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five-rivers · 3 years

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Loved Chapter 5

Sort of wanted to do something more elaborate with this, but it just wasn't happening. Meh.

“But you aren’t really real, are you?”

Tucker’s question killed the mood fast than a bullet. Danny and Sam stared at him from their side of the blanket nest.

“You want to rephrase that?” asked Sam, glaring, arms crossed.

“Uh,” said Tucker, sweat starting to form on his upper lip. “I mean, clearly you’re real, just… maybe not entirely physical? You, it’s,” he made a sort of twisting gesture with one of his hands. “People who aren’t from here can’t see you. They can’t even touch you. That sort of implies that you’re not on the same level of reality as them.” He shrugged. “You call the other place the Dream, right? Maybe you’re in, like, a kind of daydream or something.”

Danny twisted a corner of a blanket in his hands. “No,” he said.

“Danny,” started Tucker.

“No,” repeated Danny. “I can’t—” He noticed he was breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused enough that he could see—No. “Tucker, I don’t—I don’t think I even have free will anymore.” No matter how much he Loved Clockwork and craved Love in return, no matter how glad he was that the dark future would never come to pass, that grated at times. “I need—” He gulped air.

(Before, if he was this panicked, his heart would be thundering in his chest. Now, it was far too quiet.)

Sam put a hand on his back, steadying. Tucker reached out, too, but hesitated, unsure.

“I need to be real,” he said. He needed to still exist, still be human, at least in part. He couldn’t lose that, too. No matter what else he might gain.

“You are real,” said Tucker. “I’m sorry, I—” He cursed lightly under his breath, “—I wasn’t thinking. It’s just… Maybe something you should think about. Maybe—Maybe you aren’t coming completely out of… I don’t know. Wherever you go.”

“Maybe,” said Danny, struggling to get his breathing back under control. “Maybe. I just. Not right now.”

“Okay,” said Tucker. “Yeah. What were we talking about before?”

“Who cares?” asked Sam. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“That sounds good,” said Danny.

Danny woke up first the next morning, which was somewhat unusual. Sam was definitely a night-owl, but Tucker woke up fairly early. He stepped over them, feet silent on the floor. Almost as if they weren’t really there.

He shook his head. Not now.

He went to the bathroom and took care of things slowly, deliberately, as if to impress upon his body that he was human.

Sam and Tucker still weren’t awake when he came back. Also, when he thought about it, the rest of the house was eerily silent as well.

No… There was music. Was that coming from outside? He closed his eyes to listen better and caught himself drifting off while standing.

That was abnormal. He knelt and shook Sam and Tucker’s shoulders. They didn’t stir.

Someone was here. And they were here without Danny knowing. That was bad. That was really bad.

He went to his parents’ room. They were asleep, too.

There was a nonzero possibility that he was the only one awake. (Assuming he had ever been awake in the first place and not, as Tucker put it, daydreaming.)

He went out, following the music. Music suggested Ember, but this didn’t seem to be her style. She preferred motion, energy, vibrance. This was quieter, subtler.

Then again, none of the others made sense.

(At least, Danny liked to pretend they didn’t.)

The music wasn’t louder outside, but it was clearer. The scent of something sweet floated on the air. Something warm. Like honey.

Was something buzzing?

Danny shook his head again, forcing himself back into awareness. Maybe he should try and figure out what was going on from inside the Dream. It wasn’t possible to fall asleep there. At least, Danny never had.

(Assuming he wasn’t always partially in the Dream, like Tucker said.)

On the other hand, it often helped to observe what was going on in the real world, on the surface of things, before diving. As messy as fights could be in the real world, winning them in the Dream was harder.

He forged on, periodically pinching himself. He wasn’t the only one on the streets, but he was the only one on the streets that wasn’t passed out. It looked like there had been some car crashes.

That’s when he saw her.

She stood in the middle of an intersection, looking away from him. She was built like a centaur, except the lower part of her body more closely resembled a massive deer than a horse. An elk, perhaps. Both her deer-portion and her human-portion had night-black skin, studded with white stars. Antlers curved and branched above her curly hair. A crown of red flowers sat on her head. She wore no other clothes.

Danny did not notice any of this at first. No, what first jumped out at him was the unmistakable chain of Love binding him to her and vice versa.

He’d never met anyone like this, so—

She turned to face Danny. But she didn’t have a face. She had a mask. A well-made mask that had both eye-holes and a mouth with lips that seemed to curve. It was also covered with pulsing, swirling, hypnotic patterns. Black and white chased each other across the mask, not respecting the mask’s physical curves.

Danny could feel his mind start to go fuzzy. Felt the ground go soft under him as he sank into the Dream. A distant part of him wanted to look away, but the rest of him could only blink slowly, captivated.

“Come,” she said in a fascinating combination of an out-loud voice and a True Voice, tugging lightly on the chain that attached Danny to her.

Danny complied, trotting out into the intersection. When he was most of the way there, she turned away again.

“Follow,” she ordered.

Danny did, vaguely noting how rapidly the sidewalks and concrete buildings of Amity Park flowed into smoothly rolling hills covered in grass and flowers. The air grew heavier. Hotter. The perfume of the flowers combined with the buzzing of the bees and the gentle music served to make Danny even drowsier than before.

Still, he could hardly nod off in this situation, walking behind her, Love connecting them.

Sluggishly, belatedly, a name came to mind. “Nocturne,” he said. The name tasted like milk and honey, like chamomile tea, like sleep. She stopped and inclined her head slightly towards him. “You’re different from before.”

“We haven’t met,” she said. Then she turned more fully, the lips on her mask curving into a smile. “Has our parent been showing you Dreams of me? Perhaps I looked more like this.” She changed, her body warping before Danny’s eyes to become an impossibly tall man completely covered in starry black robes. Except, of course, for his mask and curved, ram-like horns. “This is as good a place as any, I suppose.”

Danny nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and looked around. Amity Park was nowhere in sight. The hills were a little lumpy, as if the grass and moss were growing over oddly shaped rocks.

“Let’s sit,” said Nocturn, lowering himself elegantly to the ground.

Danny followed, movements clumsy and blurred by sleep. He blinked, and found his hands occupied by a large mug. He looked up at Nocturne. Had he given this to Danny, or…?

Nocturne smiled. Danny looked away, not feeling like getting caught in the hypnotic swirls of his mask again. There was something off about those rocks under the grass. Something about their shape…

Then he saw it and inhaled sharply through his teeth.

Bodies. They were bodies. Still breathing, but…

He looked back at Nocturne. He’d known Nocturne was being too nice to him. He was new to being other, but not new to being a younger sibling. Older siblings only acted like this when they had set up everything in their favor. When they wanted something.

Even knowing this, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Could he fall asleep in the Dream?

“What are you doing to them?” he asked. “How do I wake them up.”

Nocturne hummed. “I have an idea. Play a game with me, sibling, and I’ll tell you.”

“What kind of game?”

“You ask me a question, and for every answer I give you, I get something from you.”

“Like, an answer from me,” said Danny, trying to clarify his position, “or something else?”

Nocturne’s smile showed teeth.

“If I play this game,” said Danny, “I have to be able to say when it ends.” He didn’t want to be dancing around conversational pitfalls every time he interacted with Nocturne, after all. They were siblings.

(And though Love was not trust, it was Love. And Love was undeniable.)

“Of course,” agreed Nocturne, easily.

“Alright, then,” said Danny. He adjusted his grip on the mug.

The grass was crawling. He blinked, hard, and shook his head, dislodging two bees that had landed on his ear.

“How do I wake them up?” he asked.

“You can’t,” said Nocturne.

Danny paused, waiting for Nocturne to take what he wanted.

“You have other questions.”

“Aren’t you going to take something from me, for the question?”

“Yes, I am.”

Danny pursed his lips, realizing he had just wasted a question.

“If I can’t wake them, who or what can?”

“I could. Or they could wake themselves.”

Danny mulled over what that could mean. He had no idea where to start with the second part, but the first…

“What would I have to do, to get you to wake them?”

“You—”

The chain around Danny’s neck went taut, pulling him through the fabric of the Dream at breakneck speeds. He was in Clockwork, his sibling behind him.

You must not bully your sibling, my dear. I have enough love for both of you. You do not need to be jealous.

Danny swayed. Now that so much of the tension between him and Nocturne was gone, he was no longer able to use it to support his wakefulness.

Drink your milk, little Love. You’ll be able to find your friends.

Danny nodded sleepily and tipped the mug back. He didn’t remember what happened after that.

“Hundreds of Amity Park citizens are still in comas as health officials race to find the cause of the mysterious event. Some say that gas leaks are to…”

Danny tuned out the TV and glared at his cereal. He knew he had fallen asleep in the Dream and had done something, but the memory was beyond him. Maybe whatever it had been was beyond an even partially human mind.

Or whatever kind of mind Danny had.

His fingers twitched. He was going to go down again later today, to see if Clockwork would help him find everyone else. If they could be found at all. He didn’t want to. He was angry. Angry that this had happened, that it was still happening. Amity Park was his, and Nocturne had no right to try and steal and break and—

The terrible part, was that even though he was angry, his general desire to reach out to Nocturne, to lean on their Love… That had not diminished.

He looked forward to seeing them again.

The news continued to talk about the coma victims.

#danny phantom #eldritch abomination au #dannymay #dannymay day 13: daydream #dannymay 2021

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lostmousemaid · 3 years

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Return to St. Ninian’s

A Redwall fanfiction by Lost Mousemaid

Approx. 2,500 words

****** ****** ******

The multitude of freed slaves and rescuers had spent the duration of the day traveling north toward Redwall Abbey, but Matthias knew they would still be unable to make it to his home by nightfall. Matthias and Orlando discussed briefly whether to travel until they reached the Abbey later in the night, but Matthias decided against it.

“We should rest and return home first thing in the morning. There will be a great deal of excitement once we return, so we should all at least have had enough sleep.” Matthias smiled at Mattimeo and placed a paw on his shoulder. He found himself doing this often since they were reunited in Malkariss.

Orlando looked behind him at the creatures following in their wake. The woodlanders appeared much healthier since their rescue, but still they were thin and weary. Every meal he had shared with his daughter he had scooped an extra portion to her while she was glancing away. Still, she was much thinner than when they had shared their home in the mountains. “You make a fine point, warrior. I’m sure we will all enjoy the food from your legendary tables when we arrive in the morning.”

Matthias called to the woodlanders behind them, “My friends! We will travel north a while longer. When we reach the old church of St. Ninian’s we will settle there for the night. The building is running down, but it may be nice to have a roof over our heads tonight. We will return to my home Redwall in the morning, and you are all welcome to call Redwall home too.”

A cheer rose from the creatures at the knowledge that their journey would soon end. Elmtail and Sam spun in circles with excitement. Sam called to his new friend to climb a nearby tree with him to see if they could spot the Abbey from a distance. Jess smiled fondly at the pair as they scurried off the path and rushed up a nearby oak tree, their chattering fading into the foliage above them.

Matthias had seen Mattimeo’s carefree expression change upon mention of St. Ninian’s, but he did not press him at that moment. He motioned to Orlando to give him some space, and the warrior mouse pulled ahead of the group, knowing his son would follow his pace.

Once they were out of range and could not be heard by those behind them, Matthias asked, "What’s the matter, Matti?”

Mattimeo opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it firmly. He looked back over his shoulder at Cynthia, who was walking beside Cheek. The two had become fast friends. Cynthia enjoyed his lighthearted mischief and found comfort in his company.

Not so long ago, not so far from this place, Tess had chided Mattimeo for his ill treatment of the young vole. Although he was not much older, he had been careful with the way he spoke to others and expressed his emotions and intended to stay on his best behavior, just as he had promised. He looked up at his father with a weak smile. “I’m fine. I’m just concerned for my friends. That morning after the feast, that is where they kept us. St. Ninian's. I don’t know if they would want to go back.”

Matthias felt a lump form in his throat. St. Ninian's had been crumbling into decay even when he was young, but once it had been the comfortable home to his friends the churchmice before it has been overrun by Cluny and his rats. It had not occurred to him that Slagar would have held the young ones in the church before continuing south. He wondered at the strength of the Churchmouse twins who had been born there and once called the church home. Even now they were laughing between themselves as they listened to Basil exaggerate the story of adopting the name Stag Hare. Matthias might have enjoyed a laugh too, as the story was much more elaborate than when he had met the retired foot fighter many seasons before, but he was not in the mood for laughter.

The warrior mouse was surprised that his grief for Slagar's scheme had not waned, even though Mattimeo was back safely in his company. He was aware that his son was trying his best to follow his example, but Matthias knew his young one: Mattimeo did not want to go back to the church.

“Where would you think your friends would like to sleep tonight?” the warrior asked quietly.

All around them was the peace of Mossflower woods. Moths had begun their lazy flight in the warm autumn air and crickets chirped their afternoon song in the distance. Mattimeo’s eyes wandered over the scenery before him.

“Why don’t we camp in the grass beside the road again? It hasn’t rained and the ground is dry. It’s warm too, after today.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea to me. You should ask our friends what they think.”

Mattimeo turned on one paw and made his way back to where Auma and Orlando were strolling quietly with one another. “Orlando, Auma, what do you think about—”

Walking quickly up behind him, Matthias cut him short. “No, Matti—ask everyone.”

Confusion crossed the young mouse's face for a moment. “But dad, you’re in charge.”

Matthias placed his paws firmly on Mattimeo shoulders and slowly turned him toward the crowd. “Not tonight, Mattimeo.”

…

The freed slaves relished at the idea of resting under the bright stars instead of the confines of a ruin. Suddenly, they all fell into their nightly routine. Jess led a group of the squirrels and otters in search of ingredients for their evening meal while others prepared the clearing for their night’s rest.

Tess ran up to Mattimeo and grabbed his paw. “Come on, Matti, let’s find some firewood. Orlando says he’s making a wild vegetable soup tonight!”

Basil watched the two mice run off together and nudged Matthias gently. “Did you notice, old chap? He hasn’t let go of her paw yet.”

Matthias could not help but laugh at his old friend. “Don’t get started, Basil. Don’t do to him what you did to me and Cornflower.”

Basil’s ears stood straight up in indignation. “What! Me? I say, sah, I never once made a comment regarding you and your goodwife.”

“As I recall,” Matthias taunted as he began assembling a fire pit, “You said something to Cornflower about being a 'pretty little filly' who anyone would be lucky to settle down with. You said it pointedly to someone. I wonder who that was, again?”

“You, of course,” the hare chuckled. “I bet you’re as anxious as a beetle in a bottle to get young Matti back to his mother.”

Matthias nodded sagely. “I’m just as anxious to get back to her, myself.”

…

Orlando’s cooking was as good as Auma had said it was earlier that summer. The young badger wrapped her paws around her father’s forearm. “I told them that it’s our secret that you can cook, dad, but I guess everyone knows now.”

“As long as everyone is fed and no longer hungry, they can say whatever they’d like about my cooking to anybeast.” Orlando wrapped his cloak around his daughter's shoulders. “But now, it’s time for rest.”

Slowly the weary travelers settled down for the night. Moment by moment, the increasing sounds of soft, deep breathing and loud, raucous snores filled the air. Mattimeo had laid down near his father but sleep evaded him and he rolled about restlessly. When he opened his eyes, he saw his father lying on his back, wide awake and staring at the quarter moon.

Mattimeo sat up and looked skyward with him. The moon hung luxuriously in the velvety darkness surrounded by wisps of clouds.

Careful not to wake any nearby creature, Matthias whispered, “Are you having trouble sleeping, Matti?”

Not taking his eyes from the sky above him, Mattimeo nodded.

The warrior stood and held a paw out to his son. “I can’t either. Let's go for a walk.”

…

The warriors walked silently side by side further north along the road. When St. Ninian's came into view, Mattimeo stopped suddenly and made to turn around until his father’s voice stopped him.

“Do you remember when you were young? When you couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t either. We would stay awake all night in the gatehouse. We would play games, and I would tell you stories, and most importantly—we would talk to each other, Mattimeo.”

The young mouse turned slowly back toward his father and kicked languidly at the dirt of the path. Matthias did not know why he was struggling to begin this conversation, but he knew he could not postpone speaking honestly to his son any longer.

"When did we stop talking to each other? I've always loved you. I want to know—I need to know—why? I don't want to go home without knowing that I'm the best father I can be to you, Matti."

Mattimeo looked at his father's expression. For the first time in many seasons, he felt he could speak sincerely. The words burned his throat, but he began to speak. "I don’t know what happened, dad, I don’t. One day I just—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, desperate the stop the tears from welling in his eyes. “One day I didn’t feel like I could tell you the truth anymore. I felt like everything I said was wrong, like I couldn’t do anything right and I would never be a warrior because I couldn’t be like you.” Mattimeo turned toward the darkness of the woodlands while fidgeting nervously with his paws. “I started talking to Martin instead."

The words broke Matthias's heart. He saw so much of himself in his son. He remembered how he felt sitting dejected under Martin's tapestry while Abbot Mortimer lectured him on his deepest emotions, telling him that the days of warriors had long passed. He wanted to encourage his son to speak further, instead of silencing his passions. “You talk to Martin?”

Mattimeo began casually walking forward again. “Yeah, I mean—not always. But for a long time I have. Whenever I was alone in Great Hall I would feel his presence there and I would talk to him. Now I talk to him no matter where I am.” He paused. “You must think that’s strange.”

“No, Mattimeo. I talk to Martin, too. I have since I was young.”

Mattimeo turned back toward his father, a look of awe on his face. “You did?”

Matthias smiled as he saw the spark of admiration in his son’s eyes.

“I still do.”

Mattimeo suddenly increased his pace toward St. Ninian's. Matthias followed behind, careful not to interrupt his son’s lead.

Upon reaching the church, Mattimeo pushed the doors ajar to allow the moonlight to flow into the lobby. He stood silently inside the entrance until his father stopped beside him. The inside of the building was dark, with crumbling architecture illuminated by the light streaming from the door. Even with the fresh air from the woodlands blowing in, the two mice could smell the molding books and rotting wooden furniture from where they stood, along with other smells more abhorrent to imagine. The glum reverie was only broken by the hushed breathing of the two mice until Matthias spoke solemnly.

“Mattimeo—I will not ask you to tell me anything you want to keep to yourself, but if you want to tell me something, I am here to listen to you.”

His son pointed to the far wall that was completely shrouded in darkness. “There. The fox chained us there.” His paw dropped back and his side. Matthias heard his son's voice break.

It made Matthias sick to his stomach to see the place where his son had woken in a stupor after the midsummer feast only to find that his life was forever changed. Although the fox was defeated, Matthias felt rage building in him anew.

“I didn’t want to come back here because I didn’t want to see it again," Mattimeo whispered.

Fighting the image of the harlequin mask from his mind, Matthias brought his thoughts back to his son, who was standing beside him, free and safe. “Why did you?”

“Because, dad, I want to be as strong as you are and not be scared of anything.”

Matthias stepped in front of his son and looked earnestly into the young mouse’s eyes. “Can I tell you a secret, Mattimeo?”

The seasoned warrior waited for his young son to nod in approval before continuing. “I am scared of many things, Matti. I was scared of Asmodeus. I was scared of Cluny. I was scared of losing friends that I have lost. And mostly, I was scared of ever losing you.”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the images swirling in the darkness around him. He knew they were figments in his mind. “The moment John told us you were gone was the most scared I have ever been in my life, and the most disappointed and angry I have ever been in myself. Matti, it is not wrong to feel these things, and it’s alright to be honest with those close around you who can help you. And even if you defeat your enemy, sometimes that still isn’t enough to take that fear away.”

Mattimeo had never seen his father so vulnerable. He swallowed, struggling to bring forth words. “What do you mean, dad?”

“I barely had the courage to walk into the bell tower again after the battle with Cluny. Just the memory made my heart race, but they named a bell after me so I felt a responsibility to be there when they hung it. It was difficult for me, and as far as I know no one knew how hard it was for me to be there, except your mother. Sometimes even the memory of fear is enough to open deep wounds. If you fear the memory of Slagar, or of this place, there is no shame in that. You are a stronger mouse than I am to walk here on your own.”

Mattimeo stared into the darkness, his eyes unable to focus as they watered. Matthias continued. “There is a very heavy burden with being a warrior, and I'm sorry you have to bear it. Many of our closest friends do not have the fortune to return home with us or celebrate our victories. Many creatures around you expect you to put on a brave face even when you are falling apart in your heart. I truly believe that is a quality in a good leader, to hide how you feel to encourage others—but Matti—you do not have to fall apart alone. Please remember that. If you felt you couldn’t speak to me before, I want you to know that you can. I never wanted you to feel as alone as I did when I was becoming a warrior.”

Mattimeo’s jaw began to tremble, and Matthias wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.

“There is more than one way to be a warrior, son. I need you to see that because you are one, too.”

#redwall #redwall fanfiction #mattimeo #matthias the warrior #st ninians #I'm just saying that Mattimeo would need some serious therapy after that summer #and I don't think Redwall has a therapist #so Matthias needs to step it up #especially considering they should have been having these conversations anyway #also imagine how traumatic it would be to walk back by these places where they were seriously emotionally scarred #WARRIORS CAN FEEL THINGS OK

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stab-the-son-of-a · 3 years

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Whumptober No.4 - Taken Hostage

TW: Guns, off-screen assumed character death, sexist character, smoking

Taglist: @whumpers-inc

There is a surprising (and hand-cramping) amount of paperwork that goes into working at a call center, even one as unconventional as 1-877-WHMP-NOW. An annoying, several hour, several stack amount. Bianca will never forgive whoever it was in HR or accounting (the only two departments who actually seem masochistic enough to enjoy bureaucracy) that suggested all these extra reports and encounter summaries and redundancy measures.

In the same way you tune out the world while enjoying a nature walk and only begin paying attention again when your unconscious mind notices something dangerously wrong, Bianca pauses in her muttered curses to the paperwork gods and listens.

“Why of course she’s in today,” Fran says in a tight tone. “I’ll just transfer you right to your personal whump-passionate care coordinator, Dom.”

Not Dom. Not that irritating, overly stuffed up crock of shit again. Dom had run through almost the entire call center, leaving Bianca the only person who had yet to swear to walk if they were forced to deal with the self-impressed asshole. Jerking her head up, Bianca stares Fran down, like a deer willing a semi-truck to change paths. She shakes her head, desperately miming cutting across her throat with a rushed flail.

Their gazes lock. Fran continues to dial, even as they watch Bianca’s distressed pantomime with all the impassive finality of a monarch’s sentence.

“Don’t you dare, Fran,” Bianca hisses. “I swear by all that is good and holy if you transfer him--”

Her line rings, and she answers it with a chipper grin that doesn’t touch her glare one bit. “Well hey, sugar!” If looks could kill, Bianca would be in a whole other line of work right now as she tosses an eraser at Fran’s head. “What can I do for you today, hun?”

Well, she can already tell this isn’t going to be a pleasant call, not if the sirens are any indication.

“Brianna,” Dom cries, “I’m too handsome for jail!”

Bianca mouths to Fran, “I’ll kill you,” even as they duck their head and pretend to be oh-so invested in their latest call report. She tosses another eraser and this one hits the mark, bouncing off the back of their skull.

“Hello! Brianna! I need you to put down the Covergirl or your nail file and do your job, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes, she returns her attention to Dom. “I’m awful sorry. What did you say your emergency was?”

“Thank you for the urgency,” he spits.

Bianca waits for him to elaborate. The sirens on his end of the line continue blaring, the voluming growing as they grow closer.

“Did the line cut out, sugar?” she prompts, carefully sterilizing her tone with a thick layer of honey.

“I tried to rob this small town little podunk town store and took this girl--” Dom lets out a short cry of pain and kicks at something. He corrects himself, ”This bitch. And someone had the nerve to call the cops on me!”

At the sound of gunfire- too close to the gun to be from any policeman, Bianca raises a single brow in silent question of his intelligence. In her humble, professional opinion wasting ammo on puerile displays and a lead tantrum is useless, but again, she’s just a professional. She only graduated at the top of her class and has years, if not decades, on Dom in terms of experience.

Of course, Bianca says none of that.

“Have you taken the girl hostage, Dom?”

“Yes! Jeez, do I have to spell everything out for you people?”

“It’s very helpful when our clients are clear and precise, Dom,” Bianca returns, an almost feral edge to the too wide portions of her smile. ��Have you read our informational brochure, ‘So You Want to Take a Hostage’? Or perused our FAQs for whumpers?”

“Why should I?”

A year ago maybe Bianca might have been surprised. Now she’s just glad Dom can’t see the various mocking faces and mouthed insults she indulges in due to such a response. That doesn’t mitigate the desire she feels to bash her head against her desk until her mental faculties match Dom’s. Instead, she parrots, “No. Why should you.”

“So, what do I do?” Dom asks, impatience clear in his tone. “How do I get out of this?”

“Well, Dom, could I speak with your hostage for a hot sec?”

Completely ignoring her question, Dom muses aloud, “What if I just went out there with my guns and just started shooting. There’s only one car out there. I can take out some backwater donut cop.”

She loves her job. She loves her job. She. Loves. Her. Job. She may be a masochist.

“That course of action might not work well, sugar,” Bianca says carefully.

“Why not?”

Just as she’s about to answer, said aforementioned cop starts in with the megaphones and the offers for surrender. Quickly, she traces the call while Dom yells back about assholes and what he deserves and specifically what the cop deserves, involving his megaphone and uncomfortable places.

That ‘podunk’ little town is more of a small city, and even if there is only one cop currently there, there are bound to be more en route, and rapidly at that.

“Are you listening to me, sweetheart?” Dom demands. “There’s only one of him and I’ve got two guns. It’s fool proof.”

Oh, it’s something to do with fools alright. “So, to clarify, you’ve got a gun in each hand?”

“I just said that, honey, put your listening ears on and try to keep up.”

Over her ten plus years working with the call center, Bianca has heard plenty of stupid shit in her time but trying to go out dual wielding guns is… a new one. She quickly shoots Fran a short text reading, You SO owe me, Franny.

“What about your hostage? How are you going to keep control over her? Is she bound?” Bianca tries to reason with Dom, the apparent Blade wannabe, even if it’s futile.

“I’ll bring her with and put the gun to her head. Easy.”

Easy. Yes, so easy. Fran returns her text. ‘You’re the absolute goddess of dealing with BS I am not worthy.’

“Dom, could you be a dear and let me speak with her, please? Thank you sugar.”

“God what is it with women always needing to yap yap yap?” Dom complains as he rips the gag out of the hostage’s mouth.

“FUCK YOU!” She howls immediately. “I’ll bite your fingers off, you small dicked piece of shit!”

So, Bianca had admittedly harbored suspicions that the ‘girl’ was actually a grown woman, considering Dom’s typical behavior, but this certainly confirms that. A wistful sigh builds as Bianca listens to the hostage chew Dom out and insult his manhood and intelligence.

‘Damn straight. I expect pumpkin spice brownies and a latte on my desk tomorrow morning.’

‘It’s June.’

“It’s DOM.’

‘Pumpkin spice brownies gotcha.’

A solid, but wet crack jerks Bianca’s attention back to the matter at hand. The hostage is eerily quiet. Waiting for a response from either Dom or the hostage, she picks at the dry skin on her lips and taps her foot.

“Oh shit,” Dom whispers.

Screwing her eyes shut as if that will change what his answer is, Bianca asks, “Dom?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just pistol whip your hostage?”

“Yeah.”

Nope, this is officially the stupidest, most asinine, bass-ackwards call from a client she’s ever had to suffer through. Clearly having overheard, Fran twists around to get a better vantage point to watch as Bianca places her head in her hands and fights back a scream of frustration.

Collecting herself, Bianca chirps, “I’m sorry, sugar, but you really ought to have read our guide. The first rule of a hostage situation is to keep your hostage alive as leverage. Now, as it stands, you’re a murderer surrounded by... “ She counts up each little blip. “Four cop cars and another two on the way. You have to understand, honey, that it goes against policy to stay involved.”

“What? No! You can’t do this you bitch!”

Bianca grins, sharp and vicious. “Oh, Dom, I can, and I will.” With that, and Dom still shouting injustice, she hangs up.

“I’ve wanted to do that for forever,” she breezily admits to Fran.

They match her smile inch for inch, and then some. “Bee, you’re my hero. I’m throwing in maple walnut fudge pancakes just for that.”

“Of course we’ll have IT burn the connection and remote into Dom’s phone before the incident gets too close to home, blah blah blah, and we’ll look into whether that lady remembers anything after the whole gun to the head thing,” she dismisses, “but for now, I need a smoke break or twenty. Toodles!”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #taken hostage #oc #fic #guns #off-screen character death #smoking #sexism #wcc series #wcc fran #wcc bianca #hostage situation #pistol whipping #food mention

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i-need-entertainment · 3 years

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My Little Family: Fatgum

*In this Oneshot you, the reader, are Overhaul’s wife but not by choice. You are 22 years old and have a 4 year old son. Let’s just say Overhaul took over at like idk 18. I also may e v e n t u a l l y turn this into a book.*

“Alright, is there anything else I should know?” Fatgum asked as he finished listening to Rappa’s explanation of Overhaul’s true plans. Rappa went quiet for a second, before speaking up. “Yeah, you guys are here for the kid, right?” He asked, looking Fatgum in the eye, and for the first time during this entire encounter was completely serious. Fatgum nodded. “Yeah, we are. Why?” “Because there’s someone else y’gotta get outta here.” Fatgum looked confused for a second. Someone else? But who else could be here? Whoever it is still needs help, and as long as a fight isn’t involved he should be fine. “Who? Our intel only knew about Eri.” Rappa shook his head, “From what I know this was from before Eri. Listen, it doesn’t matter now what matters is you get ‘er outta here.” “I agree, but who is ‘she’?” Rappa sighed and looked at Fatgum once again. “Overhole’s wife. She’s got their kid with her too.” Fatgum was visibly taken a back at Rappa’s statement. He had a wife!? And a kid?! Rappa noticed his confusion and decided to elaborate. “From what I found out he was given her from a Yakuza agreement or something like that. Anyways, he needed a wife and an heir for him to take over so he married her and they had the kid. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you he’s not exactly husband or dad material so you really need to get em out.” Fatgum was even more disgusted with Overhaul than he originally had been. Not only had he done unspeakable things to Eri, but he also kidnapped a woman, forced her to get married and then locked her and their son away! Oh no, not happening. “Where are they?” “I don’t know the specifics, but I know they’re on this level, by the office I think” Just then the cops entered the room and took Rappa and Tengai into custody, also taking an unconscious Kirishima to the ambulance. “You guys go ahead, there’s someone else we gotta get outta here.” The cops nodded and a few went with him, since he couldn’t exactly fight at full capacity anymore. They started down the winding hallways, desperately searching for the woman and her child. *smash* Fatgum looked into the room of the door he had just kicked down. He looked the right and saw a young, beautiful woman sitting in the corner holding a small boy with dark brown hair and golden eyes huddled to her chest.

(insert picture of ‘Kenji Chisaki’)

He walked in and slowly made his way towards her. “Hello Miss, I’m the pro hero Fatgum, we’re here to get you out.” He gave his signature smile and felt his heart flutter when the woman started crying happy tears, while her son perked up at the mention of ‘pro hero Fatgum’. Fatgum smiled, “Can I have your name miss…?” She stood up, considerably shorter than the taller male, still holding the small boy in her arms. “It’s Y/n…Y/n Chisaki.” Fatgum then looked to the small boy, “And what’s your name little man?” The little boy then looked at his mom who nodded and looked shyly back to the hero. “I-It’s Kenji…Kenji Chisaki.” “Well Kenji, Mrs. Chisaki, We’re here to get ya outta here, let’s go.” He held a hand out to the woman who slowly, but gratefully took it. He led them outside where he left them with some cops and went to find Kirishima.

*After the whole fight, we are now in the hospital.*

(Insert picture of hospitalized Fatgum)

“I’m hungry” Fatgum mumbled as he sat in his hospital bed, messy blond hair going every which way. He sighed as he looked around the room. He knew he had to be here, but did he have to be here?! Not only was It boring but he couldn’t even get a decent portion of food! All he really wanted was to go home to his own bed and sleep. Right after food of course. Just then there was a knock at the door. “Come in!” He loudly answered. The door nob turned and in walked a woman with h/l h/c hair, holding a bag in one hand, and the smaller hand of a little boy in the other. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but a little someone,” She smiled as she looked down to the small boy, who shyly looked away. “Wanted to say thank you.” Fatgum smiled widely and looked down to the little boy. “Not at all! I’m glad you stopped by! You two are welcome anytime.” He ruffled the little boys hair and smiled at the woman, taking this moment to realize how beautiful she was. The little boy’s eyes shined with amazement at the hero, who he had always admired. He didn’t have the best upbringing. And even though he’s only four he knew what his father did was bad. He knew because how he treated his mother was bad. Y/n always did her best to shield him from her husband, putting on a fake smile and trying to give her son a chance at a normal childhood. She also did anything she could to stop him from turning into the cold blooded Yakuza leader his father wanted him to be. So, instead of teaching him to hate quirks, she taught him the different types. Instead of training him to hate heroes, she told him about all the different ones. Fatgum had been his favorite. Y/n did everything she could to give her son a better life, and she had also reaped plenty of consequences for it, but if it was for her baby, it would be worth it. So when her son asked if he could see the hero, she reached out to Aizawa who set up the meeting. Kenji shyly looked down to his feet, hands clasped behind his back. “U-uhm…mm.. Thank you…for saving me and mommy.” The boy looked up at him and smiled. Fatgum smiled back patting the young boy on the head, eliciting a small giggle from him. Y/n could feel the tears starting to gather, she couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled like that. Let alone laugh! “It’s not a problem little guy. I’m just glad you and your mommy are safe.” Fatgum looked at Y/n before looking back down to Kenji. Kenji nodded and went back to his mother’s side, lightly grasping her pants leg. Kenji, can you wait outside with the nice Police officer please? Mommy just wants to talk to Mr. Fatgum.” Kenji nodded and waved goodbye to the hero, who happily waved back. “He really likes you. You’re actually his favorite hero, he’s just too shy to say it.” Y/n smiled and lightly giggled. Fatgum’s eyes widened and he felt his face get hotter, he quickly averted his eyes, shyly laughing. “I just wanted to say thank you…I know I already did, but, I just can’t thank you enough for saving my son.” She looked up at him with soft features, and a grateful smile on her face. “It’s really no problem Mrs. Chisaki.” “Y/n, just call me Y/n. I haven’t gotten our names changed yet, but I want to start over.” “That reminds me, what are you doing? Living arrangements and all?” “Well, right now we’re staying at UA in one of the spare teacher’s dorms. They wanted to keep us close by in case one of ka- Overhaul’s men came to find us. It’s not permanent, but until I can find a job it’ll work.” Fatgum thought for a moment. “Hey, have you got your heart set on somethin yet?” She shook her head “No, not many places are interested in hiring the ex-wife of Overhaul. Despite the circumstances.” “If I offered you a job…would you be interested?” Y/n looked at him in shock. “W-wait, really!?” He nodded. “Yup. Everyone deserves a second chance. There’s even a really good day-care Kenji can go to right across from my agency.” “Are you sure?! I don’t want to be a burden-“ “Y/n.” She looked at him, heart beat speeding up at seeing his smile, “I promise you would never be a burden.” Y/n thought for a moment. “Okay. I accept. Thank you!” She leaned forward and hugged him. He was shocked for a moment before his senses kicked in and he hugged back, well with one arm but still. Y/n as soon as she realized what she did jumped back. “Sorry! I didn’t realize! I didn’t hurt you did I?!” He laughed “Don’t be sorry! I hugged back didn’t I? And despite the bandages it’s really not that bad. I think the doctors went overkill.” Y/n lightly laughed and smiled. They both were sitting there, both admiring the other. “O-oh! I almost forgot!” Fatgum watched with curiosity and amusement as the young woman fumbled with her bad before she took out a Tupperware container. She handed it over to him and she encouraged him to open it. He opened the lid revealing home made Takoyaki. His eyes widened and he felt like he could burst into happy tears at the sight in front of him. “I hope they’re okay, it’s been awhile since I got to cook them from scratch.” He took one and ate it, it was amazing! “It’s amazing!!” She laughed, really happy he enjoyed it. “I take it you like them then?” He quickly nodded his head. “Okay then, I can bring you more tomorrow. I just figured you’d like it more than the hospital food.” He looked her dead in the eye and nodded. “Definitely. And only if its no trouble.” “Its not, honest. It was really nice to get back to cooking. It’s a big hobby of mine.” “Well, whenever you need a taste tester, you know where to find me!” He had a dorky grin on his face as he looked at her, and she couldn’t help but grin at how he looked like a little kid at a playground. She broke herself out of her thoughts and decided it was time she and Kenji head home. “Um, I should probably get Kenji home, it’s almost dinner time. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you don’t want to keep the kid out too late. And sure, feel free to stop by whenever! Especially with food as good as this!” She laughed and made her way to the door, waving goodbye and leaving the hospital with Kenji holding her hand, going on and on about the cool hero.

*One year later* (Time skip because I am author and I hold all power~)

Y/n woke up and rolled over onto her side to run off the alarm she had set on her phone. She yawned, sat up and stretched, getting out of bed to start the day. She showered, brushed her teeth, did her hair/make up and got dressed. She wore her usual for work, a silky white button up blouse with jeans and black heels. She finished up getting ready and made her way to her son’s room. The past year has been amazing. Shortly after she started working for Fatgum, she and Kenji moved into a small home, and the BMI hero grew very close to the duo. Fatgum very often ate dinners with them before going to patrol, he spent a lot of time with them often going to the park with them and stuff like that. He even went with Kenji to is father’s day event at school. To most who didn’t know them, they looked like a little family. If only it was made known how much both of them wanted just that. To be a little family. She opened her sons door and walked over to his bed, crouching down. She gently shook him awake, “Kenji, Kenji baby it’s time to get up.” The little boy slowly opened his eyes, rubbing them and sitting up trying to wake up. “Good morning.” Y/n smiled at her sleepy kid. “Morning mommy…do I get to see Tashiro today?” “Yup, you’ll be coming to my office after school today.” He nodded and smiled a sleepy smile up at his mom. “C’mon, lets get you ready for school.” He nodded and got out from his bed, walking over to his little dresser and getting ready. After they both had breakfast and Y/n had made the three of them lunch (she made Fatgum lunch everyday) they both loaded into the car. Y/n dropped Kenji off at school and made her way to the Fatgum agency to start her day. She got in, greeted the receptionist and made her way into the elevator. She was just about to close the doors when, “HEY! WAAAAAIITT!!” She looked up to see a frazzled looking Kirishima swiftly running her way. She swiftly threw her hand in the way, pausing the doors from closing, allowing the young red head to enter. “Thanks Mrs. Chisaki! I thought I was gonna have to take the stairs again!” she smiled and gave him a playful flick on the forehead. “Maaaaybe if you had been here earlier, you wouldn’t have had to run~ And I thought I told you Y/n was fine.” Over the past year, Kirishima and Tamaki had become like her little brothers. They both tried their best to be good friends for her after what she had been through, and they always babysat and looked out for Kenji. Kenji had been having a rough time at school. Ever since the kids and teachers found out whose son he was, he wasn’t treated as kindly as he should have been. One day when he was playing at recess a group of 4th graders had ganged up on him and started to beat him up, only for him to discover his quirk. No one was injured, just scared. But when they realized he not only had the looks, name and quirk of his father, they treated him poorly. Y/n had relentlessly fought the school on this, but they never listened to her. After being called some crude words by the principal a suited up Fatgum made his way down to the school to discuss the boys treatment. Lets just say Kenji was treated much nicer now. “I’m sorry Mrs. Y/n…It’s really unmanly of me to be late isn’t it!” Y/n sighed and shook her head. Unable to hide the smile on her lips. “Everybody had those days Kirishima, just be glad you’re not actually late.” He gave her his signature smile just as the doors opened up. “I’m gonna go get ready, see ya later Mrs. Y/n!” “Bye Kirishima!” Y/n waved and made her way to the staff room to get some coffee and put their lunches in the fridge. Y/n, accompanied by her caffeinated goodness, made her way to Fatgum’s office. She opened the door and went in. Fatgum’s head shot up from his desk, and a big goofy smile adorned his face when he saw who it was that had entered his office. “G’mornin Y/n!” Y/n made her way to the small desk she had in his large office. “Good morning Taishiro! Oh! Before I forget, Kenji wanted to know if you’d be at dinner tonight?” He looked up from his desk, same cheeky smile still on his face, “Just Kenji, Huh?” Y/n rolled her eyes, once again unable to hide the smile that came to her lips. Playing along she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and crossing her arms. “*sigh* Yeah, I tried to get him to pick someone else, but he just can’t be convinced.” Fatgum let out a hearty chuckle. “I’ll be over tonight, can’t miss out on seeing my favorite bud!” Y/n looked at him, smile still on her face. “Just him?” Fatgum looked back at her, “Not just Kenji.” The two were smiling like love-sick teenagers looking into each other’s eyes. “U-um, can w-we get on w-with patrol n-now…” They both swiftly looked over to see a very embarrassed Tamaki to be sitting on the couch, right where he had been the entire time the two adults had been so obviously flirting. Y/n sat back and buried her nose in paperwork, and Fatgum cleared his voice, popping one last Takoyaki into his mouth. “Yeah I guess we should get going. C’mon Suneater! Lets grab Red and get goin, yeah?” The young man just nodded, giving Y/n a small ‘good bye’ and walking out the door. “I’ll see ya later Y/n.” “See you Later Taishiro.” With one last smile, he left for a long day of saving the city.

~Time skip to after patrol and Kenji is in the office~

Fatgum sighed as he opened the door to his office. Today had been an especially rough day. Not only had he used up all of his stored fat, but he also had to do a bunch of paperwork. He was not looking forward to that. But he was looking forward to seeing his two favorite people. He walked in and immediately heard little feet, looking to his left he watched as Kenji ran up to him and clutched his legs, looking up to him. “Hi Tashiro! How was patrol!” He couldn’t help but to grin at the smiling little boy looking up at him. Over the past year Kenji and Y/n have become more than friends to him. They’ve become his family. He’s grown very attached to the two, and he has every intention of taking care of them for the rest of his life. If only he could tell Y/n how he feels. Maybe then he could be Kenji’s actual dad…and maybe someday he could be Y/n’s husb- “Tashiro!” He snapped out of his trance, glancing down to the boy before picking him up and swinging him around. He then stopped spinning and just held the boy, leaning away so he could talk to him. “Not bad little guy! How was school today?” Kenji sighed looking away, his golden eyes slightly squinting. “…Not good..” Fatgum’s grin fell as he looked at the little boy who was avoiding his gaze. “Hey, what happened?” Kenji looked at Fatgum, Golden eyes filled with shame and sadness. “The kids kept calling me names. They call me ‘Overhaul’ or ‘killer’ and ‘villain’! But I’m not! I’m not any of those things!” Fatgum felt his heart break at the sight of the little boy’s eyes filling with tears. “I-I don’t, don’t want my name. I hate it! I hate him!” He lunged forward in Fatgum’s arms, hugging his neck tightly as he cried into his shoulder, Fatgum only held him tighter. “Hey, hey you’re not any of those things! And you’re definitely not his son, maybe by blood, but if home is what you make it, then family is too! Don’t listen to those kids, you know who you are, you’re a good person Kenji, and you’re turning out into an amazing hero,” Fatgum smiled at him, and helped Kenji wipe some of his tears away. Just then Y/n walked into the office, completed paperwork in her hands. “Hey, what happened?” Y/n had a concerned look on her face as she made her way over to Fatgum and Kenji. Fatgum carefully handed her Kenji and she soothingly rubbed his back trying to help him calm down. “Was it about school today?” Fatgum nodded and Y/n kissed the top of his head whispering a few ‘You’re okay baby’ and ‘it’s okay’ to try and calm him down. “Hey, why don’t we go ahead home for dinner? Then maybe play some games?” Kenji sat up, rubbing his eyes he nodded. “As much as I want to, I have to-“ “Do paperwork?” Y/n said as she held up the already completed paperwork with a cheeky grin. “I had the secretary send it over when you got it. You can thank Tamaki later for telling me. Fatgum let out a long sigh of relief, a big smile gracing his lips. “Man I love you.” His face went red as he said those words. SHOOT. SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HEAR THAT!!! Y/n blushed but turned around, setting Kenji on the ground, a ridiculous smile on her face. “Go ahead and get changed, I’ll get the car ready.” She gave him a sincere smile, trying to hide how incredibly happy and flustered she was at his statement. Y/n and Fatgum had been flirting for a while now. They both had a pretty good idea of how the other felt, but neither one wanted to complicate things. One was scared of making her uncomfortable, and the other didn’t want to be a burden for the already hard working hero. But enough was enough. Fatgum was not a ‘sit on the sidelines and wait’ kinda guy. He loved Y/n and Kenji with his whole heart. He couldn’t care less who Kenji’s biological dad was, because he knew if given the choice Kenji would choose him in a heartbeat. Just like Fatgum would choose him and Y/n over his hero agency. Tonight, he was going to tell her his idea. He got changed into his casual clothes (dark wash jeans, white t-shirt with a blue button up, unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up.) and met up with Y/n and Kenji, getting into the car and driving to their house. They got out and headed inside, and while Y/n made some f/f Fatgum played heroes with Kenji. “No fair! I wanna be Fatgum! He’s so cool!” Fatgum teased as he ‘tried to reason’ with the six year old. “mmmmm…” Kenji pretended to think for a moment, “No. I wanna be Fatgum tonight. You can beeeee…” Kenji looked around until he spotted his All Might action figure. “You can be All Might.” Fatgum sighed in fake sadness. “Alright, I guuueesss I can deal with All Might.” Kenji giggled and started running around the room, Fatgum running after him. Y/n stood in the doorway watching as her son played with her crush. She originally came up to say dinner was ready, but after watching this? She couldn’t just stop it! It was too cute! When Fatgum had eventually caught up to Kenji he swung him up on his shoulders, the six-year old’s giggles still hadn’t stopped. “Alright you two, dinners ready.” Both of their ears perked at the sound of dinner, and Kenji scrambled down to go and wash his hands before he took a seat at the table. “Y’know, I think ya might wanna get him into a doctor.” Fatgum said as he made his way over to the doorway. “Oh?” Y/n looked at him with a questioning eyebrow raised. “He’s the one kid on the planet that would pick me over All Might!” Y/n let out a light hearted laugh, “What can I say? He might be a little biased.” Y/n teased. Fatgum shook his head as he laughed. Him and Y/n then made their way down to the dining table. They all took their seats, said a small prayer, and began to eat their food. When they finished Fatgum and Y/n noticed Kenji had been a little antsy in his chair. “Hey bud, you ok? Your squirmin’ quite a bit there!” Kenji looked a little uncomfortable for a bit avoiding both of their gazes before he looked at them both, gaining a little confidence in the loving looks they both were giving to him. “I….I want to change my name….I don’t like having his name….I want…someone else’s..” The last part was quiet so they didn’t really hear it, but they knew he didn’t want ‘Chisaki’ any longer. And to be honest, neither did Y/n. (OOKAY I KnOw that when Y/n and Overhaul divorced then her name could have been changed back to her original name, buuuuut please bear with me, for SOME reason she couldn’t.) “I know, and I’m sorry Kenji, it’s just really hard. We’ll go to the court house tomorrow, okay?” Kenji looked a little hopeful, but he knew it would go like it always did. They would see ‘Chisaki’ and wouldn’t even try to change it. Even seemingly ‘quirkless’ and imprisoned people were still scared of him. Which is exactly why they wanted to change it!! “Wait.” They both looked over to Fatgum who had a serious look on his face. “Kenji, do you think you can wait just a little bit longer?” Kenji looked at him confused but nodded his head nonetheless. Y/n looked at him, still not quite getting what he was implying. “Taishiro…what…what do you mean?” Fatgum turned completely in his chair to face Y/n, taking her hands in his, he looked her straight in the eyes, “I mean, if you can wait just a little bit longer, will you take mine instead?” Y/n felt her heart swell with his words. “Tashiro..w-what do you mean!?” Kenji asked, “I mean, if you’re mom will have me, I want to be your dad Kenji. I want us to be a happy little family.” He smiled at the boy, whose eyes were lit up in hopefulness. He then looked back to see Y/n who was crying happy tears, “Y/n…Will you marry me?” Y/n wiped her eyes and nodded, letting out a laugh as she tried to stop crying. “Yes, yes I will.” Fatgum grasped her in a tight hug and Kenji leaped down from his chair to join the now family hug. “I love you Y/n, Kenji. So, so much!” Y/n smiled and kissed his cheek. And Kenji just buried himself further into his chest. “We love you too daddy!” When Fatgum ran into the Shie Hassaikai base, he expected a fight, blood, tears, and maybe even death. But he never could have expected to come out of it with his whole world. His little family.

#fatgum #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum x reader #y/n #bnha #bnha x reader

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rosesloveletters · 3 years

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As we approach the anniversary of Heath Ledger’s passing, I would like to use my platform to discuss a few things I find increasingly important that we, as fans, keep in mind: Do NOT mock his death. Do NOT harass his family, friends, etc. (don’t ever do this, but especially not this week or the day of.) Do NOT use his death to signify your online presence. Those of us who appreciate this hard-working, loving, giving soul deserve the freedom of expression granted to us, given that we remain within the bounds of positivity, consideration for others and for Heath Ledger himself.

(image: Heath photographed for The West Australian on June 9th, 2001.)

I implore you to treat everyone with respect and to honor Heath in a way in which you would honor a loved one; be kind, courteous, respectful and tactful whenever you are discussing his passing and remain conscious of others and their feelings regarding this subject. It is a subject of sensitivity for many and I ask that you consider how others might feel when approached with the topic. Do NOT pass around photos of him that the paparazzi took on that fateful day. This is a blatant disregard for Heath and his privacy; He was unable to consent to having those photos taken, for obvious reasons, and I am certain that he would not have consented, given his distaste for the paparazzi and having felt as though his life was ‘on display’.

Remember to treat him and others with respect. It is the bare minimum of common courtesy when dealing with such a raw topic; Heath would be honored by how most choose to remember him and I think that he would be humbled by the legacy he’s left behind.

On another, more important note, we must to remember a few things regarding the late Heath Ledger:

He did not die because of his role as The Joker in ‘The Dark Knight’.

He did NOT die of a suicide.

Heath was struggling with insomnia, illness, his break-up with Michelle and (presumably) depression (though I don’t believe that was ever officially confirmed) at the time of his passing and we must remember how sensitive a subject this is, for his family, loved ones, friends and fans alike.

For more factual information on his passing, I recommend visiting these links provided:

Friends and Family Remember His Final Weeks

Some important quotes from this article to take into consideration:

“Gerry Grennell, Ledger’s friend and dialect coach who lived and worked with the star while he was shooting The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus in the final weeks of his life, spoke with PEOPLE in 2017 for a cover story on Ledger, nine years after the actor’s death. He recalled his friend being “exhausted, emotionally and physically” while battling a lingering pneumonia-type illness.”

“Grennell said the star’s mood was low. “He missed his girl, he missed his family, he missed his little girl — he desperately wanted to see her and hold her and play with her,” he added, referring to Ledger’s former girlfriend Michelle Williams and their then-2-year-old daughter, Matilda. “He was desperately unhappy, desperately sad.””

But in his final weeks, Grennell said Ledger knew he was spiraling. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from taking the pills. “He said, ‘I got to stop, it’s not helping, I’m not well, it’s making me feel more upset,’” Grennell continued. “It wasn’t helping with the relationship issues, it wasn’t helping with missing his kid, it wasn’t helping his sleeping — and he knew that.”

“Being such a social guy, having to be a bit of a hermit, or wear hats and glasses was super annoying,” he added, describing the lengths to which Ledger went to avoid the paparazzi. “His happiest I remember was times like when we were in Bondi on the beach catching waves, and nobody really looking his way, and when he moved to Brooklyn and could walk around with nobody bothering him.”

Heath Ledger’s Father Kim Speaks of Son’s Death - Trigger Warning: Kim Ledger mentions seeing EMS removing Heath’s body from his home in new York. This video and its message is EXTREMELY important; if you choose to view no other material listed here, please watch this short interview.

Statements Made by Heath Ledger’s Sisters

Heath Ledger’s Sisters Clear Up Rumors About His Death In New Documentary

Some important quotes from this article to take into consideration:

Though the doc doesn't elaborate on the "demons" that plagued Ledger's final days, it does change the narrative about his mental state at that time. According to the actor's family, Ledger's role in The Dark Knight didn't depress him, as so many tabloids had reported. It energized him."It was coming out that he was depressed and it was taking a toll, and we were going, 'What?'" Bell said. "It was the absolute opposite," Kate Ledger added. "He had an amazing sense of humor, and I guess only his close family and friends really knew that. But he was having fun. He wasn’t depressed about The Joker."

That's about as far as the film delves into Ledger's death. Instead, I Am Heath Ledger chooses to focus on his life. It may not be a complete picture of the actor, but after nearly a decade of rampant rumors and tabloid gossip, it's nice to see Heath through his own lens.

Speculation into Heath’s passing has been vast, leaving much to the media to exaggerate and perpetuate; there is very little evidence or proof that lends to the fact that Heath was an ‘addict’ as has been portrayed, however this statement can be found on his Wikipedia page:

“Ledger was "widely reported to have struggled with substance abuse.” Following Ledger's death, Entertainment Tonight aired video footage from 2006 in which Ledger stated that he "'used to smoke five joints a day for 20 years” and news outlets reported that his drug abuse had prompted Williams to request that he move out of their apartment in Brooklyn. Ledger's publicist asserted that some reportage regarding Ledger and drugs had been inaccurate.”

When discussing his death, please keep in mind that a large portion about his personal life has been over-exaggerated and therefore, research is key.

Heath’s private life is not something we should pry into and we should be respectful of the fact that we simply do not have the information to conclusively determine certain theories. It is among human nature to ask questions and want answers, but it is our responsibility to know what is appropriate and how we should go about researching such a topic.

Do not pry into Heath’s private life; be mindful of the information you choose to share and treat him as you would treat any other person. Just because he is a “celebrity” does NOT mean that every detail of his life should be public access. Treat him how you would want to be treated; you are not entitled to his private life, nor is anyone other than those he was closest to.

We have countless interviews and testimonies to his character from family and friends, those of which prove to be the most accurate.

Check out this video: Famous People Talking About Heath Ledger to hear some of these positive testaments to his character.

Drug abuse is a very serious matter; I do not condone Heath’s decision to abuse prescription drugs, nor should any fan; his death provides a testament to the dangers of prescription pills and we should remember to be mindful of their effect. Prescription drug abuse is a serious matter and we should not overlook the seriousness of it.

If you or someone you know is suffering from Opioid drug abuse, visit the link provided for the CDC’s help and resources

Please remain respectful while researching his passing and use discretion. Information perpetuated by the media has proved time and time again to be harmful to those in the limelight and Heath was a victim of that as well. Respect the fact that we do not know of his private life and accept that we do not have the right to know. There is a large amount of information present, providing speculation into this subject and I advise you to research with caution, as some of it is damaging to Heath’s character.

Most importantly, use this time to remember Heath for the incredibly gifted and talented soul that he was. As fans, it is important not only to understand his passing, but to keep his legacy alive through the ways in which we choose to honor and remember him.

Heath Ledger’s death was a tragedy. His family and friends still grieve his passing and his daughter, Matilda, is without a father due to his premature death. Please be respectful and courteous of this and honor Heath in a way in which he would be proud of.

Thank you for taking the time to read this lengthy post. With much controversy surrounding Ledger’s death, I felt it necessary to speak out on a couple of things, especially with the anniversary of his death coming up. Please feel free to add onto this post any way you would like, especially if you find more information that is factual and important to share within the community.

I will reiterate: BE RESPECTFUL. BE COURTEOUS. BE KIND. Do NOT harass his family and friends. Do NOT mock his death. Do NOT share offensive/upsetting images or media that is damaging to his character, now or ever. Respect others who choose to use this time simply to remember this wonderful man for all that he was and do not discuss his passing with anyone who might be triggered by the mentioning of it.

This community is a loving, caring and amazing place where we choose to remember Heath in our own ways and keep his memory alive through the creations and art we all share. Build each other up and listen to one another; treat each other as if you are looking at Heath directly and show the world the same kindness he showed while he was among us.

Thank you.

#heath ledger #tw: death #tw: suicide mention #tw: drug abuse #tw: drug overdose #tw: drugs #my stuff #okay to reblog #I triggered myself so bad to make this post please appreciate it and take it all into consideration

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tteenagepetulance · 3 years

Photo

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝓷𝓮𝔀𝓵𝔂 𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓼

𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝓋𝒾𝓃𝓎𝓁 𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

wonderstruck & dancing all alone (left) every night with us is like a dream (right) + a collectable lithograph to match !

𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈

she breezed past the threshold of betty’s rose garden, turned left at the hedges, and went deep, deeper, deeply.... back into the folklorian woods, where a magnificent tree reached ancient branches up towards nearly perpetual lavender skies; some called it a wonder, some called it a miracle, others called it a warning. that didn’t stop her from reaching out two fingertips & opening up the tiny hidden door, painted in swirls of teals and bright pinks, beckoning her towards a pandora’s box named freedom... and with a tumble, she promptly fell right down the rabbit hole.

she found wonderland & this time, she wasn’t getting lost in it.

welcome to fae land’s mistywood high, home of the bullfrogs! once dilapidated school buildings brought back to life by thickets and weeds, swathed in a new coat of pastel pollen paint; teeming with life through vines and ivy, wisteria and lavender and baby breath filling every crack along concrete hallways. plums of roots, shoots, and flowers blooming out of lockers as birds chitter and crickets sing, binders labeled in floral washitape: Large Wing Anatomy Vol.156, ALCHEMY OF RARE GEMSTONES, the encyclopedia of rules and ramifications of ingesting fae food. sneaking out into the mushroom fields and having your first kiss over bioluminescent fungi, all your love immersed in neon blue. a world of neverending youth, dizzy drunk with nectar juice and the splendor of puppy love, each one as intoxicating as the one before. the cafeteria is teeming with political warfare, lines drawn along cliques and conformity. the maddening spin of petals and popularity, crying tears of mascara in the bathrooms... oh honey, life is just a classroom.

how exciting it can be, to dream up new worlds & wonders as the taylor’s version remasters release, and sparse them across new chapter eps, to revel in the majesty and whimsy of our hopelessly romantic inner youth. i hand picked these songs because i think they embody the whirlwind rush of high school, exacerbated under the conditions of nearly endless youth for my fickle fairy friends.

collaboration continues as my good friend, jack antonoff, returns to my side once again to help with production, this time with his iconic indie-pop sound from bleachers alongside him. every song is remastered under his touch, and you might hear the fluttering beat of fairy wings, the twinkle of their magic, the cry of the bullfrog, the chorus of the crickets, and the endless wistfulness i feel when i think back to this journey we started on. lover, state of grace, and daylight got special attention from the both of us, as i wanted to recreate vibes and aesthetics of mistywood to the deepest of my heart’s desires, and as always, jack thoroughly delivered. also joining me again is hozier, who took complete creative liberty with his remaster, which will bring you to your knees with wonderment and hope. maren morris also joins this chapter for a feature, lending her gentle vocals to create an echoing, beautiful rendition that’ll haunt as much as it hopes. when i started this project, i knew i needed troye sivan to join me on at least one track, and he helped spin a gossamer-light tale of sparkling first infatuation, and helped elevate the track with the original demo lyrics from my days at nineteen. brendon urie rejoined my side for a heart-stopping, strings & piano only rerecord of ME!, a titular pop track from the past two years that’s been passed over by many, so i decided to present it in an incandescent, softer light. lastly, the wonderful kacey musgraves lends her voice and songwriting talent to help combine two iconic songs to create a whole new story - you belong with // betty finally brings the james/august/betty love triangle to fruition, after inez accuses august of actually having feelings for betty, and the titular night of prom that changes everything.

this album is a love letter to love itself. // these songs are open letters. // no matter what love throws at you, you have to believe in it. you have to believe in love stories & prince charmings & happily every after. that’s why i write these songs. because i think love is fearless. // fearless is walking into your freshman year of high school almost immortally at fifteen. // an endless seventeen-year-old standing on a porch, learning to apologize. lovestruck kids wandering up and down the evergreen High Line. // the purple-pink skies of the soccer field on the walk home; the dazzle of opal necklaces i couldn’t afford gleaming from a department store jewelry case. // crowds of loving, vibrant people in the bleachers, watching acorn lacrosse. // daydreaming on parchment and mused about who might ask who to the dance or how nervous i was singing the anthem at the local fairyball game. // // they are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. // a single thread that, for better or for worse, ties you to your fate. // wonderment. intrigue. romance. i noticed things and decided they were romantic, and so they were. // creaks in the floorboards and ultraviolet morning light. // we crave romance. we long for those rare, enchanting moments when things just fall into place. above all else, we really, really want our lives to be filled with love. // love, wonder, and whimsy they deserve // being young and needing someone so badly, you jump in head first without looking. // real love shines golden like starlight, and doesn’t fade or spontaneously combust. // opening the curtains to see the clearest, brightest daylight after the darkest night. // their secret admirer looks at them and sees an elaborate sunset of brilliant color and dimension and spirit and pricelessness. // all the angles of the kaleidoscope that is you. // i don’t think you should wait. i think you should speak now.

𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

enchanted

ivy

i know places

wonderland

daylight - whimsical world version

out of the woods (hozier remaster)

invisible string

new romantics (bleachers remaster)

ours (remaster ft. maren morris)

state of grace - twinkling fireflies version

you need to calm down

we are never ever getting back together

shake it off

blank space

stay stay stay

the way i loved you

i wish you would

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

lover - midsommar night version

𝒷𝑜𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈

you belong with // betty (kacey musgraves remix)

ME! piano remix by kitty committee studio (ft. brendon urie)

sparks fly (original demo lyrics ft. troye sivan)

op notes: hello & welcome to mistywood! thank you so much for everybody’s interest in this!!!! in my mind, all of these “chapter eps” occur after the release of all of taylor’s versions. this was a very self indulgent project, as you can see, and i can guarantee the rest will be as well!! as you can probably tell, the first two portions of liner notes were written by yours truly, while the last paragraph is a scouring off all of taylor’s to thoroughly ~capture~ the prologues she always provides. please enjoy! i take zero criticism lmao too busy being absolutely unhinged!!!

please remember that likes are appreciated, but reblogs beat the tumblr algorithm! support content creators!

keep an eye out for next week’s creation, forever & always are the sweetest con (chapter two) - just as a sneak peek, they’re gay, they’re cowboys, they’re werewolves, and i’m thrumming with excitement over getting started!! i’m aiming at having them posted by next weekend :)

tag list: @tscreators, @networkthirteen, just ask to be added to the next one! credit: coloring (@maxiresources #1, @suunflowerx foodie, @bbyhyuck summer’98), vinyl mockup purchased

#tsedit #ts edit #taylurking #taylornation #networkthirteen #tscreators #taylor swift #taylor swift edit #taylorswiftedit #myedit #taylors version

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karlyfr13s · 3 years

Text

One Love, One Lifetime

A Phantom of the Opera inspired Captain Swan AU

Rated M, cover art by @hollyethecurious

Chapter Two: Think of Me

Friday dawned clear and bright, and Emma woke earlier than usual. While she was normally happy to lay in bed until mid-morning, today marked the beginning of the season and the opening gala at the opera house, and she was anxious to get limbered up and ready for tonight’s performance. The day would require all-hands on deck, and Emma loved it when the whole venue was buzzing with excited and busy cast and crew members. Today was particularly special for Emma as she was given her first starring role. Regina hadn’t shown her face since the incident earlier in the week, though several of her lackies had been spotted skulking around backstage, most likely gathering gossip for her as usual. Emma was sure the managers spent most of their waking hours attempting to call Regina back and garner her favor. Sure, she wasn’t beloved by most of the crew--who she constantly berated and treated like personal servants--and a substantial portion of the cast ran hot and cold in their feelings--probably because she criticized everyone but Sidney and herself--but... Emma lost her train of thought as she stretched with her fellow dancers. Regina was the leading lady, so surely they had no choice but to try and lure her back, right?

Emma wondered aloud to Ruby whether Booth and the others were hellbent on getting Regina back on stage because they didn’t have faith in Emma’s own abilities, guessing that her managers might already fear the worst in tonight’s opening show. Ruby dismissed the thought out of hand as any best friend would do with only hours remaining before showtime. Of course, her managers had no idea how nervous Emma was, but ever since the impromptu audition on Tuesday evening, Emma had nightly conversations with her hidden Angel. He had coached and encouraged her as she practiced, working to perfect her enunciation and ensure she hit each note of the final cadenza in the complex aria with precision and confidence. Though the Angel didn’t always speak to her, Emma never felt alone in the moments she practiced despite the rest of the large venue sitting dark and silent in the small hours of the night.

As she readied herself for costume and makeup, anxiety rushed through her, sending Emma’s pulse racing and her breathing became shallow gasps. She tried to still the fluttering in her stomach, tried to shift into the single-minded focus she usually felt as she warmed up with the rest of the chorus, but doing so alone was far more difficult. Yet as she gazed at her reflection in the floor-length mirror, Emma felt a strange and sudden quiet fall over her. She could do this--she was going to do this. Tonight. She had trained for it, had been practicing numerous complex pieces for years now, had intentionally set herself the repeated challenge of playing secret understudy to Regina. With a nod to her reflection, Emma left her room and made for the theatre and the final rehearsals for blocking.

That evening as she slipped into the sparkling white ball gown, as the costuming crew clipped glittering crystalline stars into her long golden waves, she coached herself under her breath. She said a quick word of gratitude to the spirit of her father and to the Angel whose influence brought her to this moment. As she took her place backstage, Emma straightened her shoulders and Ruby snuck in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “They’ll never know you’re sweating a river under that thing--way too many layers for anyone to notice. Plus, they’ll be so blown away by your voice that nothing else will matter. Go get ‘em, girl!”

With that, Emma Nolan took the stage and had her first moment in the spotlight. It was an out of body experience. Surely it wasn’t little orphan Emma who commanded the entire stage? There was no way some girl from small-town Maine stood at the Paris Opera House-- at Palais Garnier --and bespelled an entire audience with the light, complicated, and wondrously beautiful “Think of Me”. Knowing the box would be vacant, Emma set her sights on box five and put her whole heart into the next four minutes. She could feel the swell of the music accompanying her, letting the warmth of the strings pull her onward, compelling the crowd with the sudden softness as she reached the third verse, and allowing herself to be taken over by the moment as the song crescendoed.

Recall those days

Look back on all those times

Think of the things we'll never do

There will never be a day

When I won't think of you

In the back of her mind, she heard a loud call, “Bravo!’” ring from the audience, and in the last verse of her solo, Emma felt as though she were flying. Her voice building higher and higher in the cadenza, each note crisp and clear as it rang across the theatre and back to her so that when the last two notes burst from her like some wild, magical thing they were half drowned out by the standing ovation that spontaneously began right in front of her.

Emma didn’t have time to remove her makeup or change before she was completely swamped by well-wishers. Cast, crew, and several attendees who’d somehow made their way to the hall that led backstage all vied for her attention. She couldn’t catch half of what they were saying, wished desperately to get out of her heavy gown, and found herself repeatedly saying ‘thank you’ more than anything else. It was entirely overwhelming. Thankfully, her managers interrupted, Jefferson swooped in and took a bouquet from her laden arms, offering her a flute of champagne instead. “Hell of a first night, Emma,” he beamed at her and they clinked glasses. “Seems Madame Lucas was right about you -- we’ve had to set half the stagehands to temporary security so we can get people out of the building instead of having them wander in search of you.”

“He’s right,” Locksley chimed in, freeing her other arm from the elaborate bouquet of stargazer lilies, which had been starting to make her nose tickle. “You’re quite the sensation, Miss Nolan!” She thanked him for the kind words and he insisted she call him Robin, introducing the dark-haired woman who’d appeared at his elbow as his wife, Marian. “With that, we must take our leave. Babysitters are ludicrously expensive in this city, and Roland should already be asleep anyway. Enjoy the moment, Miss Nolan, it certainly won’t be the last.”

Gradually, the crowd began to disperse and Emma was given a small amount of breathing room between introductions and congratulations. Her feet were aching and she was about to call it a night, when she saw a familiar face lingering in the crowd. “Graham?” She took a few steps toward the man, his light brown hair falling into his eyes as he grinned at her. She took off at a run, kicking off her heels, and he caught her in his arms. “I knew that was your voice -- I just knew it! What are you doing here? How?”

He spun her in a circle, the vast skirts of her gown swirling around them and clearing a space as several onlookers gawked at the pair. “My parents are patrons of the opera,” he explained briefly, kissing her cheek and blushing pink at the public attention. “When I heard tonight was your debut, I told them I’d represent the Humberts for the opening gala -- Emma, you were incredible out there!” The reunion was abruptly interrupted when Granny caught Emma’s eye where she lingered near the hall to her apartment. Granny gestured to her watch and Emma immediately stepped back from Graham’s embrace.

“It’s so good to see you, but...I have to go for the night, Graham, it’s late.” As she spoke, he took both her hands in his, wrapping her slender fingers in his warm grasp and insisting they go out and celebrate both her triumphant debut and their unexpected reunion. “I can’t, Graham, I’d love to -- it’s been so long since we saw each other -- but curfew is strict here, and I have to go. Goodnight.” She stepped back, gathering up her shoes as she fled the attention. The last thing she saw before making her way to her room was Graham with his brow knit in confusion. The image was quickly swept from her mind when she saw her whole apartment overflowing with bouquets and congratulatory gifts.

She turned to face Granny, her eyes wide. The old woman offered a kind smile, though she didn’t mention Graham or even ask who he was, which seemed odd. Instead, she handed Emma a single, perfect pink rose unlike any she’d seen. The stem was tied with a black satin ribbon and as she passed the delicate bloom to Emma, Granny’s only explanation was “He’s pleased with your performance, Emma. You sang like an angel tonight.” She helped Emma out of the elaborate costume, taking care to brush out her hair as she removed the numerous clips and pins. Emma hummed to herself as the two worked, Granny focusing on the items that needed to be brought back to the costuming department while Emma swiped her way through layer after layer of makeup until she was left fresh-faced and rosy-cheeked from the experience. She slipped behind the wardrobe screen after Granny left, changing into a soft floor-length robe.

Graham was here. It had been years since they last saw one another, and Emma tried to hold the vision of him now -- a man grown, complete with stubble on his cheek -- alongside the boy she’d spent so much of her childhood with. So many days had been spent at the top of her father’s loft, daydreaming and sneaking chocolates with Graham -- he was an excellent storyteller, and seemed to have a knack for knowing when her father was feeling particularly unwell. After they received the news that her father’s illness was incurable, Graham had become a daily presence in the house. He was always helping out -- fixing leaky faucets or repairing the shutters after a bad storm. As she sat and pondered her own reflection, Emma was drawn back to their freshman year of high school and to her first kiss -- their first kiss --she’d always assumed she’d end up with the boy next door.

That had changed with the revelation her father was taking her to Paris. Graham had not taken it well, and had stormed out her door for the last time two weeks before she uprooted her whole life with the move. She had needed him, had relied on him as a constant in her life, but almost immediately she saw him around town with someone else. Emma found out later it was some woman a few years older than Graham, and heard they had followed one another through Europe for a year before starting university in England. While that clearly hadn’t worked out, the old wound still stung. Undoubtedly, he had been through Paris several times, and he knew precisely where she was. So why had he never visited until now? It seemed likely she was only catching his attention now that it was her name on the marquee.

“Darling, who exactly is Graham Humbert to you?” came the voice in the darkness. Though Emma knew it could only be her Angel, she’d also never heard him like this. Usually the voice was low and encouraging, a mentor and gentle guide to her, but now...something was off. His pitch was too high, his pace too rapid and it felt angry somehow. She explained to the darkness around her that Graham was a friend, and had been for years. “Uncanny, isn’t it? He reappears suddenly just as you step into your own destiny,” the voice trailed off, his tone harsh and clipped.

“What do you mean? You don’t think...Graham wouldn’t do that! We’ve been friends since we were kids -- his family’s a patron of the arts, that’s all.” Emma felt oddly torn, needing to defend Graham’s intentions, while also feeling compelled to soothe the hurt her Angel so clearly felt right now.

“Men of low ambition seek greatness only through possessions -- through acquiring what is not theirs to have , darling.” His voice kept shifting, changing its origin as though he was everywhere and nowhere. “You are a marvel,” he crooned, voice softening to a low purr in her ear though he remained out of sight. His tone shifted abruptly, voice nearly a growl. “You were born for more than his small mind can imagine, and I will not see him bask in your glory. This triumph belongs to us -- to you and I alone.”

Emma realized then that she mattered to this unseen Angel, though for the life of her she couldn’t understand why . What’s more, he seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere -- had he been in the crowd after the curtain call? Had she seen him and simply not known? The thought seemed impossible; she’d always been sure she would know him the instant she saw him. “I know that,” she began, not knowing what he wanted from her, but wanting to try. “I never thought I could do anything like I did tonight, and without you, I know I never would have tried. Please,” she faltered then, wondering where to go from here and how best to help him understand how much she valued every lesson and moment they’d spent together. She squared her shoulders, looking at her resolute expression in the mirror. “Please, let me finally see you. Let me know who you really are -- who it is that made tonight possible.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Go on then, if you’re sure you can handle it, keep watching your mirror, Emma.” She leaned forward, at first seeing only herself gazing back until the surface swirled with crimson smoke and from the cloud emerged two brilliant blue eyes set in an astoundingly handsome face.

“Oh,” she heard herself gasp softly and she reached toward the image as the smoke cleared. She took in the black hair that tumbled artfully into his eyes, the confident smirk that gave her a brief flash of white teeth. She reached out, startling herself when her fingers found, not the solid glass she’d expected, but the scratch of the stubble that dusted his cheek.

“Come now, darling. I know you’re more curious than that,” he hummed, waiting patiently and leaning against what now appeared as a doorway rather than her mirror. She took her time, sweeping her eyes over his strong, lean frame. He wore all black from the embroidered silk waistcoat to his full-length leather coat and Emma was sure on most men it would look outlandish, but he was definitely not most men. His wolfish grin must have erased something in her brain because she realized belatedly he had a gleaming silver hook where his left hand should be. It appeared deadly sharp, and she wondered what story had led to its existence. She knew she was staring and tried to say something, anything at all.

“How?” she eventually sputtered, not knowing how to form the question she wanted to ask. He was real, and here. The man -- the Angel? Did angels look like this? -- who had watched over her for years now. The man who taught her to take raw talent and shape it into art. He was real. She reached out, laying her hand flat against his chest, her eyes fixed on the place over his heart. Taking a steadying breath, she slowly turned her gaze up to meet his eyes. “You’re real.” She felt stupid the instant it left her mouth, though his low chuckle wasn’t unkind.

“Real indeed, darling. And to your earlier enquiry: magic.” She tittered, faking a laugh at this and thinking she may have found herself at the mercy of a lunatic. He broke out in a warm laugh at her expression. “Not many people greet me in such a way, but you are not most people are you Emma?” She briefly wondered if he read her earlier thoughts, but before she could think much more he offered his arm which she took out of pure curiosity. “Perhaps a demonstration then?” And suddenly the world was shrouded in crimson smoke.

...

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this piece, and @lonelyspectator12 for being an incredible brainstorming partner.

Shout-out to @eastwesthomeisbest for your artwork--it inspires me to persevere past writer's block!

Tagging CSMM Discord and those who've asked:

@kmomof4, @teamhook, @veryverynotgood, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @laschatzi, @donteattheappleshook, @lonelyspectator12, @the-darkdragonfly, @zaharadessert, @winterbaby89, @jrob64, @wefoundloveunderthelight, @ultraluckycatnd, @stahlop, @alexa-fangirl-forever, @superchocovian, @monosalvatore16, @snowbellewells, @batana54

#one love one lifetime #karly tries to write #CSMM #captain swan AU #cs ff #killian jones #emma swan #dark hook

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fantasticallyfoolishidea · 4 years

Text

So, bath scenes. Amirite?

The Witcher fandom is quite blessed. Over the course one season, the showrunners decided to gift us with not one but two scenes of Henry Cavill, naked in a bathtub, two episodes in a ro-

Wait a minute.

Two back-to-back episodes featuring drawn out bath scenes that go on for 2-3 minutes each. That's a lot of time to dedicate to fanservice when you only have 8 episodes to get your point across. Unless, of course… No. They wouldn't. Or would they?

I re-watched these scenes more times than I care to admit. For science. They’re interesting for numerous of reasons (Henry Cavills’ pecs being only two of them). But you know what’s even more interesting? Some sexy, sexy cinematic and narrative parallels and contrasts.

(Obligatory linebreak for your protection. You thought I went overboard analysing Her Sweet Kiss? This is worse. If you’re on mobile – I apologise. Now’s the time to scroll fast. It’ll take longer than you’re expecting, trust me. I’m sorry.)

Bath in “Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials” Bath in “Bottled Appetites” Please excuse the terrible of the second clip. It’s the only one I could find that had the whole scene in it.

First things first,

the setting

The scene in “Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials” takes place in an inn. The room is dark. Throughout the scene you can hear chatter from the bar. Candles are the only visible light source, although, at the beginning of the scene you can see more light coming in through what’s presumably a window outside the shot. Due to the lighting, the majority of the room has a noticeably blue tint, except for the cabinets on each side of the room where most of the candles are placed. Apart from the cabinets, the bathtub Geralt is sitting in is the only area that’s properly illuminated.

The room itself seems big enough, although we only get to see the bathing area which is separated from the rest of the room by blue curtains, but due the way the scene is shot – frequent close ups of the actors, wider shots frequently partially blocked by the curtains – it appears smaller than it actually is. Geralt stands out against the background due to his skin appearing orange in the candle light; in wider shots he usually appears centred.

In contrast, Jaskier moves from one side of the room to the other a lot and doesn’t remain in either light source for long. Unlike Geralt’s skin, the colour of his clothes matches the background. This is somewhat unusual because in many of his scenes Jaskier and his colourful outfits tend to stick out like a sore thumb – the red outfit in “Rare Species” probably the most visually distracting out of the bunch – but in this scene, the exact opposite happens. Whenever Jaskier’s not the focus of the shot he frequently fades into the background or even gets obstructed by the curtains.

(While I’d love to add visual references for every single point I touch upon, honestly, the amount of editing that’d require is astronomical. Jokes on me though, because it already is. Watching the scenes should give you a better idea of what I’m talking about, though. Also, full disclosure, screenshots and gifs had their brightness an colours altered slightly for better visibility.)

Now, on the other hand, we have the room inside the mayor’s house, which – while also dimly lit by candlelight – appears open and spacious. Due to the candles, the room appears tinged only in colours on the orange/yellow spectrum. No curtains to obstruct parts of the shot, and unlike the inn, this room has got visible windows one of which sits behind Geralt. That window in particular lets in a stream of blue light that, in wider shots, often appears to frame either Geralt alone or both, Geralt and Yennefer. However, the blue light remains behind the characters, neither Geralt nor Yennefer are ever directly illuminated by it.

Why is she going on and on about the lighting you might ask? It’s because there’s basically a whole science to colour theory, colour grading, and the ways they’re used in visual media. It’s one of the reasons why, for example, Guillermo del Toro movies are always such goddamn feasts for the eyes. TV Tropes also has a page dedicated to it, if you wanna get a rough idea of what’s going on here.

Both bath scenes in the Witcher (2019) are gorgeous examples of colour grading and set design. You can tell that a whole lot of thought went into it. “Bottled Appetites” even takes it a step further, carrying the orange/blue colour scheme over into the next scene and directly contrasting the bed frame that’s bathed in amber light with the blue windows it’s framed by.

Fun fact, while colour grading can be used to give colours that certain “pop”, you can also achieve the exact opposite effect. See how washed out and grey Jaskier and his blue clothes appear on the orange bedding in this shot? It becomes even more apparent later on in the scene.

He might as well be one of the pillows for the way his clothes make your eyes just kinda slip over him. Honestly, I wanna marry whoever was in charge of doing colour correction on the Witcher. That person is a fucking artist. I’ll get back to the matter of colours and backgrounds in a minute. For now, let’s talk about

body positioning

Or in other words, yet another reason I’d sell my immortal soul to directors Alex Garcia Lopez and Charlotte Brändström.

One thing the scenes have in common (apart from the copious amounts of eye candy) is that Geralt remains mostly stationary at the centre throughout the scene. Jaskier moves around a lot. He dries his hands behind Geralt, moves in front of him to fiddle with the bath salts, sits down next to Geralt, sets Geralt’s mug down on the cabinet behind him and only stops his continuous back and forth motion when the conversation takes a turn for the serious and he settles down in front of Geralt.

Yennefer, on the other hand, starts off at Geralt’s right hand side, slightly to the back of him. She briefly lies down, stands up, and moves to Geralt’s left while taking off her gown. Same as the other scene, Yennefer settles down as the conversation is about to grow more serious. However, unlike Jaskier, Yennefer is far less restless, once she’s moved to Geralt’s left she settled down and doesn’t get up again.

What’s really interesting about this scene is that throughout the entirety of their interaction, Yennefer and Geralt never look at each other at the same time. They both alternate between staring off into the distance with varying degrees of wistfulness and/or melancholia and turning to look at the other. But their eyes never quite meet, not even when Geralt turns around in surprise after Yennefer says she won’t be taking any payment. The conversation ends with Geralt abruptly getting up and out of the tub and Yennefer turning around to watch him leave (dry up? get dressed? who knows what he’s getting up to in that moment). Notably, when the shot focuses on Yennefer alone in the tub, a significant portion of the room that previously appeared mostly orange suddenly is tinted almost all blue.

However, where eye contact is conspicuously absent in the scene in “Bottled Appetites”, it’s a vital component of the scene in “Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials”. Eye contact is a significant part of Geralt and Jaskiers communication. Mainly because Geralt spends a significant amount time sending glares Jaskier’s way with Jaskier paying him varying amounts of mind, even poking fun at his “scary face” when the opportunity presents itself. Jaskier is all over the place in every sense of the word. His attention is divided between Geralt, the bath, the banquet, etc. before it eventually turns back to Geralt and the whole cycle begins anew. The shift in conversation, from the banquet to Geralt, coincides with a shift in Jaskier’s behaviour. He stops moving around the room and his attention settles on Geralt. He then kneels down and holds Geralt’s gaze until Geralt abruptly switches the subject.

Look at the screencaps above. See how, even in a screencap, the lighting is capable of creating an entire visual narrative all by itself? Yennefer and Geralt are sitting in the water together with their backs to each other in a room full of orange light but their immediate surroundings are tinted blue. Jaskier and Geralt are facing each other directly but despite the orange light surrounding him Jaskier appears shadowed as he kneels in front of the tub while Geralt who is sitting inside the tub glows orange against a blue background.

There’s a metaphor hiding somewhere in that juxtaposition but I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.

edit 12/01/20: I actually got a submission from odense who elaborated on the blocking of the scenes from a theatrical perspective. Go read it for even more meta on the bath scenes.

Anyway, moving on. Next on my list is

the matter of service

What, no more Film Studies for Fandom 101, I hear you ask? Well. Originally, I wanted this part to be about the conversation as a whole but that would’ve gone on for too long (ha! too long, she says like that means anything) so I divided it.

Both scenes deal with the performance of service in one way or another. Jaskier is trying to convince Geralt to act as his bodyguard for a night, while Geralt asked Yennefer to break the djinn’s curse and they’re still settling the matter of payment.

In a way, you could look at both scenes as very, very unusual forms of negotiation. Jaskier may spend a lot of time talking about himself but his actions are almost all focused on Geralt. He douses him with water, “rubbed chamomile onto his lovely bottom” at some point (decide for yourself what you wanna make of that statement), prepares the bath salts for Geralt’s bath, and – also at some point – arranged for Geralt’s clothes to be washed. All throughout the scene, he’s performing a variety of services. He’s taking care of Geralt, whether Geralt likes it or not, and does so like it’s the most natural thing in the world, to the point where it just kinda comes across like more of Jaskier’s usual antics and theatrics.

Geralt may claim he needs no one and doesn’t want anyone needing him but there is some form of reciprocity in their relationship – big things like the shared adventures and the ballads about which made both of them famous in their own right, but then there are the little things like drawing your friend a bath, or watching his back at a banquet so he doesn’t get stabbed by a jealous husband, which Geralt eventually agrees to do despite all of his grumbling and glaring protests.

Which is one of the reasons “And yet... here we are.” is such a brilliant line. Just from this context, you could read it in a number of ways. Jaskier could be calling Geralt out on his bullshit like, e.g. “You might not like it, but yeah, you do need me and I need you.” or he could be asking him to make a decision, e.g. “I know you don’t like it but I really do need your help. What will you do?” or it could be an affirmation, e.g. “I know you didn’t want it but somehow we still ended up here.” etc., etc. And you might have guessed, there’s still more to come regarding this line. Later.

So while Jaskier’s scene is about getting Geralt to perform a service, Yennefer’s scene is about figuring out the cost of the service Geralt asked of her in the previous scenes. Where the first bath scene was about persuasion, this one is about payment. The initial negotiation has already happened, the service been rendered, what’s left to do is figure out the price. And Geralt already offered to pay whatever the price.

Since Geralt seems intent on honouring his promise, that creates a bit of a power imbalance between Yennefer and Geralt at the start of the scene because Yennefer could ask for whatever she wanted, Geralt even brings up that he’s worried about “having agreed to indentured servitude”. (That being said, he does not seem too bothered by current the situation or Yennefer’s company. Quite the opposite, he actually seems quite comfortable talking to her.)

Aside from the payment they haven’t agreed on yet, Geralt’s also got a second promise to make good on since he initially offered Yennefer to “indulge her curiosities” (take that however you will). It’s quite apparent that Geralt is a lot more forthcoming with his thoughts and emotions (actually, his words in general) with Yennefer than he is with Jaskier. In Yennefer’s scene, she and Geralt talk about equal amounts whereas in the other scene Jaskier mostly carries the conversation by himself while Geralt reacts.

However, Jaskier also reaches out where Yennefer keeps to herself. She occasionally teasingly bumps her back against Geralt’s as she’s washing herself but other than that she makes an effort to keep out of sight, even magically turning away a mirror to hide herself, whereas Jaskier touches, quite literally gets all up in Geralt’s “scary face” and just generally repeatedly puts himself in Geralt’s line of sight going so far as to kneel down until they’re at eye level.

Despite the matter of coin coming up repeatedly (mostly in the form of harmless teasing about brothels and prostitution, but also on a more serious way when Geralt accuses her of making a profit off the townspeople), Yennefer eventually decides not to ask Geralt for anything in return for saving Jaskier’s life, determining his “company and conversation payment enough”.

Interestingly, in the scene preceding the bath in “Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials” Jaskier also broaches the topic of coin as he’s setting up to ask Geralt for help. In a sense, Jaskier initially attempts to use that thing about reciprocity I brought up earlier to convince Geralt to do him a favour. He lectures Geralt on his role in making him famous and that he should be making money off their arrangement in an attempt to make the favour he’s about to ask off Geralt seem irrelevant in comparison, like “Look at everything I’ve done for you. Please do this tiny little thing for me.” Obviously, that approach doesn’t work. The (un)holy trinity of “food, women and wine, Geralt”, on the other hand, seems to do the trick. Or maybe it’s the bath and a heart-to-heart. Kind of like Geralt’s company and conversation were payment enough for Yennefer?

While we’re still on the matter of conversation, let’s talk about one of the components that make up part of the emotional core of the scenes. Let’s talk about

the matter of past and future

Geralt has lived a long, long life and its history is written on his body in a web of scars. What struck me is how differently the bath scenes deal with those scars.

With Yennefer, the scars are on full display. She notices and scrutinises them as someone seeing Geralt naked for the first time can be expected to. The scars on his shoulders and back are placed front and centre of the shot several times.

In contrast, with Jaskier, you, as a viewer, barely notice the scars. Most of the time they’re simply not visible to the camera. They’re never in the foreground of the shot and you never even get to see Geralt’s back. The scar on Geralt’s shoulder that Yennefer noticed could easily be mistaken for remnants of dead selkiemore. There’s only one moment that draws attention to the scarred shoulder and that’s when Jaskier pats it as he’s getting up to put away Geralt’s mug of ale.

Again, I feel like there’s a metaphor hiding somewhere in there but what do I know?

Back to the point. While Geralt and Yennefer are talking in the bathtub it immediately becomes obvious that they have a connection. They’ve both had unhappy childhoods, lived long lives and as Yennefer points out Geralt was “created by magic. Our magic.” They have an understanding that quickly let’s you forget that they’re virtual strangers at this point in the Witcher canon.

In the other scene, Jaskier and Geralt have known each other for quite a while already, yet the conversation seems to be restricted to superficial topics at first, mainly Jaskier’s prowess as bard and lover. However, Jaskier unwittingly steers the conversation in a more serious direction when he asks Geralt about retirement, what he wants to do when “all this... monster hunting nonsense” is over and done with.

So far, there’s a pattern in the show that when Jaskier talks to Geralt about serious matters, he starts making plans for the future. After the incident with the elves in Posada he promises to work hard to change Geralt’s reputation. In the infamous scene in “Rare Species” he’s trying to figure out what to do with his own future and offers Geralt to go to the coast with him. Here, in this scene, he’s trying to work out what Geralt wants from his future. Even if Geralt claims to want nothing.

At that point, Jaskier’s already made good on his promise to change the public tune about Geralt. The people in the beginning of the episode are talking about the White Wolf, not the Butcher of Blaviken, which makes for such an interesting parallel when paired with Yennefer’s comment about “Our magic”.

Yennefer’s magic created the Witcher; Jaskier’s song created the White Wolf.

Which, in all frankness, would be a good point to end this post but what’s the point of doing anything if you’re not gonna overdo it? I said the matter of past and future makes up part of the emotional core of the bath scenes. So there must be other parts of that supposed emotional core, right? Of course, there’s still

the matter of want and need

While discussing Geralt’s lack of retirement plan, Jaskier and Geralt keep tossing the word “want” back and forth. Jaskier tries to find out what Geralt wants; Geralt rebuffs him, he wants nothing; Jaskier turns it around on him by saying, well, maybe someone will want you. You could, of course, read that as your run-of-the-mill “just wait, the right person will come along (and that person might just so happen to be me – if you’re wearing shipping goggles)” shtick but the thing is, that’s the kind of reply you usually offer someone who’s bemoaning the fact that they’re single, the exact opposite of what Geralt is doing, and Jaskier strikes me as someone who’s emotionally intelligent enough to know that wouldn’t work on Geralt. I think Jaskier might be very literal when he’s saying “Maybe someone out there will want you.” As in, “even if you want nothing, maybe someone who wants you will come along (and that person might just so happen to be me – again, if you’re wearing shipping goggle).” But Geralt changes strategies and rebuffs him again, he needs no one. And the last thing he wants is someone needing him.

What’s interesting about this bit is the body language. I mentioned Jaskier and Geralt communicating a lot via eye contact. And Geralt is looking at Jaskier quite intently right up until Jaskier kneels down in front of him as he’s saying “Maybe someone out there will want you.” The camera cuts to Geralt and he’s looking off to the side while he says “I want no one.” Then, a pronounced pause follows before he turns to look Jaskier directly in the eye as he finishes, “And the last thing I want is someone needing me.” (I really want to say that this looks so much like he’s warning Jaskier to reconsider whatever he’s building up to say. But alas, that’s just fantasy.) The camera cuts away again and we see that Jaskier’s now looking down behind his clasped hands before looking up and answering “And yet... here we are.” Geralt acknowledges his answer with one of his famed “Hm”s. Then, he immediately changes the subject to the whereabouts of his clothes which Jaskier sent away to be washed.

In the other scene, Geralt and Yennefer breach the topic of “want” and “need” while talking about coin. Geralt claims she’s profiting off the political situation, whereas Yennefer claims she’s working in the interest of the people, “filling a need. Ever heard of it?” Which, yes, Geralt has, literally one episode ago, and he pulls a face that’s simply beyond words. (btw, kudos to Henry Cavill for cramming like five different emotions into one expression.)

Geralt and Jaskier had an entire conversation about how Geralt wants nothing and needs nobody. Jaskier even references that conversation when he yells at Geralt while they’re arguing over the djinn. “You always say you want nothing from life, so how was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself!” he screams.

(Also, upon rewatching that scene, I literally just realised that Jaskier was drinking at the beginning of the scene. Combine that with the fact that he repeatedly brings up the Countess de Stael, and flat out states he’s currently heartbroken, and yeah, that explains a lot about his comparatively sour mood and short temper; also, why his speech comes across as much more chaotic than usual. Seriously, compare it to the way he speaks to Geralt after he’s gutted the selkiemore. He talks a lot in both – ok, Jaskier always does – but in the selkiemore scene, or basically any scene that isn’t the djinn scene, his diction is eloquent, artistic, florid; in the djinn scene, it’s all over the place, repetitive, and often bordering on the nonsensical. Frankly, you could probably make a whole post about that scene by itself. I’ll get back to that some other day.)

(Also, am I implying that Jaskier seems bitter over the fact that Geralt apparently keeps telling him he wants nothin from life? ...Yesn’t. Hard to pretend I’m not wearing shipping goggles when I’m literally almost 4000 words deep into a meta post. But remember, nothing but speculation!)

Anyway, and now there’s Yennefer broaching the subject, asking him if he’s ever heard of “filling a need”.

The conversation carries on until Geralt is blindsided by Yennefer telling him that his company and conversation are payment enough. He whirls around but Yennefer isn’t looking at him so he hurriedly gets out of the bath. In the next scene, he emerges with a new set of clothes he doesn’t like, which his companion from the previous scene procured for him. Now why does that feel familiar?

In conclusion...

honestly, I don’t even know where I was going with this originally. This started off as a joke but then things inevitably escalated and now I’m really tired and I wanna go to sleep. (Also, the whole djinn thing is giving me feels now which kinda puts a dampener on the humour in the episode. Jaskier’d already been having a bad day and things just. Keep. Getting. Worse. Ugh, my heart.) But I feel like this post needs a proper conclusion.

I feel like, in the context of these scenes Jaskier and Yennefer could be seen as foils to each other? They’re two of the few people Geralt lets close, very close, actually, since getting naked in front of someone is frequently equated with showing vulnerability to someone. In a lot of ways, Jaskier and Yennefer’s roles work in ways that are the exact opposite of that of the other. Jaskier tries to be seen where Yennefer wants to remain hidden, yet Jaskier gets obscured by the environment while Yennefer is exposed. Jaskier is asking Geralt for a favour, Yennefer did Geralt a favour; Jaskier insists on taking care of Geralt where Yennefer gives him space. Yennefer sees Geralt’s past, Jaskier his future. Jaskier touches the scar but doesn’t look, Yennefer looks but doesn’t touch. But both find a way to scratch at the emotional walls that Geralt’s put up and both times Geralt reacts by immediately trying to escape the situation. Both times, he ends up wearing clothes he doesn’t like in the following scene.

Speaking about nudity and emotional vulnerability, maybe that’s kind of part of the conclusion as well? Sorta? Especially, since Geralt seems to start looking for his clothes or for a way out of the tub the moment someone gets too close. Furthermore, afterwards, he never seems comfortable in the clothes he’s been given, which you could read as a metaphor of sorts, I guess? Like something inside Geralt getting knocked loose in the conversation with his companion and Geralt consequently having to arrange himself with an uncomfortable truth in the aftermath? Does that make sense? Have we finally reached the point where I’m getting too cerebral? Or did we sail past that point like 4000 words ago? God, my brain hurts.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geralt x yennefer #gerlion #fantastically foolish literary analysis #this might take the crown as dumbest idea i ever saw through #i have written college essays shorter than this #how do people 'enjoy' things casually?#i mean #if you haven't written at least half a thesis' worth of meta about a show #can you honestly say you've watched it?#somebody commented 'op your galaxy brain' on that post about Her Sweet Kiss #i've been trying to see how much further i can push it ever since #this is it #this is as far as my brain'll take me #now it's fried #just waiting to see how long it'll take for someone to go #'welp'#'looks like she's finally gone off her rocker'#'nothing we can do now'#god i miss livejournal #tumblr really isn't cut out for posts of this length #this might be the longest post i've ever written #i just realised that the fact that i can honestly say 'might be' is kind of concerning

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caiminnent · 3 years

Text

and you said, kiss me [kylux, rated M]

PROMPT(S): First Kiss (@kyluxpositivity, Day #: Past Prompts Revisited) & Surprise "Kiss a Ginger Day" Kiss (from YearofKylux on Twitter)

SUMMARY: The Master of the Knights of Ren shifts on his feet like a cadet. “I brought you a gift,” he says lowly, through a strange static. “One best enjoyed in private.”

Hux’s brain stutters.

“It’s food,” Ren elaborates before Hux’s overtaxed mind can conjure up any embarrassing ideas—around a mind-reader, no less. “Messy to eat. You would appreciate the ease of cleaning.”

Or: Ren returns from Gelda with a honeyfruit for Hux. Things get out of hand.

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Kiss a Ginger Day, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, First Kiss, Hand Feeding, Insecurity, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren in Love, Love Confessions, If You Squint - Freeform

Photo by Alice Pasqual on Unsplash

3.5K || ALSO ON AO3

One last meeting and Hux can finally retire for the day.

With three dozen floors between him and Conference Room 11-E, he strides past the stairs without a glance, skimming the meeting objectives on his datapad on the way to the turbolifts. They will never cover all of these—not in the time they set. Sniping at each other and bickering make up half of every High Command meeting; they’ll be lucky to touch upon the important matters within the first hour.

How tragic, that the people tasked with deciding how to spend the First Order funds can’t even make effective use of two hours.

The turbolift finally stops on his floor. Hux puts his datapad away as the doors slide open, revealing only Ren inside.

Hux’s foolish heart soars. When the notification of Ren’s arrival wasn’t followed by a summons from Snoke, Hux assumed he would see Ren once—more likely, if—Ren deigned to write and drop off his mission report. After several weeks without even a status update, he will take thirty seconds in a turbolift.

“General Hux,” Ren says as Hux enters, dipping his head.

The button for the officers’ deck is lit. Hitting the one below it for level 47, “Ren,” Hux greets back. A fresh, light smell that reminds him of a forest hits him in the next breath. Odd. He’s more used to smelling ash and ozone on Ren after a mission. “I see you’ve returned.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed, General.”

The corners of Hux’s lips twitch, an errant smile quickly suppressed. “These missions of yours mean more work for me. How many of my troopers did you lose this time?”

“None.”

“Truly?” That must be a first.

“Yes,” Ren says, pride booming in his voice even through the vocoder. “The inhabitants responded favourably to a show of the Force. Your exceptionally trained men scarcely needed to fire a blaster bolt.” Arse. “The rest was ensuring a smooth transition of power.”

A smooth transition of power. Since when does Ren care about keeping things diplomatic and orderly when he could slaughter his way through a mission and call it done? Who is this man and what did he do with Hux’s co-commander?

Not that Hux is complaining. Any cause that means Ren will stop using his troopers as cannon fodder is good in his book.

In the small screen above the buttons, 45 flashes, switching to 46. “Well done, Ren,” Hux says with a nod as the turbolift slows around them. Ren straightens to his full height. “I’ll look forward to your report.”

Level 47 is a maze of offices and meeting rooms lined around endless corridors, which are empty enough this time of the day. The walk to 11-E stretches in Hux’s mind’s eye as he steps out of the ‘lift. Part of him wishes for Ren to accompany him to the meeting, to remain a solid presence by his side while Hux endures yet another bout of pointed looks and snide comments that all say he wouldn’t have been here if he weren’t Brendol’s son.

“I could brief you in your quarters,” Ren calls out after him.

His heart skipping a beat, Hux pauses mid-stride, glancing at Ren over his shoulder. Ren is keeping the doors open with a hand on the frame, one foot in the corridor. What Hux wouldn’t give to read his bare face right now.

“My quarters?” Hux asks carefully. In all their years of sharing the command, they’ve never done something so personal as to visit each other in their chambers. Does Ren even know in which section Hux resides?

The Master of the Knights of Ren shifts on his feet like a cadet. “I brought you a gift,” he says lowly, through a strange static. “One best enjoyed in private.”

Hux’s brain stutters.

“It’s food,” Ren elaborates before Hux’s overtaxed mind can conjure up any embarrassing ideas—around a mind-reader, no less. “Messy to eat. You would appreciate the ease of cleaning.”

Perhaps Ren has been replaced on Gelda after all. The idea doesn’t sound more far-fetched than Kylo kriffing Ren bringing Hux gifts and considering his comfort.

“Very well,” Hux’s mouth says with little input from his brain. “2100 hours. Don’t be late.”

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

The meeting drags on.

Sixty-five minutes in, Hux caves and lets his attention wander. He’d calculated half the figures Lieutenant Mitaka is delivering anyway; he’s sitting at this table more out of duty than necessity—not to mention, to keep the High Command somewhat civil as they, quite inevitably, gripe about Starkiller Base. Simple-minded fools. Two more years—he will show the lot of them what his pet project can do.

As Captain Canady starts his own tirade about how strategically unsound putting such a sizeable portion of their resources into a single project is, Hux pulls up information about Gelda on his datapad. A tiny, nondescript system of no import besides falling on a trade route. Two high-ranking officers accompanied by three squads of Stormtroopers would have accomplished the same goal, freeing Ren up for matters which actually require his… unique skill set.

If only Canady knew how strategically unsound Leader Snoke’s missions can be.

Scrolling down, he reaches the Culture section—only to find it empty. Kriff. For the son of a kitchen woman, he’s woefully uncultured about galactic cuisine, much less that of a castoff planet in the Outer Rim. Although he doesn’t expect Ren to show up with a seven-course meal, the idea of being unprepared for the visit—which certainly isn’t a date, even if it carries the characteristics of one—leaves Hux cold.

It’s going to be all right. He’s survived countless diplomatic dinners at his father’s side, smiling politely as his throat swelled and the contents of his stomach threatened to rise; he can handle whatever Ren might bring.

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

He makes it to his chambers with six minutes to spare. So much for changing into something casual and presentable before Ren comes.

Not that he’s sure he owns such an outfit to begin with. His few sets of civilian clothes were picked more for practicality than appearance. Although that green pullover and the dark pair of trousers that Phasma had wolf-whistled at should still be somewhere in his dresser, Hux doesn’t have time left to check thanks to Admiral Brooks’ desperate need to be the loudest person in every room.

Kriffing nothing goes according to plan today.

Exasperation pulling at his chest, he leans against the door and closes his eyes. There’s still time to salvage the situation. He’s lost his composure about this… private meeting; it’s his failing to face in due time. For now, he needs to make sure Ren won’t find out about the tizzy Hux worked himself into.

Taking a deep breath to ground himself, Hux pushes off the cold durasteel and goes about setting the stage. His greatcoat carefully draped over the coat hanger. His gloves carelessly thrown over the side table. While the water heater works, he unfastens the top handful of the hidden latches on his jacket and artfully dishevels his hair in the mirror. When the access panel chimes with a request for entry, everything around him communicates high-ranking officer unwinding in private after a long day.

As he opens the door, he can only hope it’s good enough to fool a mind-reader.

The ever-present helmet and gloves aside, Ren certainly pulled off casually presentable. Instead of his regular rags, he’s put on a shirt that outlines his form nicely and leggings, holding a bundle that’s tied off with an orange ribbon on one hand.

Relief courses through Hux at the sight. The fabric most likely holds a small fruit or vegetable. Unless Ren picked the weirdest harvest available to bring back, this should go without an issue.

Hux welcomes him, stepping aside to let him pass. Before closing the door, he checks for unwanted eyes in the hallway. All quiet, thankfully. An underdressed Commander Ren paying an after-hours visit to General Hux’s private rooms—Hux couldn’t hope to snuff out the rumours.

Ren is standing awkwardly in the middle of the living area, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side. Gesturing at the sofa, “I was about to make caf,” Hux says. The water heater clicks off right then, as if backing him up. “Would you like some? I’ve only got the instant kind, but it works in a pinch.”

“Sure,” Ren says.

Hux doesn’t have a clue how Ren takes his caf, which matters little as he doesn’t keep milk or sugar in his kitchenette anyway. Palming two coasters, he brings the mugs to the living area. Ren, for his part, already made himself comfortable: unmasked, leaning against an armrest with an arm over the back of the sofa and a leg folded under himself. As if he belongsthere.

Hux knows, with the same certainty as the Starkiller’s future success, that he will make an arse of himself in front of Ren before the evening is out.

Talking about a planetary takeover with warm beverage in their hands and Ren’s gift on the table feels wrong somehow. Mirroring Ren’s position at the other end of the small sofa, Hux catches him up on what little happened in his absence instead. Shitting on the High Command and incompetent officers—which overlap—is always an entertaining pastime, and they do so unabashedly until the caf is gone and the conversation comes to a comfortable lull.

He waits for Ren to mention the gift first. Ren came here for a reason; now would be the perfect time to bring it up. Ren, however, is more interested in his own hands on his lap.

Hux suppresses a sigh. He’s got to do everything himself, as usual. “You mentioned a gift,” he says, tilting his head at it. “Am I to receive it before it spoils—or is it merely decorative?”

Face lighting up, Ren nearly knocks over Hux’s mug on the table in his haste to get to the bundle.

“There you go,” Ren says, offering it on two palms. It looks bigger in Hux’s hand; not big, but not as bite-sized, either. The binding unravels at the gentlest tug, the fabric falling away to reveal a round, orange fruit barely held within its tight skin, so bright it looks dangerous.

“I hope this isn’t an attempt to poison me in private,” Hux says, only half-jesting. He likes to think they are past the bitter rivals stage by now, but one never knows with Ren and his infamous mood swings. “That would make a poor end for our pleasant evening.”

Ren chuckles. Will wonders never cease? “Rest assured, General, I wouldn’t have resorted to poison if I wanted you gone.” He extends a hand for the fruit. “Here. I’ll help you with it.”

“I hardly need instructions on eating,” Hux points out, rolling his eyes. His curiosity is piqued enough to hand it over, though. Surely Ren doesn’t plan to play any Force tricks on it?

Appears not. Ren produces a pocket-knife like a regular person, flicking it open as he turns the fruit in his other hand. The skin parts easily under the sharp blade, a clear, glittery liquid oozing out of the thin cut and onto Ren’s gloves.

Ignoring the ruined leather, Ren cuts out a slice, offering it to Hux between the blade and his thumb. Hux reaches for it—Ren pulls it away, looking at him with open disapproval.

Hux pins him with a look of his own. “You can’t expect me to literally eat out of your hand, Ren.”

Ren gives the fruit a pointed squeeze. More liquid leaks out, dripping down the side of his hand. “Would you rather dirty your uniform?” he asks, catching a drop with the back of his other hand before it can fall on the sofa.

Absolutely not. The idea of dripping food all over himself with Ren watching turns his stomach. Still, letting Ren feed him feels shameful—in a thrilling sort of way, which only adds to the embarrassment. Tell-tale warmth has already spread across his neck, crawling up to his ears.

Ren extends the offering again, uncharacteristically patient. That alone should be suspicious where Ren is concerned. Nothing in his bare face hints at deceit, though; if anything, Hux reads nerves in the line of Ren’s shoulders, his sharp gaze walking the line between anticipation and trepidation.

Steeling himself for Ren pulling the fruit away at the last moment or mocking him for his eagerness, Hux leans forward, taking it with his teeth.

The fruit is predictably sweet, leaving a line of juice over his mouth as he sucks it in. Its flesh practically melts into a thick nectar on his tongue. Although he doesn’t normally prefer his food soft—if he can’t bite down on it, it’s not worth eating—he would gladly make an exception for this.

Resisting the urge to lick his lips, “What is this?” Hux asks. It reminds him of the birthday cake his officers tried to surprise him with once, creamy with a surprisingly dark aftertaste.

“Geldan honeyfruit,” Ren says. “It’s a rare harvest—takes nearly four standard years to grow. We were lucky to come across it.”

“And your infamous sweet tooth couldn’t resist it,” Hux throws back, mostly to see Ren pout.

Ren smiles instead, an unfairly appealing curl of lips. Curse him for making Hux feel like a cadet instead. “I don’t hear you complaining, General,” he points out. “Would you like more?”

Unwilling to seem too eager, Hux makes a noncommittal hum. Ren’s smile grows.

“On Gelda, honeyfruit is worth its weight in gold,” Ren says as he feeds Hux piece by piece, his naked voice washing over Hux. Hux keeps expecting the next piece to be one too many, for the light tingle over his skin to become overwhelming, for his pride to finally rear its head. “Their entire culture is based around it. The food. The folk tales and remedies. The calendar. Hell, if I don’t see another wedding in a forest for as long as I live, it will be too early.”

Ren places the last bite in Hux’s mouth with his fingers—that newfound, desperate part of Hux longs to chase after them, to lick Ren’s shining gloves clean.

What the everliving fuckis wrong with him?

Putting the knife aside, Ren strips his dirty gloves from the wrists up, rolling them inside out. Hux does not watch the obscenely slow reveal of skin. “And it might be just a superstition,” Ren adds, throwing the gloves next to Hux’s own pair on the table. “But Geldans strongly believe that not sharing a honeyfruit brings bad luck until the next season.”

The food sits heavy in the pit of Hux’s stomach.

Irritation rises in him, that pleasant stirring deep in his belly giving way to churning agitation in a heartbeat. Of course there was a punchline to this whole evening. “Ren, you kriffing—”

Ren slowly, purposefully, slides closer until his knees bracket Hux’s, a new weight to his dark gaze as he leans in. “Hux,” he mumbles, glancing at Hux’s mouth before meeting his eyes again. Hux feels a new tension coil between them, the air getting harder to breathe in. “May I have a taste?”

Words stuck in his dry throat, Hux nods.

The kiss is little more than a brush of skin, followed by a firmer peck on his lips. His lips stick to Ren’s as they part. Ren huffs out a low laugh before catching Hux’s bottom lip, sucking it between his own.

Hux flounders. There’s no kind way to describe it. He’s got a general idea what he should and shouldn’t be doing with his mouth, but reading up on the technicalities hadn’t prepared him for the kisses Ren peppers on and around his lips like straying too far would hurt him, mixing it up with the occasional nip. It definitely didn’t prepare him for the way Ren angles Hux’s face to his liking, parts his lips with a gentle tug and kisses him like he wants the air in Hux’s lungs.

The honeyfruit still coating Hux’s tongue is too thick to taste Ren through no matter how hard he tries. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Hux buries a hand in Ren’s hair—soft, how is it so soft—and slides the other underneath Ren’s shirt, just high enough to rest a thumb over the burning skin. Ren makes a sound low in his throat, palming Hux’s thigh and moving higher with that same, purposeful drag.

Stars. Stars, what are they doing?

Lightheaded, Hux pulls away, putting a hand on Ren’s chest to keep him from following. Ren stops without protest, sitting back far enough that they aren’t touching anymore and not an inch further.

“Is everything okay?” Ren asks, similarly winded. His hands are clenching and unclenching on his own spread thighs, his back a rigid line.

Hux nods again, focused on keeping his breathing regular and getting his heartrate back to normal. Some deep kisses, barely any contact and his body buzzes with want anyway, long starved for touch. He would have been ashamed of his enthusiasm, had Ren not been in the same state.

Once he can find his words, “That was… rather unexpected,” he says. Ren’s face falls. “I don’t mean unwelcome,” Hux amends, keeping his tone gentle. “I merely wonder, what brought this on?” Why now, after years of not even hinting at this sort of interest?

Ren runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “Are you familiar with Kiss a Ginger Day, General?”

Hux might as well have jumped into ice water for how effectively his leftover desire is doused.

Right. Right, it was today, wasn’t it. He hasn’t dealt with lewd remarks since he became a captain, long enough that he stopped dreading the date. How foolish of him to let his guard down. Of course Ren, the only one high enough in rank to dare, wouldn’t miss the chance to make a practical joke out of it.

The taste in his mouth turning bitter, “Leave,” he hisses.

Ren frowns, his expression caught between hurt and confusion. “General,” he says. “Hux. I didn’t mean to offend you, I was—”

“Let me guess,” Hux bites out. “You were trying to flirt with me.” It’s always one or the other. Does Ren think himself so clever, putting two and two together? Does he believe he’s the first person to make the connection?

A younger, softer Hux may have found the attempt endearing. Present-day Hux has been relocating obnoxious officers for calling him General Ginger behind his back since the effective day of his promotion. The attention stopped feeling flattering long ago.

“No. I mean, yes, I was trying to flirt, but your hair colour was irrelevant. Mostly.” Ren licks his lips. “Let me explain?”

Wasn’t that what Ren was trying to do? “You’ve got two minutes.”

Ren runs his fingers through his hair and grips it at the base, tightly enough that it must hurt. “I found out about this day last year,” he starts, the words practically tumbling out of his mouth. “Four days after the date. That was also the day where I realised, um. That I had feelings for you.” Breath catches in Hux’s lungs, his stupid heart quickening. “So I suppose I took it as, a sign? That I should do something about it. I swore to myself that I would, by that day next year.” He shrugs, stiff and jerky. “A year went by fast.”

A—small but loud—part of Hux can’t shake off the thought that Ren is having him on, that any minute now Ren will laugh at him for being foolish enough to think he might have any interest in Hux. The rest of him is captivated by the blush high on Ren’s cheeks, the way Ren keeps licking and sucking in his kiss-reddened lips.

“I didn’t come here expecting to kiss you, Hux. The fruit was just an excuse to be alone with you. If you regret it—” Ren takes a shuddering breath, gazing at Hux imploringly. No one deserves such earnest eyes. That’s simply unfair. “If that’s what you want, we can pretend it didn’t happen. It’s okay. Just don’t hate me for it.”

Hux’s heart clenches at the thought. “That’s not what I want,” he confesses, the words coming easier than he would’ve expected. He feels emboldened in the face of Ren’s evident uncertainty, of the hesitation colouring his words. “I want it to have happened—as long as this means it can happen again.”

“It can,” Ren says, a smile blossoming on his lips. Hux is quickly growing addicted to the sight of it. “Whenever you want. As many times as you want. And, um.” His smile turns wicked, a new glint in his eyes. “The honeyfruit. I brought back a small crate of it, if you wanted to try the other thing again, too.”

A small case, stars. Hux had never appreciated the man’s greedy nature until now. He will have to make sure they properly preserve it; four standard years is a long time. “You’re a menace, Kylo Ren.”

“That’s how you like me,” Ren says, a question lingering in his tone.

“Yes,” Hux admits. “Yes, I do.”

#kylux positivity week #kylux #Kylo Ren #Armitage Hux #Star Wars #Cai does words #finished fics #long post #Kiss a Ginger Day #and you said kiss me #I can't believe I finally finished this

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minijenn · 3 years

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KH Comm # 3

Another writing comm! This one's for @rosie-drawss, who wanted a continuation of the Keys comm I did for them last time around (in which, tldr, Riku finds Sora and convinces him to come home early). You can read that right here if you're interested in getting a bit of background before diving into this one. Anyway enjoy this big ol bundle of hurt/comfort!

***

The Gummi Ship isn’t parked that far away. Yet despite keeping up a steady pace so far, as soon as he sees its familiar red and yellow hull, Sora slows to a stop, something that Riku notices almost immediately. He stops, turning back to check on him, only for Sora to surprisingly tell him what’s wrong, this time completely unprompted.

“I-I… I don’t think I’m ready for this,” he quietly admits, wrapping his arms around himself. “I lied to them and ran from them for so long, Riku, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to any of them now, much less to Donald, or Goofy, or Kairi-”

“You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to,” Riku reassures him. He steps back over to him, gently taking one of his hands in his. After so many weeks on his own, Sora’s gotten used to living without much physical contact from others; but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t missed it, that he doesn’t selfishly cherish every second of it he’s getting now. “They all know, and they understand. And trust me when I tell you the only thing any of them wants, especially Kairi, is to see you come home safe and sound.”

“T-they’re not mad?” Sora asks, still uncertain.

“At you? No,” Riku shakes his head. His expression darkens a bit as he brushes a few of Sora’s now-white bangs out of his newly golden eyes. “At the one who’s doing all this to you? Well, let’s just say that if it's a war Xehanort wants, it's a war he’s going to get if that’s what it takes to set you free.”

Sora wants to argue at this, wants to insist that no one else should have to fight this battle for him, that he’s not even worth such a battle to begin with. But he’s far too tired to put up that kind of fight now, not when he knows it’ll do nothing to change Riku’s mind or anyone else’s for that matter.

So instead, he lets Riku take his hand, lets him lead him onward, lets him guide him to one of the vacant chairs in the ship’s cockpit. Surprisingly, they don’t lift off right away; instead, Riku briefly heads below deck before returning with a blanket and a small meal composed of a sandwich, an apple, and a water bottle.

“It’s gonna be a long ride back to the tower,” Riku says as he hands all those items over to Sora. “Might as well get comfortable.” He pauses, his face suddenly warm with embarrassment when he sees Sora staring at the meager portion of food sitting in his lap with a look of sheer disbelief. “Uh… sorry, it’s not much,” he clears his throat, glancing away. “It’s been a few days since I last stocked up on supplies and I, um, heard that if you’ve gone without food for awhile, it’s best not to go overboard with your first meal, so-”

“You’re kidding, right?” Sora cuts in, looking up at him with a grateful, incredulous smile. “This is more food than I’ve had in weeks, I-” He stops short when he notices Riku’s immediate alarm upon hearing something like this and as a result, he immediately backpedals on it. “I, uh… t-thank you,” his tone turns soft again, small, but he’s still smiling as he takes his first bite out of the sandwich.

“...Why haven’t you been eating?” Riku asks him, kneeling down beside his chair.

“Couldn’t afford to,” Sora admits somewhat sheepishly. “I don’t have any money, and… well, I found out pretty quickly that most people aren’t willing to give things out for free…”

Riku sighs, wishing that he’d found Sora so much sooner, wishing that he hadn’t had to struggle to simply survive for so long. “You haven’t been sleeping much either, have you?” he asks, noting the dark bags under his eyes.

Sora hesitantly shakes his head as he finishes the sandwich up just shy of starting on the apple. “I can’t…” he mutters tiredly.

“Why not?”

“Nightmares…” is all Sora says, and Riku immediately understands.

He stands, grabbing the blanket and lightly draping it over Sora as soon as he finishes off his small meal. “Get some sleep,” he instructs patiently. “You won’t have any more nightmares, not as long as you’re with me. I promise.”

Sora wants to question that promise, but he’s overtaken by an exhausted yawn instead. With even just a little food finally in his stomach, his eyes soon start to grow heavy, and before the ship is even off the ground, he’s fallen into a stupor. As he prepares for takeoff, Riku can sense the nightmares starting to assail him, can hear his soft, nervous whimpers piercing through the peace of the cockpit. But he’s having none of it. He closes his eyes, takes in a steady breath, and focuses his power into chasing those nightmares away before they can cause him any harm. The terrors Xehanort is trying to force upon him are unspeakable, vile visions of everything Sora’s come to fear and hate. Even the brief glimpses he gets before he destroys them from existence are enough to shake Riku to his very core, to get even just a small taste of the torture Sora’s been forced to go through, torture he’s done not a single thing to deserve in the slightest. And yet, for as much as it all horrifies him, it does something else too; it makes Riku want to put the twisted man responsible for it all through every bit of suffering he’s been shoving onto Sora. He won’t rest until he does.

Riku feels some measure of relief when he finally feels Sora fully fall asleep just as the ship’s engines quietly roar to life. He pulls the vessel into motion, gentle enough as to not wake him, and slowly guides it up into the atmosphere, out of a world in which, up until a few hours prior, Sora had been all but hopelessly lost within. As soon as the ship is steadily adrift between the stars, Riku briefly checks on him, unable to suppress a smile when he sees him curled up him his seat, his blanket tightly wrapped around him as he sleeps soundly, likely for the first time in a very long time.

That smile soon fades, however, when he pulls his Gummiphone out. He hasn’t spoken to any of the other lights in quite awhile, not since his search for Sora began. As their leader, he knows he’ll have a lot to answer for the impulsive haste of that search, and he’ll have much to say he’s sorry for, to Kairi above all the others. But now, he’s finally ready to face them, finally ready to return to them. Finally ready to bring the only one still missing among their number back to where he belongs.

He decides to message Kairi, knowing there’s too much to explain and that none of it should be done over the phone. Besides, he doesn’t want to risk waking Sora up with what would likely be a very emotional, very noisy call. So he sends something short off to her, a simple request without much elaboration at all. Mostly because he has a feeling she’ll understand exactly what he means.

“I’m sorry about what happened before, but I need a favor. Go to the islands and bring Himari back to the tower, please. And tell the others to get a room ready. I have him. We’re coming home.”

***

Sora’s still sleeping when they arrive at the tower. Riku doesn’t have the heart to rouse him, not when sleep is something he so sorely, visibly needs. So he decides to carry him, carefully lifting him from his seat with his blanket still draped over him. His heart flutters in his chest, his face warm as he secures Sora comfortably in his arms. He’s light, far lighter than he should be, likely because of his longstanding starvation, and as a result, he feels fragile, like he could break at any moment if not treated with the utmost care and caution. But even then, Riku isn’t so sure he hasn’t already been broken by fear, by pain, by loneliness, by so many other things he can’t even bring himself to think about.

He isn’t surprised to see Kairi pacing around right outside the tower, her expression torn between deep worry and rising hope. She’s the only one out there, and he’s glad for it; the last thing Sora needs is to be overwhelmed by too many people at once upon arrival.

“Riku!” she cries, running over to him the second she spots him. He’s quick to shush her as Sora lightly stirs in his arms, and she complies, her eyes wide when she sees him, a soft gasp escaping her when she takes in just how much he’s managed to change. “S-Sora…” she swallows hard, trying to fight back tears and failing miserably. “I-is… is he-”

“He’s just sleeping,” Riku assures her. “He… hasn’t been doing too well out on his own…”

“I can tell…” Kairi shudders, wiping a few of her stray tears away. She places a feather-light hand against the side of his face, whispering softly to him as he sleeps. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through… But it’s all gonna be ok now. You’re here, and so is everyone else. And we’re all gonna do whatever we can to stop this… to save you…”

While most of this goes largely unheard, Sora does ease his way back into some small semblance of waking after Kairi leans in to lightly kiss his forehead. His golden gaze is initially unfocused, his mind bleary and disoriented as unused to uninterrupted slumber as he’s come to be. Even so, he eventually manages to focus his sights on the pair hovering over him, all but unaware that he’s resting in the arms of one of them. “Mmm… Riku?” he says with a small, comforted smile. That comfort quickly shifts into startled alarm when he notices who else is standing alongside him. “K-Kairi! I-”

“Shh, it’s ok,” she places a soft finger against his lips, her own smile warm but bittersweet. “I’m so glad to see you, you lazy bum. To see both of you…” She turns her sights back to Riku, who returns her apologetic gaze every bit as intently. Whatever they might have said or done weeks before doesn’t matter now, not when they finally have the one who matters most to them both back. Not when he still needs both of them to be there for him so very much.

“Wait a second…” Sora starts, his cheeks flooding red when he tries to sit up, only to realize where he’s lying. Or rather, who’s arms he’s lying in. “R-Riku! Are you--why are you carrying me?!”

“W-well, you were sleeping,” Riku quickly explains, his own face turning a crimson shade to match Sora’s. “And I didn’t want to wake you, so I-”

He’s cut off as Kairi suddenly breaks down into a helpless bout of laughter, one that only serves to fluster both boys even more. “Good to know you’re both just as adorable as ever,” she chuckles, fixing them with a flirtatious smirk.

“Are not!” Sora argues, pouting as Riku carefully sets him down and helps him properly stand.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Riku refutes, clearing his throat as he looks away.

“Suuuure you don’t,” Kairi teases, though her tone takes a more serious turn as she begins leading the way toward the tower. “Well, come on you two. Everyone’s waiting.”

“E-everyone?” Sora tenses, at least until Riku’s steadying hand lands on his shoulder.

“It’s ok,” he says solemnly, sincerely. “We’re with you, no matter what happens.”

The most Sora can do is anxiously nod, knowing that there’s no going back now, not when he’s already come all this way. They approach the doors together, though they aren’t the ones to open them. Donald and Goofy are, and needless to say that as soon as they see Sora, they’re unable to contain the torrential tide of emotions that rushes to the surface. And neither can Sora himself, for that matter.

The pair pounces upon him, knocking him to the ground as they engulf him in a noisy, tearful hug. Sora struggles to work up the courage to hug them back, terrified of even touching them after how he’d hurt both of them before. That maddening moment seems to be the furthest thing from either of their minds now though, as they fret and fawn over him, as Donald scolds him for worrying them so much, as Goofy tells him how much they both missed him. It all comes out so rapidly that Sora is barely able to get a word in edgewise, not that he can think of much else to say other than sorry. Which he does, over and over and over again.

Roxas, Ventus, and Xion descend upon him next, each of them greeting him in more or less the exact ways he expected them to. Roxas is a mess of relieved anger, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he yells at Sora for his recklessness, for his foolishness, for being so surprisingly hard to find. Sora doesn’t protest any of it, knowing he deserves far worse for what he’s done. But in the end, Roxas finally relents, finally embracing him as Ven and Xion do the same. As all three of the hearts once inside his own vow to do whatever they can to protect him even still, even now that they no longer have to call his heart home.

The others all soon follow, Aqua and Terra and Axel and Mickey and Naminé all warmly welcoming his long-awaited return. He does his best to face each of them in stride, to not fall apart in front of them all. He leans against Riku and Kairi for support, his head spinning as they all ask him an abundance of curious, concerned questions, many of which he has no real answers for. The pair can tell he’s starting to get overwhelmed by it all, and they’re more than ready to pull him aside for some of the solitude he’s likely much more used to now. But before they can, one voice among the group rises over all the others; a voice that sparks tears in Sora’s eyes the very second he hears her.

“S-Sora…?”

He turns, his heart aching to find her hurrying down the stairs into the foyer. Her eyes are already red from crying, tears already starting in them anew when he steps forward to meet her. He doesn’t know what to say, didn’t know she’d be here, never thought she even could be here. But he supposes it only makes sense that they’d bring her all this way to see him; after all, the world order can afford to be broken just a little if it means reuniting a worried mother with the son she’s so close to losing.

“Mom…” he returns as the entire room falls into solemn silence around them. “I… I’m-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish when Himari throws her arms around him, pulling him close and tight toward her. “I-I… t-they just finished telling me what’s happening to you,” she whispers, running a hand through his whitened hair. “I didn’t think this--I… I should have never let you…” she breaks off into a mournful sob, holding him even tighter, terrified of what might happen if she lets him go. “I’m so sorry, Sora…”

“No,” he returns just as quietly, just as sadly as he pulls just a tiny bit away. “Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.” “It’s mine,” he nearly adds, but narrowly refrains. Even though he knows it's nothing less than the truth.

The round of reunions doesn’t continue very long after that. It’s already quite late, and everyone’s already very tired, so they decide to take tomorrow to form a more concrete plan of action. For now, everyone turns into their rooms for the night, with even Himari doing the same after spending a bit more time with her son, vowing to stay by his side through the duration of this situation, no matter how uncertain it might be.

Sora finds himself stunned when Riku and Kairi lead him into one of the tower’s spare rooms. He hasn’t slept in general for so long, much less in an actual bed. And the mere thought of getting to lie in one now almost seems like a luxury he shouldn’t be able to afford, yet here it is, offered freely just like the food he’d gotten earlier, just like the secure shelter now hanging over his head, just like the kind company he still can’t believe he’s keeping. Company that he’d been such a stubborn fool for depriving himself of for so very long.

As he climbs under the soft plush covers, he’s just as surprised to find Riku and Kairi climbing under them alongside him. The bed is plenty big enough for all three of them, with still more room to spare, but they pull themselves close along either side of him, each of them loosely draping their arms over him.

“Are you comfortable like this?” Kairi asks him as she reaches over to turn out the light.

“Yeah…” he sighs, content as Riku pulls the blanket over him just a bit more. “You know, I’ve been alone for such a long time now, I-I guess… I almost forgot what this felt like…”

“What do you mean?” Riku inquires softly, drowsily.

“I… I forgot what it felt like… to be safe,” Sora admits, though that’s not really what he wants to say. Because in truth, what he really forgot, what he’s still trying his hardest to remember is what it feels like to be loved.

Even so, both Riku and Kairi seem to understand what he means without him even needing to say it. A talent both of them have always had, one that he’s always marveled at around every turn. “And you’ll stay safe, no matter what happens next,” Kairi smiles sweetly, slowly brushing a few stray locks of hair out of his eyes. “That’s something we won’t let you forget again. We promise.”

“You saved both of us so many times before, Sora, in so many different ways,” Riku adds, his voice a light, loving whisper leading him back toward slumber. “This time, let us be the ones to save you, ok?”

Sora has no idea what will happen next, and part of him doesn’t want to know either. But what he does know is this: he’s back, he’s here, surrounded by friends and family who are all striving to help him, set his captive heart free. He’s here, lying in the arms of two people he loves more than anything, more than himself even. He’s here, and the only thing they want is to save him, to stay with him, to hold onto him and never let him walk alone again. And, after so long of wandering without anyone by his side, without any love or light to guide him out of the dark deceptions he’d fallen into… Sora can’t help but finally find himself wanting the exact same thing. “Ok,” he says softly, a smile on his face as he falls asleep in the same way he fell in love with them so many years ago.

Slowly, and then all at once.

(Commissions are still open! PM if interested!)

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thejustmaiden · 4 years

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Heyo, fellow Inuyasha fans! Happy Friday! This particular blog will serve as a collection of random thoughts I’ve been mulling over lately. Hope you’ll consider giving it a read. By the way, it’ll specifically pertain to the Sessrin ship. If that’s not something that is of interest to you, then no need to read any further. Whatever happens, I wanted to get this out before the sequel. Alrighty, let’s go!

I’m not sure many of us realize just how much fiction sparks public dialogue and shapes culture. There have been countless studies and research done to prove it, therefore this really isn’t up for debate. What the real question here should be is have we taken the time to fully contemplate and assess just how much fictional experiences are able to change or influence our perspective on real, everyday life? The visual arts are just one of many evolutionary adaptations that serve to give us more insight into one another’s mind. If our outlook on fiction contrasts with said insight, then perhaps some re-evaluating is in order.

Powerful works of literature such as 1984 and the beloved Harry Potter series are just two examples. George Orwell’s book contributed strongly to how readers viewed government and politics during that time, and to this day it’s a book that resonates with many. As much as Harry Potter is cherished all across the world, there are religious and academic institutions that condemn it or have even gone so far as to ban it. I may not agree with the extreme measures taken, but it’s fascinating nonetheless to witness the extent to which fiction can move and mobilize people for a cause.

The takeaway is that indicating fiction doesn’t have the power to create change in our everyday lives is misleading to say the least. So how exactly then can fictional stories that are, after all, completely made up affect society in such profound ways? It all lies in the power of the psychology of fiction. According to cognitive psychologist and novelist, Keith Oatley, who’s been researching the psychological effects of fiction for over a decade, he states that engaging with stories about other people can improve empathy and theory of mind. When we identify with these characters’ struggles, we begin to share their frustration for societal problems that plague them. These types of stories tap into our emotions more so than- believe it or not- nonfiction, and thus their effects inspire us and even have the ability to alter our worldviews.

I’ll be returning to that specific topic a bit later, but moving on for now!

It’s safe to say that I speak on behalf of the majority of antis. That being said, I first want to add that we are aware that sessrin shippers claim to agree that there was nothing inherently romantic that took place between Rin and Sesshomaru during their travels together. The thing is we have trouble believing you guys when you time and time again provide contradictory statements to defend your stance.

Voicing things like, “all signs point to Rin” and “it’s been foreshadowed” sends the exact opposite message of what you supposedly stand for and, if anything, confirms that you’ve had romance on your mind long before it would’ve been acceptable to come out with openly. You can’t just go along with what we say when it’s convenient to your argument and then back it up later with “who else but Rin.” How can the relationship you’re imagining be so obvious if they didn’t hint at it for the whole duration of the original series like we agreed upon? Elaborate on how we could’ve possibly come to such wildly different conclusions when we started AND left off with the same views for and throughout the series.

On top of that, making the excuse that we don’t speak for adult!Rin and that she has the right to make her own decisions once she’s old enough is a weak defense. Firstly, because we haven’t even met her. Secondly, because it’s unfair of you to assert that you know what’s best for Rin and then say we’re not allowed to just because it doesn’t align with your beliefs. I get that you feel protective over her character, but do recall that this adult version of her none of us have actually met yet. We have no idea what kind of woman she’s become, what her dreams or aspirations may be, and whether she’s married or even wants to be. I’m not against the idea of her falling in love, I just don’t think it’ll be with Sesshomaru. I guess I’m also a fan of the idea of her following in Kaede’s footsteps, because if anyone can grow up to be an independent, trusted, and wise leader of the community like her it’s Rin.

To make matters worse, way too many of you continue to celebrate the drama cd and profess that it was sweet that Sesshomaru basically promised he’d wait for Rin all while somehow ignoring the glaring grooming implications. Why do you only see what you want to see and fail to acknowledge that actual child grooming scenarios do in fact play out like this in real life? A high percentage of people who have been victims of grooming can attest to this. If Sessrin does go canon, all the sequel succeeded in doing to avoid the direct correlation with grooming was skip over the more questionable and dodgy portions of it. Take out the time jump, however, and you no longer have a loophole to cover up the scary unmistakable truth, which is that Sessrin and grooming are essentially one in the same.

No one case is identical to another so please don’t come to me with your “but how is it grooming if Sesshomaru didn’t manipulate Rin” refutes. Nobody knows what the hell went on during those years between The Final Act and this upcoming sequel. Based on everything exhibited so far- that is if we decide to recognize the drama cd like so many of you choose to do- Sessrin’s dynamic is eerily reminiscent of real life child grooming. Why else do you think a lot of us fans have a huge problem with it? It’s triggering for a reason.

Let’s be honest, Sesshomaru’s supposed love confession could’ve just been the first of many gestures like it. Who really knows, right? According to you shippers, a major shift in their relationship took place sometime during this critical period none of us got to watch unfold. I’m sure you all have explored the various ways this would’ve gone down in fan fiction and through other creative means of expression. Not to spoil the fun, but all I can’t help but wonder about is just how many of those supposed “cute moments” would’ve been as creepy and cringey as that proposal. Hundreds of thousands (possibly millions?!) of fans would undoubtedly agree with me, too. It seems to me this ain’t due to a mere difference of opinion. Taste is one thing, ethics a whole other.

By the way, in case you didn’t know, groomers don’t necessarily need to plan out every single move in order for their behavior to constitute as grooming. What we should be paying attention to instead is the fact that Sesshomaru made a conscious decision to act on his own selfish desire for a young girl who couldn’t have possibly known in that moment the magnitude of what he was asking of her. Why is it that a vulnerable Rin is put in a position that forces her to be the one responsible for making such a big, life-changing decision for the both of them? Yes, Sesshomaru gave her the choice and, yes, she doesn’t have to make it till later, but why on Earth is he coming to her with this well before a child her age is ready and mature enough to handle it? Even if his intentions are good (broadly speaking of course), his what you shippers probably call “innocent acts” are incidentally coercing Rin into reciprocating his feelings. Whether he planned for that or not, he’s at fault. Period.

That’s one way the power imbalance works. A child wants nothing more than to please the adult they look up to and adore, because they’re impressionable like that. Maybe Rin processes this like she’ll want whatever he wants, so that’s what she trains herself to believe- either right then and there or over time. Plus, if you really think about it, why wouldn’t she trust him if in her eyes he’s been nothing but good to her and that’s all she’s ever really known? (Psst! Charm is integral to the manipulative nature of grooming so it’s deceiving AKA manipulation can come off as praise or flattery.) Bottom line is that Rin is too young to have to think about this kind of deep stuff at all, and Sesshomaru shouldn’t have taken advantage of the power he had/has over her to influence a decision she was by no means prepared to hear about much less decide on. Your headcanons seem to imply that she’ll eventually have to choose though, and Idk about you but I rather not push my own fantasy agenda onto a underage girl regardless of how much I want it. Idc if she’s fictional, it wouldn’t feel right so why would I want to see that? My principals couldn’t ever allow for it.

Even if it wasn’t an official proposal, per se, it’s still disturbing to me that so many of you find joy in the thought of a grown adult male essentially waiting for a young girl HE KNEW to become old enough before pursuing her. I know this drama cd ain’t technically canon, y'all, but since this is literally the only source we have that may foreshadow a potential Sessrin to come, and it’s referenced a lot, I figured it still should be called out for exactly what it is- Grooming: 101!!!!

Just as I demonstrated above, fiction has the ability to make even the most inappropriate and uncomfortable situations be viewed in a favorable light when you put the right spin on it. *cough* Lolicon culture, need I say more? *cough* Despite what you may believe, the strategies fiction utilizes to explain themes/concepts can genuinely lead to how we perceive them, and ultimately to how we come to make sense of a similar event presented to us in real life. Especially if we have no prior experience with any of it and have nothing to compare something to, these perceptions can be dangerous yet still persuasive to certain fans- young ones in particular. The more narrative consistency across stories and different mediums, the more likely they’ll influence social beliefs. Minors don’t possess the same capacity as adults to think critically about the content they consume, and if we aren’t more careful about what we put out there then all of us will continue to face serious repercussions.

This is precisely why it’s crucial we persist in our fight against the rabid phenomenon of glorifying young girls in every sexual context imaginable. Just look at what something as seemingly harmless as fiction has the power to do. The scope of fiction is broad and far-reaching, and it’s about time we stop denying that fact and actually do something about it if we have the means to.

The truth of the matter is that we’re in desperate need of proper education and training programs on this issue in our communities. Families need to ensure their children have access to the necessary resources, but it isn’t just on them. ALL of us gotta do our part and ALL of us should be up for the task. It takes a village, right? If we do not properly discuss and address child sexual abuse (CSA) with our children and in public forums, including the internet, then we’re ultimately accepting incidents of CSA should they arise. Consequently, that also translates to indirectly accepting that the predators among us stay untreated and/or unpunished. That’s how the generational and societal aspect of the abuse can continue, and we must do everything in our power to secure our children’s future. Yes, even when it comes to fiction.

If you still somehow don’t think the Sessrin pairing has anything to do with grooming, allow me to break this down for you one more time:

1. If some of your fellow sessrin shippers say that a relationship like this in real life is harmful, then that should be pretty telling in and of itself.

2. Piggybacking off #1: if your only defense to that is “well it’s just fiction,” then you should ask yourself why you can’t ever come up with better reasons. Same goes for history and culture, so please stop using those to justify this relationship. None of the above can or should be applied since it’s already been established that fiction pervades our lives and vice versa.

3. If fellow shippers who are victims of grooming say they are drawn to Sessrin because it allows them in a way to “take back control” from their abuser so that they can better cope with past traumas, then they’re inadvertently admitting that Sessrin does possess qualities associated with the past child sexual abuse they underwent. AKA Sessrin is relatable for its abusive dynamic.

I have to ask by the way, but why do you get so offended when we don’t support your ship anyway? Is it because we interpret it to be controversial and you don’t like your ship getting a bad rap? Is it because it would be insulting to admit that antis actually have a point in it being problematic and you rather double down instead? Or is it because you’re projecting yourself onto Rin and prefer to not go into detail about why that is? Maybe it’s too personal, or maybe it’s because deep down you’re ashamed. Of course that doesn’t mean you’re bad people, but suppressing these kind of negative emotions can’t be healthy for anyone. A little awareness and self-reflection on your part can benefit not just you but all of us in the long run. Cognitive dissonance can suck, but it’s also part of being human.

I recently came across a comment I’d like to share with you. Unfortunately, this is not the first time nor will it be the last I see the likes of it. Anyway, in it a fan stated how embarrassing it must be being an Anti in this fandom when an episode like “Forever with Lord Sesshomaru” exists. Guys, this shipper and all those who liked their post are showing their true colors. Perpetuating and/or anticipating these sexualized images of young girls is a grave issue in both our society and media alike. I think we can all agree on that, or at least I hope so. It’s remarks like these that prove we still got a long way to go in terms of progress, and if we ever hope to effectively reverse some of our backwards way of thinking. So serious question for ya in regard to this: Why is it too much to ask that grooming be portrayed for what it is? Grooming. To clarify, grooming is bad and needs to be painted in a bad light. It’s as simple as that. If only we could all acknowledge it for what it is, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Historical accuracy and cultural differences aside, it appears the crux of the matter between Sessrin shippers and Antis is our acceptance and/or denial of fiction’s influence on real life. If we can’t agree on this, then we’ll never agree on anything else. As mentioned earlier, there is more than enough evidence to support the idea that fiction impacts our lives in extraordinary ways. I, for one, believe in the transformative power of stories. I think they do more for us than many of us give them credit for and/or are inclined to admit.

This is partially why I believe that the majority of sessrin folk are missing the point most of the time. All they do is focus on insignificant and irrelevant information that accomplishes nothing but more gaslighting and strawmanning. Whether it be an intentional or unconscious decision, whatever we argue goes right over their head. All they do is throw around deflections and antagonizing remarks that serve no real purpose other than to make Antis out to be the unreasonable and irrational ones. Making connections between our own lives and our stories is a completely natural and normal occurrence. If those particular shippers insist on denying just how interconnected real life and fiction both are, what that tells me is they’re either out of touch with reality or deliberately choose to be.

Just to be clear, I am of the opinion that most if not all antis aren’t real life predators. If they say they aren’t, I honestly take their word for it. Speaking to Sessrin shipper directly: We know it’s not Sesshomaru you want to be but Rin. No, we’re not calling you pedophiles or groomers. None of us think you are using a fictional ship to attract underage fans to be the Rin in your life or anything of the sort. We are well aware that many of you are self-inserting yourself as Rin, so please don’t feel the need to tell us yourself because that would be stating the obvious.

I learned from a few of you since this sequel was announced that the Sessrin relationship isn’t just a ship but an opportunity for you to confront the person who used and abused you. So there’s two issues with this I’d like to raise. (Sorry if I’m repeating myself, but it’s urgent I stress this again!) This is what I have to say:

If fiction does not affect real life or have the ability to normalize anything as you claim to believe, then why does “fixing” what happened to you via your preferred choice of coping associated with these two characters in the first place? Why bring your past abuse into this at all if at the end of the day it’s “just fiction” and nothing more to you but a source of entertainment?

By confessing that you use Sessrin to cope with your past trauma, you therein reveal that Sessrin does in fact resemble an adult-child relationship with a grooming dynamic. So why then would you want other fans to be exposed to a pairing that brings to mind the very abuse you endured? We’re supposed to stop this toxic cycle- NOT find more ways to manifest and relive it, much less subject other fans to it.

You may think that Sessrin doesn’t fit the textbook definition of what child grooming is, but that’s not to say it doesn’t embody it or that it doesn’t at the very least have traces of it that stand out.

“Antis are miserable people who don’t know how to enjoy a good story. It’s just fiction, stop ruining it for other fans!”

Well, no, it’s not just fiction or just a story. Some of you evidently went and proved that yourself, and without my help, by revealing how you relate Sessrin to your own life and apply it to cope with past abuse. Past abuse or not, as far as I can tell we’re all equally invested in these characters. That speaks volumes and just goes to show that fiction touches our lives in long-lasting ways.

I have something I want to say concerning some of who believe that it’s inconsiderate of antis who have been victims of grooming or another form of child abuse to tell other victims who ship Sessrin how they should cope with their trauma. Now as much as I respect the various means victims discover to deal with their painful pasts, there’s always an appropriate time and a place for these things to occur. We must seek out better ways to safely cope with the abuse we lived through (if any) without running the risk of hurting and endangering others.

There are plenty of fans in other fandoms who don’t try to defend their ships going canon, because they’re able to recognize an unhealthy or toxic pairing when they see one and won’t try to justify it. A Sessrin romance simply does not belong on a show geared towards teens, and I really don’t need to go into detail about why we shouldn’t support it, at least canon-wise. Shipping Sessrin is your right, but if you don’t keep it to yourself and your corner of the fandom then you really shouldn’t be surprised by the opposition. All we ask is you respect that their specific dynamic falls under the category of child grooming (or very close) and should be treated as such in public. The world of fiction may be wider than the world we live in, but that doesn’t always mean “anything goes.” In the creative spaces our minds occupy we must still adhere to the same fundamental and moral guidelines we live by in life. There’s nothing wrong with exploring new terrains and experimenting with ideas, but we must also remember that our stories are all about communicating and connecting with people. So let’s please be more mindful of the sort of messages they’re sending.

Besides, this isn’t only about you and what makes you feel safe, it’s about all of us. I don’t know how much more I can stress that really. How can thoughts endanger our children, you ask? Well, it’s not like we’re suggesting that our thoughts can jump out of our tvs, materialize themselves, and place kids under mind control. The forces behind fiction are a lot more complex and nuanced than a “monkey see, monkey do” approach, so don’t waste any more time trying to describe that to us. You’re taking this argument in the wrong direction.

Take the “violent video games breed killers” theory. I’m afraid you’re misconstruing what we’re saying and then taking it quite too literally. Please stop twisting our words, because nobody on our side is saying that just because you play violent video games that you’ll become a violent person. The Sessrin equivalent of that would be if you ship them then you must be a pedophile or turning into one. *sigh* I know you guys are feeling attacked, but I’m afraid your defensive nature is keeping you from thinking straight. Clearly, there are always exceptions (I’d recommend reading up on the Slender Man case), but Antis aren’t saying you’re one of them.

You see, it’s not so much about the content as it is the notion of the content. Kids and teens who are playing these video games have been informed that killing is wrong, because they grew up learning that early on like the rest of us. No sane person would advocate for violence and nonsensical killing in real life. Since they fully understand the severity of the consequences of killing a person in real life, they are able make a clear distinction between the two. When it comes to killing there is hardly any ambiguity. Sadly, that is far from the truth when it comes to sexualizing girls. It should immediately be perceived as wrong leaving no room for interpretation, and yet here we are still putting up with these inaccurate and demeaning female representations.

Most children who have been groomed don’t realize it till years down the road. If they aren’t ever taught the telltale signs to properly labeling grooming situations, how do you expect them to make sense of and relate to a fictional version? Let’s think of about it from a child’s perspective. Yes, this includes teens who rely pretty heavily on adult guidance and the content we put out there for them. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment and picture that you’ve never had child grooming explained to you (because that’s just the reality for so many unfortunately). Wouldn’t you say it’s possible for them to deduce that what they see on their screens is how they come to discern something in real life, especially if they have little to no experience with it? Perceived realism is plausible, y'all.

What it comes down to in the end is that the ideas and emotions we cultivate behind these stories leave an impression on others. Impressions are capable of influencing the way we see the world, which in turn affects us and beyond just our imagination. The way I look at it, stories contribute to how and why we normalize certain beliefs and trends. If fiction reflects real life like most of us tend to agree, then wouldn’t you say Sessrin is a (in)direct result of this world’s tendency to place young girls in overly sexual or romantic environments? Where do you think fiction draws its inspiration from? Sure, some of it originates from our imagination, but most of what drives us to create these stories is the real world and the people who live in it.

Fiction is meant to mirror reality, but it’s ridiculous to suggest that it’s only a one-way street. That fiction in no way, shape, or form influences our reality? Or that it only works the other way around? With all due respect, that’s simply not true. No productive discourse can be had if we choose to ignore the truth and don’t come together (at least halfway) to tackle the real issues at hand.

Okay, I think I’ll leave it off there! Thanks so much for reading. I expect this to be my last blog on any topic regarding Inuyasha in the near future. As much as I’ve looked forward to answering all of your asks and writing all the blogs I have over these past almost 5 months, I think it’s best if I spend some time away for now. With the sequel fast approaching, I’m doing what I always do: hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I’ve met some amazing people along the way, that’s for sure. And who knows, maybe you’ll see me active in the tags sooner than we think. Until then, it’s been an absolute pleasure! Enjoy the sequel, all of you. 💜

#inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #anti sessrin #it's been real y'all #catch ya on the flipside #(which I hope is in a promising sequel 🤞)

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hankwritten · 3 years

Text

By the Roots

Scout & Soldier, 2k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 2: Family

Of all the people, all the people on the damn planet, it really shouldn’t have been Soldier that figured it.

“You there! I saw that, pipsqueak!” he demanded not two days after the team was first assembled, storming at me across the training yard like I’d already done something wrong. “Regulation warm-up is fifty pushups, not ten and then exclaiming very loudly ‘FIFTY’ as you do that last one! Do not think because you are a woman I will go easy on you. In fact! I will be riding your ass twice as hard so you will be encouraged to measure up to your clearly more dedicated male counterparts!”

There were a lot of things I could object to in that, a lot of things I was planning to object to, but one thing in particular surprised me so much it practically hit me upside the head. “Whoa, hey dude! I ain’t a chick!”

Soldier lifted his helmet with a thumb and peered down at me. “You are not?”

“No a’course I’m not!” I said, flabbergasted. “Would a chick have sick muscles like this? Or like this?” I should off each of my amazing and impressive biceps in turn, a little shocked that he wasn’t falling over in awe due to their sheer awesomeness. “I am peak dude, pally. Why would you even think that?”

“Your small stature, your chicken legs, your feminine jaw, your general weakness, the unending gab from your motor mouth-” Soldier ticked them off on his fingers.

I swatted down his hands. “Dude, jeez, I get it.”

He considered me again. “…You are sure you are not a very petite yet tomboyish girl?”

“Uh, yeah pally,” I scoffed. “I think I’d know.”

Twenty-two months later, my hard earned ponytail fitting snugly through my hat, I wondered if Soldier knew, somehow. That was stupid obviously—Soldier was completely bonkers even by the team’s standards, and if every weirdly nonsensical thing he’d ever said was true then I’d also be a spy from ten different countries and partially made of ranch dressing. But. I guess some small part of me liked the idea that it was apparent to someone. That there was some hard truth out there, and somehow Soldier was in tune with the weird songs of the universe enough to prophesize me even before I’d divined myself.

I was pretty far from the team’s campfire, the rush of the last hour still coursing through my system. It’d gone as well as I could have hoped, with everyone kind of knowing or at least suspecting by this point anyway, but I’d still been nice to get it all out in the open. A little family meeting of sorts. I smiled, watching them laugh and carry on with their drinking.

“Is something the matter, Scout?”

Spy’s voice startled me, but I totally didn’t jump or nothing, just turned my head as the creepy bastard slinked out of the dark.

“Nah,” I told him. “Was just a lot of adrenaline doing all that. Needed a moment to cool off. Not like I’m nervous or nothin’! Could’a talked about shit all day if those knuckleheads didn’t get it through their bozo craniums, but it’s just like after a run you take a breather to make sure you don’t get heat stroke or something-”

Spy held up a hand. “I understand. No need to elaborate.”

“Great. Cool. Just so you know that I’m not freakin’ out.”

He took a spot next to me, the rocks cool where the desert night came on fast and hit hard. We stayed like that for a while, him smoking, me staring with my chin in my arms.

“You come out here to say you’re surprised or something?” I asked, after the moon had ticked a little lower.

He blew a strand of smoke. “It wasn’t my primary goal, no.” He paused. “Though I was, to be sure.”

“Hah! Yeah you were! You should’ve seen your face.” I grinned, kicking a rock. “I can’t believe you were the last person to find out.”

“…I certainly couldn’t have been the last person to-” Spy stopped when he saw the shit-eating grin I was giving him. “Hm. Fine, I suppose I will take this as a loss to my professional pride.”

“Heh. Nice,” I snorted. “So if that isn’t what you wanted to talk about, what was?”

He hesitated a moment. “Scout if I have ever said something, to you or merely in passing that was…greatly insensitive, then I am sorry. I cannot hide the fact that this is not something I have experience with, and if my past ignorance has ever caused you distress then I apologize fully.”

I blinked. Was he serious? “Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Ah, so I have made some faux pas. Again I’m sorry-”

“No,” I interrupted him. “I mean seriously, don’t worry about it. ‘Cause I don’t.”

Spy looked genuinely confused, already the second time that night when I’d barely seen him make that face in two years of working together. “Pardon?”

“I don’t really care about what you say,” I shrugged. “When it comes to things that bother me, crap my Ma’s shitty boyfriend says about how I look barely makes the list. After however many years of the way you’ve treated me, I’ve just kinda tuned you out.” I shrugged again. “How it is.”

“…Ah.”

I kinda missed when he was surprised, since that was at least easy to read. Now I didn’t know what to make of the mix of emotions crossing Spy’s face, only that I was sorta bored of the conversation.

“If that’s all you wanted to talk about, I’m heading back to the fire,” I said, smacking my legs as I stood. “Cold out here.”

I left Spy, not checking to see if he was still doing that thing with his face.

I honestly was planning on heading over to the fire, but I saw Soldier sitting on the bed of Engie’s truck, not doing anything but staring into space as he sipped his beer. It wasn’t even conscious really, I just suddenly found my feet moving in his direction, abandoning warmth for the lunatic with the bazooka. The weird things we do on instinct sometimes.

“Yo, Major General,” I greeted. “Feel like the smartest guy in the room yet?”

“I have never claimed to be!” Soldier said. “I settle for being the most tactically sound.”

“I meant about me, dumbass,” I rolled my eyes, then hopped on the bed next to him. I scooped up a beer while I was at it.

“You?” He might have been blinking at me under the helmet.

“One of the first times we ever met, you asked me if I was a chick.”

Soldier rubbed his chin, trying to recall. “…You said you weren’t.”

“Well I didn’t know at the time, dumbass.” I cracked my beer. “But now we all know, so congrats to you, pally.” I toasted in his general direction and drank.

“…How is it?”

“The beer or the chick thing?”

“Being a girl.”

“It’s alright,” I admitted, playing it cool. “The ponytail’s great though. Look! I can do this now.” I bobbled my head, showing that my hat stayed on no matter how hard I shook it. I kept bobbling until I almost fell off the truck, Soldier steadying me at the last moment.

“Careful, missy. You’re going to need to cut that soon if you don’t want it smacking you in the middle of battle,” Soldier pointed out. “That or braid it.”

My hand clamped defensively over the back of my head. “Nah, no way man.” Hearing how whiny that sounded, I tried to pass off my sudden movement as a stretch. “It’s fine. Plus I don’t even know how to braid.”

“…I could do it for you.”

Of all the batshit things Soldier had said to me over the years, this took the cake. “You? Know how to braid?”

I wanted to ask if he was pulling my leg right now, but his expression was just as dead serious as ever. He pointed downward and made a circular motion.

Hesitantly, I turned around, and felt him lift off my cap. The ponytail threaded out of it, and he tugged at the elastic until my hair fell free around my shoulders. I’d seen myself with it down in the mirror every morning before pulling it up, but it still felt odd to have it hanging free here in the same place we killed BLUs and got our guts blasted full of lead. Soldiers fingers carded through the loose strands, dividing them into chunks, but despite that it wasn’t nearly as weird as I thought it would be. It was actually…nice almost.

He wasn’t gentle—this was still Soldier after all—but the tugging at my roots was more pull than yank, a careful suggestion to go one way or the other. Nudging me towards something.

“How’d you learn to do this, anyway?” I asked.

“Used to do my sister’s,” he said gruffly. “Little sisters can’t do anything by themselves. They always try to follow you around, and then they get in trouble or fall in a creek or something.”

His fingers brushed against my neck every now and again. “As a professional little sister, that sounds about right.”

“You are not a professional little sister. You are a professional Scout. What sister-ing you do, you do on your own time missy.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Soldier slipped the elastic around the braid’s end. I swung it around a few times, trying to see if Soldier had messed it up somehow, but only managed to almost fall off the truck bed again. Maybe that beer was really hitting me.

“…Thanks Solly,” I said, gently touching the braid’s end.

“Any time, private. If you need me to teach you, I will happily train you in the art of braids,” he declared. “And knot tying! But only if you meet my standards on the braid portion of the exam.”

I grinned at him. I’d done a lot of weeding, taking out the people and things I didn’t want in my life, but it was nice to know there were things I wouldn’t have to get rid of entirely. “Sure Soldier. I’ll think about it.”

#dnadprideweek2021 #tf2 fanfiction

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strangertheory · 3 years

Note

Do you think that portraying a portion of our characters as alters would remove their depth? Would portraying female characters and characters of color as alters of Will remove their agency? This is not my personal opinion but I’ve seen this topic come up as a concern with the DID theory and seeing as you answer every ask so thoughtfully.

DID is a widely misunderstood condition due to the way in which it has been portrayed in a lot of popular media, but also because it is a unique condition that most people have not spent a lot of time learning more about. When fans are ignorant and say incorrect things like “alters aren’t real” they are perpetuating incorrect information about DID and being prejudiced against those who have DID.

“El is her own person! With her own free will!”

- Nancy Wheeler, season 3

DID is a real medical condition. People need to educate themselves more on the topic before they engage in (incorrectly) asserting that El being an alter would somehow make her less important or “less real” than Will. If the theory that Will and El are both part of a DID System is correct: they share the same mind and their brain belongs to them both. They’re two different, separate states of consciousness in their shared mind. Shared.

Alters are not imaginary friends, and they are not hallucinations. Alters are distinct, separate states of identity within a single human brain. A host in a DID System does not “control” other alters. They are not puppets or characters in a fictionalized story that was invented by a person’s imagination. And it’s very important that people treat alters as unique individuals.

Describing an alter as “not real” is incorrect and ignorant. Alters are just as real as you or me. Fans, when discussing or criticizing the theory that Stranger Things is about a DID System, need to be aware that any time they criticize this theory and say something like “alters are not real” that they’re being prejudiced against real alters in real DID Systems who might read their comments online and be hurt. Alters are each unique individuals, and they are real.

Alters have their own agency. They have real feelings and experiences. They have their own free will. Their sense of identity and their memories and experiences are separate from the experiences of other alters. Even when alters are co-conscious together they will still perceive of those shared experiences differently.

To make a very simplistic analogy: imagine many people living in the same body that sometimes can interact with one another face-to-face in spaces within their shared subconscious mind. (Those spaces are referred to as “internal worlds.”)

Do you consider yourself real? How do you define your identity? You probably, like me, define yourself by the many experiences you have had throughout your life and by your memories and your relationships with other people. That is how Alters develop their sense of identity, too: through their real memories, relationships, and experiences. But a key difference is that they exist together in one mind and body. But they are all real. One alter is not more or less “real” than another alter.

Anyone that takes issue with the concept of El and Will possibly taking turns being conscious in their shared body in the external world might need to be wary of seeming prejudiced against trans identities and experiences. El is a girl and Will is a boy.

Regarding your point about the concept of Lucas potentially being an alter: I personally suspect that Lucas exists in the external physical world as a friend no matter what is going on in the story, but if there were also an alter in the DID System that was named Lucas and was based off of their friend named Lucas, then that alter-Lucas would be understood to perhaps have the same physical appearance within the internal world of the mind but would not have a Black identity in the same way that friend-Lucas does (obviously) because the lived experiences that this alter has would not be the same as a Black person. (This is a very good and complex question. I’m not sure I can do it justice. But it is definitely important to clarify that no, an alter in a DID System is not going to have a racial identity that is equivalent to racial identities and experiences in the external world unless that identity does, in fact, reflect their body’s physical appearance and cultural heritage in the external, physical world.)

Many DID Systems will have alters with different genders, ages, races, etc. but this is not the result of a conscious choice. Hosts, who are simply alters that are in control of the body the most often in the physical external world, don’t consciously “create” their alters or control them in any way. And from what I currently understand about DID (and keep in mind I am just a layperson that has done some research of my own, I’m not a medical professional) the appearance of an alter is speculated to oftentimes be based on a person’s subconscious understandings of traits they’ve observed in the external world that they believe would empower them to deal with a specific traumatic situation better. Their subconscious brain went “Who would be the most capable of dealing with this horrible situation? Who could deal with this more easily?” And this is why oftentimes an alter might be based on a person that they know in their life. I think that it is highly likely that the DID System in Stranger Things might feature many alters based on people that they know in the external world. Friends, family members, local bullies (like Billy Hargrove, perhaps?) etc. Alters based on the subconscious mind’s impression of people from the external world are referred to as introjects. But an alter is not an imaginary friend: that alter then becomes part of their own mind that has taken on these traits subconsciously.

Will as a host in a DID System would not have any conscious control over his alters any more than he has control over any other person in his life: that’s not how DID works. Alters have their own agency. Alters with certain roles have greater access to the DID System than hosts out of necessity, and therefore I believe a case could be made that at times Will is the one that has less agency. In some DID Systems hosts sometimes have absolutely no access to their internal worlds at all, and when they lose consciousness everything is like being asleep for them. And in other cases DID System hosts might have only partial access or a lesser level of awareness in the System’s internal worlds. From what I’ve read each DID System has its own unique structure based on what was needed by them in order to survive certain traumatic events in their shared lives.

Part of the reason hosts have limited access is because the DID System is an elaborate subconscious coping strategy that the brain has constructed in order to protect hosts from trauma so they can continue surviving and dealing with every day life and taking care of themselves. If hosts were given complete access to the System in the same way that certain alters have access then hosts would be exposed to traumatic memories and experiences that they might not be ready to deal with and that would defeat the entire purpose of the DID System having been established in the first place. Think of it as levels of security access in a building: not everyone has the same access granted on their little door swipe cards. Hosts oftentimes have very limited access because their brain is storing their memories beyond their reach. Alters will each have memories that the host(s) do not.

If any fans dislike the concept of Will being a host in the System because they perceive of this as some sort of “controlling” or “powerful” role in a DID System: hosts generally have to deal with an arguably frightening and intimidating lack of control over their own mind and over the System. Hosts need to establish communication with their alters and trust in order to coordinate shared decision making because they generally, by design, do NOT have access to certain parts of their mind and the internal worlds because they’re not supposed to. The only influence that hosts have on their alters’ decisions is established through communication and agreement just like if you made an agreement to pick your neighbor up from school at 3pm. There’s nothing stopping you from deciding not to do that, but you choose to do so because you’ve established trust with your neighbor and they know they can rely on you.

“Friends don’t lie!” The importance of alters telling the truth to each other would be critical to their shared survival. I should hope nobody is lying if you have no way of being sure what your body had been doing all day while you weren’t conscious in the external world and you need to check in and ask other alters what they did. (Have a great day! Don’t forget to lock the front door. Can you cook some pasta and make sure we eat tonight? Okay, cool. Thanks! Wait: you had a fight with mom? And you didn’t tell us? Not cool! Now we don’t know why she’s angry at us and have no idea what was said. Ugh.)

But to return back to your original question: although I understand that many fans might be unfamiliar with DID and with the concept of alters, I hope that fans would seek to better understand the condition and would not be so deeply disrespectful of real DID Systems that exist and suggest that they’re somehow not “real” because of their condition. Inevitably there will always be those that don’t understand and who don’t respect others’ experiences.

I hope I answered your question sufficiently! This was such a good question, and I’m really glad that you Asked. Thank you!

#stranger things theory #stranger things theories #the did theory

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