#harboring resentment towards my past self for doing the best I could at the time

[starsreminisce]

Elain already said how she wants her endgame to look like:

”Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

Lucien had already demonstrated that she could have it both ways through Feyre, considering she spent more time with him in ACOTAR.

Despite Tamlin's repeated warnings, Lucien still helped Feyre learn how to capture the Suriel because she wanted to, apologized when he overestimated her, gave her his dagger because she wanted to be armed, and allowed her to stay in Calanmai because she wanted to enjoy the festivities.

In ACOWAR, it was revealed that Tamlin held off as long as he did when Feyre was in the Night Court because Lucien convinced him to do so. Even when Tamlin tried to bring her back, it's important to note that Lucien left without her, believing that Rhys was controlling her. Considering Rhys did the same thing Under the Mountain, it's not unreasonable for Lucien to buy into their facade.

Also, if the main argument is that he didn't do enough to help her, then I have to say that still implies he did do something. He did what he could to the best of his abilities.

Another thing to note is that during ACOTAR, Feyre did those things as a human, and Lucien's attitude towards her shifted from hating her for killing their friend to supporting her.

With Lucien as one of her main companions, Feyre led a quiet life painting and eventually did something greater by bringing down Amarantha.

This holds particular significance when reflecting on their return from UTM. Feyre's powers began to manifest, and a critical divide emerged between Lucien and Tamlin. Lucien advocated for her to learn and harness her abilities, while Tamlin disagreed, even resorting to harming Lucien to make his point that she shouldn't learn to protect herself. Tamlin viewed himself as Feyre's primary protector, whereas Lucien aligned himself with Feyre's desire to be self-sufficient.

The pattern continued upon her return to the Spring Court after her sisters were Made. Lucien initially harbored reservations about her intentions but, as before, he eventually allied himself with her desires and wishes. Except his targets were the people he wanted out of the court.

Even upon Feyre's return to Velaris, Rhys still took it upon himself to insist that their union was mutual and driven by Feyre's desire to Lucien. Feyre took it a step further and delved into the full story. Lucien embraced it, knowing and believing that Rhys did love her, and this was all that Feyre wanted.

Another significant point is that Lucien called out Feyre on her fake niceness twice, first when she first arrived in the Spring Court and again when she returned from the Night Court. He didn't hold back his words when he did so.

However, it's crucial to remember that Feyre is not his mate; it's Elain.

Lucien's advocacy for Elain has been consistent since his arrival in the Night Court. He suggested taking her outside for an hour, embarked on a quest to find Vassa, rushed to her side after the battle, and his first concern was whether she was hurt. It's important to remember the state she was in when he left, and he offered condolences before acknowledging her role in taking down the King of Hybern.

Even now, Lucien continues to respect Elain's need for space. He's accommodating and considerate of her wishes.

Someone pointed out the gift of gloves, and it's interesting how they phrased it: "Lucien gave her something to protect her hands from doing something she loves."

From Feyre’s bonus chapter:

“And torn up by thorns," I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free.

I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.

It's entirely plausible to imagine their endgame as Elain doing whatever she pleases, with Lucien providing unwavering support.

After all, guess who believed her when she spoke about her vision. Guess who insisted on going, even though his connections to the other courts were better served planning the High Lords meeting, especially at a time when the Night Court's reputation was at its lowest.

So yes, Elain can tend to her garden during the day and do something greater, all while holding Lucien's arm.

[arcademoonlight]

could we just kiss (like real people do) || childe x harbinger!reader

wow this is very very self-indulgent aughhfshf. i would call it a new writing style but wth is a writing style anyways lol. based off of like real people do by hozier warnings: proofread but not well (please ignore errors), spoilers for childe's story, mentioned drinking, both childe and the reader are emotionally constipated, and the reader + childe kiss at the end word count: 1201 part one (you are here), part two content under the cut!

You were a harbinger. You weren’t as feared as La Signora, nor as disliked as Scaramouche, but you were still on a pedestal. Everybody was watching you. Everybody was wary. It felt... It felt unreal. You couldn’t even walk down the street without stares or whispers. You couldn’t get food in a restaurant without the waitresses whimpering to each other with the fear you would harm them if they messed up your order. You were coveted for your healing abilities to the point where doctors would turn you away if you needed them, telling you to ‘fix it yourself’. Very few people even treated you like a real person anymore. You were a feared monster and an expendable soldier all in one. You were a harbinger. So when your best friend was sent off to Liyue Harbor alone you couldn’t complain. You couldn’t say anything. All you could do is engrain every detail of his goodbye hug into your mind hoping that he’d give you another less bittersweet hug soon. As you laid awake in your room you could only think about how his cocky laughter made you smile. Or about how when he spoke fondly of your talents your heart would hammer in your chest. You thought yourself into a tizzy as you began to reflect more on your feelings for him. You were a harbinger. You had no time for these foolish feelings. They would only get in the way. To try and hope they would leave you scribbled down everything about him that made you feel like you were floating. Page after page of that notebook got filled, each with incredible detail. The night you finished it you took it into the woods and buried it. The next day you didn’t feel any better. How frustrating. You went back and buried the book deeper. It still didn’t help. You were a harbinger. When you were sent off to join your companion you were overjoyed at your inability to argue. You swiftly packed you bags and you left as quickly as Tsartia would allow. A feeling similar to relief flooded you as you stood near the entrance to the bustling dockyard. “Hello, Childe.” You spoke calmly, trying to hide the joyful quiver in your voice as your friend approached you. “Heyyy~” He chuckled with his usual smirk. He was quick to pull you into an embrace, your face flushing as he held you against his torso. “For what it’s worth I’ve missed you.” “I missed you too.” You beamed. He grabbed your hand, starting to drag you towards the crowds of people lingering around. “I can’t wait to show you the harbor!!” The red head beamed as he pointed out each store and place he had been in the past few months, nodding to civilians he recognized despite their fear. If you two weren’t here to do Tsartia’s dirty work it would almost be like a date. As you returned to your temporary living quarters you tried to drift off to sleep, sighing with dread as you realized that wouldn’t be happening tonight. You were a harbinger. You are just doing your job. Yet you can’t help but stare at the ceiling of your current sleeping chamber replaying the events of the day in your mind. How Childe smiled when he greeted you. How warm and comforting his hug was. How his hand was laced in yours as he showed you around the city and how nicely your hands fit together. Every smirk and every comment and every touch bounced around in your head. With a sigh you sat up and slipped out of bed, fishing around in your desk for a journal you had bought earlier that day. You began to fill the pages with your writing about Childe once more. You filled the bound book over the course of a few days. You were a harbinger. Harbingers were supposed to be sure of themselves. Then why did you feel so in the wrong as you snuck out to bury your book again? Childe noticed your absence and decided to find where you went. As he saw you digging he gave you a worried, almost apprehensive, glance. You stared back at him with glossy eyes. He left silently, but you dreaded the questions he could ask. Not to worry though, he won’t be asking anything directly. In some sad way, he already knew what you were doing. You weren’t the only one with notebooks filled to the

brim with loving notes and lament-filled realizations. You were a harbinger. It was a surprise for you and Childe to get enough free time to sit on a balcony and just chat while looking at the stars. You enjoyed the downtime and the drinking. You enjoyed Childe’s voice. You both exchanged many drinks that night. The more drinks you shared the more secrets began to spill. You despised your job. Childe missed his family. You resented your vision. Childe didn’t join the fatui one hundred percent willingly. It wasn’t long until two of the biggest secrets were to be revealed. It was your turn to say something. Taking another drink of whatever intoxicated beverage was in front of you, you shakily sighed. “You know, I really uh- I really like you. That's my secret for this turn I guess.” “That's not a secret silly!! I already know you like me, why else would we be friends?” Childe snickered, giving you a confused look. There was tension building in the air regardless of his laid back attitude. “I- for Archon’s sake Childe! I have romantic feelings for you!! In fact, I’ve been festering these feelings for a while- I’ve just refrained from vocalizing them because it’s strongly unlikely that I’ve been blessed with enough luck for you to feel the same.” Your voice shook and you avoided his gaze, your lower lip quivering as you anticipated negative judgement. You didn’t mean for your confession to be longer than a few words but you did tend to ramble when nervous. You just hoped Childe wouldn’t be a jerk about it. “Ajax.” He corrected, a newfound glint in his eyes. “Huh?” You glanced to the ginger beside you, a bit confused at the sudden name being thrown out in the air. “My name is Ajax. If you want me to accept your confession then do it right~” Childe, no. Ajax, mused. He was just trying to drag it out for his own satisfaction, even if he was already overjoyed to hear that you felt the same. “Damn it Ajax! Why can’t we just kiss like real people do?” You groaned. At your exasperated words he yanked you toward him. He was careful but still as rowdy as always. Almost as if time was moving slower, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was too short for either of your likings but sweet nonetheless. It meant a lot to both parties to just be real. For their only audience to be the stars. Maybe for once you weren’t the only one with your career weighing heavily upon you. Maybe for once you were a person. You were a harbinger. But so was Childe.

[romioneficfest]

I Need You

Title: I Need You

Prompt/Day: 10 - Movie/TV/Book Fusion

Tumblr Name: 

Rating: T / PG 13

Brief Summary: A Romione Ficlet inspired by the TV Show New Girl Season 2: Episode 15 "Cooler"

Any Content Warning: None 

******

“Ron! Ron, please, you need to come quick! I think there’s someone in the flat!” Hermione sends her Otter Patronus off into the night as more scratching turns her attention toward the door of the flat she shares with Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and Colin Creevey. Once upon a time, the Ravenclaw had been wary about living with three Gryffindors that she barely knew, but it was funny how time could change everything.

Of all the nights they insist on going off alone to pick up girls and make me stay home!

Hermione shakes her head as she wraps herself in a blanket and keeps her wand pointed toward the door. She’s been living with her current roommates for about a year now. She and Colin work together at the Daily Prophet, and he’d been kind enough to offer up the extra bedroom after overhearing Hermione pour her soul out to her best friend Padma Patil about walking in on Ernie MacMillan, her ex, with another woman.

That pompous, selfish, good for nothing— Hermione’s thoughts are interrupted as Ron’s Terrier Patronus comes soaring through the window.

“Mione, you’re a fully capable witch, and you can handle whatever it is!” The voice of the terrier hushes to a harsh whisper, “I’m about to seal the deal here. Please don’t ruin this for me!”

The terrier disappears, and Hermione’s heart clenches while her stomach twists in knots. The last thing she wants is to ruin Ron’s night. She wants her roommate—no, friend—to have a good time! It’s crazy to think that they started this whole living arrangement completely resenting each other. Now, Ron’s her go-to if she ever needs anything, despite how infuriating he can be. She knows she can always count on him to help her out and to be honest with her.

Hermione’s not intentionally trying to cock block or ruin his night. No! That’s not it at all. At least that’s what she’s forcing herself to believe even as she attempts to dampen the jealous rage that’s swirling within at the thought of him bringing home some tramp.

Jealousy? What? How can I be jealous when I don’t have feelings for Ron. He’s my best friend! And best friends should answer the call when a friend is in need. It’s not like this happens all the time.

 A loud pawing reverberates around the room, and Hermione yelps in surprise. She closes her eyes and concentrates on her happiest thought—the one where the boys took her to North Pole Place on Christmas Eve to see all the muggle light displays in an attempt to cheer her up after a particularly awkward break-up with Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Another otter bursts from her wand to relay the message, “Please, Ron. I need you.”

She wouldn’t ask him if it wasn’t dire, no matter how much she didn’t want to think about him doing things with someone else. Hermione knows that Harry and Colin have been trying to get him over Lavender once and for all, and tonight is yet another feeble attempt to help Ron find another girl. She’s given up on him harboring any feelings for her by now, despite the awkward tension that seems to build when they’re left alone for too long.

It’s preposterous; I can’t possibly fancy him. We fight all the time. Things would never—

A whoosh sounds behind her from the fireplace, and a figure emerges from the emerald green flames. Relief floods Hermione’s veins as a sense of comfort surrounds her.

“Ron, you came! Oh, I knew you were my knight in shining armor!” Hermione knows she’s laying it on thick, but the look of fury on his face tells her that he needs the ego boost.

“I swear Hermione, it better be bloody Voldemort’s Inferi on the other side of that door! You have no idea what the hell you just pulled me from! Colin said he’d hold Seamus off, but I know he’s already swooped in on her anyways.”

Ron runs a hand through his hair in frustration before taking off his jacket and throwing it forcefully onto the back of the sofa. Hermione can’t help it as she rushes over and throws her arms around Ron.

“I’m sorry. I swear there’s something there!”

Ron pulls away, and Hermione hopes that her tactic has softened him up a bit. He sighs heavily before pulling out his wand. He looks through the peephole before casting Homenum Revelio.

“No one’s out there, Hermione. Are you sure you’re not hearing the ghoul on the roof?” he says through gritted teeth.

Hermione winces as Ron’s annoyance returns. Merlin, he has anger issues.

“The ghoul wasn’t knocking on the door!” she half lies. Hermione never checked on the ghoul, but she wasn’t going to tell that to Ron.

“Hermione, I can’t believe you ruined my night for the bloody ghoul!”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Ron? You abandoned me tonight! I used to be perfectly independent until I started living here with you three. Now I depend on you all too much! You didn’t even give me a chance to owl Susan to see if she wanted to come over! No! You just expected me to sit here and read a book, wallowing in self-pity. So, you know what? That’s what happens when you try and leave me out of things!”

“Yes, Hermione, that’s what all this was about! Punishing you by leaving you here alone. Last I checked, we didn’t lock the door and force you to stay here by yourself! It’s not like you signed a clause in the contract that states you have to stay here if we go out without you! Why does it always have to be about you?”

The sound of a loud crash ricochets in the air surrounding them, causing them to freeze mid-argument.

“What was that?” Hermione whispers.

Hermione looks on as Ron turns toward the source of the sound, which consequently turns from a crash to the ever-present scratching.

Oh. Maybe the noises were coming from the free hutch I pulled off the street the other day.

Ron turns to look at her. “Didn’t Harry tell you there might be a Boggart in that?”

Hermione smiles weakly. “Maybe?”

Ron’s ears turn red and a thunderous look crosses his face. “Take care of it. Now.”

Hermione has no choice but to walk up to the cabinet. She’s battled Boggarts before. This will be fine. It’ll probably be the image of a late report or a reprimanding from a superior. Nothing Ron doesn’t know about. She opens the cupboard and the creature appears, quickly taking its form to reflect her biggest fear.

The boggart surprises Hermione as it shifts into the three boys, all telling her they don’t like her, they’ve found a new roommate and she needs to move out. Hermione knows it’s not true as she casts Riddikulus, and it changes into her boss firing her. Another cast of Riddikulus, and then the Boggart shifts to Ron with another woman, whose face is masked, and they’re doing things.

Hermione stands there, unmoving, watching the fake scene play out in front of her. “No, I—Ri—” she attempts.

She can’t do it. She turns to run to her room, just like in third year, but as she brushes past Ron, he grabs her arm. Ron pulls her back, and suddenly his lips are on hers. She’s overcome with shock at first, but that quickly subsides, and Hermione’s hands move of their own accord to clutch at his shoulders as she opens her mouth to deepen the kiss. His strong hands move up and down her back, pushing her closer against his body.

They break apart long enough for Hermione to look into his ocean blue eyes. “You know this makes the boggart’s shape even more genuine now, don’t you?” she breathes.

“You’ll never have to worry about that, ‘Mione,” he reassures her. “Bedroom?”

Hermione nods, and in one quick movement, he picks her up and whisks her away to his room.

The next thing Hermione knows is her alarm is sounding as she begrudgingly peeks through her lashes to see sunlight flooding through the window. “What the…” she mutters as she rubs her eyes.

“Everything alright, love?” Ron asks as he rolls over, draping an arm over her stomach.

“Er, yes,” Hermione says as she tries to make sense of her dream. “I think we’ve been watching too much muggle television. For a moment, I thought we’d joined the cast of New Girl.”

Ron laughs. “Don’t tell me you dreamt we were Nick and Jess,” he chuckles into her shoulder, “that’s mental!”

Hermione smiles as she recalls their dream kiss. They were so Nick and Jess, but she shakes the thought from her mind, choosing to keep the images to herself.

“Yes, mental indeed.”

[helioptrixx]

EEYYEEYEE Touya/Dabi’s finally got an aggeegeeege (and preteen Fuyumi is so cute) (and eight year old Natsu must be hella tall)

Okay, so it’s revealed that Dabi’s flames were not originally blue. Apparently, they changed as Touya grew older and his body changed, and are more powerful than the orange fire. Also, for whatever reason, his flames are directly related to his intense emotion, making them more powerful the more he feels, if that makes sense. (And he cries when he’s excited.)

Interestingly enough, Touya kept repeating things about how “the girls of the wouldn’t understand,” referring to Rei and Fuyumi. The first time he says this, I believe, is in chapter 301, when Fuyumi tells Touya she doesn’t like seeing him hurt. He responds with something along the lines of, “Girls just don’t understand.” At first, I thought he was just being sexist or something, considering that phrasing (which could also just be due to the translation, as I can’t read Japanese well enough to read manga). But then the second time, when Touya is ranting to Natsuo, he says, “The girls in this household can’t understand.” Which is interesting, to say the least.

(Again, this could all just be due to the translation, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume it’s mostly correct.)

I don’t quite understand why young Touya would say this, but I do see how it sort of correlates to BNHA present. Fuyumi, out of all of the Todorokis, I think, is the first one to forgive Endeavor. She tells Natsuo and Shouto to give him a chance. Now, a lot of people in the fandom chalk this up to a lack of exposure, meaning that she didn’t really witness Endeavor’s abuse. Which, of course, is not true, as shown in the flashbacks of 302, in which she witnesses Endeavor yell at (and I’m assuming hit) Rei for not being able to stop Touya from going to Sekoto Hill and Shouto for defending her. Okay, Quin, you’re saying, but what? Haha, well I don’t actually know. With what we have so far, I’m not quite sure why Touya insists that girls don’t understand, unless it really is just him being misogynistic. (Which could, possibly, be a result of him seeing Endeavor continually mistreat Rei, though that wouldn’t necessarily translate into him being sexist.)

Overall, I just think that Touya’s very much attention starved, and, I think as a result of him training with his father for quite some time (probably a little around a ten years), Endeavor’s apparent lack of interest in him affects him more, especially more than it affects Natsuo and Fuyumi. This made him feel as if he’s not enough, and he pushed himself to work harder, which in turn just made Endeavor ignore him more, which made Touya train even more. See? It’s just one big cycle, with no clear way out. Even if Endeavor had given Touya attention, as he says to Rei, it probably would’ve only just fueled him further, as we see all of Endeavor’s past attempts at getting Touya to stop fail (and these include them actually talking). Touya blames Shouto for taking his father attention and Rei for “not fighting back” (even though she does), but as far as I can see Touya doesn’t blame Endeavor. Dabi harbors some sort of deep-set hatred towards him, for ignoring him, but as far as I can tell, he doesn’t blame Endeavor for anything.

In fact, if anything, he seems to blame himself.

Which would tie in with my theory of Dabi having feeling some sort of self-loathing. Of course, this “reap what you sow” could be him talking about Endeavor, and how, despite his attempts at being better, he’s getting ‘payback.’

What I’ve noticed is that, recently, the number of people pointing out how Shouto, Fuyumi, and Touya all look like Rei, while Natsuo is the only one resembling Endeavor. May I present this scene!

Natsuo is included here, along with Shouto’s left side. She sees Endeavor in him. Which leaves me to wonder if she ever did something to him that was similar to what she did to Shouto? Of course, it wouldn’t be as drastic as her dumping boiling water on his face, considering Natsuo doesn’t seem to hold any sort of resentment toward her, but still.

And so, this scene ends with Shouto holding out his hand to Endeavor (although he appears to be somewhat reluctant). What’s important to note is the shift of view from Shouto, Touya, and Endeavor to the entire Todoroki family. They all blame themselves for what happened to Touya. Fuyumi and Natsuo for not confronting him, Rei for submitting to Endeavor and not stopping Touya, Endeavor for not being knowing what to say to Touya and not interfering, and Shouto for being born (or, rather, having the Quirk he has). And, look, the way he phrases his sentence (which, again, translations, but whatever). “And we’ll all go stop Touya-nii together.”

I do realize I haven’t said much about Shouto referring to Touya as ‘Touya-nii,’ so I’ll talk a bit about that now. Shouto hates honorifics, and I can’t actually recall a time when he refers to Fuyumi as “Fuyumi-nee” or Natsuo as “Natsuo-nii,” which, again, could just be translation, but then why have “Touya-nii”? As many people have said, it shows Shouto’s acceptance of Dabi as Touya, as his brother. He’s acknowledging that Touya is alive, and by referring to Dabi as “Touya-nii” and not “Dabi,” he’s acknowledging the fact that Dabi really is Touya.

Also, completely unrelated, but why are Hawks and Best Jeanist here?

They’re just casually standing outside and listening?? One theory: Hawks is concerned about Endeavor. But. I don’t know. My computer is dying because the charger doesn’t work half the time and I’ve used up all of my brain juice on the rest of this post.

Bye.

[octalove]

VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

*

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

*

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

*

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

*

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

*

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

[ronsenburg]

i saw this post and IMMEDIATELY started writing an essay, so I moved it here so as not to clutter up someone else’s post...........

it absolutely blows my mind that, today in 2021, i honestly can’t remember what’s canon from the turnabout serenade case, what i read in a fanficition, and what is my own personal HC. like, it’s been more than a decade since i played the case for the first time and it’s probably been 5ish years since the last time i played AJ (definitely forgot to play it again before writing youngblood which is.... contributing to this) so i really don’t know if what goes on in my head is accurate, but, over the years, i’ve come up with a Lot of Thoughts, which i’ll discuss below. 

tldr; it’s all about power (the desire for, the subversion of, the need to maintain), but if you’d like the specifics, here you go:

daryan: i think the explanation that he did it for “the money” is a line. please don’t mistake me, daryan is an asshole and a murderer, im not discounting that, but in court ive always thought that he was playing the part that everyone- especially klavier- is expecting of him. he’s the bad guy. might as well make it a finale for the books.

i’ve always seen daryan and klavier as opposite sides of the same coin when it comes to family and career aspirations. where i imagine klavier came from a well off and well loved family before his parents died, i see daryan from a working class, difficult upbringing. i read a few papers on the psychology of children/parenting style of police officers and decided early on that daryan’s dad was also a cop. his mother is either dead or (more likely) left them early on. dad coped by working a little too hard, gambling/drinking a little too much, and was overall not around a lot and kind of an authoritarian/controller when he was. it left daryan with a lot of anger he had to cope with, about what it means to be a cop, the idea of a “just cause” and the ends justifying the means, and an issue with authority (which is laughable, considering what a bully he turned out to be. sometimes we emulate our parents unintentionally; it’s the only thing we have to model our behavior on). so daryan started off at a disadvantage. klavier started off loved and supported and surrounded by expensive belongings, but the death of his parents and the subsequent emotional and financial abuse by his newly appointed guardian/brother left him in a similar place by the time he and daryan met. i think it was probably the foundation for their bond, and i think it’s why klavier decided to become a prosecutor instead of following in his brother’s footsteps and why daryan ultimately decided to enter law enforcement as well. i think they had a lot of optimistic, idealistic thoughts on being better than the people that hurt them, on utilizing the law to make the world a better place. i don’t think klavier ever conceived that kristoph could have wanted him in the prosecutors office as another pawn to play, and i don’t think he realized how fluid daryan’s morality could be.

shipping alert—you guys know me, im crazy for the idea of a “best friends to on again off again lovers to tenuous coworkers to bitterly disappointed in but still harboring feelings for the other person despite being on opposite sides” dynamic between daryan and klavier. i honestly can’t separate the ship from the case and im sorry about it. if you read youngblood you know that i think daryan started to resent klavier pretty early on, when they were still together, when the band was still successful, because klavier was able to move forward and work through the issues of his past while daryan was seemingly stuck. yes, daryan had made detective and the gavinners were a hit, he’d risen above his initial social standing and thrown off the control his father, he had money and fame and a future. but everything he had was because of klavier. daryan needed klavier, emotionally, morally, financially. but even when klavier was professing his love for daryan, both privately and in the form of chart topping songs, he didn’t need daryan. it was obvious (and of course, healthy, but how do children of abuse learn what a healthy relationship looks like without help? especially when the only relationships you’ve ever had are codependent and, in some ways, just as toxic?) and so things spiraled. daryan got possessive and angry again and klavier got distant and they broke up and got back together and broke up and didn’t get back together but kept ending up back in each other’s arms for comfort and for support and because how the hell do you move on when the person you’ve been in love with since you were 15 is sitting next to you on a tour bus and is also your partner in a homicide case and singing songs he wrote about you on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans?

okay, shipping glasses off, sorry. but no matter how you look at their relationship, daryan’s promotion out of homicide was probably the most distance they’d had from each other in years, as it removed a large chunk of the daily “working relationship” aspect. and without klavier there to act as a moral compass, it was likely easier to slip back into his earlier thoughts about what constitutes justice and his intense hatred of being pushed around by someone who has more power than you. so enter the chief justice with a son who is sick, dying even, but can’t get the medicine he needs because there’s a government out there telling them no. The reasons are arbitrary: the medicine could be used as a poison and can’t be found anywhere else so it might come back to bite the country in the ass if it’s misused by criminals. newsflash: pretty much all medicine is poisonous if it isn’t used correctly, should we stop using penicillin entirely because some people might be allergic to it? they’ve essentially condemned a whole bunch of people to death because they’re worried about their reputation. and that doesn’t sit well with daryan, who is caught up remembering the bullshit justifications his dad would spout when he knocked him around, that kristoph would give when withholding every single penny of money klavier was entitled to until he agreed to do what kristoph wanted. it isn’t right, it isn’t fair and unfair laws shouldn’t have to be upheld, especially when they’re the unfair laws of a country you most definitely did not swear to uphold and protect. it was never about money, though daryan agrees to take it when the chief offers it to him, more for his comfort level than for daryan’s need or desire. it’s about justice and putting a bully in it’s place with a (seemingly) victimless crime that should be so easy given his role in the international division of criminal affairs and klavier’s sudden hard on for the country of borginia. seriously, how could this have been any more straightforward? daryan is capable of murder, though. all cops are. and if it came down to a “them or me” shootout, of course he’d pull the trigger. 

machi: when you come from nothing, the desire to have something of your own is overwhelming. the idea that machi is famous and financially set is disingenuous; he is not individually famous, he is Lamiroir’s “blind” pianist. yes, she views him as a son and seems to care deeply for him, but his main purpose in her life is to perpetuate a lie. machi has been abandoned before; what will happen to him if lamiroir suddenly remembers who she was in the past? what if she has a family and a true son of her own and has no use for him? what if their secret is found out and the public rejects him for his role in it? he is 14. what does he know about being provided for? about contracts and trust funds and royalties? he ended up in an orphanage originally because he was unwanted, and that led to a life of poverty and hardship. abandonment issues are rooted in fear and are rarely logical. i find it far easier to believe that machi did it for the money, but more for the power money might have given him towards independence in an unfeeling and capitalist world.

kristoph: i won’t get into this, because this is supposed to be about daryan and machi and the guitar’s serenade, and kristoph is not really involved in that at all. but i think everything that kristoph has ever done in the game, good or bad, is rooted in a pathological need to constantly be in control. i think that kristoph and klavier both have very intense personalities that they have sought to control over the course of their lives for the sake of their careers. kristoph believes that to be a good lawyer, you need to play your cards close to your chest, that to show your hand is to expose a weakness that the enemy can exploit, that to show no weaknesses at all places you in a position of power. klavier believes that to show his true self, to display his weaknesses and fears to the public, would result only in their rejection. as such, they both wear masks of their own creation even under the most intense of pressures: kristoph as pleasant and calm, klavier as magnetic and dynamic. note the primary difference in their rational? klavier wants to be wanted, while kristoph wants power. and power corrupts, after all. once you have it, what could be more overwhelming than the idea that you might lose it all? it can drive even the most rational people to commit acts of passionate irrationality in the name of holding on to that power. and kristoph has so many pieces involved in his strategy to maintain.  

[ziracona]

Might be that someone already asked but give us your wisdom. Headcanons for Felix and Élodie

Initially, they’re just shocked to see each other again. And in the realm. They haven’t crossed paths since they were kids. But then almost immediately things are uncomfortable.

Élodie is the one who got the kids to go into the internment camp, /and/ who personally activated the sigil that brought the Entity to them all. She is directly responsible for the loss of her own parents and Felix’s and all the others. So, seeing him again, her first thought after surprise and relief at a familiar human is “Oh no. He hates me.” And she immediately becomes reactively and agressively defensive of herself and her past actions, predicting hostility that isn’t there yet.

Since Felix’s paragraph never even mentions Élodie, I have to assume she does not play super majorly into his own trauma memories actually and he doesn’t harbor intense resentment towards her, and probably both doesn’t blame her for being the one to push them into that trek, and simply know she activated the sigil. So, he’s surprised and relieved (even though it’s kind of awkward), and then kind of just hurt because she’s immediately reactive around him and almsot seems to resent him. He probably gets kind of pissed (understandably) like “Well you were the one who sent us down there—I don’t know why you’d hate /me/ over it” and that only makes stuff worse.

Felix is very easy to push around and terrified and takes a long time before he gets used to the realm. He is a cautious and hesistant man in general, and very very very out of his depth, both from being kind of rich and cushioned against life, and just by nature. He takes a long time to adapt and is miserable and scared, but he really does try.

Claudette, who is also miserable and scared, and Dwight, who was long the same before adapting, are especially nice to him and work to help him adapt. So are Tapp, Jane, Jeff, and Ace, who also try—especially Jane, who is well versed, and Tapp, who has experience—to comfort and reassure him about his wife giving birth without him there and his family waiting back home.

Felix misses his wife deeply and would never cheat on her and abandon her and his infant child back home on favor of a steamy realm romance. (I hold Felix ships in contempt >.> my boy has no reason to be regarded a cheater fuck off leave him alone. He’s a decent enough fellow.)

Élodie is a lot braver than Felix. She adapts to the realm quickly for average, as she is used to danger, pain, and hardship. However, unlike Felix, who is afraid and weak initially due to his complete lack of hardship experience, but is team-oriented, Élodie is used to working alone, and is not a great teammate for a while. She doesn’t mean to be cruel, and she’s not like, unfeeling or unsympathetic. But her own experience is so rooted in self-preservation and operating solo, she takes time to get used to having to share that burden with others. And kind of is resistant to it at first. It’s just...not what’s in her programming. It’s been a long time since other people were aside from in a trade and at arm’s length at best.

The survivors are such a big family though eventually Élodie is overtaken by their genuiness and affection. I think Jane and/or Kate and maybe Dwight talk to her at least once, about how this is affecting teams, or about the group’s way of operating and relationships, but I think really it’s just being saturdated in Claudette asking her for help gardening and explaining new poultices, and Meg doing movie scripts theatrically and asking her questions all the time like an (endearingly) annoying little sister, and Jeff and Tapp and Adam always there to save her and take a hit in a trial, people singing together at camp, Dwight passing her supplies to help her get started. It the family. She gets so slowly warmed up to being genuinely cared for and wanted that her walls start to go down, and she starts unlearning her instinctive reactions and begins fighting to save not just her but them too, them before her sometimes, just because it truly becomes what she wants.

Élodie is fasinated by learing any kind of information that could be useful and very dedicated, so she spends a lot of time with Dwight, Claudette, Jane, Adam, Zarina, and Tapp especially, trying to track down any information that could help them escape eventually and stuff to help then survive in the meantime. Bc of her previous life and knowledge, she is extremely useful at this.

Also gets along well with David/Kate/Laurie and Yui and Zarina. After dying, she really really wants to pick up as much fighting skill as she can.

Felix gets along pretty well with everyone, but hangs out more with the chiller activites people like Adam, Ace, Tapp, Jeff, Jane, or Dwight/Quentin/Claudette.

After arriving in the realm, Felix feels bad most of his skills seem less useful. After Dwight talks to him, he decides to so the little he can, and that even if he’s not got worlds of skills for fighting or escaping the realm, it matters at least a little he /can/ make peoples’ lives better. So he adds some rudamintery shelters to the campfire area so they have a few little actual kind of partial buildings now. He’s not the most personally skilled with tools, but he has an expansive knowledge of how to make things function well and last and be given proper support, so he and Jake make a good team when it comes to home construction.

Things with Felix and Élodie are tense for a while. They don’t fight, per se, but because she anticipates that he hates her and is automatically basically hostilely defensive towards him in preperation for that, Felix feels very disliked by her as well. With some interveigning from the others—especially Jane and Dwight—things get a little more cordial. And Felix starts trying to work hard to make things work and dedicatedly saving her in trials. Élodie hates this, she thinks/tells herself because he’s trying to be superior/sanctimonious towards her, but in reality because she is crippled with guilt over what happened a long time ago. Still, after a while, she starts trying to save him hard too to be just as good, and it’s hard to hate somebody who has rescued you from death, so unintentionally this ends up tricking them both into starting to be chill with and enjoy each other again.

Eventually, there is a breaking point when they’re alone—maybe it’s late at night and Élodie or Felix asks the other to step away to talk. Maybe it’s in a trial, and Felix is offering to die so she can take the hatch, and she just can’t take it anymore. But it happens, and Élodie breaks down and asks why he’s doing this and says she knows he must hate her, and tries to apologize and defend herself viciously at the same time, and it’s a mess, and Felix never knew she actually summoned the thing at all and it’s like getting kicked in the stomach, and he doesn’t even know what to say or think. For so long he’s blamed himself; he’s never blamed her. But he didn’t know it was her fault, and it kind of is, and she’s falling apart, and he’s so overwhelmed, and what is he supposed to say? Is he supposed to forgive her? Supposed to hate her? But. He thinks for a second. He lost everything, but so did she—so did all of them. And she didn’t know. Nobody warned them, their parents could have, and didn’t. And she was a kid. Kids make mistakes—that’s living, that’s growing up. Adults do too. And he doesn’t hate her, and it doesn’t matter if he blames her, because it doesn’t matter who /is/ to blame. They were all kids, and it was a tragedy, not an act of hate or maliciousness, and that’s all that matters. They both lost everything, and all that matters is they do the best they can with what they have now.

And that’s what he tells her. And it’s hard to accept, but she’s so relieved. She breaks down and cries and apologizes for real, no equivocations, no defense, just sorry, and he tells her there’s nothing really to forgive because it was an accident, but that if there was, he would, and they’re friends after that day. Almsot inseperably. She’s there to ask about his wife and baby he hasn’t got to meet yet and to encourage him like the best friend he never had growing up, and he’s there to hear her theories and long spiels on fascinating finds, and ask about home and what she truly wants if they make it back like the best friend she never had either, and because she finally has people she loves, she has answers to that now.

[songofclarity]

I pity Xue Yang don't get me wrong I think he absolutely earned his ending, but he was a teenager (at least in the novel). A child that had not finished growing mentally when he committed his first crime and it's possible with the right kind of support he could have seen the error of what he did and came back from it but that's wishful thinking. He met the Jin clan who turned him into their personal killing machine, a text book psychopath. What a short pitiful life.

Hello, Anon! Since I wasn’t sure what inspired this ask, I've been mulling over it for awhile, because Xue Yang! Gotta admit, I enjoy him immensely as an antagonist even though I have a tangle of feelings and thoughts about him. So I’m going to try to iron some of them out since you brought him up!

Short version is I agree with you! Which makes me want to tread through why it is true. (And it’s a long tread so fair warning for under the cut!)

Because it was indeed a short, pitiful life. But then, he was perhaps the most pitiful character in the series. I'm hesitant to write any characters off as psychopaths, however, since this is fiction and that undermines his experiences and choices and the story he is meant to help tell.

Xue Yang was an an orphan growing up on the street. No parents, no money, no goals in life, no purpose in life. Already a very depressing start made worse by how incredibly self-aware Xue Yang is of his situation when he tells his story. Considering Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, Xue Yang isn’t looking any higher than the floor.

And then he was seven years old when he was used and abused by adults in positions of power. No one came to save him like Jiang FengMian did Wei WuXian. He has no one like Meng Shi who wanted nice things for him or a woman like SiSi who looked out for him like they did for Jin GuangYao. Xue Yang had only himself, so it makes sense that he grew up to only care about and understand himself--and by the time he makes a “home” with Xiao XingChen and A-Qing, he’s too far gone to mend his ways without serious intervention.

An intervention, absolution, or redemption might all indeed be wishful thinking, if only because that is a work of labor and love. Either someone needs to find value in Xue Yang as a person worth redeeming or Xue Yang needs to find a sense of security and self-confidence in himself that precludes the need to do murder from some point onward. Xue Yang has been ruined and ruined himself to such a degree that surely any attempt to “save” him would come across as an insult, would make him feel inferior, and might just make him more aggressive.

Sadly, even though he did very horrible things, monstrous things, the tragedy is that he was encouraged and empowered and effectively trained to do them. Before he was picked up by the Lanling Jin Sect, he was just an angry delinquent. He bullied street vendors, destroyed property, made a name for himself with general violence, but there is no hint or insinuation that he killed people yet. That happened later. That happened after he met Jin GuangYao. And we know Xue Yang wasn’t thought irredeemable when he first joined the Jin because of Nie MingJue:

Nie MingJue frowned, “Xue Yang of Kuizhou?”

Jin GuangYao nodded. Xue Yang had been infamous ever since he was young. Wei WuXian clearly felt Nie MingJue’s brows knit even tighter. He spoke, “Why are you wasting your time with such a person?”

Jin GuangYao, “The LanlingJin Sect recruited him.”

He didn’t dare to protest any further. Excuse being that he needed to care for the guests, he scurried to the other side. Nie MingJue shook his head and turned around.

(Ch. 49, Exiled Rebel Scanlations)

Nie MingJue lets it drop. Nie MingJue is ready to see Xue Yang executed on the spot when his mass murder crimes come out, but not now. Xue Yang is a concern, but so was Jin GuangYao. Nie MingJue is trying to big-brother Jin GuangYao into following the right path, so if the Jin recruited Xue Yang, maybe he, too, is on a better path now. Nie MingJue will realize this isn’t true later, and he’ll pay with his life for being the only one who tries to protect the common folk, which includes all the other innocent Xue Yangs out there who are poor and at risk to harm, but I digress.

Xue Yang still got what was coming to him, but it really was just the pitiful end to a pitiful life. He was treated like a dog, grew up to be feral, was not properly retrained, and then had to be put down. Did he have choices in the matter? Technically yes, but then he’s a still child when the Jin begin to use him.

Jin GuangYao, "Will you be free the next few days?"

Xue Yang, "Won’t I have to do it no matter what?" (Ch. 118)

Xue Yang isn’t unaware of his position on the hierarchy.

He was used by Chang Cian, because there are no consequences for abusing and maiming orphans. There’s some textbook psychology for little Xue Yang from Piaget and Erikson that I won’t get into, but the fact is an expectation as simple as ‘I do a task and get rewarded for the task’ resulted in him being beaten and maimed does a lot of distortion to both expectations in life and self-confidence.

He was used by Jin GuangShan, because he grew into a defensive and spiteful teenager whom people always looked down upon. He’s gone feral, but give a dog a warm bed, clean clothes, protection, and a new toy called the Stygian Tiger Seal to play with, and he won't bite the hand that feeds him.

He can be trained to bite everyone else, too, and definitely he wants to. He’s so quick to feel slighted, to wanting to avenge himself, that even Jin GuangYao, the master of self-pity, takes notice, such as when Xue Yang first meets Xiao XingChen and Song Lan:

Jin GuangYao mused, "They didn’t really do much to you, so why the anger?"

Xue Yang spat, "I find these fake, conceited people the absolute most disgusting. That Xiao XingChen was clearly not even that much older than me, poking his nose into other people’s business—annoying. And he started giving me a lecture. And that Song guy.” He sneered, “I only brushed past his arm, so what was with that look he gave me? Sooner or later, I’ll dig out his eyes and shatter his heart. Let’s see what he’ll do when that happens." (Ch. 118)

This might have grown from the seven year old who was minding his own business, promised candy for a task, and then grievously injured. This is aggressive self-defense. This is ‘I will hurt them before they hurt me.’ He’s looking for threats. Because did he know Chang Cian or the man who received the letter were going to hurt him? No. And he’s making sure no one hurts him ever again.

And yet.

He was used by Jin GuangYao, who understood Xue Yang the best as they walked side-by-side, as Jin GuangYao showed him kindness, gave him advice, offered him everything. Then once Jin GuangYao got what he wanted out of him, once what Jin GuangYao had helped make Xue Yang into was more a liability than a boom, Jin GuangYao told the cultivation world he was getting rid of him.

We aren't told what happened next, but I do have to wonder about the timeline. Xue Yang helped Jin GuangYao murder Jin GuangShan, Jin GuangYao announced to the cultivation world he was going to get rid of Xue Yang, then the next we hear about Xue Yang is that he is found, half-dead, on the side of the road by Xiao XingChen. Was Xue Yang one of Jin GuangYao's victims who got away? I wouldn’t be surprised since it fits Jin GuangYao’s methods, but that Xue Yang doesn’t storm the gates in revenge leaves room for doubt. But then a dog that has been severely beaten would know to stay away until he’s recovered, and we know Xue Yang, after he is found by Xiao XingChen, becomes distracted by this new domestic situation instead.

I also want to point out Xue Yang’s courtesy name: Xue Chengmei. I admit i don’t know the full background of when or how these Chinese names are given, but my current assumption is it was given to him by the Jin. The translations I’ve seen include "to help fulfil the wishes of others" (Exiled Rebels Scanlations) and also "help others do good deeds" (from the modao-zushi fandom wiki).

As Jin GuangYao was the one to bring him in, it’s possible that he was the one to explicitly name him. And this, to me, presents Xue Yang in the most pitiful light: Xue Yang was Jin GuangYao’s second pearl to his father. Jin GuangShan wanted a demonic cultivator and Jin GuangYao found what was needed to please him, to try to win him over. Xue Yang was not brought and kept at Koi Tower for self-improvement or self-growth. He was brought in as a useful tool. He was brought in so Jin GuangYao’s wishes could be fulfilled.

So Xue Yang's life is something that is meant to be used by others. It's no wonder he goes absolutely feral and delights in the macabre and abuse of others -- because physical power, the power to hurt, is tthe only power he understands. By the time he leaves Koi Tower he's a rabid dog with no place to belong, beaten once again by a trusted master, and harboring feelings of resentment and hatred in his inferiority. So when Xiao XingChen arrives and helps him, it’s another nice warm bed, new clothes, and new toys to play with in the form of Xiao XingChen and A-Qing's blindness.

But what of interventions? Of teaching him to do better? Remember that Nie MingJue tries to guide Jin GuangYao with good advice at their first meeting, and Xiao XingChen also tries to guide Xue Yang, by advising Jin GuangYao, at their first meeting:

Right after, [Xiao XingChen] turned his gaze towards Xue Yang, "However, even if he’s still at a young age, as he has taken a seat amongst Koi Tower’s guest cultivators, it’s still best if he learns restraint. After all, the LanlingJin Sect is one of the most prestigious sects. It needs to lead by example in many aspects." (Ch. 118)

The Lanling Jin Sect needs to lead by example -- but they don’t. Jin GuangYao has the power to be a good person, but he won’t. And Xue Yang pays for it. Everyone at Yi City suffers for it. Xue Yang doesn’t learn restraint and Jin GuangYao mirrors back what Xue Yang wants to see: someone like him. Jin GuangYao humored his macabre practical jokes. They sentenced innocent people to die together, showed their true faces to each other, and committed a most horrific fratricide together. Xue Yang was having fun, he was feeling powerful, and he didn’t feel like he had to stop when he met Xiao XingChen, whom he hated at first horsewhip-lash. Xiao XingChen can’t look down on him if Xiao XingChen is brought down to his level. It’s only a human tongue in that tea. It’s only Shuanghua in some dude’s chest. It’s hilarious, Xiao XingChen, you should see your face!

It’s nothing more than a child playing with a toy. Of course Xue Yang would end up destroying the one good thing he accidentally stumbled upon. Jin GuangYao had showed him kindness too, and looked how that turned. No one had ever done something out of charity and kindness for him, so how was he supposed to recognize it for what it was? The answer is he couldn’t, it was impossible, and then he spent the next ~7 years trying to get Xiao XingChen back and still it was for all the wrong reasons. Does he hate? Does he want? Is it love? Is it spite?

But Xiao XingChen had bandaged his wounds when no one else had. Xiao XingChen had given him the candy no one else had.

The last piece of candy Xue Yang held onto for all those years without eating...

A short, pitiful life indeed.

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, RACHEL! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF CAPHRIEL.

Admin Cas: This decision felt practically impossible to me. We received two applications for Caphriel, and each application offered a completely different perspective of her, tapped into two totally opposite aspects of her character, but what drew me back to your application, Rachel, was your eagerness to tackle the — ah, less savoury aspects of Caphriel, shall we say? You said it yourself, it would be easy to look at Caphriel through rose-tinted glasses, given all she’s sacrificed and all she insists on doing for mortal-kind, but the matter of the fact is that she’s still an Angel. Yes, she’s kind, she’s selfless, she’s sombre; but she’s also haughty, she’s also resolute, she’s also violent. I think it was this line that sold me: “Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?” I can’t wait to see what other terrible things Caphriel is willing to do in the name of love in your capable hands! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rachel

Age | 22

Personal Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | Inspiration comes in waves, but I try my best to keep a net one or two posts per day. It might mean I spam the dash with all my replies on one day and then am lurking the rest of the week, it might actually mean one reply a day, it all depends on work and life and such. I am around every day to chat about things, though! You can count on me lurking on discord an alarming amount of the day.

Timezone | PST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | Rosey was like Hey. I think you’ll enjoy this. and she was right!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Caphriel

What drew you to this character? | It took me a long while to settle myself on Caphriel. I was torn between a number of characters as they were posted, but I kept circling back to her – her radiant kindness, the exquisite pain of loving wholeheartedly, despite the weight of sorrows that she carries for others. She is a breath of light that is so deeply compelling to me. It could be easy to see her through rose tinted glasses, but I think there’s an edge to her that I really want to try to draw out.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

I. TAKE UP THY BLADE

Love has brought Caphriel to violence, and it shall do so again. She committed unspeakable acts against God and her fellow angels in their great coup all for the sake of humanity, acts she would repeat tenfold if it meant they remain as they are: stumbling towards a light of their own making, figuring out their place as they define it. Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?

If and when the divine beings start to chafe at their self-imposed equality with the human race, if and when they seek to be once again revered without question, Caphriel will once again take up her sword against her brethren. It is an inevitability, one she feels in her bones. 

Caphriel may not go to bat for every human that she encounters, but there are individuals whom she found fight tooth and nail to spare the horrors of the world. She would put herself on the line for humanity as a whole in a heartbeat, if it came to it, though she would prefer to teach her brethren the things she’s learned from the humans first, instill in them the same deference that she holds. Break from them the desire to be worshipped, for that era seems firmly in the past. I think it would be very interesting to have her interfacing with her fellow angels, attempting to teach this point – in all likelihood, it would go poorly, especially among those that still crave power over anything. She cannot force love when it is absent, but she would bleed herself dry if it would make them understand.

Perhaps the angels get restless. Perhaps her shared animosity with Nerissa comes to a head. Perhaps someone dares to harm those that are beloved to her. I feel there are many paths that can lead to her digging back into that measure of destruction she holds within herself, all varying degrees of boundary-testing. This would be a longer-term arc for her as the plot develops, as there are a lot of dominoes that would have to fall first in order to get her to turn to violence – all other avenues must be closed, or she must really, truly feel like it is the right thing.

II. I WOULD DROWN IN THE FAVOR OF YOUR EYES

As an immortal being, Caphriel has lost a great many things. She watches the decay of mortals with a bittersweet resignation, but there are always a special few mortals whose loss she feels keenly, who she weeps for ages down the line. Luca Riche is one of these, though she has not lost him yet – and she is determined to keep him, greedy and indulgent, for as long as she can. 

History repeats itself, it seems – she loved Abel then as she loves Luca now, but this time she is at his side, an equal rather than a distant observer. He is not hers to protect, but she aches to do so, would likely turn at an instant on one who did him harm. The thing is: did she love Cain less, for his sin? Did she resent him for his violence against his brother? She had wept for him as he bore the mark even as she turned her back on the darkness he harbored within himself. Her draw towards Luca unwittingly brings Jasper into her sphere, and she can sense a similar darkness about him. The brothers have her transfixed once again, but can the violence between them remain unfulfilled?

I would love to explore the established connection with Luca and how that affects her connections to Jasper. Does she see the animosity harbored by Jasper? Is she blinded to the issues by Luca’s own love for his brother, and her love for him in turn? She is a bit of a meddler, albeit a well-meaning one, so there’s a distinct possibility that she would try to facilitate some form of reconciliation, especially if the strain between the brothers begins to reflect negatively onto Luca. It might just blow up in her face.

Whether she eventually learns they are Cain and Abel does not, I think, truly matter – either way there is still the push and pull of her benevolent love vs. the specific instances of Jasper’s darker leanings, the sickly sweet danger of her love for Luca. She was not a direct actor in their story initially, but she could be now – I think she will cling to this, and it may eat at her. This possessive love could so easily turn to rot – she hovers on a precipice which, really, either brother could knock her over the edge of.

III. THERE IS BLOOD ON THE WALLS OF YOUR HOME

Caphriel’s position within the hierarchy of angels feels, despite her mantle as virtue of Charity, quite tenuous. She shuns Caelum in favor of Sanctus Terra, adores humanity more than she ever has her brethren. She took up the sword with the rest of them, followed Michael into the fray not because she believed in him, but because she believed that God had turned against His people. All that she has done has been for humanity – how plain is that for other angels to see? It is etched into the very marrow of her bones – it seems impossible that the other angels would not be wary of this, unsettled by this almost lack of loyalty. 

Michael made her the virtue of Charity – but does he trust her? She had walked away while he was building his empire – does this not smart? Do the other angels view her has naïve for placing her lot so heavily with humanity? Her ferocity still lingers in their memory, but the goodness that she radiates now may turn the stomach of those angels lingering in the darker corners of Caelum. 

She spends most of her time in Sanctus Terra, and I would like to really dig into her feelings about coming ‘home’ to Caelum. Whether she is drawn in some official capacity or simply visiting as part of her travels, there are a lot of mixed feelings about the place and the people. She harbors no ill will for her brethren, but their pride chafes on her after too long a stay. 

It would be interesting to push this divide to the brink, test the limits of Caphriel’s love and loyalty. When given an ultimatum, which side would she choose? She was made to love and protect humanity, but can she really turn aside from her own divinity so easily?

IV. A HEART IS A MUSCLE LIKE ANY OTHER

This is building off something Minnie had in her sample app! I think it’s really compelling that Arianne and Caphriel occupy the same niche in a strange way. They both can assuage the suffering of another being, though Caphriel’s empathy is a bit less immediate of a fix than Arianne’s manipulation of the heart. There is an element of violence to both of their pathways – for Caphriel to take a memory permanently rather than just see it, she must wield her sword; for Arianne, it is easy to simply stop a heart entirely. Caphriel aims to soothe from a place of love; it seems that Arianne seeks the power that comes from dependance. 

They are strange parallels, and I would love to have a possible confrontation between the two. Caphriel tries so hard to love all humanity, but I think that Arianne would push at her limits. She has made herself into humanity’s protector, though the threats she works against are myriad and deeply, deeply unexpected. Arianne’s ability poses a particularly strange threat, one that I believe Caphriel would keep an eye on, especially if she got wind that people were really hooked on Arianne. Her interest is equally a strange sort of covetousness for the position of humanity’s aid and wanting to mitigate what could be a real threat to people.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If she were to go, it would not be without a fight. In short, yes, but only if it’s really compelling for the narrative/serves a strong purpose.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

Love. A deep, abiding love for humanity in all their glorious failures and corruptions, their triumphs and joys. Caphriel cannot rid the world of all its woes but she can ease the pain of them, and the desire to do so has driven her to the ends of the earth and back again. Her love is a ferocious thing, not the gauzy lightness of poetry but rich and radiant, forged in blood and tears.

Before God’s defeat, Caphriel ached to understand the woes of humanity on a more intimate level, to feel them herself rather than observe their effects from afar. Her empathic power allows her to do that, and she gladly takes humanity’s pain onto herself. She is a hardier being, at the end of it – they will not weigh her down as they do the frailer humans. She will not let them.

Her love is not always good. This is, I think, the crux of her character, and what keeps her from becoming something flimsy. She has spilled blood for this love. Overthrown her creator. Likely even committed violence against the humans she so loves for the sake of sparing the masses further pain. Though her love comes from a place of righteousness, it is, ultimately, her own, and there are those that would see it as a curse or as the delusions of one individual. Her love can blind her to elements of reality and she can lose herself in the memories of others. 

She exists in a strange middle ground – not quite angel, not quite human. It is her divine nature that allows her to act as she does, yet she has always hungered to know the depths of humanity. This counterbalance propels her, though she may not even understand the true extent of it.

Character Traits |

+ STEADFAST

Caphriel’s love for humanity has not wavered for eons. She remains committed to them, driven by the desire to help, to ease their suffering, to feel as one with them. Her unwavering devotion to humanity has shaped her life and all her most important actions: her turn away from God, her participation in the coup, her retreat to Sanctus Terra once it became habitable. Though this devotion is overall a net positive, it can, in certain cases, take on a negative aspect.

- OBSESSIVE

There are certain things that she cannot let go of. Her love can turn to obsession, to covetousness, blinding her to the dangers of her actions. Her hunger for connection to humanity has gnawed at her for eons, driving her forward at times against her better nature. She can lose sight of the forest for the trees if she is not careful in moderating herself.

+ COMPASSIONATE

Her powers of empathy heighten her already compassionate nature. She wants to help, to listen to others when they talk of pain, of suffering, to work with them to ease their burdens.

- MEDDLESOME

Her acts of charity are not always welcomed by those she bestows them upon. Her ministrations and particularly her empathic ability often pry deep into a person’s psyche, which she doesn’t realize may alienate those that have not sought her presence.

+ GENTLE

Angels can be fearsome things. The sword worn across her back and the brilliant white sweep of her wings may be unsettling, but Caphriel’s calm and kind demeanor puts that to rest. She radiates a sense of contentment, in harmony with the hum of her blade, the sweep of her wings through the air.

- VIOLENT

She does not often give into her baser natures, but when Caphriel is incited to a fight, she is vicious. She made a name for herself among the angels during the war with God, her greatsword forged by Michael himself whetted on the bones of her kin. Her mild demeanor may belie her fighting prowess, but the truth is: every angel is terrible. Even one built for love such as she.

In-Character Para Sample |

When she descends to the earth at the end of it all, after the bones of her Lord God have stripped themselves bare, after the Blood Plague has ravaged the new, fledgling land, she weeps. The first touch of her foot to the land of Sanctus Terra breaks her chest open, pain and joy and love, uncompromising love, spilling from the very core of her, mirrored in the souls around her. She walks, heart open, into the fold, sword a comforting weight upon her back, wings a blinding mass behind her. She learns to fold them away, over time; saves the revelation of her erstwhile divinity for more intimate things. She tucks the gleaming herald of her wings out of sight, but still she glows, lit from within by the undying flame of her love.

She walks the length of the land, leaving no corner unexplored. Her footsteps are those of Moses, of John. Of all those that wandered the earth, driven by love for their people, for their Lord. She trails a path through the indelible marks of history, the eons crumbled to ash in the reformation of the world. She carries these pilgrims with her, their memory mingling with new stories, their pain and grief and love cradled between her ribs.   

It is her sword that announces her presence now, its gentle hum blown by the breeze into the small town she has wandered to. Her cloak is heavy and warm in the noonday sun, her body one large and familiar ache that comes from hours on foot. A small child stops in their tracks at the sight of her – she offers them a warm smile. That seems to spook them more than anything, and they run to hide behind the legs of a woman who bustles around the yard of a nearby home. People peer from windows as she passes, pause in their ministrations to watch her go by. They listen to the radiant hum of the sword that glints on her back and they wonder.

She takes a deep breath, lets the energy of the town seep under her skin. They are all so tired, these people – they all seem to be, the further she moves from the center of the Holy Land. Settlers bending the will of the natural world to their own, terraforming the same soil their ancestors had once turned, eons ago. She has drawn up a crowd by the time she arrives in what seems to be the main square, a rough dirt clearing amidst the houses. The people keep their distance, intrigued but wary – she cannot begrudge them this, though she aches to close the space between them, to take them up in her arms and sooth the furrows from their brows. To nurture them as they nurture the land.

There are people in the square – older, she thinks, though she’s never been good at gauging these things, so used to faces that do not line with age. Humans pass so quickly, their meagre collected years a blip in her existence, yet she yearns to understand the scope of their lives, the honors of reaching fifty years, sixty, when all she knows are millennia. She sees the child from before in the corner of her eye, trailing behind her with their mother, so small. A man and a woman speak in hushed tones as she approaches - snippets blow to her, but she captures none but their names - Gideon, the woman says, Sarah, he responds. Old names, familiar ones, and Caphriel is overcome with her desperate adoration of a people too stubborn to die out, rooted deep into lives eons ago whose stories no longer grace people’s lips but in their most basic form: the name of it all.

“My name is Caphriel,” she intones, as the man named Gideon steps forward to meet her. “I come seeking shelter and to bring aid where it is needed.”

“Why do you hide your wings, Angel?” The man before her says. She sees the glint of mistrust in his eyes, the tension in his stance. She had hoped, once, that she might someday no longer be recognizable at first glance – her brothers had laughed at her when she’d said it, so she buried that seed deep within herself. Her cloak was a small concession to herself, though it seems in this case it had been a misstep. It is no hardship to her to assuage his fears, so she bows her head briefly and removes her cloak, unfurling her wings behind her, a blaze of white stark against the dirt road, the richness of her dark skin. She sees the spark of wonder in the man’s eyes and she smiles, a small but radiant thing. 

“I do not mean to hide what I am, or to dissemble and take your hospitality under false pretenses.” The low murmur of the crowd quiets as she speaks. “I take solace in walking where my brethren would fly, and have found it convenient to cover them when they are not in use to shield them from the wind and dirt.” She cocks her head, coy, lets her smile bloom wider, drops her voice like she is telling a secret. “They are a true pain to clean when they get dirty.”

She hears a ripple of laughter from behind her, bright feminine voices, and she knows she has settled into the hearts of these people. Even Gideon, frame still stoic, returns her smile. “Come,” he says, gesturing her into a home along the central square. She folds her cloak in her arms as she walks beside him, eyes adjusting to the change in light as they duck indoors. It is sparse but comfortable, and Caphriel feels at peace. “We don’t get many visitors here, let alone the start of a host of angels.”

“No host,” she says, unlacing her scabbard from her back, laying it alongside her folded cloak. “Just me.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” he replies, “Seeing as I’ve only got one spare bed.”

Her laugh is melodic, filling up the space between them, bright and bubbling with happiness. “Gideon,” she smiles, tasting the prophet’s name on her tongue, rich with history and repetition. “I want to help you. If you tell me what you and your people need, I swear I will do everything in my power to aid you. All I ask in return is a roof over my head for as long as it takes.” She holds out her hand, palm up, a minute act of supplication. “Let me help you.”

“Well,” the man before her says, “Caphriel.” He clasps her hand to shake. She feels the warmth radiate up her arm, into her heart. “Let’s get started, then.”

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [4]

masterlist

Words: 6.2k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: extreme violence, death, attempted rape (no actual)

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: this... kinda veered from how I originally planned this chapter to go 😅 hope you all engoy it! (also GoT got me FEELIN some type of way)

The wolf’s growl converted into a sharp yelp as the hunter’s knife entered its side. After digging the blade in deep and twisting, Amarok felt the large wolf go limp on top of him. Dead. Pushing the weight aside, he removed his knife and wiped the slick, hot blood off on the fabric of his pants. He stood up then turned in a full circle, taking in the other canines that had fallen victim to his rage.

They may be classified as predators, but tonight, they had been his prey. They had needed to atone for what they did. For the destruction they had caused to Amarok’s home, life, and family. And they had. The den entrance, surrounded by their blood-matted corpses, could attest to that.

The hunter released a roar of victory and crushing pain. As he sheathed his blade at his waist, he heard a delicate whining. Turning in another circle, the male verified that the noise did not come from any of the wolves on the ground around him. They were all dead. There would be no more barks, growls, howls, or whimpers coming from them. As the whining sounds rose up again, Amarok realized that they were coming from within the den, so he entered the caves, eagerly searching for more things to bury his blade into. The moonlight ceased its reach within a few feet inside of the entrance, but Amarok was still able to navigate his way through the rocky, underground maze thanks to his draeva connection. After only a few minutes, the hunter came across three wolf pups. Each was howling in want for their mother, who was no longer alive.

He pointed his blade at the small creatures. “Now, what to do with you…”

He heard a croaking, guttural reply, and the hunter stilled, wondering where and whom, it had come from. It did not come from the stranger he had dragged through the snow with him. It couldn’t have. The cowardly male had served well as both bait and distraction and was now in pieces after being ravaged by the wolf pack.

There was no physical entity left that could have spoken the words, so the hunter almost dismissed it as his head playing tricks. But then he heard it again.

It was bizarre, though, as Amarok did not hear it through his ears, but rather as a harsh whisper raking against his mind.

“Kill them. Or don’t. It doesn’t really matter to me. What matters to me is you.”

“Who are you? Tell me your name,” Amarok demanded to the seemingly empty cave, eyes narrowing as he turned slowly with his blade raised.

The voice laughed in a way that screamed both high intelligence and pure madness.

“I am something that can give you purpose. I can give you the chance to wreak the havoc you desire,” the voice choked out, ignoring the hunter’s second question.

“I already got my revenge.”

“No. It doesn’t end with those beasts. It ends when the rest of the world suffers the same pain as your wife and daughter. It ends when all of Illain has erupted into chaos.”

“What do you want?” Amarok questioned the voice.

“I want your allegiance, your loyalty, your embrace of all that I am.”

“And what are you?”

“You will soon find out…”

And he had.

The knowledge had turned him into a new kind of monster. He had welcomed all the evils Opitax had bestowed upon Illain that winter and he had become them. He was barren. He was savage. He was deadly.

And he was ready to watch the world burn.

As the three strangers stepped into view, you hunkered down closer to Yoongi. You both watched silently as they came to a stop, not even 15 feet away. They took in the area, noting that it appeared empty. Little did they know that one currently defective magic user and one self-doubting human were crouched down right next to them.

As you watched one of them kick the embers of the dying fire, an idea came to your mind. You rubbed your neck and thought back to when Jungkook attacked you when he was glamoured. Just as you were about to get up to try to scare them like a ghost and get them high-tailing it out of there, Yoongi placed a warning hand on your arm as if sensing what you were about to do. Giving him a glance, you saw that he had a face that screamed “what the fuck are you thinking?” Before you could attempt to mime scaring the strangers, he drew a single finger across his throat and then pointed at you.

Well shit. No playing Casper then.

As you mouthed “What do we do?” to the mint-haired Saeni, one of the strangers spoke.

“Looks like they packed up and left already to try to get him back.” He returned his crude, wavy sword to its scabbard as he finished his sentence.

Another with long hair laughed. “Yeah, they’ll try, but they won’t stand a chance against Eltoc, especially since their own magic user is incapacited right now.”

“Aw. How considerate of them to be going along with our plan,” the third and final stranger, who had a ring at his hip filled with countless smaller rings, voiced.

As you stared, you had to raise a hand over your mouth to stop the gasp that almost escaped past your lips. Some of the smaller rings had beads or feathers attached to them. Your stomach dropped when you recognized what they were: Saeni earrings. From the way he was displaying them like some kind of sick trophy, you concluded that they must be from people he’s killed. You were beyond disgusted, and then what he said registered with you.

Plan!? What plan?

At his statement, you looked to Yoongi and gave him “oh shit” eyes. He still appeared mostly calm, but his own pink orbs held a slight glimmer of panic as he listened to the three other Saeni.

“Not considerate enough to leave something we could take.”

“That’s not why we’re here!” Long Hair pushed Wavy Sword before continuing. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have your pick of their shit once they’re dead.”

Your face lost color at the comment.

“Good. I’ve been wanting to get a nice set of short swords for a while now.”

Jungkook.

Trophy Ring chuckled sinisterly. “That fancy recurve bow with the modifications is what I want to get my hands on. Not to mention that that Saeni’s earring would make a lovely addition to my collection.”

He ran his hand through the earrings at his waist, stroking some of the feathers with a loving expression on his face.

Touch Tae and you’re fucking dead. Touch any of them and I’ll send you to meet Illai personally, assholes.

You were seething. Who the hell were these people? How dare they threaten the kiela? Yes, one of them resented you and you weren’t totally sure about the others’ feelings towards you, but you still cared about them. They were Jimin’s family, after all.

You turned to Yoongi again when you felt his hand grip your arm tighter. He was breathing heavily, and if looks could kill, the three Saeni would be dead on the ground. His entire body was shaking as he regarded them.

Long Hair barked at the other two. “Alright, let’s head back and report that they’re already on the move.”

You both remained silent, anger and panic coursing through your veins, as you watched the three strangers exit and disappear into the trees. Yoongi held a finger to his lips, telling you to stay quiet.

He kept his finger there for almost a minute before whispering in a trembling voice, “Okay, they’re far enough to not hear us now.”

“Yoongi!” You whisper-screeched. “What are we going to do!? The others are walking straight into a tr-”

“A trap. Yeah, I heard.”

You watched as he tried to get up, but his legs collapsed, and he moaned in pain while clutching his wrapped torso.

“Fucking Exia!” He punched the dirt below him in frustration. “I-I need to tell them! Or else they’ll... they’ll…”

“Hey! Hey, you need to stop, or you’ll hurt yourself more.” You put a hand on his back and rubbed soothing circles while trying to speak as gently as possible.

“Y/N, they’re going to die! Don’t you get that!?” His eyes were blurring with tears as he craned his head to look at you before shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Those fuckers have a magic user and I won’t be there to protect them!”

Your heart ached at his words. You reached out to pry his hands away before taking his face in your own and forcing him to look at you. “They’re not going to die, okay? I’m going to find them and tell them what’s going on. You can’t go, so I will. They’re not going to die.”

You repeated the last line over and over as the usually composed Saeni broke down in your arms. You held him close for no longer than a minute, since you knew you had to leave as soon as possible. As you pulled away and rose to your feet, his hand darted out and grabbed your wrist.

“The glamour on you will fade soon since Hobi isn’t here to reinforce it.” He squeezed you tighter and looked you in the eye. “Please. Please bring him-bring all of them back.”

You didn’t nod or say that you would. Because in all honesty, you had no idea what you were going to do, how you would find them, or if your interference would even make a difference. All you could do was blink at him, yank your wrist away, and run in the direction the others had left. Leaving the mint-haired Saeni with little to do besides praying to his gods.

As you sprinted through the forest, thoughts filtered through your head at what to do.

I could scream for the kiela. You ducked under a fallen tree limb.

No, that might give away their position and distract them too much. Maybe I could try to save Jimin myself… You sharply inhaled as a branch scratched against your cheek.

And that would be an instant death. No thank you. Plus, Yoongi said the glamour will fade soon. Should I just run until I find them? You leapt over a bunch of roots protruding from the earth.

That would take too long. Fucking hell what should I do!?

Your feet slowed to a jog, and you hoped the slower pace would allow a lightbulb to go off in your brain. You didn’t necessarily have to find them. You just needed them to hear you. With their superior senses, you could probably shout it from over a mile away and they would hear it. But you couldn’t just scream out that they were walking into a trap because then those fuckers would know that they know.

This would be so much easier if they had cell phones or another way of communicating besides in person.

Hold up…

But what if you could just scream it out? The wheels started turning in your head as you considered a different way of communicating. Technically, the language you had been speaking wasn’t your normal tongue. It was only possible because of magic. Maybe you could speak in English if you focused hard enough?

Your feet had completely stopped at this point, you were now fully concentrated on the task at hand.

English. English. English. English…

“…English. English. I want to speak in Engli-Yes!” You pumped your fist in the air and did a fast body wiggle in celebration.

Before you could second-guess your plan, you resumed your run through the woods, only this time you were shouting as loud as possible.

A few miles away, high up in a tree, was Namjoon, Jin, Tae, and Jungkook. They were anxiously waiting for Hobi to return from doing recon so that they could formulate a final plan before infiltrating the camp where Jimin was being kept. They were in the midst of running through several possibilities when a sudden yell echoed throughout the forest.

“What in Exia’s name is that?” Jin whispered as they all heard the shrieking in the distance.

Jungkook listened closely. “Is that-”

“I think so.” Tae interrupted.

They may not have known you for very long, but they could distinguish that it was your voice yelling gibberish at the top of your lungs. At least, it was gibberish to the majority.

“She had one fucking job. I swear I’m going to-”

“Kook, shut up.” This time, it was Namjoon who cut off the youngest.

As the leader turned back to the direction you were yelling from, he closed his eyes and listened attentively. The rest of the Saeni fell to silence as they adjusted their grip on the branches of the large tree they were perched on. Shadows casted on their faces by the leaves, they gave each other questioning looks before shifting their gazes to their leader, wondering what he was doing. It was quiet for several minutes, save for your occasional yell, until…

Without facing his members, Namjoon opened his eyes and addressed Jungkook, “Go find Hobi and bring him back here.” He then turned to look at Tae, his yellow eyes filled with gratitude. “Looks like your little scorja’s giving us a message.”

The eldest member spoke up, “And that message would be…?”

“We’re about to walk into a trap.” The leader sighed and shook his head. “Looks like we’re going to need to approach this whole thing differently. Now hurry up, Kookie, and go get Hobi so we can figure this out.”

Jungkook followed his orders by dropping from the tree and going to fetch their spy, grumbling the entire time.

“Joon, they’re going to get her if she’s running around screaming like that!” Tae said in a worried tone.

“Y/N’s not dumb. I think she realized that going into it,” Namjoon responded levelly. “If we do this right, we’ll get her and Jimin back safely. We asked her to trust us earlier, now let’s return the favor and put some faith in her.”

Jogging around another tree, you took a deep breath before yelling, “IT’S A TRAP! GUYS, YOU’RE WALKING INTO A TRAP! PLEASE KNOW THAT IT’S A FUCKING TRAP! THEY HAVE THEIR OWN MAGIC USER!”

You have no idea how long you’ve been screaming and running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t. Not until your legs and voice give out. You just hoped that the kiela would be able to hear you at some point and that Namjoon knew enough English to understand you.

Stopping to brace yourself against a sapling, you collected yourself once more and shouted, “WOW! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S GONNA BE A TRAP. NAMJOON, YOU BETTER GODDAMN UNDERSTAND ME WHEN I SAY THAT THIS IS ALL A TRAP AND THEY HAVE A MAGIC USER!”

Coughing as you finished, you tried to gather any spit you had in your mouth to coat your throat as you went on and rounded yet another tree. But as you made your turn, you screamed for real as you were yanked back against a chest. A hand lifted to cover your mouth and a knife was placed against your neck.

Your glamour must have been officially gone.

You started to struggle against the entity holding you until you felt the blade start to nick your delicate skin.

Then you heard a voice grunt in your ear. “You better stop worming around, pretty thing.”

He spoke in Saeni, but luckily, your daily petals hadn’t worn off from the morning, so you could still understand him. You tried to remain focused as you slowly eased your body into stillness.

Stay calm. You knew this was going to happen eventually when you started this insane plan.

“That’s better.” His hot breath against your skin made you shudder. He removed his hand from your mouth and transferred his knife to rest against the small of your back. “Now walk.”

You didn’t move a muscle. Not even when he repeated himself.

“Are you stupid!? Walk!”

You stood there like a stone until you felt the sharp tip of the blade begin to poke into your back more forcefully.

Wincing, you turned your head to the side to look at him, flinching slightly when you recognized him as the Wavy Sword Saeni from earlier.

Then, in English and mock confusion, you said, “Walk?”

You were testing to see if he could understand you. You highly doubted it, but if he did, then your whole plan was complete garbage. Plus, you didn’t want him to know that you could understand him. It was an advantage that could really help you out in the upcoming seconds, minutes, maybe even hours.

“What the fuck are you saying?”

Fighting back your smile as well as the urge to exhale in relief, you continued to feign confusion by cocking your head to the side. You then lifted your hand and made a walking gesture with two fingers as you replied, “Oh honey, you got a big storm comin’.”

Er, you do if Namjoon was able to hear me.

“Yes. That.” He nodded in irritation. “Now go!”

You began inching forward, doing your best to arch away from his knife as he led you to who knows where.

After a few minutes of awkwardly stumbling over roots, having numerous branches whipped across your face, and being yanked this way and that by your captor, you heard a couple of hoots and hollers. You assumed they were from the other two Saeni you had seen with Wavy Sword.

You were right.

“Ohhh. Looks like you were the lucky one who found the screamer.”

Sure enough, Long Hair and Trophy Ring appeared next to you, and it took everything in you not to glare at them. You had to remember to keep up your act. No doubt, your life probably depended on it now.

Okay, Y/N. Blank face. Blank face. Blank face.

“She doesn’t look very smart.” Long Hair said after taking note of your expression.

“But at least she’s pretty. Real pretty.” You wanted to gag at the look Trophy Ring gave you.

Blank face. Blank face. Blank face.

“I don’t think she can understand a thing we say.” Jerking you more upright, Wavy Sword murmured into your ear while stroking a finger down your cheek, “But yeah, she is a pretty thing.”

You closed your eyes in an attempt to block out their nasty words. You felt the male behind you nudge his knife against your back, urging you to move again. As you continued to make your way through the forest with wobbly legs, you listened to what the Saeni were talking about. Needless to say, you sort of wished you couldn’t since it wasn’t exactly a pleasant conversation to listen to. First, it was how eager they were to watch the kiela suffer and die. They truly did not spare any details on how they wanted it to go down. You even heard them betting on how each member would die and who would get the “honors.”

Blank face.

Then, it was about how mad they were that they missed out on being the ones to capture the “half and half bastard.” Jimin. They all groaned when Trophy Ring mentioned how they probably missed their chance of getting their hands on him.

Blank face.

Next, it was what was to be done with you. They debated killing you along with the kiela, but they all whined about how it would be “such as waste of a female.”

Keep it together, Y/N. Blank fucking face.

They argued between killing you, raping you, keeping you as a slave, as well as other horrid things. You felt your chest tighten with panic and you were struggling to maintain your façade. However, Long Hair came to a resolution that was the best you could get at the moment.

“Just let the higher ups decide what to do with her.”

You let out a shaky breath as the other two grumbled but agreed.

Not long after that, you arrived at what you presumed to be their camp. It was bigger than the simple camp you and the kiela had been setting up. Much bigger. This one was so large that you couldn’t even see the end of it in any direction. They had numerous tents erected throughout the entire thing as well as Saeni guarding the perimeter. As you weaved your way through the fires and tents, you counted thirty or so Saeni. Thirty to five. And those were just the ones you were able to count. Not the best odds, but you were still putting your trust in the kiela and their “battle-trained” skills. You were immediately brought out of your mental math when you arrived at the center of the camp. You gasped and widened your eyes at what you saw.

Jimin was on his knees in front of a thick, wooden pole that had been hammered into the ground. His arms were tied behind him and his shoulders strained from the angle. You whispered his name and his head shot up when he heard it. You wanted to cry at his bruised and beaten face. It was covered in purple and blue and even red from where they had split his skin above his eyebrow. His left eye was swollen shut and his plush lips were stained with crimson. When he saw you, he shouted your name and began fighting against his restraints. He screamed how he was going to kill the Saeni if they touched you and continued yanking on his restraints until one of the guards next to him punched him in the face. You cried out as Jimin’s words were abruptly cut off and blood dribbled out of his mouth onto his shirt. He turned and spat a mouthful of his blood at the Saeni who hit him. You whimpered his name again and struggled to get to him but stopped trying to wrench yourself free when you felt the knife start to dig into your back again. In retaliation for his action, the guard began to repeatedly beat Jimin until he was slumped against the pole, his head hanging in unconsciousness. A lump formed in your throat and you glared bloody murder at the Saeni.

“Fuck. You.”

The one who knocked Jimin out looked at you then at your captors, “Who is she? What did she just say?”

“She’s been travelling with them and we found her running around yelling nonsense. We can’t understand a damn thing she says but she doesn’t speak Saeni either.”

The guard strolled up to you and you lifted your head in defiance while narrowing your y/e/c eyes at her. She gave out a dry snort at your behavior before grabbing your chin, forcing your head to turn as she observed your features.

She smirked and released you. “Amarok will like her. Tie her up next to the prince.”

Jungkook crouched on the tree branch he was on, leaning over to whisper to Tae that the next patrol would be there in 30 seconds. Tae responded by notching one of his arrows and getting ready to draw. Jungkook slipped down to a lower branch, not making a sound, and eased into the shadows cast by the green foliage. Elsewhere around the enemy’s camp, Namjoon, Hobi, and Jin were each getting ready to take out their designated patrol units.

The burgundy-haired Saeni breathed steadily as he withdrew his twin short swords from where they crossed behind his back and mentally counted down the seconds. Just as he hit the half-minute mark, two Saeni appeared and walked underneath the tree he and Tae were in. Not bothering to glance at his companion, Jungkook leapt down from his perch and pierced his target’s back with both blades. He heard a thump as Tae’s arrow found its way into the other Saeni’s chest. Blood flew in the air as he removed his short swords from the body and the red fluid dripped down the metal onto the ground until he wiped the blades off with his clothed forearm.

Joining Jungkook on the ground, the grey-haired Saeni went over their next step. “I’m meeting Namjoon at the west entrance and you’re meeting up with Jin at the south.”

Jungkook nodded in acknowledgment and gave him a small smile before darting off. As he ran, Jungkook re-sheathed his swords behind his back. Not an easy feat to do, especially while sprinting, but he’s had years to perfect the action. Making his way clockwise around the perimeter of the enemy’s camp, Jungkook stopped when he heard a particular bird call. Pausing for a few seconds to judge where it came from, he jogged for a bit before climbing up another tree to greet Jin, who clapped him on the shoulder.

“Glad to see that you and Tae had no trouble.”

Jungkook scoffed at the words, “Of course we didn’t, hyung.”

The two Saeni fell back to silence as they turned to look at the southern entrance of the camp. This entire operation would be tons easier if they had the dark to blend in to, but unfortunately, they didn’t have the luxury of waiting until nightfall. Not when they didn’t know what was happening to Jimin. Or you. Though, right now, all he could do was wait with Jin for their signal to infiltrate. Several minutes passed and Jungkook muttured to himself, wondering what was taking so long.

Suddenly, it seemed like all hell broke loose to their far to their left. Cries for reinforcements and help could be heard and Jungkook smiled to himself. Between Joon’s knack for destroying shit and Tae’s elegant fighting style, he was sure they were creating a beautiful mess.

“Alright, let’s do this, Kook.”

The eldest and youngest members jumped to the ground and started running toward the camp. The guards on duty were more focused on what was happening to the west than doing their damn jobs. Not that Jin or Jungkook were complaining. It made their task of killing them quite easy. Jin brandished his longsword mid-stride and struck down the first two while Jungkook finished off the third. The guards’ gasps of pain caught the attention of other Saeni in the camp who had been heading west. When they saw the south entrance being hit, they turned course and ran to meet Jungkook and Jin, who readied their weapons for the onslaught.

To the north, Hobi knew it was time to complete his part of the plan when he heard additional cries for backup. Without making a sound, he dropped down from his tree directly into their camp, landing on the balls of his feet lightly. With majority of the attention focused at the opposite side, he was able to slip by the tents unnoticed. He was tempted to go straight to find you and Jimin, but he knew he had to take care of a certain someone first. If that person was still breathing at the end of all this, then none of them would be making it out alive.

Hobi twitched his fingers as he ran past an open area to slide behind a tent. He paused, listening to the chaos surrounding him.

“Eltoc! We need you at the south side of camp!”

“No! The west side!”

Screams for the magic user’s help at both entrances dominated the air until Hobi finally heard his target’s response.

“Calm down you twats. I’ll go south-west to help out since, apparently, none of you can fight for shit.”

Peeking out around the edge of the tent, it was fairly simple for the spy to locate the speaker, since his hands were already beginning to glow with magic. His back was to Hobi as he strutted toward the opposite side of the camp.

Mapping his route out mentally, the white-haired Saeni ran to the right and ahead of Eltoc and his band of guards. Climbing up a tree that would intervene with his path, Hobi drew out a small, curved knife for each hand and waited close to the trunk for his opportunity. Breathing quietly with his muscles tense, he shifted into a striking position as he heard his marks approach.

Just as the he was walking around the tree, muttering about how he always had to take care of things himself, Hobi stepped off his branch and landed on top of the magic user. Eltoc fell down from the abrupt weight, hands flaring up with magic, but the spell went nowhere as both of Hobi’s knives were thrust deep into the magic user’s neck. The indigo glow of the spell faded to nothing as Hobi ripped his blades away, slashing the punctured skin and allowing Eltoc’s lifeforce to drain away in mere seconds. As soon as Hobi verified that he was indeed dead, he flung the knives at the nearest guards. They had frozen in shock at Hobi’s arrival and now it was too late to take action against the kiela’s spy. Too late to save their magic user, and too late to save themselves.

Hobi rapidly reached around his body to access the blades he needed to finish off the rest, throwing each and every one with startling accuracy. Gargling and choking sounds emerged around Hobi as each of his blades found its new home. When he was done and the chirping of the forest was all he could hear, Hobi urgently gathered what knives and daggers he could from the bodies before sprinting to the south entrance. When he arrived, Jungkook was slashing one of his swords in a downward arc, killing the last of the reinforcements that had come. Neither he, Hobi, or Jin blinked twice at the blood that splattered onto the nearby tree as the opponent fell.

“Magic user?” Jin questioned.

To which Hobi replied, “Meeting the mother goddess as we speak.”

Jin gave a curt nod and ran off to help Namjoon and Tae finish off whoever they had left to go through.

As Jin left, Jungkook and Hobi ran further into the camp, searching for you and Jimin. They expertly disposed the Saeni that challenged them whenever they turned a new corner, leaving a trail blood and bodies behind them. When they reached the center, they spotted a male knelt before a pole. Both of them sprinted toward Jimin, who was hoarsely shouting as he tugged at his restraints. As the duo ran to him, Hobi efficiently threw his blades at any Saeni who dared to cross their path. Those who were lucky enough to evade the small weapons were immediately cut down by Jungkook. So, in the end, they weren’t so lucky after all.

Jimin’s head whipped to them as he heard them approach, and he began screaming at them to go into the tent to their right. He was begging and pleading with them, so Jungkook gave Hobi a look to convey that he should go ahead and free Jimin. The youngest of the kiela slowed his feet and approached the tent with caution. From inside, he could hear yells of pain as well as the sounds of struggle. He entered through the opening and saw you and another male. He was about to charge forward, but he stilled when he registered that you had a dagger in hand.

Saeni were rushing in panic all around you. The guards that had been stationed next to you and Jimin’s posts had run off a few minutes earlier. Shouts cut through the pandemonium and curses chased after them. You heard the clashing of metal and screams of agony. As one Saeni charged past, you heard him shout to another, “They killed Eltoc! Go reinforce the west side!”

“They need help on the south side!” The Saeni yelled back before sprinting off.

You smiled to yourself because the kiela must have heard you. Your stupid, insane plan actually worked!

I warned you that a storm was coming. You smirked at the camp that was falling into utter disarray.

Next to you, Jimin groaned and tried lifting his head. All the commotion seemed to be rousing him finally.

“Slim Jim? Hey, you need to wake up buddy.” You encouraged the half-Saeni. “Come on, Jimin. There you go.”

As you talked your best friend out of his involuntary slumber, Trophy Ring stumbled over to you with a blade clutched in his hand. Shouts continued to echo throughout the encampment as he crouched in front of you. Looking to Jimin in panic, you saw that he was not completely coherent yet. Reluctantly, you turned your head back to the male in front of you, internally freaking out while wondering what he was going to do. The repulsive male was breathing heavily and reached around to cut your restraints. Before you could do anything, he gripped your torso and hoisted you over his shoulder.

Your scream woke Jimin up all the way and the first thing he saw was the male carrying you away while you punched and kicked to try to get him to drop you.

“Y/N! Shit. Y/N!” He shouted after you in alarm.

You could see his desperate attempts to break free and get to you, but he couldn’t. Not when his own restraints were perfectly intact. Jimin shouted your name again and again as he watched the Saeni wrestle you into a nearby tent.

The male threw you on the ground and murmured to himself, “If I’m going to die, I might as well get my dick wet from such a pretty thing first.”

Oh shit. Shit. SHIT. No!

You tried crawling away from him, but he grabbed your ankle and dragged you back to him. You swore and kicked out with your legs, doing your best to just keep moving.

“Stupid bitch. Stop it!” He was trying to pry your legs apart and lay his weight on top of you.

You thrashed your legs, trying to get your knees high enough to get you feet under him while also attempting to drag yourself away with your arms. After a few long seconds of your vicious squirming, you managed to kick him in the face and scramble out from underneath him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a couple burning candles and you hurried toward them. Picking up the closest one, you turned and threw it at the male who cursed when the hot wax made contact with his skin. Not missing a beat, you grabbed the other and ran up to the male while he was distracted and smashed it into his face, the burning wick and melted wax causing him to shout and clutch his face in pain. You went to run for the tent entrance, but his arm lashed out and caught your own, immediately halting your escape. As he jerked you back to him with a growl, you caught sight of the dagger strapped to his lower back.

He raised his free hand and slapped you. “You fucking cunt. I swear to Uzjuk I’m going t-”

He never got the chance to finish as you seized his blade and plunged it deep into his lower back. It was surprisinng how easily it entered him. Before you could dwell on the disturbing fact, you felt hot blood gush onto your hand as you pulled the dagger from his flesh.You quickly brought the blade around to his front and stabbed it into the general area of his heart with a defiant yell. You let go of the handle when crimson bloomed around the wound and started to spread across his chest. You felt his grip on you loosen and he crumpled to his knees. The hand that had been on you shifted to grip the handle sticking out of him as he gasped. Blood bubbled over his lips and spilled past his chin to trickle onto the ground. He slowly eased the dagger out with a groan. You backed away in horror as he dropped the blade and cast you a final, malevolent glare before collapsing face first on the dirt. Keeping your eyes on the now dead male, you began to hyperventilate while walking backwards. You sobbed into your blood covered hands as your body began shaking and your breathing became erratic.

One uneven breath, one step back. Another uneven breath, another step back.

You continued backtracking until you felt something warm and solid against your back and arms snake around your waist. Screaming, you turned and tried to hit your new attacker.

“Ah, stop! Y/N, stop! It’s me!”

Hands encased your wrists to hold your arms and fists still as you peered up and saw Jungkook’s face through your tears. His green eyes were wide as he looked at you in astonishment

“Hey, see, it’s just me.” He let go of your wrists and placed his hands around your upper arms, giving you a slight squeeze. “You’re okay. Let’s get you out of here.” 

You gave him a timid nod and with that, he ducked back under the flap of the tent. You were about to follow him, but you hesitated. You looked behind you to take in the male, the bloody dagger on the ground, and the crimson puddle that was pooling around him. You felt no remorse as you spat at his body while your tears left tracks down your dirtied cheeks. Wiping them away, you replaced them with smears of red. The scent of iron filled your nose as you took one last look before turning on your heel and exiting the tent.

previous [3] --- next [5]

[skips-is-asleep]

Steph Talks For Way Too Long About Sollux’s Harry Potter House

I havent been able to stop thinking  or talking about this topic for like 60+ hours

first wanna say that it’s really hard to interpret how people are sorted because JK Rowling is apparently shitty at writing. So people seem to have wildly different opinions on why people are in the houses they’re in because they view the houses and their qualifications differently.

I’ve also never read a harry potter book and havent watched a movie for like 5+ years maybe so i had to talk to like 3-4 people who went though huge harry potter phases and we talked for over 3 hours cumulatively for me to make up my mind.

I think it’s really important to say that because Sollux isn’t really a main character, there’s a lot we have to make guesses on. Hussie didn’t make a big sheet full of Sollux’s Dreams and Ambitions, Morals and Beliefs, so we have to  fill in a lot of blanks on what we think those are based on a few things. Who he talks to, and associates himself with and what he does

The point being we don’t have a lot to work with.

It’s also pretty important to say that Sollux puts on a LOT of fronts and facades. He’s only truly mean and cruel to people he doesn’t like or care about Plus Karkat. He plays Fake Mean a lot, and if you dig even a centimeter under it, we see time and time again that he’s just pretending and does actually give many shits.

Sollux is also really passive in most things that he does. He doesn’t really question anyone’s authority or make a point to fight something out very often. The only time we ever see him resort to action to solve his problems are when dealing with Eridan. And even then, the first time we ever see them talk, it’s Eridan walking up to him and Feferi privately having a conversation and Sollux telling his gf to “make him go away.” And then after Eridan doesn’t go away, we see him resort to fighting. His PQ arc also has him antagonize Eridan and then drop a building on him, so like, yeah. Usually, when presented with conflict, Sollux either removes himself from the situation quickly, or if he’s unable to do so, makes it extremely clear that he doesn’t want to engage. In most cases, Sollux is by himself, sitting alone and not making attempts to talk to anyone else. It’s totally possible that he’s more social at other times and we only see him when he’s at his worst, but we dont see that so we can’t really speculate much on it. Point being, he’s very passive and self contained/oriented.

What i really want to put emphasis on is the people he associates with. His main friends we see him talk to willingly or at least show fondness for are Aradia, Feferi, Kanaya, Terezi, and Karkat. Three of these are considered main characters, or are at least given character arcs to some extent. These are the good guys. The guys who at least try to do good, and show compassion, and care about others. The characters we see him either avoid quietly, avoid loudly or vocally hate and commit violence against are the rest of the characters. Namely Vriska, Gamzee and Eridan. (im kinda gonna gloss over Vriska because his distaste/hatred/unpleasantness towards her  doesn’t have to be a moral statement on his part. It’s pretty easy to assume that anyone with his past to her would have a similar if not identical stand point) These are characters that actively do bad things, they murder and harm others at worst and are gross nasty incels at best. And even the best case in that scenario is still blabberingly racist and, treats sollux and the people he cares about like shit. Sollux doesn’t associate with people that the comic have established are villains, or at least do things that are pretty unambiguously wrong or evil.

In Sollux’s pesterquest, Kanaya tells MSPA reader than when The Thing with Aradia first happened, Sollux refused contact with Kanaya because she didn’t cut off Vriska. He was upset at her for being associated with someone who traumatized him. This is very telling of sollux’s personality and his relationship with his friends, and it’s a side we don’t see of Sollux any other time in the comic or in his PQ arc. It’s only when she tells him that she doesn’t cut Vriska off due to romantic feelings for her does Sollux change his mind. He doesn’t bring up Vriska, Aradia, his grief or his trauma at any point while at his visit with her that we see. He doesn’t appear mad or reluctant to be there, he makes jokes, smiles, and reminisces memories with her fondly, even almost sleeps over at her place for the day. It’s like he’s completely forgotten about being upset at her at all, or is at least choosing not to bring it up out of respect for her.

Again, it’s unclear how much time has passed. But when you start his arc, the reason youre talking to him is because he’s been reclusive out of grief. He hasn’t been talking to people lately and his friends are worried about him. So clearly enough time has passed for him to be okay with seeing Kanaya, as that’s his sole purpose for leaving his hive that day at all, but not enough time for him to be fully recovered.

This moment in his arc showcases his loyalty that he has for Kanaya, and possibly his other friends. He seemed quick to forgive her, or at least bury whatever resentment he may have been harboring. One may say that his cold shoulder to Kanaya would be indicative of a lack of a loyalty trait at all, that if he were loyal to her, he wouldn’t be ready to possible end his relationship with her over this. But i kind of view it as a sort of bluff? Like Kanaya essentially told him that his trauma did not at all change the way she feels about her, Kanaya still has a crush on Vriska after hearing about what she did to one of her good friends. To some, this may have been a slap to the face, an entire dismissal of his trauma in it’s entirety. But instead, he sees it as a valid reason for not cutting her off, he shrugs it off. I feel like if he were serious about not wanting to be friends with Kanaya while she was talking to someone who hurt him greatly, her crush wouldn’t have been an excuse.

I also wanna touch on his loyalty to Aradia very quickly because you dont need me to  tell you that he cares about her. Once again for like the third time, we have to make guesses on how much time has passed between events. From the time Aradia dies on Alternia, becomes a ghost with an entirely new personality, a robot with another personality, and then finally her alive Godtier self, Sollux’s feelings for her are very consistent. He seems to not really care for the ghost or robot versions of her, he even sits a chair away from her during Openbound on the meteor, and doesn’t talk to her much, is very cold towards her, and even tells her that she’s incapable of feeling when she tries to tell him goodbye when she explodes (it’s also worth noting he cries after this, which i think is the first and only time we see him do this). When Aradia comes back to the meteor, alive and herself again, Sollux immediately leaves the rest of his friends to go hang out with her. Even with Karkat begging him to stay, he just peaces out, without even really thinking about it. We have to assume that if it’s not written in the dialogue, it isn’t being said. So he doesn’t discuss wanting to leave with Aradia or with anyone else. He just decides he’s leaving, and then does. And he stays by her side for almost the rest of the time we see him. He ditches later for other reasons, but don’t worry, they’re back together by the time Collide is happening.

Point being, for the most part, he sticks by his friends unless they’re doing something he disagrees with morally. If he’s not down for what’s happening, he’s not down for sticking around. He even seems to be better friends with Nepeta now that this version of her isn’t really hanging out with Equius that much, someone Sollux would no doubt not get along with for many reasons.

Some of my friends pointed out that him sticking by his morals so strongly is something a Slytherin would do, coupled with the fact that he’s kind of a dick or something idk that much about Slytherins. But I think Huffliepuff is very much about comradery. We can tell a lot about Sollux based on who he surrounds himself with and what he does and doesn’t participate in. He doesn’t participate in trolling humans, he doesn’t participate in helping Vriska do something he doesn’t feel good about doing, he doesn’t participate in any of the relationship melodrama happening around him. But he helps his friends. He helps Kanaya open the viewfinder to see and talk to Rose, he helps Kanaya do little errands in his PQ route, he helps Terezi find out who Dave is, and he sacrifices himself to save the remainder of his group (which btw only contains the people I’ve previously stated he associates with minus feferi not that that means anything i just thought it was kind of fun to point out). I mean, he got better but its the thought that counts.

Someone could make a point that “If Sollux is so loyal, why didn’t he mourn Feferi even a little bit when he found out she was dead?” And yeah, that’s a good point to bring up, and i don’t really have anything to say about it other than….maybe he knew by this point that death doesn’t really mean anything? Maybe his euphoria of finally being lifting of the voices was happening at the same time? And also that he predicted he’d go blind like a million pages ago and now he can finally stop worrying about it? Is he happy that he’s talking to Terezi and right now that’s more important? It’s hard to tell. Sollux doesn’t really explain himself apart from “missing being her matesprite” when in Erisolsprite form talking  to Fefetasprite form. It’s hard to tell what their relationship was at the time, or what his feelings truly were immediately afterward. I kinda think it was the foremost of those explanations, he probably knew that she’d come back as a ghost, or something?

Anyway, those are all the reasons i can think of at the moment for why I think Sollux would be Hufflepuff. A lot of his personality revolves around his friends, who he considers friends and who he doesn’t consider friends. Send me asks, message me, and do that shit if you wanna talk more, but i probably won’t have a whole lot to say lmao. Or ill just restate a lot of what i said here.

Props for getting this far. For the record, if Sollux for some reason was unable to be in Hufflepuff, I’d probably put him 50/50 Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I really don’t think he’s a Gryfindor because as I understand it, that house is very much about being courageous, and standing up for yourself and i went off for way to long about how he’s a little weenie man who does nothing mostly.

[imcynfinite]

her name is cyn.

This kid. Head always in the clouds. You couldn't keep her grounded. Only liked reality when it stimulated her imagination. Read a lot of books because she liked the trip. Did a lot of unhealthy things for attention. Always compared to her sisters and never getting affection just for herself, there had to be another way to get noticed. So she stole. Glasses from her classmate's desks during reading time on the carpet (sorry, Salita), Sour Power candy from lunchboxes after bake sales, mechanical pencils from the supply shop that she'd tuck into her uniform jumper, books from the library after she read them, pretending she returned them just so she could have their worlds to escape to at home whenever she needed to. She lied a lot, too. A pathological liar. That's what her mother called her when she was caught in the act. She was ALWAYS caught in the act, but couldn't stop doing it. Lying felt good. Even as the lie formed words that she knew wouldn't be convincing enough, she could. Not. Stop. It was here that she first learned she could tell stories, but didn't see her power yet. She used them ill. When she couldn’t drift off, she grew resentful. Loved alone time. Sought after it to escape. Sure, she'd play dolls with her little sister, or watch Saturday morning cartoons and Toonami after school with her older sister. She allowed herself to be herself with her siblings, but only until she was compared to them or didn't have control over the situation. She was never good enough. She couldn't be the pageant queen with stardom in her future like her little sister, and couldn't be the first born who did everything right like her older sister. She didn't understand the pressures they faced holding such titles, but at that age, how could she? At that age, it stung. What could she do right? What title could she hold? She loved her sisters, but couldn't be them. So deep down, she grew resentful. Acted really mean towards them, in ways she couldn't help. Much much later on, she'd spend a day trying to understand why she grew cold with them so many times during her teens and young adulthood, and the resentment will click. It'll all make sense to her, the healing to not blame her sisters for their parents' comparisons will begin, and a newfound friendship and appreciation will bloom. But here? How could she have known? She loved food. Don't know when it started, but once it did, it took off. She ate a lot, because food made her happy. When she was sad and resentful, food was forgiving. Soothing. It didn't judge her in the slightest. She'd ask for more at dinner. Get the extra scoop of ice cream for dessert. Asked the kids during lunch if they were gonna finish that. Sometimes was so hungry, she'd sneak and take a bite or two of her lunch before the bell. She started gaining weight. That cute face growing round, belly poking. But she was fine. A beautiful, chubby kid. The first time she learned something was wrong with her body, though, was seven years old. Frustrated they couldn't find a communion dress that fit, her mother told her it was her fault. "You have to do something about this." A few years later, her father, out of deep frustration and desperate to bring her to shame to incite some motivation, called her an elephant. Her mother tried to take food away from her, but that just made her want it even more. How could something that made her feel good be so bad? The one thing that validated her existence was the enemy? No. Her mother tried, and tried, and tried. But little did she know, it just made the girl cling to it harder. Seek its affection. Crave its nurturing. She had no idea she was growing an addiction. This kid had charm. You see that smile? The softness in her eyes. The brightness in her spirit. She did things her way, because she projected the world as what she saw in her head. People were charmed by it, and she had no idea. Co-workers of her mother took a liking to her every time she came to the parties. One in particular always gifted her with Nancy Drew books, every birthday. Just because. She thought this kid was beautiful and joyous and couldn't help checking in on her or asking her mother how she was. Asking if she finished reading her book, and considering expanding her gifts to include The Hardy Boys. ...People watched this girl. Liked her spunk. Liked the mystery of not knowing what exactly she was, but feeling good being in her presence. This kid had charm, and she had no idea. How could she? If she wasn't being compared to, she was told no one would like her looking like she did, round belly and all. That having bad grades meant you were lazy and stupid, and not that you possibly had issues concentrating. Teachers complained about her staring out of the windows for too long and not doing her homework. Kids bullied her for not being pretty or not liking what they liked. That she kept to herself and was a "trouble maker". No one liked the kids who upset the teachers. Sisters that loved her but couldn't stick up for her. They didn't understand. She didn't have anyone to tell her she was just fine the way she was. Magnificent, even. She grew tired of the loneliness. Her imagination was fun, sure. But reality got realer, and she needed a way to deal. She just had to. So, she transformed. Right into high school, she became a vibrant spirit who cracked jokes to make people laugh. Rebelled against her parents and pretended not getting good grades and being fat was something she wasn't ashamed of. Joined drama club and performed on stages. Cut off her permed hair and rocked a fro. Writing like crazy and showing anyone who cared; growing a fan base in school and online. She didn't know it then, but it was here she was learning her voice had volume, and people wanted her to blast it. She became someone she'd write about in her stories. Even though it was all an act, her best starring role to date, it was enough to help her get by. To survive. It silenced the self-hatred that was beginning to build due to neglect of interrogation, but as time went on and new masks took form, she realized pretending meant neglecting that inner child who just wanted to be herself and liked for it. Who didn't want to be compared. Who didn't want to be frowned upon for not being pretty. Who didn't want to be told they were too much, or too little. Who just wanted to SHOW UP, without pushback. At 29 years old, I've realized how much of myself I've created just to be seen. Over the last five years, something has called on me to undo those masks and to begin living in my truth. As a storyteller who wants to hold up the mirror, I was chosen to perform, and I was then tasked to learn how to leave the costume backstage. Not to make a home out of it. For friends, for lovers, for parents, for society, I have done so much dancing to survive, but that isn't LIVING. That isn't love. It's not care, it's not protection, it's not kindness. For a majority of my childhood, I spent it daydreaming. Wishing reality could look like my wildest dreams. And here I am, facing what truth looks like and realizing that I can bend it. I can find a way to merge my dreams and my reality without disappointing my inner child who'd rather get lost in the clouds and pretend she's riding them. That kid doesn't know how amazing she is. I don't remember everything, but for the things I do, sometimes I'm charmed by her, too. I look in the mirror and don't always recognize that kid, but sometimes when I look off into the distance and my lover asks, "Hey. Where did you go?" or my mother looks at me and just smiles because I'm radiating light she can't deny, I remember. When I write my tweets and people respond with, "You should write a book. The way you write, I'd read anything you make," I remember. When I decide to meditate and my imagination brings me back to a dream I had a while ago, I remember. When I look in the mirror and look past the make-up and the experiences I've lived, I see her. She's so precious, man. She's a kook, lol. She's rambunctious and impulsive and loud and expressive and quiet and dreamy and fluid and hard. She's a whole ass universe. I wish she knew her impact. God, I wish she knew. I do my best to tell her... well, I'm learning to. When she wants to throw a tantrum, I'm learning how to parent her the way she needed. I'm trying to work with her. When she wants me to perform for people to get the attention she wants, I try not to fight her but get her to understand we can't do that anymore. That maybe we don't NEED to do that anymore. That maybe it's time we just be who we wanna be. She doesn't know what that means. I try to explain that it's like her daydreams, except real. She's not convinced. "Dreams are better." She walks away to her corner to embark on a mental journey. It's a constant battle with her. She wins a lot of the time. She's stubborn like that. But every now and again, when something in reality works just like or better than we could have imagined, there's a glimmer in her eye. Hope, I think.

As I learn to navigate adulting, I run into fear, and run away from responsibility. But 2019 taught me that it's high time I stop running, because the freedom I'm meant to have is so rich and the brilliance I harbor is so abundant, they're meant to marry. The mirror I want my stories to reflect to the world require I go through this transformation, and feel it ALL. I've stayed in places I didn't belong, loved people who weren't as good to me as they could, hid from opportunities that could give me wings, all because of who I thought I was. All of the voices from people I loved who, when I think about it now, were simply afraid for me and themselves and just didn't know how to say that. Despite knowing the masks I've put in place to survive and understanding that in 2020, I'm being asked to leave them behind, the fear of shedding skin is real. Because that means people I wanted to stay forever have to go. The stories I repeat to myself have to end. Discernment to trust I will always do my best to give myself what I need must be sharpened. Love, the way I want to experience it, must be given room to walk into and I have to set the example. 2019, my goodness. What an acid trip. A chapter I hated to write, and probably should have embraced more of. It dragged me because I had given up on myself during a period where curiosity could have governed me further. I remember being a kid who loved to be curious. Now, I hide away in fear. Where is that girl? I'm determined to meet her again. Talk to her. Conjure up a master plan. I cannot play small, and the universe has stopped begging. It's sitting back now, watching what I'll do now that it's not up my ass. I turn 30 years old this year, and there's something personal to that. A resonance very warm. Will I meet the beauty of that turning point of my life with arms wide open? Will I grab the opportunity to take that kid's hand and show her something different? Can I stand by her?... This kid's name is Cynthia. She's one of the coolest kids I know. And if no one else can, then I will. I'll stand by her. I'll stand by me.

[primal-screamer-blog1]

[literalcreativeidiot]

Reset. || November 17th, 2018.

“So how’s Stink doing? I miss the little fart machine.”

“He’s fine. I’ve slowly but surely weaned him off your scent so he’ll be good eventually.”

“And Princess?”

“Wouldn’t have noticed you were gone even if I went blue in the face telling her about it.”

“That’s my girl!”

It wasn’t the first time the two—Maxine and Derrick—walked the halls of the Staples Center during an event to just have idle chatter and “shoot the shit” as it were. However, this time was different. There was a sense of comforting realization that had swept over them as they walked through the busy halls during this day.

Derrick had always had a ritual when it came to the Takeover events that came 24 hours before one of the marquee pay-per-views. For some reason, he didn’t know why, he always liked to come by and take in the atmosphere as a quasi-fan/member of the writing staff that was just there to watch the process unfurl. Gave him a new perspective and, of course, free access to catering and one of the lush seating areas to watch the show in peace without being annoyed. Weird quirk that came from him being a fan all these years that he’d wanted to take in a show in the most fully immersive way he could without being amongst the chatter. Method to his madness so to speak. This was also the first time the two of them walked the halls of an arena together since her departure.

They had talked it over for a while—her potentially leaving the company after her many years of service to go be part of something she always wanted to do. And when that opportunity came, she leapt at it, though not without a decent level of consternation. If before, she couldn’t dream of leaving then why did she jump on the first thing screaming out of town? Especially if it meant being away from her beloved. And why wouldn’t he create much of a stink about it and readily resign himself to them being, essentially, bicoastal in a long-distance relationship? Sketchy, but they never really shared the details with everyone.

“So how’ve you been? I know it’s been like...a month or so since you were out here and we haven’t really talked all that much because work but still. How are you?” Maxine said, folding her arms underneath her chest as she stood in front of him.

“Doing what I do best: working, listening to true crime documentaries and trying to figure out if I can finagle my way into tax exempt status.” Derrick joked, the corners of his mouth peeking up with a grin. “But for real, I’m good, though. Haven’t had an episode or drank too much to the point where I say too much about anything. Really, just taking shit one day at a time as per usual.”

“So basically you haven’t spiraled. That’s good to hear; makes me feel better and I don’t have to worry as much.” She said, sliding a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I see how you dealt with things.” He said, reaching his hand out to swipe his fingers over the deep dark red-colored bangs that hung over her forehead. “Cutting your own bangs...again. Wise move.”

She shook her head vehemently as a means to move from his hand, letting out a laugh at his assertion. “What, I’m the only one who makes rash choices with their hair? I got annoyed, briefly, and did it, saw the result, freaked out for like fifteen minutes and then I decided the best course of action was to distract people from it by wearing low cut tops and tilting my head at different angles. Hats are the next option!”

“You can’t put a big floppy hat on everything and expect it to just not catch everyone’s attention. It doesn’t work that way.” Derrick responses with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Try me, okay? It can happen.”

It was something that he admired in her, the irrational confidence she had that she could do and pull off mostly anything. Made it easier to shrug things off if and when they went awry and to celebrate when it went as planned. Method to the madness, as one would say.

“So how are things back over there? Neighbors haven’t noticed I was gone all that much?” Maxine asked as the two took a seat at an empty table in the concession area, far enough away so people wouldn’t be interrupting their conversation all that much.

“Things are fine; Halloween was a mess. One of the houses got tagged with the phrase, ‘I wouldn’t fuck her with Elvis’ dick’.” He stated, shoulders bouncing up and down as he tried to contain his laughter.

“Oh, God—was it the Johnson Twins?” She beamed with a laughter, reaching a hand out to rest on his forearm.

“Of course it was the Johnson Twins. They’re the only ones who would do something that incredibly dumb.”

There were a few beats of silence that was gradually getting drowned out by the typical mix of chatter that came from people congregating in the arena. It allowed the two of them to look at each other with seemingly pleasant expressions on their faces, taking the time to collect their thoughts.

“So….have you told anyone yet?” She asked after clearing her throat, turning her head and scratching the back of her neck.

“You mean outside of Dad, Melinda, Casey, and Kat? Nope. Not a single word. Not yet at least.”

“Derrick.” She chastised him playfully, giving him a look that could best be described as ‘what the fuck’.

“What?! I don’t need to tell everyone about everything. They’ll know when I feel the time in right.” He offered up a shrug, drumming his fingertips along the surface of the table. “Who knows; I could easily go into the New Year if I’m determined enough.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Maxine shook her head at his attempt at justification. She knew he had a knack for doing this sort of thing. Being evasive when he didn’t need to for reasons that were beyond her after all these years.

“So you’re just gonna not tell people that we haven’t been a thing for close to two and a half months and that’s why I moved to Burbank in addition to me getting this new job?”

“Yeah because I’m weird like that. And because I don’t wanna cause there to be speculation and hearsay. Y’know, typical high school nonsense that I’m too old for.”

The nonchalant nature of the two of them confirming their separation wasn’t exactly something shocking to either of them if the people who knew them well enough took it as any indication. Having seen each other and how they were after disastrous breakups, the fact that neither of them were on the verge of real self-destructive behavior was a sign to both of them that they were somehow at peace.

Like skipping all the prior stages of grief just to get to the acceptance stage.

“They’re gonna find out eventu—you’re totally planning on just showing up one day with a new girlfriend and act like it’s a Tuesday.” Maxine stated, remembering the last time he pulled that move back in their early twenties.

“It worked before. And as long as questions aren’t asked, it’ll work again. I know you don’t go to church but have faith.”

“Mister ‘I tell people I go commando at home’ isn’t gonna divulge who he’s been fucking? Who are you, and what have ya dun with muh Derrick?” Maxine said, peppering the last statement with the faux-concerned Southern Belle accent that caused both of them to laugh.

“What, you want me to just up and say the nitty gritty of everything? Give them the ol’ Inside The Actors Studio about my dating life? C’mon, Max.”

“I don’t mean give them the blow-by-blow analysis but yeah, tell folks so they’re not left wondering or assuming shit.”

“And to think, we could’ve signed NDA’s about this whole thing, Max.”

She shook her head in response with a laugh and a smile, noting that he really couldn’t turn that bit of charm off him even if he tried. They stayed silent for a few seconds, letting whatever laughter die down so they could ease their way back into conversation.

“....is it weird that I’m not feeling torn up inside about all of this?” She inquired, biting at the corner of her bottom lip as her eyes settled on his. It was as if she was doing her best to search in his eyes to find the answer she was looking for. Trying to get a read on him before he could say anything.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Makes me not feel as weird for not wanting to go into a breakup depression spiral. Is this how normal, functioning adults handle the end of their relationships?”

“No, most of them get into a bitter divorce battle that crippled them financially and makes them hate the person they professed to love in the eyes of the Lord.” Maxine answered with a shrug.

“Well, that’s a damn shame. For them anyway.”

To them, it was good that they were at least able to find a way to joke about this like it was a normal thing. It was a coping mechanism that they hadn’t grown out of since they knew each other and wasn’t something they were going to shy away from, especially during such a time of uncertainty between the two of them. Whatever small laughter there was between them had settled into another few beats of that uneasy silence most people would try to fill with witty banter or small talk.

“For the record, I’m not bitter or harboring resentment toward you.” Derrick begun to say, setting her head perk up to look at him as she had spent the last few moments blankly staring at her left hand. They never really wore their wedding rings outside of special occasions but they had both been feeling the nakedness of it not being on their ring finger for the past number of weeks. “I don’t hate you—don’t even think I’m capable of hating you. I mean if we were having this conversation six months ago, I think you and I would feel completely different than we do now and wouldn’t easily find our way to a comfort zone like we have.”

“Well, six months ago, there probably would’ve been a fight and both of us saying something we didn’t mean and accelerating the process by months instead of what we did: Try to navigate why we were feeling the way we felt until we came to the ultimate conclusion.”

“That that romantic love we once had and were running on—that flame burnt out when we weren’t looking. Sucks but it happens even if you try to stop it from happening.”

“We took the path less traveled. The one that didn’t lead into a belligerent shouting match on the front lawn of a house in a Long Island suburb. Guess that counts for something, huh?” Maxine rhetorically asked, face scrunched up with a small smile. She reached out to grab his wrist, flipping it over to reveal the matching tattoo they had gotten over a decade ago in correspondence to the one she had in the same area. Her thumb lightly grazed over the scar that his tattoo had been covering, biting at the corner of her lip. “You won’t be able to get rid of me all that easy; you know that, right? I’ll always be with you.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, Red.” He replied with a knowing smirk, uttering the same nickname he gave her when they first met. “Even though we live on opposite ends of the country, I’m still a phone call or text away. You know that. For anything: If you wanna talk about your day, tell me about some adventure you took in San Fernando Valley, boyfriend troub—well, no. Not boyfriend troubles. At least not yet; that’d be weird.”

She first responded with a laugh, shaking her head from side to side as her other hand covered her face slightly.

“No, I definitely won’t be calling you up to talk about boy troubles and likewise, I don’t think you’ll do the same with whatever girl or girls decide they wanna make your life hell. More postcards from places you visited, though. I liked the ones you sent over from Manchester. But yes, the feeling is mutual; one call or text away, like always.”

“Like always. Despite everything else, that? That won’t ever change, I promise.”

“Of course.”

They weren’t going to lie to each other. By the seemingly sudden (to people who knew them anyway) nature of their separation, things were going to change in their lives much like it did two years ago when they first got together and wanted to see what it all meant for them to give it the ol’ college try. But in the end, they found that they couldn’t fake it with one another long enough to “right the ship” as it were. In the end, it became the sobering wake up call the two of them needed.

He remembered the conversation as clear as day. Hell, they both did. A semblance of dancing around the fact that neither of them were feeling the same way they did before. That madly in love feeling had dissipated before their very eyes and they didn’t know how or what to do to prevent the slow moving avalanche from already gaining steam. Like most things, once the levees break, there’s no real chance at fixing the leak in the dam.

Tears flowed during that conversation, reminiscing about fun times they had had together that were fleeting quickly. And then, in relative silence, they worked to make the landing for each other as smooth as possible, the last vestiges of two people who loved one another beyond being husband and wife, the two best friends that had known each other for over a decade. It sucked but in many ways, for them, it was therapeutic more than anything else, really. Far more than they wanted to admit anyway.

They had both gotten up from their seats to embrace in a hug, quietly enjoying the close warmth of one another once more until they could see each other again in the future. She rubbed his back and shut her eyes, nodding as he kept his arms locked around her waist.

“You take care of yourself, alright?” Derrick uttered as he looked at her, hands resting on her hips. “If you need anything, just call.”

“Okay. I will. And you don’t worry so much. Don’t overthink shit and keep your head above the clouds, okay? Wouldn’t wanna have to straighten you up again.” Maxine uttered jokingly, shaking her head at him.

“I’ll replace all my worries with true crime factoids and even more useless information.”

“So more doubling down, eh? On brand behavior.”

With shared chuckles, they departed from their embrace—almost unceremoniously, really. There wasn’t really much for either of them to say afterwards; what was done is done and all they had left was to go on with the next phase of their lives. Her, heading to another part of the building, possibly leaving, and him going off to do his usually pre-show scrounging. And really, that’s how it had to be.

The reset button had been hit by the two of them, from once a couple back to the best of friends again, though there’s the not-so small wrinkle of the last two and a half years of their lives being so intertwined with one another. Whatever the case may be, things were different. They were different and they both went about accepting that as their immediate truth.

[voyages-extraordinaires]

C:R ~VE~ Chapter 44

Hatteras is matching my pace exactly as we walk through the narrow hall. Whenever I slow, he slows as well, and whenever I pick up speed, his long legs make longer strides.

No matter his speed, though, he is completely silent. All of the metal echoes of the hallway are caused by my boots.

“You, uh, Aleister said you wanted to make a kingdom up here?”

“I do,” replies Hatteras. “A place where I can explore the extreme beauty of this place. Listen.”

Hatteras stops, cupping a hand around his ear. “Do you hear it?”

I hold my breath and strain, listening for… something.

“I don’t hear anything,” I whisper.

Hatteras sighs, his frown deepening. “The roar of the Northern Wind. It never leaves my ears. I was hoping that maybe you heard it as well.”

I shake my head, surprised when I hear myself saying: “I’m sorry.”

“Nobody does,” says Hatteras. “It’s a burden the Northern Lights gave to me. It’s the punishment for my hubris, the attempt to lay my mortal eyes on things reserved for gods. To go higher than anyone ever has before--!”

Hatteras’ speech is cut off by a whimper as he puts his hands over his ears again. “It’s so noisy… it’s always so noisy now.”

When I notice that he’s trembling, my eyes narrow. I swallow my fear and offer him my arm so he can steady himself.

He looks at me, not taking his hands away from his ears, and shakes his head before straightening up.

“You heart is drawn to broken men,” he says.

I pull my arm back, frowning. “Don’t say things like that.” Then, realizing that I might as well be scolding a child, I continue with an even explanation. “It makes me feel like you’re suggesting I have ulterior motives. It’s insulting.”

Hatteras shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean…”

He sighs and begins to walk forward, slowly pulling his hands away. “I’m not very good at speaking anymore. I’m trying to say that you’re… drawn… to people who need help.”

I walk beside him, still defensive.

“I am a broken man, too,” says Hatteras. “That’s why Aleister chose me.”

I turn to stare at him as he opens a door and takes me inside what looks to be a large laboratory. Men in thick coats are hunched over microscopes, their breath coming out as fog as they examine the composition of various ice samples.

“Chose you?” I look at Hatteras.

“You haven’t noticed?” Hatteras looks back at me. “Aleister has a bit of a bad habit, you see. You want to help us, he wants to collect us.”

“Collect? Broken men?”

Hatteras nods. “Myself. Nemo. There are others in London, too. I’m not sure he realizes that I understood him when he told me. No… I’m sure he does. He knows everything about me. He knows everything about Nemo, too. Everything about you, as well… your hopes, your dreams, your aspirations. He knows everything about everyone he meets.”

“Should you be telling me this?”

Hatteras nods. “He knows that I’d tell you. Otherwise, he would not have said anything. Aleister knows that the harder you struggle to free the man you love, the more he will come to resent you. So it’s useless. Jimmy told me, ‘You and that man are a lot alike. You only hear what you want to hear.’”

I shake my head. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true,” says Hatteras.

“Did you want to hear that you’re ‘broken’?” I wrinkle my nose.

Hatteras slowly blinks as if he’s processing what I’m saying. “It’s true. I am broken.”

“You are ill!” I raise my voice, but quickly regret it when I notice how Hatteras recoils at the volume. When I speak again, it’s quiet and even. “You are not broken. Nemo is not broken. What Aleister is doing isn’t ‘collecting broken men’. He’s taking advantage of illnesses.”

Hatteras looks down at the floor, quiet for a long time before he finally says: “Illnesses can be cured. I cannot be. Aleister took me from the sanatorium where I was meant to stay for the rest of my days. Always behind walls… always separated from the source of the wind howling in my ears.”

“So you think letting this man take advantage of you is better?” I shake my head. “Captain, that makes no sense.”

“It makes sense to me,” replies Hatteras. “He gets his amusement, and I get my kingdom. I’m able to surround myself with the lights and the noise of the land I love.”

I put a hand to my forehead, trying to make sense of the madness I’m hearing.

“I’m not… I’m not really the right person to talk with about all this,” I shake my head. “But, as far as I’m concerned, Aleister is even less qualified.”

“Aleister gave me an option outside of the path I had been set upon. I’ll always be grateful to him for that,” says Hatteras. “Perhaps Nemo sees it the same way.”

“The path he’s been set upon? But…” I shake my head, narrowing my eyes. “This adventure would have happened even more smoothly without Aleister’s interference. We’d still be in Steel London, he’d be with his friends…”

“Maybe not now,” says Hatteras. “Maybe before. They worked together on the Nautilus, didn’t they?”

I rub my temples. “Yes… yes they did. I know that Nemo is grateful to Aleister for that time, but… I thought he understood all that Aleister has done to hurt him.”

“It’s easy to say ‘I understand’,” says Hatteras as he begins to slowly walk past the scientists, unaffected by the room’s refrigeration. “It’s easy to smile and even nod along. It’s easy to tell yourself. But that doesn’t mean there’s a connect from the heart to the brain.”

Hatteras turns towards me. “Maybe you should focus more on how he actually feels instead of how he ‘should’ feel.”

I follow after Hatteras, wincing as the cold bites through the thick coat I’m wearing. “Captain, I have known you for less than an hour.”

He tilts his head, strands of his dark hair brushing his cheek.

“How dare you assume to know so much about me? You’re talking as if we’ve known each other for months!” I say.

“I have known you for months,” says Hatteras. “In a way.”

Hatteras gestures me to follow him through to another room, this one a warmer temperature. It’s another laboratory, this time with scientists examining bones and biological samples. I feel excitement beginning to glow brightly inside of me, and I put my hands to my mouth when I come face-to-face with a beautiful skeleton. It’s a whale, but what sets it apart is—

“The unicorn of the sea…” I whisper as I approach and take in the glamour of the horn. “I knew they lived up here, but I didn’t think I’d actually… never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever see something like this! A narwhal!”

Hatteras walks up beside me, though I feel his eyes on me instead of the narwhal skeleton.

“We see them from time to time in the sea,” he says. “Maybe sometime you’ll see one as well, Professor. I think I would enjoy the sketches you’ll make.”

I glance over at Hatteras out of the corner of my eye, regretting my inability to hide my enthusiasm.

“You said you have known me for months,” I say.

“In a way,” Hatteras repeats.

“How?”

“The same way Aleister knew your exact location. Transmitters on Lincoln Island and the Harper. Cyrene Smith might call Nemo and Impey Barbicane ‘Professor’, but she is very much in their league. She came up with the transmitter prototypes that Aleister had his men build and install in the Harper.”

I narrow my eyes. “Does Smith know about this?”

Hatteras shakes his head. “Aleister knew that Cyrene Smith’s loyalty might sway. If she had been aware, I imagine she would have tried to warn you.”

“Transmitters… so you heard everything?” I frown.

“Yes,” says Hatteras. “I heard everything, and Aleister helped fill in the gaps. It was like… an adventure a child might hear as a bedtime story.”

I distinctly remember some events on the Harper that were not appropriate for a child’s bedtime story. I suddenly find it very hard to look at Hatteras.

“So I’m very happy to meet you. It’s like meeting a protagonist I’ve followed for a long time,” Hatteras continues.

I finally bring myself to look back at him. His expression is cold, his lips hide no hints of a smile. How could he say such things with no emotion?

“Did that make you uncomfortable?”

Hatteras’ question brings me back to my present situation. “This… entire scenario makes me uncomfortable, Captain. Why do you need the Harper?”

“Stealth,” he replies.

I stare at him, waiting for an explanation, but instead he returns to looking up at the narwhal skeleton.

I finally give him a push: “Stealth? What do you mean?”

“People will notice airships,” replies Hatteras. “It will be difficult for them to notice submarines. We can use this to our advantage and begin regulating countries’ harbors.”

“Regulating?” I furrow my eyebrows.

Hatteras’ eyes are still on the skeleton. “Yes. Regulate. We must have power somehow in order to ensure that we still have access to resources once we establish ourselves. A submarine is the best way to do that until we’re prepared.”

“You’re talking about attacking. The Harper only has a few weapons for self-defense,” I say. “There’s no way it could ‘regulate’ the way you’re suggesting.”

Hatteras finally looks back at me. “You don’t think its creator would be happy to create weapons? To create bigger, better things with more firepower than ever before? Please, if you don’t think he would, please tell me.”

He’s staring at me, waiting for my answer. It’s strange, though—he knows the answer, and I know the answer—but he’s looking at me with an honest expression. He really, sincerely wants this information.

“I think…” I take a breath, trying to think of how to answer in a way that would be honest and yet still satisfy my worry. “I think Nemo would be excited to push all sorts of boundaries.”

He continues to stare at me.

“… He would be as excited as a child on Christmas morning if he had the opportunity to develop underwater firearms,” I say with a sigh. “Explosives, missiles, bombs of all kinds… the bigger the boom, the bigger his smile.”

“You really are in love,” says Hatteras. “To be able to speak of such bad habits with adoration in your voice.”

“I mean, creating weaponry isn’t bad on its own… he’s a genius. He could accomplish anything that interests him.” I’m making excuses, mentally flailing about like I’m sinking into the quagmire of Hatteras’ eyes. They hold no judgement, though… I suppose I’m the one judging myself.

I wince when Hatteras reaches out towards me to brush a stray hair from my cheek.

“I want to know how you really feel, Aronnax,” he says. “If you tell me… how you really feel…”

“Will you let us return to Steel London?” I ask.

Hatteras pulls his hand back.

“No.”

He looks back up at the skeleton.

“But won’t you feel better if you say it?”

I hug myself. “You’re not making sense, Captain.”

“I see…” Hatteras doesn’t look back down at me. “I should elaborate, then. The impression I’ve gotten from everything I’ve heard is that you consider yourself to be a woman with high morals.”

“High morals?” I know what he means, but I feel like I have to hear it from him.

“You value goodness and compassion. You, much like Impey Barbicane, want to find the goodness in all of humanity.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…” I mutter.

“And yet you have fallen in love with a man who has killed hundreds of people… and he killed many of these people even before the Nautilus. If it was for science’s sake, no price was too great for him. No life, save his own, was untouchable. Aleister told me a great deal, Aronnax, and it took a lot for Queen Victoria to personally request his removal. Most of the men in the Royal Society proudly wear horrible sins in the name of progress.”

“T-That’s…”

“It’s never sat well with you,” Hatteras continues. “You make excuses, you think about how he’s changed, about the friendships he’s made, you focus on one act of redemption instead of the bloody path behind him.”

“And what of that? What’s wrong with focusing on how he saved London?! He’s paid his penance!” I lean towards Hatteras, my fists clenched, and he responds only by taking a calm step backwards.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, it’s only natural,” says Hatteras. “But it’s causing conflict inside of you when you see him with Aleister.”

My eyes widen.

“It’s a reminder of the man he once was—and the man he still is in many ways. Pardon my bluntness, Aronnax, but Nemo will always be wicked. And, excuse me once more, but I believe that you will always love him ‘for’ that instead of ‘in spite of’ that.”

I turn away from him.

“And that’s the root of the conflict. You, a good person, love Nemo in all his wickedness. Of course you want to guide him towards the light, but his heart will always be steeped in that allure. Your heartbeat quickens whenever he holds an explosive, you blush when you think of all the people he’s crushed in the name of his passions! That crazed, dangerous grin that you fell in love with—”

“That’s enough!” I shake my head, mimicking Hatteras’ motion of putting my hands over my ears.

“I’ll stop,” Hatteras’ quiet voice cuts through my defenses, and he walks around me, leaning to my height, hair tumbling in front of his face like he’s a horrid specter. “I’ll stop for good as soon as you tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’. I don’t want to hurt you, Aronnax. I just want to know. I want to know.”

I slowly look up at him.

“I want to know what you think,” he says. “Can a good person love the darkness? Can they still be ‘good’ if they dream of being at someone’s side as they hurt others? Are you a good person, Aronnax? I really, really want to know—”

Hatteras reaches for me again, only for his hand to be slapped away.

“Conseil!” I look over at my friend as he steps in-between us.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Captain,” says Conseil.

Conseil looks fully ready to continue to defend me, but Hatteras shrinks away and gives us another slight bow.

“You’re right. I’ve overstepped,” he says. “Aronnax, I really didn’t mean to cause you harm. I only wanted to alleviate your worries. … I suppose I have failed.”

I couldn’t make myself respond to him even if I wanted to, so I just shake my head and slink further behind Conseil.

“Quite!” Conseil answers for me. “I haven’t seen the Professor this upset since…”

He trails off and clears his throat. “Well, about that…” he looks back at me. “I never did give you a proper apology, did I?”

“Later,” I shake my head. “For now, I really want to get out of here.”

Hatteras posture stiffens as he raises his hand. Two men in the owl-like masks are quickly at his side.

“Take them to their beds. Aronnax gets the private bunk,” he says quietly.

“What…” I manage to bark out a laugh. “So you can listen in on me some more?”

“It is a nice stage, isn’t it?” Hatteras throws it right back at me.

I can’t hide the look of disgust on my face as the guards lead Conseil and I away from the Captain.

[darthstitch]

Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Why It's Both a Great Star Wars Film and the Worst Star Wars Film A Blanket Fort Movie Review

Now that I’ve got your attention, I’m going to have to warn for spoilers first. SPOILERS. SPOILERS. SPOILERS. If you haven’t seen Star Wars: The Last Jedi, I strongly suggest you run away now and come back later. This review isn’t going anywhere.

The second thing is that I am NOT and will never be a Kyle Wrong fan (Which is why I’m deliberately mangling his name, so maybe, just maybe, this won’t appear in his tags). Just to be clear, I don’t run around whinging about my hate to his fans and any flavor of ship that involves him and another person. Love who you love and ship who you want - this review is not an attack on you and/or your flavor of Kyle Wrong Shipping. If you happen to have stumbled on this review, you’re free to hop off at this point. We’re all good.

Seen it already? We’re good to go?

Let’s do this.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi should also be titled: “The One Where Everyone Except Leia Skywalker Organa Solo Makes Spectacularly Stupid-Ass Decisions and Where Luke Skywalker Goddamn Deserved Better Than This. Also, Porgs Will Take Over the GFFA, Just You Wait.”

This is this trilogy’s answer to Empire Strikes Back, to be honest. It’s darker. It’s bleaker. Everything’s going wrong for our heroes and there’s no shocking reveal, no “I am your father” moment to be had, plenty of angst, plenty of whinging “woe-is-me�� bullshit from our Resident Supervillain and yes, I’ve mentioned some spectacularly stupid-ass decision-making by our Heroes.

And this is why, from a storytelling standpoint, I can tell you it’s a great Star Wars movie. While it’s clearly inspired by Empire Strikes Back, it’s not a loving point by point recreation of it. As Luke points out, “This will not go the way you think.”

The character arcs for our new Trio are pretty clear. Poe Dameron gets to learn that he can’t just hotshot everything and get away with it with a roguish wink and a grin. While he was able to take out a Dreadnought with his friends, he also ends up sacrificing a significant number of people in the Resistance. To paraphrase Leia, all you get are “dead heroes” and what else can be accomplished by that? Even in a fictional universe where Force Ghosts are a Thing, it’s not like Leia could do an Aragorn and summon the Spirits of the Dead to rally against the Evil Empire - uh, I mean - FIRST ORDER - for one last time.

(If that were possible, Darth Vader’s garbage can ass would have been Permanent Toast a long time ago.) Finn gets to learn that he can’t be selfish and single-minded when it comes to his friends. Let’s face it - he was, technically, going to desert, because he was really more interested in saving Rey and surviving. That, in itself, is understandable, if not commendable, so we have new adorable Cinnabon Roll Rose Tico, whose sister just got killed in Poe’s disastrous bombing raid, getting Finn to rethink that point of view.

Both of them also learn that not all desperate gambles will work for the best. Finn and Rose go on a secret mission and somehow end up in Space Monaco, looking for a shady codebreaker person who might just be able to help them save their Resistance friends. Benicio del Toro plays a character who just might be the new Lando Calrissian… except that he’s basically just a slimy lying liar who lies.

And Rey gets to learn she’s NOT an Orphan With A Grand Secret Bloodline. As much as I want Rey to be a secret Skywalker, I’m pretty cool with the idea that she isn’t. I like the fact that the movie reminds us, yet again, that you don’t have to be a Skywalker to have the Force. The Jedi and Sith Orders were composed of every possible species we’ve seen in the GFFA, not just humans and not just a bunch of incestous Skywalker cousins. People gifted with the ability can be anyone at all. And if Lucas tried to sell us the idea that Anakin Skywalker was somehow a virgin birth and end up this powerful Force user, I can totally deal that Rey had perfectly ordinary parents and just got lucky in the Force sweepstakes.

Rey also realizes several critical things in this movie. The Great Jedi Master she’s trying to find is not some saintly perfect soul just waiting to be called out for One Last Grand Adventure. She’s NOT going to be able to save the handsome, supposedly misunderstood, young, handsome Dark Lord with the Power of her True Love and Pure Convictions.

Yeah. I just went there.

There’s no salvation for Kyle Wrong. None at all. That’s pretty much the point.

Snoke pretty much savagely takes him down near the beginning of the film - calling out all of Kyle Wrong’s bullshit and essentially getting to the heart of the matter: He’s a pathetic Darth Vader fanboy manchild playing dress up. So Kyle Wrong’s character arc for this movie is pretty much spent cementing his Supervillain status. He’s firmly setting aside his humanity and all the possible ties of love, family and friendship he might have had from before. The first time, we see him hesitating at firing on his mother’s ship. Someone else takes that shot and basically blasts Leia and the remnants of the old Rebel Alliance into space, with only Leia surviving through sheer Force magic. In the final battle of the movie, he doesn’t hesitate anymore. Take no prisoners, he orders. Kill everyone.

For Kylo Ren to refute Snoke’s contemptuous words, to refute that TRUTH - he’s killing the past. Letting it die. Letting himself be reborn.

But wait - y'all are crying out to me - what about Rey? Can’t Rey save him with the power of her compassion and true love? I was already cringing in my seat because I could hear the squees of the shippers from outer space - so yes, guys, I saw all that.

(Yeah, I really hate a certain flavor of Kyle Wrong Shipping with the fire of ten thousand suns. But that’s my preference and that’s why I’m avoiding explicit mention of it because I don’t want this getting into their tags and spoiling their own fun. Ship in peace guys.)

Rey fights a dangerous attraction to Kyle Wrong and why not? He’s young, he’s handsome, he’s got this storied, legendary bloodline behind him. And she can see the frightened boy that he used to be and maybe Luke Skywalker is just another lying, “truth-from-a-certain-point-of-view” Ben Kenobi, not telling the whole story. She gets a clear Force vision of Kylo Ben defeating Snoke and fighting on the side of Good. Maybe she can bring him back, just like Luke did to his father.

Except that Luke didn’t really lie to her. He DID confront his nephew, having sensed the Darkness in his heart. The only thing he didn’t specify - because of his own shame - was that moment of weakness, where he could clearly see the monster his beloved nephew would become, where he had the chance to strike him down…and Luke knew he just couldn’t do it. Not his sister’s boy. Not the child of his best friend, the nearest thing he had to a brother.

And Kyle Wrong plays up this pathos with everything’s he’s got. “It’s not my fault!” - he pretty much whinges to her. “Uncle Luke MADE me this way.” Conveniently setting aside the fact, of course, that he already SUBVERTED a bunch of Luke’s own students. That after he’d logically fought Luke in what we could argue as self-defense, he and “the Knights of Ren” took out the rest of Luke’s students who WOULDN’T JOIN HIM AND HIS DARK MASTER. He wasn’t some scared little kid who didn’t know better - that’s NOT a young boy that we see in the flashback - that’s a YOUNG MAN. Yes he was scared. Scared that Luke was finally seeing through his bullshit. Scared that Luke had figured him and his friends out!

Ultimately, this is the truth of Kyle Wrong. He was the beloved child of incredibly busy, heroic, overachieving parents who were trying to rebuild a galaxy and maybe, just maybe, couldn’t give him all the undivided attention that he needed. He listened to the whisperings of “Palpatine v. 2.0” because Snoke pretty much fed into his ego and his feelings of entitlement. After savaging him in the first scene, Snoke pretty much outlines how he GOT Kyle Wrong into his clutches. Kyle Wrong is the grandson of Darth Vader, legendary Dark Lord, heir to his power, heir to “his” Empire, who shouldn’t be “serving” this ungrateful chaotic galaxy. He should be RULING it. There’s no tragic backstory here to render Kyle Wrong more sympathetic. He wasn’t an abused slave. He wasn’t desperately trying to save the woman he loved from death. He grew up beloved and cherished, with all the privileges. He was basically this spoilt, rebellious teenager who was so obviously headed down the wrong direction that his worried, loving parents sent him to the most logical person in the galaxy to get the help and guidance he needed. And Luke so obviously TRIED and it didn’t take and it broke Luke’s goddamn heart that he couldn’t.

(FFS, REY HAD MORE REASON TO TURN DARK SIDE THAN HE DID AND SHE’S NOT. FINN HAD ALL THE REASON IN THE GODDAMN GALAXY TO TURN EVIL AND HE’S STILL. FIGHTING. THE. GOOD. FIGHT.)

So Rey learns, bitterly, that there’s no saving somebody like that. You can’t save someone who clearly does not want to be saved, who clearly doesn’t think he’s in the wrong, who’s willing to destroy the people who love him because he thinks “love and attachment” are weaknesses. Rey’s vision is true, from a certain point of view: she does see Kyle Wrong strike down Snoke and she does see him fight on the side of Good. But it’s only because Kyle Wrong finally decides to take power for himself. And he’s not really fighting on the side of Good - he’s fighting by her side because he wants to lure her to Darkness, to make him like himself.

The reason why Luke succeeds with Darth Vader is because Vader never turned to the dark side just for power’s sake. He did it because he wanted to save Padme. He wanted to save his beloved wife and his precious unborn baby. There’s a bunch of other reasons why he had harbored resentment towards the Jedi - we have the prequels and the Clone Wars cartoons for that. But that was the final straw. Darth Vader turned to the Dark Side for the sake of love. Darth Vader still had the capability to choose love. When it came down to his Master and his beloved son, VADER CHOSE LUKE. That’s why Vader could find redemption in the end.

I’m not saying that Darth Vader was right to be an evil, fascist, mass-murdering, child-killing supervillain. Obviously, that one moment where he turns against Palpatine doesn’t magically negate decades of evildoing. Even then, there’s a logic and reason to Vader’s evil. He’s spent his entire lifetime trying to bring peace and order back to the galaxy. He’s got a twisted notion of HOW to get to it, which is why he’s basically LAWFUL EVIL, but you can’t deny the horrible logic of it. You can’t deny that’s WHY Vader gets people to follow him, why he’s so powerfully charismatic and frightening and fascinating all at the same time.

Darth Vader is still a horrifying evil mass-murdering nightmare. We just have more reason to understand and give him some measure of sympathy, even while we rightfully condemn what he’s done.

Consider this - Darth Vader actually told Luke, in Return of the Jedi, that “It’s too late for me, my son.” That’s the words of someone who clearly realizes that he NEEDS saving and that he CAN’T be saved. Kylo Wrong? He tells Rey that she’s “nobody” but that he can give her all the answers that she needs. He clearly demonstrates he doesn’t NEED or WANT to be saved. He is exactly where he WANTS to be.

Finally, here’s the biggest hint that we have that this new trilogy is NOT going to be Kyle Wrong’s arduous Journey Back to the Light.

In the last Force-assisted conversation between him and Rey, she finally closes the door of the Falcon. That’s a clear metaphor for her finally learning her lesson. She’s closing the door on Kylo Wrong and realizes that while compassion can be a powerful thing, it’s completely wasted on him. There’s no hope for him anymore and it’s no longer her job to save his soul or some other bullshit like that. Her path is clear - she has to take him down. For Han’s sake. For Luke’s sake. For the sake of everyone in the galaxy who’s going to suffer under the rule of the brand new Supreme Leader Darth Edgelord.

Consider, also, that the very next scene shows her finally and properly making the acquaintance of one Poe Dameron. It is the most perfect goddamn meet cute that I have ever seen. I’m gonna call it right now - this looks like the beginning of a beautiful, badass relationship and REY, GIRL, YOU GO GET YOURSELF SOME OF THAT.

And of course, she gets to hug Finn too. Reconnect. The first real friend she’s made and they survived and they’re together again. LOOK, I AM ALL FOR REY GETTING SOME OF THAT TOO.

Seriously, guys, if there was ever an excuse for an OT4 with Rey/Rose/Finn/Poe, this is it. Gift-wrapped like manna from heaven. Don’t let me down, fandom.

So as far as the storytelling for the next generation of heroes is concerned, The Last Jedi does good. I approve the storytelling choices.

Also, the Porgs are so fucking cute, Imma die.

And here’s why I also think The Last Jedi is also the worst Star Wars movie.

We waited. For. Forty. Fucking. Years.

We put up with the shitfest that was the Prequels. We made do with fan fiction. There’s the Clone Wars cartoons which are basically WHY DIDN’T YOU DO ALL THIS SHIT IN THE FREAKIN’ PREQUEL MOVIES THEMSELVES INSTEAD OF GIVING US SCENES IN WHICH ANAKIN SKYWALKER WHINGES ABOUT SAND IN HIS SHORTS. There’s the better-written books and comics.

But we waited and we waited patiently for the Skywalker saga to continue on the big screen. I wanted to see Luke Skywalker rise past his Heroid BSOD and kick ass once again. I wanted more than just that achingly sad goodbye that he had with his sister. I wanted to see Luke raise his X-wing from the depths of sea to fly among the stars again.

If he couldn’t take center stage anymore, I was fucking FINE with him being the BADASS CRANKY GRANDPA Deus Ex Machina who can bring down a fucking Star Destroyer with the Force alone. Because goddamn it, Luke Skywalker deserved better than this.

And I completely understand the growing fan backlash against this movie. This isn’t because we didn’t get to see Super Perfect!Luke on the big screen. Hell, Luke isn’t perfect. But you’re asking me to believe that Luke Skywalker has this “moment of weakness” where he seriously considered, if only for a second, killing his sleeping, vulnerable, unarmed nephew.

Yeah.

This is the same Luke Skywalker who believed with all of his heart that he could still reach the good in his garbage can mass-murdering Sithlord father, right? You’re telling me that HIS FIRST INSTINCT IS TO MURDER HIS DARKNESS-BOUND NEPHEW IN COLD BLOOD? I get that it was only a second’s weakness and that it passed, and that we can say that Luke overcame this BUT HELL THE FUCK NO, I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT THIS IS IN LINE WITH LUKE’S CHARACTER.

Mark Hamill’s performance carries all of this but I am royally pissed the fuck off at this storytelling choice. THIS is poor writing. THIS is bullshit.

You know what would have made sense? If Luke had LITERALLY confronted his nephew about it. Because he had ALL THE REASON IN THE WORLD to do it. We KNOW that Kyle Wrong didn’t destroy Luke’s Jedi Temple single-handedly. We KNOW that Kyle Wrong was already subverting Luke’s students because hey, Knights of Ren, remember? We KNOW that he was already turning evil, going to the Darkness because Han himself tells us that he and Leia sent their son to Luke for HELP. If Luke and Kyle Wrong had an actual conversation that devolved into an argument and a battle where Luke failed to convince his nephew because Captain Edgelord here preferred being on the Asshole Side of the Force - THAT WOULD HAVE WORKED. Luke could still be our bitter, heartbroken old hermit guy. Kyle Wrong could still get to play up his so-called “woobie woe is me” status because “UNCA LUKE DIDN’T TRUST ME, FEARED MY POWER, HELD ME BACK.”

That dialogue sound familiar now, guys?

LUKE SKYWALKER GODDAMN DESERVES BETTER.

Leia got to fight with her Resistance and be the badass General that she is and if Fate and God had been kinder, we would have had Carrie Fisher to continue to bring her to life in the next Star Wars episode. But Luke. Luke didn’t deserve to go out like that. Luke and Leia deserved to have a quiet, happy retirement on Naboo at the very least, letting the young ones do the legwork while they played the roles of Wise Mentors.

Let’s face it - Kylo Wrong is NOT the next generation of Skywalker to carry on the proud tradition of heroism. He’s chosen to be this generation’s piece of shit. He’s not even gonna get to go out in blaze of Tragic Redemption Glory. I’m betting anything that Kylo Wrong’s fate at the end of this new saga is an ignominous end, just the quiet realization that he fucked up and fucked up but good and he won’t even get ONE GOOD DEED to justify an asspull redemption. And that’s what he deserves, quite frankly.

The ones who are going to carry on for the Skywalkers are going to be Rey, Poe, Finn and Rose. Maybe that little boy back in Space Monaco who’s discovering now that he too has the Force. They’re not related to the Skywalkers by blood, but by God, you can’t argue with me that Rey, Poe, Finn and Rose don’t have the spirit, courage, compassion and sheer badassery that we’ve seen from Padme. From Luke and Leia. From Han Solo. From Ben Kenobi. Even from my garbage can son ANAKIN SKYWALKER. They’re not Skywalkers by blood. Their destiny isn’t written in their bloodlines. But they’re heroes all the same.

That comforts me somehow.

So - Luke and Leia are going to be it. The last living remnants of Anakin and Padme. Kylo Wrong tells us to “let the past die” but GOD DAMN IT, I CAN’T FUCKING DO IT. I can’t just say goodbye to my favorite whingy farmboy. I can’t just say goodbye to my Princess. It was bad enough when we all said goodbye to our favorite roguish nerf-herding smuggler.

I can’t just let go.

I can’t say goodbye.

So I won’t.

So somewhere in a Galaxy Far, Far Away, Luke Skywalker draws back from the Force, from that icy planet where he’d just confronted the man who was once his nephew. He knows his sister is safe for the moment and he can hear her voice in his head, as clear as it had been when she’d said, “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

This time, it’s different. “Help me, Luke. They - these children - they’re our hope now.”

Yoda cackles at him but his approval is a warm, living thing. Luke can sense his father as well - pride and encouragement - wrapping around him like his dark Jedi cloak. He can even sense old Ben and it’s just as easy as taking a deep breath, to bring his X-wing starfighter up from the depths of the sea, to know that it can still be repaired, that it will still fly.

Artoo bumps against his leg, clearly beeping in excitement. Luke smiles and gently pats the dome of his old friend. A porg decides to perch Artoo’s dome, its trills matching the droid’s own happy noises.

He sends out wordless love to his sister and his answer.

I’ll be there soon, Leia. Wait for me.

- end -