#all known to contribute to healthy hair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sexlapis · 4 months

Text

my baby, my baby…

୨ৎ toji x reader

gender neutral!reader, reader is having a difficult time ;(, talks of depression, anxiety, nausea & headaches, soft!toji

wc: 1.4k

a/n: been feeling down & blue lately… craving the comfort of big man 💭🧸

masterlists

relief floods you as you walk into your cosy house, abruptly dropping your bag on the floor carelessly and throwing off your uncomfortable shoes. a tired and weak sigh leaves your mouth as you plod in the living room.

there is a weight of a long day that rests heavy on your shoulders, the tendons of your muscles wound up tight, as is the nauseous pit in your lower stomach.

the superficial, constant chatter with your colleagues and clients, having to skip lunch due to how busy it was, the never ending feeling of isolation and loneliness even around so many other people, the confining feeling of businesswear, the everyday stress, how everyone relied on your contributions that you believe to be insignificant and trivial, the now growing headache at the back of your head…

you are exhausted.

sadly for you, your anxious nature likes to make itself known all throughout your whole entire body, most commonly burying itself in your stomach and intestine, morphing into faux sickness and nausea that no amount of pressure point massages or medicine could solve.

you are exhausted.

this behaviour of yours has been going on for the past two months and toji, your sweet and observant husband, has obviously taken notice.

he notices your dark circles and eyebags, your more drowsy and slow demeanour, the irritableness, the skin-picking to the point of blood drawn and the hair pulling. to say toji is worried would be an understatement.

he is being more gentle with you, you can tell. it’s like he’s walking on…eggshells around you, not wanting to say the wrong thing in case you blow up or have a meltdown.

you’re not a fan of such treatment even though you are aware that if he acted in any other way, you probably would have snapped by now.

toji asks if you are okay, if you need anything, if you want anything.

and you. you say no and proceed with your picture perfect daily routine of meditation, journaling, exercise, consuming a healthy breakfast, diligently working your job and going to sleep at a normal time.

yet none of these are able to quell the hollow in the depth of your organs, the same hollow that runs through your veins, your arteries and right to your very core.

you fall onto the couch and lay your body across it, sinking into the softness and resting your head down on a pillow.

now, after this shitty day, you just want to cuddle with your big, protective husband who you love dearly.

your phone vibrates against your leg and you snatch quickly despite your enervation, wishing the notification to be a message from toji. toji will make this all better.

unfortunately, nothing about your day seems to be going to plan.

tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you read over toji’s message.

toji🐻🩷

gonna be back really late dont stay awake for me

a frustrated snarl escapes from your lips and you’re flinging your phone across the room in a fit of fury, that is quickly replaced with sadness.

your shoulders shake and you cover your mouth to hold in your loud sobs, tears trickling down the bridge of your nose and cheek, soaking the pillow you lay on.

even in the sanctuary of your home, loneliness does not elude you at all.

the pounding in your head eased slightly, just enough for you to find repose as the past weeks finally catch up with you and you fall into a deep sleep.

toji enters the house around ten thirty at night. he cracks his neck, removes his shoes and places his rucksack on a nearby chair. his foot catches on something and he stumbles before regaining his balance, hissing in annoyance and looking back sharply to glare at whatever tripped him up.

your work shoes.

he looks around on the floor and sees your bag on the floor nearby.

that’s odd of you. you do not usually leave a mess on the floor, especially in the doorway.

toji huffs. “‘the hell…”

he hangs up his jacket on the coat rack and walks in the living room, where he then finds you, asleep on the couch.

it makes toji sigh. he told you not to wait for him. so why did you so clearly do just that?

you feel yourself being shaken back and forth by the shoulder and toji quietly calling out your name.

“_____…_____, wake up…”

you groan, blinking your eyes open. the dryness of your throat, the cracked skin of your lips and the drool smeared on your cheek is enough to tell you that you’ve been asleep for quite some time.

toji is back. it must be ten at night by now, and you arrived home at five.

you had been asleep for five hours.

toji sits on the couch next to where you thighs are, the seat dipping with his weight and places a hand on your waist, “_____, i told you to go to bed and not wait up, didn’t i?”

you sit up and lick your dry lips, trying to find your words. you look down and fiddle with your fingers, picking at your skin, “no, i…i didn’t..i didn’t,” you interrupt yourself with a long yawn, “i didn’t wait for you..jus’ fell asleep.”

“fell asleep, huh? in your work clothes and on the couch? _____, you never do that.”

a hum from you is the response he gets and silence falls thereafter.

toji takes this moment to scan you over.

the deep lines of fatigue under your eyes, the frown on your lips, the dullness in your once vibrant complexion, the newfound slowness of your movements, the lost look in your eyes..

you were not looking too good.

“hey,” he says softly, ducking his head a little to get a look at your downtilted face, “you okay? what’s wrong? please just tell me.”

the concern and tenderness in his voice flood your eyes with tears, and you whimper, “everything…everything is just fucking shit.”

a hiccuped sob leaves you as you start to really cry again, all of your pent up emotions coming to surface and you let it all out.

and toji is cooing at you, shocked at your sudden weeping but swiftly wrapping his arms around you and scooping you into his lap, “oh, baby…”

you bawl into his work uniform as he cradles you in his lap, nuzzling his face into the top of your head while rocking himself back and forth, calming you down with sweet “sh, sh, shh ‘s” and “i know, i know ‘s”.

the tension in your body lessens with each tear that rolls down your face, the release of emotions overwhelms yet relaxes you all at once.

toji strokes your head and back, calming your erratic, hefty breaths and your quick heartbeat until your weeps gradually turn into sniffles and your whimpers turn into sad hums.

it’s quiet for a while as you settle with toji’s help.

toji is still caressing your soft hair when he speaks again, “‘that feel better?”

“…mhm.”

“okay.”

a beat of silence falls over the two of you, the only sound being the crisp crackle of the fireplace and your heavy breathing.

you feel your face heat up in embarrassment at your emotional breakdown.

this was all your fault, anyway. if you had spoken to somebody about your feelings and had been honest with toji from the beginning, then this would not have happened. but that’s just the special thing about you. bottling up all of your emotions, letting the water and waves rise until the dam cracks and bursts open, destroying everything in its path including yourself.

“sorry…i’m sorry,” you garble tearfully, “i should’ve..should’ve said something sooner…”

“don’t be dumb, ‘s fine.”

toji fushiguro, the comforter you are.

toji isn’t the most gentle or sensitive man, but he’s him. he’s toji, broken and scarred and soft toji and that’s all that matters to you.

you nuzzle into his broad neck, inhaling the now soothing scent of smoke, cigarettes and rubber.

the safety, reassurance and protection you feel while in his arms was immense and nothing compared to it. knowing toji will always have your back and will always be there for and never judge makes you feel a little worse for not telling him about your issues. toji understands.

“y’know we’re gonna have to talk about this, right? no more keeping this shit to yourself.” toji asks.

“yeah,” you sigh, already dreading the looming but necessary conversation, “yes, i know.”

“but we can do it another day. ‘think someone needs some medicine and some food. and good nights sleep in a bed,” he squints his eyes as he looks down at you, making you cower. you’re definitely not saying no to that, “how does some takeout sound?”

warmth rushes through your chest as you stare at his love-filled eyes and how the orange light flickers across his face, which holds a tender expression. you feel better already.

“yeah, that sounds good toji.”

a/n: i luv toji <33

#toji x reader #toji fluff #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x self insert #toji fushiguro x y/n #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro x reader #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you

527 notes · View notes

jamespotterismydaddy · 6 months

Text

Academic Rivals

michael gavey x reader

summary: a partner project in the library leads to heightened emotions

A/N: a request from my dearest belie boo! hope you enjoy @valeskafics !!

TW: smut!, semi-public sex, degradation, hate-fucking, misogyny, michael is a little perv actually

word count: 1,788 words

You despise Michael Gavey. The smug bastard sits right next to you in history and the two of you constantly compete for top of the class. You’ll be the first one to admit that he’d have you beat in any math class but history is yours. The worst part of it is that your professor encourages the rivalry, insisting that it’s ‘healthy competition’. Which is why you’re currently (very apprehensively) making your way to the library to work on your partnered essay with Michael.

You don’t want to make it easy on him though so you strut in, ten minutes late with an iced coffee in your hand. You’re dressed in a sweater and a very short plaid skirt with black thigh highs that just reach under the hem of it. His eyes glance over you almost too quickly, like he’s trying to avoid your gaze.

“You’re late.” He says while looking at his notes.

“This part of the library wasn’t easy to find.” You look around and there isn’t a single person in your line of sight. “Maybe that’s why it’s so dead in here.”

He scoffs. “Or perhaps you’re late because you stopped to get overpriced coffee on the way. Whatever you’re drinking is more sugar than coffee anyhow.”

“So hateful today.” I tease.

“If you spent more time focusing on punctuality then I wouldn’t need to be.” He says pompously. “Get out your notes. I need your contributions for the analysis of economics during the 18th century.”

“In a moment.” You say as you pull out your compact mirror instead of your notes so you can check your hair. You don’t particularly care how it looks at the moment but you know your primping will piss him off.

“Did you even do your research or were you too focused with your own vanity to get the work done?” He asks in a snarky tone and your eyes dart up to meet his.

“Just because I enjoy putting an effort into looking good doesn’t mean i’m an airhead. Of course I did my research.” You say with a roll of your pretty eyes. Michael thinks you look particularly pretty when you’re angry.

“How should I have known any different? You spend more time worrying about getting attention than your studies. It’s pathetic really. You have so much potential, yet you let your feminine interests dominate you.” He says with a mock look of pity.

“Oh you poor thing. If my ‘feminine interests’ seem to dominate my life then why do I have the highest mark in our class? Shouldn’t you have the highest mark if you dedicate all your time to your studies?” You give him a sweet little smile and he is mortified at the way it makes his cock harden.

“History is hardly my top priority when i’m in much more academically challenging classes and I was top of the class last week so it won’t be long before I overtake you again anyhow.” He tries to act nonchalant but you can tell your words got to him.

“It’s probably difficult for you to do as well as you could when you spend most of the class staring at me.” You say and feel a sense of accomplishment when his cheeks turn crimson red.

“I only look at you because you spend all class talking and giving your half-brained takes on the French Revolution.” He retorts but his words are a little clumsy.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“It’s hot in here.” He says firmly.

“It is a little hot in here.” Your tone is casual but he can sense the mischief in your voice. His eyes widen as you shrug off your sweater to reveal a tight, white camisole underneath and because it isn’t really that warm in the library, your nipples harden under the garment and they poke through the fabric. “Something wrong, Michael?” You ask sweetly, noticing how his eyes are glued to your perky tits.

“No, of course not.” He answers too quickly and you smirk at him.

You stand up and walk over to his side of the table and sit on it right next to him, so your thigh could almost brush his arm. He can now clearly see the lacy hem off your stockings. “You’re so flustered. It’s pathetic.” You say a little cruelly and he stands abruptly, his chair almost tipping back.

“You’re a bitch.” He spits back at you.

“That’s no way to speak to a woman, Gavey. What would your mother think?”

He just glares at you for a moment and you can’t tell if it’s hate or lust burning in his eyes. You realize quickly that it’s the latter when he grips the back of your hair and forces your mouth to his. Michael presses himself against you and you can feel how painfully hard he is in his trousers as he kisses you roughly. You hate to say that you kiss back, enjoying how sloppy and inexperienced he is, although full of emotion.

He parts his mouth from yours but stays slotted between your thighs. He looks almost nervous, like he half expects you to slap him and leave. He’s fucking delighted when you roll your hips gently against his instead. The math nerd has never touched a woman before but he’s more than ready to grasp the opportunity. He slips both his hands right up your top and groans when he feels your soft tits. He massages them and you whine, lifting your shirt for him so he can see exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh, God.” He murmurs as he rolls your nipples between his fingers.

“Have you ever been within two feet of a woman?” You ask him with a cruel little smirk but then you squeak as he pinches your nipple hard. “Ow! Fuck, Michael.” You whine.

“You fucking slut.” He murmurs and you can’t tell if it’s a term of endearment or just plain old misogyny. “Always have some bratty little remark to say.”

Your eyes glaze over a little and you pout at the way he looks at you. You would never think that a virgin could act so dominant.

He looks like he’s fighting some conflict in his mind before he speaks. “Now, you’re going to take your underwear off and bend over the table… then i’m going to fuck you.” He says it like it’s a command but it’s almost as if he’s trying to breathe a dream into reality. When you obey him, his eyes widen and he begins to make quick work on the removal of his belt. He can hardly believe that a woman as hot as you just listened to him, that a woman who seems to despise him with every inch of her being has just bent over a table, waiting to be fucked by him.

He lifts up your skirt, feeling more bricked than he’s ever been as he rubs his hand over your ass. He gives a firm slap to your right cheek just to see how you’d react and he’s pleased when you whimper. Michael runs his fingers through your folds as he finally releases his cock from his pants. He pumps himself as he rubs you, enjoying how wet you are, knowing it means you like it.

“Jesus, Michael, are you gonna stand there all day or are you going to fuck me?” You barely manage to get the question out when he decides to slam himself, balls deep, inside of you. You whine out as you try to get used to how big he is. You really didn’t expect him to be so hung.

All he can do is think to himself, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum. As he tries to block out the sound of your voice so he doesn’t spill himself inside you prematurely.

“Michael…” You whimper out, not even knowing why you’re saying his name.

“Shut the fuck up.” He murmurs before beginning to move himself in and out of you. “Little fucking brat, thinking you’re smarter than me.” He starts to thrust harder. “I’m the smartest person in this entire fucking school.”

His cock is slamming in and out of you at this point and all you can do is let out little moans from how roughly he’s treating you.

“Say it. Say i’m the smartest person in the school.”

“Fuck you, asshole.” You manage to groan out from under him.

He grins. “That’s my job.” Michael may have never had sex before this but he sure as hell knows how the woman’s body works. So, his fingers snake around your front so he can roll your clit between his fingers. You let out a strangled gasp. “Say it. Now.”

“You’re the… smartest�� person… in the school.” He punctuates your words with his thrusts as his hips slam against yours, making you stutter at every other word.

“Good girl.” He says smugly.

You give him no warning when you cum and the way your pussy squeezes and convulses around his cock almost makes him fall to his knees and pray to God in thanks. He cums instantly after you, not having the self control to hold it back anymore and not having the will to pull out as he spills deep inside of you.

He now fully contextualizes the fact that, no matter if it’s a deserted section, the two of you are still in the library. He pulls himself out quickly and you whine at the abruptness of it all as he swiftly begins to clothe himself.

“Get dressed!” He urges but you can hardly do more than lie there after being fucked so hard.

You move slowly as you pull up your panties and fix your skirt and top, your thigh-highs looking rumpled.

“We’re going to be expelled!” He panics as he kneels down to straighten up your thigh-highs for you.

“Nobody saw and there’s no cameras in here.” You say as you manage to pull yourself together enough to roll your eyes.

“T-This is your fault!” He exclaims.

Post-nut spiralling i guess.

“My fault?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yes, it's your fault! You seduced me!” He gets his things together, his face one shade off of a tomato.

“Then it won’t happen again.” You say simply. His face drops.

“Whatever.” He seems to have calmed down a bit, slightly irritated by your words.

You sigh and decide that it’s best to leave while you’re ahead.

“Goodbye, Michael.” You say in a sing-songy tone as you strut away, now leaving him as the dazed one.

“B-But we didn’t start the essay!” Is all he can get out before you turn around the corner and out of his sight.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 7 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey

sorry if y'all only wanted to be on my hotd taglist i forget

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #michael gavey #ewan mitchell #ewanverse #saltburn #saltburn smut

628 notes · View notes

eddieschains · 6 months

Text

Drift

TW// slight mentions of abandonment issues if you look closely, not proofread, fluff

Eddie was always a night owl. At least that’s what he told himself to make him feel better. But you knew it was more than that. Once the sun went down and he was left alone with his thoughts, they ran all around his head and wouldn’t stop.

He tried his hardest to sleep at a decent time, but he had given up years ago. Most of the time, he wasn’t able to drift off until Wayne got home. And considering he didn’t get home until about 3am, that was definitely a problem. But something about just knowing someone was there with him was enough to let himself drift off into the safety that was sleep.

You took notice immediately when you started dating. You would wake up in the middle of the night to get a drink or use the bathroom, and he’d still be awake. He always said he had woke up in the middle of the night too, but you knew that was a lie.

You tried to give him ways to help him sleep like humming his favorite songs over the phone at night, telling him to watch some boring cable movie, drinking sleepy time tea, and none of it worked. You hated seeing him so awfully tired in the morning, his eyes bloodshot and puffy from lack of relaxation. You just wanted him to be happy and healthy in every way possible.

Wayne had to go away on a work trip, leaving Eddie alone in the trailer at night. You knew that meant he wouldn’t be sleeping at all. You took it upon yourself to come over, at least for a few hours of the night to help hopefully soothe him to sleep before sneaking back home before your parents noticed you were gone.

You were both sat on the couch, holding each other under the blankets as you watched whatever late night show you landed on while channel surfing. You rested your head on his shoulder, looking up at him to see if there were signs of exhaustion yet.

“Feeling sleepy yet?” You ask quietly, rubbing your thumb over his wrist. He looks down at you with a soft smile, shaking his head and kissing the top of yours.

“No. But it’s okay, sweetheart. You know I don’t sleep until late.” He holds you closer to him, squeezing you a little bit tighter.

“Yeah, but then you wake up more tired than you should be.” You frown. “And Wayne is gone… I just don’t want you to be a walking zombie in the morning.”

“Honey, I’m a walking zombie every morning.” He chuckles, placing another kiss to your forehead. “Plus, you’ll be leaving soon too. Even if I fell asleep right now, you know i’d wake up eventually when I realize i’m alone.”

You sigh. You knew Eddie had a problem with being alone, and that it contributed to his sleeping problems. He just needed someone there with him to make him feel safe.

You decided that whatever trouble you would get in with your parents for not coming home was worth being able to take care of Eddie. You wiggle out of his grip and stand up, holding your hand out for his.

“C’mon. I have an idea.” You smile as he looks at you with furrowed brows. He grabs your hand and stands up with you, allowing you to lead him to his room.

You grab one of his favourite books, The Hobbit, and take a seat on his bed, patting the mattress to tell him to sit next to you.

He takes a seat next to you, pushing the hair out of your face and kissing your cheek. “What are you doing, baby?”

“Gonna read to you.” You say as if he should’ve already known. “M’not leaving until you fall asleep.”

“But your moms gonna get mad at you.” He answers concerningly, continuing to kiss your cheek down to your shoulder.

“Let her be. My boyfriend needs me.” You smile and turn to kiss him softly. “Now c’mere.” You pat your lap as he moves to lay his head in it.

You comb his hair out of his face with your fingers, massaging his scalp lightly as you open up the book.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…”

You continue reading before you start feeling tired yourself. Your yawns interrupting your reading, so you set the book down on the bedside table and play with Eddie’s hair some more.

You look down to see his eyes are closed, his breathing is steady and there’s a slight snore coming from him. You giggle to yourself and kiss the top of his head before pulling a blanket over the both of you, drifting off into sleep with him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

161 notes · View notes

sepulchralsmile · 2 months

Text

give me your watchword, give me whatever you like

my harringrove relay race contribution following @kaizenkhaos! hope you all like!!

Well, it’s official. Steve has finally lost it.

And he thought he was doing so well, too.

Forget all the probable brain damage from concussions over the years, all the times he’s dealt with the supernatural and alternate universes, every nightmare he’s had since junior year of high school. Sure, it wasn’t great, but he was still able to trust his own sanity, of all things.

At least until now.

Right now he’s almost completely certain he’s hallucinating. Because there is no way in hell he sees Billy fucking Hargrove on the dance floor at the gay bar he and Robin are in; shirtless and sweating and dancing.

And like, the last time Steve saw Billy was right after Starcourt, when he was stuck in the government hospital all the way in Indianapolis. He’d driven Max there a couple times, when her step mom wasn’t feeling up to it, and had popped into Billy’s room maybe three times in total. Each time he went Billy was the same: quiet, pale, and looking entirely too fragile in the hospital bed. Not like the loud, boisterous, larger-than-life Billy Hargrove that he’d thought he’d known. They’d had a couple of stilted conversations— most of which consisted of Billy just staring at him— and that was pretty much the end of their interactions. About a month later he was transferred to Chicago, and then the only one to see him after that was just Max.

But he’d figured Billy would probably leave Chicago the second he was cleared and book it back home to California. Max was there with Lucas. Apparently, he’d stayed.

And apparently, he was at the same bar the exact same night Steve and Robin went. The same gay bar.

So, yeah. He’s officially lost his marbles. Sucks that it has to be now, like, right at this moment. But it was probably inevitable, to be honest.

“Hey!” Robin screams in his ear, leaning close and shoving a shot into his clammy palms. She’s been up at the bar for the last ten minutes, fighting against the crowd to get them drinks. She furrows her brows at whatever’s on his face. “What’s wrong? What’s with the look?”

Instead of answering right away, he throws the drink back first. Resists the instinct to ralph it back up immediately, focusing instead on swallowing through the burn down his throat. Fuck. He has to screw his eyes shut for a second and try to breathe through his nose. It’s been a while since he’s had tequila, but Robin’s been pushing him all night to just relax, so it figures that this is what she would poison him with.

It at least helps soften the edges of everything, so when he finally opens his eyes and blinks past the burn of alcohol, he’s brave enough to point across the room. “Tell me what you see, please. And be honest. Even if there’s no one there.”

Robin’s head swivels in the direction that he’s pointing, and her mouth immediately drops open, while his stomach sinks into his gut. No way. No fucking way.

“Holy fucking shit!” Robin screams, punching him in the shoulder, “That’s fucking Hargrove!”

“So you see him too?” He asks weakly, mouth clicking on a dry swallow.

“Um, it’s kinda hard not to,” Robin rolls her eyes at him, shoving him in the chest this time. “I mean— just look at him.”

He is. Steve’s been staring at him this entire time. Billy’s still in the middle of the floor, just moving with the music, dancing with no one in particular. He’s completely shirtless; scars on full display but not looking like that’s bothering him in the slightest. He’s grinning to himself. There’s perspiration on his chest, making it shine when the strobe lights beat down on him.

He looks the same as he did in high school but… bigger. So much bigger. No longer suffering from the extreme weight loss and muscle atrophy from Starcourt. His hair is glossy and shiny, reflecting the colors of the lights strobing around him. He looks so healthy, too, it’s like he’s practically glowing. Which could be the effect from the club’s lights— but he’s not entirely convinced. There’s no doubt about it: Billy looks good.

It’s all just making Steve hot under the collar, but it’s like he can’t look away. It’s just… fucking insane. That’s why he can’t stop looking. No other reason, at all.

When he turns back, Robin is watching him now— eyes narrowed in a way that only spells trouble for him. She opens her mouth, ready to say something that’s probably about to completely disrupt his entire existence and peace as he knows it.

“Do you think he knows it’s a gay bar?” Steve blurts before he can think better, screaming over the bass. Fuck, that shot is getting to him. His cheeks go warm.

Now Robin is looking at him like he’s the craziest thing in here. “Uh, yeah Steve. I’d say he probably knows this is a gay bar.” Her eyes narrow into slits and she leans in closer. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“He’s— he’s in a fucking gay bar!” He gestures towards Billy’s direction, verging on hysterical. Robin doesn’t seem to understand how fucking crazy this information is, though, laughing at him outright.

“I hate to point this out, honey— but we’re in a gay bar, too.”

“Yeah, but we’re—” he waves a hand in between them, “you know.”

She quirks a brow. “And what if he’s ‘you know’ too?”

He scoffs, shrugging her off. Refuses to even let himself start thinking in that direction. “No way.”

“Steve, he is literally in a gay bar,” she looks over his shoulder and her eyes get big and wide, “and he’s also coming this way, so. Look alive!”

He wheels around and— sure enough, there’s Hargrove. Making his way towards them, eyes pinned directly on Steve. Slinking over to them, smooth and deadly like a big cat; prowling like he’s just seen a tasty cut of meat. He doesn’t look mad, or anything, but the intensity is enough to have Steve backing into Robin.

“We gotta go,” he hisses out the corner of his mouth, hand reaching behind him to find her.

But Robin, the fucking traitor, pushes him forward hard enough that he goes stumbling right into— oh, yep. That’s Billy’s chest. His naked chest. The one that’s hard as a rock with packed muscle. The sweaty one. And yeah, that’s definitely Billy holding him by the forearms and straightening him out. Oh, Christ. He’s so warm. This is so bad.

“Harrington,” Billy drawls, grinning like the cat who got the canary. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Steve flaps his mouth open and shut for a couple seconds, desperately trying to find something to say that isn’t just holy shit holy shit holy shit. His voice is deeper than it was in high school. It’s currently Doing Things to Steve, right now. Billy just quirks the corner of his mouth up, amused, eyes roving over Steve’s face before settling on Robin behind him.

“Hey, Buckley,” he greets, like it’s no big deal, like they see each other every Tuesday, or some shit. “How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good; just living life, all that jazz,” Robin babbles from behind him. Steve’s expecting the light push on his back this time, firmly fighting against it and staying in place instead of stumbling into Billy again. Gritting his teeth and trying to think past the pounding pulse in his neck.

“Good to hear,” Billy nods, eyes flicking to Steve to give him a full-body once over before shifting back to her. “Cat got Harrington’s tongue or something? I’ve been told I can make people speechless.” He tosses a wink her way, and Steve can hear her gagging audibly over the pounding bass.

“Are you gay?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. The second the words are out of his mouth he clamps his jaw shut, wishing there was some way he could wire it closed before he says mortifying shit like that. It’s just that… he has to know. He has to. Like, it’s not enough that Billy’s here— but he’s gotta hear the words too, like an extra form of assurance.

Turns out whatever he was worried for was all for nothing, though, because Billy just tosses his head back and laughs. A full on belly laugh, too, like this is the funniest shit he’s heard all week. Which, you know, is fair. And he’s not ashamed to admit it’s an attractive laugh, so. Steve’s cheeks go even hotter, if it’s possible.

“Holy shit,” Billy wipes a tear from his eye, still giggling a little. Steve desperately tries not to hone in on that sound. “Damn, I needed that. Yeah, Harrington, I am. Which is why I’m celebrating my birthday in a gay bar.”

“It’s your birthday?” Steve latches on to the most random part of the statement, trying to get his head to stop spinning about the fact that Billy just came out like it was nothing. Like it’s not throwing his mind through an absolute loop. Completely erasing the previously formed perception of the macho, straight Billy Hargrove that he knew in high school. Upending his idea of reality as he knows it.

Billy’s grin is softer, now. It looks really good on him, Steve finds himself noticing. “Yeah, pretty boy, it is.”

And— oh god, he hasn’t heard that in so long. That’s the only reason why he gets a full body shiver at the nickname.

Of course Billy notices, though, because his smile sharpens into something more deadly. He leans into Steve’s space, and it takes all of his self control not to pant like a dog at the combined scent of Billy’s sweat and cologne. It’s heady and overwhelming; making his nerves light on fire while his mouth gets wet. Fuck, this is bad. This is way bad. Billy’s canines look sharper in the pulsing overhead lights.

“So, Harrington,” he purrs, so close now it’s impossible not to hear him over the thumping bass. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine. “You gonna give me a birthday dance? A little present just for me?”

He’s pretty sure he short-circuits then. Just, like, goes completely offline while he stares at Billy, mouth hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies, or something. Of all the things he expected— it wasn’t that.

Billy just watches with an easy grin, one eyebrow going up as he glances over Steve’s shoulder.

“Should I take that as a no?” He asks Robin, teasing, “Or is going speechless a good sign?”

“A good sign!” Robin yells over his shoulder, before she leans forward into his ear and grabs him tightly around the biceps, “Say something, you idiot,” she hisses in his ear.

He fucking would if he could, okay? As it is, he’s having trouble even taking in air without choking and hacking on it like he’s deranged, or something. Billy Hargrove is offering him a dance. Scratch that: a gay, shirtless, indecently sweaty Billy Hargrove is offering him a dance.

Billy waggles his eyebrows. “Well?” One of his hands sweeps along Steve’s side, grazing his arm on the way down before landing on his waist. All the hairs on his body stand up, like he’s been electrified. “C’mon, pretty boy, don’t leave me hanging.”

And, like. God. That old nickname is really doing something for him. Makes him go hot all over, cheeks heating up under Billy’s gaze. Erasing any and all forms of higher thinking in his brain. It’s enough to make him nod at Billy, like he’s in a trance. Mouth going as dry as cotton and clicking with every swallow.

Luckily, Billy doesn’t seem to mind the fact that he’s gone nonverbal. He just flashes another smile at Robin with gleaming white teeth— something shark-like about it— and tugs on the hem of Steve’s shirt, dragging him out onto the dance floor.

Steve follows him, mouth still dry as dust and heart rabbiting in his chest. Trying to keep his breathing calm and steady. There’s so many bodies that they’re practically pressed together as they weave through the crowd, settling some place between the center of the dance floor and where Robin is standing on the outskirts, sending him a quick thumbs up when his anxious gaze catches hers across the room. Good luck! she mouths, making big eyes at him. Steve just swallows down his nerves and turns back to Billy.

Jesus, he used to be smooth. Once upon a time he was a real lady-killer with a silver tongue and an endless vat of confidence. Now he feels like a deer in headlights, waiting for Billy to make the first move.

And he does. One second he’s staring at Billy, motionless and tethered to the spot. Holding his breath in anticipation and waiting for whatever happens next. The next moment, Billy’s using his grip on Steve’s shirt to twist him around, so his back is plastered to Billy’s chest. Billy’s sweaty, naked chest. It’s like a firm brick wall behind him, making him shockingly aware of how easy it is to manhandle him around— also making him fucking salivate. Billy’s so goddamn strong, it feels like his head is spinning.

Before Steve can start fucking hyperventilating, Billy’s other hand falls to his hip. Both hands grip him tight, slipping under his t-shirt to touch his waist, skimming his fingers along the skin underneath lightly. His hands are so warm Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to spontaneously combust, or something. Deep breaths, he tries to tell himself, just keep taking deep breaths.

When Billy starts nudging him a little to move his hips, Steve goes with the movement. Sort of. He tries to sway to the beat, but he can barely hear past the roar of blood rushing in his ears. Can’t even hear the music playing. Trying not to seem like a robot, even though he’s shifting all stilted and weird like he’s never danced a day in his life before.

He’s just having a hard time getting out of his head, is the thing. It’s throwing him through fucking loop, trying to reconcile the image of Billy he’d had up until this point— and the knowledge that he’s been dead wrong probably this entire time. All he can think is a constant loop of holy shit, I’m dancing with Billy Hargrove in a gay bar.

Behind him, Billy huffs into his ear. His hot breath ghosts down Steve’s nape, sending another round of goosebumps breaking out over his skin. “You okay, baby? Need some help?”

And. Wow, um. Okay.

He’s so caught off guard by the sheer wave of want lurching through his gut that he doesn’t even reply, just nods desperately and pushes himself closer to into Billy’s chest. Relishing the way Billy tightens his grip even more, moving his hips into a smooth, steady grind. Grumbling low and deep behind him, like he’s satisfied.

Steve should probably be ashamed of panting openly in the club, eyes shutting tightly as his jaw hangs loose. He can’t find it in himself to give a shit, though, especially when he can feel Billy’s ragged breaths on the back of his neck. Billy’s hands go from clenching the sides of his hips to smoothing down, lowering closer to his center, holding him around the front of his hip bones. Dragging fingers across his stomach in a way that makes Steve shake where he stands. Still firm and unyielding, physically dragging Steve back into the clutch of his hips as the bass around them pounds relentlessly.

He feels the light imprint of lips on the back of his neck, followed by the quick, darting lick of a tanuge.The frisson of white-hot heat that’s been building in his gut feels like it bursts through his stomach and spreads across the rest of his skin, making him shiver back into Billy’s grip and desperately scrabble at something to hold onto; eventually gripping Billy’s forearms and feeling the cord of muscle tighten under his fingers with each movement.

Billy makes a choked noise behind him, right in Steve’s ear, making him feel wild. He can’t help but laugh out loud in disbelief as he recognizes the scene he’s currently in: pressed up against Billy Hargrove in a gay club grinding with his mouth open, looking all sorts of wanton. He doesn’t even wanna think if Robin’s still watching at this point. He’s almost close to no shame, pushing back into Billy’s grip and turning his head so their mouths are closer.

“Harrington,” Billy grounds out, and Steve hates how much he already misses pretty boy instead, “you’re driving me crazy, pressed up against me like that.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s breathless, feeling a little manic. Shoves his hips back into Billy’s while giggling all high and desperate. Trying to maybe get those lips on the back of his neck again. Or somewhere else. Can barely even recognize himself when he asks, “You gonna do something about it?”

Billy makes a low noise behind him, fingers tightening enough to bruise as he drags Steve back towards him again, breathing hot down his neck. Steve jumps at the cold press of Billy’s nose to the side of his throat, but calms down a second later when he feels warm breath fan out over his nape.

“You saying I should?” Billy grits out roughly. The vibration against his neck has Steve fighting back a gasp, squirming in his hold and digging his fingers in the meat of Billy’s forearms. He feels like he’s about to catch on fire in the middle of the club.

It feels like he’s been possessed or something; scooped out of his own body and replaced with a pod person. It’s the only way he can explain the hot rush that spreads like a wave through his body. It’s also the only way he can justify tilting his head to the side. Asking without really asking. Hoping that maybe Bilyy understands what he wants, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

They lock eyes over Steve’s shoulder. Billy’s eyes are bright and magnetic, fixed on Steve’s face with a sort of hunger he’s pretty sure he’s never seen actually directed towards him. Billy looks like he’s burning up too; sweaty and seeming just as desperate as Steve feels.

“Lemme taste you, pretty boy,” Billy practically begs into his ear, breathing gone harsh and choppy. Steve feels all the air leave his body at once as a hot rush of a tidal wave knocks him down, raising his temperature by a couple thousand degrees. “C’mon, baby, just wanna get my mouth on you.”

God. He just. Can’t help but shiver at pretty boy and baby.

And it’s Billy’s birthday, okay? Who is he to resist the wishes of the birthday boy? What kind of a person would he be? It’s pretty flimsy reasoning, he’s aware, but it’s the final hurdle he clears before he’s nodding in response, tilting his head back just another inch so Billy can lean in and finally close the distance. He screws his eyes shut and holds his breath, waiting for Billy to pounce.

And he does. Without waiting another second, he swoops in; twisting Steve so they’re facing each other head on. There’s barely a second for Steve to get startled by the abrupt change in movement before Billy’s leaning forward, licking into his mouth without any other preamble. The first kiss is more like a chaotic frenzy: teeth clacking together as they pant into each other’s mouths, Billy licking behind his gums and going straight up to the roof of his mouth. Trying to taste every inch of Steve’s mouth, it feels like. Steve’s hands scrabbling for purchase on his biceps. Before long, though, it peters into something less harried and desperate, and more into something wide and enveloping. Without a second thought he’s winding his arms around Billy’s neck; one hand gripping onto his sweaty shoulder while the other wanders up to his hair, digging his fingers into the curls at the root. At that, Billy makes a low noise, and pushes into him further.

It feels like he’s losing his mind. Losing time too, for sure, because at this point it feels like they've been kissing in the middle of the dance floor for hours. He kisses Steve in a way he’s never been kissed before: pure want and need practically pouring from him in every movement. Steve breaks away to take in a gasp of air, head spinning, and Billy quickly draws him back in with a hand on his jaw. His fingers grip tight enough to make Steve open his mouth a little more, and he nearly collapses when Billy immediately licks behind his teeth, holding him there firm as he gets a thorough tour of Steve’s mouth. The last time he made out with someone was like three months ago, and it was nothing compared to this. No kiss he’s had has ever been something like this. Something that makes him feel so desperate he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get more.

Billy finally takes pity on his mental state by gradually lightening up on the pressure, slowing down until he’s just sucking wet kisses to the side of Steve’s mouth and jawline as he tries to get his breathing back under control, staring blankly at the jumble of bodies ahead of him as he tries to get oxygen back up to his brain.

Holy shit. He can’t help but shake in Billy’s arms a little, wrecked from the continuous attention, squirming at the kisses pressing down from his jawline to the side of his neck. His fingers tighten in Billy’s hair involuntarily, and the huff he gets against his neck in response almost has him dragging Billy back up to his mouth. He resists. Barely.

Billy finally pulls back from his neck with an audible pop! and eyes that look just as dazed as Steve’s probably do. Steve can only watch, entranced, as Billy licks a line of spit from his shiny red mouth. Lips swollen from practically mauling Steve’s face just a minute ago. Billy’s eyes never leave his. Steve’s panting like he just ran a marathon, and his arms shake where they’re tightly wound around Billy.

“Woah,” he breathes, and then immediately wants to smack himself after. Woah? That’s all he can say? After Billy Hargrove just tongue-fucked him for like ten minutes straight in the middle of the club?

Billy lets out a breathy laugh, hands smoothly moving down from his waist to dig into his back pockets. Steve stops breathing for a second. Billy flexes his fingers in the pockets, cupping Steve’s ass through the denim. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Steve blinks back at him, thrown. His mouth drops open a little. “Really?”

He’d honestly thought it was the fluke of the century; making out with Billy Hargrove in a gay club kind of seemed like a serendipitous anomaly that the universe chugged out maybe once every ten thousand years. One of those things that made sense at the time and with the circumstances, but if he’d actually heard it he would never believe it. Finding out that Billy actually wanted to kiss him? And it apparently wasn’t the first time he wanted to do it? Steve was pretty sure his brain was melting in between his ears, trying to make sense of the whole thing. It takes him a minute to blink past the confusion so he can ask, “For how long?”

Billy throws his head back and laughs the second time that evening. Steve can’t help but admire the lines that crinkle around his mouth and eyes. Somehow, Billy even makes wrinkles look good. He tightens his grip around Billy when he notices others admiring, too.

“For-fucking-ever, babe,” Billy finally gets out, eyes roaming over Steve’s face. Looking intense and searching as he bites his lip. Steve’s eyes track the movement, and he feels his own mouth go dry. Making him feel breathless and squirming as Billy keeps on looking. “If I could’ve had you that first day, I would’ve.”

And— what?

He can’t keep the surprise off his face even as Billy lets out another bray of laughter. He’s too busy trying to comprehend a reality where Billy apparently wanted him this whole time and— “What the fuck?”

Billy at least has the decency to look sheepish, peering at Steve from under his thick lashes. Knowing exactly what that look is doing to him. “I never said I was smart about it. I wanted you so fucking bad, I couldn’t even think.”

Steve has to shut his eyes. Shake his head past the disbelief and utter shock he’s experiencing right now. “Fuck, Billy, I—”

“Why do you think I was always on you, huh?” Billy’s voice is right in his ear again, deep and smooth. Making Steve’s hands drop to his shoulders and grapple for purchase. “Had to always have your eyes on me, no matter what. Couldn’t help myself.”

And, okay. Yeah. Now that he says it like that, Steve has a way easier time believing that Billy’s actually wanted him for this long. All at once his mind brings up every interaction they had in high school, rolling down through the words and images and lighting up with understanding— followed by embarrassment at somehow not seeing it before. Jesus, Billy was obvious in high school, now that he actually thinks about it. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, it was pretty fuckin’ embarrassing,” Billy laughs, shrugging his shoulders. Squeezes Steve’s ass again, making his head spin. He leans closer, and Steve feels the air between them ignite. “But I have your eyes on me now, don’t I?”

When Steve doesn’t answer at first, still too overcome by everything, Billy tightens the grip on his ass through his back pockets, digging his fingers into the meat of his cheeks. Tugging and kneading so rough that Steve gasps wetly, writhing in Billy’s grip and pressing himself forward. “Don’t I?”

“Yes,” Steve practically sobs, fingers straightening and curling over Billy’s sweaty skin, fingers slipping as he tries to regain balance and control. He can feel it slipping fast; the scales tilting into further desperation as Billy holds him close, whispering hot into his ear.

“You gonna let me take you home?” Billy practically purrs now, one hand reaching up to cup his jaw again. Pulling him back a little so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. His grip is tight, but his gaze is warm as he asks again, “You gonna let me treat you right, pretty boy? Show you what I wanted to do to you in high school?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” He blabbers back, not able to say yes fast enough. Maybe there’s a part of him that should feel ashamed at how eagerly he accepts, but it’s easy to ignore when Billy keeps staring at him like how he is now: utterly obsessed. Looking like he’s about to devour Steve right there in the middle of the club, and— oh fuck. “Wait,” it’s a conscious effort to fight past the cobwebs clinging to his brain, “Robin.”

Billy snorts, nodding at something over his shoulder. “Pretty sure she’ll be fine for the night, baby.”

When Steve cranes his head over his shoulder he sees Robin hovering by the bar, engaged in an animated conversation with a girl that involves way too many hand gestures. Still, she looks like she’s holding her own. And it’s kind of reassuring to know that she wasn’t just, like, staring at him making out with Billy for the last ten minutes. Even out of morbid curiosity.

Feeling bold because of the kiss, and more brazen than he’s ever felt in a while, Steve turns back to Billy. Slides his hands up his chest, resting over his pecs. Thumbing at his nipples, getting his fill of warm, sweaty skin beneath his palms. Reveling in the way Billy shivers beneath his touch, gripping him even tighter. “Okay, birthday boy: take me back to yours. Rock my world.”

He feels a little shaky saying it, but the answering grin he gets from Billy is worth it for the trouble. One of Billy’s hands leaves his back pocket to hold his hand, fingers intertwining with Steve’s in a way that has his brain melting even further. Oh, god. How is hand holding the thing that’s fucking him up the most?

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Billy tugs at their tangled fingers, “let’s get outta here.”

Billy pulls and Steve stumbles after him, sending one quick wave Robin’s way before he follows; cheeks red and eyes bright. When Billy turns to glance behind him he just gives him a smile. Billy squeezes their hands once before turning back around. Steve lets himself be tugged, running a free hand through his hair as he lets the goofy grin spill across his face. Jesus. He’s probably about to be fucked by Billy Hargrove tonight. And he’s excited about it. Whew. High school Steve wouldn’t know what hit him.But high school Steve apparently affected Billy a lot, so— he squeezes his own fingers around Billy, going breathless and smiling back softly when Billy tosses a fond look over his shoulder. Yeah, tonight’s gonna be good.

~~~

i hope you all liked it, i'll be posting it on ao3 as well later :) next in the race is @writer-in-theory!!

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my fic #harringrove fic #harringrove relay race

57 notes · View notes

seafoamreadings · 8 months

Text

week of october 8th, 2023

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: this week's new moon is also a solar eclipse and it's in libra, your seventh house. that's your committed partnerships, political or business alliances, and known enemies arena; the way you live in the world is reflected in the people who you interact with. the volatility inherent in eclipse times can help you break any undesired patterns and start fresh.

taurus: venus moves into virgo. ignore the old timey suggestions that that placement is somehow bad; your ruling planet is not super comfortable there but there's nothing inherently unfortunate about it. discomfort spurs growth, and virgo is an earth sign like you. let it be a blossom rather than a wilt. the week is capped by a solar eclipse to help you shift your routine if you want. also if you don't want! out with the old.

gemini: eclipse season is on. sensitive folks already feel this weekend's agitation but if you don't yet, you'll see it by the weekend. if you make art this is an incredible time for an emotionally moving piece. be aware of the likelihood of unplanned pregnancies, conflicts with children, and drama in romantic flings.

cancerians: obviously the eclipse would have to be the most significant transit of the week for such a lunar creature as you. you may need a change of scenery, beautify or clean or repair your home, or just reboot your system after an exhausting period.

leo: venus leaving your sign may take a little (just a little) of the volume and shine out of your hair but it does bless your income or material resources, one way or another, and contributes to a good healthy self concept and the ability to live authentically.

virgo: a venusian ingress into your sign brings a little glamor into your life. avoid getting into any martyr/victim mentalities. by the end of the week the solar eclipse causes a security shift. for the better or not? depends on how you've been doing things since last eclipse season!

libra: your week is most likely nothing short of momentous as your ruling planet changes sign AND there is an eclipse in your sign. some of you are still having birthdays and this may occur near your sun's degree which would make for an interesting solar return. expect upheaval but maintain poise as well as you can, and remember that although the unknown can be scary, since you don't know what is coming, there is a chance it will be beautiful. don't assume the worst.

scorpio: while eclipse season may feel to you like a sort of dark night of the soul, venus into virgo at least means you're magnetizing helpful and kindly people. mentors, good samaritans, friends, neighbors, and network connections. you are not alone in whatever the struggle is; lean on support even if you aren't sure yet where to find it. it is there. keep looking.

sagittarius: you may gain and lose friends seemingly at the drop of a hat this week as the eclipse does its thing in libra. meanwhile venus into your 10th house means all eyes are on you, and even if you make a mistake you recover gracefully and everyone is impressed. so let yourself slough off the acquaintances who don't appreciate you. move on.

capricorn: solar eclipses and venusian transits will get most of the hype this week and yes they affect you, but almost unique to you is the groaning out of retrograde of pluto in the far reaches of your sign, heading for practical purposes permanently out of your sign again. a destruction occurs, which may be blamed on an eclipse, but it clears space for new growth or construction.

aquarius: for the most part you have no issues expanding your horizons. but wherever you've chosen to stay small out of fear or "respect" or for any other reason, you are forced to grow large this week, ready or not, like it or not.

pisces: this week's venusian activity affects you more strongly than the eclipse (unless you're also a libran or something). maybe this is something to be grateful for. while eclipses aren't always bad they are by nature volatile, and venus tends to be much more stately. from now she begins to focus on your partnerships and commitments.

#astrology #weekly horoscope #horoscope #weekly horoscopes #horoscopes #signs #zodiac #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

87 notes · View notes

kashilascorner · 1 month

Text

May Day Parade: May 1-5: Morbid Month of May {May King Mordred}

My contribution this time is a short story. You can read it under the cut or here. Happy birthday Mordred!

The night Mordred was born it was very cold. Colder than Mays should be, I was told. My mother's labor was harder than ever before, harder than it should have been. I was old enough to remember the baby girl, and later the baby boy she had had a few years ago: they were so small and so soft, and mother looked very happy. I remember my father, so proud of his children, of his healthy seed and his strong wife. But this time it was different. Mother labored for more than a day and I could hear her struggling from the corridors. The castle was so quiet, and it was raining outside, so there was nothing for us to do but to wait, and wait. My father, in his throne room, waited, at first calmly and later pacing frantically. He had dismissed all of his barons and gathered all of us, his children, with him. Gawain busied himself with painting a wooden horse for Gareth (he has always been the type of person who cannot keep his hands idle), and Gaheris clung to me, begging me to play with him. Back then I thought I was too old to be playing games, so I just stared at the rain falling outside and patiently waited for Gaheris to tire himself down. The little ones were also strangely quiet, as if they knew better than to be noisy, with Clarissant dressing up little Gareth as if he was a doll, combing his hair, and only an occasional faint laughter from her and a low protest from him when she pulled his hair too hard.

Night fell and still no midwife had come out of mother's chambers. Men and children were not allowed in the room, but my father was desperate so he sent Gawain to get news, to no avail. The nurses came to take Gareth and Clarissant, though Gaheris insisted on staying a little longer. Father seemed deep in thoughts. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed much older than ever before. Years had instilled into him after his war with uncle Arthur. During that year I had not seen him, and when he was finally back home, he seemed different: thinner, greyer, a slowness in his steps, and a new scar under his eyebrow. He was still a handsome looking man but this type of suffering, of lingering melancholy, did not suit him. He seemed to me a different person from the father I had known before. Knowing he would have a new baby had taken color back to his cheeks and yet, now he was becoming a shadow of himself again: only the silhouette of his tall figure seemed to remain and the rest was impenetrable in a somewhat pitiful way.

“Take Gaheris to bed, Ailie.” He told the nurse. She obeyed quickly, though the child did not. He was already so sleepy, but fought like all children do when they are commanded to do something they should be doing. Father stared at us with a very serious face, Gawain and I stood very straight. We had not talked too much since he came back from his honorable defeat and his glorious capitulation. When he saw us for the first time after his war, he had hugged us very tightly, said my fine, fine boys, and with a kiss, he sealed any attempt at explanations and never mentioned anything of what had happened again: nothing about how he left for fighting, how we fled and begged uncle Arthur's mercy, how the little ones had stayed behind while Gawain and I swore allegiance to Arthur on a bended knee. But this time father was not looking at us with unshed tears in his eyes and an untold story in his throat. Rather, his eyes were hollow and his voice cracked like a crow's.

“Gawain,” he said carefully, then his gaze came to me “Agravain, come here.” We approached the throne slowly, and stood side by side like little soldiers. Father was about to take our hands in his, but hesitated. Instead, he put one of his palms against the other, rubbing them with a nervousness that was completely unlike him. These were not the imperturbable yet somewhat sardonic mannerisms of the father I knew, and I could not help but think with contempt of how much he had changed. “My boys... You are old enough to understand this: your mother might not make it through the night, neither your new sibling, so pray if you find it in your heart. God always listens to innocents the most.” He smiled a little at that, then he could not resist resting his right hand on Gawain's shoulder. “Go to bed now. It's been a long day, yes?” Gawain nodded, reluctantly. Father pressed my hand lightly against his, feeling the ring he had given me the year prior as a birthday present, right before we left Lothian's court. I had been told I was the one who resembled him the most, and I thought it must be true because it seemed to me he was looking for something in my eyes that, in the past, he must have found within himself.

Gawain said some prayers and fell asleep murmuring barely audible words, snoring a little, maybe crying a little too. He always slept soundly; I suspected it was a way that his body compensated for the extra strength he had during the sun hours. Soon he would have his own room, and Clarissant would also move out of the children’s room very soon because she was the only girl. But I would still be sharing a room for some more time. I envied them, able to be alone with their thoughts and their secrets, no snoring brother beside them. No need to hold back any tears or any other ugliness. Would I miss Gawain? We were so close in age that we had always been together. I could not wait to sever myself from him, maybe prove something myself.

I didn't sleep that night. I thought of mother, and what father had said. What if I went to sleep and when I woke up, mother was gone? The mere thought made my heart beat faster and my stomach ache. When I had been away from her, the first few nights, I had to force myself not to cry. It felt so unfair how we had to leave mother and father. I could not even think of what it would be like not to ever see her again. And what of our new brother (for I was sure it would be a baby boy), what it I never got to meet him? I would have prayed, but I was never good at it. Father said innocent prayers are better, but none of mine ever were. Was I innocent just because I had done as I had been told? Had I not betrayed my father with my actions, fulfilling mother's orders? But my mother had done what was reasonable: she protected us because she loved us. And my father loved us too. Now I wish I had rejected my mother's ideas and went to war with father regardless of the consequences, but the night Mordred was born, I did not yet know that I would never in my life get the chance to fight alongside our father so the though barely crossed my mind. I did not know how little time we had left, and I was still too young to fight a real war. I refused to think of my dying mother and instead thought of my baby brother: what would he look like? Tall and blond like the rest of us, for sure. Would he be shy or outgoing? Clever or strong? I certainly hoped he could beat Gawain in a fight... Suddenly, I heard noises, and stood right up.

“Is it a girl?” Father asked, in a loud voice, as he rushed to mother's chambers. He really wanted more daughters. He had been delighted when Clarissant was born. I knew why: they said too many boys in a house was guaranteed trouble, and we were already a boy too many. I woke Gawain up.

When we arrived, father was just entering mother’s room. The baby was a boy, I heard the midwife said. Father smiled and approached mother, closing the door behind him despite seeing us, so we were forced to wait outside as the last few busy maids left with their dirty clothes. A lot of dirty clothes. Gawain and I exchanged a look. I leaned into the wooden door.

“Don't eavesdrop!” Gawain scolded me, hitting my arm with his flat hand.

“Shut up, I'm trying to hear. Don't you want to know why father closed the door?” I whispered.

“Of course I do. But this way you'll only get us caught, idiot. Mother speaks too low to hear anyways.” The door was thick, so I admitted defeat with some reluctance. Perhaps I could sneak into mother's room and read the letters father had sent her, and the midwife's daughter liked me. Midwives always hear this type of stuff. Clarissant walked towards us, with Gaheris following behind, holding Gareth. He struggled. Although Gaheris was tall for his age, Gareth was now beyond the age of being carried in arms. He was rubbing his sleepy eyes and seemed to have cried, probably upset with being woken up. Finally, father opened the door. Outside it was breaking dawn and light was filtering through mother’s window.

“Say hello,” he said in a soft voice “and then let your mother rest.”

The room smelled like blood and filth –sweat, excrement, a lot of things I did not identify—with a vague hint of milk. It was obvious that the maids had done everything possible to clean up mother and make her presentable, but her hair was wet and the stench was difficult to bear. She was very, very pale, and obviously at the limit of her strength. Father took the baby from her trembling arms while she gave us an apologetic look, shy, and she would have blushed if she could. She was always very careful of her image and in any other circumstances, she would have never let us in the room. But this time she had to see us, had to hold our hands, feel us, like a matter of life and death. The maids had badly tried to cover bloody sheet after bloody sheet, and Gawain and father aptly maneuvered the youngest to spare them the worse views. And then there was the baby: he was very small, but according to my mother, he had roared and suckled like a lion. He was a wrinkled little thing with reddish skin and still some white sticky substance clinging to his hair and between his wrinkles. Until then I did not know what newborns looked like (both Clarissant and Gareth had been pristine clean by the time I first met them), but Mordred was there, right in front of me, freshly out of my mother’s flesh, not beautiful at all, but raw and ugly. It was fascinating. And for all of us, reunited after so long, it felt like a triumph.

It was late September when they took him. An unusually hot September, it seems to have been. Gawain joked that Mordred had dragged the summer along with him. Uncle Arthur then sent a message: every noble-born woman was to send their children born in late April to mid-May to Camelot for a massive blessing. My parents could have done what other families did, what I would have done if I were them, and send any other child instead. Mordred alone had two milk mothers that could have swapped their sons for our brother. But my parents had no reason to mistrust uncle Arthur, mother’s brother, father’s new ally. He was High King and it was not strange for noble born children to be raised in other courts –especially the children of defeated kings. So they trusted, and gave away Mordred. Little Mordred who was an absolute delight, who was fat and cute, and always smiled at strangers like life was a delightful discovery.

We lost him just two days later. The ship sunk, they said, no survivors, they said, a terrible loss and an even more terrible miscalculation, there was no one to blame but the bad weather. I did not believe a word (where were the adults? Why sail in such bad weather when all other days had been so sunny?), and I told Gawain, but he did not seem to hear me. He stared through the window, into the sea, very quiet, like in a trance.

Only the roaring waves and my mother's wailing could be heard, and they were everywhere. She wailed, wailed, wailed. She called on every god, pleading, just to curse them later. Where is my baby, she said, where is my baby? She was completely out of her mind. Her pain was unbearable, maddening, the kind of grief that births demons. All good manners were gone, and only the desperation remained. Father tried to hold mother, to contain her, but she refused to be contained. And my father... my father had been taken by a freezing, calculating rage that cut like a knife, a grief thick with blood, an anger that would burn nations to the ground.

When Mordred was born, I learned that it is always love that gives way to the greatest nightmares.

“we begin in the dark and birth is the death of us” ---Anne Carson / Sophokles, Antogonick

#this is not proofread so apologies in advance for any typos/mistakes!#may day parade #this is like the third story i write about Mordred's birth yes you could say i'm obsessed #my writing #death mention //#arthuriana

26 notes · View notes

venusvity · 4 months

Text

정윤아 … … ( I HAVE KNOWN. )

❝If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.❞ ― Tennessee Williams, Conversations With Tennessee Williams

CHARACTERS : JUNG YOONAH … KANG JUWON … SON JINHWA

WORDS : 3.7K

WARNINGS / NOTES : Therapy. Mentions of Murder, Depression, and PTSD. Abusive and weird obsessive boss. Discussions of an abusive relationship. If I missed something let me know! This piece is old, I've reworked it, and am really pleased with how it turned out! I believe this would take place in either 2019/2020 but this is set in the past! I just wanted to put it back into the universe :) Thank you so much for reading! rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡

“Do you want to be here, Yoonah?”

Yoonah looks around the therapist’s office, sighing through her button nose before nodding.

“Yeah.”

Doah’s pen skates across her notepad, causing Yoonah’s eyes to fall down to it. She barely said anything, why is she writing?

“Are you in a relationship right now?”

Yoonah has to think about it. She thinks about it for a few beats, eyes scanning over the door as she waits for the words to come to her. Doah waits. Even if Yoonah doesn’t speak, she gets paid. She’ll let her take her time.

“Yeah, I’m seeing…men.”

“How many men?”

A pause.

“One,” Yoonah looks towards the window now, “And a half.”

“And a half?”

Yoonah smiles towards the door where outside sits a man, waiting for his appointment to start. He’s different from the boys she usually talks to. When they were in the waiting room, he talked to her passionately about the book he was reading, she doesn’t remember what book but she remembers the beaming smile on his face when talking about it. His name is Juwon. He’s in a band. He’s a vocalist and plays bass. Yoonah likes him. She wants to spend more time with him.

“I’m working on one.” Her words make Doah chuckle through her nose, writing that down before looking up and at Yoonah.

“And the one you’re not working on?”

“Jinhwa.” It’s a simple answer, causing Doah to nod. She writes the names down but never looks away from Yoonah.

“And would you consider that a healthy relationship?”

Yoonah opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. It takes her a second, staring out the window, counting the droplets of rain that hit it. She gets to fifteen before she finally has an answer.

“Not really.”

Doah nods, jotting that down.

“Let’s start there,” Doah hums, finally, putting her pen down. Yoonah feels like a weight is lifted when the pen is put down. She swallows, looking towards the door again, shifting in her seat. She hates talking about herself, her problems, her relationships, all she’s been through, she hates it all. It feels so selfish.

“Why don’t you think that relationships is healthy, Yoonah?”

Yoonah takes a deep breath through her nose, looking up now before back at the gold doorknob.

“Jinhwa…is my boss,” Doah’s writing again, it’s making Yoonah’s fingers twitch, picking at her ripped jeans. “But he loves me. I love him too. I’m not dumb though. I know, like, fucking your boss won’t have, like, the best relationship dynamic.” She’s talking more but it’s to defend herself, to defend Jinhwa. She’s fighting a one-sided battle because Doah doesn’t say anything, just nods.

“But I’m a grown woman. I can make my own choices and I want to be with him even if it is inappropriate. I don’t care,” Yoonah continues, still fighting a battle with no competitor. It’s like she’s arguing with herself but not really. Doah nods, tilting her head at Yoonah.

Doah nods, hooded eyes scanning over Yoonah’s appearance, motioning to her own hair with her pen.

“Is that why you cut your hair? Because of something he did?”

Yoonah looks down at the now decent-sized hole in her jeans, swallowing when she thinks of what she deems the first domino. It wasn’t all Jinhwa’s fault, she had been spiraling for a while at that point, sure, they were getting bad again but there were other things that contributed to her tipping point.

“No,” She sounds uncertain because she is. Did she chop her hair off because truly hated her reflection or did she chop her hair off because she wanted Jinhwa’s attention? As she thinks harder about it, she doesn’t know. “I don’t know.”

“Yoonah, do you feel safe around Jinhwa?”

“Sometimes,” She hates how fast she answers and she hates how uncertain she sounds. She’s a good liar, she knows she is, but she’s never been so backed into a corner in her life.

“And when do you not feel safe?”

Silence. Longer than normal.

“Does he hits you?” Doah prods. Yoonah crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t care if he hits me.”

“So he does hit you?”

“No,” Yoonah pauses, “He’ll grab me sometimes.”

“Is that when you feel unsafe?”

“Sometimes.” She’s answering quickly now, out of spite. She’s mad. She doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t want to talk about her life or relationships with a stranger, she doesn’t want to do it.

“What does he do when he grabs you?” Doah asks, raising her brows. Yoonah decides she’s talking too much, giving Doah too much ammo like this is some war and not a therapy appointment but she keeps going. This is the one place she feels like she could keep going and never face any repercussions.

“He yells at me.”

“What does he say when he yells at you?” There’s a silence between them where the women just stare at each other, one tapping her pen while the other digs her nails into her own sides.

Jinhwa only yells at her when she “goes off the deep end” or whatever he calls it when Yoonah starts expressing her emotions to him. She’s never been good at expressing her emotions even when she was a child her mother would tell her stories of the hour-long fits Yoonah would have because she didn’t get what she want or because she didn’t understand something.

“He…He just yells at me. I don’t know.” Yoonah sounds smaller, looking down at the ugly grey carpet.

“When does he yell at you? What leads up to that?” Doah asks, her brows softening, giving her a more compassionate look.

Beneath the facade she’s built, Yoonah’s heart is gentle. She is kind and cares for others even when their best interest is to her detriment.

Yoonah shrugs. She doesn’t want to do this anymore. She doesn’t feel say talking about Jinhwa like this. It feels like he’ll find out what she’s saying and use it against her. The silence is thick and long between the pair. Doah looks up at the clock with a sigh

“I’ll see you next week.” They still have 30 minutes left in their session but Yoonah always left early. It’s not her dime this is on. She doesn’t care. She leaves without a second thought. Doah knows she’ll be back, she always comes back, this is mandated by her company, Yoonah has to come back if she wants to keep doing her job.

Yoonah walks down the hallway and into the waiting room where she hopes to maybe see Juwon before she leaves but it’s an empty room. It makes her sigh, pressing the back of her hand against her teary eyes as she quickly walks out of the office and towards the black car that waits out front for her.

SESSION 002

Juwon is a beautiful boy. He had big black eyes and short black hair that looked silky to the touch. He has a famous face she’s seen before, she knows he’s in that group with that boy in it. Juwon hasn’t spoken much about his group or his friends for that matter, she doesn’t even know if he’s friends with the boys in his group.

He mainly talks about his family. His father more specifically and how he wasn’t a nice man before he passed. Yoonah tells him that he can meet her dad one day, her dad is nice to everyone and would love to meet Juwon.

Yoonah likes Juwon. She likes him a lot.

“He sounds…insufferable,” Junwo laughs, shaking his head as Yoonah nods.

“He is.”

Juwon looks amused but bewildered, brows furrowing at her response.

“And you’re still with him?” Juwon asks, causing Yoonah to think for a few beats, looking up before shrugging.

“We’re, like, still together. We sleep with other people a lot.” She doesn't mention that Jinhwa doesn't know about most of them.

“Who have you slept with?” Juwon asks, genuinely curious. His curiosity makes her laugh again.

"A couple of people..." Yoonah sings jokingly, laughing to herself as flashes of people she's slept with appear in her head. She can't remember their names, but she remembers how their lips tasted.

Juwon makes an amused sound at that, laughing softly as he looks down at the book in his lap.

“You’re very interesting, Yoonah,” Juwon tells her, making her smile sweetly. Interesting. She can’t remember the last time she’s been called interesting. It makes her chest warm.

“You’re wasting your time with that guy, Jihan?”

“Jinhwa.”

“Ah,” Juwon doesn’t seem interested in his name, “Men like that don’t change. Don’t waste your time.”

Yoonah learns more and more she hates when anyone who aren’t herself talks about Jinhwa. They never have anything good to say, they just tell her to leave. She gets it. She’s just tired of hearing it.

“I know,” Yoonah answers dryly, causing Juwon to look up at meet her gaze. They lock eyes for a few beats before Yoonah raises her brows, unimpressed. “All men are like that though.”

Juwon shrugs, not moved.

“Yeah, maybe, but not all men will have you mother their child,” Juwon says simply, brows raising as well as if he’s mimicking her. It makes Yoonah laugh through her nose, looking down at her hands, and sighing softly. She hates it when people are right about Jinhwa. She hates being wrong in general.

“Got me there,” Yoonah says as she kicks the agergous looking carpet under her feet. She looks up at Juwon once again. Neither of their therapists had come out yet. It makes her brain spark to life, biting the inside of her cheek as she smiles.

“We should leave.”

“Leave?” Juwon repeats. Yoonah nods.

“Yeah, we can walk somewhere.”

“But our managers–”

“We come back before they come,” Yoonah shrugs. It’s clear she lives more on the edge that Juwon does. She stands, putting her hands out to him, smiling sweetly. “It’ll be fun! We can be each other’s therapists.”

Juwon laughs up at her, smiling. He’s beautiful when he smiles, Yoonah thinks as she fights the urge to take his face into her palms.

Juwon hesitantly takes her hands into his, standing up.

“Let’s go.”

SESSION 003

“Tell me about your childhood,” Yoonah says as she and Juwon sit in a meadow adjacent to the park that's a few blocks away from their therapists’ building. Juwon laid his jacket down for her to sit on. He’s a true gentleman in Yoonah’s opinion.

Juwon’s eyes widen as his brows go up, sighing and shaking his head.

“Um, not great,” Juwon starts, laughing softly as he picks at a blade of grass. He tears the blade of grass to shreds. “I had a sister. She died when I was four. That’s when my mom said my dad started,” he twirls his finger next to his head, shaking his head, “Losing it. She thinks he blames himself for her death. It was a car crash and he was driving, so, I bet he did but he never talked about it. He was just…fucking mean,” Juwon shrugs, plucking another green blade of grass. Yoonah rubs her lips together as he speaks, watching his fingers nimbly move against the blade of grass, shredding it to pieces.

“Is he why you’re going to therapy?” Yoonah wonders, causing Juwon to scoff, shaking his head.

“No. My company said I needed to after what I saw,” Juwon says like she should know what he’s seen. She does know. All of Korea knows. It’s tragic and she can’t imagine going through what Juwon went through. Juwon shrugs. “And they’re right. That’s not a…Not a normal thing to see.”

A pause.

“It really does mess with your brain. ‘Seeing someone die,” Juwon adds, like he’s acknowledged his own trauma for the first time. “I honestly thought I was doing fine until my company stepped in.”

“What were you doing to make them step in?” Yoonah wonders, still watching his hands. She wants to hold them but she doesn’t reach towards him, not yet.

Juwon shrugs.

“I just…slept all day. I just laid there like I was in a coma or something,” She looks up when he speaks, looking at his face to see his sad gaze. He has naturally sad eyes, she thinks. It makes her reach over, taking his hand into hers, offering him a smile when he looks up at her.

“Now look at you,” Yoonah beams, causing him to smile lightly, looking over her soft features. “You’re sitting in a meadow with a pretty girl, talking about your life,” Juwon laughs softly at her words, head dropping as he squeezes her hand, nodding.

“‘Making great progress,” Juwon jokes, plucking one of those little white weed flowers, and putting it out to her. Yoonah smiles at the flower and then at Juwon, taking it in and putting it behind her ear still smiling.

She feels good.

SESSION 006

“You haven’t made any moves on me.”

Juwon looks up from his book and out into the endless dancing sea of grass they sat in before looking down at Yoonah, who lay in his lap.

“Do you want me to make moves on you?” The man asks, moving his hands out and to the sides so nothing is obstructing his view of her. Yoonah looks up at him with those soft round eyes she whips out every once in a while to keep men on their toes. It does the trick every time, making Juwon smile down at her softly.

Yoonah shrugs.

“Yeah.”

Juwon chuckles at the simplicity of her answer, folding the corner of the page before shutting his book and setting it down next to him, tapping her shoulders. She pushes herself up to where she’s sitting in a similar criss-crossed position as him, turning herself around to face the boy with the soft brown eyes.

Now Juwon is the one with the soft gaze, staring at Yoonah like she’s some goddess sent from above. It makes her smile brighter, putting her hands out in the space between them for him to take. It takes him a second but he slowly reaches out, slotting his fingers between hers’.

“Feels like forever since I’ve held a girl’s hand,” Juwon tells her which makes her giggle softly, looking at their hands then back at his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we used to be…really busy so I just,” His thumb runs over the back of her hand, smiling fondly as he squeezes her smaller hands, “Never had the time.”

“Oh my god,” Yoonah leans forward, causing Juwon to raise his brows curiously, “Are you a virgin?” She whispers, half joking half serious. It makes Juwon’s jaw drop, scoffing then laughing at her, looking minorly offended.

“No! Oh my god––Yoonah, I went to college, you know?” His eyes are wide and he’s talking passionately, smile clear as she giggles at nearly every word he says. “I’ve had sex. God, I’m twenty-six. That’d be embarrassing.”

“You’re twenty-six?” Yoonah asks in shock. She thought he was her age. He isn’t far off but still, he looks young for his age. Juwon nods, humming.

“Almost twenty-seven,” He adds, looking her over before nodding, squeezing their hands again. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” Yoonah answers simply, tilting her head at him before her eyes drop to their hands as she pulls them to her chest, over her heartbeat. Juwon watches her move their hands with a small smile before his eyes go back to her face. “I turn twenty-four in July though.”

Juwon nods, humming.

“We’ll have to celebrate.”

“Yeah?” Yoonah quips, making Juwon chuckle softly, nodding.

“I’ll take you out. Get you a balloon.”

“Just one?”

Juwon laughs again, deciding to be a bit bold and pulling her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Yoonah smiles at the sweet action, her heart beating a bit faster when he holds their hands to his chest now. She can feel his heart beating. It’s beating fast but the rhythm is relaxing.

“I’ll get you twenty-four of them,” Juwon says, making Yoonah bat her lashes at him. He’s so sweet, so pure, Yoonah can’t stop herself from thinking she’s in love with him.

Maybe she is. She isn’t sure yet.

THE OFFICE.

Jinhwa clears his throat as Yoonah sits across his desk, looking down at her phone in her lap. She looks up a few seconds later, smiling at him before raising her brows at him. Jinhwa looks her over, a soft smile on his face before he looks down with a sigh.

“You haven’t gone to the last three of your sessions.”

Doah is such a bitch, Yoonah thinks but her face doesn’t falter, she just keeps smiling at him. She looks like he hand-picked the stars and put them in the sky himself. It works on every man she’s involved herself with.

“I don’t–”

“I’m not stupid, Yoonah. I know you’re leaving with that boy,” He taps the side of his head, “the disturbed one.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Yoonah snaps. There’s a defensiveness she carries for Juwon. He isn’t disturbed. He’s just depressed. She wonders if it’s their age difference or if Jinhwa thinks he’s a psycho. Jinhwa’s from a different time, she gets it, but she doesn’t care. The man sighs, putting up his hands in faux surrender.

“Whatever. Either way, he’s interfering with your treatment–”

“He’s not. I make him leave with me.”

A silence. Jinhwa sighs.

“I’m switching your appointments from five to three,” Jinhwa dismisses simply. Yoonah doesn’t argue, just sighs through her nose. There’s no use in arguing, just grin and bear it, Yoonah thinks, scratching the side of her wrists.

“And I’m…” Hesitation is never good, it makes Yoonah tense and look up from her hands.

“I’m putting you on a dating ban. Effective immediately. You’re getting too reckless with the men you pick up.” Jinhwa says as he slides over a piece of paper, dropping a pen in front of her as well. Yoonah looks over the paper with wide, almost frantic eyes, then back at him, her scratching getting harder.

“What?” Yoonah whispers, “What is this?”

Jinhwa sighs again.

“It’s a legal document that says you acknowledge–”

“A contact. You want me to sign a contract?”

Jinhwa clears his throat at being interrupted, it's clear he’s getting agitated but keeps his composure. He knows Yoonah all too well at this point. Her reaction was to be expected.

“–that says you acknowledge you are under a dating ban until you complete your treatments and if you break this agreement,” he points to a block of text that Yoonah doesn’t look at, her hard gaze staying on him and him only, “you and your group will suffer the consequences.”

Yoonah swallows, shaking her head––A soft gasp leaves her lips when she feels a prick on her wrist. Her eyes look down to see a small portion of skin scratched raw, skin pink and shiny. It makes her stomach twist, putting her hand under her thigh with a sigh. She finally shakes her head.

“I don’t want to sign it.” Yoonah says sternly. Jinhwa grunts, he sees that coming. He reaches down, pulling a thick pile of papers out and dropping them in front of her. He flips through them until he’s on at least page twenty, pointing to a highlighted block of text.

“This? Right here?” He’s speaking to her like she’s dumb, voice condescending yet kind. She hates it, the look of content on her face only growing. “Says if you don’t sign anything I want you to sign, you’re in breach of your contract. I’ve been really leanate with you, Yoonah. Because I love you,” His hand is on her cheek now, making her bottom lip tremble slightly, gaze still hard and angry, “And I want what’s best for you. Anyone with a brain would’ve dropped you by now but I haven’t and I won’t. You owe me this one small thing, don’t you think?”

Yoonah turned her head away, sniffling before looking down at the papers that sat on his desk, shaking her head.

“It’s not fair, Jinhwa.” She says quietly, keeping her gaze down. Jinhwa coos at her, petting her black hair softly before taking her cheek back into his hand, stroking her full cheek softly.

“Nothing is, Yoonah.”

He leans back in his chair, taking her original contract off the table and back in his drawer before nodding towards the contact and pen in front of her.

“Just finish your therapy and you go back to seeing your mentally ill boyfriends,” Jinhwa dismisses, waving his hand as Yoonah takes the pen in her hand, sighing. She reads over the contract slowly, really reading over the conditions. She points to the fourth paragraph of text, lips twitching.

“Does this say I can still have relationships just with people inside the company?” Yoonah asks, looking up at Jinhwa. He’s smiling, nodding, hands crossed in his lap.

“Yes. Yeah, it does. It only makes sense.”

“Makes sense?”

“Yeah,” Jinhwa shrugs, “No one knows what happens inside the neighborhood or company building. It’s just easier if you keep your relationships within the company.”

Yoonah stares at him. The gears are turning, making her brows pinch and her head tilt slightly.

“Is…Did you just put that there so we can keep seeing each other?”

Jinhwa shrugs. His intentions are clear in Yoonah’s eyes, leaving an uneasy seed in her stomach. She hates the idea that Jinhwa feels the need to take such measures to control her. She hates that he can take such measures and she just has to go along with it.

She promised her group wouldn’t suffer for her mistakes ever again. She isn’t going to hurt their careers over something so small and trivial. She loves and cares for her girls too much to let that happen––She loves her team too much.

With a deep breath, she puts the pen on the dotted line and lets it glide across the paper in the shape of her name.

#╰ * VENUS : scenarios ⧽ burn it to the ground .#ficnetfairy #fictional idol group #fictional idol community #kpop fanfic #idol oc #kpop oc #fake kpop oc #kpop au #idol au #kpop addition #idolverse #oc girl group #bts addition #fake kpop girl group #fake kpop idol #oc kpop group #stray kids addition

32 notes · View notes

supersaiyanjedi14 · 1 year

Text

RWBY COMBAT ANALYSIS: JAUNE ARC (VOLUMES 1-8)

“You're right, Ren. I… I did cheat my way into Beacon. And I'm glad that I had people around me to help me see that I was bigger than that mistake. You've got people around you too. You don't have to force yourself to be strong. The more you hide from what you're feeling, the more alone you're going to feel. Trust me.”

As I mentioned in my previous Versus Series match, this analysis of Jaune Arc's combative abilities will be focused on his appearances until RWBY Volume 8, prior to falling into the Ever After and being displaced in time. The strengths and limitations of Jaune before he became the Rusted Knight are simply more interesting to discuss, and, similarly to Maria Calavera, the significant gap in time between his being sent back and Volume 9 makes equating the two inappropriate. While Rusted Knight Jaune did display just enough in Volume 9 for me to have a good gauge of where he stands, this analysis is already stupidly long (over 6000 words and 11 pages) so pulling a joint profile like I did with Maria will likely bore you out. Although, If you want me to do a breakdown for Rusted Knight Jaune, let me know!

With all that out of the way, let's begin.

PHYSICAL

Jaune Arc is a human male, nineteen years of age when he fell into the Ever After two years after the Fall of Beacon. Born into a family with a history of distinguished Huntsmen and military service, Jaune grew up on stories of heroism and glory, seeking to emulate of his forebearers and dreams of becoming a great legendary hero. Despite this ambition, though the exact reasons are currently unconfirmed, Jaune Arc never attended a combat school, living a wholly civilian life alongside his parents and seven sisters. However, Jaune was determined to achieve his dream to the point of cheating, forging transcripts to gain admission to Beacon Huntsman Academy in Vale. Unsurprisingly, his nonexistent training left him severely out of his depth compared to his classmates, while his misguided belief in his need to excel on his own merits led to him rejecting offers for aid from his teammates. Fortunately, a short conflict with class bully Cardin Winchester led to Jaune eating some much-needed humble pie, and he submitted himself to private tutoring from his partner, the Mistrali prodigy Pyrrha Nikos. Pyrrha’s training greatly picked up the slack and helped Jaune truly develop his skills as a fighter and leader, making genuine contributions to the defense of Vale and Team JNPR’s Vytal Festival battles. Sadly, the Fall of Beacon and Pyrrha’s subsequent death cut his training short, and he found himself thrust headfirst into the war with Salem, his subsequent development coming from direct experience in the field and his being forced to cope with the mounting pressure of his traumatic experiences.

While Jaune Arc’s lack of combat training left him woefully underprepared for academy life and the Huntsman profession, he was ironically well-suited to the physical rigors he was bound to encounter. As the Arc family was known for regular camping trips in Mistral, Jaune was clearly able to develop a high degree of physical fitness and maintained a healthy lifestyle, standing as a surprisingly talented natural athlete. His past as an outdoorsman left him prepared with the harsh conditions of the battlefield, and his formal training ironed out his athleticism to leverage his body for fighting. Easily identified by the blonde hair and blue eyes shared by his family, Jaune stood at a robust 6’1”and sported an athletic, muscular build. In terms of physical performance, his primary attributes were strength and agility, expressed through his joint use of powerful stalwart stances and dynamic full-body maneuvers. Even before his training truly began, Jaune proved himself to be remarkably strong, deflecting aside a Deathstalker’s pincer during his initiation and holding back an Ursa Major’s mauling swipe in the Forever Fall forest. After proper training and combat experience, Jaune grew into a true physical heavyweight, his might, while not matching juggernauts like James Ironwood and Hazel Rainart, being easily comparable to heavy hitters like Yang Xiao Long and Nora Valkyrie. He has sent an Ursa flying with a shield bash, launched grown humans several yards into the air, briefly held back the crushing weight of the Nuckelavee’s hooves, and supported the weight of a Sabyr and Tyrian Callows when they held onto his shield, in addition to various displays of strength-based swordsmanship. In the realm of agility, Jaune may not have been a talented gymnast, but he more than made up for it in grounded speed and parkour even in heavy armor, traversing the battlefield with powerful jumps and running charges while avoiding injury with combat rolls and sidestep evasions. He has kept pace with most of his teammates without too much strain, dodged boulders thrown by a Petra Gigas, blindsided the Nuckelavee by rushing in while it was distracted, and even moved fast enough to intercept Neopolitan’s lunge at Atlas Academy. Though tripped up in sparring with Vine Zeki, he was able to effectively freerun with the aid of his shield through the treacherous landscape of the Solitas tundra while perusing the Hound. Jaune’s reflexes and dexterity were easily his least developed attribute due to his lack of training, though he was by no means slow or crude. Though he favored simple hack and stab bladework, his attacks were still executed with great precision when needed, aiming for one-hit kills. Defensively, he had no difficulty responding to projectiles or other incoming attacks, notably raising his shield in time to block most of the obsidian shards Cinder Fall threw through one of the Evacuation Central Location portals despite being right next to the portal at the time.

While Jaune’s high degree of physical performance was extremely impressive even compared to other Huntsmen, easily his most valuable physical characteristic was his incredible resiliency, stamina, and tolerance for pain and injury. Evan accounting for his large Aura reserves and the properties of his Semblance, the hits that Jaune has worked through are extremely impressive feats. In his initiation, Jaune, despite having no active Aura to protect him, endured the impact of being pinned to a tree after being launched into the woods, and showed no sign of injury until he got scratched by a tree branch a few minutes later. In Forever Fall, he suffered a serious beating from Cardin Winchester that left him with a bruised face, yet he was able to engage the Ursa Major almost immediately afterwards, soaking up more hits and ultimately decapitating the creature. During Team RNJR’s journey to Haven, Jaune worked through a flying rock to the face, physical combat strikes from Tyrian Callows, and numerous mule kicks and blows from the Nuckelavee, yet his Aura never broke or even flickered. In fact, the first time Jaune’s Aura was ever seen breaking in serious combat was when he expanded it to help shield Nora from a punch Caroline Cordovin’s Colossus mech suit (which I’d like to remind you was a giant robot designed to fight kaiju-sized Grimm), overtaxing his Aura and slamming him into a boulder. His stamina displayed itself during the Fall of Beacon, the Battle of Haven, and the Battle of Mantle, all of which were long term conflicts that he fought all through yet remained vital and fresh by the end. In Atlas, Jaune was slammed into a wall by Salem after he burned through his Aura amping Ren, yet was completely uninjured and stayed vital during their escape from the Monstra. It wasn’t until he was forced into close proximity to Cinder Fall’s explosion in the Evacuation Central Location that his Aura broke again, and yet he still had enough fight left in him to regain his feet and attempt to escape. Quite simply, Jaune has spent the bulk of his career as a human punching bag, yet he’s still going strong, wars of attrition being his bread and butter. Jaune was unfortunately saddled with his share of mental hang-ups, his early hubris leading to him making reckless calls before wising up while his traumatic experiences, especially Pyrrha’s death, left him with an inferiority complex that led to him overextending in a misguided idea of sacrificing for his friends. Fortunately, the influence of those same friends helped Jaune learn from his experiences and maintain his composure, trading away the macho badass for an incredibly strong-willed vanguard. Even after being forced to kill Penny Polendina following Cinder Fall’s mortal wound, Jaune Arc never faltered, holding his ground against the Fall Maiden’s savage onslaught despite the grief-stricken tears in his eyes.

Reflecting the irony of being physically prepared for Huntsman life despite having no training, Jaune Arc consistently supplemented his well-honed physique with heavy combat armor, providing him from a degree of protection from the dangers of the world of Remnant. He initially wore only a simple breastplate and shoulder pads, though like the rest of his skill set, his kit evolved and expanded over time. During his time as an Atlesian Huntsman, he wore a full-plated gold-trimmed cuirass, pauldrons, and gauntlets over a black high collared shirt, while his lower body was garbed in blue jeans and rugged calf-high boots. His earlier armor upgrade from an unnamed Mistral blacksmith was specifically noted to provide superior protection from Grimm claws, so the updated plating provided by Pietro Polendina was certainly just as durable, and very likely greater. Though he had no protection below the belt (seriously dude, Adrian needs cousins. get a cup! 😊), the lack of heavy plating still allowed full freedom of movement, maintaining Jaune’s agility. Easily the most sentimental wardrobe component was Pyrrha Nikos’s red sash adorning his belt, a final reminder of his lost love.

RANKING: Tier 2, Peak Human Fitness

Despite a severe lack of training at the start of his career, Jaune Arc still started out as a prime human specimen, and his numerous ordeals have propelled him to the Huntsman physical apex. He is a solidly built athlete with powerful performance levels in all areas that can match or even exceed many of his peers, and supplements this with both an extraordinary level of endurance and some of the best armor we’ve seen in the setting so far. While unassuming at first glance, Jaune’s physique serves as the vehicle for a one-man war of attrition, winning by leveraging his capabilities to stay alive and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. But much like his friend Ruby Rose, Jaune’s greatest asset as a physical combatant is his resolve, maintaining his composure even in the face of staunch resistance. He won’t give up, he won’t break, no matter what.

MARTIAL

Jaune Arc’s primary weapon was Crocea Mors, a collapsible heater shield paired with an arming sword which was originally carried by his great-great grandfather during the Great War, eighty years before the Fall of Beacon. Despite being an antique compared to what his classmates carried, the weapon remained in excellent condition when Jaune took it with him to Beacon, and it has been further modified and upgraded as he continues his adventures. The sword was an approximately two and a half foot long double-edged blade outfitted with a golden crossguard and a lengthened handgrip wrapped in blue leather. The shield, when fully extended, had a rough area of 2.5 square feet and featured an opening at the top to house the sword, its primary feature being to convert into the blade’s scabbard when not in use. Following modifications from an unnamed Anima blacksmith, the sheath was upgraded to include retractable sharpened edges that could extend upward, transforming it into a stout zweihänder with a heavier blade, enabling far more powerful strikes in combat. The most recent additions to the shield came from Pietro Polendina in Atlas, who outfitted it with hard-light and gravity Dust generators. The former extended barriers to either edge to improve Jaune’s protective zone, while the latter functioned as a combat repulsor. Appropriate given its original owner was a soldier rather than a Huntsman, Jaune’s weapon remains one of the simplest and most utilitarian in the setting, form reflecting function even with its various upgrades. While perfectly capable of slaying Grimm, Crocea Mors was built for war.

As he had never attended a formal combat school nor had grown up with real-world dangers to address, Jaune Arc was woefully unprepared for his early education at Beacon Academy, enrolling on the back of forged transcripts and having amateurish understanding of the field’s basics. Despite this, Jaune was fortunate enough to survive his initiation, and his ability to coordinate Pyrrha Nikos, Lie Ren, and Nora Valkyrie in their takedown of a Deathstalker earned him leadership of Team JNPR. While his early blunders were quite obvious, falling behind in his studies and regularly getting stomped in sparring, Ozpin’s early assessments of the boy’s potential were eventually proven to have merit following his conflict with Cardin Winchester. After a peptalk with Ruby Rose and his successful killing of an Ursa Major in Forever Fall fed him some crow, Jaune accepted Pyrrha’s offer of private tutoring and began to properly develop as a fighter. Under her tutelage, Jaune slowly grew into a capable swordsman and began taking his responsibilities as leader more seriously, eventually qualifying for the Vytal Festival and leading his team to victory against Team BRNZ. While the Fall of Beacon and Pyrrha’s subsequent death cut his formal training short, Jaune continued to train rigorously with her prerecorded lectures during Team RNJR’s journey to Haven Academy and maintained his skill by sparring with his comrades. But more than anything else, Jaune’s greatest growth came through the trial by fire that was the war with Salem, the threats he encountered forcing him to learn quickly and build his skill set through experience. Appropriately for a beginner warrior growing through trial and error in the field, Jaune Arc’s fighting technique was an exceedingly simple and direct sword-and-board method, emphasizing the baseline reliability of the practical benefits of his weapon set. He primarily relied on his shield as the foundation of his technique, using it to intercept or deflect incoming attacks. He alternated between stalwart stonewall stances and active pushback deflections, holding his ground against everything from gunfire to pouncing Grimm while disrupting their own attacks with sweeps and bashes. When he did choose to take the offensive initiative, his bladework consisted of a simple yet powerful array of slashes, cleaves, and thrusts, aiming for one-hit kills. Together, the two weapons enabled a defense-and-counter fighting style, following up his solid blocking sequences with quick sword attacks to quickly disable or kill the target. Though friendly and kind, Jaune never settled for half-measure, always decapitating, dismembering, amputating, impaling, or otherwise seriously injuring his target. When utilizing Crocea Mors in its greatsword form, Jaune’s bladework became less refined yet far more powerful, using hacking chops to deal brutal damage, though at the cost of his defensive stance. Despite lacking variation as a swordsman, Jaune’s simple and loose style was extremely adaptable, allowing him to accommodate to virtually any situation or opponent. This technique was reinforced by his fluid use of his special abilities, most notably his Dust loadout and Semblance to augment his maneuvers. However, Jaune has displayed little in terms of alternative disciplines. Despite possessing a strong physical component in his style, he has never been seen employing hand-to-hand combat in any capacity, and his knowledge of firearms began and ended with blocking bullets. That being said, he has engaged opponents who do use these methods and survived, most notably Tyrian Callows and James Ironwood, so he clearly knows how to combat them even if he lacked proficiency in using them himself. Furthermore, he proved to be a competent mounted fighter, delivering strikes from Pietro Polendina’s hoverbike very effectively in Mantle.

For all the strides he made in his training and advancement in spite of his inexperience, what truly put Jaune Arc in step with his peers was his surprising natural talent as a tactician and strategist. Humbled by his first semester’s failings, Jaune recognized his limitations as one of the least developed fighters of his class, and instead focused on pouring his energies into learning to circumvent them with the aid of his teammates and friends. While his lack of book smarts would make the tactical display out of his element, his ingenuity and ability to recognize the strengths and weaknesses of both his troops and his enemy’s, even under dangerous high-stress situations, more than made up for it. Jaune Arc was not a grand strategizing general; he was a boots-on-the-ground frontline commander, and in his tactics, he heavily emphasized adapting to and subverting the opponent while holding out for the long term. He would open defensively to give him time to assess the threat and give his allies the opportunity to probe for weaknesses. Once an opening was discovered, he would order a swift and decisive response to exploit it, often by disabling the opponents’ defenses and weapons and forcing them to expose the Achilles Heel. Against the Deathstalker, Jaune worked with Pyrrha to defend against its claws while Ren weakened the stinger, and upon seeing this had Pyrrha sever it with her shield before propelling Nora into the air to drive it in. Team RNJR’s battles with the Petra Gigas and Nuckelavee played out similarly, with the beasts ultimately being killed by keeping their limps tied up while leaving its main body vulnerable to Nora’s blows. The Nuckelavee battle demonstrated Jaune’s ability to apply this thinking to wars of attrition as well, as he and Ruby were able to land several critical strikes on the legs while the head was distracted, wearing it down as they cooked up a decisive finishing strategy. As far as more intelligent opponents went, Jaune demonstrated his talents during the Vytal Festival match against Team BRNZ, ordering a retreat following the initial exchange before quickly reengaging, working with Ren and Pyrrha to fend off the bulk of the team and flush out May Zedong’s sniper nest so that Nora could blow her to Kingdom Come. While battlefield situations were Jaune’s specialty, he was still capable of contributing to larger strategic operations, and more importantly, demonstrated an ability to reevaluate and adapt if his plans were derailed. The best example of this was the confrontation with Caroline Cordovin in Argus. The plan was to commandeer an Atlas airship by having Weiss Schnee pretend to return home alone before she and Maria Calavera overpowered the pilots and picked up the others, hiding their return by sending Blake Belladonna to disable the relay tower. However, their hand was tipped when Blake was ambushed by Adam Taurus before she could complete her sabotage, and Cordovin responded by unleashing the gigantic Colossus mech suit. Despite this colossal setback (pun completely intended), Jaune quickly put together a plan of engagement, exploiting the mech’s bulk by having Weiss, Ren, Qrow Branwen and Calavera harass Cordo and chip away at her defenses while nullifying her firepower by evading her attacks. Though the final blow was delivered through Ruby’s initiative rather than Jaune’s his overall game plan and trust in his teammates still enabled them to survive and disable the weapon despite the shock of their original strategy failing.

However, while Jaune was a fantastic field leader and achieved several impressive victories, most of these were done through the strengths and abilities of his allies rather than his own. Jaune’s inexperience and underdeveloped technique left him at a disadvantage whenever he was confronted by a skilled opponent in single combat, his success predicated on his versatility and tactical supremacy rather than his ability to fight. His first true victory against the Ursa Major demonstrated his tenacity and the raw talent he did have, but he nearly lost his entire Aura during the scuffle and survived only due to Pyrrha’s interference. Despite pulling his own weight in the Vytal Festival and against Tyrian Callows, his personal performance mostly amounted to soaking up punishment while everyone else tried to make headway. While Jaune had improved significantly by the time of the Battle of Haven, the psychological strain of his experiences combined with Cinder Fall’s posturing triggered an outburst from the still-grieving Jaune, who recklessly charged the Fall Maiden with his greatsword. The only reason Jaune lasted as long as he did was because Cinder drew out the fight to play with her food, the closest thing he made to headway being when he scored a superficial graze on her face mask after she was stunned by Ruby’s Silver Eyes. Fortunately, Jaune managed to get into a much healthier headspace following his time in Atlas and learned from his experiences. In addition to improving his calm under fire, he managed to apply a solid measure of his tactical sensibilities to personable combat. This was where his heavy defensive focus truly started to express itself, shifting his focus to protecting himself, his allies, and his charges and only attacking when the blow could efficiently end the immediate threat. While his core technique was underdone, his tandem use of his alternative abilities allowed him to adjust to different situations even if he couldn’t win himself.

In Mantle, Jaune slew numerous Grimm in the streets by intercepting their attacks before immediately striking back, notably impaling a Sabyr after it jumped onto his shield and later throwing a hard-light Dust grenade into a pack of Sabyrs for them to faceplant into. While unsuccessful at evading Vine Zeki while sparring in Atlas, he achieved greater success when he fended off Flynt Coal’s Killer Quartet, enduring the assault before closing in and overpowering him. Against Neopolitan in the Atlas Academy dorms, Jaune managed to intercept her running charge and blew her backward with his gravity Dust repulsor, though he and the rest of his team were ultimately outmaneuvered by the assassin and forced to flee with the arrival of the Atlas security forces. When confronting James Ironwood two days later, Jaune immediately followed up Emerald Sustrai’s disarmament and kick with a slashing sequence, and though the general was able to stop him and counter, Jaune immediately turned it around with his repulsor, giving Oscar Pine and opportunity to run in and attack himself. In these various encounters, Jaune demonstrated great skill and fending off direct aggressors and using their energies against them, even when fighting opponents far above his own level like Ironwood. Rather than just enduring an attack, he brought it to a halt by disrupting their forward advance and landing devastating counters. Conversely, Jaune was less successful against more subversive opponents who could outmaneuver and undercut him, which is what he faced against Neo and ran into against Tyrian Callows in Oniyuri. Furthermore, his success was predicated on his ability to strike at the moment of greatest vulnerability, and if unable to get the drop on his target, he could get into trouble very quickly. Putting these strengths and limits on display was his second confrontation with Cinder Fall during the exodus to Vacuo. Despite seeing his old nemesis again and witnessing Yang Xiao Long’s apparent death, Jaune remained composed and focused on ensuring the civilians could escape, only engaging himself when the last were gone. He opened by flying in and blowing Cinder back with his shield and standing with Weiss and Penny Polendina, prepared to coordinate against their more powerful adversary. Unfortunately, Cinder divided her assailants and mortally wounded Penny, forcing Jaune to tend to her while Weiss was on her own. After Penny had Jaune reluctantly kill her to keep the Winter Maiden powers out of Cinder’s hands, an enraged Fall lashed out, but Jaune, despite his extreme emotional stress, stood his ground and repelled her. However, Cinder recovered too quickly for Jaune to properly retaliate, and he was quickly overwhelmed when the Fall Maiden destroyed his weapon.

RANKING: Tier 5, Standard Application

Jaune Arc’s inexperience and limited performance in single combat make it clear that he is not a master, but he still possesses a well-rounded and comprehensive skill set that covers his bases and improves his overall viability. His greatest asset is his intelligent tactical analysis on the battlefield, enabling him to adapt to situations and exploit weaknesses, even if someone else lands the killing blow instead of him. In single combat, he can contend with superior martial artists by leveraging his techniques to nullify their offensives and hit them where they don’t expect, though his battles with Cinder and Neo prove that this has its limits. Appropriately, Jaune Arc wears Pyrrha Nikos’s influence on his sleeve, both being talented albeit thinly spread fighters who compensate for their lack of development by using all of their skills together. The difference is that where Pyrrha built a special weapon to enable all of her attack options in her technique, Jaune supported his basic technique with strong support gadgets and good armor to provide a margin for error. Jaune’s feats make him seem better than he actually is, but unlike Volume 1’s macho dofus, Jaune is now aware of this, and has built his tactics accordingly.

SPECIAL

Jaune Arc was a late bloomer when it came to his Semblance, unaware of his abilities even after a year of formal training and thus making him an anomaly among his peers. It was not until the Battle of Haven that Jaune finally properly manifested his powers. Named Aura Amp, Jaune’s Semblance allowed him to amplify and enhance the Auras of both himself and others, bolstering the affect of the manifested soul power. All Auras bless their users with moderate protection from direct injury, mitigating minor wounds, and the ability to utilize their own Semblances. When amplified by Jaune, these abilities became far more pronounced, strengthening Aura shields far beyond their limits, enhancing the magnitude of a Semblance, and turning the mild regeneration into active healing, this last part easily being the most pronounced of Jaune’s powers. The first time his Semblance unconsciously activated in the Forever Fall forest, Jaune was able to recover from the beating he took from Cardin Winchester fast enough to immediately engage the Ursa Major. This went even further when he properly unlocked his Semblance at Haven. After Cinder Fall impaled Weiss Schnee in order to spitefully torment him, Jaune’s emotional distress over another friend being severely injured on his watch, coupled with his need to save Weiss’s life finally caused his powers to properly manifest. Despite the fact that she had clearly gone into shock and was suffering from serious blood loss, Weiss was able to regain consciousness after mere minutes of treatment, and after a few more had regained enough of her energies to Summon a Queen Lancer and fight through the remainder of the battle. Making this even more impressive was that Jaune was able to accomplish this instinctively and with little to no effect on his stamina. Jaune refined his abilities for active use in the following weeks, to the point where he could casually heal the Huntsman Dudley’s broken arm on the Argus Limited, and later treated the battered Oscar Pine after rescuing him from the Monstra. Beyond healing, Jaune’s ability to amplify Auras allowed him to empower the barriers of others to help them endure incoming attacks. In Argus, he bolstered himself and Nora Valkyrie to brace against the Colossus’s punch, and thought disabled by the hit, Jaune’s power still saved their lives. On a smaller though no less impressive scale, Jaune’s amplification proved instrumental in allowing Penny Polendina to resist the effects of Arthur Watts’ computer virus, allowing her human soul to overpower her circuitry. Most impressive by far was Jaune’s ability to enhance others’ Semblances by adding his strength to their own. Lie Ren was his most common partner in this, empowering Tranquility to the point where Ren could mask the entire Argus Limited train and whole mobs of civilians in Mantle, as well as conceal at least ten trained Huntsmen from detection by whole armies of Grimm. When Penny nearly succumbed to Watts’ virus, Jaune’s enhancement of Weiss’s Glyphs allowed them to restrain her long enough to offer aid. However, Jaune’s Semblance was not without its limits. Prolonged use could drain his own Aura quickly, and even his own substantial Aura reserves were not limitless. Furthermore, his healing powers could not mend all injuries, as Nora’s electric scars and the severity of Penny’s mortal wound from Cinder were beyond his ability to heal.

In addition to his Semblance, Jaune added to his arsenal with Dust gadgets during his time in Atlas, specifically the hard-light panels and gravity repulsor built into Crocea Mors’ shield. Pioneered by Atlas and therefore costly to obtain outside of it, hard-light Dust is most commonly used in the creation of advanced defensive technology, generating tangible panels of energy strong enough to withstand severe kinetic impacts. The projectors installed in the edges of Jaune’s shield could create barriers approximately a foot and a quarter wide and running down the full length, effectively doubling his range of protection, improving his ability to function as a defensive wall for himself and his allies. While the strength limits of these projections has never been tested, I do feel they are at least comparable in strength to the shields created by figures such as Weiss Schnee and Arthur Watts, who were able to hold back the White Fan Lieutenant’s brutish chainsaw blows and block high-caliber gunfire from Due Process respectively. More contemporary but no less potent, gravity Dust affected forces of push and pull in ways meant to facilitate adhesion, propulsion, and levitation, traits that made it an extremely common fuel in vehicles. When applied combatively, gravity Dust used these same properties to function as limited telekinetic attacks, usually through the guided manipulation of thrown weapons, enhancing the tactile striking power of manual weapons, or, in the case of Jaune, powerful offensive shockwaves. Outfitted in the center of the shield, Jaune’s repulsor enabled him to project bursts of power that pushed out in all directions, strong enough to repel charging enemies and deflect attacks though not enough to actively damage his environment. Though unable to injure Neo, Ironwood and Cinder directly, the repulsor was still strong enough to stagger them, potentially setting up for a follow up strike. This weapon in particular became Jaune’s most readily utilized combative tool, his favorite tactic being to activate it just as the opponent came within striking distance, essentially delivering shield bashes with a touch of a button. Despite only recently taking these gadgets up, Jaune quickly became highly profieient in their use, smoothly integrating these abilities into his overall fighting method and together with one another. In addition to combining the functions to turn his shield into a makeshift hang glider, Jaune could project the gravity waves to push back obstacles while activating the hard-light panels to cover his flanks, using this very method to clear away a pack of Centinels while infiltrating the SDC mine. This combination tactic further demonstrated Jaune’s approach of utilizing all his abilities together as part of a greater fighting method, getting around his lack of power and skill through versatility and logistics. At the same time however, Jaune’s Dust abilities had their own individual limits. The hard-light panels were a very specialized tool, and Ironwood’s ability to penetrate Watt’s barriers proves that even special Atlas Dust can’t take a beating forever. While the gravity repulsor gave Jaune an offensive option, the kinetic output wasn’t sufficient to injure or kill, forcing Jaune to rely on other means to decisively defeat his adversary.

Regarding Jaune’s use of his special abilities in live combat, he clearly emphasized versatility over lethality, sacrificing offensive might for tactical supremacy. While his Semblance’s properties have been most impressively demonstrated on external subjects, Jaune can and has used the power on himself to potentially decisive effect. While training in Atlas, Oscar Pine observed that Jaune’s Aura was recovering at a significantly faster rate than usual, which leads me to believe that, similarly to Hazel Rainart’s Numbing Agent, Aura Amp functions as a minor healing factor to help Jaune replenish his energies. Unlike Rainart, however, Jaune’s active use of his Semblance can allow him to do this on command and more quickly, which, combined with Aura Amp’s healing properties, makes him one of the only characters with the ability to mitigate his own injuries in the field. Both of his Dust gadgets follow similar patterns of improving Jaune’s survivability, the hard-light shields artificially bolstering his martial defense while the gravity repulsor adds a layer of counteroffensive. The latter has proven effective and giving Jaune a punch against opponents above his own level, successfully repelling Neopolitan, James Ironwood, and even Cinder Fall TWICE. However, much like his martial skills, Jaune’s effectiveness as an ethereal combatant is predicated on his breadth of tools rather than their magnitude of his native proficiency. His Semblance is almost entirely a tactical support power, and its various powers still have their limitations that make its efficacy in single combat suspect. While a number of factors were at play when Jaune was forced to euthanize Penny, the narrative framing makes it clear that the severity of her injuries would have been beyond his ability to repair even if he had time and shelter. As far as his Dust abilities are concerned, Jaune may make creative integrations of his powers into his fighting style, but neither his shields nor repulsor have the means to decisively end the battle on his terms. The effectiveness of the gravity repulsor is based around its ability to stagger the opponent and set up for a counterattack, meaning its effectiveness is significantly reduced if the opponent recovers quickly enough to exploit Jaune’s lack of skill as a martial artist. Against Neopolitan, the attack was able to disrupt her forward charge and launch her down the hall, prompting her to retreat. Against Ironwood, Jaune had the support of his allies, with Oscar rushing in to attack immediately after the Dust activated, while Weiss and Penny were clearly preparing to do the same against Cinder. Jaune wasn’t so lucky when he was forced to fight Cinder on his own, their final bout taking place when Weiss was already disabled and Penny was dead. With only his native abilities as support, Jaune’s final push against Cinder merely provoked her, and her quick recovery allowed the Fall Maiden to rally and shatter his weapon, Jaune’s survival owing entirely to the timely arrival of Winter Schnee.

RANKING: Tier 5, Limited Combat

Much like his fighting abilities, Jaune Arc’s special powers are comprehensive and versatile, but they lack the development to reliably set the battle on his terms. His Semblance offers various supportive abilities that improve his survivability in the field, while the traits of his Dust loadout add layers to his fighting style, all coming together to cover all of his bases for just about any combat situation. At the same time, he lacks the developed skill with these powers to properly control the engagement, getting by through the breath of his skill set and his intelligent use of all of his skills. Rather than mastery of his abilities, Jaune Arc relies on clever gadgets to artificially elevate his fighting style into something greater than the sum of its parts, and his baseline reliability hinges on circumstantial factors. However, Jaune ‘s limitations do not make him any less of a threat, and his cunning use of the various tricks in his bag means that he can still comfortably engage any situation even if he can’t always win.

OVERALL RANKING: TIER 5, STANDARD HUNTSMAN

Compared to the true masters of his era, Jaune Arc is not a particularly exceptional combatant, but he is still significantly above the rank-and-file. On the back of his martial skills and special abilities, Jaune stands as the archetypical example of a Tier 5 combatant in the RWBY setting. His foundation stands on his rock-solid physical attributes, his exceptional athletic performance levels giving him parity with better trained opponents and his inhuman resiliency giving him the ability to work through the hits he needs to take, further supplemented by top tier combat armor. With his versatile weapon set, solid general purpose fighting technique, potent empowering Semblance, and flexible set of Dust tools, Jaune possesses an extremely comprehensive skill set that leaves him prepared for just about any combat situation, but his lack of developed skill means that none of these attributes are elevated to a degree that can decisively tip the scales of the battle in his favor, leaving him spread thin and vulnerable against more skilled adversaries. However, being a jack of all trades/master of none does not make one an inept combatant, as Jaune’s attributes still give him a degree of adaptability and grit that many more specialized fighters tend to lack. Jaune’s saving grace is his tactical mindset, allowing him to circumvent his limitations by using all of his assets, be they his own or those of his allies, together as a layered combative tool to stay alive and win in the long term. Furthermore, despite his lack of formal training, Jaune has spent almost his entire career either on the battlefield or contending against opponents far above his own level, and he has still survived.

Jaune Arc’s ranking shows that he is not yet a true master combatant and still has a long way to go before truly matching his peers, but his track record also makes it very clear that he is growing very quickly and will undoubtably match or exceed them. He is a rising star, only held back by a series of roadblocks that continue to temper him. Jaune entered Beacon feeling that to be a Huntsman and a hero was to be a mighty warrior standing on his own laurels, though the harsh realities have not only shattered this narrow worldview but also brought out Jaune’s true route to greatness. Similarly, Pyrrha’s death led him to believe that self-sacrifice was all he was good for if it meant giving his friends a chance to survive, but those very friends made it clear that throwing his life away would only hurt them more. Instead of laying waste to armies of enemies as a one man badass, he has grown into a stalwart defender dedicated to surviving to protect those that cannot do so themselves. Rather than the lethal blade of his sword, it is the impenetrable shield in his off hand that has come to define the kind of hero that Jaune Arc is. He will stand firm against evil for the sake of others, holding out as long as he must while searching for ways to end the threat with as little lives lost as possible. The strength of this shield need only be gauged by what it and its wielder has endured. The Breach, the Fall of Beacon, the Battle of Haven, the Atlas Crisis; Jaune Arc survived all this and more, and he has emerged all the stronger and wiser for it. Pyrrha Nikos saw more in Jaune than the rest of them did, and I think it’s safe to say that she could not have been prouder of who he has become; as a Huntsman, as a leader, as a warrior, and more than anything else, as a man.

*originally posted on RoosterTeeth Community page on 06-8-22*

* images taken from RWBY Wiki*

RWBY Combat Analysis

#rwby #rwby combat analysis #jaune arc #rwby jaune #beacon academy #team jnpr #peak human fitness #standard application #limited combat

97 notes · View notes