#both trying to be civil but utterly failing
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The Black Queen: A Scene By Scene Reaction and Analysis of the House of The Dragon Season 1 Finale
Okay folks. This is going to be long (3k+ words), so if you want to see me talk about Team Black for hundreds of words, this post is for you!
In opening with Lucerys and Rhaenyra and highlighting their strong relationship, they are setting the stage for the end of the episode, when that bond is so tragically broken.
In this scene we see just how young Luke is. He is in no way prepared to do his duties. He is terrified of taking his place in Driftmark and failing his family.
Rhaenyra is such an amazing mother in this scene. She is both honest and reassuring. She does not pretend to be perfect, and by hearing of his mother's journey, I think Luke is reassured that maybe, just maybe, he will one day be worthy of his inheritance.
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I really love the way Rhaenys just jumps in with the news of Viserys's death. She does not participate in the niceties because she knows there is no time to waste. And at this point, Rhaenyra hasn't really earned her loyalty. There is still anger there, but Rhaenys goes to Dragonstone out of a strong sense of family duty.
Rhaenyra and Daemon's expressions of heartbreak and shock are crushing.
When Rhaenys tells them of Aegon's crowning, you can see how Rhaenyra feels utterly betrayed. Daemon's inquiry of the cause of his brother's death is so soft and gentle. There is real love in that tone, and it is amazing deliver by Matt.
I love Daemon's suspicion of the Greens and how he accuses Rhaenys of inaction. He was just stating the obvious as he always has, no matter who might take offense.
Rhaenys is not cowed by Daemon, and stands firm in her position that it is not her war to begin. And she is right. The Greens stole Rhaenyra's throne, so it is Rhaenyra who deserves to make the answering blow. This shows that Rhaenys is truly considering siding with Rhaenyra, despite the bad blood between them. She does not bend the knee later at the coronation, but I would argue that this is the equivalent of bending the knee, and allowing the true Queen to decide what must be done.
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Rhaenyra feels the stab of pain in her abdomen. She lifts her skirts to check for signs of labor complications and her hand come back bloody.
This is a great callback to Aemma's belief that the birthing bed is a woman's battle field. Just as a civil was is coming, Rhaenyra must face a different war entirely, and first blood has already been drawn.
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The mood is so solemn. Everyone knows that this will not end well. The midwives try to reassure Rhaenyra, but she is having none of it.
This is medieval times, and men did not belong in the birthing room. Daemon knows that the Greens are coming for them. He cannot help his wife with her current maternal battle, so he begins preparations for the battle to come.
Daemon is calm, cool, collected, and strategic. This is an abrupt shift from his usual chaotic impulsiveness. He is finally able to put all his tactical and warfare knowledge to good use after years away from the battlefield. He is in his element, and this serves as an excellent distraction from his fear for the fate of his wife, who he can hear crying out in agony. We all know that Daemon is not the best at facing emotional trauma.
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I've seen some say that Jace is being overly harsh with Luke, but I don't read it that way. I am sure that Luke has confided in his brother about his fears. In his way, as brothers do, Luke is trying to make his brother stronger. He gives no quarter and mocks him for his poor form. It is harsh, but the world they live in is brutal, and an enemy will not be kind.
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I admire Rhaenyra's strength so much as she is in labor. It is not a man's strength, but it is the strength of a mother and a queen.
She knows she may not survive this birth, and is acting to prepare for that possibility even while dealing with incredible agony.
She breaks the news and Jace, I would argue is equally quick in his desire to act. The difference between him and Daemon is that Jace is not going to act without his mother's consent.
He also knows that he will need to rein Daemon in, as his mother is not in a position to do so. He is his mother's heir, and he steps into his duty with alacrity.
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Lord Corlys is sailing. Arguably, Corlys is Rhaenyra's most valuable potential ally and Daemon needs to know what the Sea Snake will do.
Rhaenyra calls out for Daemon, but I don't read it as a cry for comfort. It is a call of restraint, because Rhaenyra knows her husband better than anyone.
Daemon is so eager to act, to fly to the Riverlands himself, but when Jace delivers his mother's wishes, Daemon listens to Jace (a teenage boy) because he is the voice of Daemon's wife and queen, and no matter how much he wishes to act, he follows her commands.
Since he cannot leave Dragonstone, he takes steps to shore up the defenses at Dragonstone, beginning with the knights. He takes Luke under his wing and shows him how crucial loyalty is during a war.
He forces the knights to reaffirm their support for Rhaenyra as the queen, and Jace as her heir.
His method of doing this is harsh but honorable. Daemon shows his sense of honor and fair play here.He offers the knights a choice and is honest about the consequences should they choose wrong. The consequence of treachery is a brutal death. The consequence of not swearing themselves to Rhaenyra's cause is a clean death. There is honor in that. We have seen it before in Game of Thrones.
"Know that you will die screaming." We love a callback!
Rhaenyra continues to refuse help because she knows that no one can help her. This is a battle she must face herself.
This was the hardest scene for me to watch. I have seen that gush of blood and fluid first hand. And I want to be an OB nurse.
It is horrific. Some believe it is gratuitously graphic, and maybe it is. But this is a show about the horrors of life, and birth can be just as brutal as war.
Rhaenyra again shows her strength by pulling the babe out herself, while practically standing, and folks, let me tell you, that is not easy!
The baby is stillborn. The midwives are heartbroken and crying. Rhaenyra is devastated. She takes her baby, her only daughter, in her arms. This is the first concrete loss that Rhaenyra has to suffer because of the war.
Daemon sees his wife grieving and rocking their baby. There is nothing he can say that will improve the situation, and even if there was, we know that Daemon isn't a man of words. He feels emotions very deeply, but he cannot properly express them.
Though Daemon and Rhaenyra share a strong marital bond, this grief is something they will have to process individually.
Rhaenyra's insistance on doing the post mortem care is incredibly touching and equally heartbreaking. I was crying as I watched it the first time.
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Both Rhaenyra and Daemon have grieved on their own, and now they stand together to burn their only daughter. Daemon looks to Rhaenyra, and you can see his concern for her.
Enter Ser Erryk. He kneels before his queen presenting the symbol of her birthright; Viserys's crown.
Unlike Aegon, who was crowned with the crown of the conqueror. This is an excellent visual cue of whom to root for, posing Aegon II as the conquerer and usurper, and Rhaenyra as the heir to her father's peaceful legacy.
I think it is very telling that Daemon is featured during Ser Erryk's vows. It is meant to show Daemon's unfailing loyalty to his wife and queen.
Daemon never wanted the throne, not truly. What mattered more to him was protecting his brother's, and now Rhaenyra's reign. He may have a different idea of what is necessary to protect that claim, but his devotion to his family and their claim to the Iron Throne is there.
This is my favorite parallel in the entire season. Daemon crowning his wife, just as he helped his brother with his crown. If Daemon really wanted the throne, the show runners would have had someone else crown Rhaenyra.
We see Rhaenyra's awe of the moment. She has been preparing almost her entire life for this day. Her coronation is not a spectacle like Aegon's. I would argue that the Greens needed the spectacle to establish a facade of righteousness and send the message that Aegon is the "true" king.
Rhaenyra's coronation is intimate and beautiful, showing that hers is the true claim. Every single person there is loyal to her (except for Rhaenys, who is withholding judgement, but she is not making a spectacle of herself) , unlike all the small folk who didn't really care about Aegon until he had his accoutrement.
The music is swelling, glorious and victorious.
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The painted table is one of the most beautiful shots of this season, and maybe of the entire visual world of ASIOF.
Daemon announces his Queen, taking no titles for himself. He is her loyal King Consort!
Rhaena is showing her loyalty to her queen. (I am honestly hoping that Rhaena will take the place of one of the dragonseeds.) Rhaeynra calls both Rhaena and Baela to her side, because they are just as much her family as her own children.
Daemon is so knowledgeable as he tells Rhaenyra of all their resources.
And Rhaenyra is proves her knowledge of the various lords.
"There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath!" - My heart skipped a beat at this line, because my loyalty as a viewer has always been to the Starks. I can't wait to see them. Also, we are reminded of how the Starks are the key to the North, the largest of the Seven Kingdoms.
I still love that Rhaenys isn't intimidated by Daemon. It's just great.
Rhaenyra understands the importance of the Velaryons to her cause, and she plays the game perfectly as she praises the Velaryon house and fleet.
No one cares about the West and the Lannisters. But the Riverlands are absolutely crucial.
I love the dragon math. Daemon believes they are the key to victory, but Rhaenyra reminds Daemon that the other side has dragons as well, and that their own dragons are largely untested in battle.
And Daemon talks about the riderless dragons, and the camera shifts to Rhaena. My girl is going to claim one of those dragons, I just know it. Nettles who?
Daemon is so eager to deal with the Greens swiftly. You can see the need Rhaenyra has to rein in her husband, ever the Rogue Prince.
The Greens arrive and Daemon seizes Dark Sister, ready to defend his wife against their greatest enemy, let's go!!!!!
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This bridge scene is the PERFECT parallel to the scene in 1x02.
Otto is a cunt and a traitor, blustering about his stupid king and failing to give Rhaenyra the respect and title that she is owed.
Rhaenyra, a true queen arrives on Syrax. When she was young, she and Daemon were on opposite sides, and now they stand together. And Daemon is such a proud husband.
Rhaenyra shows her strength, but she also shows her restraint and willing to listen, which is an important quality in a just monarch.
"I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken usurper cunt of a king!" We stan!
No one cares about your facade of legitimacy Otto. You need to die. He is such a terrible, social climbing cunt, just as Daemon told Viserys all those years ago.
The book page is a dirty and weak trick. Rhaenyra should have ripped it to shreds.
Demon wanting so bad to end this farce and kill Otto. We stan! Yet one word from his queen, and Daemon stands down. We love to see that unwavering loyalty from an agent of chaos.
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Rhaenyra shows her strength and benevolence. She does not want to be a queen of ash and bone. She is weighing the cost to the realm, as any noble monarch would.
Daemon, bless his heart, will never be as noble as Rhaenyra. His patience is starting to crack. I don't think he wants to burn everything. I just think he is more realistic about the cost of war and putting down a usurper and a rebellion. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra is a peaceful idealist, and her father's true heir.
Her hesitance to go to war is honorable and highlights her worthiness of the throne, which is in stark contrast to Daemon.
The domestic conflict between Daemon and Rhaenyra is building.
Daemon argues openly, and this in not a good look for Rhaenyra as the new queen to have her Consort openly challenging her.
I love how Rhaenys is here for the drama. She's a little petty, but I can't say I blame her.
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Daemon is always honest and straightforward, just as he was with Viserys. He is not an idealist, he is a realist. And idealists like Rhaenyra and Viserys need someone like Daemon to balance them out.
I've already written a meta about my thoughts on this particular moment of the episode, which you can find here.
Again, it's a fight between realism and idealism, and it is wonderful to watch this conflict come to a head. Daemon snaps, but I think it has less to do with Rhaenyra and more about his frustration with his brother.
Still, when he sees that he isn't getting through to Rhaenyra, he releases her.
In my meta about this scene, I said that she mocked him, and I still think that this is true, on a second viewing I read the expression on Rhaenyra's face after Daemon releases her as one of understanding and acceptance. She gets why he is acting this way, and she does not hold it against him even though they disagree.
Also, I think for a moment there is a little bit of sadness before her pride at being her father's true heir comes to the fore.
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Corlys and his joke, man he is so silly, and he is trying to lighten the moment.
I want to talk about an interesting parallel between this scene and the beach scene between Daemon and Rhaenyra in episode 1x07.
Rhaenys is in the same position as Rhaenyra was all those years ago. Abandoned by the man she loved. Corlys and Daemon bothe have a history of pursuing glory and personal gain, and both have/had a strong desire to see their wives on the iron throne.
Rhaenys talks about how they have lost two children, and by the end of the episode so will Rhaenyra and Daemon.
Corlys and Rhaenys start the scene essentially divided as a couple, but then by the end of the scene they are back on the same page.
This echoes Daemon and Rhaenyra, divided at the beginning and throughout much of the episode, and united by the end, because of the death of their children. Don't touch me, it hurts!
I have to laugh at how Corlys and Rhaenys also parallel Laenor and Rhaenyra. Corlys wants to get the hell away from all the political games, just as Laenor did, but Rhaenys reminds him that their family's lives are at stake, just as Rhaenyra had to remind Laenor.
And now we finally see that Rhaenyra has won Rhaenys's loyalty. Seriously, I wish they would tell the Velaryons that Laenor is actually alive, but at this point that may do more harm than good.
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We love a good power couple entrance.
"Hope is the fool's ally." This is a gentler version of what Daemon has been trying to communicate to Rhaenyra. Hope is noble, as is the wish for peace, but it will not win the day in circumstances such as these.
Finally, the Velaryons declare for Rhaenyra. And again, Corlys is echoing Daemon's sentiment that the Hightower treason cannot stand. He's just more diplomatic about it, and Rhaenyra is wise enough to listen when more than one of her supporters voices the same advice.
Still, she is still holding on to a little bit of hope for unity.
"If war's first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand." Oh, just you wait. The first stroke is coming. But her restraint is truly admirable and it shows her great respect for the high lords and allies.
Rhaenyra gains confidence as she realizes that they have a tactical advantage. She is bolstered by the support of the Velaryons. She has a great strategic mind. She doesn't want to lead her men into a suicide mission. She balances out Daemon, and even though he's not in the scene, it is evident why they are such a good team.
Baby Jace, no. You and your brother need to stay here! And really, they should, but they are ready to do their duty and become envoys to their mother's cause. They are perfect little princes.
LORD CREGAN STARK, let's go!
Baby Luke, nooooooooooooo.
"We must remind the lords of the oaths they swore, and the cost of breaking them."
This is a parallel to Daemon's earlier discussion with Jace. Rhaenyra's approach may not be as harsh, but it all comes to the same thing. Send the dragons to remind the lords/knights of their vows and the consequences of breaking them.
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Rhaenyra is trying her best to impress upon her sons the importance of diplomacy. It is too bad that the Greens do not share her honor.
Luke calling her "mother" before "your grace" breaks me. They love each other so much!
I love Rhaenyra's faith in her children, even though this faith gets brutally punished.
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Despite their differences, Daemon knows that the dragons are key to the success of the war. It may be a little bit of a suicide mission because of all Daemon has lost, and in that scene by the fire, he might have felt that he had lost Rhaenyra, or that he would lose her very soon because of her dream for peace. He knows that in Westeros, you win or you die. And he is doing all he can to assure a win for this wife. Even if it means waking a giant and cranky sleeping dragon who might have him as a snack.
Matt Smith singing in High Valyrian does something to me. Also this is an awesome callback to Tyrion with Daenerys's dragon, and we love to see it.
The shot with Vermithor and Daemon's eyes showing a new bond also does things to me.
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Holy hell, Vhagar is a monster. Luke is so brave. I would have run.
Luke conducts himself with such honor, decorum, and composure. Aemond could never.
Lord Borros is a cunt.
Strike that, Lord Borros is an illiterate cunt.
Aemond is a little immature bitch boy, but even I have to admit that he does serve face for days, and that sapphire eye is a look! That little knife twirl does something to me too, I'm sorry.
But also, I hate him. And I can't wait for Daemon and Dark Sister to end his existence.
Okay, Borros at least has one shred of honor left.
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My poor little Arrax is so scared! He is just a baby!
That visual showing the sheer size difference between Vhagar and Arrax is visually stunning and terrifying.
Aemond's maniacal laugh and speaking High Valyrian threats serve him well as an antagonist.
Noooooooo, Arrax. Vhagar is a crusty old bitch!
Aemond's hubris and lust for vengeance cause the death of one of the purest characters in this story, and I hate him for it.
That look is not one of remorse, but one of horror that he started a civil war. I don't think he will regret it. I think this act will corrupt him further.
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Daemon and Rhaenyra coming together in the wake of tragedy is so beautiful. My heart exploded.
It is a testament to Emma's acting that you could feel the full extent of Rhaenyra's pain without seeing her face.
And then that final look?
Rhaenyra has found her fire again. She and Daemon will be on the same page, burn together and commit so many war crimes. But I still believe she will curb his worst impulses at times.
Still, I wonder if Blood and Cheese will be more Rhaenyra's doing. I really hope so, even though it will be brutal.
This episode was phenomenal. I loved almost every minute of it. If any of you have read this whole post, I thank you.
Daemon and Rhaenyra still have the most beautiful relationship of the show and I am stoked to see them in season 2.
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for the ship thing, walt/skyler?
I regret to inform the internet at large that I did, in fact, kind of ship them. Everyone else in the fandom out there defending their right to ship Walt/Jesse and I'm over here in my weirdo corner defending Walt's unhealthy, toxic relationship with his for realsies wife.
There's never a moment in BrBa where I didn't buy their relationship and the history between them, which I think is really key to making the entire premise work. You had to really understand why after she finds out about his criminal life Skyler doesn't just turn him in and they sold me on it. It was a masterstroke to make it motivated not from fear (at least at first), but from her love of her husband, her sentimental attachment to the image of their family she wants the kids to have, and her own natural pragmatic nature.
my favorite or a defining moment
Their defining moment is the phone call in Ozymandias. I don't think anything more encapsulates their relationship than that—the fact that Walt has utterly destroyed their lives with his selfish actions but is also heartbroken over Hank's death and is completely willing to take the fall to protect her and in spite of everything they've gone through and the deterioration of their marriage and souls she knows him well enough to understand what he's really doing and lets him know she understands. Runner up is the conversation after he collapses on the bathroom floor and asks her if she's glad he's finally dying Anna Gunn's face :(
My personal favorite moments were all in late S3 early S4 when Skyler pushes herself into his criminal enterprises against his will and becomes Walt's naggy concerned mafia wife. The scene where she comes over to his condo and he tries to hide his blackeye with the door frame never fails to crack me up (I find her protectiveness of him weirdly cute.)
My favorite moment is when they're lying in bed together after the awkward (but kinda hilarious) re-consummation of their marriage and just having super banal domestic talk (Skyler pointing out she's gotten a haircut and then laughing when Walt says oh, yeah, I was definitely going to say something about it :')) and then Junior comes home and they're trying and failing to hide that they had sex from their disgusted teenage son. It's the closest the show ever got to family comedy/fluff.
whether they’re wholesome (affectionate), fucked up (affectionate), fucked up (derogatory), or boring
They veered into fucked up (derogatory) in early S5 and kind of never really left that place (though at least he finally stopped lying to her) though they did have some genuine moments of honesty in the latter half of the show.
a song I think captures their essence:
Poison and Wine by the Civil Wars
A Sister Ship
Uh Ozai/Ursa from ATLA tbh? Ursa and Skyler are both on board with murder if it means the safety of their children. Also Lord and Lady Macbeth, which I'm pretty sure Peter Gould straight up compared them to at one point.
what kind of AU I’d like to stick them in
One where he doesn't kill Gus, because that's the moment where their relationship went from high-key dysfunctional and effed up in an entertaining way even though you know it's unhealthy to just...terrifying.
I've always liked the idea of AUs where Skyler somehow gets to spend time with Jesse/teams up with him, because Walt spends so much of the show trying to keep those two apart from each other lest they reveal all his weaknesses/sins, and I find the idea of them double teaming him hilarious because you know Walt would hate it. I kind of wrote that in Spin the Gun but I've thought of other iterations of that I like.
Now I'm picturing some weird AU of the end of S4 where Walt successfully gets the family to the Disappearer and when Jesse shows up too because he doesn't want to be left behind by Mr. White Walt convinces her to let him be part of their new assumed identity family.
Bonus: They aren't on my top ten list, but they were the only romantic relationship in BrBa that I actually had a strong investment in.
#ship asks#skyler white#walter white#walt x skyler#breaking bad#brba#they had a lot of scenes i liked tbh the one at the beginning of end times where he sends her into police custody#corgoship
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Ok but since its MC canon that kimblee returned the ph stone and then THREATENED THE SHIT out of his commanding officers I finally thought more about it
And have come to the conclusion that this happened around the same time as Roy and Riza did some unsafe fire play wink wink nudge nudge
So. Get this.
Kimblee's in the medical tent. Dr Marcoh is nowhere to be found. Dr Knox is the only one on duty. It's the end of the war they tell him, you won't have anymore medical interventions that need pain killers and anaesthetics. Just knock Kimblee out with some drugs because he's dangerous rn.
What if someone comes in that needs my medical resources more? If you want to knock kimblee out just do it mechanically.
Brain damage, they cite as the reason they can't can't that. Looking a bit oddly at the resident doctor.
It'll do him some good, Dr Knox replies.
But OK. He drugs Kimblee. Who's in those famous shackles that keep his arrays away. He's kinda like an angry chihuahua. But Dr knox isn't deterred.
Now Dr knox has no drugs left. These were his last resources. But get this. It's literally one day before they all go back home. Who the FUCK is going to get injured or maimed NOW? WHAT KIND OF DUMBASS DO YOU HAVE TO BE-
Enter Riza Hawkeye. And Roy Mustang. Who looks more ill than she does and she has burns on her back.
Dr Knox figures it out. They say some stupid shit like Heater explosion. Gas leak? One of those war type thingies that could go boom. Insert half assed explanation here. But Dr knox?? He wasn't born FUCKING YESTERDAY. HE recognises a sex thing when he sees one. And the way Mustang is utterly mortified and horrified with his actions definitely means he was involved.
(this kids is what we like to call dramatic irony at its finest moment, poor roy's never even seen riza's titties let alone had the magnificent pleasure of her company in bed)
Can you give her some drugs please, Mustang is pleading. Riza is delirious with pain. She's one more wince away from falling unconscious from the pain, actually.
Kimblee is so out of it that he hasn't even noticed they're there. Dr Knox just points at him and says that he used his last drugs to knock him out.
Mustang is so done at that point. He tries to needle Dr knox to give Riza some under the table stuff you know wink wink something he hid for himself.
Is that Roy Mustang??? Kimblee is like :D Roy Mustang, I know your voice!! My civil rights are being breached!! Roy Mustang!
Roy just sighs. Riza is in pain. This nutcase is drugged out of his right mind. Yeah Kimblee?
And then this following scene remains in his memory forever. Kimblee is trying and failing to sit up. He gives up on that. Then tries to swing his feet out of the bed but doesn't realise he's been tied to the bed so it's a struggle. It's like a beached whale trying to get back in the water. It's not working. Roy pities him. He goes over to him. Yeah Kimblee? He repeats.
Kimblee just winks at him ;)
It's not even a flirtatious wink. Kimblee's trying to make it flirtatious, that's obvious. But it more comes across as something getting in his eye. Or a spasmic twitch that he can't control because he winks multiple times and switches an eye. Then closes one. Then closes both. Mustang's just staring. He's speechless.
And then Kimblee begins giggling. It's not like a cackle or a loud laugh. It's when you want to start telling a joke but can't because u find it too funny to properly start.
So he manages to wheeze out ;) Hey good looking *insert pause for laughter and wheezes and some kicks because he's still trying and failing to get free* What's - *voiceless laugh* what's coo - what's
Roy Mustang is just horrified, standing there over this mess of a man, thinking about Riza and how he shouldn't have tried dissuading her so much from going through with this because if they'd done it earlier she might have been able to get some drugs
Hey good looking, what's cooking? - Kimblee ;))
Nothing, Kimblee, just get some rest man. - Roy :/ Mustang
Dr Knox is like trying to guerrilla salvage the situation with Riza. Kimblee is DESPERATELY trying to get Mustang's attention. Mustang's absolutely devastated with himself and how now due to his actions Riza is in unbearable agony. Commanding officers are dragging Mustang away to interrogate him about this situation because it's SUSPICIOUS.
(WHAT IS WRONG WITH OUR HUMAN WEAPONS???? HAVE THEY ALL BECOME LOOSE CANONS???
Perhaps it's because we've dehumanised them that they've decided to unionise and cause havoc????? Should we investigate this behaviour??
Maybe it's just shell shock????
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT IS, BUT IT HAD BETTER STOP WE CAN'T LOSE TWO OF OUR BIGGEST HITTERS IN ONE DAY - LET'S JUST FORGET TODAY EVER HAPPENED. Maybe tomorrow after they've had some rest both Kimblee and Mustang will calm down.
OK. TOTALLY COOL BY MY STANDARDS)
Riza's unconscious. Perhaps it's for the best.
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Nov. 2012: "Reading Response 3"
....I demonstrate a centrist tendency in this which MAKES ME VERY MAD. I do not stand by 21-year-old me's centrist stance.
I believe this was an essay for that one epub class. I think it was meant to be about information bubbles? I don't really remember.
----Essay----->
In a general way, I see attention fatigue as effecting me more while I tend to be hyper aware of the loss of social breadth and the distorted sense of reality (which, to my mind, go so hand-in-hand as to be nearly the same entity). I imagine that the latter two would be the ones effecting me the most, and in many ways I’m certain that they do impact me far more than I realize, except that I am so fixated upon them. I am a person who is inherently indecisive; when I’m presented with a problem, I try to gather as many different perspective on the problem as possible, rather than trying to find facts. I assume that facts are virtually nonexistent, but if I can consume enough different opinions, then whatever is true in all of them must be factual. Simultaneously, I am able to find and identify the arguments that seem the most reasonable, the most logical, and appear to be accounting for the largest number of factors in the most beneficial way. In theory, this should lead me to a single answer and a decision; it rarely does so as I become so bogged down in the two to ten perspectives rolling around my mind, all of which make absolute crystal clear sense to me, that I cannot, in the end, choose one as being any better than the others. Thus, when I catch myself or my friends or really anyone remotely in my vicinity generalizing or taking an article for fact without double-checking its sources or attempting to think critically about them, I go on high alert, becoming suspicious and thinking how the individual in question is selecting out the information they want and how their social group is reinforcing their beliefs; the homogeny in my apartment drives me mad so that I’ve taken to seeking out just about anyone with an opinion that varies from that of my best friend and her girlfriend, lest I be sucked into their collective consciousness.
Yet, at the same time, I am just as guilty of these biases. I was, mere moments ago, considering unfriending a high school acquaintance on Facebook for her obnoxiously vocal support of Mitt Romney. (My political position on the election has been “Literally anyone but Romney.”) I haven’t actually done so, but I’d very much like to, just so I don’t have to read about how dumb she thinks Obama is. On the other hand, I’ve been the one to explain why Romney supporters support Romney to the majority of my friends, who support Obama—they don’t know why; they can’t even fathom it, and it’s because they have exactly zero access to anyone exhibiting a critical thinking ability who is in support of Romney. I, on the other hand, have noted several and have thus come to perceive the election as a choice between positive economic policies and much-desired change and, on the other hand, civil liberties and much-needed healthcare reform. It’s a difficult choice to make, and, to me, civil liberties must always be the first priority, but when viewed in this way, Romney supporters suddenly become understandable.
Still, when I catch myself failing to maintain the intellectual curiosity that enabled me to take that view, I find it’s because of attention fatigue. My ability to focus is utterly shot, particularly if I’m under stress and doubly so if it’s emotional duress. I spend most of my free time perusing the internet, using tumblr or StumbleUpon, both of which are sites dedicated to providing a steady drip of interesting content as quickly as possible and in as great a volume as possible, and yet for all the content I view, I hardly retain any of it, and most of what I bother to actually look at is image-based or no more than a few lines; I can’t be bothered to read an entire article or even a few paragraphs unless the headline indicates that he subject matter is very much geared toward my pre-existing interests. Even then, I can easily be distracted less than a quarter of the way through and find myself running on to the next thing, thoughts uncompleted. Simultaneously, I’m utterly unable to take in auditory information fully; it simply flies in one ear and out the other because I can’t focus on the actual words being spoken to me. Instead of meaning packets, they act mostly as sound, and generally sound too feeble to win my attention away from my screen. All in all, I feel as though I would be better informed, a better intellectual, and generally more worthy as a human being and society member if I could just get past the fact that I can hardly go more than three sentences into anything without clicking off to the next item.
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whats a fic u want to write but dont know how (ie an idea u have and cant get out of your head but dont know how to actually write it down or make it happen)
1. For HP: Sixth year AU: Draco and other Slytherins approach Harry because they don’t want to be a part of Voldemort’s craziness but they also don’t want to die and they also don’t trust Dumbledore really because what has he ever done for Slytherins. So, logical choice? Approach Harry Potter. Leader of the third side of the war. Except, Harry doesn’t think he is his own side. Hermione is confused too, because she’s very much go Dumbledore. But Ron is like, “I thought you knew?” And then has to explain to Harry and Hermione. It’s a new experience for all. So then Slytherins set about helping Harry fully embrace his newly discovered role as leader of the we-shouldn’t-have-to-be-involved-in-this-but-we-are-anyway side and he asks why and they’re all like “we want to stay alive, duh.” So anyway, a bunch of teenagers take on the war. And maybe take over the world. Lots of potential for lordships and heirs in their particular class year, you know? What a convenient coincidence that so many seats can be taken up by the newly turned seventeen year olds…. I wonder what would happen…. If they did something about that….. Also featuring teenagers gradually (or not so gradually) losing faith in the adults that failed to keep them safe. But some redemption for said adults. Just, maybe the kids keep going anyway.
2. For Marvel/Avengers/MCU: Peter finds out what happened to Tony in Siberia and is Not Pleased™. He and Ned basically try (unsuccessfully) to hack into Wakanda, and end up chatting with Shuri, who is equally Not Pleased™. She and Peter concoct a scheme to get it all dealt with. T’Challa isn’t thrilled with the whole prospect, and honestly the rogues aren’t actually there, only Barnes, but he agrees to help. Peter is doing something towards his Cause™ and runs into Daredevil, who finds himself somehow recruited for this and how did that even happen. Happy finds out, and insists on telling someone, but Peter pleads with him to not tell Tony, so he tells Rhodey instead, who is then completely on board, as is Vision, even though he is still upset and conflicted about Wanda. So now the Save Tony Squad™ is up and going, and Tony knows, but pretends he doesn’t because honestly it’s really sweet and he’s already threatened every adult member of the little group as to what would happen should any of his kids (Peter, Harley, who has shown up at some point, Shuri, because she’s the best, and Vision), get in any way injured or have their feelings hurt at any point during this. Except none of the adults know the other adults were threatened, thus they all feel singularly responsible. So… Anyway, they try to get even with the rogues. Justice. Revenge. Whatever. At some point Peter makes Cap watch the bullying PSA thing he did, and someone (Harley?) Makes a powerpoint. And pretty much all the adults that weren't in Civil War/team Cap get pulled into this somehow.
3. For DC/Batfam: (There are so, so many but one is) Jason deals with the entire batfam being deaged, including Alfred and Barbara, and now who is he supposed to call for help. Oliver? Hahaha… Except that happens. He calls Roy, who is with Oliver, because they are finally at a good place. Roy can’t leave, but Oliver can, and maybe he feels like this is the time to prove himself, so he goes to Gotham. “I don’t know how to take care of babies!” Except they’re not actually terrible at it. Cue super weird Jason and Oliver bonding time that they literally never needed in their lives, but whatever. Jason finally gives in at some point over something happening and says he’s calling his mom. Oliver takes that to mean Diana. It did not mean Diana. So both Talia and Diana show up and Talia takes care of baby Damian (again), and Diana takes care of the kids too, and Oliver forgot how utterly exhausting a small Dick Grayson was, and Jason is ultra protective of his baby Tim, who obviously had never had a satisfactory parent in his life, and it’s all going fine, really. Cass is an angel at any age, but quiet and doesn’t speak. Stephanie is quiet and shy and it’s bringing up all kinds of things about her childhood that Jason didn’t know. Alfred is a messy baby or toddler and Jason doesn’t know how to feel about that. Barbara is adorable and her dad comes by but doesn’t stay. Asks for pictures.
4. Literally anything with actual romance in it which is ironic because I signed up to write three separate Valentine's Day related prompts so we'll see how that goes haha.
#fanfiction#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#ao3#fanfic writing#hp#avengers#mcu#batfam#dc comics#excerpts from my eighteen page fic idea document
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Latch (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)
Hello! Just a little background, this takes place post-Age of Ultron but pre-Civil War. Let me know your thoughts! I have some more ideas in store for this story. :)
Warnings: Just some good old fashioned angst and comfort plus some light fluff :)
“You lift my heart up when the rest of me is down... If there are boundaries I will try to knock them down.”
Despite everything in her life pointing to the contrary, Wanda spend the majority of her life believing in love. Life was cruel and took and took from her endlessly, yet deep down she believed that one day there would be more than that.
When she lost Pietro, she knew she couldn’t believe that anymore. Her only constant, the one she relied on most in this world was cruelly torn away from her. She was alone. Truly and utterly alone for the first time in her life, and it terrified her. It was clear to her that life had decided happiness was not in the cards for her. If life had decided that she didn’t deserve love or happiness, then she didn’t see a point in fighting it any longer. With steely resolve, she retreated into herself and found solace in her loneliness and the emptiness in her heart.
Despite being a new Avenger, she refrained from getting to know anyone on the team or allowing them to know her. Wanda had established a routine that kept them all at arm’s length despite numerous attempts to reach her from each of them. This worked fairly well for a month.
Then you walked through the doors and everything changed.
Steve had brought you in temporarily to further the Avengers training with your powers as he was your mentor of sorts. Almost immediately you were drawn to the girl with sadness in her eyes. It didn’t take the advanced skills of a trained assassin to notice that she was withdrawn and perpetually alone. Your heart ached for her. If there was one thing you understood in this world, it was loneliness. You knew what being alone in this cold world felt like and you would never wish it on anyone. You sensed it the moment you met Wanda and you wanted nothing more than to help her bear that heavy burden. To do anything you could to take that pain away from the beautiful stranger who had mesmerized you from the very first glance. As far as you were concerned, she was now your mission.
As cliché as it sounded, Wanda also felt an instant connection with you. Regardless of the connection she felt with you, her walls remained up. She made it her own mission to avoid you at all cost. Too scared to let anyone close again and unwilling to even consider taking the risk. Despite her efforts, you still managed what countless others before you had failed to do. You broke through Wanda’s walls as though they were made of paper. You both gravitated towards one another naturally and you understood that not all situations required words. She appreciated that.
In the beginning you would just sit with her and listen to music, both comforted by one another’s mere presence. Neither really understanding it, but seemingly seeking it. Eventually sitting together transitioned into small talk. Small talk developed into sharing small tidbits of one another’s life. Small talk led to deep conversations which often involved a lot of comforting. Slowly but surely you were helping her heal.
You two quickly became inseparable. As much as it surprised the other Avengers, they were all just glad to see Wanda with a little less sadness in her eyes. To see Wanda accept help.
After a few weeks, Steve announced you had been formally asked to join the Avengers and had accepted much to Wanda’s dismay. While she had developed a bond with you, she knew that you staying meant that her already fragile heart was facing the threat of even more heartbreak. Staying meant that she would only come to care for you more. Staying meant she could potentially lose you – her last glimmer of hope in this unforgiving world.
Despite her fear, staying away from you had become impossible for her.
It wasn’t until she learned about your past that she understood. You had been sitting with her quietly on the roof of the compound as usual, soft music playing in the background. That’s when she decided she couldn’t take it anymore. “Why?” she asked with a steady voice as she faced you.
“Hmm?” you hummed, as you turned to meet her questioning eyes, clearly confused by her sudden words.
“Why do you care about me? You barely even know me.”
You looked down and began twisting the rings on your fingers with a furrowed brow. Enough time had passed, and Wanda was about to ask again when you began speaking, your voice solemn. “Because… Because I know what it’s like to be you. I know that sometimes the only way to save yourself from drowning is to accept the hand that is offered to you no matter how much you’d rather sink to the bottom.”
Wanda studied you for a moment, trying to keep her features neutral but her eyes gave her away. She was surprised. “And how would you know that?”
“We’re more similar than you think.” You replied, which was a cop-out answer. You were just trying to ready yourself in order to tell her of your own past.
“How?” She asked insistently.
Again, Wanda noticed you begin spinning the rings on your fingers. A nervous tick she picked up. “Before I met Steve I was a lot like you.” She opened her mouth to speak, but you merely held your hand up to signal you weren’t done yet. “I’m getting to it. I was a product of Hydra too. Not a volunteer exactly, but I never put up a fight to leave. I stayed for the promise of guaranteed safety for my little sister – Anna- if I cooperated.”
Wanda’s breath hitched. “Y/n-,”
“Hydra had taken my parents years before. I couldn’t let them take her too. Then my powers developed. Developed into something that they could use to harm innocent people. I became their new weapon… but, I couldn’t do it. I refused. A few days later they tied me down and brought Anna in th-then they took her from me. Right in front of my eyes.”
Wanda’s eyes watered, she understood your pain and she finally knew that you understood hers as well. She took your hand in hers and held it tightly. “You don’t have to tell me more.” She whispered.
You shook your head, “You shared your entire past with me. It’s only fair you know my own. After they took Anna I lost control and don’t remember much of what happened but when I came to the majority of the building was in rubble and I was ready to lose myself in the rubble as well to be with Anna once again. That’s when Steve found me. He knew what I was trying to do and didn’t let me. He knocked me out,” you chuckled slightly, “After I awoke again, he sat with me and offered me help, offered me another option in life. It was like I could hear Anna’s voice in my head and she told me to accept, so I did.”
“You accepted the hand that wanted to save you from drowning.” Wanda whispered, squeezing your hand once more.
With a small smile, you nodded. “I did. I had no control over my powers though, so Steve took me to Fury who helped me train for about a year with Steve constantly checking in on me. Now here I am. An Avenger. With you. Offering you a hand, hoping to save you from drowning.”
Wanda closed her eyes for a moment and took in everything you had just confided in her. She took note of your hand still steadily in her own. A life raft. She took note of how for the first time since she lost her brother she didn’t feel alone.
“I don’t think I want to sink to the bottom anymore, Y/n.” she whispered, finally opening her eyes and looking into yours with raw emotion. “Just- just don’t let go.”
You noticed the vulnerability in her eyes as you collected her in your arms, feeling her bury her face against your neck, her tears coating your skin. “I’ve got you, I won’t let go of you.” You whispered into her hair.
Well there it is, part 1! Technically this is a companion piece to my last story “One Day at a Time” but you don’t have to read it to understand this piece since it would be part 1. Inspired by Sam Smith’s “Latch (acoustic)” so full experience would involve listening to it lol. I hope anyone reading this enjoyed it!
#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximov#wanda marvel#scarlet witch#scarlet witch x reader#wandavision x reader#marvel#marvel x y/n#marvel x reader#wanda maximoff fic#wanda maximoff fanfiction#mcu x y/n#mcu x reader#wanda x you#wanda x y/n#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda#wandavision#the avengers#avengers x fem!reader
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Okay, I know that the Spones content in Bread and Circuses has been talked about before, so I’m likely adding nothing new. But heck with it, I’m talking about it anyways cause it’s just too good not to!
The episode has Spock and McCoy somewhat saltier towards each other than usual. From the second the episode resumes after the opening credits, they’re snarking at each other almost immediately. It goes on for so long that we have the guest character outright ask Kirk if they’re enemies, and even he isn’t for sure. It’s almost like one of the writers anticipated the fact that some would legit think that the two genuinely hated each other, and decided to ask the question. For the most part, their banter is mutual and they’re clearly trying to rouse a reaction from the other.Even when at gunpoint, McCoy just HAS to snap at Spock for “[being] so blasted honest?’. Spock’s raised brow to me almost came across like ‘really doctor? must you be like this now?”. It’s got some amusing stuff, like the banter in the beginning and McCoy of all being being the one to suggest illogic regarding sun worshipers has Spock giving some utterly hilarious facial expressions. But still, the banter goes enough that event he audience has to ask: are these two truly enemies.
The rest of their scenes answer the question.
During the gladiator fight, McCoy’s still so pissed off that even fighting to the death won’t stop him from yelling at Spock when he asks if he needs help. Stress and you know… trying not to die is a factor, but still. But since McCoy’s a doctor, not a warrior he’s about to be killed… until Spock takes out his own opponent and nerve punches McCoy’s before he can be harmed. Doing this breaks the rules and Kirk chooses to take what would be their death sentence upon himself. Spock acted on pure instinct in that instant. Or even more bluntly, it was an emotional response. He interfered because he didn’t want McCoy to die, and he was the only one in a positon to save him. He even seems pretty started that he did so. But because of i, now Kirk is going to die in their places and neither he nor McCoy can do anything about it. He outright pulls at the cell bars, according to McCoy, fifteen times. Logically it’s pretty clear that it’s not working.
With this, McCoy’s now cooled down enough that he legitimately tries to thank Spock for saving him. It’s awkward, neither one are very good at having heart-to-hearts with each other. Spock pretty much acts like it’s the usual banter and kind of condescendingly before telling him to get to the point, which causes McCoy to just snap it out at him. Spock tries to go into the usual ‘I’m a logical Vulcan’ spiel, saying quote:
Spock: Oh, yes. You humans have that emotional need to express gratitude. You're welcome, I believe, is the correct response. However, Doctor, you must remember I am entirely motivated by logic. The loss of our ship's surgeon, whatever I think of his skill, would mean a reduction in the efficiency of the Enterprise and therefore-.
Which is what finally gets McCoy pissed off enough to directly confront him about it. Why? Because he knows that Spock’s spitballing here. He’s trying to deny his emotional responses, despite having demonstrated it at least twice with McCoy right there for both of them. Saving McCoy despite knowing the consequences of doing so was an emotional response. Trying to escape the cell due to Jim’s life being in danger despite all efforts failing is an emotional response. He tries to say it’s just due to professionalism, but at this point there’s been enough episodes that the audience knows that that’s not true. McCoy absolutely knows it. He knows how Spock tends to keep his emotions suppressed and deny that he even has them, even though he very clearly does. It is a factor that has continuously frustrated McCoy. He’d never force Spock to be outwardly emotional, Plato’s Stepchildren made that VERY clear. But when it DOES happen and Spock tries to act otherwise? And after having dealt with this for nearly two years now? Yeah, McCoy decides that he’s had it as he grabs Spock, turns him around so that they’re making clear eye-contact, and makes his opinion VERY clear.
McCoy: Do you know why you're not afraid to die, Spock? You're more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out. That's it, isn't it? Insecurity. Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling.
Which… he’s not entirely wrong. Even during this, Spock turns away from him like he doesn’t want to talk about it. But McCoy’s right. Spock’s been at war with his Vulcan and human halves for his entire life. He chose to suppress the human half, and it peaking out does concern him. He isn’t able to settle two sides, hence why he’s always insistent about being a logical, unfeelign Vulcan. Now we all know that Vulcans DO feel things. Very strongly in fact, hence why they suppress it to begin with. But I do think it’s safe to say that Spock is afraid of expressing or even talking about his emotions. Whenever he does, he needs to get his grip back on the Vulcan side as quickly as possible. Even though he knows that McCoy knows otherwise. McCoy is pretty damn good at picking up on Spock’s emotional state and Spock knows it. And I think to at least an extent, he knows that McCoy’s correct. McCoy might be being too harsh admittedly, but the point is there. Spock is afraid of letting his human half slip out and the constant struggle of keeping it in check.
I think this is what makes their relationship so important. McCoy’s really the only person who can provoke Spock like this. Sure Kirk can normally reach out to Spock, but he’s not as likely to directly confront Spock and be blunt about it the same way that McCoy can. Spock’s also really the only person who’s ever been able to provoke McCoy and get him think past his own perspective the way that he does. It’s vitriolic in many ways. Like I said, it’s hard for them to really be civil with each other most of the time. Even here when McCoy did try to start off as civil when he tried thanking Spock, it ultimately devolved into another argument. Even McCoy expressed that he isn’t sure why it’s always like this when he says “ I know we've had our disagreements. Maybe they're jokes. I don't know.” But I do think that the episode demonstrates the answer to the queation of if they’re enemies. The short answer is no. The long answer is that they have a very complicated relationship that on a surface level, comes across as hatred. It gets to the point where even they aren’t fully sure. But the truth is they do care about each other greatly. They understand each other a great deal. They’re the only ones who can reach out to the other. The way that they show it is unorthodox sure, but it’s how it works for them.
And even when they are particularly heated, it always ends with them coming down from it and finding a point of unity. In this case, there is absolutely one thing that they can agree on.
Spock: Really, Doctor?
McCoy: I know. I'm worried about Jim, too.
While their concern for Jim is true, I think McCoy brought used that more as a way to bring them both back down after the exchange. Jim and his well-being is very much the one thing that they can agree on. I serves as a calming down point for them n this particular instant. After this while they don’t have anymore direct interactions, they seem to be on good terms and even enter the Bridge together at the end. They still have their heated moments in later episodes such as The Paradise Syndrome and The Tholian Web. But I think that for those who really do think that Spock and McCoy hate each other, I’d say watch this episode again and give their interactios a closer look. Especially the prison scene. Because it shows that for all their banter, for all their differences, there is a strong connection that is very much uniquely them.
#star trek tos#tos#spones#i may be reading these scenes entirely wrong#but that’s what i got out of it haha
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Spilled Pearls
- Chapter 8 - ao3 -
Lan Qiren’s brother did not outwardly react when Wen Ruohan announced what happened.
He merely stared, face as impassive as a stone washed clean by the river, his posture and position impeccable from the little glimpses Lan Qiren kept stealing of him – he was trying to keep his head ducked and his gaze firmly on the ground, trying to demonstrate penitence, but he couldn’t quite resist looking. He assumed that his brother’s seeming indifference was a mask for the rage he undoubtedly felt, seeing his little brother screw up what would have otherwise been a perfect discussion conference for the Lan sect.
It seemed like a reasonable conclusion, given that Lao Nie was taking up all the slack of reacting with rage without any such mask whatsoever.
“He’s little more than a child!” Lao Nie shouted.
“Little more, perhaps,” Wen Ruohan said smoothly. He was enjoying himself, Lan Qiren thought. “But regardless of how close or how far he is, he is adult enough.”
“He can’t marry or inherit –”
“He shed blood in a night-hunt, and that means he can swear oaths, which is all that’s relevant here. It isn’t as if I married him.”
“He’s sixteen! If someone removed sixteen years out of your life, Hanhan, you wouldn’t even notice the absence!”
“True, but irrelevant,” Wen Ruohan said. “And don’t call me that, Sect Leader Nie.”
“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, you little –”
“You are unharmed?” Lan Qiren’s brother asked Lan Qiren.
Lan Qiren, who’d been spectating the increasingly fraught back and forth between the two sect leaders, turned to look at him, surprised to be addressed.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I only had a headache, and Sect Leader Wen took care of that.”
“You call me da-ge now,” Wen Ruohan reminded him, turning briefly away from his argument to do so. “Your oath, remember.”
“Does he even remember swearing the oaths?” Lao Nie hissed. “You know how these Lan drink – you and your damned need for control! Just because you can’t get it one way, you have to try another, is that it, Hanhan?”
“Sect Leader Nie, if you really find it impossible to be civil -”
“If you are unharmed, then we can return to the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren’s brother said, ignoring them both. His voice was as distant and cold as a winter breeze, piercing and lifeless; it reminded Lan Qiren a little of his father, and he shivered. “We will determine the remainder at that time.”
“See?” Wen Ruohan said goadingly to Lao Nie, whose scowl only deepened. “If even his own sect doesn’t object to it –”
“They didn’t not object, they’re refraining from making a statement; it’s not the same thing. ‘Even ten years isn’t too late for a gentleman to get revenge’ – !”
“I should like to see them try.”
Lan Qiren felt a sudden sense of relief, heralded by a bright and abrupt clarity: of course Wen Ruohan hadn’t sworn brotherhood with him on his behalf! He’d only done it because he’d seen Lan Qiren together with Lao Nie, found that the sight offended his vision, and immediately decided to disrupt it. Never mind that Lao Nie didn’t have any intentions beyond the casual mentorship of any older cultivator to a junior – Wen Ruohan was well known for his paranoia, his irritability, his tendency to seize on crazy ideas. And, of course, there was his jealousy, a trait to which he had himself admitted…
A treasure sword used to prop up a table, indeed. It wasn’t about Lan Qiren's merits or the Lan sect’s supposed failings at all. The only table Wen Ruohan was concerned with was Lao Nie’s!
(And that certainly did explain the whole bizarre ‘Hanhan’ thing better than any other hypothesis Lan Qiren had come up with.)
Lan Qiren wasn’t sure it was better, exactly, to be a pawn in a strange game between sect leaders, but it was at least more familiar. As a younger son of a politically minded Great Sect, he was more like a daughter; being used for some scheme by the adults around him had always been his destiny, barring some tragedy or especially indulgent parents – the former was unlikely, the latter he lacked – and so his fate was set.
Of course, it would have been better not to be in a game involving Wen Ruohan at all, but he supposed that there were worse options.
After all, if Wen Ruohan’s primary interest was in tormenting Lao Nie, he probably wouldn’t demand Lan Qiren’s presence in the Nightless City all that often – probably just enough to show that he could – and Lan Qiren would be allowed to continue with his plans for his future. It might even turn out to be something of a benefit. After all, a musician with limited martial skills, traveling all alone, could always use strong friends that were nearby, and the Wen sect’s reach far exceeded that of the Lan sect…
Anyway, comparatively, Lan Qiren disliked far more the idea of being stuck in the Jin sect with its inexplicable devotion to worldly affairs (and when it came to Jin Guangshan, word was that that usually meant literal affairs…), and he would have undoubtedly gone utterly mad in the Jiang sect, with its emphasis on freedom and lack of any rules to explain anything. And of course, regrettably, the Nie sect wouldn't have done such a thing to begin with, secretive as they were...
No, it wouldn’t be so bad, Lan Qiren tried to convince himself. It wouldn’t be so bad at all.
The illusion lasted exactly as long as it took for the leaders of the five Great Sects to retreat to finalize their discussions on business – with Sect Leader Jiang and Jin stepping up to keep Sect Leaders Wen and Nie from each other’s throats, even as Lan Qiren’s brother ignored them all – and Lan Qiren returned to his proper place among the other Lan sect disciples.
“Did he really put you in the Fire Palace until you agreed?” one of them asked, then was promptly elbowed by at least three of his fellows – it was poor Lan Yueheng that had asked, naturally; he was extraordinarily good at mathematics and extraordinarily bad at just about everything else, including both tact and following the Lan sect rules. Lan Qiren had gotten on quite well with him in the past, each one happy to have an audience to listen to their rambling without caring too much if the other side was really listening, but Lan Yueheng was Lan Ganhui’s mother’s sister’s son, the two of them raised together like brothers, and in recent years the latter had a habit of restricting the former from spending too much time with Lan Qiren, the favorite subject of his mockery.
“No,” Lan Qiren said stiffly, and turned his face away in sudden upset. He had almost managed to forget that his new sworn brother was reputed to enjoy spending his free time torturing people, enough so that he had an entire prison devoted to it.
The older brother guided, the younger brother obeyed – what was Lan Qiren supposed to learn from Wen Ruohan? How to be cruel and pitiless, how to hurt people, how to increase his cultivation by doing all manner of dirty things?
Even if he didn’t learn such things, wouldn’t people assume it of him anyway?
“But I heard –” Lan Yueheng persisted, then hissed when someone stepped on his foot.
“No,” Lan Qiren said, stronger this time. “Do not speak behind the backs of others, Yueheng-xiong.”
“Oh. Right.”
Someone muttered killjoy under their breath, but that wasn’t exactly new; his brother thought he was one, and he was popular, so others often followed his lead - and anyway, perhaps he was. At any rate, they all stood around in awkward silence for a little while before someone decided to recount one of the incidents in the main event competition once again, their voice a little over-loud in the silence, and a perfectly anodyne conversation about Qingheng-jun’s performance started up in earnest to cover over all the things they did not say.
That, too, was not new.
Truly, life would be easier if everyone would just listen to the rules, Lan Qiren thought wistfully. The nice written-down ones, just those, and never mind about all the unspoken ones, the ones that everyone seemed to intuitively understand except for him – he tried his best to learn those, too, and to extrapolate from one situation to another, but unspoken rules seemed as changeable as a puff of cloud. It was simply impossible.
In the end, the sect leaders finished up their business and each of them took their leave from the Nightless City, just the way that always happened. Before he went, Lao Nie put his hand on Lan Qiren’s shoulder and said, “Write to me if you ever need anything at all,” while glaring at Wen Ruohan, who smirked back; Lan Qiren’s brother did not glance at either of them and merely walked off, his hands behind his back and his posture straight and tall as a tree. The other two Great Sect leaders, Jin and Jiang, exchanged glances of their own and headed off their own way without a word, choosing, quite prudently, not to get involved.
Lan Qiren saluted to Lao Nie and, slightly more hesitantly, to Wen Ruohan, then followed after his brother. To his relief, Wen Ruohan didn’t stop him, only watched him go, his eyes glittering malevolently - his gaze a palpable weight. It wasn’t quite like the first few times they’d met, where the pressure almost felt like the other man was exerting power on him; rather, Lan Qiren suspected, the weight he was feeling was only the weight of all the new expectations that had fallen onto his shoulders as a result of his new brotherhood.
The ride home was excruciatingly awkward.
It was not a short journey, and Lan Qiren did not speak to his brother once the entire time by mutual unspoken agreement. He might not have noticed such a thing normally, but his brother’s usually cool aura was positively frigid, driving Lan Qiren to silence even when he might have otherwise spoken on mundane matters such as the weather or travel conditions.
Lan Qiren even suspected that if he had dared to try, his brother might have used the muting spell on him.
Naturally, the other disciples followed his brother’s lead – poor Lan Yueheng looked especially torn up over it, and at one point Lan Qiren found a book on abstruse geometry hidden under his pillow in what was probably a well-meaning gesture of solidarity – and Lan Qiren was stuck in that uncomfortable place where he finally had the peace and solitude he often longed for when stuck in a crowd while also simultaneously feeling awful about it, struck with a sudden desire for the company of his family, however cold it might be.
When at last they returned home in the late afternoon, Lan Qiren knew from experience what to do next: he went straight to the hanshi, where his father was waiting for their report, and knelt in penance outside. If the trip had gone well, he would have helped his brother settle the final matters relating to their trip – putting back anything borrowed from the sect’s stores, registering everyone as having arrived with no one lost on the way, that sort of thing – but since it hadn’t, his duties were limited to…well, this.
It was unpleasant, but then, it was supposed to be.
He waited for over a shichen in unmoving silence. The remainder of the sect tiptoed around him, with the disciples that had remained behind sending him sympathetic looks that suggested that they didn’t know exactly what had happened but were burning with curiosity to find out.
It was already dark by the time his brother arrived.
When he did so, he walked right by Lan Qiren without looking and went inside.
There was no written rule against eavesdropping, although there were several unspoken rules about it that were sometimes but not always applicable, but even when (guiltily) straining his ears to the utmost, Lan Qiren could only hear the vaguest murmur of voices within.
It was only after some time – towards the end of his brother’s report, no doubt – that there was a brief uptick, a surprised exclamation (possibly “what?!”, although Lan Qiren’s father was soft-spoken enough that even an exclamation was too muffled to be properly audible), and Lan Qiren braced himself.
After a little longer, the door to the hanshi opened.
“Qiren,” his father’s voice drifted out. “Enter.”
Lan Qiren got up, a little unsteady from all the kneeling, straightened himself out and walked inside, his hands folded behind his back. He would have knelt again, but his father waved for him to keep standing, frowning thoughtfully at him as his brother drank the tea they had been sharing.
“You swore an oath of brotherhood with Sect Leader Wen?” his father asked, his face frustratingly neutral.
Lan Qiren nodded, then amended: “I do not remember doing so. He offered me a toast, and would not allow me to reject it, and then the next morning, he informed me that we had sworn an oath together and showed me the written version of the oath.”
The paper in question was laid out on the table in front of his father. Lan Qiren’s brother had confiscated it after Wen Ruohan had showed it to him, and Lan Qiren hadn’t figured out a way to ask to see it, though he desperately wanted to know whether they had sworn one of the classical brotherhood oaths or if they’d added their own clauses. It seemed like a thing Wen Ruohan would do, yet the idea had only belatedly occurred to Lan Qiren, which meant he hadn’t properly examined the oath while he’d had the chance.
His father hummed thoughtfully.
“There’s no reason to doubt Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Qiren’s brother opined. “He is meticulous in his schemes. Even if there were, the announcement was public; I would not have our clan be known as oath-breakers.”
“Public and unrefuted,” Lan Qiren’s father said, and Lan Qiren blinked because he almost sounded disapproving – but his father never disapproved of anything his brother did, as far as he knew. “Still, you are not wrong. There are few more decisive than Sect Leader Wen. Once he settled on his course, he would not leave such a gap through which one could retreat, not even for himself…Qiren.”
Lan Qiren straightened.
“You were unharmed?”
He blinked at the unexpected question, the same his brother had posed.
“I only had a headache,” he said hesitantly, vaguely aware from the way his father looked at him and his brother did as well that his answer was not what they were expecting. “From the liquor. Nothing else.”
“Did anything else hurt?” his father pressed. “Your body?”
Lan Qiren thought back. “My upper arms,” he said, remembering. He’d thought it was from the uncomfortable bed. “And my right knee. They were a little bruised, I think, but it went away after Sect Leader Wen shared spiritual energy with me.”
His father frowned and twisted his fingers in a gesture; an array opened beneath Lan Qiren’s feet, and the places he had mentioned, as well as his palms and forehead, began to glow.
The marks on his arms, glowing with the pale echoes of Wen Ruohan’s qi, were in the shape of hands.
(Wen Ruohan had commented on Lan Qiren’s enthusiastic telling of the Lan sect rules while intoxicated, to the point of seeking to hold him down as an unwilling audience. Had Wen Ruohan had to physically restrain him from causing trouble as well?)
“The disgrace was minimal, then,” his brother remarked, and when their father said nothing but dismissed the spell Lan Qiren abruptly realized that they were trying to figure out if he had, in fact, been deflowered, just as Wen Ruohan had teasingly hinted that night. He had not shared with anyone that he had woken up in Wen Ruohan’s bed, too mortified to do so, and now that the suggestion had been seriously raised, he was even more determined never to do so. “Not that that will help the rumors.”
Lan Qiren hadn’t thought – surely people wouldn’t think – wouldn’t assume –
Wen Ruohan had no reputation for liking young boys. He wasn’t even known to cut his sleeve!
(Lan Qiren didn’t know what he himself liked. He’d thought he’d have more time to figure it out.)
“We do not guide our sect according to rumors.”
His brother put down his teacup with a little more force than necessary. “Is it the sale or the price that you object to, Father?” he asked, voice far sharper than it should be when speaking to an elder, least of all their father. “See what I have accomplished for our sect, and without even the official authority of being vested as sect leader! It is just as you taught me! Am I to flinch simply because he shares my blood?”
“It is not what is taken,” their father responded, his voice a little sharper than usual as well, but not by much; he might as well have been commenting disapprovingly on an unfortunate turn in the weather. “But that it is Wen Ruohan who takes. His greed knows no boundaries, his recklessness grows by the year – today Qiren is unharmed and your plans may proceed, but what of tomorrow?”
“Have you thought of any better use to put him to? His role is to serve the sect!”
“As a disciple of the Lan sect,” their father said. His tone was still mild, but his voice was icy enough to make Lan Qiren shiver in a confused sort of fear that he did not quite understand. “Not as a plaything for Wen Ruohan.”
By all rights, Lan Qiren’s brother ought to now kneel and beg forgiveness from his elder, his sect leader, his father, but instead he only shook his head. “An oath of brotherhood goes both ways,” he reminded their father, speaking to him as if they were equals. “Sect Leader Wen announced to the world that he swore an oath with a child – does that not also mean that responsibility for his safety and wellbeing falls equally on his shoulders? Any harm to him stains Sect Leader Wen’s name as much if not more than ours.”
“Are we to let outsiders educate our children, then?”
“One cannot compare a foolish younger son to a brother, voluntarily chosen. He chose it, not us; everyone knows this. Any mistakes Qiren makes will fall heavier on his shoulders.”
Their father frowned deeply enough to carve additional lines into his prematurely aged face. “You plan to use Qiren as a lever, then, and extract concessions for every slight.”
His brother shrugged, almost careless in his arrogance. “If Sect Leader Wen chooses to give me such a handle over him, am I meant to refuse? For all his clever schemes, he is also known to be moody and impulsive, easily lured into rashness…I see an opportunity here, not a trap. You chose to give me responsibility early, to have me help you make our sect stronger, greater; that is what I was born to do. You gave me power and I have done well with it, done exactly what you’ve asked me to do. I’ve made you proud - haven’t I?”
“But what of the risk that Wen Ruohan might ignore public opinion and harm Qiren regardless?” his father pressed, not answering. It wasn’t really necessary, of course; he was always proud of Lan Qiren’s brother, no matter what he did - his eldest son was his treasure, the only thing he cared for; it was as fact as undeniable as the direction in which the sun rose each morning. “The Lan sect does not buy riches with blood.”
“I have thought it over, Father,” his brother said quietly. “It is only a risk that he might be harmed, not a guarantee; it’s not as if I am sending Qiren to the Fire Palace myself. And there is the hope here, not of riches, but of glory for the sect –”
“Glory for the sect?” their father asked, voice rich with meaning Lan Qiren did not understand. “Or for yourself?”
“Are they not one and the same?” Lan Qiren’s brother was unmoved. “In the future, it will be mine, and so there is no difference - whatever you say now, that is what you have always shown me. Besides, Qiren will agree.”
Lan Qiren did not take a step backwards when they turned to look at him, though he dearly wanted to. His hands were still behind his back, gripped tight enough to hurt; he suspected when he looked later on he would find blood beneath his fingernails, dug in deep into his flesh.
“Well?” their father asked of him, though his gaze settled somewhere above Lan Qiren’s head as it always seemed to, as different as night and day from the tender and forgiving looks he gave his eldest son even in the midst of their argument. His voice was so cold that Lan Qiren could feel it against his skin like the bitter winter wind. “What do you say?”
Is it the sale or the price that you object to?
It’s not what is taken, but that it is Wen Ruohan who takes.
Have you thought of any better use to put him to?
His role is to serve the sect.
“I do not see what choice there is,” he said dully, his eyes focused on his father’s face just as his father’s refused to focus on his, foolishly still looking for the affection he knew he would likely never find. In his father’s mind, he had only one son – even his objections on Lan Qiren’s behalf, however mild, were nothing more than what he would have said on behalf of any Lan sect disciple. Even Lan Qiren, foolish and bad at people as he was, could see that his father’s primary concern over the approach his brother had suggested was its potential impact on the reputation of his brother and his sect. “I swore an oath. Even if I do not remember it, as a matter of personal honor, I will not allow myself to be foresworn.”
“There,” his brother said, his voice rich in satisfaction. “You see? The choice is made. It is only what we do with it now that matters.”
Lan Qiren bit his lower lip to keep himself from doing something stupid, like asking do either of you care about me at all.
“Very well,” their father said indifferently. “Then it will be as you say. Qiren.”
“Father.”
“You will spend the night kneeling in the ancestral hall to consider the consequences of violating the prohibition against alcohol and the injunction to maintain your discipline. In view of the circumstances, no other punishment will be imposed.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Dismissed.”
As Lan Qiren left, he heard his father ask his brother to tell him about the riding competition.
He did not ask about music.
#mdzs#lan qiren#qingheng-jun#wen ruohan#sect leader nie#sect leader lan#my fic#my fics#spilled pearls
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I have to say, I was very, very impressed with episode 5. They address a lot of my complaints and did Sam some justice! I have high hopes going in for the last episode. Some highlights for me:
Sam and Bucky working together to take down Walker was handled brilliantly. They really did take him down as a team and gave Sam his screen time to really show his fighting talents.
Zemo choosing to let Bucky live out of his respect for Sam. This is great because narratively speaking, I was expecting Zemo to attempt to take out Bucky because Bucky is everything Zemo is against. Bucky is a super human and he not shy at all about using those abilities to intimidate Zemo. Zemo, the guy who will kill people without hesitation, who truly believes all super humans should not exist, choses not to kill Bucky because he knows Sam is that rare good man, he is a Steve Rodgers, and he knows that Sam will keep a handle on Bucky. That is amazing.
Bucky deciding to give Zemo the scare of his life one more time before he is taken away forever. Bucky, you didn’t have to do that, but you just have to be “that guy” and give Zemo something to remember ya by for the rest of his life.
The scenes with Isaiah was utterly heart wrenching. Please give this man an oscar because he acted the hell out of this role! I loved Sam for bringing the shield to Isaiah. The US had failed him, just as they failed and betrayed all the African American soldiers who fought for this country pre-civil rights act. I love how they addressed the historically accurate situation of black soldiers being let down in this country, and their anger is what helped propel the civil rights movement. What sad is that it was a nurse who took pity on him, who let him go. The government was very willing to experiment and torture this man till death. Isaiah is broken and he like many of our black elders who faced the brunt of a racist American society, are not trusting of the attempts at equality by modern american society. Absolutely brilliant scene and man, I related to Sam here. Sam listening to it all breaks my hearts because he knows and has experience the prejudice and racism of today, but even he still had a hard time hearing the true depths to which the country he lived in use to regard black lives. It reminded me of my own personal research into black history and having to read up all the things that the US has done to target the black american community. It’s tough.
It kind of hard to believe that the Dora Milaje would forgive Bucky so easily and like him enough to do him a favor...but I’m just going to take it as Oyo being very forgiving and she must have a soft spot for Bucky for her to have Wakanda do him this solid. Please don’t ever take these people for granted again, Bucky.
"You built me" gave me chills. Walker represents all the young men who fought for this country, sacrificing their mental well being in the process. Once they came back, damaged and destroyed, so many of them are further failed by the country they fought for just because they turn up less than mentally sound. I'm looking at all those mentally ill homeless veterans out there who cant escape their demons.
Thank you for allowing us to meet Lemar’s family and humanizing him even further. I really felt for their lost.
Thank you for the domestic bless scenes after everything that's happened. I loved Sam family life. I love Sarah, I love his nephews, I love the neighborhood. I loved the whole vibe of the town with that tint of sepia whenever they go there. It makes the whole area feel like home. Hell, I want to visit that place.
Bucky flirting with Sarah will forever be fun.
Bucky not wanting to intrude and Sam telling him to sit his butt down and stay over is beautiful and a part of my fanfic dreams. Thank you.
My god yes, Bucky apologizing for both him and Steve for overlooking what being Captain American might mean for a black american man. I would have liked to see how he came to this realization, but I'm grateful on what we got. Bucky didn't try to avoid the elephant. He said I did not think about it through the perspective of a black man and I give them a lot props for being straightforward with it and not going around it.
Sam getting Bucky to open up to him. This touched me. Sam asked Bucky straight up about his nightmares and rather than Bucky trying to lie or play it off like with his therapist, Bucky looked Sam straight in the eyes and told him the truth. The amount of trust and respect that was built between them is perfectly portrayed in this scene. Talk about progress.
I love how Sam gave Bucky some tough love and a reality check. Sam didn't hold anything back and it plays directly to his veteran therapist background. I loved Sam even more after this scene.
Sam choosing to carry the shield was handled beautifully. I’m happy he didn't just go with Isaiah view point, tragic as his story was. He considered all sides and even went to talk about it with his sister. Overall, it was Sam choice and no one else. Another scene that made me fall for Sam.
Sam working out with the shield is one of my favorite parts of this episode. It didn’t just come immediately to Sam, he had really learn how to handle it. I love this humanizing hero that Sam represents.
Sam nephews tracing the star on the shield was very a poetic touch
#sam wilson#Bucky Barnes#the falcon and the winter soldier#tfatws#sambucky#anthony mackie#Sebastian Stan#the falcon#disney+
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Guns Blazing, Tides Rising (Part Five)
When Kaz Brekker announces that they’ll be working with a certain Tidemaker to help with the latest heist, Jesper knows it’s not going to end well. He and Y/N L/N have a fierce rivalry, although feelings may change over a night.
previous / series masterlist
a/n: it’s finally over 😭thanks once again to @underc0vercryptid for being my muse for all of this
It’s hard for Jesper to convince himself to leave the alley, to let his hands leave Y/N and return to their places by his sides. Inej and Kaz will be looking for them, that much is true. But there’s still a sound like a sigh trapped and rattling in his lungs when he leaves, a regret that he can’t quite excuse away with knowledge of what Kaz’s vengeance would mean if he found a single Dreg disobeying one of his most enforced rules.
Y/N understands, that much is true. She’s become more involved with the Dregs as time goes on. She knows Kaz Brekker in the way that they all do- the Bastard of the Barrel isn’t one that you cross unless you wish to lose your tongue and your life. It still seems wrong to give this up, though, to let Dirtyhands keep walking all over him for the one thing that matters. In the end, they would have had to leave the alley anyways. This is just the first excuse that passes Jesper’s lips.
He manages to turn off his mind for a little while, convincing himself that it doesn’t feel harder and harder to leave, that he can be emotionless and cold. Jesper’s tone is clinical when he tells Kaz and Inej of the successful mission, his hands for once unshaking and firm when he hands over the list of names to Kaz. However, even his attempts at being fine and calm draw suspicion- Kaz hadn’t seen them rejoin the rest of the party when the guests relocated from the main hall, and he wanted to know why.
Jesper has spent enough time running with the canal rats for lies to spring easily to his tongue. There was a difficulty finding the safe, he says, they had to dodge some guards and they didn’t quite get there in time. It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? They got in, they got out, and they weren’t the reason the alarms were sounded. Kaz raises an eyebrow at this, but he doesn’t press it. Jesper might be well and truly hallucinating, but he swears he sees a tinge of unrest in Kaz’s eyes, like the boy is haunting himself over the fact that he may have made an error, one that could have gotten his gang caught like a too-clever fox in a trap.
Maybe this shift in Kaz’s usual ruthless demeanor is enough to unsettle him, or maybe it’s the gnawing knowledge that Jesper keeps walking away from the girl he might love that drives him to leave the Slat once more. It’s early morning now, dawn with its rosy-fingered hues, but a lack of sleep has hardly bothered Jesper before, and it certainly won’t now. He thinks as he walks, stretching his legs as he paces mindless circles around the city.
Jesper can’t shake the feeling that he’s been running for too long. He’s used to it, but for some reason, it feels different now. He doesn’t like this constant leaving, this weight on his shoulders like he’s holding true to a lie that will one day spiral out of control. Jesper is used to living life on the run, to being flamboyantly proud of everything that makes him, well, him. The skulking around back corners, stealing kisses only after he’s checked and double-checked that no one is watching? It feels like a noose is tightening around his neck.
In the end, Jesper finds himself climbing up a rickety fire escape and stretching his legs out over the edge of a roof, watching the golden dawn start to turn the waters surrounding Ketterdam bronze with light. It is not long before he is joined by someone else, someone with answering steps and a reassuring smile tossed his way. Maybe she could tell from how they’d left that he was still lost in thought. Regardless, Jesper is happy to not be alone.
Y/N sits next to him, carefully swinging her feet over the edge. Her heels kick up against the brick. “I like this view. I like being able to see the water. It feels like I’m more connected to it.” Jesper turns his head towards her, watching the way the early morning air toys with her eyelashes, her face. “Is it easy to be a Tidemaker here? I mean, you’re powerful enough that people don’t try to trap you with indentures. Does it ever get easy in Ketterdam?”
Y/N laughs quietly. “Not at all. I still remember when I first showed up and stepped off of the boats. My parents wanted to send me away from the disaster that was the Ravkan civil war. They guessed it would happen long before it did, and assumed Kerch would be safer. They sent me over first, saying that they’d follow soon after.” Jesper can hear the inflections in her voice, the way she casts her eyes towards the water with renewed vigor. He knows this means that they never showed up again.
She clears her throat, voice stubbornly loud as if ridding herself of doubts. “I was terrified when I first got here. Nothing made sense. In Ravka, Grisha were feared, yes, and there were always traders or mercenaries or even drüskelle out for blood, but we had a home there. If you had a home, people rarely came hunting for you. I had no such harbor here.”
Y/N looks out over the streets as if she’s never walked them before, as if she’s once more a stranger to the coal-choked airways always drenched with a spattering of rain and misfortune. “I had a friend. A girl who came with me. She was an Inferni, made the mistake of trying to summon up a small spark to keep her warm. I watched them take her right before my eyes, and I didn’t do anything at all. I vowed from that moment on that I would never be weak again, never hide in the shadows like I did on that night.”
Jesper’s heard bits and pieces of the story from here. He’d learned the most about her before he even liked her at all, actually, back when they still considered themselves to be rivals. Jesper had told himself that he was just collecting information on an enemy to best take her down the next time they crossed paths, but there was more to that, wasn’t there? Maybe that was a sign that even then, when Jesper had convinced himself that the only thing they could ever have was animosity, he still wanted something more. That was a gambler’s luck, after all- always reaching for a better deal, a shinier prospect. She was his best capture.
Y/N glances over at him like she can sense his thoughts. “That’s when you entered the picture, actually. I stopped being scared to hide my powers and started using them in bloodlust. I took up jobs, found this one really annoying sharpshooter who kept getting in my way.” Jesper presses a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “I think you can do better than just ‘really annoying’. Dashingly infuriating, maybe. Devastatingly attractive. A charming enemy who-”
Y/N cuts him off, laughing. “You’re awful. Utterly awful.” Jesper goes to protest, but she leans in, pressing a kiss to his lips that makes his heart swoop in his chest. Y/N raises an eyebrow at Jesper’s sudden silence. “Am I that good of a kisser? I don’t think I’ve seen you that awestruck in a while.” Jesper scoffs. “I can do better than that.”
He lets his hands find hers, lets the rising sun light the way his lips meet hers. They don’t leave the rooftop until the sun has fully ascended to its place in the sky, until the clatter of feet on cobblestones is the only reason for an exit. Not a gang, not its fearsome leader. Just the two of them, drowning out the whole world until there’s nothing left at all.
He is eventually found out, of course. All stories repeat themselves, all beginnings follow suit. When Kaz calls Jesper up to his office, he finds that he isn’t worried at all. Before, he might have felt his shoulders tense, hesitating at the door. When Jesper faces the oddly terrifying wooden paneling, however, all he can think about is the sun shining through Y/N’s eyes, the smile on her lips as his fingers laced around hers. If loving her is wrong, well, Jesper’s already been a criminal for quite some time. Why not add one more misdeed to the list?
Kaz waits for him in the office. He stands up, black gloved hands tapping on the familiar crow’s head cane. It’s all meant for a threatening display- Jesper’s seen this very posture used successfully on many a nervous trainwreck of a failed business partner or lackluster goon. However, Jesper’s still filled with the giddy rush of seeing his girl and he can’t quite force himself to care.
Kaz clears his throat, the metal hull of a ship scraping against jagged rocks. “Y/N L/N.” He doesn’t have to say anything else, just the name. Jesper nods. “Yes.” Kaz raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to deny it?” Jesper shrugs. “We both know your information is good. Yes, I’m seeing her.” Kaz’s fingers still on the head of the cane. “You know how I feel about that. It’s a weakness.”
Jesper should take it as a possible sign of insanity that he’s considering the path before him at all. He knows what Kaz expects of him- an apology, maybe, a promise that he won’t stray from the rules again, or at least not so long as they interfere with Kaz’s master plan for the Dregs. He’ll see Y/N out, do his best not to cross paths with her again. He might return to the gambling halls once more just to stave off some unsightly emptiness inside of him, and then he’ll be as good as gold.
Jesper, however, does not intend to do any of this at all. What good are the odds if he doesn’t have his girl? He’s stepped inside the Crow Club over the past couple of days. The rattle of Makker’s Wheel doesn’t have that same fervor, the excitement doesn’t spread over him in the same delicious rush. Simply put, it isn’t worth it. It isn’t a gamble worth his time, and Jesper’s lost mightier fortunes over lesser odds.
So Jesper shakes his head. “Not her. Not like this.” Kaz tilts his head just slightly, eyes calculating, looking for loopholes to exploit. “So you’d willingly break the rules?” Jesper leans forward. “We’re Dregs, Kaz. It’s what we do.” Kaz returns his level gaze. “Not like this. Tell me, what is it that makes Y/N L/N worth this much to you? You were enemies before, were you not? Is it the power? The chance that she may be like you?”
Jesper lifts a shoulder. “It’s not always about finding the best possible advantage, Kaz. We work well together. It was only a matter of time before it was more.” Kaz Brekker might understand. Dirtyhands does not. “Your goal was not to find some pretty girlfriend in the Barrel, Jesper, it was to complete the mission and move on. I knew from the second you held her bleeding body in your arms that this wouldn’t be worth my time or my energy.”
Jesper doesn’t realize he’s standing until he is. “Then say it. I’ve spent my time playing your games, Kaz, and Saints know I’ll keep on turning your tables, but not on this. We all break the wheel at some point. I’m willing to do it for her.” Kaz is silent for a time, a time that seems to stretch on into such an eternity that Jesper finds himself tapping his revolvers again, feeling that same itch for a fight. It’s well and good to go into a battle of the bullets and feel the adrenaline kick in, he could handle that. This, however? Waiting for Kaz to do something, anything? You can’t fight that, only wait for it to end. And Jesper’s never been particularly good at waiting.
At last, Kaz speaks. “Then stay with her.” Jesper almost thinks that he’s started hallucinating. “What?” Kaz inclines his head. “She’s good for you. You’ve been more focused.” Jesper stares for a second, then shakes his head, fighting back the impossible urge to break into manic laughter. “Honestly, if it takes you considering the potential business opportunities to approve of us, I’m not about to challenge that.”
Something almost like a smile appears on Kaz’s face. Jesper is most certainly going insane. “I’m not completely heartless, Jesper. You’re a useful sharpshooter.” Jesper’s eyes widen. “That’s practically a compliment. Do you need me for a heist later? I can’t think of anything else to cause this.” Kaz tilts his head in acknowledgement of this surreal situation, pausing for a second as if listening to a voice that no one else can hear.
Then he gestures towards the door, allowing Jesper to leave. As Jesper walks towards the door, though, Kaz says something else. “Inej just left the roof.” Jesper nods in understanding. “Look at you. Dishing out the compliments for your Wraith to hear.” Kaz’s brow furrows, and Jesper decides to leave the office now before Kaz decides to take back his approval of Jesper and Y/N and hit him with his cane or something else overtly Kaz-like.
Despite his best efforts, Jesper is still teeming with anxious energy after the meeting, so he goes on a quick stroll around the crooked alleyways of the Barrel to calm the restless ticking of his hands and legs. When he comes back to the Slat, however, he notices that his door is slightly ajar. Jesper enters his room slowly, relaxing at the sound of voices.
The window is open, showing the faint drizzle of the streets outside. Y/N sits on the floor next to Inej as both girls consider a makeshift target of a few rags at the far end of the room. Inej tosses a knife up and down in her hand, then flings it towards the target. She hits it in the center, to no one’s surprise. Y/N’s eyes follow the path of the blade, and then she extends her hand towards the window, letting drops of rain fly towards her palm. She curls her fingers around the water, shaping it into a perfect replica of the knife Inej had just thrown, then directs it towards the target to slosh around Inej’s blade, another direct hit to the center.
Inej makes a scoffing sound. “That doesn’t count. You got to control the knife instead of just throwing it.” Y/N shrugs absentmindedly. “You got to pick a knife, I had to make mine myself. I think it evens out.” Inej glances up towards Jesper, smiling slightly. Somehow, it comes to no surprise that she’d known he was there all along. “Jesper, come tell your girlfriend that she’s cheating at target practice.”
Jesper shrugs. “As long as you hit the target I don’t think you can cheat. Also, I thought I locked this door.” Y/N grins up at him. “That’s the unbiased support I love to hear. And your door was locked, we just wanted to go in so we did.” Jesper nods. “That clears up everything.” Y/N laughs. “Good to know.” Inej stands up, stretching, and goes to retrieve her knife. She goes to climb through the window once more then pauses, turning to face them.
“I’m glad Kaz let you two stay together. I certainly did my arguing for you.” Jesper frowns. “How long have you known?” Inej sighs exasperatedly. “Practically since the start. You two are terrible at being secretive, you know that?” She doesn’t give them time to protest, just slips out the window and disappears into the roofline before you could even blink.
Y/N walks over to Jesper, a half smile on her face. “I suppose she’s right. We haven’t exactly been the most discreet, have we?” Jesper shrugs. “Maybe not. But we don’t have to hide anymore. We don’t have to leave.” Y/N smiles at him now, a true smile. “I like the sound of that.” Jesper hums thoughtfully, leaning down to kiss her. “So do I.”
guns blazing, tides rising masterlist: @kaqua, @amortensie
#jesper fahey#jesper fahey imagines#jesper fahey x reader#jesper fahey oneshot#jesper fahey series#grishaverse#grishaverse imagines#grishaverse x reader#grishaverse oneshot#grishaverse series#shadow and bone#shadow and bone imagines#shadow and bone x reader#shadow and bone series#sab#soc#sab imagines#sab oneshot#sab series#soc imagines#soc oneshot#soc series#jesper#jesper imagines#jesper x reader#jesper oneshot#jesper series#six of crows#six of crows imagines#six of crows oneshot
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Enchanted
finally finished this!!! im so happy with it, and will be writing it in thomas’s pov as soon as possible and perhaps part 2?
Sleep evades me. My mind keeps returning to last night, specifically to a certain person I had met last night. I pull the covers higher, burying my head as I finally gave into my wandering mind.
~
I stand alone, needing a break from my aunt Amelia. The music was beautiful, a soft sound that filled the entire room. The party itself was decorated in a magical way, the columns in the building encompassed in vines, the tables with floral centrepieces. It was a mixture of whimsy and magic, yet no one seemed happy to be here. Everyone I spoke to was forcing smiles, men faked laughter as they believed this was not a party but a way to make business deals and enforce their own reputation. It was absurd how no one was just admiring the effort people put into making this perfect. It was the same every month, I'd walk to the edge of the room and watch. To calm my nerves, to explore the different flower pieces, the musicians and the flickering candles from the chandelier. The gowns women wore only once to try and show their wealth, whilst I tended to wear the same, as it fit the magical atmosphere this room desperately tried to make people see, yet they were too blind by their greed, the need to prove themselves to everyone to just simply stand back and enjoy themselves.
My cousin Liza seemed to be in conversation with Dacina, the host of the party, someone I had spoken to a few times, each being more enjoyable. Her calming demeanour and charm always lifted my spirits. Her family organizes this ball once a month, her father hates it but makes a lot of business so it is always left to her to plan and design it. With the help of Illeana and lots of their servants they always make this place ethereal. Her brother, Thomas Cresswell, only ever shows up for a few hours then leaves, only being able to handle the faking niceties for so long. Dacina told me of his tolerance, or lack thereof, to society. She speaks highly of her brother, as I once did, yet I have never met Mr.Cresswell.
The varnished wooden floor slowly gathers marks as couples danced. How I longed to be one of those dancers, being swivelled by someone I loved. They would look at me as if I was the most magical thing in the room, with a soft smile and adoration in every word he whispers to me. I would be his equal as we spun around, the world fading into nothing as we held each other. Alas, those dreams are not likely for someone cruel enough to carve the dead.
I snap out of my fantasy as a group of older men walk towards the buffet near me. They talk loud enough so everyone can hear, shockingly talking about work. I roll my eyes at them and look away back to the dance floor. The lights above cast shadows, making the scene feel like my imagination as I sit by a fireplace to read a romance novel. If this was a novel, there would be my love interest here, watching and finding the courage to say something. There are families at the table, children clinging to mothers as the men sit and discuss whatever. My father, uncle and aunt sit together in a seemingly civil conversation. I look for Liza again, deciding I should probably stop brooding in the corner but as I look for her my attention keeps going back to the men at the buffet. Not by choice, but by their obnoxious decision to shout their conversation.
“A woman led the strike, ridiculous, she had to go,” I heard an oldish man say, followed by murmurs of agreement, “these strikes are out of hand, demanding we pay more, absurd notions.” The man is none other than Mr. Birling, a notoriously cold hearted man, much like dacianas father apparently, both of whom value money rather than people. Even their own families. The group of men who looked the same as him, slightly wrinkled face, greyish hair, miserable faces with hints of conniving schemes being plotted against each other. Friends until one of them was earning more money and was more successful, then they were enemies again.
The men were in a heated discussion about their business and from what I can dissect from their ramblings is that they fully believe themselves to be hard working men, a rarity these days, and they must do what is necessary for their companies. Meaning, budget cuts, strikes from workers, firing people, and any horrible decision in the name of money. I refrain from rolling my eyes, or going over to berate them.
“Mr. Birling would not know what a hard day's work is.” someone says quietly behind me. His voice is smooth, confident, and whilst I agree due to what I have learnt about the birling family and the conversation I had just overheard, I still wouldn't say it aloud with him being this close. Not that he pays any attention to anyone but ‘hard working men’.
I turn my head slightly, the man behind me is tall, a smirk playing at his lips. His suit is finely tailored in a dark grey, with a peach tie. He takes a step forwards and stands at my side, staring out into the crowd, a glass of half drunk champagne in his hand. I return my gaze to the crowd. “Whatever makes you think that, surely you heard him talk about how much he works,” I try to suppress my own smirk and I also sneak a glance at the strange man. He merely takes a sip of his champagne.
“Right of course, his words, I shall listen more closely next time.”
“As you should. You wouldn't want to misinterpret someone's work ethic and make a fool of yourself in front of a stranger.”
“You consider me a fool now?” he turns to me now, hands pressed against his chest in fake offence. His brown eyes meet mine as I face him. His sharp cheekbones feel familiar, but I can't place where from.
“Yes. how could you consider someone such as Mr Birling, a man with such talent and tolerance of others, a man who clearly built his company and was not handed it by his father, how could you with a straight face imply he doesn’t know hard work.” we stare at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He has such a pure laugh, we seem to be the only sound in the room. People around us stop and stare, upset two people are having fun at a party. The stranger leans against one of the columns, disrupting the vines slightly. Yet he doesn't seem to care, as he slowly starts to regain his composure from our outburst.
Mr. Birling is one of the men looking at us with full disdain. He perceives us as two kids who do not understand life, he specifically tells his accountant that there is something wrong with us if the rumours are to be believed. Children of science. Outrageous. Especially a girl. A girl, not a woman. I ignore his pathetic whining, intent on not letting him ruin my night and return my focus to the stranger. Who, I realise, is someone who enjoys science. His face is more solemn now, having also overheard Mr.Birling. He quickly recovers and plasters a smirk on his face, a spark shines in his eye and I can already tell this won't be good.
“I want to meet this ‘girl’ who led the strike, perhaps she could use some help. I mean, all they ask is fair pay,”
“But fair pay is absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. Why should the wealthy share their wealth to those who ensure it.” he finishes for me. The men that run this world will end up being the reason it fails. We share a look, full of understanding and he lets out a sigh. Now we're talking about work and politics at a party.
“Aside from those charming men, how are you enjoying the party?” He gestures to the men around us and I snort. Charming was one word for them. Being with him and trading remarks felt like passing notes to each other, telling secrets during class even though we are meant to be listening to the teacher. I can't help but think I know him, and by the look in his own face he knows me. Perhaps we met but didn't have time for a full conversation like we are now.
“Mostly entertaining, the place is spectacular as always, the people are..” I searched for a word to describe the people, as well as my family. I love them dearly but they can be insufferable. “An interesting mix. My family is dramatic, so I escaped to the edge to peace and quiet, which apparently isn't possible. "I give him a pointed look but he takes no notice.
“My family is also dramatic, and I came for peace myself but found myself captivated by you, specifically how you watched the crowd, listening, and how you curled your fists in an attempt not to go and publicly humiliate the poor man. Which, by the way, I think you should've. Would've made the whole thing worth it.” He takes a sip of his champagne and I nearly roll my eyes at him. Of course he'd want that. From what I can tell he isn't someone who enjoys society and has no problem saying it. I also think about the families in attendance and which of those are dramatic. The only person I can think of is Darci's brother, whom I've not met but heard about his nature over wine with her.
“If I was merely standing here minding my business would you still have found me captivating enough to talk to me? Or is my appeal in my anger?”
He downs the rest of the drink and straightens himself taking a step towards me. I cross my arms, impatient but he gives me a soft smile. “I've been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, I always see you here at the edge, always. My eyes find you instantly in any crowd. Transfixed, captivating. It was an added bonus to me when I saw the fierce nature in your eyes up close, I knew I was right to want to befriend you.”
Silence falls as we both take in his words. I feel bad, not being able to figure out who he is. His honesty is admirable and makes me smile, as well as blush. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. Just as I begin to rectify the situation by asking for his name, a man comes behind
me, he’s around 40 probably, and looks at me horrendously in an attempt at a smile. I recognised him from earlier, he's one of the men that spoke with Mr Birling and that alone makes me instantly want to recoil.
“Can I help you sir?” I asked and I can hear my own clipped words, yet somehow he does not. The smile widens and he looks me up and down. Then he offers his hand to me and I realise he wants to dance. With a woman half his age, that he has never met.
“Miss Wadsworth, dance with me?” more of a common than a question. Since I am already highly aware he doesn’t like when females have opinions or say no, I refrain from rolling my eyes and just walking off from him. Instead I take a step back, so I'm by my new friend’s side and smile widely.
“I'm afraid I already promised the darling Wadsworth a dance, we are just finishing our drinks first.” As if to prove my point he drinks the last of his drink, mostly to hide his smirk. Something else the man doesn't seem to notice. His face drops, but his pride makes him believe he can stand there, waiting for me to run to him. There is an awkward silence until I feel hands reach down and take mine, they are warm and make me jump slightly at the contact. Not in a bad way, not in the way I would have if it had been the man in front of me with his gaze like fire as he looks at our joined hands as though he has a right to be mad about it. I feel my own fire burn as he stares, so I tug his hand away from the man. I need to just escape into the dreamlike nature of the dancefloor, as well as thank my saviour and learn his name.
He leads me to the dance floor, nearer the edge and his hands slip down to my waist as I find his shoulders. His touch is hesitant but reassuring. Somehow he looks calm and terrified, as though he never expected to dance with me but never wants to stop. I can't help but feel the same as we begin to move. My skirt swirls around us and we say nothing for a while as we both calm ourselves and let the music envelope us. In a way, this is as close to my daydreaming as I might ever get. Being here on the dance floor with someone who isn't twice my age and the definition of misogyny. We dance as equals, neither of us truly leading but letting each other float around each other. We're sure of our movements and demand nothing from each other. It is a weird calmness that settles. We are strangers as far as i know, and yet we dance as though we have known each other our entire lives.
“You are a delight, miss Wadsworth.” he breaks the silence, somehow louder than the music for me, yet it's quiet. Almost like he didn't mean to say it aloud.
“How do you know me?” my voice matches and i feel bad asking, but i need to know. My tone is not accusing, and his face only burrows in confusion for a second before he smirks at me. A smirk I'm seeming to become familiar with.
“My sister Dacina speaks highly of you.” my eyes must expand as he laughs softly. That's why I recognized him. He has the same structure as Dacina, sharp cheekbone and soft skin. Perfect complexion.
“So you are the infamous Thomas cresswell?” this time I smirk and his eyes widen.
“Infamous? What on earth have you heard of me?”
“Your sister has lots of opinions on you.”
“Of course she does. Whatever she has said is most likely not true.” He blurts out and I laugh at his relationship with his sister and him wanting to impress me. “Unless she told you I am utterly irresistible, charming, quick witted and incredibly smart.” winking at me he sends me into a surprising spin and my hands land on his chest. We've sped up slightly, yet our heartbeats are both faster than necessary and I can see a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheeks.
“She did mention you have an overly large ego. She'll be happy to know I agree with her.” I feel his hands tighten at my waist slightly and I watch his curls fall down in his face as he shakes his head. I'm delighted by this turn of events. Daci is wonderful, and if this is the Thomas that I get to see, not his reputation, then I shall try and keep this in my life for as long as possible. His spark in his eyes shows how he may think the same. Also, if daci, liza and ileana are with Thomas, then i might have the most fun I've ever had in my life.
His voice slides through my thoughts, but also reinforces them. “I am sure she failed to mention how big of an ego she has. Honestly, Darci is worse than I. Have you met Illeana? She will surely agree with me on this.”
“I'm sure she would, I've also heard you are a scientist, what do you study?”
“The dead. Much like you and your uncle.” There is so much certainty in his voice, no resentment or the usual tone I hear so I gift him an earnest smile.
The song ends, and we stand, hands still on each other for a second longer than we should. Just as I go to remove my hands from his chest I feel him pinch my sides lightly. Then his warm hands slip from my waist and I wish more than anything to dance again.
We go to return back to the column near the buffet, where we first spoke, and as I take a step I feel him move so he's pressed at my back, his hands finding mine. Even though we are gloved, even though no one can see our hands due to how close we are, and how many people are moving about, my heart pounds at his bold nature. I adore it, so I squeeze him and keep my head facing forward as I lead him off the dance floor. We settle back, Thomas letting go of my hand to pick up two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We both take a long sip, perhaps settling our brains or making it worse. Well see.
“You look,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, brows furrowed slightly as if he was reading a dictionary, “enchanting.” he finally finishes, gifting me a rare smile it seems. No longer does he smirk at me, but shows me a genuine look that I want to have painted as it is the best thing I have witnessed. Heat rises to my cheeks as I look down at my dress. Someone at least understood what I was going for, with a pale peach colour, sparkling bodice that runs along the length of the skirt. The long sleeves adorned with tiny gemstones, golden to match the accented colours of the hall. In response to Thomas I look back up at him with my own genuine smile, perhaps some of the only true smiles to be shared this evening. His suit fits him perfectly, showing off his defined features, his tie a pale peach as well. I assume Dacina helps him, as her dresses always astound me with the details. There are tiny, miniscule gems on his tie, that snake down and remind me of vines.
“You look,” I act the way he did, scanning my brain for something that fits, handsome or charming doesn't do justice but I'm sure whatever I use will only boost his ego and be used against me, so I settle with: “bedazzling.”
“Bedazzling?”
“Thomas, I study the dead, I have to look closer than one should at things, so of course I noticed your tie. Henceforth: bedazzling.” The air shifts back to our teasing tone and he smirks once again.
“You are the only one to notice, except Daci of course, nothing gets past her. Am I correct in assuming you like the tie?” Despite his teasing I feel a hint of worry as if I wouldn’t like his tie.
“I adore the tie cresswell, everyone here should be weaning ties with tiny jewels.”
His face falls as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the groups of men. “I cannot tell if you are being serious with me or not, but I agree nonetheless. The men here are awfully drab, boring, plain. It's insulting to us really. Daci puts so much time into making this beautiful and these people do not see it.” He is shaking his head. I agree, I have heard how much work goes in and despite my effort to help she insists that I do nothing but enjoy the party. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Liza helps. The flower centrepieces are her favourite, and whilst that might be a coincidence I know how stubborn and convincing she can be.
“I do. I love her parties. I always find myself standing here, watching and noticing all the changes from the month prior. Like, last month she went for more of a red theme, with red roses as the centrepieces, little red accented chairs and carpets. Whereas this month is more of a forestry vine, hence the vines around the column.” I point as though they are a secret thing you need to search for even though they are obvious. Yet he turns anyway and runs his finger down the length of it with his adorable face set at a soft smile. Thomas might have been there when she got the idea, or placed them or he might have placed them himself and is now remembering it.
My gaze finds Thomas and he looks at me, baffled, and I feel the blush creeping back up. It is not the same confused look that I get when I tell people my love of science, but one of intrigue. As if he could listen to me talk forever and not get bored. It's as if he has never thought anyone would notice such things about his family's party. “Enchanting.” is all he whispers to me. Then he clears his throat, an ever so soft shake of his head as though once again the words were meant for him and not us both.
I stare out at the crowd again. I'm sure my family will want to know where I've disappeared to, I normally do not leave them this long. Liza I'm sure will want to know why I danced with Thomas. Yet the thought of leaving him makes my legs leaden and my heart sink and anchor me right next to him. Im completely wonderstruck, and feel ill have a permanent blush, especially when i look at his stupidly handsome face, his quick smirk and small smiles that feel special. It is odd, I've only heard stories, spoken to him briefly and danced, yet I have enjoyed his company immensely and hope this never ends. I want more dances and to steal more smiles to keep forever. I want to make fun of people together, and dance.
I go to steal a glimpse of him, expecting to find him staring at the crowd like I was but his eyes are on me. “I have to leave,” his abrupt words anchor me in an entirely different way, “I mean, I want to stay and I'm sure you want my amazing presence always now Wadsworth but I have to wake early. New job. So, my darling, I shall see you tomorrow.” Thomas hesitates for half a second and begins to walk away. I watch him go and say goodnight to his sister and then leave. His words fill my head. It’s reassuring to know he enjoys my company as much as I do.
~
I bolt upright in my bed, the lights, music and memories falling away as I focus on the last words he said to me.
I'll see you tomorrow.
What does tomorrow mean? Does it mean he has a job where he thinks I visit? Will he be making an effort to befriend me? Does he know my family? I am so confused. How had I not caught these words sooner? Perhaps he wants to tell me he had a terrible time, that he doesn't like my presence. I'm on my feet without realising, pacing back and forth, the cold air hugging me close. I wish he was in front of me now. I wish he would whisper the words enchanting again. I wish I knew what was happening in a few hours that warranted him saying those four words. I run my hands over my face, untie my hair and let my curls fall over my shoulder, brushing away the colder ever so slightly. I'm ridiculous. Four tiny words sent me spiralling. I climb back into bed, my hair fanning out around me and the blanket returning warmth back into my system. Immediately my mind returns to Thomas, his face forever in my mind. Even if tomorrow could be the last time I see him, there is a chance that it is just the start.
Enchanting…
Those words fill me with confidence that yes, Thomas might become someone special to me. That perhaps our dance sparked something and now all I wish is that I can tell him how enchanting he is.
@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff
#sjtr#hpd#efh#ctd#cresswell#thomas and audrey rose#Thomas Cresswell#Audrey Rose Wadsworth#audrey rose#kerri maniscalco#enchanted#taylor swift#stalking jack the ripper#Hunting Prince Dracula#escaping from houdini#capturing the devil
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The Alpha and The Omega Part 2
Alpha Maul x Omega Reader
Summary: Darth Maul becomes Maul and has to figure out how to both survive and thrive in the galaxy on his own. It’s more difficult than he thought it would be, especially after being thrown into a mix of bounty hunters with a unique gene that he also shares that are more than willing to allow him into their pack. Can he learn to trust those around him after a life time of near solitude?
Word Count: 4.9k
WARNINGS: Mentions of death and injuries, hints to slavery. A/B/O dynamics. Maul’s injury is not the canon one
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No.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
Maul was falling, plunging into the depths of a reactor shaft on Naboo. He had killed a Jedi Master; finally, after all his years of training and harsh lessons, he had succeeded in this long-awaited trial. He didn’t plan for the Master’s padawan to be so strong and so quick. Right when he had started to celebrate his victory by taunting his opponent who had hung from the very shaft he was falling into, he was caught off guard. The padawan had leapt up, used his fallen Master’s saber and plunged it straight through his chest before kicking him down into the abyss.
Maul could still feel the padawan’s rage billowing through the surrounding force, his pain and sadness and he took pleasure in it. The fact that he had cracked the padawan’s resolve was a consolation to his failure. He had failed his mission, he had failed himself, he had failed his Master; years wasted. His life, wasted. His eyes widened in a realization and harnessing his physical pain, Maul was able to take hold of an air vent, hoisting himself up and into the tight tunnels and calling the working half of his saber into his grip with a burst of fury through the force.
Every time he had thought he was able to keep something from Sidious it was revealed that his master had planned his movements long before he made them. No, he had not failed his Master, he had followed his plan accordingly. Sidious wanted him to fall on Naboo; he wanted the Jedi to believe they had once again eradicated the threat of the Sith and take on a new apprentice. Newfound anger at his betrayal fueled him to climb through the ventilation until he finally reached the surface. The wound in his chest was not fatal, it had passed between both of his hearts but still ached and throbbed; the burning of the instant cauterization kept him from bleeding to death. He should have died from the impact of the fall.
He had to leave, he couldn’t let the Jedi or his master know he had survived. Concealing his force signature like he had had to master years ago, he kept to the shadows. He feared the Jedi would recognize his ship; he knew his master would, so he almost regrettably left it behind. The citizens were still celebrating their false victory drunkenly in the streets so it was far too easy to steal a small ship and escape the planet since the blockade had been eradicated.
He made his way to the furthest reaches of the outer rim on the boarder of wild space to evade his master’s detection. He spent a year bouncing between planets, nursing his injury and keeping up his original training by fighting fearsome beasts. When he had returned to his full strength, he dared inch slightly closer to civilization. He had returned to Tatooine in hopes of gathering some supplies despite his almost empty purse.
He had fallen into bounty hunting by accident. He came across a small moisture farm and with the intent to rob it, had found himself face to face with an utterly terrified Twi’lek male. Maul was about to unsheathe his weapon but stopped when the man before him dropped to his knees.
“Please! Please don’t take me back to Jabba! I know he has a price on my head but I can’t go back there!” sobs cracked through his words and Maul grimaced in disgust at the man’s weakness. “I- I don’t have much but I’ll pay you what I can if you leave me alone and forget you ever saw me. Please.”
Maul did no such thing. With the promise of credits, he ignited his blade and took the man’s head in one fell swoop. Carrying his head over his shoulder by one of the Twi’lek’s lekku along with the credits he had offered him for his freedom, he made his way to Jabba’s palace to collect a reward. Sure enough, he was promised a handsome sum for killing the thief and presenting his head to Lord Jabba.
He sat at a small table in the corner of the cantina while he awaited his pay. He scanned the room, taking note of every patron and exit while the band played music he didn’t care for. His eyes met the visor of who he assumed was a bounty hunter under Jabba’s employ. The Mandalorian warrior strode over to him slowly after muttering something to one of the servant girls. The man pulled the only other chair out from Maul’s table and settled himself down in it, followed quickly by the girl carrying two amber bottles. She gave a dainty bow before she trotted away, leaving the two men in a heavy silence.
Maul could smell him; he didn’t feel like a threat to him per say as he could tell the Mandalorian wasn’t a force user, but he did waft a heady scent that made the flesh on the back of Maul’s neck raise up. He bared his teeth to the man and growled before taking a swig of the bottle; never taking his eyes off of the stranger in front of him.
“Easy there Alpha. I’m not here to start trouble.” Maul pretended like he wasn’t confused by the title he had been assigned. Some bounty hunter lingo perhaps.
“I haven’t seen you around here or around the guilds before. How long have you been hunting?” the man never removed his helmet to drink his beer, rather placed a metal straw in the opening and sipped it from under his helm.
“Not long,” Maul wanted to give this man as little information as possible without rousing suspicion. He had interacted with bounty hunters before and was under the impression they didn’t ask questions, unlike the Mandalorian. Maul watched intently as the man reached into his utility belt and pulled out a card before sliding it across the table in his direction. He quirked his brow ridge at the man waiting for an explanation.
“We tend to take care of our own. Guild Master on this card has a set up on Corellia. She’s a mated Omega, she’ll help you get started up, might be able to pull a few strings and get you into the Guild,” he rapped his knuckles once on the table and stood as a Gamorrian Guard approached with Maul’s payment. He took the purse quickly and made his way to the exit but not before shooting the stranger one last glance.
“Good luck out there brother,” he rasped through his vocoder and giving a lazy two finger salute.
Maul made his way back across the desert as night was starting to fall, a relief from the blistering heat. He had some strange exchanges in his life but none that had left him so confused. Why had the man called him Alpha and referred to him as a brother? What in the name of the force was a mated Omega? He had never heard of that species before despite his Master’s thorough tutelage. He sat in the cockpit of his ship holding the card in his crimson and tattooed fingers, lost in thought. He hadn’t considered what his life would turn into with his newfound freedom.
He knew he wanted revenge and the notoriety he was promised, how he would achieve it on his own he had no clue. He considered how he might be able to gain influence in the underworld and high contacts should he become a renowned bounty hunter. He had the skillset for it. He needed the credits too. Sighing, he punched in the coordinates to Corellia, confident in the idea that his Master was convinced of his demise and made his way there.
He never much liked Corellia, he had been here several times before. Despite the fact that it was easy to get lost in a crowd, it was also difficult to perceive incoming threats if he dropped his guard. He wandered through the streets, keeping to the alleyways when he could with the hood of his black cloak pulled over his head, obscuring others’ ability to see his face. He glanced down between the card in his hand and the neon signs above the various businesses. Trying to locate a cantina called The Den, supposedly in Coronet owned by a Theelin named Zeni.
Sure enough, after rounding a dozen corners he finally found a hole in the wall with a little sign that read The Den, in red lights. Two characters he didn’t recognize from any languages he was familiar with, unlit, one painted on either side of the basic neon lettering. He pushed open the heavy door and was pleasantly surprised to find it larger than it looked on the inside. The room was dark, lit by low glowing lights. Cigar smoke wafted lazily through the air but not so much that it made you choke. Various tapestries and flags decorated the walls along with photographs of people he wouldn’t have been able to recognize if he had cared to try.
Only a few patrons sat scattered around the cantina, their attention on data-pads and bounty pucks. He spotted a dark blue haired, purple skinned Theelin behind the bar chatting flirtatiously with a large Chiss male.
A scent, different but akin to the one the Mandalorian had permeated the room, swirling with a strong flowery one. The odd pair’s eyes snapped up to him the moment the door closed behind the Zabrak. He took a bar stool a few seats down from the Chiss and stared straight ahead, feeling the man’s eyes narrow in his direction. The Theelin woman he assumed was Zeni strode over to him after patting the Chiss’s arm affectionately.
“Don’t mind him, you know how Alphas get when unmated ones come around their Omega,” she was absentmindedly wiping down the dark bar with a damp rag before setting a glass down, “what can I get for you?”
Maul reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out her card and set it down on the counter.
“I was told you were the one to come to if I wanted to join the guild.”
“You got a sponsor? Proof of successful hunts?” she quirked a brow at him as the man he assumed was her mate kept a close eye on him. Maul was confused.
“I wasn’t aware you needed a sponsor to join the Guild.”
“Not the collective no, but if you wanna join this house you’ll need someone to vouch that you’re not an over aggressive Alpha or too submissive Omega,” the Chiss answered before Zeni could. Leaning across the empty space he extended a hand, “Call me Coth, Zeni’s Alpha.” Maul hesitantly took the man’s hand and gave a firm, curt shake, “Maul.”
“You’re unmated,” Coth stated, it wasn’t a question. Maul at least understood what that meant.
“I do not have a mate no. Is that important?”
“No,” Zeni cut in, “we’ve quite a few lone Alphas in our ranks, few unmated Omegas too, as long as you don’t give the girls too much trouble, we won’t have a problem.”
Maul was getting frustrated with the terms he didn’t understand, “What are these Alphas and Omegas? I’ve only heard of them over the last few days from another bounty hunter. Is this some kind of title?”
The mated pair exchanged a bewildered look, “You don’t know?” Coth asked. Maul simply stared at them while Zeni sighed heavily and reached behind her, pouring a massive amount of liquor into the empty glass she had placed in front of Maul. Coth had scooted over to sit next to him.
“He wouldn’t be the first,” he started, “do you remember when ‘Meg first came around with Bane? She didn’t know hardly anything. Terrified of every Alpha she smelled, poor thing.”
“Of course I remember, I wouldn’t let her catch you referring to her as a ‘poor thing’. She’s probably our best Omega, she does work for the collective too now, not just our house. Still don’t know where she came from. I think Bane knows but you know how he is. Moves around a lot that girl, just like he does.” Coth nodded at Zeni’s words before turning his attention back to Maul who was only half listening at this point as he nursed his liquor.
“Long story short, it’s a gene. It’s why you can smell me and my honey there. You’ve got the Alpha which makes you stronger, faster and a bit smarter than the rest of your species.”
Maul mulled over Coth’s words. From what he had learned, most of his kind from Dathomir had some kind of connection to the force, perhaps this added gene was why he was chosen to be Sidious’s apprentice.
“And what of the Omega?” he turned to Zeni and she grinned. “Same deal for the most part but we always fall in line behind our mighty Alphas,” she leaned over the bar pinched her lover’s cheek and gave him a playful growl before turning her attention back to the Zabrak.
“Listen I’ll cut you some slack, if you got this card, it means someone in our house gave it to you so you caught someone’s eye. Who gave it to you anyway?”
“I never got a name, he was a Mandalorian at Jabba’s palace.” Coth’s eyes gleamed, “Interesting, he’s never recruited anyone before.” Coth stared off into the corner of the bar while Zani spoke up again.
“Like I said I’ll cut you a break Maul, I can’t just grant you instant access to the guild’s bounty list; especially without a sponsor but if you can consistently turn in public bounties through us for six months and prove to be reliable, I’ll grant you membership and you can start taking some pucks,” she looked to her mate for a final approval. He gave her a curt nod and she refilled Maul’s drink with a pleased smile, “what do you say?”
Maul shot back the last of the liquor and stood, “prove my worth, join the ranks. Sounds reasonable..”
Coth also stood and retrieved a data-pad with a list of public bounties, “good, here. Take your pick, bring em back to us and you’ll get the reward through our broker.”
Over the next two months Maul proved to be an almost mechanically reliable hunter. He only ever took bounties that were listed with the option to bring them in dead, made his job easier. He found that it wasn’t as lucrative as he had hoped but he was only taking public bounties at the moment. They tended to be cheap but there were a lot at his disposal. The jobs were too easy for him, he was a born hunter and a trained killer yet he was hunting down mostly thieves who stole from the wrong people. His strength through the force came to every advantage, he enjoyed toying with his victims; making them run, giving them a false hope that they would escape but they never could.
To say he liked the other hunters at the Den would’ve been an overstatement but he didn’t necessarily dislike them either. Zeni was always friendly and welcoming when he came to drop off the bodies and collect his pay. Coth was as pleasant as an Alpha could be to another. He slowly started picking up social ques about the sub culture. Alphas were fiercely protective of their Omegas and although the Omegas were a force to be reckoned with all on their own; he realized how true Zeni’s earlier statement had been. They always fell in line behind their Alphas and their Alphas took great care of them. He still hadn’t met an Omega that wasn’t already mated and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to; the bond looked like an anchor, a distraction.
After collecting a series of quarries, he returned once again to Corellia to collect. When he entered the familiar cantina, a new scent almost knocked him out with its intensity. It was soft and earthy, lightly floral but incredibly strong. Noticing that Zeni was preoccupied talking to a woman at the bar with Coth by her side he took a seat in one of the empty booths and started looking through the newly available bounties from the public database trying to push through the fog that clouded his mind. He could just barely sense an individual in his proximity that had a strong connection to the force and it made him bristle.
~~~~~
Your pupils blew out the moment the scent hit your nose. You had been around your fair share of unmated Alphas by now but you had never been so affected before. You turned away from Zeni to scan the bar and your eyes fell on someone you had never seen in the cantina before. A crimson Zabrak’s eyes bored into yours for only a moment before he turned back to whatever it was he was doing. Zeni had to wave her lilac hand in front of your face to bring your attention back to her while Coth chuckled, obviously aware of how you were affected.
“Who the fuck is that?” you asked nodding your head in his direction. Coth quieted down long enough to answer you.
“Name’s Maul. New to the game, Fett gave him the card but he doesn’t have a sponsor.”
“Never heard of Fett handing out your card,” you quirked your brow over to Zeni.
“As far as I know he never has. Maul must’ve had some crazy strong pheromones going off to catch that Alphas attention,” she chirped, “since it was Fett who extended the invitation and he’s obviously an Alpha I told him he can take public bounties and cash em in here for a while ‘till he proves to be a good addition to our pack.”
You nodded pensively before downing your drink. His scent was heady, a strong woody and musty, lightly smoky smell that heated your muscles under your skin. You had finished your heat recently so you were confident that the only pheromones you were releasing were your normal Omega ones. Still, you felt his eyes on you and you could feel the dark side of the force surrounding him. Interesting.
“How’s he doing? Why doesn’t he have a sponsor?” you tried to ask nonchalantly while you looked through the pucks Coth had set out for you to take your pick from.
“He won’t ask for sponsorship and no one’s offered. He’s doing great considering he didn’t have a clue he was an Alpha when he first wondered in here.”
“He didn’t?” the mirrored déjà vu was not lost on you.
“Nope, but he’s taken care of the most dangerous thieves that have been posted publicly, finds em quick too,” Coth praised, “plus he’s left the mated Omegas alone, hasn’t challenged any of the other Alphas either. Keeps to himself, still doesn’t have a mate as far as I can tell,” he gave you a not-so-subtle wink and jab with his elbow.
You glared at him from under the rim of your hat. “So he needs a sponsor..” you turned your attention back to Zeni picking up three of the pucks and sliding the rest back to Coth.
“I’m way ahead of you ‘Meg,” she set two glasses with a few ice cubes in front of you and a full bottle of whisky; the spicy kind you liked, and turned her love sick gaze back to the Chiss she called her mate. You took the glasses and the bottle and turned to walk towards the strange Alpha.
You watched a scantily dressed Twi’lek slide into the worn booth next to him and try to mutter something into his ear, you smirked when he made an effort to scoot away from her but this woman was persistent. She had no scent, she wasn’t an Omega, she had no business trying to woo an Alpha. Fucking Betas, you thought. They made up the majority of the population and couldn’t tell the difference between Alphas, Omegas and their kind. She didn’t notice you while you set the glasses down softly on the table; bottle still in hand. When you cleared your throat, she looked up at you with an annoyed huff. You swept your coat to the side, showing the blaster strapped to your thigh, “beat it bitch,” your voice was sultry and smooth but carried an authority only a respected Omega could.
You watched her scurry away looking frightened and ignored the snorts of amusement coming from the bar. Every patron in the Den knew you and your reputation. You had no problem challenging anyone who stood in your way. Whether that came from the skills you had learned as a Jedi or an attitude you picked up from Bane; you didn’t know and didn’t care. It worked.
The Alpha said nothing as you glided into the black booth opposite him and slid one of the empty glasses over to him; passing him the bottle once you had poured yourself a generous serving. You allowed yourself to enjoy the spicy malt liquor and watched as he also poured the amber liquid over the ice cubes in his glass. His scent was over powering, it turned your insides into butterflies; something the other Alphas had never done. The pheromones he released told you he was vaguely interested in your presence, welcoming it, almost. But his force signature told you he was wary, waiting to see why you had approached him in the first place.
For a few minutes the two of you sat in silence, eyes locked on one another while you basked in the other’s aroma and sipped your drinks until you broke the silence.
“So, you’re the new Alpha in town,” you cocked your brow at him.
“That’s what I’ve been told, yes,” he poured himself a second drink and you hummed.
“I hear you’ve been taking up the public listings and doing fairly well for yourself,” you leaned back and stretched your free arm over the back of the booth.
“Is this going somewhere or did you just want to buy me a drink?” the corner of his mouth quirked up and his golden eyes narrowed slightly as he also leaned back, spreading his legs to a more comfortable and dominant position.
You nodded your head, respecting the fact that he valued his time. Still, you made him wait till you finished your drink and sighed. “I also hear you might be in need of a sponsorship.”
“As you said, I’m doing quite well for myself. Not so sure I need one.”
You poured yourself another glass and hummed again, leaning forward towards him and resting on your elbows with your drink clasped between your hands. “That maybe the case but without one it’ll be a while before your granted membership. Even then, new initiates only get last picks.”
“Are you offering me something?” he leaned forward slightly, searching your face for your intentions before you could speak them.
“As a matter of fact, I am. The hunter who sponsored me was high ranking so when I got in; I got better pickings by affiliation. I’m giving you the same chance I had by offering you, my sponsorship.”
“What exactly would I have to do?” he growled. Obviously not keen on the idea of owing anyone anything.
“Nothing you’re not already doing,” you placed the three pucks you had gotten from Zeni on the table and pulled a fourth out of your pocket you had gotten from a private hire. “Come with me and help me take care of these four, come back and collect fifty percent after fuel costs. Simple. After that you’ll have full membership and higher paying bounties to choose from. Few weeks instead of a few months, thousands instead of hundreds.”
You leaned back and gave him time to look over the information each puck carried. Even if he decided to try to run off with the info and catch them on his own, no guild master would cash him out without a membership. You barely caught the slight widening of his eyes when he saw the cash reward. You felt his need through the force and smelled it from him. You knew he would accept your offer but you allowed him to drag out his answer for a few minutes while he mulled it over.
“Alright,” his voice was velvety, “I’ll play along. When do we leave?”
“Is your ship somewhere you can leave it unattended? We’re taking mine.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Good, meet me at the refueling station by night fall, docking bay number 7. I have to resupply. Bring whatever you’ll need for a few weeks,” you stood and collected your pucks, tucking them safely into the bag that hung from your shoulder, “don’t keep me waiting Alpha,” you cooed before sauntering out of the cantina.
Maul poured himself a third drink from the bottle you left, he had more than enough time and was hoping to drown out the strange thickness your scent left on his tongue. The seat you left open was quickly filled by none other than Coth. He was grinning dumbly, wide and toothy; his red eyes gleaming.
“Did she offer you a sponsorship?”
“Yes, we’re leaving tonight,” he didn’t quite understand why he felt so comfortable talking to Coth. Perhaps it was because of the pack mentality this house seemed to have, maybe it was something to do with the unique gene they all shared. It could just be because he spent his whole life alone besides his master and although he would never admit it, he marginally preferred occasional company. He wasn’t a threat to this Alpha’s mate and thus Coth wasn’t a threat to him; so, he pressed on, “why is her scent so much… stronger than the other Omegas?”
“Who ‘Meg? She’s unmated. Hasn’t even been scented by another Alpha. Not that no one’s tried. Usually, Omegas are mated shortly after their first heat but she’s been around for three years or so now and she’s a force to be dealt with. Probably the least submissive Omega I’ve ever met. Cad Bane sponsored her and even he respects her.”
“Why did she turn down the others’ advances? I thought Omegas were supposed to be pliant.”
“They are with their Alpha. She’s especially headstrong though. I overheard her chatting with Zeni one time when she actually got pretty smashed, going on about how it would be an honor to submit to an Alpha but it had to be one worthy of submission.”
Maul nodded and was pleasantly surprised with what he was told. He of all people could understand being willing to fall in line but it had to be to a greater power than the one possessed by the follower, not just anyone. He finished his drink and thanked Coth for the information and gave Zeni an uncharacteristic wave before he left the cantina; much to her delight.
He made his way back to his ship and gathered a few pairs of extra clothes and the rest of his ration bars in his pack before paying the caretaker of the of the ship yard enough credits to dock his ship there for six weeks. He hoped that would be long enough, Corellia wasn’t exactly cheap to store your ship on for long periods of time. It would be worth it if he really could come back to better prospects. He never sensed that you had lied to him, neither through the force or through your scent. He took his time and bought a few meat kabobs from a vendor on the street before heading to the location you had given him.
Sure enough, when he arrived at dock 7, he saw you chatting with a Quarren while one of his employees loaded a few crates into your cargo bay. He took a moment to admire you, your scent wasn’t nearly so intoxicating at this distance. He silently appreciated the way the glow from the setting sun lit up behind your silhouette and cast a slight shadow over your face under the brim of your hat but your eyes never lost their glow. How your posture was relaxed and friendly yet carried an air that demanded respect from those around you. You had smiled brightly at something the supplier said and let out a melodious laugh that rang through the cooling dusk. He felt a pang of jealousy that almost startled him. He had no reason to be possessive of you. Still, when you turned to him, a smile still across your lips and motioned him over to you he held a sense of pride with being beckoned to your side. He was utterly fucked, wasn’t he?
As the two of you walked up the ramp and closed the hatch behind you, you turned to face him.
“You ready for some big game Alpha?” he nodded.
“Maul, my name is Maul.”
“Alright Maul, if that’s what you prefer. Call me ‘Meg.”
Yes, he was indeed fucked.
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OKAY IMAGINE THIS - by some mirracle, s/o get teleported back in time to the pirate era and suddenly just drops from the sky as Antonio and Arthur are battling! Everything comes to a halt because a friggin woman fell from literally nowhere - Arthur is quicker and he captures s/o first, DEMANDING to know where she is from, how did she get here. Poor s/o tries to tell him the truth but it just isn't working. How stupid do you think Arthur is, huh?! He's not buying what you're selling love! (1/?)
Oh blazes, my dear. You’re trying to seduce me into writing a novel for you, correct. Well, not today (sadly) so I’ll be going ahead with my usual mixture of headcanons and snippets. Also, to everybody out there: Requests are still being accepted – I just can’t bring myself to close my ask box.
Also, I wanted to write Arthur’s and Antonio’s lines in an older English, but then I remembered what it was like having to read books from the 19th century for school and decided not to inflict the torture upon you.
Yandere Love Triangle: England vs Spain (Historical Pirate AU!)
As mentioned in the ask, you would be minding your own business, more or less, when you would suddenly be granted two of the wishes many harbour in their hearts: to time travel and have an adventure. Unfortunately for you, that wouldn’t happen with a forewarning and you wouldn’t have any chance to blend in. I wouldn’t say the battle would completely stop – with all the smoke and gunpowder and bangs going on only those close by would have a chance noticing.
Antonio was having a wonderful day. Yes, extremely wonderful. Life on the ship had been very good as of late, supplies running high and spirits even higher. They were reaching their climax now, with Spain showing England the business ends of sword and cutlas and cannon. It was a fitting sort of revenge being able to rob the lilly-livered bastard after he had stolen so much Spanish silver and gold.
The runt in question was baring his teeth and snarling like a cornered dog while their blades were interlocked, when Antonio heard a loud crash from behind England. It was probably just part of the ruckus of a sea battle, yet something – his fantastic intuition most likely – advised him to take a look. Of course, making the other combatant to move just how he wanted proved to be tricky, because Arthur had always been an uncooperative like blight and liked to fight dirty.
Yet he wasn’t a famed duellist for nothing. The sight that caught his attention when he got the opportunity to see it nearly caused him to lose an arm due to inattention. Men of both sides had briefly abandoned the battle to crowd around a failing figure that was desperately trying to free itself from a tangle of nets and torn sails. The onlookers whispered amongst themselves. The chorus of voices only grew louder when a very confused woman.
He found himself remarking: “It seems like you’ve finally started to develop a good taste in bed mates. Say, when did that happen, fishy. I always thought that you’d have luck to get a starved old tramp to warm your bed.”
“Shut up, Anthony!”, came the immediate reply, proving that the island nation wasn’t aware about what he was playing at. “Let’s not get on about you. Or should I tell your precious monarch about what you do in the stables when all the servants are gone?”
Pathetic little weasel. Enraged, Antonio brought the hilt of his sword down on that pale, cruel face and busted a pair of thin lips. “You should guard yourself from spreading lies, English pigdog. Or else the Almighty himself will smite you.”
Naturally, being the cunning demon he was, England used the opening Spain had provided him to barrel into him and send him flying overboard and into the sea.
That action would be quick to turn the tides, especially with so many men coming to aid their captain and help him out of water. This would result in Arthur then discovering you on his ship, probably when his first mate would rush to him and explain that a very strange women in a strange get-up had just suddenly appeared on the ship.
England would go and investigate and discover you surrounded by his crew, each of them having different responses to your presence and hence causing quite a commotion. He too would find you utterly alien – in your attire, in your mannerisms, even in your speech. But Arthur would be ever the pragmatic and reason that there would have to be another explanation to your appearance, one that doesn’t include miracles. But because he wouldn’t have either the time or the head space to deal with you at the moment, he’d have to thrown in the brig with strict orders to leave you alone. That would also be a way for him to torture you and force you to wallow in your worries and terrors.
The brackish water of the brig had long since made your feet wet, cotton soaks completely soaked through and chilling you. The stench it all emitted, and Arthur’s relentless questioning only further enhanced your discomfort.
He was prowling in front of your cage-like cell, like a tiger in the zoo. Only that he didn’t want to break out, rather that he was being continuously tempted to drag you out of your cell and onto the deck to be flogged for your insolence.
“At every turn you say to me that you’re from the future and that you don’t know how you came here”, he rehearsed the main points of your conversation with him. There had been a snarl on his face the whole time throughout the interrogation, his anger only making his voice curl tightly around the vowels and roll the r’s harder until you had to strain to understand him.
Mutely you nodded – you yourself had come to the conclusion that he understood you better when you kept your words simply, underlay them with gestures and expressions and spoke slowly.
In return, England shook his head and spat: “I do not believe you. Going backwards in time is impossible, it only goes forward.”
In any other situation you would have been inclined to agree with him. But you were living proof that there were glaring exceptions to that rule. Having unexpectedly landed in a long-gone era, you had first found yourself desperately grappling with your new reality. You had pinched yourself and read the letters on crates and barrel and closed your eyes and read them again to see if anything had changed – everything to assure yourself that you were dreaming.
You weren’t, nor had you taken any psychedelics, so this was painfully, gruesomely real. A fact that Arthur wasn’t excepting even with evidence right past the tip of his nose.
“Then how do you explain the ripped sails then? How do you explain my strange clothes?”, you questioned him. Then, after a brief pause, you asked: “How do you explain that I know who and what you are?”
You knowing that he was a personification of a budding Empire was a sore spot for him and made him even more suspicious of you. Something that was now backfiring on you.
He waved your words off with evident irritation and countered: “There are more reasonable explanation for all of that. That you’re a spy from a foreign country for example.”
Arthur would never cease with side-eying you and constantly be on the look-out for more logical explanations for your otherness. He would find them as well. Yet there would always be a little voice in the forefront of his mind nagging him that you are telling the truth and that he was wasting the opportunity of the millennia by blowing your words in the wind.
Those doubts would be the main reason he would keep you alive, along with his quest to extract the “truth” from you. However, there would be times when he would be tempted to fetch those thumbscrews from his quarters to see if you’d crack under pressure. Yet he would still restrain himself.
That wouldn’t mean your stay on his ship would be pleasant. You’d constantly be wet and cold, with rats crawling around the brig and your meals being a near inedible gruel that would be set aside for you.
Therefore, it would be an absolute relief when Spain would swoop in to rescue you. It would be an even greater wonder when he would actually listen to you and take into consideration what you would say.
“Tell me if I’ve got this right: In the future, you don’t send letters anymore that take months to reach another country. Instead, you send messages from small machines which the other person can read only after a few seconds, no matter how far away they are”, Antonio summed up what you had just cautiously explained to him.
You had been so shy when he had taken you aboard his vessel, so afraid he would just maltreat you like Arthur had. It had taken its time for him to convey that he was different from that godless brute, that he was civilized and patient. He wouldn’t disregard miracles and let them slip through his fingers. It had taken its own sweet time to coax you into telling the truth, but now you were sitting across him in his quarters, nodding enthusiastically.
“More or less, yes. There is a lot more to that, but that is the start of it”, you affirmed his words. You were relieved that you finally had somebody to talk to in this time were you previously had nobody. The food being served helped you weigh yourself into safety – fresh fruit and other perishable treats, an absolute luxury onboard a ship with a sizable crew. Indeed, you were becoming so comfortable with your host, your lifeline at this point, that you were betraying things about your future that you otherwise wouldn’t have.
And wasn’t yet about detail concretely concerning him, but you would both get there eventually. Spain was sure of that.
Meanwhile you didn’t notice the hungry gleam in his eyes when he purred: “Fascinating, my dear. What else can these things do?”
Being a Catholic, Antonio would be far more inclined to believe you on the time-traveling thing. He would also add two and two together on your strange clothes and their material, not to mention your different attitudes and behaviours and realise that you would be telling the truth. He would treat you kindly as a way of getting you to talk to him, eventually becoming the only person you could trust.
He would guard you jealously and ensure that you would only speak to him – having knowledge of the future would be a right he would reserve for himself alone. It would also cause him to become obsessed with you, keeping you in his quarters or leading you onto the deck at night for short walk. Of course, he would paint the whole isolating thing as he keeping you safe, saying that Arthur was after you.
The argument with Arthur would have far more validity then Antonio would even imagine. The wisdom that you don’t know what you really have until you lose it would be especially true in his case. It would finally dawn upon him that you were telling the truth the whole time and that would lead Arthur to beat himself up over it. A pursuit to recapture you would ensue.
Not to mention that it would make his blood boil to think that Spain would be courting you, persuading you to tell him everything he could ever want to know about the future. Besides being a threat to his future existence and ongoing success, England would like to have all that knowledge himself and for himself only. Knowledge is power, after all.
Arthur would also miss you for your wit and endurance, fantasizing and dreaming of you to the point of obsession and never quitting his chase for you.
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The point is control
Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc.
This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism.
Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable.
The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.
Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself.
Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing.
But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.
Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.
So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.
Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being?
It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.
But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.
And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.
But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.
I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.
Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.
So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.
Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse.
My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...
This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back.
And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure.
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Title: Guilt
Rating: Teen and Up
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (set after Golden Wind, given Jolyne's age.)
Pairing(s): JotaKak, JoKa, (Platonic) Jotaro & Jolyne, (Platonic) Kakyoin & Jolyne
Summary: Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,
Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.
Notes: Involves emergency surgery, chronic pain, preteen!Jolyne, PTSD, disabled Kakyoin, and near death experiences.
-
Here's the thing: Jolyne hates him. It's not a secret, and it's definitely not something that she bothers to hide from him. Jotaro keeps swearing that she'll come around. Says she's just stubborn (like her father is, Kakyoin sometimes thinks with far too much affection for a man that regularly drives him up the wall). There's also the fact that she's a preteen, and kids are apparently just like that at her age.
Here's the thing: Kakyoin would hate him, too. If he were in her situation. He's petty on a good day, and a right bastard on any other. He can't imagine being in her situation. With divorced parents who, while amicable, are both ridiculously successful and constantly busy. And then waltzed in Kakyoin, right in the middle of it. Though 'waltz' is a bit of a stretch. He doesn't do anything like that with his plated spine and braced legs, but none of that matters. The real point is that he gets it.
He does his best to never push more than he has to. For the most part, he lets Jolyne do her own thing, because she's a Kujo and a Joestar. She's going to do what she wants anyways. His opinion be damned, though he does try to reason with her. Hell, he's given into bribing every once in a while. (Sometimes the means don't matter when father and daughter are both happy at the end of the day.)
In short: Jolyne hates him, and Kakyoin understands.
______
Here's the thing: Jolyne finds Kakyoin to be a nuisance. An interference. One more complication to an already complicated life, and she's only eleven. She wants her parents to get over their bullshit (language!) and figure out how to make things work. She wants Kakyoin to go away, but that doesn't mean she wants him dead. Or injured. Even if she did wish him off the end of a pier that one time. Still.
They've admittedly grown to be more friendly over time. She talks to him now, which is an improvement to the chronic cold shoulder she gave him before. Sometimes she even asks him for help, because her dad can be surprisingly useless when it comes to school work (weren't you in school when I was little?) He always seems happy to help, and he never gets as frustrated as her dad.
So maybe she doesn't hate him, but she definitely wants him to go away.
______
Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,
Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.
He doesn't need to know-- specifically-- what went wrong to know that he's dying. The moment the pain goes from barely tolerable to utterly agonizing is about when his brain lets him know that he's operating on borrowed time.
Kakyoin could have used that warning approximately five minutes ago. Before the pain. Before he found himself in front of Jolyne.
"I'm sorry," he tries to say, hopes the words come out audible enough for her to understand.
There are tears welling up in her eyes, and they fall soon enough. God, he's made Jolyne cry. She's so young. So unprepared. And she looks so much like Jotaro. With panic stricken eyes and fingers that grasp for something to do. Some way to fix this. It makes his chest ache beyond the twisting and shearing that his insides are already doing.
(She looks exactly like Jotaro, in the hospital after the Foundation managed to retrieve them. The way her hands fumble in the air is so much like how Jotaro had reached out desperately, trying to hold onto Kakyoin, in case those had been his last moments. Like father, like daughter, Kakyoin thinks without humor.)
His knees hit the ground first, and that shoots pain up his legs and along his hips. The rest of it ricochets and dies somewhere midway up his spine. It's a momentary distraction away from the agony that is his middle. He reaches with his fingers to press against his stomach, half expecting them to sink inward (into nothingness. There's nothing. Dio punched a hole right through him, and he's going to die.)
Jolyne is yelling. His name at first, then for her father. Again, he's reminded of the day he died. Maybe it's all been a dream. He's waking up now and the end is pressing down on him. The light will follow soon. He knows; he's seen it before.
"Please!" Jolyne begs him, "I'm sorry!"
He is, too. It's the last thing he thinks before his eyes slide shut and the darkness grabs at him greedily.
______
There's shouting and bright lights and something covering his face. He can't make out anything with his vision so blurry, but he thinks he hears Jotaro's angry voice booming what could be an entire room away.
"If you fucking put a finger on him that isn't necessary to keep him alive. I'll fuck-"
"Dad!"
Jotaro inhales sharply but nods to the surgeon one, final time, "His team is on their way. Not a goddamn finger."
______
The Speedwagon Foundation has several doctors that Kakyoin sees on a semi-regular basis. Each is a specialist in their own right, and they're the only reason Kakyoin ever made it home from Egypt. They're also the only ones that regularly work on updating all the augmented parts and maintaining the damaged remains of Kakyoin's organs. They know him inside and out. Quite literally.
The team makes it to the hospital long before Kakyoin comes out of emergency surgery, which means the whole process is extended significantly. The upside (if it could be called that) is that Kakyoin doesn't have to be put under again. The downside is that it means they'll be waiting awhile.
Jotaro does his best to be strong for Jolyne. It's his job as a parent to keep a calm façade and push his emotions to the side. She needs someone to be her reassurance.
He fails miserably.
______
The head of the Foundation team emerges some hours later, looking a little worse for wear. The stoicism past that does little for Jotaro's nerves. It tells him nothing of what to expect.
"Well?"
"He's stable," the doctor answers. "We had to take out several inches of colon this time. If I had to guess, he probably believed himself to be having a flare. He adjusted to the pain until he became necrotic." His expression shifts into an unpleased frown, "He also has two ulcers. Has he changed his diet? Or experienced any new stressors?"
Jolyne's lip quivered as she processed the doctor's words. She thought over every time she and Kakyoin had fought in recent history. Most of it being her yelling at him.
Jotaro's focus remains fixated on the doctor, "What the hell kind of pain is he still having?"
The doctor-- one Jotaro recognizes from previous visits but can't recall the name of-- sighs, "Kakyoin will only allow us to do so much to help manage his pain. I'm not his specialist in that regard, but it's at his request that he's kept on very little in terms of medication."
Jotaro knows that. He knows that Kakyoin doesn't like what stronger pain meds do to his head, but how out of control is his pain that he didn't notice that he was dying? That his body has been rotting from the inside out for an unknown amount of time?
Jolyne shifts further behind him, drawing his attention to her. It's the only thing that spares the doctor whatever response Jotaro might have otherwise formed. He turns to look at Jolyne and is startled by the tears already trailing down her round cheeks. Realization hits him then.
She's eleven, and he's an idiot.
"Hey, hey. Enough with that. He's going to be okay," Jotaro says quickly. He should have- called her mother or his mother or literally anyone. This isn't a conversation she needed to be privy to.
"It's me," Jolyne chokes the words out. Her thin arms wrap tight around her middle, and she looks close to collapsing on the ground.
Jotaro, admittedly, has no idea what she's talking about, "What's you?"
"The stress!" She practically wails.
Jotaro sighs and moves to wrap his arms around Jolyne. He tugs her in against his chest. "That- that's not the kind of stress the doctor is talking about," he glances over his shoulder to see that the man had already dismissed himself. Smart guy.
"I'm always mean to him!"
Jotaro wants to laugh. Not at all because he thinks her words-- or her suffering-- are funny, but because the whole situation feels unreal. He cards his fingers through her hair instead. It's all the comfort he feels like he can offer in a situation like this. With his own resolve teetering on the edge.
"Takes a lot more than that to take out Noriaki," he's lying through his teeth. The whole new family thing might damn well be enough stress, but he's never going to let Jolyne think this is her fault. It's not. Kakyoin is capable of making his own decisions, and being part of their family is one of them.
Jolyne crumbles against him despite the gentle words, so he scoops her up and holds her against his chest. Even at eleven, she's nothing compared to his size. He finds a nearby seat to settle into and lets her cry while he whispers promises he can't be sure he'll be able to keep. Eventually he tries distracting her with facts about dolphins, and that either has some effect, or she passes out from exhaustion. Either way, he's relieved when she snores against his neck.
______
Kakyoin comes to the waking world in a haze. His head aches and his middle feels a lot like it might have been ripped open again. He hopes that whatever happened had been a little more civil than that.
It doesn't take him long to place himself in the hospital. That's good. He isn't dead, and he's not immediately at risk of falling into enemy hands. The beeping to his left is annoying, and he can't see well enough to make anything out on the monitors around him. His vision tends to be the last thing to recover when he's been knocked out for a while. Still, he turns his head to continue to take in what he can make out.
He stops short when he sees two people in chairs on his right side, closer to the door. The familiar hat catches his attention immediately, not that he needs to be able to see at one hundred percent (or his version of it) to know that the man is none other than Jotaro. His size will always give him away before anything else.
Jotaro's head is bowed in a way that indicates he's likely asleep. He's undoubtedly been here awhile. Jolyne sits beside him with her head pressed against her father's bicep. Star Platinum is out and wrapped around both of them. He lifts his hand from Jotaro a moment to wave at him brightly, which is enough to disturb his user's sleep.
"Mm?" Jotaro grunts. He opens his eyes and sucks in a breath. He takes a moment to compose himself, which is fine. Kakyoin thinks he probably looks worse than he feels, thanks to the drugs. He would make a joke about it, but moving still hurts.
"Good to see you awake. How're you feeling?" Jotaro asks. He doesn't move from his spot, if only to avoid waking up Jolyne, but that intense gaze is evaluating all the same.
Kakyoin gives a noncommittal answer, and Jotaro snorts, "That's what I thought you'd say. Good thing we have this." He reaches for the little controller on the side of Kakyoin's bed. He presses the red button before Kakyoin can protest.
The glare he shoots Jotaro is relatively short-lived, and it's hard to be mad when Jotaro looks so damn triumphant, even if it's about something that Kakyoin has complicated feelings about. He decides to let him have this one, considering the fact that he's pretty sure he gave them all one nightmarish scare.
"I'm sorry," he says after a while, head lulling back against the pillows. His red hair spreads out all around. It's longer now than it ever has been, but he hasn't felt the need to cut it beyond a simple trim in years. It doesn't matter, but it gives himself something to focus on rather than the gnawing guilt.
"Don't be."
"I- god, I never meant-"
"Kakyoin."
"If I had known, I would have left the room or-"
"Kak-"
"She was so afraid. And she-"
"Noriaki," Jotaro snaps more than says the name, but his eyes are soft. "You aren't the only one that made her cry in the last few hours, so you're not special." That's not true. Kakyoin is incredibly special, but he needs to make some kind of light-hearted comment before he starts crying. Nobody needs to see that.
"Still," Kakyoin mumbles, but he doesn't continue.
Jotaro reaches out with Star, who clasps his large hand over one of Kakyoin's. He wants to lean forward himself, but he doesn't want to wake Jolyne up. Not yet.
Kakyoin turns his palm up to tangle his fingers together with Star's. He brushes his thumb over the stand's, knowing Jotaro can feel it reflected on his skin.
"I really thought it was a flare," he says after a while, because he feels like he owes some sort of explanation after everything.
"Nori, I really can't tell you how much I don't give a damn about that," Jotaro frowns at his own words, "No, I mean- I care, but- fuck." He scrubs his hand over his face a few times before trying again, "You don't have to feel guilty for this shit, okay? I should have noticed you were in pain."
Kakyoin shakes his head. He squeezes Star's hand to make sure Jotaro's listening when he speaks, "It's not your fault. I deal with this pain all the time. It just- at first it felt like a flare, but I guess I got used to it." And every time the pain worsened, he acclimated until it had nearly killed him.
Jotaro doesn’t get a chance to respond before Jolyne is rustling against him. She opens her eyes a crack and reaches up to wipe at them with her fists. “Dad?”
“Right here,” Jotaro grunts in response. He squeezes her shoulder gently, then retracts his arm to give her space to stretch out. “Kakyoin is awake.”
He watches the fog clear from her eyes. They widen as she processes his words, and her attention immediately turns to the redhead, who waves meekly at her.
“Jolyne, I’m- oof!”
Star quickly gets his hands around Jolyne’s waist, suspending her in the air enough to keep her weight from falling too heavily onto Kakyoin. He lets her down carefully, and the youngest Kujo looks sheepish for her overreaction.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s alright,” Kakyoin says, curling an arm around her loosely in return. He hadn’t expected to be nearly tackled upon awakening. That went doubly so when considering Jolyne as a factor. She’s never hugged him before. Trauma is funny in that way; something he knows from first hand experience.
Jotaro steps up behind her and offers a small smile to Kakyoin, “We’re glad you’re alright.”
“Yeah!” Jolyne echoes, “You scared the shit out of us!”
“Jolyne,” Jotaro’s voice is gruff. An attempt at a warning that falls short. The way his lips pull further upward is a dead giveaway that he isn’t particularly upset by her language usage.
“It’s true!”
“Good grief.”
Kakyoin snorts at the father-daughter duo, relieved to see the two smiling again. Already bickering as per usual. There’s too much snark trapped in the Joestar bloodline, and it always amplifies whenever there’s more than one of them in a room. He’d know, having been on the road with Joseph and Jotaro in the past.
Somehow the back and forth settles into Jolyne rambling about dolphins. She regurgitates facts that-- for the most part-- Kakyoin already knows, but he feigns shock and awe at all the right places to keep her spirit up. It’s more healing to watch her babble emphatically than it is lying around in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. It eases some of the guilt, makes him feel lighter.
Eventually, Jotaro whiskers her out the door. Kakyoin catches sight of Holly, which must mean that Marina is tied up. Holly doesn’t come in, likely at her son’s behest. The woman is a mother through and through, and she can be a bit overwhelming at times. Better to focus all that maternal energy on Jolyne for now.
“You look tired,” Jotaro says when the door clicks shut behind the two. He takes his spot back next to Kakyoin’s bed, pulling his chair as close as he can. His knees grind against the railing of the bed a bit, but the distance allows him to lean forward and get a good look at his partner.
“I could say the same about you,” Kakyoin points out with a raised brow. He still can’t pick up his head for more than a few seconds at a time, and his vision remains fuzzy around the edges; a likely side effect of being drugged to the gills, but he isn’t blind. He can see the bags collecting under Jotaro’s eyes. Exhaustion-- emotional as much as it is physical-- already weighing his shoulders down.
Jotaro snorts an unamused sound, “I’m not the one that just had emergency surgery.”
Kakyoin winces at the reminder. “I’m-”
“If you finish that statement, I’m going to give you a reason to be sorry,” he isn’t. Jotaro won’t hurt him, but the words make Kakyoin close his mouth anyways. For a second.
“Oh, and how are you going to do that?”
Jotaro stares him down for a solid thirty seconds, expecting him to back down. When he doesn’t, the man pushes himself to his feet with an exasperated sigh. “Good grief, c’mere,” his fingers hook under Kakyoin’s chin, and he leans down to press their lips together.
As far as life affirming kisses go, it’s one of Jotaro’s more gentle ones, but Kakyoin feels the thrill of it chasing down his spine anyways.
“I love you,” Kakyoin murmurs as they break apart. He wants to add an apology to the end, but he bites his lip and keeps it to himself for now. He’ll find a way to make it up to Jotaro and Jolyne later.
“Love you, too, Tenmei.”
#jotakak#jotaro kujo#kakyoin noriaki#noriaki kakyoin#jolyne kujo#jjba#jojo's bizarre adventure#jbba part 3#stardust crusaders#blitzwrites#blitz
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Sci-Fi & Dystopia: Books to Read
The Fire Sermon by Francesca Haig
The Hunger Games meets Cormac McCarthy's The Road in this richly imagined first novel in a new postapocalyptic trilogy by award-winning poet Francesca Haig.
Four hundred years in the future, the Earth has turned primitive following a nuclear fire that laid waste to civilization and nature. Though the radiation fallout has ended, for some unknowable reason every person is born with a twin. Of each pair one is an Alpha - physically perfect in every way - and the other an Omega burdened with deformity, small or large.
With the Council ruling an apartheid-like society, Omegas are branded and ostracized while the Alphas have gathered the world's sparse resources for themselves. Though proclaiming their superiority, for all their effort Alphas cannot escape one harsh fact: Whenever one twin dies, so does the other. Cass is a rare Omega, one burdened with psychic foresight. While her twin, Zach, gains power on the Alpha Council, she dares to dream the most dangerous dream of all: equality. For daring to envision a world in which Alphas and Omegas live side by side as equals, both the Council and the Resistance have her in their sights.
Drop by Drop by Morgan Llywelyn
In this first book in the Step By Step trilogy, global catastrophe occurs as all plastic mysteriously liquefies. All the small components making many technologies possible―Navigation systems, communications, medical equipment―fail.
In Sycamore River, citizens find their lives disrupted as everything they've depended on melts around them, with sometimes fatal results. All they can rely upon is themselves.
And this is only the beginning . . .
The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood
Margaret Atwood puts the human heart to the ultimate test in an utterly brilliant new novel that is as visionary as The Handmaid's Tale and as richly imagined as The Blind Assassin.
Stan and Charmaine are a married couple trying to stay afloat in the midst of an economic and social collapse. Job loss has forced them to live in their car, leaving them vulnerable to roving gangs. They desperately need to turn their situation around - and fast. The Positron Project in the town of Consilience seems to be the answer to their prayers. No one is unemployed and everyone gets a comfortable, clean house to live in... for six months out of the year. On alternating months, residents of Consilience must leave their homes and function as inmates in the Positron prison system. Once their month of service in the prison is completed, they can return to their "civilian" homes.
At first, this doesn't seem like too much of a sacrifice to make in order to have a roof over one's head and food to eat. But when Charmaine becomes romantically involved with the man who lives in their house during the months when she and Stan are in the prison, a series of troubling events unfolds, putting Stan's life in danger. With each passing day, Positron looks less like a prayer answered and more like a chilling prophecy fulfilled.
Directive 51 by John Barnes
Heather O'Grainne is the Assistant Secretary in the Office of Future Threat Assessment, investigating rumors surrounding something called "Daybreak." The group is diverse and radical, and its members have only one thing in common-their hatred for the "Big System" and their desire to take it down.
Now, seemingly random events simultaneously occurring around the world are in fact connected as part of Daybreak's plan to destroy modern civilization-a plan that will eliminate America's top government personnel, leaving the nation no choice but to implement its emergency contingency program...Directive 51.
#science fiction#sci-fi#science fiction books#dystopia#dystopian#end of the world#society#the future#booklr#Book Recommendations#reading recommendations#to read#currently reading#tbr#adult fiction
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