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sysmedsaresexist · 3 years

Note

(Thank you)

1. Can you be a system with absolutely no idea what caused you to split? Or to not be aware of your trama at all?

I’ve only very recently come to terms with the fact that I have trauma and haven’t done any work on it yet. I don’t have an event I can point to and go “this traumatized me.”

2. What does it feel like to have an alter front?

3. Are systems usually aware they’re a system before they’re diagnosed?

4. Do alters always know what they look like beforehand? Previously I thought alters knew everything about themselves but one of the answers I got mentioned hosts sometimes helping to figure out names.

I'm curious what kind of answers you've gotten to these so far that made you seek us out, of all people, lol

1. Can you be a system with absolutely no idea what caused you to split? Or to not be aware of your trama at all?

Absolutely, both of these scenarios are not only possible, but completely normal. We're going to switch these around and talk about them in the opposite order, starting with, "not aware of trauma at all". The purpose of a system is to hide trauma. When you're young and going through traumatic situations, and you dissociate, what usually happens is one of two things. Either the child mentally goes away (dissociates, imagining being in a different situation, ignoring what's happening to them in the moment), or they imagine actually being someone else ("this isn't happening to me, it's happening to someone else, I'm (fuck it, uh) Zoro, and I, Zoro, can handle this"). Both of these scenarios lay the groundwork for the creation of a system, and both cases lead to the loss of memory of traumatic events when a child experiences that extreme level of dissociation over prolonged periods.

What this means is, there is no one event that creates a system. It's event, after event, after event, until the child can no longer form a cohesive sense of self. They've become too reliant on dissociation as a coping mechanism, these dissociated parts have taken on a life of their own, and a child's identity has become so fractured and they're so confused that they can't tell who or what they are, and the memories of why are scattered between these parts.

It's not as easy as pointing to an event and saying, "That was it. That was what happened, that's what did this to me-- to us."

This sort of plays in to the next point of, "why did a specific alter split." And this can apply to childhood, later, hell, today, ten years ago, fifteen years from now. It's not always as easy as pointing to a specific event for each alter, either. Some alters take months and years after an event to come forward and make themselves known. This can make pinning down their "origin" almost impossible. What made them could have happened a long time ago. Sometimes it's not a specific event, but a combination of several events, just like in childhood. Are your parents always fighting? Maybe, by the tenth time they're blowing up at each other and you're curled up in your room trying to ignore it, a part finally splits to help you handle that stress. It wasn't specifically the tenth fight-- it was the combination of ALL of the fights.

2. What does it feel like to have an alter front?

This depends. I'm old. I've experienced a lot of different feelings when someone else fronts. When I was kid, it sometimes felt like I was asleep. No memories of it, just blissful darkness, no real time loss, things would go dark for what felt like ten minutes, and then I'd be back, several hours later, barely even realizing I had missed an entire day. I also had pretty bad maladaptive daydreaming, and sometimes I would go into my daydreams while another alter took over. I just thought this was normal. I was just REALLY good at multi-tasking, you know?

When I got older, and I learned more about what was happening, sometimes it would feel like a battle to the death-- two of us fighting desperately for front. Sometimes it honestly felt like a punch to the head-- a knock out when I lost, unpleasant darkness, fear, anxiety, what was I going to come back to? Other times, when I won, I was left with a massive headache and exhausted. Sometimes I welcomed the break, and over time, it became easier. It became like watching things happen through a foggy window. Sometimes I wanted to do something, and I couldn't, and sometimes I felt helpless and lost. As communication got better, I could see more clearly, I could ask for things to happen, I could occasionally... steal a moment, use a hand, set something straight on the counter that was bothering me.

When an alter fronts, it can feel like a lot of things, depending on the situation, depending on communication levels. There's no "one way" or "right way".

3. Are systems usually aware they’re a system before they’re diagnosed?

I would say, in the age of the internet, it's more likely than not that someone is aware they're potentially a system, than it is for them to be completely unaware at the time of diagnosis. Before the internet, before you could just google symptoms, a lot of people weren't aware prior to diagnosis. Even these days, it's not unheard of for someone to only find out around the time of diagnosis, because you don't always realize you're losing time, or have amnesia. Your alters aren't always so completely different that the people around you notice and point it out. The entire point of this disorder is for it to be unnoticeable. It really just depends on the person, their exposure to information about the disorders, and how bad their dissociation is. Some know, some don't. Some go seeking therapy for help with other issues and eventually it just comes out over time that you have something else going on. Sometimes you suspect, and you go to therapy specifically for it. It's different for everyone.

Not at all. It's actually really common for alters to be... essentially blank slates in the beginning. Let's look at the example above, of the child dissociating out of a bad situation. If they're going away into their daydreams, the body is essentially left unattended. Any alter that forms in that moment could considered to be "blank" at the start. In the other scenario, you know who Zoro is, what they look like, what they like and dislike, what their history is. It doesn't even need to be a character you know of, maybe you, like me, had MaDD, and you'd become one of your characters, your OCs. I had one.

She was strong and had superpowers and was beautiful and confident-- and that was one of my first alters. I imagined being her often enough that I could eventually take the other route, disappear into my mind while she handled it herself (this was totally normal multi-tasking, apparently). She knew who and what she was right off the bat. What she looked like, her history, her personality. In the first scenario, that alter may or may not come up with that information on their own. They may remain blank until communication is good, and then they might start to grow, maybe you do help them find a name, maybe they find it years later on their own. Again, there's no "one way". It depends on the circumstances.

You sent a second ask with some more questions, and I think this leads into the next one.

Is it normal for an alter to feel more comfortable in the body than the original host?

Like, you look in a mirror and you think “yeah this is [alter name]” Not really as a negative or positive feeling, just a neutral and true one. Being trans (or mistaking the presence of a different gender alter [the alter in question] for it?) might also effect this.

This can happen, yes! In the case of my OC/alter, of course she looked like me. She was everything I wanted to be when I was a child. She can look in the mirror and say, yup, definitely me. This is what I've always looked like, and I'm perfection.

I have another alter that just... isn't bothered by appearance. He looks in the mirror and it's like, "yup, I guess so, cool -finger guns-"

There's a lot of reasons some alters might be more comfortable in the body than others, and they're all totally normal.

And finally. The last question:

What is a tupla?

This is, surprisingly, a very loaded question.

First, right off the bat, the use of the term tulpa is cultural appropriation. I don't claim to be an expert, but to put it simply. The actual practice of tulpamancy is nothing, NOTHING, like what it's being used for in system circles. Here's a really, REALLY good post on how it's been twisted from the original practice and westernized.

The more accepted terms in system circles are willogenic, parogenic, and thoughtforms. These are "headmates" that are intentionally created. They're imaginary friends brought to life through meditation and practice. Some systems claim to be DID/OSDD and say they've intentionally created some alters, making them "mixed origin" (it's more likely that someone has convinced themselves that it was intentional and their choice in an attempt to feel a sense of control over their situation). Some endogenic systems claim to have intentionally created their entire system (which, because on the levels of dissociation needed to create alters, I don't believe is possible without a traumatic origin).

I hope this all helps, I hope it all made sense, if you have more questions, let me know!

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marshmallowgoop · 3 years

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Magic Kaito vs. Magic Kaito 1412

I’m not sure if I ever finished all twelve episodes, but I first watched at least a handful of the original Magic Kaito specials about a decade ago, and I remember really enjoying them. Superhero stories are among my favorites, and while both Magic Kaito and its sister series Detective Conan overlap with the genre in various ways—after all, Conan’s glasses were literally inspired by Clark Kent—Kaito’s flashy costume alone pushes his adventures more in that direction. So, maybe it’s no wonder that, back in the day, I kind of considered Magic Kaito my preferred series of the two.

Recently, I’ve got a reignited interest in the DCMK world (evidently). And it’s not a bad time to have a reignited interest, because English-language accessibility for this universe is much better now than it was ten years ago. Conan’s getting new movie dubs, and Kaito’s newer, expanded TV series, Magic Kaito 1412, is freely available on Crunchyroll. Obviously, I had to give it a shot.

I wasn’t impressed. Far from it. I chalked up my old fondness to nostalgia goggles. Kid the Phantom Thief is simply more enjoyable in Detective Conan than in his own thing, I figured.

But a few weeks ago, those old specials went up on Crunchyroll Germany. And it took me a while, but I finally decided to figure out the truth, once and for all. Have my tastes totally changed, or has Magic Kaito anime not always been Like That?

I was impressed. I watched all of one episode, and I enjoyed it so much more than 1412.

Which surprised me! Just examining the first episodes of both series, they’re honestly practically identical. They cover the same story beats almost exactly. Kaito’s introduction is even consistently him being disgusting to Aoko—behavior that, nauseatingly, convinced me that Mineta of the My Hero Academia series would actually be adored if he were conventionally attractive.

But as it turns out, that’s relevant to why the original Magic Kaito strikes me as far more palatable. Kaito’s actions towards Aoko are still indefensible in the old special, but he doesn’t repeat them on his teacher, and there are repercussions. Unlike in 1412, Kaito doesn’t get away with his harassment because his teacher finds him charming; in fact, Aoko even later notes that he “should be thankful [he] [wasn’t] expelled,” implying that he was indeed punished harshly for what he did. While Aoko assures Kaito’s mother that he didn’t get in trouble in 1412, in the original special, it’s clear that being cute isn’t enough to give him a free pass for disrupting class and being gross.

Further, in a more general sense, the tone of both series is of course goofy overall, but the characters in the old Magic Kaito feel much more like human beings than the cartoonish caricatures portrayed in 1412. A scene especially missing from the new show is a quiet one where Kaito and Aoko walk together after school. With the sun hanging low in the sky and a sparkling river flowing beside them, Kaito expresses his disappointment in how his magic trick didn’t exactly end as planned. “I guess I need to work on my finale,” he bemoans, but Aoko is more concerned with why he feels the need to pull these ridiculous stunts in the first place.

She quickly gets her answer. One of the exuberant little kids who had run by them earlier falls over and cries, and Kaito doesn’t hesitate to cheer him up with magic. And Aoko watches. She sees the way the little boy’s face lights up. She sees how he runs off again with renewed energy. And she smiles. She doesn’t say it, but the audience gets the message.

Oh. That’s why Kaito’s a magician. That’s why Aoko walks by his side.

I won’t claim to fully comprehend Kaito’s character. I haven’t read the manga, it’s been years since I’ve seen more than the first episode of these old specials, I’ve only watched about 20% of 1412, and for as much as I’ve been posting about Detective Conan lately, I’m (maybe humorously) about the farthest thing from current and would only be able to tell you about Kid’s first appearance in that show. But when Kaito returns to his empty home in the original series, and when he announces that he’s there to nobody at all, and when he welcomes himself back, all with a smile and a cheerfulness to his tone, I deeply feel his loneliness. I feel the weight of his lost father. I feel that, even if some of his tricks are inappropriate and inexcusable, he does them because he wants to make people laugh. He doesn’t want anyone to feel as sad and alone as he’s felt.

Maybe I missed it, but I didn’t get any of that from Magic Kaito 1412.

And they’re small things, they really are. But they make a world of difference. Even Jii, who really only becomes more than just a mysterious figure in the episode’s closing minutes, feels more like a tangible person in the special. He loudly gasps for breath after performing the magical, fantastical feats of his old friend, and it’s such a tiny, minuscule detail, but when watching, I feel it so strongly. I literally understand the strain of Toichi’s loss on Jii, too.

Beyond narrative decisions—and there are others that I much prefer in the old series, such as how Kaito links his failed magic trick to his father’s “poker face” philosophy, and how Kaito uses a successful variation of his earlier trick to escape the police as Kid the Phantom Thief—I also just simply prefer the original art style. Magic Kaito 1412 is slick and shiny and modern, but in being so, it strikes me as much more generic than the older-styled 2010 special. Shot compositions also feel more powerful in the first anime; just consider how differently the two series handle what is arguably the emotional height of the entire episode:

[Image descriptions: A series of four comparison images examining how the 2010 Magic Kaito series and the 2014 Magic Kaito 1412 portray the same sequence of events. In both, Kaito asks Jii, “Dad was murdered?! Was my dad... a thief? Was he Kid the Phantom Thief?” Kaito then says, “I see...” End image descriptions.]

While the dialogue is essentially unchanged, the old show’s use of close-ups expresses the tension of the scene spectacularly. You can see the terror in Kaito’s eyes. You can see how the thought of his father being a thief is so distressing that merely asking the question is painful and heartwrenching. You can see the sweat on Kaito’s face. You can see in great detail how much he struggles to grapple with this new truth.

Magic Kaito 1412 is significantly more distanced. And there’s power in that decision, too. The revelation is overwhelming. It’s hard to take. Kaito may want to get away from it, but he can’t.

However, I resonate more with how the original series handles the moment. Seeing how everything affects Kaito way up close speaks much more to me—and there are still some fantastic long shots, too:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from the original Magic Kaito series. Both are distanced long shots. In the first image, Kaito and Jii kneel on the ground. Kaito’s hands are on Jii’s shoulders. In the second image, Kaito stands, facing away from Jii, while Jii remains on the ground in shame. They wear identical outfits in both images, and their capes blow in the wind. End image descriptions.]

Gotta love those capes.

Overall, my feelings on Magic Kaito as a whole could probably be best described as somewhat mixed. And I’m kind of new here, and I don’t even know when it’s appropriate to use the #dcmk tag, so I of course don’t have the slightest clue about how popular or unpopular my opinion that the 2010 Magic Kaito series ranks above 2014′s Magic Kaito 1412 is.

But skipping down memory lane and revisiting the old show was pleasantly surprising. Maybe my affection for Magic Kaito will never reach the highs it once had all those years ago, but it was almost comforting to find that my tastes haven’t changed all that much—rather, it’s Magic Kaito itself that’s changed.

#magic kaito #magic kaito 1412 #kaito kuroba #aoko nakamori #jii konosuke #dcmk #? lol like i said i don't know when it's appropriate to use that tag but i do talk about dc a bit here so?#mk critical #is that a tag?#honestly i was gonna try to avoid putting this in the tags because it's kind of critical but #it became like a legit essay and i'd like to hear other thoughts! and i hope it's not *that* negative?#anyway what is with me writing things i don't really plan on writing and not the things i do plan on writing ^^;#ramblings

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beyond-the-mirror · 3 years

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Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Chapter 7 is finally here! As I have mentioned a couple posts ago I am going to focus solely on this story for the time being. I will try my best to update at least once per week so stay tuned.

Warnings: A little angst in a few parts.

Tagging: @thedyingmoon @minteyeddemon @vampiregirl1797

If you wish to be tagged in this story let me know in the comments.

………………….

Chapter 7: Nightingale in the Cage

“So Bishop, would you mind explaining to us the reason you decided to become a patron for the Opera house?”

“Oh not at all.” Sanctus took a deep breath before speaking again. “As you may have heard in the local news, an estranged brother of mine passed away some time ago, may his soul rest in peace. Days later I received a visit from his lawyer, apparently he had accumulated quite the fortune and his testament determined that I would be the sole heir of all his possessions and shares.” The Bishop made a brief pause, the death of his brother still weighing down his heart. “I actually have no need for such a large sum of money, which is why I only kept a modest enough amount for me and decided to donate the rest in favor of the conservation of the arts.”

“A rather noble cause indeed Bishop, our sincerest apologies for your loss.” Monsieur Andre added.

“Thank you for your condolences. All my life I’ve considered myself to be an admirer of the fine arts. There’s nothing I wouldn’t love more than to finance Fortuna’s famous Opera House and support the careers of its many skilled artists.”

“And we shall be forever grateful for your patronage bishop.” Monsieur Firmin mentioned before lifting his champagne glass. “Let’s have a toast for the future of Fortuna’s Opera House.”

“For the future of this new society.” Raoul finished before the men raised their glasses together in glee. The vicomte, however, seemed to have a sense of sadness in his eyes that he hid all too well from everybody. How he wished to spend more time with you, but didn’t find you at the party.

Maybe you were too exhausted to attend and went home instead? Whatever it was, he wished you were okay.

………………….

‘The newest play from Fortuna’s Theatre Company, Hannibal, has been critically acclaimed by specialized press, scoring an impressive average of 4.6 out of 5 stars’

‘The exquisite acting and choreography are to be praised. However, its most prominent figure is the miraculous voice of the main singer, who has replaced iconic soprano Carlotta Guidicelli as the protagonist.’

‘Step down Carlotta! A new queen has arrived and the spotlight is all hers!’

‘In a shocking turn of events, Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, believed to be the company's successor to legendary soprano Kyrie Eleison, has been overshadowed by a new rising talent. A humble fortunian songstress by the name of (Y/N) (Y/L/N).’

‘(Y/N) (Y/L/N). The break-through songstress that has captivated the audience’s hearts. Is this the birth of a brand new star?’

Reviews, articles and blog posts about the company’s new soprano spread around the internet like wildfire, every single one focusing on the same subject: The mysterious soprano that took Fortuna by surprise and dethroned 'La Carlota’ herself.

The girl had become the theatre’s own Venus and Aphrodite, a muse that inspired all the souls touched by her melodious voice. A nightingale turned human, an angel descended to Earth.

But as her performances continued and her fame grew, a few observant enough would take notice of certain… details regarding her.

The truth behind this? A sinister shadow was tormenting the theatre’s beloved angel, one that threatened to consume not only her, but everything around.

………………….

“I refuse to accept this!” Carlotta stomped her heel on the marbled floor of her lavish bedroom, taking a sip from the almost full glass of wine in her hand.

Ever since that fiasco when she stormed out of the theatre during the rehearsals for ‘Hannibal’, the soprano’s life seemingly started turning for the worse, all because of that girl that once dared to collide with her during rehearsal. She had insisted the dancer had done so on purpose, envious of her great talent.

And now it turns out that dancer is the same one that took her role as the main protagonist! Carlotta felt offended by such a decision, she was a professional while that girl was just a simple amateur

Still, she had to admit this (Y/N) had a gifted voice. What she could not explain is how she managed to perfect her skill to such a high level if she claimed to be an inexperienced singer? As talented as one could be, it takes years of work and practice to master one’s craft, the only explanation she could come up with was that the girl had to have a special tutor, and an exceptional one at that.

But who?

Realizing her glass was already empty, Carlotta hurried to refill it again. She had believed that with Kyrie gone to Broadway, she now had the stage clear for herself to finally shine above everyone else, after all, the only voice above Signora Carlotta could only be that of Fortuna’s legendary songstress herself.

Such hopes were now broken. She had a new competitor, one that was already stealing the spotlights.

As she turned to the broadcast of the company’s most recent play, she huffed when the camera focused on the new main singer. The audience had fallen right into her trap, and now she had them all wrapped around her lithe finger.

“I don’t know what they see in her, she’s nothing special and she’s not that pretty. Especially with those dark circles under her eyes, does she even sleep? Careful girl, you are already losing your youth.” Carlotta snorted before downing her glass of wine.

………………….

“Vicomte Raoul! Bishop Sanctus! We weren’t quite expecting your visit to our Opera House. What can we do for you, gentlemen?”

Messieurs Andre and Firmin almost tripped over their own feet as they hurried to attend the Opera House’s important benefactors. Raoul managed to hide his laughter at their eagerness, while Sanctus simply offered the two a gentle smile.

“Do not worry for us, messieurs. This fine theatre holds so many precious memories of my youth, so I thought it appropriate to drop by and watch the rehearsals take place if you don’t mind us.”

“Oh, not at all Bishop! This way please.”

As the four men approached the hall, a melodious voice resonated through the walls.

“Ah! You are in luck. Our lead singer seems to be on stage right now practicing one of her numbers.” Firmin noted just as he opened the door to the main hall.

Madame Trish was supervising as usual, you stood at the stage performing an aria while Monsieur Reyer directed your voice through the song’s notes. As he took a seat near the stage next to Sanctus, Raoul was mesmerized by your singing figure, the passion and dedication you imprinted on your work palpable and strong enough to touch the hearts of others.

“An utter beauty, isn’t she?” The elder’s voice snapped him out of his trance. As he turned to face Sanctus, he noticed the soft smile and knowing look in his eyes. He gulped, were his feelings that obvious? Then again, Sanctus has seen and learned a lot during the many years of his long life, wisdom comes with age after all.

“Ah! Young love! Perhaps the purest and most innocent of them all.” The bishop gave a hearty chuckle. “Miss (Y/N) is definitely special. Her voice alone holds so much power, enough to make the entire audience bow to her, and yet she still remains humble and authentic.”

Raoul turned his attention back to the stage where you were now conversing with Trish and Reyer about your routine during the number. The vicomte could see what Sanctus meant, you weren’t arrogant or prideful like Carlotta, but rather attentive and open to the feedback and mentoring offered to you.

A smile grazed his lips. He had just met you and already you were taking over his heart and mind.

Still as he observed you going through the song one more time, there was something off that caught his eye. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The heave of your chest whenever you ended a verse, the slight trembles of your feet whenever they moved along the lines marked on the stage by Trish.

You looked… tired? Exhausted, perhaps? No... more like detached.

But you continued the rehearsal with no trouble. Maybe your sudden growing popularity was already taking its toll on you, as well as all the performances you had to do at the theatre. For anyone without experience, such exhaustion is understandable.

In the seat next to him, Bishop Sanctus was also studying you. However, his expression seemed more preoccupied than that of the vicomte. He too had noticed some kind of dark aura looming around you, and he pondered what this could mean for the Opera House’s future, and for his plans too.

………………….

petite.aerette I can’t believe I finally got to watch #Hannibal. So happy to know the Opera House is on the rise once again. #FortunaOperaHouse #theatre #musical

alya_hyacinth You saw it live? Girl, I’m jealous!

dramaqueen101 Aaah I was there too! I wish you told me you were going, we could have gone together and have our seats next to each other.

petite.aerette Sorry! Mom surprised me with our tickets that same morning. Did you see that new singer everyone is talking about? She is awesome! I already love her voice and acting!

dramaqueen101 I know right?! In fact I caught a glimpse of her after the play when she retired to her dressing room. I wanted to go talk to her but it was too crowded and she seemed to be in a rush. However I noticed she looked a bit tired? As if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep.

………………….

Free time had become a luxury for Nico. There was always something to fix, something to supervise, something to check. Whatever breaks she would get, she welcomed them with open arms and relaxed as much as she could before it was back to work again.

It was in one of these breaks when she ran into you, what better way to enjoy some free time than with a dear friend?

But as she approached your figure, Nico took notice of your appearance. Your skin was now as pale as a ghost, your eyes were heavy with sleepiness and dark circles framing them. You looked as if you were about to collapse at any given moment.

“Hey, you alright sugarcube?” Nico’s hands went to your arms by instinct, just in case you were feeling sick and you needed to be rushed to the infirmary. But with a small smile, you tried to ease her worries.

“Couldn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Uh huh…” Nico was many things, highly perceptive was one of those. Many have found out the hard way that she was not an easy one to fool. Of course, it was no surprise that she could see right through your words. “Come. Let’s get you some warm tea.”

Stern and maybe a bit harsh, but caring when the situation called for it. That was Nicoletta Goldstein for you. One of the most surprising things about her is that she made the best tea in the world according to the people working at the theatre.

“This should ease you a bit, honey. Careful, it’s still hot.” As she handed you the small cup, she looked at you with worry in her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead she waited for you to open up and tell her what was wrong.

You could already picture the almost dead look you must have had. With slightly shaky hands you held onto the porcelain cup, raising it to your lips and gently blowing the steam to cool it down a bit. As a warm earthy flavor filled your taste buds, your body could finally ease up and relax even if just for a little while, granting you a moment of much needed peace.

Still, you didn’t find it in yourself to tell her.

Luckily for you, Nico knew better than to keep insisting. She figured that whatever was worrying you, you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. Nonetheless, she stayed right by your side in a comfortable silence with a cup of tea of her own.

It was a nice and peaceful moment, at least until she was called to check on one of the moving stage props.

And so she excused herself, but not before reminding you that you could always count on her for anything.

What Nico didn’t know, however, was the reason for your silence.

You didn’t tell her because something was forcing you to.

………………….

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. And soon enough, time itself began to blur.

Ever since that night at his sanctuary, everything felt… off.

You had woken up in your bed, feeling dazed and lightheaded, perhaps the effects of the turmoil from the previous night.

V. The first thing on your mind as soon as you recovered your consciousness was him.

You wanted, no, needed to find him and get some answers. Why did he disappear so many years ago? Why was he hiding his true identity from you?

… What were those black markings scarring his face?

There was just one problem, you didn’t know where exactly was his sanctuary located. The secret passage behind the mirror in your dressing room came to mind, but in order to navigate the underground canals you needed a boat, not to mention that it was easy to get lost in there. Maybe you could ask the authorities for help, but how could you explain your story and make them believe you?

You made your decision on the way to the Opera House. You would start by telling Nico for the moment, you trusted her enough and she often gave the best advice on any matter.

But the moment you spotted her in the distance and tried to approach her, something strange happened.

An unseen force lodged itself in your chest, holding your voice and your heart in a vice grip that burned through your entire body. All the air in your lungs escaped you, and the feeling of daze you felt that morning returned in full force. You tried to scream, call for help, but no sound would come out of your lips. All words died as soon as they left your vocal chords.

You watched Nico leaving after someone required her assistance, and as soon as she disappeared from your line of sight, the pain stopped. As sudden as it had arrived.

You remained frozen in your place, goosebumps raised on your flesh. The moment some sensation came back to your legs, you ran away.

The day continued with relative normalcy, but your mind remained perturbed. And hours later, just as all the scheduled performances had ended for the day, you headed for your dressing room.

Once inside, the mirror opened, and everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, it was already morning the next day. Once again you woke in your bed, feeling as dazed and lightheaded as the day before. But the feeling didn’t go away, and with everyday that passed, it only became worse.

Strangely enough, your performances never faltered once despite the unknown illness weighing you down, almost as if you were doing everything automatically, like a machine following its program. You were thankful for this apparent ability to keep it together, but soon you started feeling detached. It reached a point when you could no longer feel your own body, or the melodic notes leaving your lips. You were no longer living, but rather watching your life unfold itself without any input of your own.

Many times you made an attempt to tell someone, anyone, about this; but you found that every single time you were about to do so, that terrible pain would return until you desisted. Soon, you were conditioned to stay quiet.

One day Nico began noticing your predicament, but by then that obscure force had you under its control already. She was right there, concerned and willing to help. And yet you didn’t dare to speak up.

Panic often filled your mind, hopelessness flooded your soul. You prayed and prayed for this nightmare to stop.

After another successful performance, the last one for the day, you found yourself inside the main dressing room as usual.

And as usual, the mirror opened, letting out the hidden darkness that haunted the Opera House behind everyone’s backs.

………………….

Poor unfortunate Joseph Buquet.

Ever since that incident with the falling curtain, Nico had him double checking pretty much everything. Every rope, pulley and mechanism had to be meticulously examined in order to prevent another incident like that from happening again. Now he understood why it was such an important and critical matter, the least he wanted was for anybody to be harmed due to a malfunction after all, but his own anxiety over making a mistake and causing another accident was already getting him. The poor man would triple- no, cuadruple check every single detail in an almost paranoid way. Not a single nook or cranny would be left unattended by this dedicated worker.

So it was no surprise that today was especially bad for the nervous Mr. Buquet, for his trusty utility belt had been misplaced, making him search the whole building for his precious tools.

Only after finding his utility belt did Buquet allow himself to feel relieved, a heavy burden lifting off his tired shoulders. He was making his way back to the fly floor when the sound of hurried steps nearby reached his ears, as he turned at a corner he caught a glimpse of you closing the door to your dressing room shut. Noticing the way you entered the room in such a haste, he worried something might have happened to you. Maybe you were feeling sick and needed to rest? These days you had been looking paler than usual, and the man had to admit that seeing you in your current lamentable state tugged at his heartstrings.

Walking to your door, Buquet politely knocked at the wooden surface “Miss (Y/N), is everything alright?” But no answer came back.

He knocked again, this time a bit louder. “Miss (Y/N), are you there?” Again, no answer.

Now he was getting genuinely concerned. He even pressed his ear to the door in an attempt to hear whatever was happening inside, but he found only silence.

“Miss (Y/N) I’m opening the door right now!” Buquet immediately took hold of the knob and slowly cracked it open, merely peeking inside just in case you needed some privacy after all.

The sight that greeted him sent chills to his very bones.

A tall shadowy figure towered at the back of the room, its arms wrapped around your unconscious body in a seemingly possessive manner. Like a ghost, it moved towards the mirror and disappeared with you in its arms.

Buquet stood frozen as his mind tried to process what just happened before him.

He had heard the stories, rumors about an entity that haunted the Opera House. Some workers would mention seeing shadows through the corners of their eyes, others would claim that low growling noises could be heard at the hallways when they were empty enough, and a few would tell how they found strange iridescent blue feathers in the most bizarre locations inside the premises.

His mind pictured the heavy curtain that mysteriously fell on Carlotta. Then, the strange Box Four that always remained unoccupied despite the concierge’s claims about hearing a voice coming from inside.

They called it different names. A poltergeist, a monster, a demon… a Phantom…

But this time they hadn’t moved a prop or taken a simple object with them.

This time, they had taken a person.

………………….

Locked inside one of the restrooms designated for the staff, Mr. Buquet did his best to calm himself down. He had just witnessed the kidnapping of a promising young woman by the hands of an… an entity.

His hands flew to his hair in panic. What could he do? Nobody would believe a phantom had spirited away the company’s Prima Donna!

He… he had to have been hallucinating! Yes, that had to be it. For years the staff has accused the Phantom for all the minor inconveniences that often sabotaged rehearsals and productions, but this was an entirely different story, a songstress was just kidnapped for Lord Sparda’s sake! Urban legends or not, the supposed Phantom had never gone to these extremes before.

Splashing some cold water on his tired face one last time, Buquet finally exited the restroom and made his way back home, all the while reassuring himself that what he had witnessed couldn’t have been real.

‘Tomorrow Miss (Y/N) is gonna come to work as always. Nothing bad happened to her. Right now she is at home, resting on her bed.’ He would repeat himself over and over.

And the next day, Buquet got his much needed relief when he saw you rehearsing at the stage as if nothing had transcurred the night before. He almost let out an euphoric laugh when he saw you safe and sound and that he had been anxious for nothing.

Concluding that the constant burnout was the cause of his hallucinations, Mr. Buquet requested for a few days off to recover, a request that Monsieur Andre approved without thinking twice.

Everything was going to be okay… or so thought Joseph Buquet.

Castings for a new production called ‘Il Muto’ were about to start in a few weeks, and everyone was about to witness how a single wrong decision could unleash the most gruesome of horrors.

#devil may cry #phantom of the opera #Vitale Sparda #dmc v #v x fem!reader #v x you #reader insert #fanfiction #writings from the mirror

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trikadekaphile · 3 years

Text

Excerpts from one of my favorite Han/Leia fanfics

Dant Solo once wrote a fanfic on the now-defunct TATS website, which was posted in three parts. It was titled "Oblivion" and focused on the missing moments from the period during the NJO (New Jedi Order) where Han and Leia were separated, then when they got back together. Dant Solo did what Kathy Tyers had neither the talent nor the decency to do: gave Han and Leia a proper reunion.

Now, it is no secret that I do not care for the pre-Disney EU, now called Legends. (For the record, I don’t care much for the Disney EU, either.) I flat-out hate much of the NJO, particularly the way it crapped all over Han/Leia's relationship -- not only separating them, but gypping them out of a reunion, and instead giving all the love/personal scenes to the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke...in the book that was supposed to contain the Han/Leia reunion. Tyers poured salt on the wound by offering a fake mea culpa where she said -- heck, gloated -- that she could have written some Han/Leia scenes, but she wanted to focus on the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke.

Han/Leia fans, justifiably outraged, began a campaign to get their couple better treatment. It took three years before Del Rey finally delivered something more than a half-assed stopgap measure: "Tatooine Ghost," set after Han and Leia were married, and thankfully retconned some of the most egregious and nauseating parts of the travesty called "The Courtship of Princess Leia."

Anyway, I feel a rant about the red-gold pestilence coming on, and I choose to quash it and refocus on the aforementioned excerpts from Dant Solo's fanfic. The whole fanfic is good, but I have some favorite parts, which are the ones I will post.

Without further ado, here are my favorite excerpts from "Oblivion":

*******

[Han] came to a lift and entered it with half a dozen other beings, traveling downward to an entertainment level. He found a familiar cantina, one that had been renamed but remained, nevertheless, the same sort of dive it had always been. He swaggered through the doorway, hand resting casually above his blaster in an old, customary habit. His senses were immediately assaulted by a musty, hazy smoke that filled the crowded, dimly lit room. Loud conversation filled his ears, and he suddenly hoped that no one would speak to him. He wanted a drink and he wanted to be alone.

He ambled to the bar and sat on a lone stool at one end, waving a hand to the bartender, a shiny headed Bith who greeted him enthusiastically. Grumbling, Han ordered Alderaanian ale, noting the way the bartender slunk away after he provided it.

Gulping the brew greedily, Han's thoughts returned to Leia. He couldn't remember the last time they had exchanged pleasant words. He supposed it must have been some time shortly after Sernpidal. Again, as had been the case for so long, despair flooded him at the thought of his friend and co-pilot. His eyes closed without him even realizing it, his mind remembering the final moments of the Wookiee's life, recalling the horrible, shattering events against his own will.

Chewie! No!

Dammit! His fist clenched around the cold, hard mug of ale, but almost as quickly, it unclenched with a weak, sorrowful acceptance, eyes opening reflexively.

Ahh, Chewie...What am I supposed to do here? I wish you could tell me.

He knew what the big lug would say...he would tell him to get off his ass and pull himself together. That there was no use beating himself up over it and that he had wasted enough of his time already.

And he would probably tell Han to go back to his family. If there was one thing Chewie had always felt very strongly about, it was family.

Maybe if he hadn't been running around with me, he'd be with his family right now.

A futile thought, but Han couldn't help but think it anyway. He sighed, feeling a shudder pass through him with the release of that breath. This was why he'd always been a loner. Granted, Chewie had been in his life for an incredibly long time before he'd lost him, but he remembered vividly the kind of pain that loss of any kind imbued, and he had vowed, as a much younger man, not to risk such loss ever again.

But first there was Chewie and then there was Leia, both taking on a tough edged scoundrel who really wasn't worth it.

Surely, Leia had recently drawn that conclusion in earnest. He thought of her trip to Hapes, of her time with the dashing, regal Prince Isolder. If she'd married him instead of Han, she wouldn't be alone right now; she wouldn't have to wonder what would become of her husband, her marriage. With a distant darkness, Han wondered what had passed between the Prince and his wife. He was still a handsome bastard; certainly Leia would have noticed that. Han had left her alone all these months, had in truth mostly left her alone for months before, all the while existing in the same home as her, drinking himself into oblivion.

The idea of Leia with Isolder inflamed Han with a heart clenching, smoldering jealousy that consumed him for a long, violent moment, tempting him to hurl his mug across the room, shattering it against the wall as concretely as the thought shattered his soul.

He pushed the agonizing thought from his mind, forcing it into a quiet corner of his brain, along with all thoughts too painful to bear.

He tried not to think of anything at all, and was barely aware when someone sat on a nearby stool and slid it beside him. He glanced over to find a tall, curvaceous woman with close-cropped, sun colored hair smiling at him in a flirtatious manner. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, smiling inwardly at the realization of who he had turned into since he'd met a young, idealistic would-be Jedi. Then he returned his gaze to his drink, dismissing the young woman.

"Hi there," she said, turning to face him.

With a tired sigh, he looked at her again, smiling politely. She was very attractive, he had to admit that.

"Buy a lady a drink?" She smiled impishly.

Why not? It couldn't hurt. "Yeah, sure." He gestured to the bartender, who hastened over. "A drink for the lady," Han said with a gesture.

The woman smiled at the Bith. "Tagorian Tellder wine." As the bartender reached for the appropriate bottle and began to pour, she turned back to Han and extended a delicate hand. "I'm Shayna."

Han shook her hand briefly. "Han. Nice to meetcha." He took another long swig of his ale, watching the woman carefully as she received her drink from the bartender and sipped it slowly.

She raised an eyebrow at him before saying, "You look lonely, Han."

Han raised a brow in return. "Nah, I'm just fine. I like bein' alone."

"Really? You don't ever like company?"

Against his will, his thoughts turned to his family. It had been a long time, up until Chewie's death, since he had genuinely enjoyed being alone. Now it seemed the only option left to him. "Maybe sometimes. Not often."

She smiled coyly. "I don't like to be alone. I'm always looking for company." She leaned toward him and the loose front of her blouse slid forward enticingly, capturing Han's gaze for the briefest of moments.

He looked away quickly, guzzling down the last of his ale and signaling the bartender for another.

Without warning, Shayna placed a warm hand on Han's thigh, just as his second ale was placed before him.

"You want to go someplace more private and talk some more?"

Han looked at her for a long moment, holding his mug in suspended animation halfway to his lips. It could be so easy....to go with this beautiful woman and forget everything for a little while. His body was certainly willing. No one ever had to know. There was no way for anyone to find out. And in truth, he wasn't sure what was left of his marriage to begin with, so how wrong would it be, really?

Sighing mentally, Han realized that he would always know. And if he ever had a chance of fixing things with Leia, he wasn't sure he could live with that knowledge. Without warning, his mind assaulted him with an image of the hurt that would become present in Leia's eyes if he were to betray her. Trust and fidelity had always been in large commodity between them, something each had always counted on, perhaps even taken for granted. He could easily imagine how deeply this would cut her; how devastated and disappointed in him she would be. Hadn't he disappointed her enough already?

It wasn't worth it. A night with some stranger was not even remotely worth his wife and family, no matter what state those relationships were in.

He reached down and removed the woman's hand from his thigh, squeezed it gently for a second, then replaced it on the bar, noting her confused look of disappointment. "Sorry, not interested." He turned back to the bartop.

"You married?" She asked knowingly.

"Yeah. You could say that." He closed up, pulling back inside himself.

"Hmm....you don't look like the faithful type," she said mischievously.

Han glanced at her, eyebrows shooting heavenward. He supposed she was right, he didn't look the type. Funny how things changed. "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised." He stood up, took one last gulp of his ale, tossed a few credits on the bar, gave the woman a mock salute, and then swaggered away. *******

Han dug into the travel pack he had stashed in a compartment over the sensor console on board the Falcon. He was still undecided as to whether or not he was going to give Leia what was inside the pack.

He missed her already. Their time together had been far too short. After all the nights he had imagined holding her, he was still being denied.

With resigned uncertainty, he pulled out the gift he had purchased for Leia at the Abregadoe-rae spaceport. It had almost seemed a sign at the time. He had expected to see her when he arrived at Duro, and when he had seen this, he'd been uncharacteristically compelled to buy it.

The old fashioned book-- the actual flimsiplast sheets bound in a cover of burgundy with gold writing-- contained Alderaanian poetry. He had stood in the small shop, holding it in his hands almost reverently, trying to decide if he should purchase it.

In a hasty decision, he had done just that. Now he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to give it to her. He felt somewhat foolish about the gesture.

He stood and placed the book on the holochess table and removed a bottle of Corellian brandy from a nearby compartment. He went to the galley and grabbed a glass, filling it halfway with the amber liquid. This drink was different from the ones he had taken this past year. He didn't feel he needed it. He simply wanted it. The rumble of the hatch opening surprised him, and he went to investigate, hand reaching for his blaster. It was probably Jacen, but in such desperate circumstances, he couldn't take a chance. As he hurried, he heard the sound of the hatch closing again, and when he rounded a corner, he saw what had to be Leia, removing the helmet of her chem suit. He holstered his blaster and stared in disbelief as the helmet revealed her lovely face, surprising him yet again. Around her now shaven head, a white scarf was tied.

She smiled at his dumbfounded expression, enjoying it immensely. She knew she would have to be processed again in the morning, but she didn't care. It was worth it. She had dreamed of being with Han again for too long. "Surprised to see me, Captain?" She dropped the helmet to the floor and began removing the chem suit.

He just stared as she pushed the suit down her legs and stepped out of it. With her hair gone, she looked thinner, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent. It brought home to him what he had put her through, and guilt gripped his heart.

And here she is, doing everything in her power to be with me, yet again. What did I ever do to deserve this woman? He couldn't imagine.

Feeling awkwardly ashamed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked to the floor.

Leia picked up the suit and helmet, stashing them in a nearby compartment. She was absurdly nervous. Her stomach was fluttering in anticipation of spending time alone with Han. In an effort to calm herself, she reached out through the Force to touch Han's essence and found him as nervous as she. It was a comforting realization, and her tension decreased almost instantly. She turned back to Han and they lapsed into silence.

He returned his gaze to hers. "You want a drink?"

She nodded. "Sure." As she moved to follow him to the galley, she passed the holochess table and spotted, of all things, a book. "What's this?"

Han stopped and saw her fingering the book on the table. I guess my decision's made for me, he thought dismally. "Um...well, I got that for you." He felt his face warming.

She looked up at him in sharp surprise. He had gotten her a book? That was certainly unexpected. She smiled tentatively, sensing the sudden increase in awkwardness that permeated the air around Han.

Han crossed his arms over his chest, looking around the hold, everywhere but at Leia. "I just...saw it, and...well, it made me think of you. So I got it for you." Did he sound as stupid to her as he did to himself?

She picked up the book gingerly, almost lovingly. She fingered the cover, tracing the title with a fingertip: The Heart Of Alderaan. The old, familiar pain surfaced, competing with the pounding of her heart that was caused by Han's presence.

Han watched her, his heart churning. She opened the cover carefully and turned to the first page.

Han cleared his throat. "There was one poem..." He grimaced at the sound of his own voice in the quiet of the ship, shrugging sheepishly. "I thought it was pretty good. I marked it. It really reminded me of you."

Leia glanced up at him for a moment before flipping carefully through the pages until she came to the one Han had marked. Lead Me Back To You. Warmth washed over her, and in a voice choked with emotion, Leia read the poem aloud.

"Blind and running, not knowing to where

Burning sorrow, from what isn't there

Eyes could not see, you were there for me."

Leia's voice faltered a moment, the words he had so carefully chosen cutting her deeply. "Despair held reign, keeping me empty.

"Through the dark haze, your light strong and true

Ever shining, leads me back to you

Starlight so bright, a beacon in black

Filling my soul, completing my lack

"Worlds fall afar, hearts cry out breaking

Desperate need, my arms are aching

Moments are lost, lifetime spent running

Lovers are hurt, even the cunning

"Love and beauty, you brought to my life

Soothing comfort, an end to the strife

Further I fall, deep in your embrace

Hearts breathe in time, tears fall from your face."

Tears gathered, blurring the words. She looked at him, speechless. This was the most wonderful gift she had ever received. Just knowing he had thought of her, as she had thought of him, almost continually, filled her with joy.

He stared back, his own expression grave. "It's probably not the best poem you've ever seen," he began. "But--"

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "Thank you."

They stared at each other for a long, emotionally charged moment. Han wanted to take her in his arms, but felt oddly unable to move.

She offered him a teary smile of encouragement and it was all he needed.

"C'mere," he whispered roughly, reaching out a hand toward her.

With a small sigh, Leia took his hand in hers and stepped close, her eyes never leaving his, feeling the unique way his life force called to her. She wrapped herself up in it, drank it in with her senses.

With an almost inaudible whimper, Han's arms were suddenly around her, clutching her to him convulsively. His breath near her ear was harsh as he whispered, "I missed you, Leia. Gods, I missed you."

A waterfall of tearful emotion washed through her. She held him more tightly and returned the whisper. "I missed you, too. Every moment. Even when you were at home."

Her words stabbed at his heart, but he understood her need to say them. Eyes closed, threatening to overflow, Han breathed reverently, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She pulled back just enough to look at his closed eyes. She thought she could almost see a trembling to his chin, but was not quite sure in the dim lighting. "I understand," she said, meaning it.

And he realized she did. Because she knew him so well, better than he even knew himself. He opened his eyes and brought up a hand to remove the white scarf from her head.

Her hand flew up protectively. "Han--"

"Shhh..." He removed her hand, then followed suit with the scarf, dropping it to the deck. He ran a hand along her scalp, humbled by the gesture she had made for a few simple minutes with him. He could barely release the heartfelt words that bubbled to his lips. "I don't deserve you. I never have," he breathed.

She shook her head slowly, eyes filling with bright tears. "Just kiss me, you nerfherder," she said around the tightness in her throat.

His mouth bent to hers, kissing her with all the loneliness, loss and desperation he had felt for so long. His arms held her tightly once more and he lifted her to dangle above the floor.

It was like coming home, for both of them. Almost forgotten passion mingled with the joy of rediscovering each other, to carry them away to a haven where nothing else mattered, at least for a little while.

He swung her more fully into his arms, cradling her lovingly. As he carried her to their cabin---their cabin, he thought with a soft squeeze to his heart--- he was almost moved to tears by the gentle touch of her hands surrounding his face.

They reached the cabin and he placed her in the center of the bed, staring into her eyes for long, grateful moments. Then they kissed again, softly, deeply, burrowing into each others' souls, erasing the pain and sorrow and replacing it with understanding and trust.

Their clothes were lost hurriedly, and when they were bared to each other, physically and emotionally, all else was forgotten. Their mouths sought comfort, their caresses sought solace. Forgiveness was understood, love granted unconditionally.

Too moved for words, they comprehended each other perfectly without them, sharing thoughts on a level of intimacy that left them both weak.

Crying out in a release that was as much emotional as it was physical, they clung to each other, trembling together, soaring on waves of passionate eternity.

Breath calming, Han held Leia in a gripping embrace, wanting to never let go. He was overwhelmed by his feelings for her, in a humbling way he knew not how to express. It permeated his soul, turning him inside out. The past year had taken a toll on him, and now those feelings surfaced in the most profound way, filling him up, overflowing from within him. He was unable to contain them, and felt the tears choking his throat, unstoppable now.

Leia sensed the deep emotion in her husband and reached out through the Force to touch his soul. When the first sob wrenched from his throat, Leia held him close, stroking the damp hair at the back of his neck with excruciatingly comforting fingers, feeling his tears trickle a damp trail down her neck. She reached out to him spiritually, felt him grip her mental touch almost reflexively, as if he did so without even realizing it. She stroked his mind, doing her best to comfort him in every way she knew how.

He cried as he hadn't been able to since Chewie's death. Not just tears now, but huge bursts of grief that emanated from his chest, obscuring everything but the soothing embrace of his wife. He allowed her, finally, to hold him, to share his sorrow, to see just how much the past year had affected him. He sobbed until he was too weak to continue, finally, blissfully, falling into a deep, exhausted slumber, the first of such in a long, long time.

Leia held him still, her aching heart at last peaceful in the knowledge that Han and she had made sense of themselves. The simple act of sharing his pain was proof that he was healing. It might take a bit more time to make him whole again, but they could do it...

Together, they could do anything.

*******

Leia watched her husband lying on his side, facing her. She was filled with relief and serenity. She had dozed on and off for the past two hours, while Han remained entrenched in sleep. She snuggled close to him, her thirst for his nearness not easily quenched. After all was said and done, they had found each other again, both equally unable to sever the bond they had shared for so long. Pride and arrogance set aside, there really was no reason for them not to be together.

Leia waded in the warmth of Han's sleeping thoughts, like a gentle current. His mind hadn't been so calm, so at ease, since before Chewie's death.

She sighed at the thought of the big Wookiee, so prominent a part of their lives. After all the loss she had suffered in her life, she was surprised at how hard Chewie's death had hit her. Certainly, not as hard as it had hit Han, but hard nonetheless.

She pushed aside that pain as she felt Han's consciousness stirring. She pulled herself closer to him, the skin of his shoulders so blissfully warm under her palms.

Stretching his legs before wrapping them around hers, he let out a low breath as his eyes flickered open and his arms surrounded her. She brought her face to his stubbly cheek, making a soft sound of contentment from deep within her.

They held each other for a long silence, until Han pulled back, a somber expression etched into his features. He leaned into her and kissed her lingeringly, then looked into her eyes once more, his expression growing slowly sheepish. "Sorry to fall asleep on you," he admitted, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, face tilted downward.

"That's okay," she whispered. "It just feels so good to hold you again."

"Yeah." Han swallowed against the sudden lump that rose to his throat. "I know what you mean." He leaned against the pillow, raising a hand to stroke the smooth skin of her shoulder, just above where the blanket fell over her. Her arms felt so good around him, too good to be true. But it was true, thankfully. Feeling mildly ashamed at his earlier display of emotion, he watched his fingers caress her skin and forced himself to speak. "And, uh...sorry 'bout losing it before, too. I don't want you to think it was anything bad about you--"

"I know what it was," she said softly, understandingly.

He looked back at her, nodding, resisting the urge to ask her to explain it to him. He felt better now, more in control, more like his old self. As if he had purged himself of some parasitic demon that had been eating away at his soul. He relaxed and pulled her down to rest against his chest, tenderly amused by her lack of hair. He rubbed her head gently, grinning. "I bet you can't wait till I shave mine, huh?"

She raised her head to look him in the eye. Happiness bubbled within her at the familiar sight of his charming, lopsided smile. "Well, we might as well match," she said with a smirk.

The amusement in his eyes slowly faded to reveal a deeper emotion, as his gaze roamed over well loved features that had only come to endear her more to him with the passage of time. It didn't matter to him if her gorgeous hair was gone, she still took his breath away. "You're still so beautiful, Princess," he whispered. He smiled wistfully. "Too beautiful for an old pirate like me."

She laid her palm across his cheek, an unnerving thought creeping into her mind. It was something she had thought of over the past few months, but had been afraid to truly acknowledge. She forced a smile. "You know you're still gorgeous," she said. Her eyes fell from his to study the hair on his chest. "I'm sure plenty of women told you so in your recent travels," she added quietly, unable to do more than imply her concerns.

His fingers lifted her chin, firm but gentle. "Hey," he said fiercely. "There was no one else."

She gazed into his eyes with hopeful uncertainty.

His lips pressed together before he spoke again. "I swear it. No one."

Their eyes held for a long, searching moment, and Leia didn't need to touch him through the Force to know he was sincere. She kissed him softly on the lips before returning her head to rest on his chest.

They lay quietly for a time, while Han tried to think of a way to tell her all that she meant to him. He had caused her so much pain, forced her to put up with far more than she should have had to. "Leia...," he began tentatively. "I don't want you to think I ever stopped loving you--"

Her head rose quickly, meeting his eyes with her own. "I never thought that. I know you too well," she said softly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes at her chin. "Yeah, well..." After a brief pause, he continued. "The things I said to you, when I was drinking...I didn't mean them, not any of them."

"I know."

He sighed in a rush of defeated breath. He closed his eyes and tried to force the words that did not come naturally to him. "I just couldn't...I couldn't--"

"Shhh." Leia placed a finger to his lips, stilling the awkward sentiment. "Don't," she whispered, voice vehement. "You don't need to explain anything." His lips moved beneath her finger, his voice heavily laden with pain. "I hurt you, Leia, everything I did this past year--"

Her lips replaced her fingertip, kissing him softly. After a brief hesitation, he kissed her back. When she broke away from his lips, she gazed at him with large, soulful eyes. "Your fault, my fault...it doesn't matter. Not now."

Han's brow furrowed. "My fault. It does matter."

She shook her head, smiling gently. "No. It doesn't."

He stared at her, eyes softly dubious, lips parting as if to say something else. Then his mouth firmed into a thin line and he leaned up to enfold her in his arms. He spun her to her back, holding her to him in a powerful embrace. "I was selfish," he whispered into her neck.

She stroked his hair, thinking of how she would miss its softness. "You were hurting, you couldn't help it."

He held her more tightly, felt her heart beating a steady rhythm with his. "That's no excuse."

Gently, she pulled away from him, looking into his eyes with a grim expression. She didn't want him beating himself up over this. There was no point to it. "Han, sometimes circumstances happen. And we can't help how we react to them. We cope the best way we know how."

Alderaan, he thought. It should have broken her, but it hadn't. Her inner strength was too tenacious. He always knew she was stronger than he was. Where he had crumpled, she had only grown stronger. In the early years, once they had gotten past the nasty taunts and sarcasm, her strength had probably been what he admired most about her. He nodded to her finally, unable to argue when she would not allow it. He would carry this guilt for a long time, regardless of her lack of blame. He almost wished she would tell him off, give him what he knew he so justly deserved.

Leia watched Han's features settle into resignation, then something resembling tender disbelief.

He shook his head very slowly. "How is it that you still love me so?"

She smiled, equally tender. "How could I possibly stop?" She asked softly, eyes wide and sincere.

He grimaced slightly, feeling so undeserving of her love and trust. "I love you, Leia." The words were barely a whisper.

Even if Leia hadn't been able to bask in the beauty of Han's emotions flowing freely through the energy of the Force, the look in his eyes would be enough. She kissed him with a fervent passion that they hadn't known since their younger years, and they surrendered to the growing need to drown themselves in the intimacy each had existed without for far too long. Their bodies moved together in a timeless rhythm, strengthening their hearts and fortifying their souls.

All around them, oblivion slowly faded.

#han and leia #fanfic which is better than profic #kathy tyers can kiss my ass

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guiltysecretpasttime · 3 years

Text

Adversity - 14

I’ve recently updated the fanfic in Ao3. But will continue to post some partial bits of the chapters here as I go along.

Adversity details

Multi-chapter, work in progress, AU, pre-LoK,

Latest status: up to Chapter 13 uploaded in A03

Blurb: Lin and Tenzin are both at the height of their respective careers – she with the Metalbending Police and he with the Air Nation. Questions about their future begin to arise and things come to a head when Lin responded to an emergency call. Would her job take them from each other forever? Eventual happy ending

Alternatively: The one where Lin and Tenzin had to go through adversity like Lin’s dangerous job, a near-death experience, temporary separation and memory loss, unplanned pregnancy and Tenzin’s responsibilities before they end up with a family.

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Adversity (partial chapter) 14

The wind was howling, loud enough to wake him though not worrisome enough to think of the typhoon or tsunami protocol.

Without even opening his eyes, Tenzin reached out beside him in impulse, seeking Lin’s warmth – but was met with cool silk. He bolted upright, sleep quickly forgotten in a fog of unease.

His heart thumped wildly with anxiety and fear.

It would not be the first time that he awoke to an empty bedroom in Republic City after thinking of falling asleep with Lin beside him. More often than not, during those dreams, he would frequently cling to it – always telling the Lin in his dream not to let him sleep, knowing that the moment he succumbs to sleep, he will wake up miserable and alone.

He twisted from his position in bed, moving to turn on his bedside lamp. Only, the lamp was not where it should be. In fact, their bedside dresser was not where it should be.

He struggled to sit up, tangled in the silk blanket that must have cost a fortune; the blanket sliding and locking his legs.

Hold on – silk blankets?

Neither Lin nor he would have bought anything that luxurious and impractical.

The wind continued to howl outside and the sound of rain pattering on the roof began. Tenzin took a grip of his disorientation as he looked around the room.

Ember Island…

His foot hit something at the foot of the bed.

It was Lin’s RCPD scrapbook – right where they left it before they slept.

The entire episode was not an episode, not a figment of his imagination.

Nonetheless – where had Lin gone? Had they suitably spooked her off?

The airbender attempted to rein his emotions in and he kicked off the blanket to head on out.

He had a hunch where she would be.

---

Her ebony hair was blowing in the wind. The thin robe Lin wore did little to guard her from the cool pre-dawn air as she stood at the edge of the cliff, arms wrapped around herself.

Tenzin stood back, watching the earthbender who faced the already lightening horizon, a sign of the dawn to come. It had been a while since he last saw her this calm and serene. He let this comforting picture stay – despite the strong seaside breeze and the crashing of the waves below them, Lin looked at peace.

He was about to offer her the umbrella he had brought when, without any warning, the ground underneath Lin began to crumble and give way.

“Lin!”

Heart in his throat, Tenzin propelled himself forward, aided by his element, pulling Lin almost roughly from the edge. His actions dragged to himself, her back hitting his chest. His arms landed on her hips; the airbender quickly bent his head, hugging her from behind.

Both of them were breathing heavily, hearts racing at that near miss.

It all happened in mere seconds but to them, it felt much longer.

Tenzin closed his eyes, kissing her hair.

It did not matter that Lin could have probably saved herself; she is an earthbender after all. But, as he knew in dealing with Lin’s multiple near-misses, it only takes a second of being taken by surprise for a life-and-death situation to occur. What’s more – Lin was pregnant and there might be some hindrances to her bending.

It took them a few more moments in this position, to regain some form of stability and reassurance until Lin gave an involuntary shiver.

The rain was pouring steadily now and they were both wet, Lin’s robe doing nothing in keeping her dry or decent and Tenzin’s weighing him down.

“You better be careful out here.” He murmured, reluctantly loosening his hold on Lin.

He moved back enough to create a sphere of air around them, keeping the rain out. After a few more maneuvers, he managed to dry the two of them.

“How did you find me?” Lin asked quietly as she tightened her robe around herself.

Tenzin stepped away to give her space, respecting her boundaries to make her feel comfortable.

Lin nodded.

“Do you want an honest answer or a watered down one?” They both knew that she had been touchy about being told about memories she cannot recall.

She nodded again, this time she wrapped her arms around herself as though bracing herself.

“This is where you usually go to whenever you wanted time for yourself.” Tenzin explained, looking across the sea. “The place could be quite crowded. The family means well but it’s sometimes,” He looked up, trying to think of an appropriate description.

“Overwhelming?”

He smiled wanly. “Exactly.”

When Lin did not offer a response, Tenzin was content to let the sound of the crashing of the waves to the shore fill the silence. He made sure to keep an eye on the ground though.

“Did I like it here very much?” The earthbender was fingering a smooth stone by her side.

“I suppose you did.” Tenzin knew how Lin actually enjoyed going to Ember Island. It was a pity she had not been able to go as often as she would have liked, more frequently detained at work or at the academy.

“Would I mind – would you – would we mind if I give birth here?”

#linzin #linzin fanfic #toccatina's fanfics #toccatina wip #toccatina adversity #lin beifong #tenzin #legend of korra fanfic

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nekojitachan · 3 years

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Don’t Wanna Fall - Wangxian MDZS/CQL Fic

Okay, so this is what happens when I get stressed and feel the need to write; the mind latched on to this story. It’s basically canon-divergent (CQL/The Untamed for the most part), fix-it, and a/b/o (with some slight twists) and is all plotted out. I’d figure I’d post it here and throw up the beta’d parts on AO3.

Warnings for canon-typical violence, and more notes explaining things at the bottom.

*******

Wei Wuxian felt a precious sense of contentment as he sat near his sister and ate the soup she’d made; the emotion had been missing ever since the attack on Lotus Pier, and he knew it wouldn’t last long. Soon enough the sedative that Wen Qing had given him would render Jiang Yanli unconscious, and once Song Lan took her to the safekeeping of Lan Wangji and the Jins, then—then it was time to fix Jiang Cheng.

He pushed aside all thoughts on how they’d go about ‘fixing’ his brother while he finished the bowl of pork rib and lotus soup, unwilling to spoil his meal.

As soon as he set the empty bowl on the table, Jiang Yanli was quick to refill it. “You don’t have to—”

His sister gave him a stern look, her gaze shifting down to his abdomen before she shook her head. “You need to keep up your strength, A-Xian,” she chided, her voice pitched low so she didn’t disturb their brother, who was resting on the far side of the room. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, looking for a way to restore A-Cheng’s golden core. That’s not good… well, you need to rest.”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to tell her not to worry about him, but closed it a moment later without any words spoken after another stern look. For all her gentle mothering and sweet nature, Jiang Yanli was a true force to reckon with when she believed that those she loved weren’t taking care of themselves, which seemed to be the case right now. Especially since she knew that Wei Wuxian was pregnant.

He’d managed to hide that fact from everyone else, even Wen Qing, thanks to some clever talismans (desperation truly did help when it came to inspiration) and loose robes, but Jiang Yanli had been there when he’d figured out the truth, a few weeks after his return from the enforced ‘indoctrination’ at Qishan. From the time he’d spent trapped in the cave at Dusk-Creek Mountain with Lan Zhan. Just the two of them, an alpha and an omega, prevented access to the medicines which helped control their heats and ruts (as well as prevent pregnancies for omegas), so of course Lan Zhan had gone into rut after they’d killed the Tortoise of Slaughter (fighting the thing for so long probably had played some part in that), which had then instigated Wei Wuxian’s heat and….

At least it had been his dear shijie who’d found out about the baby and not Madame Yu, who probably would have thrown him out on the street with barely any clothes on his back after whipping him half to death (it wasn’t speaking ill of the dead if it was the truth), or Uncle Fengmian, who would have guilted him into naming the father so a hasty marriage could be arranged. Which really, what good would that do? Lan Zhan had barely been cognizant (hell, Wei Wuxian had barely been conscious) when the whole thing had happened, so why should his life be ruined as well?

Not that Wei Wuxian felt like his life was ruined by any means. He and Jiang Yanli had been talking about ways to get him away from Lotus Pier so he could give birth in secrecy, maybe have a trusted wetnurse look after the baby for a couple months and then he’d ‘find’ the ‘poor orphan’ and ‘adopt them’. Perhaps not the greatest plan, but it had been a work in progress.

Then the Wens had attacked Lotus Pier, and all that mattered was surviving another day.

He finished the last of the soup and smiled at Jiang Yanli, whose expression gentled into affectionate approval. “Delicious, as always. Shijie makes the best soup.”

She smiled as she poured them both more tea. “Don't you feel better now?” Her gaze once more flickered to his abdomen when he nodded, but she couldn’t ask him about his little ‘lotus seed’ since they weren’t alone. He knew she worried about the baby, one more burden she bore, one more thing to sap her strength when she needed to focus on her own health, so he gave her as bright a smile as he could to ease her concerns.

They sat together and drank tea, content in each other’s presence; Wei Wuxian fiddled with the beaded charm bracelet on his left wrist while he waited for the sedative in the incense burner to take effect. Soon enough, Jiang Yanli’s eyes, marred by dark circles from exhaustion and worry, drifted shut as she slumped down to rest her head on her arms folded on top of the table. He finished the last of the tea and waited for Jiang Cheng to rise from the bed where he’d pretended to sleep so they could gently carry their beloved sister outside, where a carriage waited to take her to Lanling.

Song Lan, sword in hand, stood beside the carriage and bowed to them once Jiang Yanli was safely tucked inside. “Young masters,” he said as he bowed.

Before Wei Wuxian could wish the man a safe journey, Jiang Cheng shoved himself forward. “We’re trusting our sister in your care. You will deliver her untouched if you value your life,” he told Song Lan with a growl in his voice.

On one hand, Wei Wuxian was happy to see the return of his brother’s spirited, alpha nature (the way he’d been before the loss of his core), but on the other… while Song Lan was an alpha and Jiang Yanli an omega, Song Lan was a respected cultivator and owed them a debt, so could be relied upon to not harm their sister. Jiang Cheng’s threat was unnecessary and a bit insulting.

Song Lan merely bowed again, his face impassive. “I swear on my life that no harm will come to Maiden Jiang while she’s entrusted in my care, from others or myself.” He paused for a moment before he asked Wei Wuxian to pass a message on to Xingchen, only to change his mind and declare the request unnecessary..

“Thank you.” Wei Wuxian bowed to the cultivator before he left, and Jiang Cheng did the same after a moment.

There was an ache in his chest as he watched Jiang Yanli leave, but Wei Wuxian knew it was for the best; she wasn’t a fighter yet would insist on the three of them remaining together despite the danger they faced. No, best that she was someplace safe, especially considering what Wei Wuxian planned to do next.

The ache was quickly replaced by anger when Jiang Cheng slighted Wen Qing as they thanked her for her care; she might be a Wen, but she had risked her life (and Wen Ning his) to provide them medical care and shelter. Wen Ning had betrayed his own clan to help them back at Lotus Pier, and so the siblings deserved their respect.

All Jiang Cheng seemed to care about was restoring his golden core.

Wei Wuxian led his brother to where Baoshan Sanren supposedly lived, a nameless mountain outside of Yiling; he took a roundabout route in order to give the Wen siblings enough time to prepare for their arrival. Jiang Cheng tried to push forward as fast as he could, but was hampered by his lack of a golden core; Wei Wuxian used his brother’s reduced stamina to rest as often as he could, his own strength impeded by his pregnancy.

Ah, lotus seed, he thought as he placed a hand on his barely swollen belly while Jiang Cheng’s attention was diverted, what a chaotic world you’ve chosen to be born into. Interesting times indeed. Despite all the bad things that had happened recently—the attack on Lotus Pier, the deaths of Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu, Jiang Cheng losing his golden core, war about to break out at any moment—Wei Wuxian couldn’t include his unexpected pregnancy in it. True, he’d always thought he’d be mated at least when he started to have a family, but he already cherished the child growing inside of him regardless of how it had come about.

His little lotus seed wasn’t an accident or mistake in his mind; Jiang Yanli accepted it, and he was certain Jiang Cheng would, too, once he found out (and yelled at him for being shameless for a week or two). That was, once Jiang Cheng had a golden core and they were somewhere safe, so Wei Wuxian could tell him the truth (and make him promise not to say anything to Lan Zhan) without adding to his brother’s burdens.

They finally reached the appropriate mountain peak almost two days laters; Wei Wuxian sent his brother on his way, blindfolded and with instructions on what to say to ‘Baoshan Sanren’. Jiang Cheng appeared apprehensive yet determined; Wei Wuxian watched him fumble his way blindly along the trail for some time before he quietly followed. When he caught up to Jiang Cheng, his brother had been rendered unconscious by a disguised Wen Qing and was being held by Wen Ning.

“Let’s get this done,” Wen Qing said as she discarded a hat draped with long, dark veils. She motioned for Wei Wuxian to follow her to where a tent had been set up; inside it were two pallets and several low tables covered with medical supplies, as well as a burning brazier.

Wei Wuxian helped Wen Ning lay Jiang Cheng onto one of the pallets then knelt on the other and watched while the Wens did a quick examination of his unconscious brother. After a few minutes, Wen Qing nodded once, which appeared to be a signal to Wen Ning to begin to remove Jiang Cheng’s upper garments.

She turned her attention to Wei Wuxian. “Are you still certain you want to go through with this, even if there’s only a 50% chance it’ll work?”

“Yes.” Nothing had changed since the last time she’d asked him that question. “It doesn’t matter to me what happens to my golden core but Jiang Cheng can’t live without one.” He saw a flicker of pain cross her face and knew she’d been affected by his brother’s apathy before being given a hope of cultivating again. “Please, go ahead with the transfer,” he begged as he bowed low to her, his thoughts filled with how he had to make things right, had to make up for not being there to protect Jiang Cheng from Wen Zhuliu in the first place.

Wen Qing made a tsk’ing sound as she rapped her knuckles on the back of his head. “Stop that, we’ve no time for your foolishness.” She gave him a narrow look once he sat up. “You know I can’t sedate you during the surgery?” At his slight nod, she held out her hand. “It’ll affect your golden core, which will lower the success rate..”

“All right.” It wasn’t ideal, but somehow he’d manage.

“Hm.” Her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued to hold out her hand; behind her, Wen Ning finished undressing Jiang Cheng then turned his attention toward them, his hands resting on top of his thighs. “I need to check your qi,” Wen Qing said, an impatient bite to the words.

Wei Wuxian hesitated; he’d been careful to not let Wen Qing lay hands on him due to his pregnancy, but it looked as if he couldn’t avoid contact any longer. He sighed as he placed his hand in hers, and tried not to flinch when her fingers pressed against his wrist.

At first, Wen Qing’s expression remained the same (slightly annoyed, which really, such a shame to see it so often on a lovely face like that), and then her dark eyes grew wide and her lips parted with what could only be astonishment. Her strong fingers bit into Wei Wuxian’s wrist for a moment, then let go so she could smack him on top of his head.

“You fool!”

“Ow! That hurt, you hit me,” Wei Wuxian whined while Wen Ning called out his sister’s name.

“You’re pregnant!” Wen Qing glared at him while Wen Ning smiled, his face bright with joy.

“Congratulations, Master Wei, that’s such good—oh!” Wen Ning ducked his head and blinked in confusion when he was smacked by his sister as well. “A-jie?”

“It’s not good news,” Wen Qing snapped, her alpha nature flaring for a moment before she let out a slow breath and controlled herself. “He should have told me he’s pregnant, because there’s no way we can do the surgery now.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian snatched at Wen Qing’s hand while he shook his head, upset at the news; what did his condition have to do with anything? “Why can’t you? I’m perfectly fine, there’s no reason you can’t—”

“Because it’ll kill the child and possibly you if I go ahead with it!” Wen Qing shook her hand free and pressed it against his lower dantian while he stared at her in shock. “There’s the fact that your body will undergo a great strain during the surgery, and then another after you lose your golden core. Even if you both survived those things… the father was a cultivator, right?” She stared at him intently as her hand drifted to rest against his curved belly. “A powerful one?” There was a knowing glint to her eyes as she spoke, yet she didn’t mention any names.

“Yes.” Wei Wuxian refused to think about Lan Zhan right then, but he could acknowledge that much.

“Yes,” Wen Qing echoed while Wen Ning stared at the both of them as if he was an owl transformed into a human. “Which means the child will be a cultivator, too. It doesn’t have a golden core of its own yet, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t benefiting from yours.” Her expression took on a bitter edge as she rocked back on her heels, her hands clasped in her lap. “I’ve seen Wen Zhuliu wield his talent. Once, he was ordered to use it against the pregnant wife of a lord who’d angered Wen Rouhan. She survived, as did the child, but the boy couldn’t cultivate. You can make decisions for yourself all you want, but I won’t be responsible for harming a child or stripping it of its future.”

Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms around his middle as he tried to digest what he’d learned. “But… but Jiang Cheng,” he said as he glanced at his unconscious brother. “What’s going to happen when he wakes up without a core?” It would be worse than before, now that he’d been given the hope of having it restored.

Wen Qing cast a worried glance at Jiang Cheng then shook her head. “Maybe we can—”

“Wha—what about me?”

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing gaped at Wen Ning; as usual, the quiet beta had faded into the background until he’d spoken. “What about you?” Wei Wuxian asked as he toyed with the beaded bracelet on his wrist. “Do you have an idea?”

“What about giving Young Master Jiang my core?”

Wen Qing was quick to shake her head. “No, that’s out of the question, we’ll figure something else out.”

For once, Wen Ning didn’t allow himself to be cowed by his older sister. “What, A-jie? This was the only solution you and Master Wei could find, and now he can’t go through with it. You can use my core instead,” he offered as he lightly thumped himself on the chest.

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, even as a part of him wanted to accept Wen Ning’s offer, to go along with anything that would save his little brother. “I can’t let you do this.” It was too much of a sacrifice.

“Neither can I.” Wen Qing grabbed hold of Wen Ning’s shoulders and gave him a quick shake as if to make him think properly. “I know you want to help, but this… this is too much! It’s your golden core!”

“I know that,” Wen Ning said as he placed his right hand on her shoulder, his expression earnest as always. “What good has mine ever done for me?” When she made as if to argue, he shook his head. “I’m not as strong as you and the young masters, and I know I’ll never be because of… of my illness.” He pressed his left hand against his chest while Wen Qing appeared guilt-stricken by his words. “You’ve done everything you could for me, but I’ll always be like this. I’m sure young Master Jiang will take my golden core and make something useful out of it.”

“There has to be something else we can do, you can’t just give up your golden core like this!” Wen Qing sounded near tears as she argued with her brother, yet Wen Ning held firm.

“You’re the best doctor I know, probably the best there is, A-jie, and if you don’t know about it then it doesn’t exist. And you know I’m never going to achieve much with mine, so give it to Master Jiang so he can make a difference in the world. It’s what I want.”

As Wen Qing began to cry, Wei Wuxian finally found his voice. “Wen Ning… you don’t have to do this. Any debt you believe you may owe me for saving your life has been repaid.” He wanted to accept what his friend was offering, but it was too much—especially after everything the siblings had done for them in the past couple weeks.

Wen Ning shook his head, his lips curled in a gentle smile. “I want to do it, Master Wei. This way… this way a part of me will be out there fighting, will be setting right the wrongs my clan are committing.”

The fact that he spoke so clearly and fervently, without any stuttering or self-consciousness, convinced Wei Wuxian that Wen Ning meant every word. Wen Qing must have realized the same, since she sat up straight and wiped away her tears, her expression solemn as she gazed at her brother.

“Do you truly want to do this?”

“Mm!” Wen Ning nodded once.

Wen Qing closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if centering herself. “Very well, you’ll assist me while I repair Jiang Wanyin’s meridians.” She then turned to Wei Wuxian. “I’ll need your help with the second part of the surgery.”

“Yes, anything you require,” he promised, unable to believe that they were still going through with the transfer after all. When Wen Qing stood and went over to the brazier, Wei Wuxian grabbed Wen Ning by the arm. “Thank you,” he told his friend, his voice thick with emotion.

Wen Ning smiled once more. “You’re welcome, Master—”

“No, no more of that,” Wei Wuxian said as he patted Wen Ning’s arm. “We’re brother’s now, so you have to call me Wei Ying or A-Xian or gege.” He grinned when Wen Ning attempted to stutter out a denial. “How about Ying-ge?”

“Bu—but—”

“No buts!” Wei Wuxian frowned at his new little brother. “I mean it, we’re family now. Accept it.”

Wen Ning, his face mottled with red, gawked at him for several seconds before he ducked his head. “Even A-jie?”

Wei Wuxian hummed as he rubbed the side of his nose. “Well, I already have the best big sister in the world, but I suppose Shijie won’t mind if I take on another one.” He grinned when he heard Wen Qing mutter something about how she should have kept her mouth shut about his condition.

“Mm, A-jie is amazing.” Wen Ning paused for a moment before he gave Wei Wuxian a quick pat on the left shoulder. “Ying-ge.” Then he scurried over to his sister’s side while Wei Wuxian was left stunned silent at his new nickname.

Once Wen Ning was within reach, Wen Qing cradled his face between her hands and gazed into his eyes until he gave a slight nod. There was a rasp to her voice when she told him to prepare for the transfer, which disappeared when she ordered Wei Wuxian to her side so she could explain to him what she required over the next couple days. Basically, he would watch the first part of the operation to become familiar with the items Wen Qing needed, would fetch anything she asked him to, and would provide spiritual energy to her, Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng.

He quickly agreed to everything, considering that Wen Qing was doing all the hard work and Wen Ning giving up his own golden core, leaving him to do very little (relatively speaking).

Wei Wuxian had already considered Wen Qing a brilliant doctor, having read through the medical treatises she’d written and witnessing her talent first-hand. Now, he had to agree with Wen Ning’s assertion that she was the best one alive after watching her painstakingly heal the damage Wen Zhului had wrought to his brother’s meridians so Wen Ning’s core could be transplanted into his body, her concentration and control not slipping once over the long hours. He fed them both a slight stream of energy and tried not to think of his friend’s hands in his brother’s abdomen.

He tried not to think about how very soon, those hands would be in Wen Ning’s abdomen.

When it came time to remove Wen Ning’s golden core, the young man laid down beside Jiang Cheng without any hesitation, a reassuring smile on his broad face which froze in place when his sister paralyzed him with her needles. Wei Wuxian held his friend’s hand as Wen Qing cut into his flesh, the tightness around her eyes her only sign of distress.

If Wei Wuxian thought that time had passed slowly while she had worked on Jiang Cheng, it practically crawled during the hours it took for Wen Qing to remove Wen Ning’s golden core. Only the fact that the glowing sphere didn’t disperse into nothing when she quickly shoved it into Jiang Cheng’s lower belly made the muffled moans of agony from Wen Ning bearable, put to rest the thought that such a selfless young man had suffered everything for no reason.

It took a couple more hours before Wen Qing finished with everything (and finally allowed her brother to pass out); she slumped exhausted next to Wei Wuxian, who’d practically drained himself dry feeding spiritual energy to her, Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning. “Stop that,” she mumbled when he tried to give her a little more. “Think of the baby.”

“I’m thinking I won’t be any good for anyone if something goes wrong.” He groaned as he rested against the side of the tent as well. “It worked, right?” The last time he’d checked, he felt a steady pulse of qi in Jiang Cheng; it wasn’t as strong as his old core had been, but it was there. Wei Wuxian figured that for now, it was enough for Jiang Cheng to wield a sword and fly (for short distances at least), and that his brother would work hard to make it stronger.

“Yes, it worked.” Wen Qing cast a tender look at her brother. “It had to work.”

“What happens now?”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as if contemplating the question; Wei Wuxian got up to pour them each a cup of tea, and smiled when Wen Qing gave him a slight nod in gratitude for the drink. “Now… I’ll monitor them for a few more hours. Once he’s stable, you can leave. When he’s healed enough, I’ll let him wake up so he can go, too.”

“What about you?” Wei Wuxian frowned when she didn’t answer. “What are the two of you going to do?”

Wen Qing gave a one-shoulder shrug. “What does it matter? You got what you wanted.”

“Because I wasn’t lying when I said you’re family now,” he said as he lowered the cup of tea. “And I want to know that my family will be safe. Don’t make your didi worry about you.” He pouted for added effect.

She turned enough to look at him, her expression inscrutable, before she shook her head, a hint of a smile on her lips. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m adorable, brilliant and handsome, my shijie tells me that all the time.” He smiled when Wen Qing rolled her eyes at that statement.

“You’re also delusional.” When he went to complain, Wen Qing held up her hand and gave him a stern look before she glanced at their sleeping brothers. “I’ll wait until A-Ning heals, which will take longer, and then we’ll return to the Supervisory Office.”

He frowned at that and rubbed his nose. “Is that wise? What if they come looking for Wen Ning for helping us?”

Wen Qing shook her head then sipped her tea; Wei Wuxian shifted so he could lift the pot and refill her cup. “Let them come. I’ll tell them I’ve already handled his punishment.”

It took Wei Wuxian a moment to realize what she meant. “You’ll tell them that you removed his golden core for helping us.” He gazed at her in admiration, for being able to turn her brother’s sacrifice into something that would protect them both.

She nodded once. “It’s a way fo both of us to escape Wen Rouhan’s wrath without him being turned into a puppet or being tortured, and should keep him from being sent to fight.”

No one needed to know that Wen Ning had done it willingly or that Wen Qing would never treat her beloved younger brother so harshly, no one but the three of them. “We’ll still keep this a secret from Jiang Cheng.” Wei Wuxian had planned to not let his brother know about the transfer of golden cores when it was supposed to be his golden core sacrificed, and saw no reason for that to change now.

Wen Qing nodded again. “That’s likely for the best,” she said, which surprised Wei Wuxian since she’d argued differently before. “He’ll probably suspect A-Ning of some ulterior motive for giving up his core.”

Wei Wuxian didn't say anything, he merely pressed his lips together at the thought of how Jiang Cheng couldn’t see past the hatred for all Wens and realize how much the two siblings had done for them. Instead, he inhaled slowly and took the empty cup from Wen Qing’s slightly trembling hand. “Get some rest,” he told her. “I’ll watch these two for a few hours and wake you if there’s any sign of trouble. Sleep a little then you can check Jiang Cheng one more time before I go.”

It looked as if she wanted to argue, but Wen Qing was too exhausted from the golden core transfer to remain awake much longer. She examined Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng briefly then finally stretched out near her brother to sleep, unconscious within a few seconds.

Wei Wuxian brewed more tea and nibbled on a handful of dried fruit one of the Wen siblings had packed (probably Wen Ning) while he forced himself to remain awake. He would check his brother and Wen Ning every now and then, to reassure himself that Jiang Cheng’s new golden core hadn’t vanished and that Wen Ning continued to recover, then tried to distract himself with plans on what to do next.

He’d leave Jiang Cheng on the mountain with the Wen siblings to continue healing and go to Yilin to wait for him at the inn they’d agreed upon earlier. Once they both were up to it, they’d travel to Lanling to reunite with Jiang Yanli and look into the rumors of Qinghe calling the clans together for war.

Oh, and at some point Wei Wuxian would have to let his brother in on the secret about his lotus seed, but one thing at a time. He figured he’d worry about that when he was far enough along that they couldn’t fight—well, that Jiang Yanli was there to keep Jiang Cheng from throttling him then attempting to kill Lan Zhan for ‘besmirching�� his ‘honor’.

“Ah, lotus seed, it may be small but it’s a wonderful family you’ll have,” he whispered while he rubbed his belly. “Your aunt will spoil you with the best food and your uncle will fight off anyone who dares to look at you the wrong way. You certainly will be loved.” He thought about the stranger he’d met at the market in Yunmeng, right after he’d realized he was pregnant. Somehow, the woman had known about his condition when not even Madame Yu had figured it out, and had gifted him with the beaded charm bracelet he now wore on his left wrist, which she swore would provide protection to him and his child. She also had said that his child would be a powerful cultivator and that she had an old soul, the woman’s expression wistful as she talked about the unborn babe.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t one to take such prophecies seriously, but there’d been something about the woman, a quiet yet deep thrum of power to her, a reverberation of truth to her words, and a comforting sense to the bracelet, that he accepted the gift and bowed in gratitude to her before walking away. That and… well, who didn’t want to hear that their child would grow into a powerful cultivator? Not that he had many doubts of it happening, considering that Lan Zhan was the father.

“I do hope you’re a girl,” he said as he glanced at a sleeping Wen Qing. “Someone like mom to give those stuffy Lans fits.” He didn’t think that Lan Zhan would try to force any claim on the child if the truth came out, not when there was no mating bond between them nor marriage, but there would be less pressure on the Lan clan’s heir if Wei Wuxian bore a girl; they tended to favor men as sect leaders, not women.

“You’ll be Yunmeng Jiang, just like me.” Wei Wuxian smiled as he thought about a young woman robed in purple, her long hair held back with a red ribbon. Would she have grey eyes like him and his mother, or golden ones like Lan Zhan? Best if they were grey, he decided. He hoped she would have his mother’s smile, one of the few things he clearly remembered about her, and the sense of humor everyone said he had inherited from the woman.

Mostly, he wished that his child never grew up like he did, starving on the streets and all alone, orphaned at a young age. He swore he’d always be there for his child, that they would never know such grief and fear.

When he felt as if he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, Wen Qing stirred and slowly sat up. She blinked a couple times then whirled around to her brother, her hands seeking out the pulse point on his left wrist; after a moment, she sagged in relief then continued with the examination. While she did that, Wei Wuxian brewed a fresh pot of tea.

Once she had examined Jiang Cheng as well, he handed her a cup of tea. “Everything good?”

“Yes.” Her dark eyes narrowed while she sipped the hot beverage. “Did you get any rest?” When he shrugged, she set the cup aside and snatched at his wrist, only to click her tongue after a few seconds. “You’re very low on spiritual energy and nearing the limits of your body. You need to sleep.”

“I’ll get plenty, once I get to Yilin,” he promised, even going as far as to raise three fingers by his forehead. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t forget that you’re responsible for more than yourself now.” Wen Qing placed a hand over his growing belly and concentrated for a few seconds before she clicked her tongue again. “What the gods were thinking by making you an omega, we’ll never know,” she said as she turned away.

“That my children will be as beautiful, clever and adored as I am,” Wei Wuxian said after he stuck his tongue at her (while her back was turned, he wasn’t stupid).

Wen Qing glanced heavenward as if beseeching the gods for patience, then shoved several things into a small bag. Once she was done, she handed it to Wuxan. “Chew on these on your way to Yilin. And be careful from now on,” she admonished, her tone harsh but eyes filled with concern, “because there’s not much else we can do for you.”

Wei Wuxian accepted the bag and gave her a deep bow. “I am eternally in you and Wen Qionglin’s debt for everything you’ve done for me and my siblings. If you need anything, you just have to ask. Anything.”

She sighed and tugged on the sleeve of his black hanfu to make him stand up straight. “I thought we were family now, there’s no need for such things.” Then she wrinkled her upturned nose. “That and it seems unnatural, seeing you act like this.”

“Aww, Qing-jie is- aiya!” Wei Wuxian stumbled backwards, away from the needles suddenly brandished in his face.

“Don’t call me that, and shouldn’t you be leaving?” Wen Qing gave him a cool look and didn’t put the needles away until he nodded.

She begrudgingly waited for him to say ‘goodbye’ to his unconscious brother then walked with him back to the trail which would lead down the mountain. Assured that JIang Cheng would be alright, as would Wen Ning, Wei Wuxian wished her ‘goodbye’ as well and went on his way. He discovered that she’d given him several small balls of herbs that tasted horrible when he chewed them, but helped push aside the exhaustion so that he made good time back to Yilin.

Still, all he wanted was to eat a good meal, have a long, hot bath and then sleep for a day or two. He thought longingly about a few jars of wine, until he felt the charm bracelet slip along his left wrist.

“The sacrifices I make for you, lotus seed,” he said as he walked, struck by a strong pang of loss yet again for Subian; if only he had his sword, he’d already be in Yilin.

If only he had his sword, maybe things would have been different when the Wens had attacked Lotus Pier.

Eventually, he finally arrived at the designated inn on the outskirts of Yilin; he was so tired, he hardly recalled much of the last half-day of travel. Perhaps that was the reason why Wen Chao found him so quickly, or maybe it was just a case of truly bad luck. All Wei Wuxian knew was that he’d barely sat down in the inn when Wen Chao, along with Wen Zhuliu, Wang Lingjiao and several soldiers, burst into the building.

He got up to run away, only to find Wen Zhuliu in his path; the man grabbed him by the front of his robes with his left hand, his right hand pressed against Wei Wuxian’s chest, before the bastard frowned and pulled the hand back to punch Wei Wuxian instead and send him flying through the air to land on top of a table. Exhausted and still drained of energy, both physical and spiritual, Wei Wuxian could do little more than curl his body in a manner to protect the child growing inside of it.

As soon as he regained his footing, one of the soldiers kicked him in the back, which knocked him onto the ground. Wen Chao, the smug asshole, trod on his right hand and taunted him, asking him why didn’t he get up and where his arrogance had gone. He was told to get back up, despite the asshole standing on his foot; eventually two soldiers had to haul him upright.

“Where is Jiang Cheng?” Wen Chao demanded to know. “What, you don't want to talk? You know you can’t save him even if you remain silent. Right now, Jiang Cheng is merely a waste. He’s no better than livestock.”

Wei Wuxian listened to the useless second son of the Wen clan insult his brother and the Yunmeng Jiang clan, as he was told to beg like a dog (a dog!) and crawl on the ground if he wanted to be let go (he knew it was a lie, did Wen Chao think he was as stupid as him?). Even Wang Lingjiao started yipping away as if she was of any importance.

Of course Wei Wuxian didn’t take them up on their ‘offer’ (blatant lie), so it wasn’t any surprise when the arrogant asshole ordered his soldiers to beat him; once again, Wei Wuxian curled up in a protective manner to protect his child as much as possible. Part of him wondered how the soldiers would react if they knew they were attacking a pregnant omega, before he decided that Wen Chao probably wouldn’t care about breaking such an important taboo (and he couldn’t risk the Wens finding out that Lan Zhan was the father).

The assault eventually stopped, only for Wen Chao to threaten Wei Wuxian as if he was anything more than a pathetic bully whose only real power lay in the weapons his father loaned out to him. There was a moment of fear when he called upon Wen Zhuliu to destroy Wei Wuxian’s core, but Wei Wuxian managed to talk his way out of it before the man moved to obey. He foolishly believed that might be improving (despite Wang Lingjiao slicing into his chest with that damn brand she never seemed to be without), before he was dragged out of outside and hauled into the air.

At first he thought they might be taking him to Qishan with the intent of throwing him in the dungeons there, but eventually Wen Chao, the pompous asshole, began talking about the Burial Mounds in Yiling. Wei Wuxian’s eyes grew wide and his heart raced when it became clear what was going to happen to him, but he was too battered and drained of energy to do more than attempt to struggle. Not a moment later, mocking laughter broke out as he was flung downward, toward the darkness and source of overpowering resentful energy that was the Burial Mounds.

Pushing all panic aside, he quickly cast a talisman for wind in an attempt to slow his descent; it worked somewhat, but he still rushed toward the ground. He tried another one, which seemed to have a greater effect (there was an odd heat around his left wrist for some reason), so he then cast his binding spell, the gleaming blue thread forming on his left wrist, which he cast out as he quickly approached what looked to be large trees. Be it by luck or the blessings of the gods, it managed to latch on to one of the tall, spindly structures. A sharp pain tore through his left shoulder when the line grew taut, but his impact upon the ground was lessened to the point that he didn’t die immediately.

No, he merely passed out.

He woke to the sound of screams, of voices calling out his names and cries of vengeance, and a wall of fierce corpses standing in the near distance. Surprised that he hadn’t been devoured by the undead creatures while unconscious, he noticed two things: that there was a glowing, pale blue circle around him and that just outside of it floated the sword he’d found inside the Tortoise of Slaughter and had placed inside his quankin pouch. Confused, battered both by resentful energies and what the Wens had done to him, Wei Wuxian managed to sit up somewhat, hunched forward as he felt for the spark of life inside of him that had been steadily growing the last few months. He almost slumped face first into the ground when he realized that his unborn child had survived everything (so far, a hysterical voice whispered in his head) by some miraculous means.

He needed to get his act together and ensure his lotus seed remained alright; that meant figuring a way to get out of the Burial Mounds alive, something no one had ever done. It was a good thing the Yunmeng Jiang clan’s motto was ‘attempt the impossible’.

He took in the bleak surroundings: the bones scattered everywhere and numerous gravestones, the mist which obscured his vision after a few yards, and a lack of sunlight which made it impossible to tell the time of day. There was the oppressive miasma of resentful energy along with the endless chorus of voices calling out to him, which he did his best to block out of his head. His right hand clutched at the bracelet around his left wrist while he attempted to concentrate, his fingers quick to find the gap from two missing beads.

Had they been broken in the fall? Or during the beating back at the inn? Wei Wuxian didn’t have much time to ponder what had happened to the charm since the intensity of the voices’ shrieking increased to a painful level, as did the pressure from the resentful energy. He struggled to fight against the insidious forces, but he didn’t have much spiritual energy.

However, he remembered that the odd sword had some sort of power to it, that it seemed tied to the ghostly voices in the Dusk-Creek Mountain cave. Or maybe he’d hit his head on something during the fall, or been kicked one too many times by those Wen bastards. The thing was, he and his unborn child weren’t going anywhere unless he did something, and right then? The sword seemed the only source of power around, which meant it might be of some help.

Or it might be one huge mistake, but Wei Wuxian didn’t have many choices available as well as a history of turning mistakes into his favor (well, mostly).

He half-crawled toward the sword and only hesitated a moment to reach past the safety of the circle (where had it come from?) for the weapon’s hilt. For a moment all was quiet, and then the screaming came back in force.

Wei Wuxian

Do you want vengeance?

Young Master Wei

Stay with us

Hurt the ones who’ve hurt you, Wei Wuxian

Wei Ying

Do you want to stay?

What about vengeance?

The voices were so loud, so constant, as were their shrieks of pain and rage. He thought some of them sounded familiar, thought they might be the dead from Lotus Pier, yet he also thought he heard Lan Zhan say his name once or twice when he dwelled on the voices calling for vengeance. By the time he reached the sword, the voices were an incoherent cacophony in his head that funneled to one thunderous question as his hands wrapped around ice-cold metal.

DO YOU WANT VENGEANCE?

For a moment, Wei Wuxian could see himself standing in the Palace of Sun and Flames, surrounded by an endless sea of Wen corpses, the heads of Wen Rouhan and his sons mounted on pikes behind him. He hungered for the vision to come true, for the Wens to pay for what they’d done to the Jiangs and the Lans… and then he felt a faint flutter in his belly and heard Wen Qing chide him to take better care of himself.

“I… I want the power to protect myself and my loved ones,” he told the voice (the sword?). “To defend them from those who would cause harm.” Who had caused harm.

VENGEANCE!

He thought of Jiang Yanli and shook his head.”I want more than that for my child!” He didn’t want someone to come after her for what he’d done, he wanted an end to the fighting. “Protection!”

Child?

A child. Home

Family

It was faint, but some of the voices seemed to be breaking off from the sword. “Yes, a child, my child. I’ll fight anyone to keep them safe, can’t you understand that?” To give them a happy, safe life.” I want to give them peace, not eternal war,” he pleaded with the sword and the voices. “I understand revenge, I want it, too, but not at the cost of my child’s peace. Help me give my child peace.”

Vengeance

Family, they took away my family

I only wanted a husband and child of my own

Wei Ying

My child was so young

Was he getting somewhere with them? Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth together, his hands long turned numb from holding onto the sword, and offered the voices (the dead) a consoling smile. “Help me, and I’ll help you,” he promised.

*******

Somehow all my italics got messed up. Grrr.

So, the a/b/o here - it’s more lowkey than in other fics, if you can’t tell, and basically comes across as how people reproduce. People don’t put down omegas as being weak or lesser, it just means they are more fertile than betas and can bear children (and so usually have a protected status, especially when pregnant). An alpha/omega pairing will produce the most offspring, but other pairings can technically produce them as well, just with less odds of success. That means no one looks down on WWX for being an omega, though they’d chastise him (and his partner) for having a child out of wedlock and for him not taking care of himself while pregnant. That’s more to deal with the value placed on family and honor than anything.

No obvious scenting, either, at least not until one is in heat/rut, and it’s considered normal for people to take daily medicine (tea or the such) to lessen the impact of them if not put them off all-together, and to prevent unplanned pregnancies.

Also, I’m probably going to skip most honorifics except the immediate family ones. I’ve only the very beginning knowledge of Chinese. Please forgive any mistakes there along with the culture, I appreciate any corrections.

And I promise, a new chapter of Casts a Shadow up this weekend!

#nekojitachanfics #mumbling into the void #don't wanna fall fic #wangxian #the untamed #mdzs #cql

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salarta · 3 years

Note

What don't you like about Lorna's characterization in X-Factor?

Thanks for asking!

I believe in transparency, so before I get into that, I want to provide a little background on the point of view I’m coming from that influences my opinions.

I was opposed to Lorna being on X-Factor when it was announced. There was already a lot of bad blood and history for me with Marvel as a result of these past few years especially. I won’t exhaustively detail all of it, but the bottom line is, I was already in a place of having a low opinion of current X-Men comics in general.

Then when it was announced she would be on X-Factor, not even as the leader but just as a team member, that immediately grated on me. She’s been buried and sidelined for so long, and now she’s not only right back on the same title yet again after 30 years - that’s a second wave fringe title - she’s not even leading it, or doing other, more meaningful things outside it simultaneously.

Then I saw the interviews by X-Factor’s writer at announcement, which immediately gave me a couple red flags. One, the writer couldn’t seem to say a single thing about Lorna besides essentially “Magneto is her dad and Havok is her ex.” Not even about trauma, of which Lorna has tons of it. Yet she had no problem acknowledging trauma as an important story point for other characters. Two, in trying to form her opinion of Lorna, she said she talked to a couple friends, one of which she said put the Lorna x Havok relationship in a “new light” for her. Meaning she was limiting her fan input just to a couple people she knows and whatever biases those two have, at the exclusion of all others.

That’s my background. Before a single issue dropped. Now let’s get to the things I have problems with since it’s started getting published.

And I do welcome people correcting me if I’m incorrect about details of the book. Being wrong happens. The only true path toward a better future for Lorna is honest assessment.

My biggest problem with X-Factor’s characterization, as a whole, is that it completely disregards important parts of her history in the way she should think and act, and instead treats her like a blank slate.

This is clearest in X-Factor #4, the issue during X of Swords where Rockslide dies. Lorna is a survivor of the Genoshan genocide. We saw how deeply that wounded her. We outright saw her experience of being hailed as a sovereign princess by the people of Genosha, followed by those same people begging Lorna, specifically, to save them. Only for Lorna to be unable to do so, and unable to handle all the death and carnage and pain around her (note these pages are in order of her experiences, not publication order).

After the Genoshan genocide, we saw how not only did she survive this, she had those moments replaying constantly in her head and all around her until the other X-Men dug her out of Genosha’s ruins.

She suffered immensely from what happened to her. So much. But by the end, after dealing with the strain and trauma for so much time, she started to settle into a role from that experience somewhere in between Xavier and Magneto - which is extremely appropriate, considering her very first appearance in comics was all about her struggling between the “good of the X-Men” and the “evil of her father’s blood flowing through her veins” (as it was incredibly simplistic at the time).

This is the Lorna that came out of her hardships with Genosha. The one who felt the weight of those deaths and took them on to a point of being ready to fight for mutant rights.

In spite of this, Marvel has been ignoring the Genoshan genocide concerning Lorna’s history for 15 years now. Refusing to acknowledge it at all, as they let Jean fight Cassandra Nova on its ruins, and let Storm act outraged about its dead, and let Axis exploit it for Red Skull while Lorna’s written as off doing something completely unrelated.

The problem noted in the paragraph above is not X-Factor’s problem alone. It’s a running problem across all of Marvel.

But where X-Factor differs and is far, far worse is that X-Factor #4 not only completely ignored this event in her history. It had her behave as if she had no concept whatsoever of death and loss, had never received the development she did from the Genoshan genocide.

For over 15 years, Lorna’s been wiped from the Genosha story even though she went through the genocide and had served at Magneto’s side (before learning she was his daughter after all) during his rule. Not once in any of that time did Marvel allow the deaths of millions crying for her specifically to save them to impact their treatment of her. It’s been as if she suddenly no longer gives a damn about them.

But one mutant she doesn’t know at all dies nearby and she has a complete breakdown, running around unable to figure out what to do with herself, getting yelled at by her father to make the prophecies come out and later on wishing she could just disappear and stop being a part of anything at all?

That is not Lorna. Or rather, maybe it could count as Lorna from the 90s before Genosha ever happened. But it is absolutely not post-Genosha Lorna, the woman who endured the pain of millions dying all around her and came out of it a woman ready to fight through that pain.

Perhaps if this story acknowledged and incorporated the Genoshan genocide, did an incredibly good job justifying her behavior through that and making it all make sense, I would feel differently. But as it stands? This is an insult to everything she’s endured.

Which gets me to my other big complaints about this book. It doesn’t ACTUALLY acknowledge anything about her history at all.

This is where fans of the book will say “Oh X-Factor acknowledged Giant-Size X-Men when she built the base” and things like that. No. The book has only vaguely hinted at that history, which is very different from truly acknowledging and using it. The few times the book does this, such “acknowledgments” last for exactly one panel, and you have to be a real hardcore Lorna fan or long-time reader to have any chance whatsoever of seeing those statements as callbacks to her past. If you’re a casual reader, Lorna’s comment to Krakoa before creating the base could just as easily be read as that Lorna and Krakoa used to date and had a really bad breakup.

I’ve been asked before what would count as acknowledging her past. So here’s an example. Instead of the vague hinting with Krakoa, Lorna could’ve explicitly said something along the lines of “Hey, remember when Storm and the others helped me launch you out into space?” That would have been enough for a casual reader to know the amazing feat she did, its importance relative to current Marvel events, AND that she has a history with major known names in the franchise.

But as written? It’s just a silly little joke of a character who’s apparently never done anything notable or interesting “before now.”

Aside from these problems, I’m not keen on what has over time appeared to be a running theme of “Lorna is stupid” on this book. It started with this simple “joke.”

An important note: this panel is out of context. It looks worse by itself, but I have since been corrected by a reader that what happened before this was Northstar trying to charge in, Lorna trying to stop him, both getting caught in this trap, followed by Rachel’s quip. And they do have a history from before X-Factor. They were on the same team, Starjammers, in the late 00s to early 10s.

If this was the only case I had, I wouldn’t be bringing it up. It’s fine taken in isolation. There’s a question of why Lorna’s the sole target of the quip when it was Northstar’s fault, and a problem that people could easily misremember this in the future as Lorna taking the blame. But a single moment is no big deal.

But then we have the scene from X-Factor #4 above where Magneto’s written as yelling at her, putting her down for not being able to get the prophecies out. Lorna even explicitly calls it a “fitting humiliation” during that story.

And then we have the most recent issue. Where Siryn outright calls Lorna dumb as the story has her act in a way that makes her being called that appropriate.

In other words, three times now, Lorna’s been presented as the object of ridicule. As a failure who isn’t able to make plans, think ahead, or handle these stresses that come her way. In essence, it’s wiping out the development she received not just from her experiences on Genosha, but also from her time as leader of All-New X-Factor. Would YOU expect this character, as presented, to be at all capable of leading her own team some day? Or of leading people in a movement, harkening back to when she was called the Queen of Mutants both post-Genosha and when she was initially revealed and Magneto was believed to be dead?

My expectations of X-Factor before it started releasing issues were low, as stated above. But as it’s been releasing issues, it’s just been confirming my worst thoughts about Marvel and how little they think of this amazing character who’s been through so much and never receives her due.

All it’s doing is exploiting her to sell the book and promote everyone else on it. That is my straightforward assessment and opinion of the book. None of the stories or moments truly address anything Lorna’s experienced. The initial story was about Aurora, setting up Northstar as the leader, and forming the team. The Mojoworld story was about Shatterstar. X-Factor #4 was about Rockslide and his death. The latest story is about Siryn.

And it’s great for all these other characters that they’re getting all this care and attention that they often don’t get. But it doesn’t have to come at Lorna’s expense. If she’s going to be on the book, it has to actually give a damn about what she’s been through and how it’s shaped her, and openly acknowledge her too often forgotten past spanning 52 years.

I am not saying X-Factor taken as its own thing is bad. I’m not saying it treats any of the other characters bad. I’m saying it’s bad for Lorna, and she’s better off not on it even if she doesn’t get to join the new X-Men team.

I will end off on a bit more of a positive note for people who happen to like this book. There are a couple things I do like about it.

I like the creative usage of Lorna’s powers in building the team’s base, and in having the prophecies encoded in electromagnetic signatures. Those are an excellent way to show she can be and do other things besides “bend spoons,” and she’s not just “Magneto with boobs” as far as power usage.

I also like that the book does not have a sexism problem in its treatment Lorna. Past treatment of Lorna had this problem in a big way, as demonstrated by this awful as fuck cover from X-Men Blue.

And I partly like the very last few panels of X-Factor #4, in that Lorna gets to do some public speaking among mutant colleagues. I loathe the treatment leading up to it, and I think it could’ve been much better if it followed the vein of one of the variant covers of Lorna holding up a sword in front of an army as if urging them onward to battle as a warrior queen would. But it was still better than okay.

But those few good bits do not in any way make up for the bad as I’ve seen it in this book.

#polaris #lorna dane #x-men #marvel

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stevenbasic · 4 years

Photo

I know there are guys like this, Melissa thought to herself, guys like this all over the place. Guys that collect pictures of girls, built girls, save them all on their computers to do...ewww...whatever it is they do with them. She had some guys like that, still, she knew, as Instagram followers, even on her new, now-private profile. There was a smattering of guys, she knew, who basically stalked her, perved over her every post. She tended to indulge them, from time-to-time, throw them a little bone here or there, some cleavage, whatever. It was fun, for a while, she’d get a kick out of it, casually teasing these guys who simped for her. But it had kinda gotten old. Now it was more her friends who seemed to love it, love seeing it, love laughing at the guys. It was harmless enough fun, and these men were just sorta silly and pathetic. I just didn’t think Dr J was one of them…

She had needed to see for herself, have some time to process. It was eight AM but she’d needed to see for herself, all these pictures of her that Randi and Marisela told her he’d supposedly been hoarding on his office computer. On a Tuesday like this one she’d have plenty of time; he’d be doing his rounds at the hospital until mid-morning, when he’d return to the office. She’d closed his door so she’d be undisturbed as the other girls drifted into work. Melissa knew she needed to come to terms with this, and see what was on his computer for herself, especially after what Marisela had told her about what was going on….that kinda made her mad, too.

Okay, there it is, right where Marisela said it’d be, she thought. On his hard drive, the folder labeled “Protected”. Let’s see if this password works...

oh, my…

For some reason Melissa had found herself earlier this morning, while getting ready, almost unconsciously putting on heavier makeup, applying more layers of gloss and lipstick than she knew she should. She’d found herself pulling out a striped red dress, one that cinched too tight to her waist which - despite everything else getting bigger these days - seemed to be, if anything, slowly disappearing. This dress clung too tightly to her torso, she realized, its horizontal stripes only emphasizing the size of the bust she’d packed tightly this morning into her new, bigger bra. This dress was also wayyy too short, she knew, revealing too much of the long, flawless legs that she’d tanned to a deep olive in her week in the sun, sculpted in the gym to heavily-muscled perfection. It covered her overly-shapely rear, she also knew, but left little to the imagination as to its full size; her ass had grown huge, recently, and this dress surely did nothing to hide that. The heels she chose - yellow and too tall, really, to be appropriate for the office - would only highlight the muscle tone of her already large calves, make her glutes look even fuller, shift her weight to pull her shoulders back, further emphasizing her bust and exaggerating the already unmistakeably feminine aspects of her gait. Her hair, as well, she’d fluffed out more than usual this morning...why? The one thing she found herself foregoing, though, was perfume. I’ve been making enough of that myself, already, she’d thought, I don’t need it.

Oh, no, look at all this, Melissa lamented, finally opening the folder labeled “Melissa” and then audibly gasping at its contents...countless pictures of her. Where did he find it all? How much time has he spent collecting these?? She began to scroll through the thumbnails, everything from current images grabbed from her Instagram to old modeling pics he must have found in the internet to...where did he ever find these ones from Hooters?!?

Suddenly she was overcome when an image of him - sitting in this very chair, looking at these pictures and rubbing himself, sliding his hand into his pants - flashed into her head.

Is that what you do with these? Why else would you be...collecting them? Oh, Dr. J...not you, too?

As she marveled, wide-eyed, beginning to grasp the enormity of his collection, of just how many pictures of her he’d accumulated, it dawned on her: he also has dozens upon dozens of pictures of her in a bikini, from the past week - on his ph-..oh, wait. Oh god. He’s downloaded them all into here already...there’s a whole folder, a new one, called “conference”.

Part of me wishes they never told me...

She flashed back, for the moment, to early yesterday morning, Monday in her new office with Randi and Marisela…

“...we got in last week, finally, Marisela cracked it,” Randi had said, “I just knew he’d have a porn stash. But that there’s so much of YOU in it…?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry Melissa,” Marisela had added, “The guy’s a total perv. We’ve known that for years…”

If nothing else she marveled, as she scrolled through the thumbnails, at his diligence, I haven’t seen some of these in ages.

Another image flashed into her head, again him sitting at this desk with these pictures - god, he’s much smaller than me, isn’t he? He wouldn’t fill up this chair nearly as much as I do - with his pants unzipped, pulled down his hips, he’s groaning. Looking at these pictures, zooming in on that one.

His legs are so skinny compared to mine, she thought, as she felt her own body unconsciously flexing, his arms and shoulders so thin and weak.

Why...why did this make her shiver a bit? Why did her mind keep picturing him...wanting to see him when he’d opened up this folder and started to-

But he shouldn’t be doing this! It’s like cheating on his wife. No matter what’s going on between him and Sheryl, he’s still a married man. Melissa could understand why Sheryl’d be mad. Yes, but…

Melissa flashed back again...

“Why are you so shocked?” Randi had asked her, “They’re all like this, every single one. Every single boss you’d ever had.”

At first, she admits, she was shocked. She couldn’t believe what they’d told her, shown her with the screen caps from his desktop - it can’t be!! this is the honorable, upstanding, respectable Dr J!! He’s not like the rest of them, all those other guys, is he?? Obsessive, fixated...

After the initial shock, the disbelief, she got kinda angry - she took this job thinking she was going to be valued for her brains, education, skills. She thought this job would allow her to develop in ways that other jobs, with other bosses, hadn’t. She’d always been a special girl, different from the rest. She had a unique way, she knew, of “growing into the job” - it’s what her mother called it. “Rising to the challenge of a new endeavor” she’d said, become what would allow her the greatest success. Problem had always been, though, that the best way to succeed at her old jobs had turned out to be the same. At Hooters it made sense, even in high school. But with frustration she’d found the same thing happened to her at Nordstrom’s, at the DMV, and at the Dealership. Instead of getting smarter, learning more, becoming more able and capable, she’d just gotten...curvier. Added cup sizes, inches to her hips. This job, after finally getting her degree, was supposed to be different. But now, seeing this screenshot of dozens of pictures of her from her boss’ porn stash, she was finally convinced that, once again she was hired just for her tits. She knew, of course, that he’d found her attractive. That he, being just a guy, could be pretty easily manipulated if she set her mind - and hourglass figure - to it. That she could get what she wanted at the office, be successful in her new position, because of her appearance. That would explain the two - no, three - new sets of bras. Why she’d torn through her yoga pants last week. His tastes were for curves upon curves...lots of guys’ were. And she figured she was growing faster here than at the old jobs because, well...she had become his friend. She’d spent more time with him. She’d grown to, well...really like him, more than she’d ever really admit. So maybe there were other things fueling her, uh, developments. But, again - he was married!

It was so confusing!

She could help it, another image came to her. This time he was still here alone in his office, maybe after hours, doors locked, knowing he’s alone - but now he was blatantly jerking off, pants down, around his ankles. Jerking off and leering at these pictures of her, this time looking - ohh why is this doing this to me?? Making my heart race?? - even smaller. He seemed to be shrunken, a small, small man, wide-eyed and staring, unblinking, at his screen. He was grunting, like a little animal, and shaking back and forth with his efforts.

She flashed back again...

”I know, I know,” Melissa had said, bemoaning this new situation, as if she was grieving some loss, “I know I had him up on a pedestal. I know it was maybe unreasonable. But now….now what am I supposed to do?”

“Missy, relax,” Randi had replied, “Just think- who was able to take him down off of that pedestal? Who did he have pictures of on his computer in a folder that he’s accessed...look at this...more than -four hundred- times? You! You! Face it You got where you are not just through hard work at school. You did hard work at the gym, building yourself in other ways. Despite everything you rose up at Hooters, at the DMV, at the dealership. You are YOU, and that’s what’s bringing you all this success. You as a person, your mind and your body.”

”I guess you’re right…” Melissa had said.

“Of course I am,” Randi had replied, “Use it all, use all you got. Not just your degree-“ At that she’d reached out and grabbed Melissa’s huge breasts, hands sinking into her pliancy, “but these too! Women have to use everything they have to take what they can get.”

The next image, in her mind, was one where he’s dramatically smaller still: How did he even get into the chair? He’s so little... His feet, dangling above the ground, hovered over his pants, now in a pile. He’s naked, in fact, and he’s so small he can barely see over the desk to the monitor, can barely reach his mouse to scroll, to click, to open picture after picture after picture of her. His groans and grunts have changed to whines and he sounds so needy as he’s trying and trying and trying to-

Groaning herself, Melissa was nearly overcome with the thought, and had to catch herself from sliding her hand between her own thick, bare thighs. What was this warmth? What was this subtle swelling in her chest? Why is this doing this to me?!?

She flashes back again

“I guess it can't be helped, looking the way I do...” Melissa said, still in half-pout.

“Don't feel bad, Missy, this is good,” Randi said, as Marisela just watched, observing these two, trying not to judge, learning, “Look at these folders he has - it’s not all of you. Look at all these pictures, these videos. It’s...worshipful. He’s in sheer awe of these women, and you’re one of them.”

Melissa nodded, new wheels, gears in the machinery of her inner self that she didn’t know existed, cranking to life, beginning to turn.

“You can use this to your advantage - to our advantage,” Randi added, encouraging her friend. Though remaining quiet, Marisela’s own pulse had begun to race, listening, hearing the subtext, thinking back on the conversations she and Randi had had. For her own part, Melissa’s feelings were still conflicted. Petulant anger and outright female outrage were at odds with the genuine affection she felt for him, an affection that more and more had been turning into...something deeper. A tugging at her belly. Something rich and wonderful she saw blossoming, when she closed her eyes and thought of him...thought of holding, thought of-

“If he honesty gets off to this sort of thing,” Randi pressed on, pointing at folders in the screenshot image from his desktop, folders labeled “Breast Expansion” or “Amazons” - “if that’s what he really wants....well, Missy. You could make him the happiest man on earth...”

=========================================================================

Original morph in the first image by Migsanch, and help with some of the dialogue by Antares.

#Growing Into the Job

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guardianreadersofthegalaxy · 3 years

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My July ‘20 - June ‘21 film ranking:

1. His House (AKA ‘Walls… I Scream’) – A Sudanese couple seek refuge in the UK, but are unable to escape the horror they left behind. It’s a tried and tested horror formula: a strained family unit try to come to terms with shared trauma against the backdrop of a serious social issue. But it’s really well executed. The understated tone left me unprepared for the brazenly nightmarish imagery.

2. Sound Of Metal (AKA ‘Deaf Becomes Him’) – A punk drummer and recovering addict deals with a sudden and severe loss of hearing. I wish I’d gotten to see more of Riz Ahmed drumming with his shirt off but maybe that’s point? The sudden silence hits Ruben and the viewer like a tonne of bricks with ‘point of hearing’ sound design ensuring you empathise. Olivia Cooke is great too and the desperate romance between addicts really appealed to the angsty teen in me, until it resolves in an appropriately mature way.

3. The Dig (AKA ‘Ralph Fiennes A Boat’) – On the eve of World War II, a wealthy widow hires excavator Basil Brown to dig up an Anglo Saxon burial mound. The stakes are low but it’s just nice to spend time in the countryside with these characters. I normally like shaky-cam and creative sound mixing but both are overused enough to be a bit distracting. Where director Simon Stone really shines is with his handling of the cast, who give some great naturalistic performances, particularly Ralph Fiennes who seems to be channelling Toby Jones.

4. Nomadland (AKA ‘Van Clan Thank You Ma’am) – After losing her home, unemployed widow Fern takes to the road to join the American nomads. Why are non-actors so good at acting? This is pretty light on characterisation, to the extent that it wasn’t until halfway through that I started to get a grasp of Fern’s personality, but it makes up for that by immersing you in the nomad culture, as well as showing you tonnes of lovely nature porn. Paid for by the tourism board of Nevada.

5. Mank (AKA ‘So What If It’s Not Citizen Kane?’) – Alcoholic screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz draws on his experiences of 1930s Hollywood while writing the screenplay for ‘Citizen Kane’. I was more interested than emotionally invested. The old timey aesthetic felt like a gimmick, and though it was cool to hear Nine Inch Nails playing jazz tunes, the black & white gave me a headache. The real highlight was the late Jack Fincher’s screenplay, with tonnes of snappy and insightful dialogue.

6. A Quiet Place Pt. 2 (AKA ‘Now With Talking!’) Pursued by monsters with powerful hearing, the Abbot family struggle to survive after the apocalypse. Remind me to always see horror in the cinema from now on. The big screen and sound system, and your inability to pause for a pee break, make all the difference. Though I prefer the first ‘Quiet Place’, this was a scarier watch, by virtue of me seeing it in the theatre. ‘Pt 2’ mostly lives up to the original, but lacks the emotional punch of its ending, and suffers from being split into two plots that don’t overlap.

7. In The Heights (AKA ‘I Am Not Throwing Away My Shop’) – An adaptation of the Tony award winning show about Washington Heights’ Latin American community. It’s not easy adapting a stage musical for the screen, particularly a good one. And while I’ll still credit Lin Manuel Miranda’s source material for any and all gooseflesh I got, director John M. Chu did a pretty respectable job, with some nice creative flourishes. A lot of changes were made, many to the film’s detriment, but some provided new opportunities for characterisation.

8. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (AKA ‘I Miss Theatres’) – A 1920s Chicago blues band embark on a tumultuous recording session. This has all the strengths and weaknesses of a play. The spectacles of cinema are done away with in order to spotlight the many duologues and monologues in a way that feels unnatural for a film. But the source material is excellent and the cast definitely do it justice.

9. Tenet (AKA ‘Taco Cat’) – A mercenary known only as ‘The Protagonist’ gets caught up with time travel, a Russian oligarch and the threat of Armageddon. This is way too long and the endless, inaudible exposition gets dull very quickly but the inventive and heart-racing action sequences more or less make up for that. The male actors all play their roles with charisma while Elizabeth Debicki is left to do the emotional heavy lifting.

10. Saint Maud (AKA ‘I’m Walking On Thumb Tacks Oh-oh’) – A hospice nurse and recent Christian convert believes she must save the soul of her terminally ill patient. I never say this, but Saint Maud should have been longer. The first seventy minutes go for slow building tension but that leaves the last half hour with not enough time to bring things to a head. The creepy atmosphere is carried by the music and visuals more than the understated performance of the two leads.

11. Luca (AKA ‘Started Out As A Fish, How Did I End Up Like This?) – Young sea monster Luca ventures onto dry land to see the world with his friend Alberto. It’s a much breezier story than Pixar’s ‘heavy hitters’ but there’s nothing wrong with that. The underwater animation was so beautiful I was disappointed when things moved to dry land but fortunately the seaside setting was just as evocative. Plot-wise, it’s pretty standard coming-of-age fare, with any pubescent ‘awakenings’ relegated to subtext.

12. Soul (AKA ‘Jazz’) – A New York school band teacher struggles to escape the ‘Great Before’ in time to play a gig with his hero. This is absolute treacle to the eyes and ears as you’d expect from Pixar, and the narrative theme, of living for the sake of it rather than obsessing over your goals, is insightful and well delivered. The problem is that the story did too good a job of getting me invested in Joe’s hopes and dreams for me to be on board with his final epiphany. Perhaps it’s a lesson I still need to learn, and when I have, maybe I’ll appreciate ‘Soul’ more.

13. News Of The World (AKA ‘Not Enough News’) – A travelling news reader takes a dangerous journey through post-civil war Texas to return a young girl to her relatives. This is one of the most unremarkable films I’ve ever seen. The plot is fine but predictable and its execution is forgettably competent across the board, with few distinguishing features. It adequately killed two hours of a lockdown evening, but then so would a screen of white noise.

14. I’m Thinking Of Ending Things (AKA ‘The Arty-Farty Film For Clever Cloggses’) – A young woman goes to visit her new boyfriend’s parents as she contemplates ‘ending things’. This would have made a great short film in that it seems very deep and, for the 50 mins before I stopped watching, doesn’t really have a plot. Problem is it’s 135 mins long and I can’t take that much unbroken weirdness. Directing, acting and writing choices are all so offputtingly deliberate that watching it felt like listening to a band where every member is soloing at the same time.

15. Uncorked (AKA ‘Billy Sommeliot’) – A young man from Memphis dreams of leaving his parents’ barbeque restaurant to become a sommelier. This is just kinda follows the formula of ‘young working class guy wants to do something his parents don’t approve of’. It’s competently made but not very imaginative and wastes the opportunity for some great food porn.

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greatworldwar2 · 3 years

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• Richard Cresswell (Australian RAAF Pilot)

Richard (Dick) Cresswell, DFC was an officer and pilot in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). He held command of No. 77 (Fighter) Squadron twice during World War II, and again during the Korean War.

Richard Cresswell was born in Franklin, near Launceston, Tasmania, on July 27th, 1920. He was the only child of English immigrants George Cresswell, an engineer, and his wife Constance. His father died when Dick was three-and-a-half, and he later moved to Sydney with his mother. For three years he lived with another family in Balgowlah, and commenced his schooling at Manly West. He again lived with his mother in Potts Point between 1931 and 1938, continuing his education at Double Bay and Randwick. After leaving Randwick High School in 1935, he began technical studies at Ultimo as part of an electrical apprenticeship. Fired partly by his mother's stories of joy flights in pre-war Britain, and a desire to become a flying boat captain for Imperial Airways, Cresswell applied to join the Royal Air Force (RAF) in September 1937. Receiving no answer from the RAF, he applied for the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF), and was accepted. He entered No. 1 Flying Training School at Point Cook, Victoria, as an air cadet in July 1938. His first posting was to No. 3 (Army Cooperation) Squadron at Richmond, New South Wales, where he began flying Hawker Demon fighters in July 1939. Cresswell recalled a mix of excitement and panic within the squadron when World War II broke out two months later: "The second night we all slept on the hangar floor next to our aircraft. Imagine it: there was war over in Europe and here we were at action stations!"

After a brief posting to Point Cook in early 1940, Cresswell undertook the instructors' course at Central Flying School in Camden, New South Wales. He then became an instructor at No. 2 Service Flying Training School, which was formed at Wagga Wagga in July and operated Avro Ansons and CAC Wirraways. The school's commander, Frederick Scherger, advised Cresswell to grow a moustache to overcome his youthful appearance. He was promoted to flight lieutenant in January 1941. Following the bombing of Darwin by Japanese forces in February 1942, Cresswell was posted to Williamtown as a liaison officer with the 9th Squadron of the US 49th Pursuit Group (later the 49th Fighter Group), which operated P-40 Kittyhawks and would shortly transfer to Darwin to provide air defence. The RAAF had meanwhile raised three fighter units. Nos. 75, 76 and 77 Squadrons ,equipped with Kittyhawks recently delivered from the United States. Cresswell, newly promoted to squadron leader, assumed command of No. 77 Squadron at Pearce, Western Australia, on April 20th. At twenty-one, he was younger than most of his personnel. Drawing on his technical experience at Westinghouse, he encouraged his pilots to respect their aircraft and the ground crews that maintained them.

Cresswell led the squadron in the defence of Darwin against Japanese raiders and claimed its first aerial victory on November 23rd,1942, when he destroyed a Mitsubishi "Betty" bomber. It was the first "kill" for an Australian squadron over the mainland, and the first night victory over Australia. When he returned to base and was asked what he felt like, Cresswell replied, "Breakfast". In February 1943, after No. 1 (Fighter) Wing and its three Supermarine Spitfire squadrons became operational in the Darwin area, No. 77 Squadron was transferred to Milne Bay in New Guinea. The Japanese attacked Milne Bay on April 14th, and Cresswell claimed one of four bombers (and a fighter) credited to No. 77 Squadron. The next month, No. 77 Squadron began moving to Goodenough Island, where it was controlled by No. 73 Wing. As Japanese fighter opposition was limited, Cresswell led the squadron in several ground-attack missions over New Britain. He was due to hand over command to his designated successor, Flight Lieutenant Daryl Sproule, on August 2nd, but Sproule crash-landed during a raid the same day and was captured and executed by the Japanese. As a result, Cresswell remained in command another three weeks.

On August 28th, 1943, Cresswell was ordered to report to Port Pirie, South Australia, for "flying duties", but found instead that he was to be court-martialled for "conduct to the prejudice of good order and Air Force discipline". The charge arose from an incident in July 1942, when Cresswell had stayed overnight at Port Pirie's mess and had fired his revolver into the floor next to the feet of another officer who apparently had been annoying him. Cresswell was found guilty and lost three months' seniority. He considered resigning his commission but was placated by the Air Member for Personnel, Air Commodore Frank Lukis. Cresswell was promoted to wing commander in January 1944, backdated three months to eliminate the penalty of his court-martial. After instructing at No. 2 Operational Training Unit in Mildura, Victoria, Cresswell was appointed wing leader of No. 1 Wing on February 25th, 1944, at the specific request of its commander, Group Captain Peter Jeffery, to help reduce Spitfire accident rates. Cresswell left on May 12th to become wing leader and temporary commander of No. 81 (Fighter) Wing in Townsville, Queensland. Comprising three Kittyhawk squadrons, including No. 77, the wing transferred to Noemfoor in western New Guinea as part of No. 10 Operational Group. Cresswell arrived at Noemfoor on September 26th, 1944 to be informed by No. 81 Wing's new commander, Group Captain Gordon Steege, that he did not need a wing leader. Instead, Steege assigned Cresswell to command No. 77 Squadron, for the second time during the war. Cresswell questioned the decision through official channels, with the result that he retained the position of wing leader, as well as the command of No. 77 Squadron. The wing flew 1,125 sorties against Japanese buildings, stores and transport in October and November, dropping over 400,000 pounds (180,000 kg) of bombs for the loss of fifteen aircraft and eleven pilots.

The following month, Group Captain Wilfred Arthur replaced Steege as commander of No. 81 Wing, and Cresswell handed over command of No. 77 Squadron, while continuing to serve as wing leader. Arthur recommended Cresswell for a Distinguished Flying Cross. By the wars end Cresswell was on the twelve-week War Staff Course at the RAAF Staff School in Mount Martha, Victoria, when hostilities ended in the Pacific; the course finished on September 28th, 1945. He was then tasked with developing a P-51 Mustang conversion course, to train pilots for service with No. 81 Wing, comprising three Mustang squadrons, including No. 77, as part of the British Commonwealth Occupation Force in Japan. Cresswell served initially as the CCU's chief instructor, and then as commanding officer from March 29th, 1947. At the same time, he took command of the Williamtown base, as well as No. 78 (Fighter) Wing, which controlled two Mustang squadrons and several ancillary units, but Cresswell remained in command of Williamtown and No. 78 Wing until March 1948.

After a posting to Amberley, Queensland, Cresswell served on the directing staff of the first two courses held at the newly formed RAAF Staff College, Point Cook. On July 10th, 1950, he was appointed commanding officer of No. 21 (City of Melbourne) Squadron, a Citizen Air Force unit based at Laverton and equipped with Mustangs crewed by reserve pilots. Cresswell was unimpressed by what he saw as the casual attitude displayed by his part-time pilots and soon had them practising appropriate fighter tactics. When the Korean War broke out on June 25th, 1950, No. 77 Squadron was the only remaining RAAF unit of the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF) in Japan. Cresswell was despatched to replace the squadrons commanding officer in September. Cresswell thus became the only officer to lead the same RAAF squadron on three occasions during wartime. In an unusual move, the RAAF did not raise him to wing commander; he became No. 77 Squadron's longest-serving commanding officer of the Korean War, but also the only one ranked squadron leader. On April 20th 1951, the Americans awarded Cresswell the Air Medal for "meritorious service" and the Distinguished Flying Cross for "superior flying ability and extraordinary achievement". He was recommended for the Commonwealth Distinguished Flying Cross for "leadership of high order" on October 23rd, 1951; the award was promulgated on January 8th, 1952. Upon returning to Australia, Cresswell was promoted to wing commander and appointed Fighter Staff Member at the RAAF Directorate of Operations. In late 1952 he was "dared" to fly from the Royal Australian Navy aircraft carrier HMAS Sydney, and did so in a Hawker Sea Fury after completing conversion. After the Korean War ended Cresswell continued to serve as a fighter instructor. On December 3rd, 1954, Cresswell led a formation of twelve No. 2 OTU Vampires in the shape of two sevens over Sydney to greet No. 77 Squadron upon its return from Korea aboard the aircraft carrier HMAS Vengeance. Cresswell was posted to RAAF Headquarters, Melbourne, as Director of Air Staff Policy. The position put him in line for promotion to group captain but, as he admitted later, "I had itchy feet and I felt the Service had already given me all the operational flying I was likely to get." He decided to resign his commission in December 1956, and was discharged from the RAAF in April 1957.

In June 1957, Cresswell became regional manager of a Melbourne firm salvaging metal from the battlefields of New Guinea, but the company wound up its operations in Australasia barely a month later. Cresswell flew Noorduyn Norseman and Junkers Ju 52 aircraft out of Goroka until October 1958, when he was hospitalised with hepatitis. He attempted to rejoin the RAAF the following year but was found to be suffering from malaria and dengue fever, as well as the after-effects of hepatitis. In October 1959, he joined de Havilland Australia to fly DHC-2 Beavers in Antarctica. Cresswell's first marriage had failed after his return from the Korean War in 1951. He married Margaret Schwennesen, a pilot, on December 23rd,1959, he had two daughters. Cresswell began flying in Antarctica in January 1960, mapping sections of the continent claimed by Australia. De Havilland then assigned Cresswell to fly personnel and equipment for Australian Blue Metal in northern and central Australia. Between November 1960 and March 1961 he was involved in another Antarctic expedition, but in the end did little flying. De Havilland subsequently appointed Cresswell its sales representative in Canberra; in this capacity he travelled abroad and on one occasion flew the DHC-4 Caribou. After a series of minor heart attacks and two bypass operations, Cresswell resigned from de Havilland late in 1974 to live in South-East Queensland; his family elected to remain in Canberra. Cresswell continued his interest in military aviation, maintaining his RAAF connections, and patronising the Australian War Memorial (AWM) and the No. 77 Squadron Association. After divorcing Margaret, he married a third time in 1979 but his new wife died two years later, and he returned to Canberra in the mid-1980s at the urging of his daughters. In 1992 he led members of No. 77 Squadron in a march through the streets of Perth, which had granted the unit freedom of entry in recognition of its role in the city's defence fifty years earlier. Cresswell died in Canberra of a heart attack on December 13th, 2006, aged eighty-six, and was survived by his second wife Margaret and their two daughters. His funeral was held at the Royal Military College, Duntroon, which was overflown by four F/A-18 Hornet jet fighters from No. 77 Squadron in a "missing man" formation.

#world war 2 #second world war #world war ii #military history #wwii #history #biography #australian history #australian airforce

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