two horses outside the gate, his sharp jawline accentuated by the coral rays of the setting sun. He didn’t notice you, his eyes trained on something you couldn’t see. Slowing your pace, you drag your feet in the soft mud, wondering if it was a mistake to refuse the offer of a palanquin. After all, you weren’t well accustomed with horses. You envisioned yourself falling off the horse mid-journey and shuddered, not eager to have a repeat of an incident. Clenching your jaw in determination, you told yourself that you were doing this to prove to the prince that you were different. Marching towards him briskly, you greeted him with a bow, with which he acknowledged stiffly.

Sangyeon chuckled softly, seeing you stare doubtfully at the horse, offering his hand which you gratefully accepted. Hoisting you onto your stead, you struggled to regain balance for a few seconds, your heart hammering against your ribs. As if sensing your uncertainty, the horse snorts, tossing its head and you yelp, gripping the reins tightly, only causing the horse to angrily neigh, becoming even more restless.

“Relax, you’re only throwing the horse off.” he utters, seating himself on his stead with an easy air that came with constant practice.

“I know that.” you shoot back, daring a glance at the prince. Sangyeon seems surprised at first, eyebrows arched in question, then laughing heartily, startling you. It was the first time you had seen him expressing mirth, instead of his usual intimidating stoic expression.

Before you can ride off, a shout is heard from behind you. Turning around in the saddle, you notice a guard dashing towards you, sweat matting his hair. “Your Excellency, you can’t just run off like that. Your Majesty has assigned me to assist you and Lady (Y/n).”

Sangyeon waves him off dismissively. “We don’t need a guard. But if it comes to it, I can protect us both.” At that, he pulls back his robe, revealing a lethal-looking dagger sheathed at his hip.

The guard opens his mouth, attempting to protest but Sangyeon gives him a stern look. “That’s an order.” You watch on quietly as the guard sullenly walks back at the prince’s words. Sangyeon turns his horse back around with a slight tug of the reins. “Let’s get going. It’s ideal to be back before nightfall.”

You nod, tugging lightly on your reins. “Try to keep up.” he snickers, displaying an uncharacteristically playful and teasing side. You gasp, offended. Sure, you didn’t have much experience with horses, especially compared to him but you were certain you’d be able to pick it up quickly.

“I am fully capable of keeping up, Your Excellency” you retorted, your pride stinging slightly.

“We’ll see.” Sangyeon gives you a boyish smirk as he nudges at his horse’s flanks, settling into a steady pace.

»»————-　　————-««

It’s quiet in the forest and you are aware of the tense silence that hangs between you and Sangyeon. Clearing your throat, you start to think of conversation starters, desperate to try and befriend the prince. It would be better to make friends and allies instead of foes. Before you can speak, Sangeon beats you to it.

“Just so you know, the marriage is tomorrow.”

You gape, clenching the reins so hard, your stead whinnies in protest. Relaxing your grip in apology, you turn to face Sangyeon. “So soon?”

He nods, clearly dissatisfied. “It’s always best to marry young and my father is convinced it will help establish my power to prevent a coup d'état.”

You don’t respond, your body swaying to the rhythmic trotting of the horse.

“You might not be aware, but I…” Sangyeon hesitates, struggling to find the correct words. You watch him curiously, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I already have a lover.” he continues, “unfortunately, you will not be getting the marriage you dreamed of, Lady (Y/n).”

You secretly celebrate in your mind, glad that the male felt the same way. Being forced into an arranged marriage to establish power and reputation was not something you had thought would happen anytime, yet it had happened anyway. You had miserably hoped that this feeling wasn’t one-sided and it seemed like the gods granted you this wish.

“First of all, please drop the formalities. Just call me (Y/n).” you instruct, and amused, Sangyeon agrees and requests of you to do the same. If you were to be stuck in a marriage with him, you might as well seek out more information and become good friends.

“Second, you don’t need to worry. I’m not exactly pleased to be in an arranged marriage, even if it’s with royalty, so I don’t care if you have another lover.” you laugh, and Sangyeon’s worry melts away, replaced by an easy smile.

“Thank god.” he mutters under his breath, clearly relieved. For some reason, you find it hilarious, bursting into uncontrollable laughter which he eventually joins in. With tears in your eyes, you catch your breath before getting thrown into another bout of laughter by his little dance of victory. Calming down, you turn to Sangyeon who was smiling brightly, admiring the way the dying sunlight reflected on his hair and danced in his eyes. He looked lively and carefree, with his rosy cheeks and tousled hair and you were sure you would’ve fallen in love with him if you had met him in your time. Alas, it was the wrong person and wrong time.

“How about this?” you speak up, and he perks up at your question, eager to please.

“I think we should be friends.” you beam at him, experiencing the most joy and freedom since arriving in Joseon. Screw arranged marriages, no one should get to decide who you marry and who you don’t!

Sangyeon tilts his head, pretending to contemplate your offer before nudging his horse in your direction, pulling closer to you. Reaching out, he extends his hand, eyes twinkling with mischief and mirth.

Grinning, you accept it, shaking hands firmly. “Deal.”

»»————-　　————-««

A day later, you sit on the bed, itching to take off all the silk garments that were bound tightly against your body, suffocating you. The marriage flew by in a blur and all you could remember was watching Sangyeon ascend the steps, his regal face solemn and void of any emotion. When his gaze had connected with yours, his lips had quirked up slightly, as if reassuring you that it would be alright, before masked with seriousness once again.

Shaking your head, laughter bubbles out your throat. Out of all the things you thought would happen in the past, getting married wasn’t anywhere in the list. At least, you could boast that you had gotten married first out of all your friends, although you doubted they would believe you.

Humming softly, you listened to the sound of the night; cicadas and crickets chirping and you could hear the distant sound of a bubbling creek. Nothing like the busy city of present-day Seoul, you mused. While fiddling with your fingers, nature’s melodies lull you into a sense of peace and you sigh softly, too much time on your hands. Then, it struck you. It was the wedding night.

Disgusted, you banished the horrifying thoughts before you looked around for something to defend yourself with, just in case. Silver blades gleam in the candlelight and you catch a glimpse of your scowling face as you reach out to grab the scissors. Although Sangyeon didn’t seem like it, if he tried to take advantage of you, he’d have multiple nasty stab wounds that you hoped to avoid inflicting.

Speak of the devil.

The doors slide open, revealing Sangyeon, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold air, as well as a few drinks, you suspected. You watch him warily, like a lioness stalking its prey. He shrugs off the ceremonial robes, revealing the plain garment underneath. Finishing, he turns towards you, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to sleep like that?” he questions, gesturing to the extravagant wedding hanbok.

Smoothing over the creases in the silk, you trace the embroidered peonies on the crimson material. You shake your head, wincing when you feel the heavy headpiece shift, yanking at your hair. Although it was gorgeous, the material was restricting and weighted, with a ridiculous amount of layers, hindering your movements. Standing, you silently untie the bow, letting the silk pool around your waist as you work to take off the headpiece and release your hair from its torture. Sangyeon takes it and carefully places it on the table as you fold the ceremonial garment neatly, leaving it next to the ornamental headpiece.

Standing in your night robe, you and Sangyeon stare at each other, his gaze flicking down to the scissors in your hand and understanding floods his face. When you don’t move, he sits on the pallet before reclining back. “I’m not going to do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Sangyeon says softly, eyes trained on your face.

When you relax, he grins, the atmosphere becoming more light-hearted. “Do I really seem like that type of person?” he continues, scrunching his nose as he gave you a look of mock hurt that you ignored.

You place down the scissors before gracelessly flopping on the bed, jostling Sangyeon, causing him to yelp. You close your eyes, fatigue overcoming you. “Goodnight” you mumble, yawning widely as you turn on your side, making sure to keep a safe distance.

When he doesn’t respond, you shift to face him, stifling laughter when you realize that he was already fast asleep, mouth ajar, chest rising and falling steadily. You watch him sleep for a while, his face serene and almost angelic before turning back on your side, closing your eyes.

Mumbling in his sleep, he throws an arm over your waist and you freeze, before gingerly lifting his arm off, uncomfortable with such displays of physical affection. Closing your eyes, you’re overcome with a sudden nostalgia and longing for your present time and you sigh, praying that you would be able to return before your eyelids droop, slowly drifting off to dreamland.

»»————-　　————-««

Over several days, you and Sangyeon have gotten to know each other well, thanks to late night conversations and going on adventures to escape the controlling grip of the imperial palace, where you felt like you couldn’t even breathe without a judging glance thrown your way.

You would be lying if you didn’t find Sangyeon attractive. With his easy smile and the confident aura that he practically radiated, you cursed the gods for not creating such gorgeous men in your time. However, things have changed between you and him. Lately, you had caught him sneaking furtive glances at you and you had to admit that you had been doing the same, although you were sure you were more subtle.

Last night, you and Sangyeon had laid together in the darkness, limbs tangled in the sheets, but no one made an effort to detangle themself from the material. Tentatively, you tested the waters and leaned against his arm. As expected, he slipped the arm out but to your surprise, he repositioned it around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body.

“You awake?”

You had whispered into the quietness of the room and he had hummed in response. In the shadows of the room, you barely saw him shift. “Is something wrong?” He had lowered his voice to match yours, as if sharing a sacred secret.

You shook your head, but quickly realized he probably couldn’t see you. “I can’t sleep, that’s all.” You had felt his laughter, the vibration rumbling through his chest and travelling down to your bones. “What a coincidence, I can’t either.”

You thought for a while before asking him to tell you more about himself. Although you had spent the days getting to know each other, it was one-sided. Him, nodding and listening intently while you had blabbered about yourself and any entertaining story you could think of, leaving out the important detail about coming from the future. Compiling, Sangyeon had then started telling stories about his childhood and his daily life.

Delighted, you had curled up in a ball, feeling drowsy as he continued to speak, his soothing voice lulling you to sleep. Sensing your tiredness from your lack of response, he stops abruptly and when you blearily ask him why he stopped, he doesn’t respond, instead beginning to sing the rich melody of an unfamiliar song and your eyes widen momentarily in amazement, before fluttering close. Sangyeon’s voice was mellifluous, warm and honeyed, reminding you of a pleasant spring day, warm sunshine filtering through a canopy of trees while birds sang their individual melodies, yet still harmonizing to create a beautiful orchestration.

Before you succumb to the enticing pull of sleep, Sangyeon wishes you a good sleep and for a second, your muddled brain ponders if you imagined the feeling of his lips against your forehead.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the door sliding open until footsteps jolt you into attention. Looking up, you lock eyes with Hwi-bin, Sangyeon’s first love.

Your eyes rove over her features and you can’t help but feel envious. You could tell why Sangyeon loved her so intensely. Big, doe eyes, flawless skin, plush rosebud-like lips and long, silky hair. Hwi-bin was so beautiful that she was practically a goddess and you were convinced that if she was in your time, she’d have all the boys clamouring for her attention.

As she greeted you, you panicked, opening your mouth as the gears in your head furiously functioned, trying to patch together words. Hwi-bin giggled at your flustered display before grabbing your hands, passion and urgency burning in the deep pools of her eyes.

“My lady, I am here to talk about the crown prince.”

You gulp involuntarily, your mind still a jumbled mess. “L-listen-”

Before you can piece together your sentence, she interrupts you. “I just want to know if you love him or not. I’ll understand if you say you do, and I promise I won’t interfere with your marriage.”

Frantically, you shake your head. “I don’t love him, I swear.” Jealousy was a poison, dangerous enough to taint the hearts of even the most innocent or kind people. You knew from experience and you hoped Hwi-bin wasn’t like the crazy female characters in kdramas vowing for revenge.

Noticeably relieved, she lets go of your hands, gratitude shining in her eyes. “I’m glad, then.” Hwi-bin turns away and leaves with an apologetic smile, saying that she was busy, although she regretted not being able to gossip with you. You nod, already staring off in a distance, unfocused, gradually losing yourself in the lucid world of your imagination.

If you had cared to look closely, you would’ve seen the malevolent smirk on Hwi-bin’s face and the dark, vindictive glimmer in her eyes.

Oh, what a fool.

»»————-　　————-««

As you’re about to pay your respects to the queen, you cross paths with the king’s favourite concubine. She regards you stonily as you step into a bow, dipping your head respectfully. Although your eyes are fixed on the ground, you can feel her slowly circling you. Uncomfortable, you shift slightly, feeling like prey pinned underneath a predator’s deadly stare.

“I don’t understand how you got chosen amongst the millions of women practically begging to be the prince’s consort.” she muses, halting in front of you. Her voice was husky and deep like she smoked tobacco every day. Although it wasn’t melodious or lovely, you understood the allure and sensuality of it.

You flinch when she grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up roughly, her grip bruising as she examines your features. Eun-Ji gasps, opening her mouth to protest but a sharp glance from the concubine silences her.

“You’re not exceptionally beautiful either, rather average.” she continues, before letting go of your face. “Perhaps it is because your family is rich.”

Your eye twitches before you school your features into a serene expression, allowing her to continue to direct insults and jabs at you. You knew better than to give her what she wanted.

“Sadly, the prince won’t be giving you much attention. You’ll die alone here. Besides, you’re just a willing pawn who will submit to her future king until he doesn’t need you anymore. Then, he’ll throw you away.” she feigns a pitiful expression before laughing mockingly, the sound grating and unpleasant. You recoil slightly when she leans in, her face mere inches from yours.

“However, as long as I live, that scoundrel won’t be the successor to the throne and you won’t be there to help aid his ascent to power.” she spits, her voice venomous, a drastic change compared to her relaxed words a few seconds ago.

“Don’t call him a scoundrel,” you shoot back, resisting the urge to strike her. Yes, you had originally thought he was just a pompous prince who was power-hungry but after spending time with him, you realized that Sangyeon wasn’t truly as bad as you imagined. He was respectful and kind, clearly valuing and putting others before himself.

The moment the words are out your mouth, you know it’s over for you. Although you could get severely disciplined for talking back, you felt no regret, only sick satisfaction.

Her eyes flash with anger and her hand strikes out, slapping you across the face with so much force you lose your balance, falling on the ground. Eun-Ji cries out, kneeling next to you as she examines you for any injuries.

“That’ll teach you a lesson. Telling me to respect him? Learn your place first.” she hisses, crouching down to your level and wiping her hand on the full skirt of your hanbok, as if there was grime on her hand from touching your face. “Aren’t you so pathetic? Apologize to me and I’ll think about forgiving you.” she croons, expecting your grovelling.

You consider for a heartbeat, weighing the two options. “I’d rather die.” you growl, bristling. When her smug expression morphs into something akin to shock, you feel a surge of pride. Although you knew better than to go around provoking other ladies of the court who could bring upon your demise, you did not want to be meek, thrown and played around with, like a toy underneath the lethal claws of a feline.

“You want to get punished, don’t you?” she utters, livid. “That’s fine, kneel until your precious little prince finds you and saves you, just like the hero you’ve dreamed of.” You bite back the urge to tell her that you didn’t need a man to save you. You were fully capable of saving yourself. You detested being treated as a damsel-in-distress, just waiting for someone to take pity on her.

“I guarantee he won’t, he will be too infatuated with Hwi-bin to care about you.” she derides, lips curling in a contemptuous smile.

You open your mouth to refute, but she has already glided away, the silk of her lavish garment rippling underneath the light as her entourage follows her, their heads bowed. You growl in frustration before attempting to get up but Eun-Ji stops you, shaking her head.

“If you don’t heed her order, you could get thrown into the dungeon,” she whispers frantically, her eyes shifting as she holds on to your wrist tightly.

You shake your head in disdain. “Are you seriously scared of her?” you ask, trying to pry her fingers off your sleeve, the material of your garment creasing underneath her grip.

She nods, relaxing her grip. "She has more power than you think she does. She could order your death if she wanted to."

You bite back the colourful string of curses that you wanted to spew. Surely, that wasn't what a lady of the court would do. So you forced yourself to calm down, taking deep breaths before shifting, raising yourself to kneel.

Hours pass, the rays of sunlight growing weaker as more and more clouds collect but you refuse to lower your chin, head held high. You don't bother glancing at the servants and nobles who walk past, whispering behind their hands as they eye you.

Even if humiliation caused the blood to rush to your face and your knees to shake, you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of watching you break.

Rain starts to fall, gently at first, nothing but mist before the storm gray clouds roll in and suddenly it pours, pelting against the ground with so much force it causes the small puddles to ripple. You don't brush the raindrops away from your face, allowing them to continue cascading down. You already know your hair and garments are drenched and it sends chills through you. You clench your jaw, gritting your teeth to stop them chattering from the cold.

Where was Sangyeon?

»»————-　　————-««

You wake up, groaning as a panging headache hits you. Struggling, you sit up, eyes widening as you take in your surroundings, recognizing the familiar tapestries hanging on the wall and priceless decor that is placed in the room, lacquered floors shining, not even a hint of dust apparent. You tilted your head to the side, confused. You didn’t remember much from yesterday, except that you had made an enemy with the royal concubine and that she had told you to kneel as punishment for disrespecting her.

You draw in a sharp breath. That could only mean one thing, right? Sangyeon had found you and safely returned you to your chambers. Which meant….

You shook your head, shaking off the smug triumph like a dog shaking off water. Still, you had to know it, had to hear it for yourself.

Propping yourself up, you call for your lady-in-waiting. Eun-ji rushes to your aid, carrying a basin of water and a towel. With the speed of her pace, the water splashes against the sides of the basin, threatening to spill.

She presses a hand against your forehead, concern creasing her brow when she feels the heat that practically radiates off of it. You smile when Eun-ji places the damp cloth on, your heart warming at how caring and considerate she is.

"Why are you smiling, my lady?"

You recline on the propped cushions, eyes closed. "It's nothing. What happened?"

Eun-ji hesitates slightly before speaking up. “The queen came across your unconscious figure and ordered me to bring you home. She promised that she’d lift off the punishment that the concubine gave you.”

You turn, so quickly your head starts to spin and you feel faint. Groaning, you close your eyes for a heartbeat, focusing on your steady breathing and the warmth of her hands pushing your damp hair off your face.

Footsteps hammer against the wooden floors and you twist around to peer at the door. Your heart soars when you see Sangyeon in the doorway, face flushed and breath strained as he pants, attempting to catch his breath. Despite his disordered appearance, he was handsome as always, dark, cocoa brown eyes sparkling in the sunshine, causing him to glow, features perfectly lit in the warm golden light.

He stumbles towards you and Eun-ji quietly leaves as he catches your face with both hands, the heat of them seeping into your skin as he examines your face for any hint of injury or discomfort. Frowning, he speaks as he inspects the faint red on your check.

“I heard what happened and I came as quickly as I could-”

"You were with her, weren't you?" you interrupt, voice quiet but it sounds loud to your ringing ears, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

Sangyeon hesitates, clearly reluctant. "Answer me." you snap and you're in awe of your own boldness. An attitude like this could doom you, as seen with the incident that happened only a couple of hours ago.

You figured you had nothing to lose, anyways.

"...Yes."

You sigh, dropping yourself right back on the futon, hair messily splayed out. You didn’t dare admit that it bothered you more than you’d like. After all, you were the one married to Sangyeon. Not Hwi-bin, not someone else, but you. Not to mention he was awfully handsome and charming, confident, sweet and--

You broke off the train of thoughts, directing your focus somewhere else. You rubbed your temples, feeling an oncoming migraine and you furiously willed it to go away. "Listen Sangyeon," you began, meeting the gaze of the male next to you.

"If you want to convince everyone that we're madly in love, you're going to have to act like it."

At your statement, Sangyeon tilts his head like a lost puppy. “What do you mean?”

For a crown prince who supposedly was a high-class scholar, excelling in both studies and skills, he could be so dim. You suppress the sigh that threatened to escape, instead meeting his gaze squarely to try and prove your point. “They can’t know we’re not in love, you idiot. The queen recently told me she was looking forward to becoming a grandmother, for god’s sake!” you exclaimed, shaking your fists in exasperation, trying to emphasize your point and get it through his thick skull.

Sangyeon looked absolutely horrified, mouth hanging open, and you almost laughed at how comical his face looked before your heart dropped. Was it that terrifying to be in a marriage with you? You conceal your hurt, instead sitting up, the duvet pooling around your waist. You struggle with the silk, frowning at how restraining the material was.

Shaking his head, he lifts his hands to grip your shoulders, ceasing your movements. You stall, heat blossoming in your face at how close he is. Sangyeon’s face is close to yours and you can feel every breath he takes. Turning away, you try to distract yourself from his lips, merely inches from yours and the way his breath tickled your cheek. Your mind was shrieking like a crushing schoolgirl about to have her first kiss and you divert your attention elsewhere, ashamed of your bold thoughts.

“Is it that bad, being in an arranged marriage with me?” you tease weakly, loosening his grip on your shoulders as you clear your throat, bumping your shoulder against his playfully, trying to lighten the serious mood.

Suddenly, Sangyeon avoids your eyes, cheeks reddening. “It really isn’t.” he whispers, puffing his cheeks out. “It’s not what you think.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...I care more than you think.” Sangyeon admits, and immediately buries his face into his hands, already dreading his decision to tell you. You stared at him, stunned. Was this...a confession? When you stay silent, he peeks through his fingers, only to be met with your face, centimeters from his. Eyes widening almost comically, he tries to shy away but you lean in closer to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. Sangyeon’s blush deepens and he instantly interprets your hidden message in the display of affection.

Silence ensues, but it’s not awkward, rather the opposite. Hesitantly, he picks up your hand and plays with your fingers, gaze dropping bashfully to his lap. The room seems to brighten, becoming more colourful and vivid. Pale and washed-out colours of misery and despair are replaced by the spirited and vigorous colours of yellow irises and peach blossoms.

Suddenly, Sangyeon pulls you, mindful of your feverish body, but with enough force so that you land in his lap. Laughing, you prop your chin on his shoulder and run your hands through his hair as his arms snake around your waist, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

“What about Hwi-bin?” you ask timidly and your question seems to partially dissipate the whimsical mood. Pulling away, Sangyeon considers your question as he twirls a lock of your hair around his finger.

“I’ll have to tell her.” he says firmly, “It’s not right to keep this from her. But our relationship is technically public because we are married.” With his last statement, he wiggles his eyebrows at you and you shove him away playfully, pulling a disgusted face.

“You’re making me regret reciprocating your feelings.”

Sangyeon gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest. “How could you say that?”

He lunges forward, capturing you in his arms as he tries to tickle you but you block him with your hands, grappling for control until you finally latch onto his wrists, obstructing his movements. Sangyeon presses his forehead against yours before frowning, pulling back.

“You’re feverish, (Y/n).” he tells you gently, turning to grab the abandoned cloth that had fallen off, submerging it in the cool water before placing it back on your forehead. You’re about to make a snarky remark but Sangyeon shushes you, your smirk disappearing, replaced with a pout.

“I’ve got paperwork to do so I’ll leave you to rest. Get better, (Y/n).”

You nod, closing your eyes, a smile settling on your lips as you listen to his soft footsteps recede into the distance and when you sink into sleep, not even one nightmare plagues it.

»»————-　　————-««

Laughter fills the shadows of the forest as you dart away from Sangyeon’s reach, sticking your tongue out childishly. “Try and catch me!” you call, nothing but adrenaline and joy running through your veins, fueling you to feel foolishly carefree, like you were drunk on the finest alcohol. Running away, you spread your arms out like the wings of an eagle, tilting your head back, enjoying the feeling of the wind caressing your face.

Your eyes widen when you notice something white from a distance. You fall prey to your curiosity as you meander along, picking your way carefully amongst the fallen leaves and large roots of ancient trees that snake through the dirt of the forest floor.

Heart pounding, you reach the mysterious object, inhaling sharply when you realize that it’s a lovely young woman asleep on the floor, gossamer robes covering her frame. Shaking her shoulder, you attempt to rouse her, eyes roving over her face and body to search for telltale signs of injury. Noticing none, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Turning away, you attempt to call out to Sangyeon, but a hand slaps over your mouth, muffling your cry.

Turning around, you realize the woman is awake and fear strikes you when you note the glimmer of menace in her black, pitless eyes. “(Y/n) (L/n),” she begins, and as she speaks, her robes shift, revealing nine tails, pure as snow. Her hand lifts off your mouth but her eyes tell you that if you were to scream she wouldn’t hesitate to resort to violence.

Briefly, you remember the tale of the nine-tailed fox before terror erases it, all reason leaving you in an instant. You couldn’t tell if the woman was trying to give you a friendly greeting or if she’d pull a knife on you in a heartbeat. “H-have we met?” you stammer, laughing nervously to mask your fear. You struggle against her iron grip but your strength is no match for her overpowering one.

“You come from the future, yes? You are looking for a way to return back to your time and I believe I can aid you with that.” she continues calmly, and you go limp, struggling to find the right words.

How did she know?

“How I know is none of your business.” she adds sharply, as if she could read your mind. “However...I can tell you how to get back to your time.”

“In exchange for what?” you question warily, finally finding your voice. Staying in Joseon,, you knew better than to accept someone’s offer without finding out what price you had to pay.

Throwing back her head, the woman lets out a laugh that echoes sharply and you survey your surroundings cautiously to try and detect any lingering eavesdroppers. “Smart girl,” The nine-tailed fox leans back with a smug smile, arms crossed over her chest. “Quite fortunate for you, I demand no price. Whether you accept or not, you must leave as you are interfering with the history of Joseon.”

“Listen closely, for you won’t have another chance.” says the nine-tailed fox, her voice dropping to a whisper, forcing you to lean in closer, straining to hear her.

“Exactly a week later, the planets will align, creating a rare phenomenon and a celestial light will appear, creating an opening where you can escape back to your time. You may have experienced this when you accidentally travelled here.”

You nod, everything slowly connecting and making sense. The corridor in the palace had glowed brighter and you predicted that it was the same celestial light that had allowed you to travel back in time. “How are you sure this will work?” you ask, doubtful.

The woman seems taken aback by your question, then offended. “You have to trust me. It’s your only chance and it is a rare occurrence so it will only happen many centuries later. I doubt a mere mortal like you could live that long.” At that, she barks a laugh before sobering, suddenly grasping your hands with her cold ones.

“You were wrong to fall in love. Joseon does not need you here. You must break ties with your prince and leave before you alter the history, ultimately changing the way your world works as well.” she states, urgency dripping from her voice as she stares into your eyes, any sign of the previous mockery and mirth gone.

You incline your head in understanding. “I understand,” you breathe. “Although...where am I supposed to find this celestial light?”

Suddenly, the sound of fallen leaves crunching alert you of another presence and the woman whips her head in the direction, eyes narrowing. “Look for an open space. The best area would be the bridge that passes over the river.”

“(Y/n)?”

You startle, recognizing Sangyeon’s voice. Discerning the worry in his voice, you try to pull away from the nine-tailed fox but she tugs on your hands. “Good luck. Your fate is in your hands. No one can change it but you.”

She disappears, leaving you dazed, kneeling on the ground amidst the autumn leaves. You pick up the closest leaf, staring numbly at the vibrant scarlet colour as you try to decipher the information. Hearing Sangyeon call your name again, you respond, listening to his footsteps gradually increasing in volume.

Scooping you up into his embrace, Sangyeon buries his face into the crook of your face, inhaling your scent. “Where were you? You scared me.” he whines, uncharacteristically pouty.

You laugh shakily, reaching up to squeeze his face, pulling at his cheeks. “Sorry. I got distracted by a fox.” You felt bad lying to him but at least you were technically telling the truth. You did see a fox...just not the type Sangyeon would expect.

“Let’s get out of the forest. It’s starting to get dark.” he answers, not even noticing your lie, despite how your voice trembled. Sangyeon tore his gaze away from you, eyeing the forest. The sun was almost completely set, mist creeping into the forest as a chill descended, creating an eerie atmosphere. You couldn’t help but jump several times when you noticed a shadow slinking near you, shaken from the encounter with the peculiar woman.

Hiking out of the forest, you huffed, swiping at the sweat that collected on your forehead. It was already evening, the stars and moon already coming out of hiding, shining brightly on you and Sangyeon, your hand clasped tightly in his and you couldn’t help but chuckle amusedly. It was like he was afraid of losing sight of you. Struggling slightly, you shake off his hand, ignoring his protests.

Trudging to the meadow, you plop down on the grass, stretching your legs out as you sighed in relief, tilting your head back to gaze lazily at the sky.

Patting the space next to you, you beamed at Sangyeon, whose eyes crinkled endearingly as he reciprocated it before settling down in the grass next to you. Absentmindedly, you hum, running your fingers through the blades of grass, raindrops collecting on your fingertips.

Your thoughts drift away to the encounter with the nine-tailed fox but you push them away, choosing to instead savour the few moments you had alone with Sangyeon. You lower yourself until you’re lying in the grass, lifting a hand to study the stars, silhouetted against the dark night sky and you marvel at how clear it is compared to the sky in your present time, swirls of midnight and navy blue embellished with bands of gold and silver stars that twinkle mysteriously down at you, nothing shielding its pure beauty.

Fabric rustles as Sangyeon does the same, lying next to you. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body and it lulls you into a sense of safety. Turning your head slightly, you admire him, eyes roving over his sharp features shamelessly, memorizing every slant and curve, tucking it away in your memories. Shifting onto your side, you let your hand reach out, finger gently running along the bridge of his nose before gently tapping it twice. Sangyeon’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile but his eyes flutter close as his hand snaps out to grasp your wrist, lowering it as he brings it to his mouth, softly kissing it before letting go.

It feels bittersweet, knowing that you had fallen in love with Sangyeon. It was the right person, but the wrong time. Although you didn’t believe in destiny, it felt like you and him were destined to meet, to provide a paradise for the both of you, even if it didn’t last for long.

What was the word again?

Ephemeral.

Your relationship with him was ephemeral. Fleeting, short-lived. Something that would last for a short time before you left for good. You closed your eyes as a weight crushed your chest, the reminder that you would leave him behind to a world where things seemed more complicated, especially not with Sangyeon by your side.

“You alright?”

His soft yet deep voice rouses you out of your thoughts and you can’t help but shudder slightly at how sensuous it sounds. You nod, not trusting yourself enough to form words without stuttering or blurting out something embarrassing. He twists to face you and your palm instinctively moves to cup his face, running feather-light fingertips along his jawline, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. Sangyeon’s eyes flutter close at your touch and his lips curve before he turns to press another kiss to your palm, nuzzling his nose into your hand before he allows you to continue to cradle his face. He exhales shakily. Never in his life has Sangyeon ever felt so free and his heart has never felt so full for someone. Time seemed to stop as you lay on the grass, eyes tracing over the constellations, sparkling like they approved.

In this moment, titles and responsibilities were stripped away, leaving only vulnerability and fragility behind. Sangyeon wasn’t a crown prince and you weren’t from the future, five hundred years later. In this moment, he was just a normal boy and you were just a girl, exposing yourselves to a beautiful blooming love and throwing yourself recklessly into its embrace. Everything felt magical and just right.

»»————-　　————-««

You blink at Hwi-bin. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You were flirting with Prince Sejo right in public, without shame! How could you? You are married to Prince Sangyeon, the crown prince!”

You winced at her shrill voice grating on your senses. “I don’t understand what you are trying to say.” you repeat calmly, holding up your hands to try and placate her. You had originally thought Hwi-bin was a sweet girl who wouldn’t swear vengeance but it seemed like your first impression of others was generally incorrect as she was less of a princess, now more like the envious lady in every fairytale who tried to plot the doom of the protagonist.

She huffed, whirling around to face the royal concubine. “My lady, you witnessed it as well!”

The female smirks, leaning forward, her finger tracing over the rim of the porcelain cup in her hand. “How shameful, a noble lady of the court, already married to the crown prince she still flirts and seduces another prince.”

You glare at her, not even trying to mask your hatred for her. “I was simply having a civil conversation with Prince Sejo, my lady. Do I not have the right to speak to other males besides the crown prince?”

“Oh you do.” drawled the concubine, dragging out the words as she stretched out languorously on her seat while you knelt at her feet. “However…”

She leaned forward, a malicious grin surfacing, reminding you of a hungry hyena ready to attack unexpecting prey. “Romancing another man while you are married to another is punishable by death.”

You crossed your arms, defiant. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Oh? We’ll have to see what the crown prince says about this.” she laughed and dread formed in your stomach at the sinister tone in her voice. As if on cue, Sangyeon enters, hands folded behind his back.

Hope rises, like doves that fly when the sun rises. A radiant smile spreads on your face, only to be diminished quickly, like a blown out candle. Sangyeon’s face was unreadable, his dark eyes stormy and calculating as he beheld you. You go rigid as he doesn’t acknowledge you, instead turning to lower his head and say something to the concubine.

He twirls the dagger in his hand, examining it idly, not even bothering to look at you. “Is what she says true?” he asks, finally acknowledging you as he stares at you with pitless, emotionless eyes. You could hardly recognize the man in front of you. Where was the gentle and sweet Sangyeon you had spent all your days with?

You shake your head frantically, trying to calmly reason with him. “Sangyeon, you know I would never do this.”

“Really?” Sangyeon lifts a brow. “There were people witnessing you trying to seduce my brother and convince him to elope with you, though.”

Heart leaping into your throat, dread forms in your stomach. Everything was going terribly wrong. He was supposed to believe you but he seemed to have morphed into an entirely different person overnight. Sangyeon looked down at you in disdain, as if you were something that was merely wasting his precious time. The captivating feelings of love that had blossomed were now wilting before your very eyes, smooth ruby petals falling, falling and falling, till they reached the ground, shriveled and black like the ugly hatred gathering in your heart.

The royal concubine spoke up, leaning forward. “What should we do with her, Your Excellency?”

“You can do whatever you want with her.” Sangyeon turned to look you straight in the eyes. “I never loved her anyway. She was just a toy, a mere plaything to me.”

It was the apathetic tone of his words that finally broke you. Saccharine eyes that once beheld you like you were his entire world, now harsh and bitter as they stared at you piercingly, stripping you of your dignity and strength, leaving you vulnerable. Like a dam barely holding up under the sheer pressure of the river, it broke, and all your emotions came pouring in.

You stare at Sangyeon in shock, betrayal evident on your face. “Please tell me this isn't true. Sangyeon...please!” you beg, tears filling your eyes as your bottom lip quivers. “You love me right? You know I wouldn’t ever do this!”

You felt pathetic and unwanted, kneeling at their feet as they looked on, clearly uninterested. Yet you were still in denial, hoping that Sangyeon would come to his senses miraculously and help you out of this mess.

To your horror, he stares at you challengingly before pressing a kiss against Hwi-bin’s lips, mirrored smirks on both their faces as Sangyeon turns to face you, without breaking eye contact. “Is that enough proof? Did you really think I truly loved you? It was all an act to unite your family with mine. You are such a fool, (Y/n).”

You lowered your head, vision blurring as you stared at the floor, tears cascading down your face and dripping onto the floorboards, creating a small puddle of sorrow and anguish, nothing compared to your fragile heart, shattered and left on display for all to see.

The royal concubine cackles, adding to your humiliation and shame, burning bright on your cheeks. “I told you the crown prince would always choose Hwi-bin over you.” she crows triumphantly. “Guards, take her away to the dungeon. I’m sick of her dramatic display.”

Your eyes widen in alarm and you look up, tears falling freely, shining like crystals as you desperately try to seek out Sangyeon, but he’s already turned away, walking away with Hwi-bin by his side. Sangyeon looks at her lovingly, like she’s the only person that matters and your heart crumbles, knowing that he once looked at you like that too. Slumping, you let the guards roughly pull you to your feet, your head lolling to the side in defeat as they drag you towards your awaited fate.

»»————-　　————-««

You sat in the cell, legs tucked neatly underneath you, the rich material of your hanbok soiled beyond repair but you paid it no heed, eyes fixed on the iron bars that separated you from the rest of the castle. Your legs were aching from being pressed into the firm and coarse floor, the thin layer of filthy hay doing nothing to soften it. A chipped bowl of rice and water sat in front of you but it was untouched.

Hearing footsteps echo on the stone of the floors, you straighten, chin raised in defiance. Did the royal concubine come to taunt you? Hwi-bin? Or was it time for torture?

You blanch when you realize who's standing in front of you. The crown prince himself. For several heartbeats you stare at him, nothing but betrayal and sorrow on your features before they harden into a cold mask, your eyes betraying nothing.

Seconds pass, bleeding into minutes. You grit your teeth, feeling like several agonizing hours had passed while Sangyeon stood there, merely observing you. Feeling the need to break the ice that was thickening between you, you opened your mouth.

“Did you even care about me? Am I just a pawn to be used?” you asked, your voice oddly quiet as you stared at him with a terrifying calmness, like the calm before a great storm. Sangyeon watched you, his expression inscrutable as he clasped his hands behind his back. Your breath hitches as you remember the royal consort’s words.

“Besides, you’re just a willing pawn who will submit to her future king until he doesn’t need you anymore. Then, he’ll throw you away.”

You could almost hear her cackle, echoing in your head as if she already knew the result. “Have you ever seen me… as more than something to take advantage of?” you continue when he doesn’t respond and you finally break, the wall you had constructed finally cracking, nothing but remnants of it left. You dig your fingers into your palm, a familiar prickling sensation in your eyes as tears start to swell, your bottom lip quivering.

His words from yesterday resurface. “Did you really think I truly loved you? It was all an act to unite your family with mine. You are such a fool, (Y/n).”

Sangyeon still doesn’t say anything, his indifferent expression infuriating you. You felt like you were fighting a one-sided battle, as if you were struggling against the strong waves of the ocean that tugged insistently at you, dunking you under over and over again.

"I was so naive...I thought I'd be able to compete with Hwi-bin but we were never on the same level, to begin with. She was your first, first love, first kiss, first everything. You prioritize her over me because she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Every single time, you'll continue to return back to her.” you laugh bitterly, fingers digging into your scalp, tugging roughly at the unbound strands of your hair.

The image of love, of romance, was different now. Your relationship with him had started off shakily and although insecurity and doubt swallowed you, you let yourself look ahead, fix your eyes on the light that had appeared at the seemingly never-ending tunnel. It was hope.

Love...could be compared to a rose in full bloom, lovely with its soft and vermilion petals swaying gently in the wind, carrying over its fragrant and enticing scent, luring you closer until your hands reached out to cup it in your hands, under the charm of its seemingly harmless beauty. The longer you allow yourself to fall underneath its charm, lingering feelings turned into tentative and fleeting kisses, then tangled in each other’s arms, whispering sweet nothings as the moon continues its steady climb in the sky.

Now that it’s in your possession, you become greedy, wanting more. Your hands slide to its stem, maneuvering it so you can pick it. You’re so captivated that you don’t notice the thorns that gleam menacingly underneath the sunlight until it’s too late, the tender skin of your fingertips breaking as they sink into it, rivulets of scarlet blood cascading down.

The spell crumbling, you regain your senses and you’re aware of the stinging pain of the wound, You snatch your hand away but the damage is already done. There are two choices: attempt to pick the rose again and let yourself succumb to the pain, numbing your senses as blood continues to trickle or discard it and let yourself heal.

You had chosen the latter. Entering the imperial palace, you had firmly told yourself to not fall for love’s traps and tricks but here you were, like some kind of lovestruck fool, vying for Sangyeon’s affection. It was time to shut him out, deny him any entrance to your heart and instead, focus on getting back to your true home, five hundred years later.

Immersed in your brooding thoughts, you don’t notice Sangyeon moving closer to you, the dirty hay shifting underneath his feet. “(Y/n).” he breathes and at the sound of his voice, your heart aches, longing to be in his arms, to be able to feel the smooth skin of his face beneath your palms. You glare at him, backing up to place more distance in between you, pushing the wistful thoughts away. They were like poison, able to muddy your thoughts and cause you to act differently.

Despite your retreat and clear unwillingness, Sangyeon continues to advance until your back hits the rough and grimy wall of the prison cell. Before you can open your mouth to unleash the lengthy counter that you’ve been holding in, his lips are on yours. Involuntarily, you inhale sharply, a gasp that sounded noisy within the hushed cell, the sound swallowed by his mouth as your fingers instantly tangle themselves in his hair. The familiarity of his soft lips on yours causes electricity to tingle through your entire body and you felt euphoric like you were on cloud nine.

Your hands fall to the side as Sangyeon presses you roughly against the wall, one hand supporting himself as he deepens the kiss, causing you to feel dizzy. Your knees weaken, turning into jelly as he nips at your lip, teasing it with a graze of his teeth. His free hand finds yours, clasping yours in his with a gentleness that contrasts with the unrelenting pressure of his mouth on yours.

The kiss is searing, it burns away your worries and problems for the time being, the passion racing through your veins like a fire swallowing a forest. It melts away the ice freezing your heart and you let yourself submit to it and lay yourself bare, becoming vulnerable.

You swear you feel Sangyeon pass something to you, the cool metal biting into the heated palm of your hand but all thoughts are gone as he parts, trailing soft kisses down your neck. Your unoccupied hand curls into a fist and you know you shouldn't let yourself get carried away.

After all, Sangyeon was the rose, he was dangerously charming, drawing you so close that your head spun, lessening your chances of returning back to your rightful home.

Keeping the advice the nine-tailed fox told you in mind, your hand raises to press against his chest, firmly pushing him away and effectively dislodging his lips from yours.

Sangyeon eyes you, your lips no doubt matching the swollen state of his. He leans in closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You brace yourself, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Tomorrow at dawn, at the back gates." he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Your eyes open and they flash with anger as your hand connects with his face and you ignore the stinging of your palm as you withdraw it.

"Don't tell me what to do." you seethe, gaze locking with his. You glimpse the pink blossoming on the side of Sangyeon's face and you almost feel guilty but you remind yourself that this was all his fault. You had your own plans and you were not going to fail.

Sangyeon has the audacity to smirk at you as his hand lifts to touch his cheek, eyes dark with desire but they soften when he notices how your hands clench, knuckles whitening.

You don't look up but you can feel Sangyeon's lingering gaze. He turns on his heel and leaves, bringing the warmth with him, the cell turning back into a bleak gray. Although he's gone, you can still feel his presence.

You move to press the heels of your hands against your brow but the clang of something hitting the ground startles you. Whirling, you peer at the floor and amidst the hay, something gold winking up at you.

Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around it. A key…? Your eyes widen as you remember Sangyeon pressing something into your palm, flushing when you also remember how...preoccupied you were.

You savour the feeling of the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of your skin as you play with it, your mind racing and calculating. The nine-tailed fox had told you that tomorrow at midnight, all eight major planets in the Solar System would align, which was a rare occurrence that would allow you to travel back to your time.

During your short time here, you had already taken note of when the guards would rotate into different shifts. That would give you the time to escape to the bridge but with none to spare. If something went wrong...you shook your head. Now was not the time to dwell on if you would fail or not. Lifting your head, you stared at the crescent moon outside of the narrow gap in the wall that served as a window, watching the clouds drift by, blocking the moonlight momentarily.

You could only bide your time and wait.

You called sweetly out to the guard outside your cell, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to request paper and ink. For now, you’ll write a letter to say goodbye to Sangyeon. You felt hollow, dreading the final goodbye but it was inevitable. He belonged here and you belonged in your own time.

»»————-　　————-««

You didn’t remember much of the next day. After sealing the letter to Sangyeon, you had somehow gotten the guard to cooperate and deliver it to him. All you could do was wait, legs cramping from kneeling on the floor the entire time. You hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep and you felt exhausted, but you were determined to not let the golden opportunity slip from your grasp.

You had spent the day watching the rotations of guards and you noted that the rotation was the same, as if you weren’t worth guarding. You scoff, scorn burning in your veins. You’d show them by escaping. They might have expected a meek girl who couldn’t do anything but merely watch with tears in her eyes and wait for her shining knight in armour to save her but you didn’t need a saviour. You would create your chance and leave this wretched place.

The sound of heavy footsteps startling you, you recognize the familiar jangling of the keyring paired with off-key whistling, presumably from the nightguard. Shifting, you grip the brick in your hand. You had pried the loose brick from the wall, in hopes of wielding it as a weapon if you got caught. Drops of sweat slither down the back of your neck as you listen to the sound of footsteps recede as the guard hummed merrily, clearly in a good mood after finishing his shift. Knowing you didn’t have time to spare, you rummaged through the make-shift pouch for the key of the cell. Although you hated to ruin such beautiful silk, the long material hindered your movements and you had no choice but to tear it off, exposing your calves and providing freedom of movement.

Heart pounding, you find the key, almost dropping it due to your clammy hands. Holding it between your clammy fingers, you allow a second to collect yourself before advancing to the door, reaching through the bars. Straining, you miss the keyhole a couple of times before it slips in. Twisting it, your ears perk up when you hear the click and it unlocks, swinging open with a creak. Venturing out, you pause, listening for any footsteps.

Hearing none, you pad quietly out before settling into a sprint, making sure to tread lightly to avoid unwanted noise. Pressing against a wall, you hold your breath as you wait for the guard pass, narrowly escaping. It wouldn’t be long until someone noticed the cell was empty. The moment he’s gone, you peel yourself away, and dart into the woods, hurrying towards the bridge.

You slow your pace the moment the bridge comes into sight, the river serene and calm as it winds through the countryside, moonlight causing the water to sparkle. Taking a moment to survey the surroundings for any unwanted intruders, you exhale heavily. Finally, you were only a step away from achieving your heart’s desire: returning to your rightful time.

Yet…..why did your heart feel so heavy?

Your brain and heart were in turmoil, disagreeing with what each had to say. While your brain argued that it was only correct to return, your heart begged tearfully to stay and you knew exactly what, no who, was still tying you to this wretched place, with its malicious dangers and traps disguised as sunshine and freedom: Sangyeon.

How many times had your heart leapt at the sight of him? At the mere sound of his name, of his voice? Despite his betrayal and change of heart, you still loved him and you held onto the tiny shred of hope, like the light at the end of a pitch-black tunnel, that he still loved you as well. After all, Sangyeon had presented you the opportunity to escape by giving you the key.

You shook your head, clearing the treacherous thoughts that threatened to take over your logic. No, whether your heart agreed or not, whether you would eventually regret it or not, you had to return home. You shuddered, imagining spending another day in Joseon, without your family or any of your friends.

Advancing towards the bridge, you watch your flickering shadow pass on the wooden planks, the wood creaking slightly in protest under your weight. Leaning on the railing, you gazed at the lone fish darting underneath lily pads, its scales silver underneath the moonlight. Raising your head, you squinted at the sky. As if in response, it glowed brighter and you watched, astounded, as the clouds broke apart and light shone through, like an angel was descending to Earth.

It shined down upon you, and you basked in it, your eyes barely open due to the sheer glare of the light, joy flooded your face as you rejoiced, as you awaited your return. Looking down, you gasped when you realized that you were slowly disappearing, your hands shimmering ghostly and when you tried to grip the railing of the bridge, your hands passed through. You guessed it meant that the nine-tailed fox was correct, and that it would effectively bring you back to the future.

Pounding footsteps alert you of another presence and you whirl around, the strands of your hair dancing wildly in the breeze. Your eyes meet Sangyeon’s and your heart plummets, raising your hands shakily to keep him away from the light. You couldn’t risk him altering history and travelling to the future with you, even if it sounded tempting.

“What are you doing here?” you shout, panic rising, shaking your head repeatedly as he tries to take a step closer.

“Your letter.” Sangyeon stated simply, voice trembling, full of emotion, of denial, fear and sorrow, as his eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over. A letter is clenched in his fist, familiar handwriting scrawled hastily on the faded surface.

“You’re joking right? From the future? You can’t be serious…” he whispers, hope ablaze in his eyes as he stops in his tracks, and your heart cries out, singing for him, for his touch, for his warmth to surround you once again.

You don’t respond, gazing at him solemnly and the hope fades, like the final rays of the sun before twilight takes over. Sangyeon’s shoulders sag, defeated. “This is goodbye then?”

“You know, I always thought you were acting weird. The (Y/n) I knew was haughty, snobbish and power-hungry but you were nothing like what the rumours said. At this point, I’m not even surprised you’re from the future.” he laughs bitterly, running his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands roughly as he starts pacing in tight circles, distraught.

Glancing down at your body, you notice that you’re almost transparent, the light erasing you from this world that you were never supposed to even be in. “Sangyeon.” you call, ceasing his pacing as you beckon for him, longing to hold his face in your hands and take in his breathtaking beauty, shining so brightly that you were positive you would never forget, even when you were wrinkled and gray from age.

“I love you.” you tell him sincerely, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks but they pass through, and Sangyeon’s eyes widen in alarm when you start fading.

“Wait!” he screams, lunging towards you to hold you, to do anything to stop you from leaving, but you’re already disappearing, your face blurring as you smile at him, fighting back tears. Just as suddenly as it appears, the odd light disappears back into the clouds, like it was never there. Sangyeon expects you to still be standing there, to embrace him and grace him with that lovely smile but you’re gone. Sangyeon is left by himself, standing still on the bridge, the wind tousling his hair, each strand dancing individually as he slumps, heartbroken.

Suddenly, it was like the world was drained of its colours. The sky was no longer a hopeful image of promising love and dreams, instead a mocking gray filled with dull stars that didn’t sparkle as brightly like they did when he saw them with you. Collapsing on the bridge, he cries, tears falling freely as he hugs himself, chest heaving as he tries to breathe steadily, his whole body racking with the painful sobs that threaten to rip him apart, broken apologies and pleas falling from his trembling lips.

“I love you too.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again, as if it alone, would bring you back to his side and fill the emptiness in his heart.

This was never supposed to happen.

»»————-　　————-««

“(Y/n). (Y/n!)”

Distantly, you hear a faraway voice, desperate and fearful, calling out to you. Regaining consciousness, your eyes flutter open, taking in the familiar surroundings. Recognizing the corridor, you sigh, relieved. Turning your head, you notice your friend, kneeling at your side.

“Are you alright?” she gasps, lifting your head gently to check for any wounds. When she finds none, she smiles faintly, glad, before her gaze travels down to examine your face. “Have you been crying?” she questions, bewildered.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, cheeks blotchy and she could see the remnants of tears dried on them. You ignore her question, heart aching again as you remember Sangyeon’s panicked and distraught face as he reached out to you, only to grasp empty air. You accept her helping hand, groaning when the world spins and you clutch onto your head, closing your eyes for a moment to stabilize yourself.

You slowly walk out of the corridor, taking wobbly steps to reunite with your group. Your face lights up when you notice the familiar group of tourists, and you quicken your pace, ignoring your friend’s attempts of slowing you down. Gasping, you bump into someone’s back, almost throwing you off balance until you’re steadied by him, large hands supporting you. Looking up, the apology dies in your throat as you’re met with a familiar face.

Sangyeon?

Recognition floods you as your eyes rove over the slopes and angles of the male’s face. He looked eerily similar to Sangyeon and you almost laughed at the coincidence. Life just kept on surprising you when you least expected it.

In front of you, the man apologizes and offers you a smile. “Have we met?” he questions, tilting his head, and your heart soars at the familiarity of it.

You hide your smile, looking down at your feet as memories surfaced, of kisses stolen in corridors and sweet nothings whispered at night, when Sangyeon had thought you were asleep.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m (Y/n).” you state, offering your hand.

“Sangyeon.” he grins, eyes crinkling adorably as he grips your hand, shaking it firmly and your cheeks involuntarily flush at the warmth of his hand enveloping yours.

Even if your love had happened almost 600 years ago, somehow life had bound you together again and you swore you saw a glimpse of the delicate red string that encircled your pinky, connecting yours with his before it disappeared. You listen to him talk, nodding along absentmindedly. Perhaps you were soulmates.

At that, the clouds break apart, revealing the moon, illuminating the area, washing the stone in silvery tones, as if showing its approval.

»»————-　　————-««

taglist: (send an ask if i missed you!)

@atbzkingdom @chaoticdeobi @thepixelelf @aniyawoos @2hyunjae @jenocakes @moondustaeil @mae-gi-writes @fairyoftbz @chocolattees @juyeonzz @ukiyoexo

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weecherylita · 4 years

Text

Just some more Redcloak analysis, focused on the in-character reasons why the Order will have a difficult time getting him to work with them (there was also gonna be some analysis of signs he might actually end up doing it anyway, but this one got long so that’ll have to wait for another time...)

CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR START OF DARKNESS. (You have been warned.)

As I was re-reading some of the online comic recently I came across this statement, which Durkon says to Belkar in strip 1151:

“Ev’ryone always talks aboot the seductive power o’ Evil, but I think Good’s just as slippery a slope. Doin’ good – sometimes even just seein’ other people do good – feels good. Tha feelin’ gets ta ye ev’ntually. I think the only reason more evil folks dinnae succumb ta it is tha it feels bad ta realize how bad ye’ve been! Most’d rather pretend ta nev’r feel nuthin’ than experience the pain.”

And having re-read Start of Darkness not long ago, it suddenly leapt out at me how perfectly the last two sentences describe Redcloak’s situation. Because at the core of Redcloak’s character arc is a battle between his two primary motivations – trying to improve the lives of the goblin people, and trying to hide from his own guilt and pain for leading them on a dark and dangerous path which has caused them a great deal of suffering. (And to me, that’s just really compelling. I love tormented characters whose character arc revolves around the need to take on their inner demons).

At the end of Start of Darkness Redcloak has two key conversations that really highlight the heart of his character struggle. First, he is challenged by his brother, Right-Eye, to face up to his own mistakes. Right-Eye points out that the Dark One’s plan really isn’t doing the goblin people any favours – most especially their alliance with Xykon. Redcloak insists that the Plan must succeed (with Xykon’s help) and every sacrifice made so far has been necessary for achieving the final goal (a better life for goblinkind). But Right-Eye has a different theory: Redcloak cannot entertain the idea that they were wrong to make the deal with Xykon because it would mean facing up to his own guilt for how badly he has led his people astray. (As Durkon says: It feels bad to realize how bad ye’ve been!)

And instead of waking up and changing course, Redcloak doubles down on his position and compounds his guilt even further. When Right-Eye becomes a direct threat to the Plan by trying to eliminate Xykon, Redcloak kills him himself. This is an act which appears to lock him on his desperate path to the very end (cos if his guilt was bad before that point just for accidentally leading goblins to their deaths, it’s magnified to the extreme now that he’s deliberately murdered the person he cares about most). And Xykon knows this – in fact, it’s part of the reason why he has trusted Redcloak so much. Xykon explicitly tells Redcloak that he doesn’t “have the balls” to destroy Xykon’s phylactery, because doing so would mean acknowledging that he killed his own baby brother over nothing. So, he offers him an easier path:

“So therefore, you’re just going to continue following me and doing whatever I order you to do. Because as long as you’re loyal to me, I’ll let you pretend this never happened… And hey, we can both pretend that you don’t really have any options about any of the despicable actions I ask you to take from here on out – rather than acknowledging that, like Right-Eye, you do in fact have a choice. But unlike Right-Eye there, you’re too chickenshit to ever make it.”

And Redcloak takes the easy route (again as Durkon says: “Most’d rather pretend ta nev’r feel nuthin’ than experience the pain.”)

And if you add to this Redcloak’s deep-rooted hatred, mistrust and prejudice against player races (especially humans) and the gods as well, and he has little incentive to listen to our heroes. His prejudice is rooted firstly in his own traumatic experience from the day he saw his village butchered by crusading paladins (another interesting thing Right-Eye says is that Redcloak is essentially frozen in time since the day he put on the Crimson Mantle – the “same angry kid”. In other words, he hasn’t aged physically and he also has not grown as a person; he hasn’t learned to move past his trauma). But the Dark One himself also teaches that humans are not to be trusted, and he seems as fanatically devoted to his Plan as Redcloak does.

What this means is that in order for Redcloak to do a deal with the Order, he would likely have to:

1) recognise that following the Dark One’s Plan (and perhaps even the Dark One himself) is not the best way of serving his people 2) face up to the pain and guilt of his own wrong-doing 3) overcome some of his own prejudices against player races and the gods (since he’d need to trust them enough to uphold their end of any bargain). This would probably also require: 4) processing his own trauma (at least a bit more constructively than he currently has)

Edit: actually, it occurs to me that Redcloak may well see a deal through the Order at this point as potentially compatible with the Plan, since the literal point of said Plan is to get the gods to negotiate... though I still don’t see it going smoothly right now for various reasons. And to get truly positive character growth, he’d still probably have to do a lot of the things I mentioned above.

So anyways, psychological change of that magnitude is possible, but it is also really, really hard. Nevertheless, I still think there is a chance that we might get there, and not just because the plot appears to be crow-barring us in that direction. I do think there are subtle signs that he is capable of changing course. But this post has gotten kinda long, so perhaps I should discuss that another time…

#redcloak #order of the stick #oots #fandom stuff #but maybe i'm wrong #what do i know?

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fortheheavenssake · 5 years

Text

Twitter and Copyright

https://www.canyoucopyrightatweet.com/

I’m all for people being passionate about what they believe. That’s true even if I disagree. But, there’s a point where you have to ask yourself if you have the proper basis for your belief. Our systems of thought all flow from somewhere, but we really should step back and evaluate the basis of our passion a bit more objectively.

This is especially true with the Internet. Clearly, many people believe that everything we do, everything we post, everything we think in the online world is somehow protected. I suppose it makes sense if you are the one doing, posting, or thinking, but it’s not realistic. Since when did the online world cease to function in reality? Simply because people break the law online doesn’t mean there is no law- or worse yet, there is a different law for the Internet. The laws that exist in the offline world exist online as well – objectively.

My interest was raised when a great friend of mine pointed me to a blog post on Mark Cuban’s blog (http://blogmaverick.com/2009/03/29/are-tweets-copyrighted/). The question was quite simple: Are Tweets Copyrighted? I quickly jumped in, throwing in a sentence or two about the danger of that way of thinking. What startled me was the high level of participation and the supposed consensus that Tweets are, in fact, copyrightable and copyrighted. That’s why I’m writing this article.

To understand why the basic assumption is incorrect, you need background. I’ll do my best to set the record straight on what the law is – in theory (since it hasn’t been effectively tested) – and why it should be the way it is. Wherever you land, you’ll certainly know where I stand on this issue. First, let’s debunk some threshold confusion.

Twitter Doesn’t Own my Tweets, So I must

Twitter’s “Terms of Service” state unequivocally that when it comes to copyright, “What’s Yours is Yours.” (http://twitter.com/tos). The ‘terms’ go on to state that “your [the Twitter account owner] profile and materials remain yours.” This is likely the first stage of misconstruction in Twitterlogical thinking, i.e., that simply because Twitter doesn’t make a claim in your “intellectual property,” that there actually exists some intellectual property to own. Twitter did, after all, use those words – intellectual property/copyright. [Note: Granted, there are photos used and possibly other materials that may have copyright protection, but what I’m talking about here in this article is strictly limited to the <140 character Tweets you generate on a daily, hourly or minute-ly basis.] In any event, this may be the first part of confusion.

Twitter (and Facebook, Myspace, etc.,) are not capable of modifying copyright law to create a property right that does not otherwise exist. If the material you post through Twitter isn’t copyrightable to begin with, it will not mystically transform into protectable property merely by being Tweeted. Copyright law is codified in the United States Copyright Act, as implemented/construed/constructed by the Courts. If you’re not a judge or a lawmaker, you can’t create law. You might be able to try and create law by virtue of a contractual relationship, but it won’t change copyright law. My point here is that Twitter can’t tell you whether or not you create or own a copyright – it doesn’t have the legal ability to do so. So if you own any copyrights, it’s not because of Twitter not owning them, it’s because the law provides for ownership of them which initially vests with you, the author.

Fair Use Doesn’t Come Into Play If the

Material Isn’t Copyrightable and Copyrighted

When skipping along through the mountains of materials you find online, you’re certain to find heady discussions of Fair Use. If the word “copyright” comes up and anyone starts talking about what you can or can’t do, you’ll find someone in the crowd who will blow the Fair Use horn. In many instances, it makes sense. Fair Use is a major player in copyright- both on- and offline. But it’s a red herring if you are not dealing with material that is: 1) copyrightable; and 2) copyrighted. As to the former, we’ll get to that. As to the latter, some things are copyrightable (say, for instance, a song), but no longer protected by copyright (i.e., in the public domain). Fair Use doesn’t impact something in the public domain, because it’s no longer protected by copyright and may be used regardless of Fair Use. Being copyrightable, however, is the bigger question. I noticed lengthy analysis of the Fair Use doctrine on Mark Cuban’s blog, but again, if we’re not dealing with copyrightable materials, the analysis doesn’t matter.

A Quick Read of Sections 101 and 102

of the Copyright Act Is Not Enough

What I often find is that people online seek to educate themselves. They read; they investigate. This is true with copyright issues as well, and it’s well documented that many people are not only familiar with the US Copyright Act, but have read parts of it. The truth, however, is that reading the applicable sections isn’t enough. If you can imagine, judges don’t always agree on what the statutes mean, so when a layperson- someone without extensive legal background in the area of copyright law – tries to interpret a part of the Copyright Act, there’s a high probability that it will be interpreted incorrectly. Even if a person is correct in an assumption, it doesn’t mean everyone else has interpreted the law in the same way. In addition, the Copyright Act doesn’t explain anything; it just states the law, which makes it very difficult to understand the underlying motivation in a particular section.

To understand copyright law, you need to know that the Copyright Act is only the beginning. Courts interpret the Act; they apply it to real-life situations. This means that in order to understand why Tweets may not be protected by copyright, you need to know cases as well. We also have areas of copyright law that haven’t been fully explored in the courts, like the Religious Exemption in Section 110, or even the Fair Use Doctrine, which has a mountain of case law and a higher mountain of misunderstanding of its application. What’s my point? Just that here’s much more to understanding a copyright issue that what you’ll be able to discern online. Case in point: I couldn’t tell you if Perl is the best tool for a particular scenario, but I did read the Wikipedia article on it, and discovered that it’s apparently the Swiss Army chainsaw of programming languages. Quiz me on a few more things about Perl and I might be able to answer correctly. Do I really know anything about it? No, but I do have access to Cliff Notes versions of real information. That’s a dangerous way to become an expert on anything.

Does the US Constitution Say Anything About this Topic?

Article 1, Clause 8, Section 8, of the United States Constitution states that: “The Congress shall have Power [. . .] To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries.” You might not believe it, but this tells us a lot about why Tweets may not be protectable by copyright law. It’s about reasoning- why do we have copyright law to begin with?

That question is answered simply that there was a belief that if creators were not able to own and exploit (for a limited time) materials they created, they would not be able to continue to create them (because they would be forced to find other means of financial survival), and that the progress of arts and sciences would be stifled because no one would have incentive to create. This Copyright Clause of the US Constitute made it clear that creators needed incentive to create.

Arguably (and I’m not sure I entirely agree with this argument I’m making), Tweets do not even comport with the Copyright Clause of the US Constitution because they are often social/ego driven and would be created even if there was absolutely no benefit to the arts and sciences (and the financial potential arising therefrom). In other words, it is not copyright protection that provides incentive to Tweeters to Tweet; it is something else. For that reason, one might reasonably argue that Tweets do not fit the underlying logic of the Copyright Clause which gave rise to the Copyright Act. Tweets would occur naturally regardless. This is a slippery slope, though, and Tweets may very well fit the purpose of the Copyright Clause. For that reason, I think it’s worthwhile to point out that many Tweets have no logical tie to copyright protection, but that we can’t rely solely on the US Constitution for guidance.

All Tweets Are Not Created Equal

Tweets range from boring and useless facts (e.g., “wow, it’s cold in Toledo,” “my plane is late again,” “I’m going to poison the neighbor’s dog”) to purportedly-funny, yet useless facts (e.g., “I woke up and farted,” “she must workout,”), to interesting facts (e.g., “Americans consume 1.7 billion pounds of lard every year,” “the average burp contains 1.6 liters of gas”), to references to other facts (e.g., “check out this article in New York Post: tinyurld.com/183*&%,” “Michael Jackson auction canceled: whocares.com”), and everything in between. For this reason, to truly analyze the question of whether Tweets are copyrightable, you must differentiate between types of tweets. There may be a lurking Tweet that is protected by copyright law, but once you finish reading, I think you’ll see the probability of that scenario as being close to or at zero.

Facts Are Not Copyrightable

I’m not going to waste my time citing references to cases. You haven’t retained me as a lawyer and I haven’t agreed to represent you. More importantly, I haven’t received your retainer check. For that reason, you’re either going to have to assume it’s true, or you’re going to have to research it yourself. I’m just going to say what’s what.

“It’s sunny and warm, with a high temperature of 80 today.” That’s a fact. You think I can get dibs on keeping you from writing the same thing? No. Copyright law doesn’t extend to facts, no matter how they are described. [Note: for you ‘scholars’- I’m not saying there isn’t a way to protect a collection of facts and/or the particular expressive elements of the recitation of facts, I’m speaking directly to the facts themselves.] Now take my example and read the last 100 Tweets you can: how many are nothing more than a simple recitation of fact? Sure, there might be a funny word or two thrown in for good measure, but when you do the math- what, 90%? Be honest.

“Barstow’s Desert Dispatch Blasts City Manager for Living Outside of Barstow: tinyurl.com/1B30*%.” Did you grab the title from the newspaper? Well lucky you- that issue is in the courts right now. Newspapers will lose that battle, since titles are not protectable. But what if you made yours up? Well, yours is a title too. You have the same problem as the media giants, except you’re probably not as financially endowed, so you won’t be swaying any judges to make your point.

“She’s got legs and she just got done using them…not bad for a granny.” (Let’s assume this is a fact- a scary one at that.) Well, a fact is a fact. It might be funny or not, but it is, nevertheless a fact. Now this plays into how you might express a particular fact (we’ll get to that in a second), but be clear: facts are not protected.

The long and short of it is this: if 90% of all Tweets are nothing more than recitation of facts. That means that about 90% of Tweets are not protectable. For the other 10%, we’re not done with you yet. It’s all in how those facts are stated.

Idea versus Expression

“It’s sunny and warm, with a high temperature of 80 today.” A safe and conservative reporting of today’s weather. “It’s hot like a mother and the sun is beating me like a stepchild.” Same idea, different expression. Copyright law won’t keep someone from writing about the same fact. In my examples, both talk about the weather in my locale. But they each take a different approach to the same idea (fact). This is a pivotal connection you must make- you can only potentially protect your particular expression of a fact; you can’t keep other people from writing about the same facts.

But at some point – and this is a snag for nearly every posting junkie – the idea and the expression merge. “That’s a big door,” “that’s a large door,” “that’s a gigantic door,” “that door is massive,” “the door is huge” – these are all examples of facts that have merged with the expression of them. There are only so many ways you can describe a particular scenario, and copyright law isn’t going to let you get a monopoly on one way if there aren’t too many other ways to say the same thing. This does away with another 5-7% of the roughly 10% of potentially protectable Tweets.

Think about the Civil War. You can probably find 1,000 or more books on the subject. They all talk about the war, or we assume they do. Why do those books get copyright protection? Assuming they do, it’s because the expression can be individualized to such an extent that the expression rises above the facts. But could you have 1,000 books on me walking from my garage to my car door? Probably not. Not because it’s not possible, but because no one has done (or will take the time to do) it in a way that would be protectable. People would be saying basically the same thing. For most authors (Tweeters included), we write things in a way that is common, or in a way that 100 other people might respond to the same scenario, with little variation.

That leads us to the next reason why most Tweets would never be protectable: Scenes a Faire. These are scenes that necessarily result from a given situation. We all think we’re witty geniuses when we Tweet, but chances are if there were 100 Tweeters standing next to us at the time we experienced whatever it was we experienced, they would Tweet the same thing we did (or close enough to it). This includes common colloquialisms and expressions. Maybe we’re not as witty as we think when everyone else would use the same or substantially same expression. Some things just come up because of circumstances, and not because of creativity.

and Originality Requires Creativity

The most common example I’ve seen on Twitter of individuality of Tweets is the infusion of wit. It should be crystal clear by this point that the mere recitation of a fact is never protectable. The more difficult question is how to deal with wit. At the outset, understand that copyright law will not protect an unoriginal Tweet. We’ve already touched on that, but I know you’re all thinking, “yeah, but I’m funny as hell and so are my Tweets.” Maybe, maybe not, but copyright protection doesn’t have anything to do with humor. Originality is not dependent on it. But the real question requires legal interpretation. Originality in the copyright context is not necessarily what most people would think. Instead, it’s a certain qualitative and quantity analysis that requires a technical understanding of the legal distinction. In most cases, Tweets are not original. The humor added to a fact doesn’t make it original; it only makes it a potentially interesting read.

Size Matters

Over the years, I’ve heard so many conversations about size and length (in the copyright context). “You can use 10% of a book or song without permission, but no more,” “thirty second samples don’t require a license”). These supposed guidelines may generally be false. It’s interesting, because even large trade groups and professional organizations promote the thinking. In reality, most instances of copyright use and copyright protection involve an analysis of length. Since we’re talking about Tweets, we’re going to talk about the length of the Tweet and whether it is protectable in that context.

Titles are not protected by copyright protection. Neither are slogans and short phrases. Why? Because they tend to identify something (as in the case of titles), which renders them factual, even if witty. Also, because the length contributes to an overall belief that they lack legal originality under copyright law, short sentences, phrases, etc., often do not rise to the level of protectability. This is not to say that copyright law will never protect a short statement; rather, it is an issue of likelihood.

The Monopoly of Language

Think about it. If you could prevent someone from saying “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear ____, Happy Birthday to you,” you would be pretty stoked, wouldn’t you? But what do you think the rest of civilization would think – utter contempt (ever wonder why the employees at restaurants won’t sing the standard Happy Birthday song to you?). To be sure, many courts have arrived at disastrous conclusions, whether as a result of political or financial pressure, or due to inadequacy of legal persuasiveness. But a key to copyright protection is the granting of a monopoly. That’s why the law is going to take very seriously any request to protect an arrangement of words. When copyright law protects the written word, it grants a limited monopoly over the arrangement of words, allowing the owner to prohibit others from writing the same thing in the same way.

Now imagine if a court had to evaluate Tweets and consider whether to grant a monopoly to the author of a Tweet. Don’t you find it hard to believe that a court would grant someone a monopoly over your average Tweet? No, seriously, think about it. “Is this really the happiest place on earth? Why are so many people crying?” That was a real-life Tweet from me while at Disneyland. Do I want the courts to keep other people from writing the same thing? Of course not! Should I be able to sue someone from Tweeting the exact same thing? Of course not! You give a monopoly over language to true original authorship, not to a couple of sentences about Disneyland, your dog, coffee or the woman in the elevator with you.

The Problem of Registration

Know what it takes to stop someone from repeating your Tweet? A good lawyer and copyright registration. Some might say it just takes money, but money just hires lawyers; it doesn’t do anything on its own. But let’s just say you believe you own your Tweet and you want to stop someone from repeating it. How would you do it? What could you possibly do?

As the Mark Cuban blog commentators pointed out, copyright subsists in copyrightable subject matter from the moment it’s fixed in a tangible medium of expression. Yes, that’s true, but what can you do with that? Can you sue someone? No, but if you try, the judge will quickly inform you that a copyright infringement lawsuit requires copyright registration. So back up a few steps and consider that even though you may believe you own a Tweet, you can’t do anything practical about it unless you seek copyright registration. Without being condescending- Good luck with that.

Is there a protectable Tweet?

I admit, I think a protectable Tweet exists in theory. I have read hundreds if not thousands of Tweets and have yet to read one I believe would be protectable, but the possibility exists. The question is not: Are Tweets Copyrightable. The question is: Is This Tweet Copyrightable. The copyrightability of Tweets is not dependent on the fact that they are Tweets. Rather, it’s dependent on the analysis of the Tweet in question. The all-encompassing response that all Tweets are either protected or not protected is misguided. The real response is that it depends. However, when you analyze most Tweets, they would never individually pass copyright muster.

I read an interesting post in the thread I’ve discussed throughout this article, and the post mentioned a Haiku. To me, that’s smart thinking. Finding a possible protectable Tweet among the hordes of non-possibility. Maybe a Haiku is your ticket to Tweet monopolization. Otherwise, you probably won’t be able to protect anything.

The Parting Shot

Copyright and Tweets is really about practicality. Many people believe they own everything they post online, be it Tweets, Facebook status, or whatever. The truth is that most people are most likely incorrect in their assumption. I guess the bigger question is what would you do even if you did own a Tweet?

Written by Brock Shinen, Esq.

Brock Shinen is a business, intellectual property and entertainment attorney. He works extensively in the field of copyrights, and is a published writer and speaker on the subject matter. If you have questions about this article, or want permission to reprint it, please contact him at the address listed below.

PRESS CONTACT: Please send all queries to [email protected]

THE INFORMATION IN THIS ARTICLE IS NOT LEGAL ADVICE AND SHOULD NOT BE CONSTRUED AS LEGAL ADVICE. IT IS INFORMATION ONLY.

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luxexhomines · 6 years

Note

You have an amazing writing style!!! I hope more people find your blog but I also hope you don't get too stressed about it :) I was hoping for an imagine with kokichi, saihara, kiibo, and chihiro with a male s/o that gets into trouble for crossdressing too often? Good luck with your blog! I'd love to talk to you one day!

First of all, thank you so much, sweet sweet anon!! I deeply appreciate the kind wishes and words. I’d love to talk to you sometime, too! Feel free to send me a message or another ask any time. I’ve had a sudden influx of requests today, which I suspect is due to saishuhara, so if the mod for that blog is reading this, please take my thanks! That was basically a promo when you reblogged my post, haha. I managed to get two of them done today, which is pretty good for me, personally. Requests are still open for now! Although I got around six of them just today.

Secondly, I wasn’t sure when you said that the male s/o gets into trouble for cross-dressing too often whether you meant the reader got in trouble with the character or a third party, so I kind of did both. Hopefully, this is okay! Also didn’t do bullet points…if you don’t mind… and it’s a bit cheesy!Icon credit to danganwlw!

Without further ado, here you are, under the cut bc it’s long:

Kokichi, Saihara, Kiibo, and Chihiro x Male S/O that Gets in Trouble for Crossdressing Too Often

Kokichi Ouma

Of all things to walk in on today, he was not expecting to see a high school girl with a white dress shirt tucked neatly into a plaid skirt, her legs stuffed in thigh-high black tights.

But he didn’t blink or freeze. It was a normal occurrence by now, after all. He strolled on over to the girl and tapped on her shoulder as she sat at the cafe table by the window, dreamily staring out into the streets.

“Hey, I’m here now. Did you order yet?”

She shook her head, her hair shifting slightly as she did so.

“No, I was waiting for you.”

Kokichi sighed inwardly. Again, with that voice, too. But he didn’t comment, only lifted the menu to take a look at the selection of items. He could see the girl shrinking in her seat out of the corner of his eyes, and decidedly to pointedly ignore her and try to make her squirm some more.

What? This was a classic case of boys bullying the girl they like, you say?

Except for one thing.

The high school girl was, in fact, a boy. It was hard to believe, looking at his softly curving lips and slightly sloping chest, or even the delicate shape of his face. But without a doubt, Kokichi knew his s/o was a boy, even if he chose to dress like a girl all the time.

Kokichi set down the menu with a loud snap as it hit the table, and his s/o winced.

“So, are you ready to order?”

You reached to your collar and adjusted the ribbon around your neck nervously, avoiding Kokichi’s direct gaze.

“A-Are you mad at me?”

Kokichi was stolid before offering an apathetic expression as he looked at his trimmed nails.

“No. What gave you that impression?”

You sighed, your shoulders sinking miserably.

“You’re lying, aren’t you. Why are you mad at me?”

He looked back at you, and his dark eyes, shimmering with something you couldn’t quite make out–irritation? disappointment?–bore into you.

“Why do you think, my dear s/o?” Without waiting for an answer, he plunged forward. “Because I’m dating a very handsome boy, yet somehow only this girl always shows up for our dates. She’s pretty, sure, but she doesn’t match up to my boyfriend in the least.”

Your head droops as you slump in your seat, looking away from those eyes.

“I… Sorry. I feel better when I’m dressed like this,” you whisper, feeling shameful.

Kokichi reaches across the table and grabs your hands in his, tugging on them lightly.

“Look at me, s/o.”

Your eyes meander up the white buttons on his uniform and meet his eyes.

“Yeah?”

You can feel him squeeze your hands warmly as he says his next words, a rare display of genuine, pure affection.

“I’m not saying you can’t crossdress or that there’s anything bad about it. I just want to see my boyfriend make an appearance once in a while. Is that so wrong? You’re beautiful both ways, but I like you better when I see you in yourself.”

When was the last time you heard such honest words from him? No beating around the bush or overt lies, just the truth. You supposed this really did matter to him. And knowing that you, the plain you, was wanted just as much or maybe even more than the female version of yourself was unbelievably comforting. You felt your eyes water slightly as you nod shakily.

“Okay, Kokichi. I’ll come to our dates dressed as myself in the future.”

Kokichi seemed to gain an idea upon hearing you say this, and you swear you saw a lightbulb pop up above his head and a pair of devil horns grow on his head.

“Why don’t we go dress you as yourself now?” he smirks.

He drags you off to your home, and stumbling into your bedroom, he pulls off your clothes with almost childish excitement, plum eyes vividly glowing with amusement.

“Wait, Kokichi! Not there!”

You can imagine what happens next, smexy times or a comforting show of love & affection!

Shuichi Saihara

Shuichi was out on a date with his boyfriend. At least, he was pretty sure the beautiful girl walking beside him was his boyfriend.

Shuichi didn’t really mind the cross-dressing, but he did feel on edge whenever someone catcalled you because it was completely possible that someone could follow you home or attack you, even though it hadn’t happened yet.

“So–wait, Shuichi. Are you listening to me?”

Your voice, pleasantly in the countertenor range, interrupted the detective’s thoughts. He opened his mouth to reply but was promptly stopped by the sight of a delinquent sliding an arm around your shoulders. He could feel his senses bristling with danger and anger.

“Hey, sweetie… If your boyfriend isn’t paying attention to you, why don’t you come and spend time with me, instead? I’ll make sure to pay plenty of attention to you,” the guy leered, and Shuichi had to stop himself from throwing a punch at the man Kaito-style.

“Please take your hands off of my boyfriend,” Shuichi gritted his teeth.

You both saw an expression of confusion overtake the man’s ugly features as he grimaced.

“Wait, did you say boyfriend? Do you mean to say that this girl is a cross-dressing pervert?” But before either of you can say a word, he continues speaking. “Nah, you must be trying to throw me off the trail. I’m not going to let go of such a good catch so easily,” he licks his lips, and you shudder as you slip out from under his arm, grabbing Shuichi’s arm tightly.

“I’m a ‘cross-dressing pervert,’ as you put it. If you don’t believe me, I’ll take off this shirt in front of you,” you reply, glaring at him ferociously.

Your reply doesn’t faze him, and he just smiles, unbelieving.

“Then show me.”

You let go of Shuichi and rest your hands on your shirt, ready to pull it off of you, but Shuichi’s hand rests on your own, to stop you and in order to protect you.

“He doesn’t have to prove anything to you,” Shuichi says. You’ve never heard his voice like this before: dark, unforgiving, cold.

The guy stares at Shuichi hard, but seems too pusillanimous to do or say anything in response to Shuichi’s hard tone of voice, and walks off.

You feel yourself let go of a breath you’d been holding, and Shuichi lets go of your hand, creating a strange emptiness inside of you.

He turns away and starts walking away, so you jog over to catch up.

“Thanks for protecting me, Shuichi,” you say gratefully. But he doesn’t respond, and his gold eyes seem much more turbid than usual as he continues walking forward forcefully.

When you call out his name, he doesn’t respond, only keeps walking, and you can only follow after him like a lost puppy. He felt so distant from you as he stormed ahead of you, less than a foot away physically, but so far away in heart and mind.

Finally, the two of you enter your shared apartment, and once inside, you tap him on the shoulder lightly. He turns to face you, and you see what he’s been hiding from you.

Shuichi’s eyes are full of conflict and sorrow, and the corners of his lips edge down as his eyebrows slant toward the center of his face in exasperation.

You’re afraid to look at him, but you do, anyway.

“I-I’m sorry, Shuichi,” you stumble over your words as you wring your hands anxiously. “I didn’t mean to get us in trouble, honest…”

His features soften, and he steps toward you.

“I’m not mad at you, really. It’s just that I’m tired of worrying about you being followed home by some stalker or being attacked by a creep. I feel like the level of danger you’re put into elevates when you’re dressed as a girl,” he says quietly.

You nod, and involuntary tears come to your eyes.

“D-Does that mean…” your lower lip wobbles, and you try to regain control as you wipe away a tear. “Does that mean you want to break up with me? Because you’re tired of me?”

He shakes his head almost immediately, placing firm hands on your shoulders.

“No! That’s not what I meant at all. I just wondered if maybe we could compromise and have you dress normally now and then. I worry about you, even more, when I’m not with you,” he replies, a note of desperation in his voice.

“Okay, Shuichi,” you sniffle. “I’ll crossdress less, then. I don’t want to make you worry any more than this, and getting into situations like that isn’t fun, either.”

He lets his arms fall to his side, and you embrace him, leaning into him and taking in his scent. Clean, with a hint of soap and mint. His voice buzzes warmly in your ear when he speaks.

“I love you, s/o.”

Kiibo

Kiibo didn’t really understand why you crossdressed so often, but he knew it made you happy, and that was all he really needed. That is until you got in trouble with the teacher for cross-dressing to school almost daily.

“What have I said about school uniforms and properly adhering to the dress code at school?” your teacher asked strictly. Well, rhetorically. “This is unacceptable behavior. If you come to school dressed as a girl one more time, it won’t just be detention this time. You’ll be suspended from school for at least two weeks.”

You pouted, pursing your pink, glossy lips defiantly.

“Why must I conform to social norms? I’m not harming anyone by cross-dressing, so I don’t see why it’s such a problem!”

Your teacher smacked a textbook down on the desk in front of you, making you jump in your seat in alarm.

“It’s indecent, young man! This is where you learn to be a working member of society, and you’re doing a pretty shoddy job of it right now with your tomfoolery.”

You crossed your arms, annoyed.

“I can be a working member of society while cross-dressing! I’m the person who gets the highest grade in this class; I always set the curve, and I clean up the classroom when my classmates are too lazy.”

Your teacher only pushed up their glasses.

“Regardless. You must come to class tomorrow in the mandated attire. You’re dismissed now.”

You nearly leaped out of your seat, and ran out of the classroom with your bookbag, almost running straight into Kiibo’s metal frame.

“Whoa! Sorry, Kiibo. Are you okay?”

The robot nodded.

“Perfectly fine. I suspect bumping into me would cause you more damage than it would to me,” he states matter-of-factly.

You laugh, carefree despite just being lectured by your teacher.

“Sure would! Where should we go hang out today? My house?”

Kiibo agreed, and walked with you to your house, listening to your idle chatter.

However, when the two of you sat in your bedroom and you ranted about being scolded for cross-dressing, Kiibo interjected.

“Sorry to interrupt, but why do you crossdress every day, anyway?”

You hadn’t expected such a direct question from Kiibo. Then again, you supposed all of Kiibo’s questions were to the point. You ran your fingers through your hair nervously.

“Well… It makes me feel better about myself. And it’s fun to dress as someone else.”

Then Kiibo asked the question.

“Why do you need to feel better about yourself?” he questioned.

You were about to answer, but Kiibo continued talking. “The way I see it, you are already more than good enough. You as your normal self is better than any girl you could crossdress as, even if it is fun. You could crossdress on your own personal time if you just wanted to do it for enjoyment.”

Taken aback, you don’t respond for a moment, only staring at the robot. At this, Kiibo flusters, his blue eyes averted from yours.

“Did I say something weird? Sorry, s/o…”

You shake your head, an abnormally joyful grin spreading across your face like Nutella across toast.

“Nope. I think that was just what I needed to hear, Kiibo.”

You stretch your hands out and take his own metallic hands in your own warmly, and Kiibo flushes red.

“W-What are you doing? Is this what humans call a reward?”

You chuckle at his innocent question.

“Naw, I just did it ‘cause I felt like it. Because I love you so much, Kiibo,” you smile radiantly, your eyes sparkling with delight and affection for the roboboy sitting in front of you, who was currently blushing an even deeper red.

“Sometimes I wish Professor Igarashi hadn’t installed blushing functions on me, so I wouldn’t be so transparent… But it does make me feel more human, so I like it. I can feel my love for you more deeply this way.”

Chihiro

It wasn’t uncommon for you and your boyfriend to be mistaken for a pair of girlfriends when out and about, especially seeing as both of you crossdressed almost all the time. And now was one of those instances.

A pair of those grody guys were hitting on the two of you, telling you two that they could give you a good time and inching way too close for comfort. Polite rejections didn’t work, and you were rapidly losing your temper.

Then one of them put their hand on Chihiro’s shoulder, and that was the final straw. You lost it and flew at him in a rage, punching him solidly in the jaw, and you swore you could feel your knuckles bruising as the guy staggered back. They threw dirty looks at you before leaving the scene, the man clutching his jaw.

“Shall we go home, s/o?” Chihiro asked, looking worried as he glanced between your furious face and the furiously red knuckles of your fist. “I think it’d be best to ice your hand.”

You grind your teeth, thinking about how you hadn’t wanted those goons or your temper to ruin this date, but acquiesce, seeing his anxious face. You knew Chihiro definitely wouldn’t be able to relax or enjoy the date if he was worried about your hand.

“Let’s go, then.”

On the walk back, you rant to Chihiro about the men, and he pitches in here and there but seems too distracted by your injury to make a meaningful contribution to the conversation.

Once home, Chihiro has you sit down on the couch in a surprising show of firmness, and in a flurry leaves and returns with a first aid kit, which he opens to reveal cloth bandages with space for ice that he’s brought in a box to ice your knuckles. He’s quiet as he works, and you don’t want to distract him from treating your injury, but you feel the need to say something.

“Hey… I’m sorry I ruined our date. I was really hoping to spend more time with you outside, doing something fun together,” you say softly, feeling guilty.

He raises his head from his kneeled position in front of you, and you see surprise and equal amounts of guilt on his face.

“It’s not your fault… I’m sorry, too. If we weren’t both cross-dressing like that, maybe they wouldn’t have stuck to us for so long.”

You shake your head, tightening your mouth into a line before opening it to reply.

“Don’t apologize for their brash behavior. You know what? I think I’ll dress normally more from now on. I want to be able to protect you before it comes to me punching some jerk in the face.”

Chihiro blushes momentarily, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well, but I don’t want you to have to compromise like that, either. Although I’m honored you’d do something like that for me.”

You smile affectionately, and put a hand to his face, cupping his cheek and placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“It’s not a compromise if I’m doing it for you. You know I’d do anything to protect you, and I’ll be less on edge too this way.”

He smiles back shyly.

“If you say so. Thank you, s/o. You’re too good to me.”

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sage-nebula · 6 years

Note

I choose Alan!

First impression:

I first became aware of Alan because someone posted a screencap of the end of one of the Ash and Alan episodes where the narrator was like, “but little did they know that the world is slowly sliding toward destruction” and the person captioned it with, “Not again, Alan” and I was like, “what do you mean ‘again’?!” So my first impression of him was that he had somehow ended the world at some previous point, and that made me go watch all the TSME episodes. (Of course, he didn’t, but this wouldn’t be the PokéAni fandom if it didn’t unjustly blame him for everything.)

Impression now:

HE’S MY VALIANT DRAGON SON AND I’LL DEFEND HIM ‘TIL MY DYING DAY.

Favorite moment:

Part of me wants to say the moment where he finally finds his voice and is able to stand up to Lysandre, given that Lysandre was his abuser and that was such a powerful moment for him.

But the more indulgent side of me says that it was the moment where he spent all of .01 seconds before he threw himself out of an aircraft, swinging down by rope in a piece of stunning animation, to go out on the ice and save Lizardon in TSME 3. Good god that was incredible.

Idea for a story:

Let’s see … in my Works in Progress folder I currently have:

- The sixth chapter of To Devour the Sun (he’s not actually in that chapter, but the story focuses on him primarily, and he’s mentioned a lot).

- Lizardon’s origin story, which is from Alan’s point-of-view and details how he found and hatched Lizardon’s egg.

- A fic where Alan, age eleven, gives a presentation at the annual League funding science conference (it has a more official name than that, I don’t remember) because Sycamore is too sick to do so, and if they don’t attend and do a good job at the conference, the lab will lose its funding. Note that Sycamore does not send Alan; Alan sends himself by enlisting Gabrielle (Sycamore’s garchomp) to cut the cord to Sycamore’s alarm clock.

- A fic where Alan, having newly become Champion, gives a speech / answers questions at his induction ceremony pertaining to what happened in the Flare arc and what his plans are for the future, showing how far he’s come in his recovery.

- A fic in my Immortality AU where Alan and Ash time travel thanks to Celebi shenanigans and interact with Sycamore during XY(&Z). Or at least, this used to be in my WIPs folder, but it was lost when my folder was mysteriously deleted a while ago, RIP. Anyway, I still have a bit of it saved in a draft, so you can have a snippet of it since all the rest was deleted:

“Alan, you can have Lizardon fly you down, can’t you?” Augustine asked, and he smiled as Alan looked over at him, eyes wide. “I saw on television that he had evolved. He should be able to carry you—maybe both of you, depending?”

Alan bit his lip, holding Augustine’s gaze for just a moment before he shook his head and turned away, facing the waterfall’s edge again. “No. I can’t call on Lizardon right now.”

Augustine frowned, his heart skipping an unpleasant beat in his chest. “Why not? Steven said he had healed after the incident in Hoenn. Was he wrong?”

“Steven?” Alan looked back, his brow scrunched in confusion, but before Augustine could answer the confusion cleared and he shook his head. “Oh, yeah—no, he was right. Lizardon recovered from that just fine.”

“Then why can’t he carry you?” Augustine asked. Alan didn’t answer, and instead shoved his hands into his coat pockets and started walking along the edge of the waterfall, down the slope that led along the bank. Ash cast a frown Augustine’s way before he turned and started to follow Alan. Augustine stared after the pair of them for a second—since when had Alan ever just walked away in the middle of a conversation like that?—before he started after himself, a knot of stress building in his chest. “Alan, what’s wrong with Lizardon?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Lizardon,” Alan said, and though he raised his voice to be heard, he didn’t look back. “Come on, there should be another path down over here.”

- A much longer fic involving an organization named Panacea that wants to take over the world, and is doing so by challenging each region’s Champion—and, further, is doing so by challenging them with people who have specifically trained to challenge them. In particular the starting fic had Alan’s antagonist, a woman named Florence, showing up in Isolé Village (where he lived the first five miserable years of his life), and Alan has to go there to chase her out. He encounters the villagers who “raised” him for the first time in seventeen years, and it goes … mmh. It goes.

And probably others, but I can’t remember them right now.

Unpopular opinion:

Oh boy, where do I begin.

- Alan deserved to win the League, full stop. I love Ash, but had Greninja beaten Lizardon it would have been the strongest show of plot armor imaginable. Mega Charizard X outclasses Battle Bond Greninja in every way, especially when ‘Zard X has Thunder Punch which, no, cannot be blocked by Water Shuriken, that is nonsense.

- Alan was not remotely responsible for what happened to Hari-san. Hari-san was able to wander off and become comatose due to Manon’s negligence as a trainer. That was in no way his fault and the fact that no one took the time to tell him that he doesn’t have to blame himself for everything is a crime.

- For that matter, Alan had every single right in the world to decide not to travel with Manon anymore, especially since she never asked to come with him in the first place, and instead just kept stalking him and ignoring his “no” until he gave in. Manon continuously ran roughshod over Alan’s boundaries, ignored his consent, argued with him when he explained his feelings in a way that completely ignored those feelings, and ultimately just had no respect for him as a person, instead only thinking about herself and what she got from their partnership (i.e. talking about how much she can learn and grow, saying she’ll get through danger as long as he protects her, et cetera). Frankly, the fact that it took so long for Alan to actually yell at her just goes to show how nice of a person he is. If it were me, I would have yelled like that back in TSME 1 (instead of just calling her annoying and continuously ditching her like he did).

- To that end, I think that Alan and Manon’s relationship as it is at the end of the series is pretty unhealthy, since Manon never once apologized or learned from any of her behavior (thus she stayed pretty static / will no doubt keep making the same mistakes again and again), and Alan now feels as if he can’t do anything that will upset her because that will make him a Horrible Awful Person Who’s Ruining Her Life. And I mean, we kind of already see this happen; in XYZ045, Alan does try to tell her that he doesn’t want to dance (and he looks seriously panicked and uncomfortable about it), but everyone, including Sycamore in a move that really disappointed me, pressures him to do it anyway. And what ends up happening? He gives in, and he’s not smiling during the dance scene, either. Honestly, that scene triggered me really badly because it brought up memories of times when my own boundaries and consent were completely railroaded—where I was explicitly told that what I wanted didn’t matter—and the resulting panic attack was so bad I got sick and had to bring it up with my therapist. Anyway, while I prefer to write their relationship post-canon as being healthy (at least with regards to Alan not giving into all of Manon’s whims), as it is in canon it has the potential to be so bad, and we’ve already seen that. It’s gross.

- To that end, imagining them romantically is also gross. I think it speaks to the heteronormativity of this fandom that they look at a fifteen-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl (particularly one who acts like she’s eight) and think, “Hm, yes, this is true romantic love.” The maturity gap between them is palpable. Manon huffs and throws tantrums like a little kid. Alan has to watch over and take care of and protect her. Setting aside that their behavior is much more similar to that of siblings, the fact remains that they met at a stage in their lives where Manon looks to Alan for guidance and protection and Alan, however reluctantly, offers that. This sets the stage for how their relationship will continue to grow and develop. Speaking from experience, Alan’s not going to look at her one day and see a romantic interest. He’s going to still think of her as a kid. And again, I’m speaking from experience here; I know that my nephew is now almost eighteen years old, but when I think of him, I still imagine him as he was when he was a small child. I have step-cousins who are not blood related to me at all that I’ve known since they were small children, and it always blows my mind when I’m reminded that they’re now graduating high school and going off to college. I still think of them as kids, and Alan would be the same way with Manon. And even if one wanted to argue that wouldn’t stop Manon from having a precocious crush on Alan—and I agree, it wouldn’t—that doesn’t mean that Alan would (or should!) return her feelings. Again, she acts like (and in-universe is often compared to) Bonnie. She’s less mature than Ash, Serena, and Clemont, who are supposed to be her age contemporaries. Thinking that Alan would view her romantically makes him out to be really very gross, and I find it extraordinarily insulting to his character. (And again, in this case, even if you age them up it won’t work, because they met at a time when Alan had to be a caretaker for Manon. That makes it squicky.)

And before anyone comes at me — age gaps are NOT inherently bad. My own parents have a sixteen year age difference between them, so believe me, I’m NOT against age gaps as a whole. But when and how you meet (as in the context of your meeting) is important. My parents met when one was forty-six and the other was thirty. They were both adults, they had both been married and divorced before, they met on equal footing. Alan and Manon have not met at an equal footing, and they’ve met at very important developmental stages in their lives. Again, maturity is a HUGE part of it, because it’s the maturity gap that’s squickier than the age gap. If Manon had the maturity of, say, Ash I could see arguing for it, but as it stands she acts far more like Bonnie, and it’s squicky. This ship is a NOTP for me for so many reasons (including the above mentioned how Manon continuously ignores Alan’s consent and runs over his boundaries), and this is certainly one of them.

And last but not least: I know this is all blunt and harsh. I know this. But listen: In the past, when I’ve tiptoed around my feelings (either by writing very vague tags in a blank post that did not mention either Manon OR the ship by name), I’ve received hate for it. I’ve had people vagueblog me, I’ve had people send me rude messages, and I’ve had people yell at and block me for daring to politely voice my own opinions on my own posts when they brought the subject up (i.e. I made the post about something different entirely, they brought up Manon, I tried to state my opinion politely, they got mad and blocked me). So if tiptoeing around the situation and being diplomatic gets me hate anyway, why bother? I’ll be honest about how I feel, and how I feel is that I hate this ship, I think Manon should have been made to take responsibility for her behavior in canon, and her stans have made it incredibly hard for me to like her at all considering how they vilify Alan (or else just reduce him to her trophy boyfriend), constantly excuse everything she does, and resort to vagueblogging, rude messages, and yelling when they encounter anyone who doesn’t like her, no matter how polite or diplomatic they are about it. I still treat her fairly in the fics I write (i.e. I don’t vilify her, I write her as being successful in the future, et cetera), but at this point I’m done pretending outside of fic that this fandom hasn’t ruined her for me, because they absolutely have.

- I don’t think he should have immediately left on a journey again at the end of the series. I think he should have stayed at the lab instead, especially since Sycamore said that Alan was needed there. Alan should have stayed at the lab to rest, heal, and recover, and then later he should have taken the Champion challenge. That he was sent out on a journey again was super lazy writing.

- I also think that he should have been able to keep the Mega Stone and Key Stone, but repurposed into pendants by Sycamore, to give Alan a true fresh start and remove any taint that might have been on them. But that’s less important than all of the above.

Favorite relationship:

It’s a very close tie between his relationships with Lizardon and Sycamore, and an honorary mention to his relationship with Ash.

Alan and Lizardon are platonic soulmates and I love everything about their relationship. I love how Alan moves closer to Lizardon whenever he’s feeling nervous or anxious. I love how they talk to each other, and how Alan perfectly understands what Lizardon’s saying even when they just exchange looks. I love how Alan was willing to risk his life to protect Lizardon without a single thought. I love how Lizardon similarly shielded Alan during the Flare crisis to prevent him from getting hurt. I love how they respect each other so much, to the point where, in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it scene, Alan extends his hand toward Lizardon but waits until Lizardon moves in for petting and cuddling right after they win the League. Alan doesn’t just pet Lizardon, he waits for permission before he pets and cuddles Lizardon. Alan respects consent and boundaries, and doesn’t consider himself entitled to Lizardon cuddles just because he’s Lizardon’s trainer (sorry, partner).

Alan and Sycamore also so incredibly sweet, and it’s a shame we didn’t get to see more of them in canon. Sycamore is Alan’s dad in everything but blood, and there’s so much in the show to point to this … and yet somehow, not enough. But I love how supportive Sycamore is of Alan, how understanding and loving he is, and likewise how Alan will do anything to protect Sycamore, given how Sycamore saved him when he was young. They’re precious.

Finally, honorable mention is to Alan and Ash, because they helped each other so much during Kalos and I honestly love the relationship they had. So many people are tied up in the “rivalry” that was hardly that, and it saddens me so much because they’re missing such quality content. Ash managed to make Alan smile, laugh, and feel excitement and happiness at a time when he was so critically depressed that he couldn’t. Post-canon, he gave Alan a reason to keep living, which Alan says himself saved him. (He also is the one who inspired Alan to fight back at the start of the Flare crisis, on Prism Tower.) Meanwhile, Alan was someone it was okay for Ash to lose against. Ash was put on such a pedestal throughout Kalos that losing was practically deemed unacceptable, and gave him a whole damn crisis around the Snowbelle City time. But Alan and Ash met when Alan and Lizardon were a pair of Big Damn Heroes (the light of the dawn behind them and everything) saving Pikachu from Team Rocket (and protecting Ash from their attacks!). From the get-go it was acknowledged that Alan was so strong that, if Ash lost against him, it was fine. It wasn’t seen as “shocking” like when Ash lost to Shouta. Alan was someone that Ash could just have fun battling against, without something serious riding on it. They have a natural comfort around each other, familiarity like you’d expect best friends to have. I really love their relationship, too.

Favorite headcanon:

Pretty much everything in all of my post-canon fics, haha, but I’m really attached to the matching pendants I gave Alan and Lizardon for their Key Stone and Mega Stone, respectively. (Or rather, that I had Sycamore give Alan and Lizardon, haha. But same thing, really.)

#character ask meme #decadeoldtiger

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aenariasbookshelf · 6 years

Text

Darcy and Jane’s Post-Apocalyptic Road Trip, part seven

The continuing road trip adventures of a Jane Foster attempting to avoid the US Government and a heavily pregnant Darcy Lewis just keep expanding.

Technically this fic takes place in an alternate universe offshoot of The Incrediblesverse, but you don’t have to read those fics to understand this one.

(parts one and two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six)

At some point I’ll edit this thing up and post it properly to AO3 (and get a proper title…and chapter breaks…you know how it goes. This story seems to have taken on a life of its own). Until such time, however, this story will live here on Tumblr…

I’ve started posting the story on AO3 here. I’ve only got the first part up there, but it’s been expanded greatly, so I do recommend checking it out. Someday soon I’ll put the rest up there as well.

Infinity War spoilers ahead…

Chapter seven summary: in which the women run into some interesting people in the desert, and a smidgen of plot starts to rear its head.

A/n: it has taken me far, far too long to get back to this story. I won’t burden you with the details here, but it’s been a long few months for me for various reasons. But, things have settled down for the moment, and I finally have a little time to do some real writing. (I should be job hunting, but job hunting is the absolute worst, so I’m alternating between fic and the search.) If it helps, this chapter is a lot bigger than some of the other ones at over 2700 words? Unbeta’d, but none of the chapters that have been posted on Tumblr have been, so par for the course.

In this chapter, we finally get a smidgen of plot coming that’s a little bit more than just driving through the desert. I do want to forewarn people, especially those people who are very familiar with the comics more so than the movies, that I am playing fast and loose with some elements of comics canon in order to create my story here. If you have any questions about what those aspects are, please don’t hesitate to ask and I’ll be happy to explain! If you’re looking for a faithful interpretation of those aspects, however, that’s probably not this story.

Okay, I’m shutting up now, and letting the story speak for itself.

**********

Part Seven

Their car eats up the miles through the night, zipping along empty roads underneath a bright, starry sky. Jane’s laser focused on driving, leaving the main highway to slip along the parallel service roads and abandoned paths just in case their trip is being monitored by less than savory characters. Kate’s in the back performing maintenance on her bow, keeping it ready for whatever could come their way.

And Darcy is sitting still in the front seat, eyes closed and deeply breathing as she tries to bring her body under control. Her blood is singing in her veins, like she’s got the energy of the universe inside of her, and while she can tell it wants to explode out, this is not at all the time for it. Priority number one is keeping her baby and herself safe, no matter how much there’s a part of her screaming to fight back against the insanity and chaos in the universe.

Eventually the meditation gives way to pure sleep, dozing off for a while. It’s not deep enough to dream, but enough to rest a little bit.

Darcy awakens when the car rolls to a slow halt. “What’s going on?” she asks, blearily, shifting her off balance body up in the seat a little bit so she can see out the window.

“Rest stop…I think,” Kate replies from the back seat, opening the window so she can stick her head outside of it into the night time.

Ahead of them and down the gentle slope of the pavement, set up along the side of the road, there’s what appears to be a tent city, dozens of tents and campers and shanties and cars stretched out into the desert, all the way to what appears to be the outskirts of the next small town along the highway. Strings of lights are woven between makeshift lanes in the dirt, lighting up the night. “What the hell?” Darcy mutters.

“They’ve got half of the highway blocked, too,” Jane says, her hands clenching on the wheel. “We may have to stop for a little bit before we can get past this.”

“Is going around an option?” Kate asks.

Darcy purses her lips, looking around to the other side. “I don’t think so. The ground’s pretty flat, which means they could see us try to avoid them.”

“I think it may be a little late for that.” Jane puts the car back into gear, waving a hand at the windshield. Beyond it, off in the distance but getting closer to them by the second, are a couple of sets of car headlights. “Got your weapons ready, just in case?” She inches the car down the road, slowly, until they’re within an arm’s length of the other cars. “Game faces on,” Jane breathes out, and Darcy can tell she’s trying to hold back the shakes. “Play nice, and we’ll be on our way.”

There’s a part of Darcy that hopes like hell these people are harmless and will let them be on their way quickly, but that may be too much to ask.

Jane opens the door and stands up behind it, keeping the bulk of the metal between them like a shield. “Hello!” she calls out. “How are you tonight?”

A middle aged woman emerges from the first car, slender and tanned with wrinkles, faded salt and pepper hair, and a welcoming smile, and waves at them. Another man steps out from the backseat, half hidden in shadows, but looking like every damn bodyguard Darcy’s ever seen on television. “Hi yourselves,” she replies. There’s a shotgun slung across her back though, and Darcy glances over her shoulder at Kate, who looks about as worried as Darcy feels at that moment.

Jane pushes some hair out of her face, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. Jane’s deceptive looking though, as Darcy has learned from experience. She looks like she could be knocked sideways by a strong wind, but she’ll lay someone flat without warning if she has to. “Can we help you with anything?” Jane says.

The woman opens her arms, invitingly, gesturing at the tent city next to them. “We just wanted to open our arms and provide some hospitality if needed. Our church has opened these tents to provide shelter to anyone who needs it as there are a lot of people who have found themselves wandering aimlessly now that the end times have arrived.”

“Oh, crap,” Kate grumbles right in Darcy’s ear.

“As long as they don’t offer us any Kool-Aid?” Darcy fires back.

Jane waves her free hand through the door to shut them up, because it is not the time for jokes (even though being a smartass is the best way to cope, in all their experiences). “We actually have a planned destination and people we’re scheduled to meet, but thank you for the offer,” Jane replies. She holds her breath as the bodyguard strokes a hand up and down his shotgun, and her hand clenches on the car door.

“Are you certain?” the woman says, her voice soft and sweet enough to make Jane that much more nervous. “We’ve got some comforts for travelers, and it’s not always safe to travel through the desert this late at night.” There’s a backbone of steel in the woman’s words, and Darcy doesn’t like the feeling it stirs up in her stomach.

“Let me speak to my companions, and see what they say.” Jane drops down, eyes flicking back and forth between Darcy and Kate. “Gut instinct is telling me that if we poke our head in for five minutes with them and then leave it’ll be the least problematic way to get out of this.”

“No offense to your gut,” Kate says, “but that sounds like the worst idea ever. I’ve been trained by Clint Barton; I know bad ideas when I hear them.”

“You want to try and negotiate with them, go right ahead, but we are out armed and out numbered.”

Darcy shakes her head slowly, trying to dislodge the feeling of unease settling in her bones and failing utterly. “I don’t trust these people either, but it may be better to play this subtly rather than just running like hell. Chances are they don’t trust us either. If we prove to them quickly that we are harmless and no danger, we may have a better chance of getting out of here sooner rather than later.”

Kate grimaces, though she doesn’t disagree. “No matter what I’m bringing my bow with me.”

“Fair deal.” This time, her gaze lands squarely on Darcy. “How’s your bladder doing?”

Darcy pauses, then squirms in her seat uncomfortably. “Dammit, you had to remind me.”

“And there’s our excuse. Keep your taser in your bag and your fingers ready.”

(They both know that if it means she can save herself, that there’s no problem whatsoever with Darcy using that energy to protect herself and her baby.)

Jane straightens up again and puts her most winning smile on her face. “We could use a bit of a rest stop, it sounds like,” she calls out. “Just for a little bit.”

The woman smiles at them again, slick and gleaming in the cars’ headlights. “Sure thing! Just follow us to the parking area and we’ll get you nice and comfortable.”

**********

Small mercies, the parking lot is pretty much right on the side of the road, next to a large tent with open sides that’s sheltering a bunch of picnic tables and chairs, with a firepit just beyond there. Jane’s reassured by the fact that there are both adults and children huddled around the fire, chatting in calm, low voices while the children sleep curled up in their parents’ arms.

“The toilets are just down there.” The bodyguard points down one of the makeshift pathways, strung up with christmas lights to bring a little illumination to the night. “Follow the green lights, then make a right. The doors are marked.”

“Thanks,” Darcy nods.

“I’ll come with,” Kate says, adjusting her quiver so it lays flat on her back. No one from the compound had blinked when she’d pulled the bow out of the car, which was another good sign, but they’ll still have to pry the bow from her cold dead fingers if they want to take it away from her.

Jane watches as the two stroll off in search of the bathrooms, then perches herself on the edge of one of the picnic tables. She doesn’t feel like she can relax, not yet and probably not until they hit the road again, but their hosts definitely don’t need to know that. “You’ve got a very homey setup here, Ms, uh,” she starts.

“Shelby,” the woman interjects, settling herself on the bench of the table opposite Jane. “Rae Shelby. I’m one of the Matrons here.”

“A Matron? Is that like a nun?”

Rae laughs, slinging her gun off of her shoulder and propping it up next to the table, still within reach. “Not hardly. The Universal Church of Truth doesn’t believe that celibacy is a requirement. A matron’s really just one of the caretakers of the Church’s traditions,” she says, her soft Texan accent making the words almost sing.

“I can’t say I’ve heard of your church before,” Jane replies, a slight frown on her face.

“Well, we do kinda prefer it that way,” Rae says with a tinkling laugh. “Centuries have passed with our Church flying under the radar. But the world’s changed now, and He’s finally woken up, so we thought it was a good time to make our presence known.”

“He?”

**********

“I swear to god, I spend more of my time peeing these days than anything else,” Kate hears Darcy grumble through the door of the, well, glorified outhouse.

“It could always be worse?” Kate replies, though even she doesn’t quite believe the words that are coming out of her mouth right then. The death glare that Darcy gives her when she comes back out is enough to tell her that she’s full of shit also. “I know, I know,” Kate says with a rueful shake of her head. “How much longer do you have to go?”

“About a month, I think.” Darcy liberally douses her hands in the anti-bacterial lotion placed just outside the bathroom door. “It’s weird, though. I can feel like my body’s getting ready to drop this little parasite out, finally.”

“That’s a charming way to talk about your future child.”

“It’s all meant with affection. Besides,” Darcy says with a shrug, “if I can’t keep some sense of lighthearted hope up these days, what’s the point of going forward?”

Kate cocks her head in agreement, because yeah, what’s the point of it all without hope? “All right, my turn. I’ll be back in a minute - stay put, please?”

Darcy snorts indelicately. “I’m not going anywhere fast these days.”

When Kate emerges not two minutes later Darcy’s disappeared, a pair of dusty footprints leading deeper into the desert.

“Dammit!”

Kate hustles down the footpaths, following the markings of Darcy’s steps in the dirt. She’s more used to tracking down people in the city, but it doesn’t take that much skill to see the footprints a heavily pregnant woman leaves behind. Luckily, she doesn’t have too far to go before she finds Darcy again, standing at the line where the tents and huts stop and the desert truly takes over, but Kate feels everything inside of her come to a grinding, crunching halt when she sees what’s captured Darcy’s attention. “What the hell is that?” Kate breathes out.

The statue looms over them - and statue seems like a very weak word to describe what she’s seeing. Kate had seen the Statue of Liberty as a kid, every school kid in New York City’s been dragged to visit at one time or another, and the statue in front of her now downright dwarfs that. It gleams gold in the moonlight, reflecting back the lamps from the tent village, and looks vaguely human, though it’s lacking details in just about everything but the face, which has a heavy, white veil draped around it.

‘Faces’, Kate corrects herself. The face at the front of the statue is entirely unveiled, mouth unsmiling and eyes downturned and dull. On one side of the head another face is half veiled, the frowning, stern mouth still visible in the air. The other side of the heady is fully veiled, the bumps of the nose and mouth covered completely by the white veil. There’s something else lurking there, just beyond the fabric, but Kate can’t pinpoint what it is. It’s enough to send her stomach squirreling away in fear. “What the fuck am I looking at?”

“I don’t know.” Darcy shakes her head. “I thought I heard someone yelling, but I don’t think it was that.”

“But what even is that???”

“It’s called the Tribunal,” a soft voice says from behind them, followed by footsteps coming closer and closer. “The Living Tribunal, technically, but he seems to be dozing right now. He only wakes up when it’s necessary these days.” Darcy and Kate turn, nearly as one, to see a boy in his late teens standing there, tall and lanky in dirty jeans, blond hair pushed away from his eyes by a bandanna.

“That thing’s alive?” Darcy jabs a thumb in the Tribunal’s direction.

The boy nods, turning bright blue eyes on them. “Yeah. Older and more alive than us humans. He’s been asleep for a long, long time, though. It was only after the world went to shit that he woke up to cast judgement upon us,” he finishes with a flourish of his arms.

‘Great, another crazy cultist,’ Kate thinks, resisting the urge to kneecap the teen with an arrow and haul Darcy all the way back to the car as soon as Darcy’s pregnant stomach will allow. “How does he judge you?” Kate asks instead. Any ammo to get themselves safely out of this situation, she’ll take.

“I don’t know what the criteria is. The Church isn’t exactly clear about it. But if the Tribunal doesn’t like you?” He runs a finger across his neck swiftly, head tilting to the side with his eyes crossing.

Darcy rolls her eyes at that one. “So basically, they’re the men behind the curtain using the statue as a creative method of execution.” Kate can clearly hear the skepticism in her voice, though the pale cast the boy’s face has, combined with the nervous twitching of his hands tells her something different.

“I’m not lying, I swear,” the boy says, shaking his head rapidly. “He’s older than the church; there’s no way they can control him. But we’re all safer when he’s asleep, unlike tomorrow night when they’re going to wake him up so that they can try and feed me to him! I was told once that the Living Tribunal sits in judgement of all of the universes out there, not just our planet, not just our galaxy, but every single one of the millions of universes out there. He casts his judgment to make sure that the universes are kept in perfect balance and right now?” The boy waves his arms around, practically flailing at the desert and making Kate and Darcy take a couple of quick steps back. “Thanks to Thanos and those damn Infinity Stones we are so far off balance the see-saw’s broken!”

Without warning, the boy winces, eyes falling shut as he crumples to the ground with an uncomfortable thud. Behind him stand two men, one of whom Kate recognizes as the bodyguard who had cornered their car before. “My apologies, ladies,” he says. “This piece of trash shouldn’t have escaped from his tent.” He finishes up with a kick to the boy’s leg, but the boy’s so insensate he just groans, face half in the dirt.

“It’s okay; he wasn’t bothering us at all.” Darcy’s still staring at the boy, hands twisting over and over in front of her.

“Regardless.” The bodyguard turns to his companion with a sharp jerk of his chin. “Take him back to the trailer. I’ll make sure the ladies get back to Mrs. Shelby.”

The message is clear, and Darcy and Kate are silent as they follow the bodyguard back towards the tents. They keep glancing back over their shoulders at the boy who’s being dragged away, until he’s out of sight.

#fic #Darcy Lewis #Jane Foster #Kate Bishop #darcy x steve #mcu #the incrediblesverse #avengers: infinity war spoilers #my fic #i can't remember how to tag anymore

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kingdomheartsloversstuff · 6 years

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How a World Between Worlds is an Insult to Kanan and Ahsoka

Since two whole people wanted to see this I feel validated to write what will surely become a monstrosity but one I feel I need to write to help me process all of my feelings about this episode and Rebels end in general since my ignoring is not helping at all and I realize will never help. Also putting this under a read more because this is basically a 1400 word rant.

To start with I have a lot of issues with the second half of season rebels but this is going to solely focus on Kanan’s death and how poorly A World Between Worlds was handled.

There are many issues with Kanan’s death, especially in terms of what Filoni told us, how no one predicted how Rebels will end. Well let me tell you Mr. Filoni, everyone was DEMANDING Kanan die so either you are very ignorant of what fans were saying or you blatantly lied to all of us. Neither option sounds particularly good to me honestly.

Furthermore (to me at least) Kanan’s death scene was painfully forced, why did Kanan have Hera take him to the fuel Depot? Why did Kanan make so many stops and moved so slowly while rescuing Hera? Why not hold their position and wait for Sabine and Ezra to reach them since it was a lot closer than the fuel depot. Also how on Earth did the Empire even figure out that’s where Kanan and Hera were even heading in the first place? The short answer, Filoni simply wanted Kanan dead and did whatever it took to kill him, regardless if it made any sense story wise.

Some people may argue Kanan needed to die for various reason whether it be because FPJ’s health got in the way or to explain why he never appeared in the OT. If Filoni really wanted Kanan to be alive and out of the picture he could have easily made it happen, even with FPJ’s health. Season 4 was Rebels finale season, any new media for it will be in comics or books so FPJ wouldn’t need to voice Kanan anymore and he did need to appear in a TV they could get a new VA. It happens all the time. Furthermore, one way they could have handled this would be to have them still go to the depot but have Ezra try and pull Kanan away from the fuel tank with the force after the shuttle was pushed away and just have him be badly injured and slip into a coma he doesn’t wake up from through the end of the war. This would keep Kanan out of the picture but with still hope of him eventually waking up and getting the happy end he honestly deserves.

Another option would be for Ezra later on in A world between world’s be tempted to yank Kanan out but instead from his side to force push Kanan out of danger and to safety. Or even to just pull him and to safety and have him stay with Ahsoka after he pushed the shuttle away with Ezra helping hold back the flames to protect him. There are probably dozens of other ways people have written saving Kanan even better but those are just a couple ideas I came up with off the top of my head.

At the end of the day though, that wasn’t the part that made me angriest about Kanan’s death, what really pissed me off was how Filoni wrote a World Between Worlds. Bringing back Ahsoka and then having HER turn around and say Ezra could not save his master is wrong on so many levels. First off, it has Ahsoka ignoring how Ezra saved her life in the same way she is demanding Ezra not. Coming from the woman who was shown regularly to not want to give up on people, who wants to try and do her best to save as many people as possible. How could a woman like that just tell Ezra to just give up and let Kanan die? Once again the answer seems to be Filoni wanted Kanan dead and Ahsoka alive because he felt Ahsoka was far more important and worthy of living and Kanan was not. Filoni in an interview said that somehow Kanan was projecting his feelings of guilt about Ahsoka and Kanan wanted to fix that by bringing her back to life…even though he couldn’t have possibly known about what the Jedi Temple held? How could he have known that? (I’ll give you three guess’s first two don’t count). Once again this doesn’t make sense. Yoda told them to go to Malachor, she knew the risks and accepted them when she went with and stayed behind to fight Vader. She stayed behind because she refused to give up and abandon her master again yet we are supposed to believe seconds after that she would up and abandon Kanan a friend and good person? Your favoritism is showing Filoni, everyone can see it even if you pretend it’s not a thing.

Outside of this being an absolute insult to Ahsoka ’s character, it’s also poor writing and an insult to the fans and their feelings. By bringing Ahsoka back and in the very same episode because she’s so important and deserving of it and then turning around and saying Kanan cannot live and has to die for reasons manufactured for plot in terrible and downright cruel writing. It comes across as Filoni only caring about Ahsoka and her happy ending and not caring at all about Kanan and even saying the universe demands Kanan die and Ahsoka live because Kanan does not deserve a happy ending unlike Ahsoka who does. I say this because however you look at it the force wanted Ezra to bring Ahsoka back, the force itself for some reason decide Ahsoka and only Ahsoka deserved to live because….reasons? Why the universe wants Ahsoka to live so badly outside of Filoni wanting it is beyond me but if anyone had any ideas I would love to hear them (and don’t say so she could find Ezra, Kanan could have done that as well so don’t even).

Though I want Kanan to live and be happy with every fiber of my being, if Kanan really had to die (say because FPJ REALLY wanted him to which I kind of doubt and if so am kind of mad at him if he did) there were ways of doing that without insulting Kanan and his fans so much and it would have been a painfully simple solution, have a World Between Worlds come before Kanan’s death. Now I know what you’re thinking, why? Didn’t Ezra need to learn about selfless sacrifice and letting go by having to watch Kanan die again so he would be willing to be taken away by the Purrgils? No.

For one thing, Ezra already learned that lesson during Legacy after discovering his parents died. Furthermore, Filoni could have made the same impact by tempting Ezra with saving Ahsoka but Kanan telling him not to (I know that’s mean but I am pissed and she’s Filoni’s favorite so unfortunately a lot of anger gets projected onto her I am so sorry Ahsoka ). Or you could still have Ezra save Ahsoka and tempt Ezra with saving his parents from dying in prison. Once again Ahsoka could keep him from saving them, claiming saving her was wrong and that he couldn’t do that again because it would quickly become a slippery slope or what made one person worthy of being saved from death over another. This would not only stay more true to Ahsoka ’s character, but it would make Ezra’s line about wishing he could see his parents again make more sense. And the scene with Palpatine would still happen and work because Ezra’s pain of Kanan’s death would still be fresh in his mind making the temptation just as strong again at the time he sees them in the Temple. Furthermore it would be less of an insult to Kanan because the temple would still be destroyed as in the episode making it not even an option when Kanan dies (something I still think in unnecessary but I want to show that there are even options to have Kanan die and it not be as uncaring and insulting).

I know I’m rambling and this post is getting super long but I have a lot of feelings just about this episode, not the mention the entirety of the second half of season 4. In the end, I firmly believe both Kanan and Ahsoka deserved so much better then what A World Between Worlds gave them. It blatantly refuses to let any Jedi besides Ahsoka have a happy ending and find peace, and it fundamentally insults who Ahsoka is.

I may piss off a lot of people who enjoyed that episode, but Filoni pissed me and a lot of other fans as well who deserve to have their opinions heard.

#SWR #Star Wars Rebels #Kanan Jarrus #Ezra Bridger #Ahsoka Tano

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bluezey · 6 years

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Bluesy ramblings about Spongebob SquarePants

@scribblinglee made a post about Spongebob as a cartoon currently, and it's basically what I hear about a lot. Usually people who talk about the show miss the older seasons and believe the current seasons are hollow or utter trash. Which makes me think, where do I fit in this? Because, I'm not sure myself. So, I thought I decide to talk about my experience with the show.

So, Spongebob began in 1999. And, here's where things get interesting from my perspective: I was a freshman in high school at the time. Maybe that's not weird cause the show can reach teenagers and adults, but I dunno, it still baffles me. And what did I think of the show when it came out? I thought it was a good show. I wasn't obsessed with it, it lived it, but I did see it's potential. I liked it enough to watch it and have a few favorite episodes. One was Pizza Delivery. I think one reason I liked it was how in the end of the episode Squidward stood up for SpongeBob. He does in other episodes, but how he did it in this one felt perfectly Squidward. Another all time favorite of mine was Band Geeks, but that's for a biased reason as I was a band geek in high school. So, seeing an episode about a marching band was awesome to me, and also amazing as I don't remember watching another cartoon that focused on marching bands. While in the end it didn't show off marching bands as accurately, compared to the movie Drumline, Band Geeks was as accurate as band geeks are gonna get. Also, I love the ending of the episode, and how Squidward came out on top.

You know, I'm noticing now that even back then I may have found a favorite character with Squidward. I have my reasons for liking him now, but back then I had no favoritism, I just liked him out of the others. My best guess was even back then his character seemed to be the straight man of the series. He was gruff and mean, but you could sympathize with him as you can tell he got that way from life beating him down when he chased his dreams, while others kept chasing their dreams in the show and not getting much of a beating from life. I think Squidward was and is representing how jaded adults got after trying to pursue their dreams, and every decade I'm seeing people become jaded sooner in life, even before they graduate high school.

But, back to the show. The episodes were funny, clever at times, and even brash with it's humor. I mean, looking back, they got away with a lot of crap in the early seasons. Like the Christmas episode has aired fir nearly two decades, and every year they get away with blatantly calling Squidward a jackass. Oh, and how Sailor Mouth got away with swearing, and the infamous cut scene from Just One Bite and how it managed to make it to air for a while before being cut from future airings. And the characters were loveable, funny and relateable, but if I had to make one critique they did hammer in one particular aspect of their personality. It didn't make them one dimensional, but enough that we only knew Spongebob as happy, Patrick as dumb, Krabs as money loving, Sandy as a cowgirl and Squidward as grumpy. The one who barely had a blatant personality trait to me was Plankton, and that's barely as his motivation for being the villain flipped between evil and jealousy. One episode he just wants the formula to destroy the Krusty Krab, and another episode it's world domination. But they weren't blatant flaws, just little speed bumps that kept a great show from being perfect.

Now I remember watching the Spongebob SquarePants movie in 2005 on DVD, and I thought it was fun and simple like the show. But, I'll admit, as we went into the era of seasons 5-8, I did see a slump in in the show. But, believe it or not, I couldn't grasp why. I just assumed it was going through the same slump all shows go through when they've been on the air for that long. Every show hits their slope, and usually it's a sign that the show would end if it didn't hit that upswing back to what it once was. But, looking back, I can see the problems some fans gripe about. Mr Krabs got a little too greedy for money that he came off as evil as Plankton at times. Patrick would be mean, and at first I thought it was because he was too dumb to know any better, but there are times when even I couldn't see that as an excuse. I mean bratty toddlers don't know right from wrong, but eventually someone would step in and talk some sense into the kid. Squidward kept getting brow beaten by life for seemingly no reason. I mean, I actually believe Squidward getting the shirt end of the stick would work if he did something to deserve it. Like in Scavenger Pants, the more dangerous the tasks he gave the two, the bigger his coneuppance. But in these seasons, most of the time he didn't do anything to get what life gave him, so the joke fell flat because it was a punchline with no setup. And, yeah, eventually it just look like cruel torture at his expense. But, despite these major flaws and the show losing it's spark, I could still see it's potential. It had it's okay episodes, some good episodes, and even some jokes that would get a big laugh. I could still see effort, and the crew trying to make the show work. So while many call seasons 5-8 it's dark times, I just see it as a rough patch. This was after the creator left, and the show was showing that they were running out of ideas.

So, eventually I stopped watching Spongebob around season eight. Now, you may think it's because I gave up on the show. But, funny enough, it was an outside source that pulled me away from the show, as well as Nickelodeon. That's when my college roommates introduced me to Cartoon Network, and their shows were better, funnier and more bizarre than what Nick was making at the time. So I quit watching Spongebob and whatever Nicktoons the network was trying or failing with, and was watching shows like Kids Next Door, Camp Lazlo, Foster's, and Ed, Edd and Eddy. Oh, Chowder and Flapjack too. And, they still had reruns of Courage and the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, and I was surprised with how much Cartoon Network got away with such scares.

So, for years I was watching Cartoon Network. I went through it's dark times of CN Real, and it's next generation of classic cartoons such as Adventure Time, Regular Show and Steven Universe. While I switched over to Nick for Avatar and Monsters vs Aliens (I liked the DreamWorks movie and Dr Cockroach okay? Also Staabi was a great character too), I hardly ever saw Spongebob, and when I did catch it it was an episode I saw before.

I did come back to the show, and how is kinda as strange as how I left it. It was also kinda an outside force. It was when I saw the cast of the Spongebob musical perform Bikini Bottom Day at the Macy's Parade. After that, it was a full month of following clips and pictures from the musical, until I came to a point where I needed more, but the bootleg wasn't out yet. (By the way, I keep losing my link to the bootleg!! Can someone link me a good copy of the Broadway show so I can FINALLY see this thing??) So, I went back to the show by watching a livestream on YouTube, full of never seen episodes from seasons nine and ten. And guys, it's like seeing the light of heaven. This is Spongebob! This is the show! They got back on track and are making new episodes for a new generation!

Okay, now that we got my initial reaction out of the way, let's talk about seasons 9-11. First, drastic change in animation. But, you have to expect that for being on for twenty years. There's a wider aspect ratio, and the animation is now digital. But, it's not that distracting, it's just the show, only brighter and bouncier. Now, the controversial thought, I like the bouncy animation. It reminds me of bouncy animation from the 50s, 60, hell, even 90s, and Spongebob is a 90s show. Is it reminding me of Ren and Stimpy? Only because Ren and Stimpy does bouncy, expressive and over detailed still. If anything, the bright and bouncy reminds me more of Superjail. Nice to know where those animators went. (Oh, can we have the Warden guest star?) The characters are back to how they started, mostly. Patrick can be mean, but usually he's just dumb. Krabs isn't mean for money, but damn is he still hungry for it. Squidward gets some torture, but now there's setup and reason. Also, he's not tortured in every episode he's in. Mustard O'Mine had him following along, hell he was happy at times. Mermaid Pants may had him grumpy, but man was his shift at the end perfect! Pate Horse, horse puns. Squid Noir. Squid Noir. Other changes, I can see they're being inventive. Some shows are mixing up character dynamics. At least two episodes have Squidward and Plankton. One episode had Sandy and Karen. An upcoming episode has Squidward and Pearl. Hell, Mall Girl Pearl was all Pearl. They're doing small things that surprisingly make a big difference. For example, Spongebob isn't always happy. Yeah, he can not be happy, like sad, but it was so rare yes almost one dimensional. In Drive Happy, however, we see him get sad, tired and even pissed. In Old Man Patrick, he starts acting like an adult when babysitting the old folks at Bun E Buns. And back to Squidward, but did you know he's germophobic, claustrophobic, allergic to nuts and snails (but he can handle one or two snails in a room) and apparently has an inking problem. Okay, I could go on and on about this part, now controversial thanks to Ink Lemonade, but did you know Stephen Hillenberg himself wanted ink jokes to begin with? The biggest character change I believe is Plankton. Ever since Sponge Out of Water (and yes, I saw that too, a lot, Nick plays it every other week) Plankton has become somewhat of a friend, at least with Spongebob. Sure he's the villain, but Spongebob sees him as a friend who happens to be a competitor, and I think the others do too since the second film. I mean, Grandmum's the Word would never had worked before the second film.

So, we've gone from classic from the 90s, to so downhill that I switched to Cartoon Network, to back to it's original stride. But, is it the same show or us it a hollow shell? Guys, it's neither. Spongebob has gone through a lot of development over the years. It's had it's golden times, it's been out of ideas, it's had it's instant classic and it's blunders. The characters are still the same, but if they appear different it's because they've been through a lot. We all act different after twenty years of life's crap. And yes, to reiterate, this show has been on for twenty years!! It has it's own big task of changing for a new generation while entertaining the old one. It needs to bring in new viewers while keeping the old ones. It needs to be fresh and relevant while remaining classic and timeless. It will follow the trend of theonth, but it will try not to steer too far from it's core of being a 90s cartoon. Will it lose viewers? Yeah. It even lost me for a time. Will it deserve it? No. Even it's bad episodes have a silver lining. Did you know I watched a list of dark kids episodes where the reviewers said good things about Are You Happy Now? (Please send all flames to where they will most likely ignore you https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=hXwhVUWwHlM) Through it's ups and downs, Spongebob's going to be on for years. But, just years. Sadly, the creator has ALS, and if the show doesn't retire after the creator does, every show has to end sometime. But through it's ups and downs, and even the praise and criticisms, we can all agree that fans young and old will enjoy the ride.

#spongebob squarepants #bluesy ramblings

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newhologram · 7 years

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@rockdownu replied to your post “@rockdownu replied to your photo “ohnips: Thank you, Dream Daddy....”

You are clearly a centrist and your ideals lean straight down the middle and if you wanna be that way cool. But not all of us want to start a dialogue with people who directly do harmful shit or contribute to it. I don't like gender bends. I don't like the idea of gender being about ciscentric notions and I definitely can't defend that artist who blatantly says the N word.

@rockdownu replied to your post “@rockdownu replied to your photo “ohnips: Thank you, Dream Daddy....”

That person in particular is pretty hardlined in their own mind as in the right. Maybe they are ignorant or don't care, but people aren't pretending to be outraged. I think drawing a trans male character as a (presumably) trans female character is in bad taste to say the least. I'm not the person to make the call on who deserves death threats but you know What? You reap what you sow. Some people do shit knowingly. Not everyone is innocent or faultless

I feel like we’re talking about different things now, I think somewhere I miscommunicated my point, so I’ll try to clarify. (And I feel the need to say I’m also uncomfortable with someone else assigning a political label and deciding what my views are because I don’t like death threats. I’m not mad, but I just wanted you to know. I’m just not comfortable with death threats.) Generally as in, community-wide behavior, I feel that death threats should not be something we are okay with. I don’t feel that someone being an asshole makes it okay. I might feel similarly like, “yikes, well the way they were acting, I’m not surprised it happened” but I simply cannot endorse it or be okay with it. I do look to the people making the threats like, “dude, really? THAT far? this person should not be allowed to live because we don’t like them?”

And we are allowed to dislike things and appropriately distance ourselves from things—but that’s not what I was talking about.

All I am trying to communicate is that based on what I’ve observed in my many years in fandom and online is that it’s dangerous to dismiss behavior like death threats based on us not liking that person because then we have even more enabling of bad behavior. I’m deeply uncomfortable with how circles of people on this site think that “I don’t like person/thing = death threats are okay.” That’s all I’m saying. The fact that we jump so fast to death threats and suicide baiting is pretty scary.

Even if someone is being a gross asshole totally on purpose, death threats are not an effective or appropriate means of solving any kind of issue anyway, so I can’t understand what purpose they serve other than for someone to feel powerful by making someone fearful, which is as you can imagine is also pretty scary to me.

We don’t have to engage with them, no one does. It’s not an obligation. I would not personally want to unless I felt I could actually make a difference, and I don’t really have the time or energy—in this case in our conversation right now, I feel it’s worth it to make myself as clear as possible because I seem to have miscommunicated and angered you on accident. But to act as if death threats are a-okay as a substitute and something we should just shrug at is concerning to me. Again and again, we have people trying to control a stranger’s behavior or content by making them fear for their life. Whether they draw things we personally hate or if they ship our NOTP.

That creeps me out, especially as someone who has been in situations where my safety was being threatened by someone else who was angry with me because I did not act the way they wanted me to. I was physically attacked and kicked out onto the street as a young teen, as a means of punishing and controlling my behavior. The people around me asked me what I did to provoke it. The person who did it thought I was a bitch because she felt I didn’t love her the way she wanted me to. She said she hated who I was. That was her opinion of me. That is why she did what she did to me. The reality is my “bitchiness” was me being mentally disabled and already having PTSD before this attack gave me another slot for badbrain but yeah even if I was a shitty kid, it’s not something that should have been excused, and it was. By my whole family.

So I worry when we say “no, this is okay because that person is a dick.” My homophobic aunt is a dick, but... I would not want anyone threatening her life just because she’s shitty and has shitty ignorant opinions. That doesn’t solve anything at all. I don’t understand what the purpose would be. It would probably make her feel victimized and make her behavior worse. And she thinks I’m an asshole too, and if she made threats against me like she has my other family members I really hope people would not be okay with it because she said, “but New is an asshole.”

It’s way too easy for anyone to use that to justify things, and then it just goes out of control especially because no one on this site fact-checks and we play telephone with posts. It’s too dangerous for me to be comfortable with.

tldr; Basically I’m just incredibly uncomfortable with the fact that making someone fear for their life as a control tactic is an accepted and celebrated behavior in many online fandom communities and I worry about the slippery slope we create when we excuse it.

Hope I was able to make sense.

#rockdownu #reply #long post

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ressarioth · 7 years

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Hearts and Flowers

Amidst a field of flowers filled with memories, two strangers meet as if by chance. One of them doesn't want to forget, the other is trying to remember. In the end they find that what connects them is more solid than fate: a past that transcends a lifetime.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, Other

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Relationship: Aerith Gainsborough & Cloud Strife

Characters: Cloud Strife, Original Character

Additional Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Closure, Reincarnation, Canon Universe, Canon Compliant,Post-Canon, Post Advent Children, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Character(s)

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 9258

Notes: I felt like the lifestream lore screams reincarnation, so here you go. I'm aware that's not a thing established in canon, but the divergence seemed too small to tag. This is heavy with the memory of Aerith (sorry for dragging up those feelings?), but she doesn't make an active appearance. Cloud's relationship with her prior to her death is relevant though and you're free to interpret it however like. I didn't spell it out so far, but by now you might be guessing what this is about. Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you read.

AO3

The old church in Sector 5 is as quiet as ever but it has started to feel less peaceful. It has been a decade since Cloud encountered Aerith here and the building has become increasingly unstable since then. One stone wall crumbled during the catastrophe that nearly wiped out Midgar and would have destroyed the entire planet. Two years later a large part of the floor was torn up along with most remaining benches and since then the roof has become even more desolate. Pieces of wooden beams and roof tiles have fallen down from it and lie scattered across the place.

Once filled with water which sprouted from a crater where Kadaj's magic hit, the depression spanning across two thirds of the interior is now covered in flowers. They're even growing on top of debris, though some of them get crushed every time another piece comes tumbling down from above. The signs of destruction are never covered up completely, leaving Cloud with a sense of disturbance. It's an unpleasant reminder that nothing lasts forever while simultaneously serving as proof that from something old and broken new things can grow. A circle of life and death, ever repeating in front of his eyes as he stops by to reminisce his late friends.

The memories are no longer haunting as he stands in the doorway every other week, dedicating a few moments of silence to those he lost before returning home to his family. Tifa joined him once, when he stuck the Buster Sword into the top of the stone altar, but hasn't been back here since. To her this place doesn't have the same meaning as to him and she has her own ways of remembering Aerith.

A couple of times he let Marlene accompany him, because she wanted to see the flowers again. Once the roof started to dissemble and parts of it came raining down more frequently however, he decided it was too dangerous for her. As compensation he promised to pick her a small bouquet every time he went. (He still does even though Marlene is sixteen now and has grown out of the need for the ritual. But she always smells the blossoms with a smile when she receives them.)

To Cloud visiting the church is a routine he doesn't want to give up on. He hasn't heard Aerith's voice in years, so this is all he has left. It's where he allows himself to dwell on the memories of her and Zack without them taking over his life. They come up as soon as the ruined building comes into sight and he pays little attention to his surroundings as he walks up to the entrance. Once he's two steps through the doorway however, he realises he's not the only one who has come here tonight.

Cloud stops in his tracks, his eyes on the figure kneeling at the edge of the concave flower bed ahead. It appears to be a young girl in a light blue dress, humming over rustling noises which he suspects are her fingers brushing through the leaves. Since she has her back to him, he can only see her dark curls part at her nape and fall left and right over her tanned shoulders. Preoccupied with the flowers in front of her, she doesn't seem to have noticed his arrival.

Uncertain about how to respond to the situation, Cloud lingers near the entrance. At first he's surprised to find anyone else here, let alone a girl all by herself. Then he feels like he's intruding upon a personal moment, though it might be because that's what he comes here for. The only thing that keeps him from walking back out is worry about the girl. While for now she remains in the relatively safe area near the door, nothing is here to stop her from going further in. He may not know her, but he isn't going to push aside the responsibility of keeping her from walking into harm's way.

As if on cue, the humming stops and Cloud's alertness rises. The girl gets onto her feet and steps into the flower bed, carefully as if to make sure she doesn't trample the blossoms. Panic surges up inside him. Interrupting or scaring her is no longer his concern as he calls out.

"Stop!"

The words echo between stone walls and the girl freezes just three steps down the slope which was once filled to the brim with water. When she whirls around, the flowers rustle around her legs and a few petals fall off. Her brown eyes are wide in surprise as she takes in the company she wasn't aware of having. Though initially startled, she's recovering rather quickly.

"The roof has been coming down," Cloud hastens to explain. "It's dangerous to go any further."

Her gaze wanders upwards as she leans back her head and takes in the wooden beams and roof riddled with holes above her. Cloud isn't sure she grasps the actual danger of it collapsing onto her, but at least she isn't walking any further into the nave. She looks back to him and blinks at him in curiosity.

"Who are you?" the girl inquires.

Cloud doesn't think it will mean much to her, still he answers: "I'm Cloud."

"Cloud," she echoes. "That's a nice name."

The thought never occurred to him. It's his name, a part of his identity. He came to treasure it after thinking that he was an empty puppet, a failed experiment begging to be numbered just to have something to keep him from being no one at all. But he'd never attribute anything to it beyond what it means to him to have a name. So he doesn't know how to respond to the girl's remark. It might be polite to give his thanks, but he feels far too weird about it to actually do so.

"My name's Aurora," the girl introduces herself. Then she quickly adds: "It's a bit of a mouth full, I know."

"Is it?" Cloud questions, because he doesn't get that impression.

"A friend of mine says that it's too long," Aurora explains and tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear. "He calls me Aura for short, though I keep telling him that's not how nicknames work."

It's hard to tell if she's upset about the fact, but she's complaining, so it seems to have some relevance. Cloud doesn't feel like he's good at giving advice, especially to children. Tifa was always way better at handling the kids than him, so he didn't get much practice in the matter over the past decade either. But Tifa is not around right now, so he feels like he should at least give it a shot.

"If you don't like him calling you that you should tell him to stop until he does," he suggests.

Talking things over is something he's been practicing himself. It didn't come naturally, but as he tried he found that it helped him and Tifa a lot to come together. He worked at it with Marlene and Denzel as well, though when they were still younger he wasn't always sure how much he could say or how he should explain things.

"I didn't say I don't like it," Aurora clarifies, "it just makes little sense."

That seems like a strange thing to get hung up on — to Cloud at least. But he reminds himself that things that may seem negligible to him can be of importance to others. Kids in particular seem to have peculiar priorities sometimes, going by what he has learned from Marlene in her younger years. So he tries to level with Aurora as best he can.

"Nicknames don't always make sense," he tells her. "I've been called 'Spiky' more often than I can count."

Aurora gives him a thorough look before pointing out: "You have spiky hair though."

"Okay, bad example," Cloud admits, since he can't argue with her there.

His thoughts drift off, wondering if he can come up with a better example to make his point, but never reaching a conclusion. In the end he isn't really sure if Aurora needs him to pursue the topic further.

A look at her shows him that she seems unconcerned with the matter already. She has turned her back on him once again and lets her gaze wander over the flowers who are filling out most of the building. It's almost like she already forgot about him being there, because the growing vegetation in the ruin is more interesting than him. (If it were so, he couldn't blame her for taking more interest in a flower bed than in a stranger.) But it's not long before she twirls around, her dress swaying over her knees with movement, and gives him another curious look.

"So." Aurora tilts her head to the side a little. "Why did you come?"

There's a strange familiarity about those words which leaves Cloud taken aback, but he can't put his finger on what it is. It can't be the question by itself, because it is far too common in its wording to stick out. Yet something about the way Aurora paused after the "so", something about the intonation she used gives him a strange sense of déjà vu. He blinks twice and misses the moment to give a response.

Aurora is still eying him with interest, but instead of awaiting his answer or reminding him that he still owes her one, she adds another question. "Did you hear the call, too?"

"What call?"

Cloud hasn't heard anything and yet he doesn't perceive her question as strange. His thoughts immediately turn to the few times Aerith spoke to him eight years ago. Did Aerith reach out to Aurora from the lifestream? He doesn't know how it works or why she would speak to an unfamiliar girl rather than him, but it would at least mean that she's still there even though he hasn't heard from her in so long. Reason tells him it's unlikely and yet a part of his heart immediately clings to the possibility while another corner of it stings because Aerith may have spoken to someone else while staying silent on him.

"I don't know." Aurora shrugs. "I was just going for a walk when I felt like something was telling me to come here."

"Oh," Cloud says, the explanation leaving him a little disappointed. His thoughts wander off for a moment before he remembers to answer her question. "No, I didn't hear anything."

My friend though, I've heard her voice a few times after she returned to the lifestream. Cloud doesn't add that. He cannot think of a reason why he should tell Aurora about Aerith. In this place with someone who didn't know her it feels like summoning a ghost he thought he had put to rest. Besides, he's not one to share personal stories with strangers, kids or not.

Aurora casts a look at the flowers surrounding her, a few of them now trampled beneath her feet from her sudden turns. She appears to be around seven years old and curious about the world the way Marlene used to be at that age. Cloud figures it's a part of childish nature to be like that until it gets crushed by reality. That's a bleak notion however and he wants to chase it from his mind. (Marlene is growing into a cheerful young woman, Tifa has regained a lot more of her optimism than she had five years after the destruction of Nibelheim, Aerith was always full of kindness… It might just be him who lingers on some of the dark thoughts of the past.)

"Did you come here for the flowers then?" Aurora wants to know.

It's a close enough assumption. "Yeah."

She turns her back on him and crouches down where she's standing, her attention captured by the white and yellow blossoms once more. They're growing further apart than they used to back in the day when they only occupied the patch between the broken up tiles in front of the altar. The light of the setting sun is falling through the open wall, dying the scenery in a yellow glow.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Aurora comments on the flowers.

Since she's keeping up the conversation, Cloud figures she's not bothered by his presence. Slowly he walks over to the edge of the flower bed, while ensuring to keep what seems like an appropriate distance. He wouldn't want Aurora to feel crowded by him standing directly behind him, but it's also for his own comfort. Even though it's something that got better over time, he still can't help feeling a little self-conscious around new people. (Like his motion sickness it was suppressed while he believed himself to be an ex-SOLDIER but resurfaced once he sorted out his own delusions.)

Now that he's looking at her from another angle, he notices her hands moving between the stems, picking out drying leaves and scattering them on the ground. He's gripped by a vague sense of déjà vu again. Aerith did the same thing during their first meeting, though he never asked her what that was about. Back then he didn't care, now he thinks he should have.

"Yeah," Cloud agrees, his thoughts staying with Aerith as he watches Aurora tending to the flowers. (How often has he stared at the blossoms in his lifetime now?) "A friend of mine planted them here — or maybe they grew here by themselves and she was just looking after them. I…forgot."

It's one of those times when he wonders if memories can become as elusive for anyone or if it's just him that sometimes still struggles to put the pieces together. At first he thinks that he should know, that Aerith told him at some point — she must have! Then he starts questioning whether she ever did. He may have just assumed that she planted them because she was tending to them. She talked about this being the only place in Midgar where the flowers would grow, but beyond that he cannot remember.

Whenever something like this happens he's filled with a weird sense of uncertainty. It's a small reminder of the time when all he thought he was came crumbling down while he was trying so hard to hold himself together by the seems. Back then he lost himself and if it hadn't been for Tifa helping him through he may have never recovered. (He suspects that a part of him never did and it flares up in panic every time something escapes his memory, ready to doubt everything again.)

"Where's your friend now?"

Aurora's voice calls Cloud back from his thoughts and he wonders why she would ask about Aerith's whereabouts. "What?"

"You said your friend was looking after the flowers, but she isn't here now." She has turned in his direction as she's tending to the flowers, but pauses to look up at him with probing eyes. "So where is she?"

"Oh." He stares down, avoiding her gaze, then up as if to find the right words to formulate his answer floating between the rotting beams. "She...returned to the lifestream."

"Returned...to the lifestream? You mean she died?"

Cloud takes a breath and looks at Aurora again. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," she offers quietly and lowers her head.

Silence spreads as Cloud's gaze wanders. At first he thinks that he doesn't know how to respond to her sympathy, then it slips his mind that he should answer at all. His eyes land on the pool towards the front of the nave where the water once healed him from the geostigma. He heard Aerith's voice as he was ready to chase after Kadaj again and he got the feeling she was watching over him then.

After a moment or two, Aurora inquires: "Do you miss your friend?"

"I guess I do." Cloud crouches down by the flower bed and reaches out a finger to brush over a yellow petal. "It's been ten years. I come here to check on these flowers even though they grow by themselves, because they remind me of her and…I don't want to forget."

Aurora straightens up, barely any taller while standing than he is in his crouched position. Crossing her arms behind her back, she leans forward a bit as if to get a closer look at his face. It reminds him of the way Aerith sometimes used to look at him, but the association must come easy in a place that is filled with memories of her. It seems like a lot about Aurora is reminding him of Aerith and that can only be him projecting.

"Are you sad that she's gone?" Aurora wants to know.

Cloud takes a moment to consider whether he has actually stopped being sad or whether life is just distracting enough for him to not feel it most of the time. When Aerith died in front of his eyes it felt like a wound had been ripped open that could never heal. Yet time has more healing abilities than he would've given it credit for — once he was ready to give it a chance.

"Not anymore, not really," he tells Aurora.

"Really?" She turns away and looks to the front of the nave where Zack's sword is presiding over the water. "I don't think I could ever stop being sad if I lost someone."

The answer that comes to mind probably won't comfort her, but he says it anyway. "It's part of life. None of us can walk this planet forever."

"Then what comes after?" Aurora is still staring at the sword, though he isn't sure if she's actually taking it in or if her eyes went out of focus. "The lifestream?"

"So it would seem," Cloud confirms, putting a hand to the floor to balance himself.

She turns her head slightly in his direction, but her eyes stay trained ahead. "How does that work?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "Someone once told me that all living things come from the lifestream and also return to it again, but I don't know the details."

"Can people come back?"

The words resound in Cloud's head and he's trying to think of a definite answer, but realises he can't come up with anything. When Bugenhagen explained the lifestream to him and how its energy forms new life and merges with its main current again in a never ending cycle it didn't occur to him that it could include people's lives. So what if they can come back, if they're born and die over and over — is it a blessing or a curse?

It's hard to imagine. He feels like he's lived two lives, but one was comprised of altered memories and a false persona he had created. It was only in his head and it didn't last long before it shattered and he had to pick up the pieces, trying to figure out who he really was. An eternal circle of life and death, like the flowers in this church — it seems possible, almost comforting. Looking at Aurora who can't take her eyes off the Buster Sword he'd liked to think so — maybe.

A new life for Aerith, a happier life even — something like Aurora seems to have. Something where she doesn't have to face hardships as a child. Something where her biggest concern is what to wear or that the nickname her friend uses for her doesn't make sense. No Shinra company to hunt her, no sorrow over her dead mother, nothing that forces her to grow up too soon. Harsh life can wait a little longer before it comes for her, until she's older and stronger. He likes the idea of that though the skeptical voice in his head is telling him that he's getting carried away with unrealistic daydreaming.

"I don't know," Cloud answers Aurora's question. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." She shrugs and he doesn't know her well enough to judge if her carefree tone is genuine this time. Then there's a shift in her as she turns and looks at him while pointing ahead. "What's the matter with that sword?"

He knows before following the direction of her finger with his eyes that she's indicating the Buster Sword sticking out of the altar. The water used to almost completely engulf the stone table and he had to wade all the way over to place the sword there. Now that the water has long since retreated, moss is growing over the stone where it used to reach.

Feeling his legs getting tense in his current position, Cloud stands back up before he answers: "It belonged to a friend of mine."

"The same friend that tended to the flowers?"

A smile crosses Cloud's face as he tries to imagine Aerith wielding the heavy broadsword. It sure would've been something to watch her beat up monsters with that instead of her staff. But then his thoughts return to Zack who carried the sword with great pride and his amusement dissolves.

"No, another friend." Cloud pauses for a moment, debating whether he should say it. But somehow it seems relevant enough not to keep it from Aurora. "He…died protecting me."

"Protecting you…," Aurora echoes and for a moment her face goes blank as she stares at the sword. But then she snaps out of her thoughts and turns to him with renewed enthusiasm. "Hey, I want to have a closer look at it, can we go?"

"I told you it's dangerous to go beyond this point," Cloud objects. He doesn't know what her sudden fascination with the sword is, but he's not her guardian or anything, so it doesn't feel comfortable letting her take the risk.

"But you're with me," she argues and comes running up to him. "You can protect me, right?" She grabs his hand and pulls at it as she adds: "Let's go together."

Cloud looks down at her in silence, unsure what he should do. Saying no would make him feel bad at this point. But protecting someone from falling debris is harder than guarding someone from monsters. Yet her expectant brown eyes are melting his resolve. He looks up at the broken ceiling as if to gauge what the chances of raining wood are. At the moment it upholds the illusion of stability, almost as if nothing would come down from it ever again. He sighs, because he knows he lost this argument.

"Fine," he relents. "But stay close to me."

Her face lightens up with a smile and she nods. "Okay!"

Cloud keeps his pace slow so Aurora can follow along with ease and guides her around any remains of wooden beams and roof tiles to minimise the chances of her stumbling over them. The whole time she holds on to his hand as if he wasn't a complete stranger to her still. It's like a sign of her trust and she makes it seem natural.

Once they arrive in front of the altar Aurora releases her grip and reaches up to the sword. Her hand barely touches the wide side of the blade sticking out of the stone even as she stands on her tiptoes. Cloud takes a gamble and lifts her up onto the altar, making sure to place her at the right side of the sword where the blade is blunt.

Her expression seems to be a mixture of awed and thoughtful as she takes in the weapon from up close. She touches the metal, singed by rust and with moss crawling up here and there. (Cloud gave up on cleaning it once the roof started coming down. It functions more like a gravestone now and not like a weapon that needs to be kept in shape.) It's hard to guess what she's thinking or why she seems so drawn to the sword.

"Sometimes I have these strange dreams," Aurora begins without prompt, her attention for the weapon still undistracted. "They go away the moment I wake up and I can only remember random images. But there's a sword like this one and I think it's protecting me."

Cloud listens, not sure where this is going. It's hard to imagine that Aurora would be dreaming of this exact sword though, so he figures it may have been some kind of broadsword and she just hasn't seen many of the likes for it to make a difference to her. It catches his interest regardless.

"Hey Cloud." Aurora interrupts her inspection of the Buster Sword and gives him a curious look. The familiarity with which she addresses him makes him feel like they've known each other for longer than this brief encounter. The impression gets brushed aside however as she voices her question: "Would your friend have protected me the way he protected you?"

Though he can't see what she's getting at with this, he answers: "Yeah probably."

His memories of Zack are still muddy. He spent a couple of months not even remembering that Zack existed and instead taking on Zack's place in several of his memories. Though he sorted out the events revolving around the mission to Nibelheim, a lot of his past is still fuzzy. The time he was held captive in the Shinra mansion remains a blank slate which he was never able to fill while his escape with Zack is a collection of random moments. The time he was part of the infantry is somewhere in between. He isn't even sure when and how he met Zack for the first time.

If what Zack did for Cloud is anything to go by though, then he wouldn't ignore anyone who needed help. So Cloud adds: "Zack was the type to do that."

"Zack…" Aurora mumbles as she turns back to the sword, yet her eyes are lowered to the ground in thought. "Zack…" She pauses for a moment before shaking her head with definiteness. "No, it wasn't Zack. He was like Zack, but different."

Surprise, shock, wonder. A sense of reality rippling around him and threatening to slip away like in a dream. Aurora can't possibly know Zack, she is far too young to have ever met him. Still, in this moment Cloud feels like she knows exactly who Zack was. Reason tells him that it can't be. He's imagining things, interpreting meaning into her words that she didn't put there, tying them up with his own memories. It must be some kind of coincidence, that the person she's thinking of happens to have the same name or that she's mixing up the names entirely.

"Aurora," Cloud starts, the thought too pressing to dismiss despite its improbability. "Do you remember Zack?"

"Mhh." Aurora puts her loose fist to her chin in thought. (It's just a gesture, Cloud reminds himself to fight off the familiarity, Aerith wasn't the only person in the world to use it.) "Dark hair, goofy grin, thought he could do anything." She chuckles at the thought before she digresses. "Emil reminds me a bit of him sometimes. But he's not who I'm looking for."

The description matches, yet it's also too vague to say for sure. What catches Cloud's attention though is her mentioning the fact that she's looking for someone. It seems to be the reason why she took interest in Zack and the Buster Sword. At least that is the impression he's getting. He still isn't entirely sure how it's all supposed to tie together — or if it ties together at all.

"Who are you looking for?" Cloud inquires.

"I can't remember what he looked like." Aurora gazes into the air for a moment and sways her upper body in thought, her dress swinging along with the movement. "At first he reminded me of Zack somehow, but there was something else about him." She looks back at the weapon, though her eyes seem to stare through it as her face turns somber. "I think he was lost, but he still tried to move forward."

A strange feeling fills Cloud's stomach. Aurora's descriptions still aren't anything concrete, but it's starting to fit together too well to be a coincidence. As impossible as it may seem, these could be Aerith's words describing him. She once said he reminded her of Zack and though she never made a comment about him seeming lost, maybe that was actually the feeling she got from him. In a way he had lost himself when he met her and maybe she sensed it.

"I wanted to help him but…" Aurora's voice drifts off and he can see her face fall, her eyes still staring ahead. "He came for me — but I couldn't stay. I couldn't help him."

With every word she sounds more upset, but that's not the only reason Cloud's stomach is starting to twist. It's like the past is catching up to him in a way he never expected. You came for me — that's all that mattered. Aerith's words echo in his head as if he'd heard them only yesterday. They were part of what led him to forgive himself for not being able to prevent her death. Learning that she never blamed him was taking one step away from blaming himself.

With his lingering attachment to Aerith it was hard to move on, but eventually he was able to do it — in part through her intervention. He never considered the other side of it. He never thought that Aerith would be the one left with unresolved feelings. Yet Aurora sounds like the ghost of her and he feels less and less like he can shake it off as his imagination going wild. He would never claim to have seen it all, but after everything that he has come across he doesn't believe in coincidences as big as this one would have to be.

These thoughts take a backseat however when Aurora turns to him and he notices the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Why couldn't I help him?"

Cloud's heart stings in his chest as he sees her like that. Whatever her dreams mean — whether she's somehow connected to Aerith's consciousness in her sleep or something else is at play here — he doesn't want her to have to be upset. Without thinking about it, he reaches out and rests his hand against the side of her head.

"Hey, it's okay," he tries to sooth her.

"It's not okay!" Aurora objects and stomps her foot, the outburst causing him to retrieve his hand as suddenly as she moved.

She's right, it isn't. For her it clearly isn't okay. Cloud cannot change that by simply saying that it is. In his experience with Marlene and Denzel as kids they always responded best when he acknowledged their feelings, regardless of whether he could understand the extent of them or not. It seems like the best approach for Aurora here as well.

"You're sad, I get that," Cloud makes another attempt to comfort Aurora. "But maybe you don't have to be. Maybe there's another way to look at it and you'll see that things aren't as bad as you think."

He wants to bite his tongue. Without thinking he addressed her as if Aerith was the one in front of him, upset that she couldn't help him while he just wanted her to see how much she did for him. But she can't be — this girl, Aurora, isn't Aerith and he's doing her wrong by not seeing her as who she is. Troubled and ashamed, he lowers his gaze, his eyes landing where the Buster Sword pierces the stone altar.

Can people come back? Aurora's words pop into his mind and Cloud scolds himself for clinging onto them. But what if people could come back, what if they did? A circle of life and death, starting over again, a soul transformed into someone new. It would explain why Aurora dreams of a life that isn't her own. It would explain why she took such interest in the Buster Sword, why she remembers Zack, why Cloud can't shake the feeling that the one she's looking for is him. It would even explain why she found her way here in the first place, as if a good-willed soul from the lifestream had guided her here so that she could meet him.

It sounds incredible, even to Cloud as he's going over everything in his head. Yet inside him a conviction grows that it's the truth — as much as a fear that in his realisation of this he may cause harm. It's like everything he knows about life and death and the lifestream is coming together and making sense. But even if he's right, even if he's in the middle of discovering something not even a wise man like Bugenhagen seems to know, he can't get carried away with it. As much as Aurora reminds him of Aerith, as much as she seems to have at least some of Aerith's memories, he mustn't forget that she's her own person.

Who knows, maybe she isn't even supposed to remember. It could be Aerith's strong attachment to him that is keeping her trapped in this state. If so, then Aurora might have been guided here so he could help her move on. The thought conjures mixed feelings in him. It's almost like now that he has accepted he cannot be with Aerith, the image of her is presented before him, almost close enough to touch but obscured and already drifting away from him again. Yet a part of him is thankful for the chance to get to be the one helping her for once.

"Are you going to tell me it was just a dream, too?"

Aurora's voice has Cloud look up to meet her gaze. It's challenging just like her tone, despite her being hoarse from crying. He was so caught up in his own head he didn't even notice her sobs subsiding, but she seems to have stopped crying and calmed herself a little. The tears are gone from her face — rubbed dry, he would guess — and her lips are pursed.

"My mum says that's all it was," she continues, "but I know it was more. It was real!"

It would be easy to deny it, to deny that he has any idea of what she might be talking about or any theory as to what is going on. But that's not the answer Aurora is looking for. Whether he's right or not, he feels like he owes it to her for even suspecting that she could've been reborn from Aerith's consciousness: a chance to figure out for herself what this is about.

"I know," Cloud assures her, almost forgetting about caution. "I know it was real."

I know why you're here. I know what your dreams are about. I have lived it after all. He stops himself short from saying it. It wouldn't feel right, as if he was pushing Aurora into a role that may not even fit her. He wants to help her but not by burdening her with his own expectations. That would be selfish. If he's going to do this then it has to be about Aurora and not his own attachment to the person he suspects she used to be.

So instead he asks: "What else do you remember?"

Cloud isn't really sure how this will go. Maybe he'll be able to confirm what his gut is telling him. But he also cannot ignore the possibility that Aurora has access to Aerith's memories for some other reason. All he can say for now is that Aurora seems to be haunted by them. So he hopes that by guiding her along to figure out why she has this connection to Aerith's past he can find a way to release her from it.

While considering his question, Aurora lets her eyes wander around the inside of the building. Then a smile touches her lips and she exclaims: "The flowers."

Looking over his shoulder, Cloud finds her gaze has stopped on a spot in the flower bed near the pool of water.

"This is the only place they would grow and I loved it here. I looked after them, I sold them." With every word she cheers up a little more and his heart grows heavier. Her identification with Aerith is becoming more and more apparent and he isn't sure it's a good sign. "He bought one from me. Then he came crashing through the roof and nearly fell on top of me — gave me a bit of a scare."

Aurora laughs at the mention of it, but it fades when something occurs to her. "Your friend…you said she looked after the flowers here."

It's like Cloud can see the pieces fall into place in her head and the realisation dawn on her face. Something inside him recoils. He doesn't want this for her. She's just a kid, why does she have to remember that life which was filled with so much pain and trouble? Aerith may have seemed like she was handling it well, but thinking back, deep down he sensed that things were weighing her down more than she let on.

"Was I…her?"

Cloud closes his eyes, his face twisting in pain. The answer is yes, he's sure of that now. When he fabricated memories of himself in Zack's shoes a lot of the feelings he attached to them were still his own: the admiration he held for Sephiroth, the pride he certainly would've felt had he made SOLDIER, the anger and grief about his hometown burning. Besides, he was there during it all, he just altered the role he played in it. Yet Aurora only seems to know the events from Aerith's perspective and her accounts felt so authentic in reflecting what must have been Aerith's emotions.

He was like Zack but different. Aerith had said he reminded her of her first boyfriend and only gradually did he learn that she was talking about Zack and that he'd known Zack himself. But despite meeting Cloud only when he was holding the fake persona reminiscent of how Zack used to be, she caught onto something being amiss. I'm searching for you. When she said those words during the gondola ride at the Golden Saucer he didn't understand what she meant. Only after her death when he had rediscovered himself did it start to make sense.

Part of him thinks he should be happy to have found Aerith again, but it doesn't feel right. For all she remembers, for all she knows, Aurora isn't the young woman who asked him to be her bodyguard in exchange for a date. She isn't the last of the Cetra who used her heritage to summon Holy. Aurora is a girl who was born into this world after Cloud fought Sephiroth twice to stop him from destroying the planet. It's not fair that Aurora should have to be burdened by the past like this. Why couldn't she just have a simple childhood for once? After all Aerith has been through, why should Aurora have to suffer for it as well?

"Cloud…you…," Aurora's voice trails off. "Are you the one I'm looking for?"

As Cloud opens his eyes he finds Aurora looking at him with a mixture of wonder and recognition. He doesn't know what to say. Her words up until now leave no doubt: she was searching for him and now she found him — or he found her, whichever it is. If it's true, if she somehow is Aerith or was Aerith, then he thinks he should be happy to get to meet her. But for however much his heart clung to the memory of Aerith, he can't feel joy about recognising her in Aurora. Aurora was crying, because Aerith cared so much for him that even in a new life she couldn't let him go. The thought leaves him with guilt, because it means that indirectly he caused Aurora pain.

"You are, aren't you?" Her words come faster in her excitement. "Yes, of course! Cloud — I remember now!" She tilts her head to the side and studies his face. "You seem kind of different, I almost didn't recognise you."

His tongue is tied. There's so much to say — Cloud thinks there has to be — but not one fitting word comes to mind. Aurora is looking at him expectantly and he cannot guess what she's hoping for, but it worries him. He never thought about the concept of reincarnation before or how it might work, but he knows how hard it is to start over when the past is clinging to one's bones. That's not what a child should have to deal with.

"Cloud, it's me, Aerith."

Frozen to the spot, unable to move. She said the name, he never gave it. It's her, of course it's her. Was there ever any doubt? Part of him knew early on, but he thought he was projecting because he couldn't let go. Now that she has confirmed his suspicion it feels more amiss than ever.

"I can come with you," Aurora suggests with hope in her voice. "This time I can stay."

Cloud shakes his head. A part of him is selfish enough to want to take Aurora up on her offer, but he shuts it down. It's wrong. She's just a kid, filled with a desire she probably doesn't understand herself. If anything, they're Aerith's feelings and they belong to the past, a past that ended years ago.

"You're not Aerith."

Aurora's face falls and he can see the tears well up again. "But I remember it! The time we spent together!"

Her eyes are imploring him, her lips are begging. She is a child indeed and none of Aerith's lifetime can negate that — a child that doesn't want to get left behind. It breaks his heart to tell her no, because he knows it can never work, not like this. He couldn't forgive himself if he allowed for her to get dragged under by those memories he nearly drowned in himself. It caused him to lose touch with his family and friends for awhile — everyone who was there with him but he couldn't see because Aerith's death and his guilt were blinding him. He doesn't want that for her.

"I know you remember." Cloud reaches out and takes hold of her hands. Her cheeks are wet with tears again. "But you're Aurora now. You've got friends and family of your own that have nothing to do with who you used to be. Don't throw that away for a past that can never come back to life. Trust me with this, I know all about it."

"But I…I have to help you," she sniffs, a tear dripping down her chin. "I have to make you happy!"

It hurts how much she clings to him, her small fingers digging into his palms. Still Cloud manages a smile for her, albeit filled with a little sadness.

"I am happy — I'm okay," he assures her. "So now it's your turn. Don't forget to find your own happiness just because of me. I couldn't bear it."

Aurora shakes her head. Her eyes dart upwards as if in search for a response, her mouth is sealed in confusion. Cloud pulls her into a hug and she presses into him. Her face easily rests against his shoulder, the altar upon which she is standing making up for the difference in height. The sobs are rocking through her body and he gently strokes her back.

"You helped me years ago, you just couldn't see it. You helped me to help myself."

Her hands squeeze into the fabric of his shirt and he holds onto her while she's letting it all out. It takes some time but eventually he thinks her breath is calming down. Her tears are going silent or maybe even drying up — he cannot tell, because her face is pressed against his shoulder and way out of his sight.

"It's alright. I'm not alone and neither are you." Cloud references the last conversation they had when he caught a final glimpse of Aerith here in this church. He doesn't know if Aurora remembers that part as well, but even if she doesn't she should be able to understand. That's why he can tell her gently: "You can let go now."

Aurora clings to him tightly. If possible, she wraps her arms around him a little harder.

"It hurts," she says, her voice quiet with a hint of her pain. "It hurts to let go."

"I know."

So he doesn't force her, he doesn't break away from the embrace. She has to be ready to release him. She needs the time to do it at her own pace, that way the pain heals the best. It took him two years, but he wants to have faith that Aurora can do better. Getting to say goodbye makes all the difference.

Cloud doesn't count the seconds, he doesn't guess the minutes. His focus is on holding Aurora and giving her comfort until she breaks away. Once she lets go of him she does it slowly and he deliberately doesn't try to speed up the process. When they're facing each other again, she wipes away the remnants of her tears even though they seem dried up for the most part.

"Better?" Cloud wants to know and she nods. They exchange a small smile, both still recovering from the load of the emotions they just worked through.

It is getting late, the light outside dimming as the sun closes in on the horizon and the air cooling off. Soon it will be dark and no parent likes for their child to be out alone at night, not even in summer. If Aurora's parents haven't been wondering where she's gone off to yet, then they sure must be starting to worry about now.

"I should take you home," Cloud notes, remembering his responsibility as an adult. "Your parents must be worried."

Aurora nods and he stretches out his arms in a silent offer to lift her from the altar. As she leans in and supports herself on his shoulders, he picks her up and puts her gently on the uneven ground. Without question she slips her hand into his and lets him leads the way back towards the entrance. Once they reach the end of the flower bed however, she slows her steps and comes to a halt. Noticing that she's no longer following, he stops and turns around to check on her.

"Can we stay just a moment longer?" Aurora requests and Cloud notices not for the first time that he finds it hard to resist the pleading eyes of a child.

With concern he looks at the darkening sky through the open wall, the last glimmer of sunlight no longer reaching into the nave. He shouldn't allow any more delays, he's the adult and Aurora should get back to her family as soon as possible. But when he looks at her again he finds his resolve melt. After all he wanted to give her the time that she needs to let go, maybe she wants to say goodbye to this place as well.

"Alright," Cloud agrees, though the word leaves his lips with an audible breath. "But really just for a bit."

Aurora nods in affirmation and releases his hand so that she can sit down at the edge of the floorboards, her feet sticking into the flower bed. He watches her with scepticism at first, thinking that the floor is dirty enough to ruin her dress, but she doesn't seem to mind. Then he smiles. It's a little thing like that which makes him think that the carefree days of childhood aren't completely lost on her yet, even if memories of her past life have been on her mind.

Oblivious of his thoughts Aurora looks at him over her shoulder and pats the floor beside her. "Come, sit down."

Cloud wasn't going to, but like this he can hardly refuse. So he settles in beside her and takes in the view of the semi-dark interior of the church. When she leans against his arm, he looks down at her, startled yet again by how familiar she acts with him. But he's willing to let her have this as well.

The shadows have stretched throughout the entire ruin. Cloud decides that once he cannot see any silver lining on the horizon from where he's sitting the time is up. It won't be long before then, but it's the most he feels comfortable to allow at this point. He knows someone must be waiting for Aurora to return home.

Cloud remembers that he couldn't look at Elmyra when bringing her the news of Aerith's death. Tifa did most of the talking and when the tears started to flow he felt dizzy and claustrophobic around everyone in the small living room. Though the worst was probably explaining it to Marlene who asked about the nice lady who protected her from the bad men. Once again he felt tongue tied and had to leave things to Tifa.

It was a strange feeling, like he needed to apologise to them both for letting Aerith die but the words never came over his lips. In the end his guilt was something that couldn't be absolved by anyone but himself. It was Aerith that helped him see that, but it seems she never realised that she succeeded. Maybe that's why Aurora was drawn here, so that she could meet him and let go of the past herself.

Cloud looks down at Aurora who is gazing into the semi-darkness as if it didn't bother her. Her face is shrouded in shadows so he can't make out her expression, but he thinks her sorrow has subsided. He's not sure what's going to happen once he has brought her home. Should he ask her to forget about him, to ignore that he lives in the same city so she can focus on the people in her new life? Could he even do that? He cannot shake the thought that it might be for the better, he cannot shake the feeling that he doesn't really want to.

There's a wish to see Aurora grow up, to watch over her. It stings a little to acknowledge that maybe this wouldn't be in her best interest. After all, how can he expect her to move on from the past when he's around to remind her of it? That wouldn't be fair, as much as he already finds himself attached to her. (He's not sure how much of that is tied to knowing that she used to be Aerith. While his head acknowledges that she's her own person, his heart may not have gotten the memo.)

Closing his eyes, Cloud suppresses a sigh. He'll just have to go with it. When it comes to kids he's doing his best not to be selfish. He told Aurora not to throw away the people in her life for Aerith's past and he's going to stand by it. So if keeping away from her helps with that then he's going to do it. It's not his responsibility to stick around and ensure her happiness, like it isn't her responsibility to do the same for him. He'll have to trust that she will find her way without him.

"Hey Cloud?" Aurora interrupts his musings.

Cloud opens his eyes to find the horizon has gone completely dark. He pushes it aside for the sake of responding to Aurora who seems to have something on her mind. With a low humming sound he indicates that he's listening while he stares ahead, letting his eyes adapt to the dark.

"Can I see you again?"

There's little point in trying to read Aurora's expression, still he turns his head towards her. It's ironic she should ask him this just as he was trying to strengthen his resolve to say goodbye forever. Now she threatens to make it all crumble again with one question.

Cloud needs to buy time to think. There's no prior knowledge he can fall back on about people being reborn. No one can tell him if one is ever supposed to be able to remember one's past life or if that is a dilemma in itself. He can only guess if continued contact to elements of one's previous life did more harm than good. It makes him feel like his choice now carries so much more weight.

"Do you really want to?" Cloud asks in return.

It's hard to tell in the dark engulfing them, but he thinks Aurora gives a nod.

"I want to," she insists. "I promise I won't ignore my family and friends like you said, but that doesn't mean I have to ignore you instead, does it?"

"I suppose it doesn't," Cloud agrees without making any promises.

He wants to say yes. As much as he tells himself to trust in Aurora growing up well and leading a good life, he'd like to be around and see it happen. There are no guarantees it will work out, but he tells himself that if he would turn out to be a disturbing factor then he could still explain to Aurora that it's better if he stays out of her life. Like that he at least would have tried to make it work.

"Alright," Cloud concludes. "Let's give it a shot."

"Yay!" Aurora leans in and gives him a hug from the side, squashing his arm between their bodies. In her excitement she starts babbling: "I'm going to introduce you to my parents. And the baby. Well, it isn't born yet but you can feel it kick in mommy's tummy. And wait till you meet Emil! He's a bit silly sometimes but it's kind of cute."

Cloud smiles at her enthusiasm and lets her lean into him as Aurora rambles. There's a mental image he gets of her introducing him to everyone as her friend from her past life. He should probably ask her to stick to having met him by chance and letting him take her home. The whole truth would probably be a bit too much for most people.

"Okay." Aurora releases him and gets to her feet. "I'm ready to leave now."

His nod is probably lost on her in the dark, but once he stands up beside her, she finds his hand with her own again.

"Let's get you home then," Cloud announces and carefully leads her towards the open door.

Neither of them is looking back as they head out, the near undisturbed scenery inside the church covered in darkness and only interrupted by their footsteps on the wooden tiles. Not even the beams remaining beneath the roof are creaking in the wind tonight. Cloud figures he worried a bit too much about Aurora's safety, but better safe than sorry aside, it was what got them to talk in the first place.

It may have been coincidence or fate which brought them together in this place — he isn't sure how much influence he ascribes to the former and how much he believes in the latter — but it doesn't really matter. Aurora found what she was looking for and he got to return a kindness which was offered to him long ago. What will come of it now, only time will tell.

#cloud strife #final fantasy vii #ffvii #aerith x cloud #original character #fanfiction #writing tag #fic: hearts and flowers #-i'm not tagging this as cle/rith bc i don't wanna get accused of leading people on-#-but yeah hello i was inspired enough to push through mental fatigue #and this is the result idek-#-also i haven't forgotten about requests but writing is hard due to my mental health-#-but i'll do my best to make them happen-

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