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kingtomura · 10 days

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Deja Vu | 2 | The Girl Who Cried Wolf

summary: Your best friend died years ago. He went up in flames until there was nothing left — so why does it feel like you can still see him sometimes? content: touya todoroki x female reader, childhood friends au, reader has a quirk, time skipping, flashbacks, fluff, heavy angst, soft touya, hurt/comfort, tragedy, virginity loss, vaginal fingering, piv, smut with feelings, mdni wc: 9.2k | Prev | Chapter 3 | m. list | read on ao3

You’ve never been good at hide-and-seek.

“Touya,” you yell into the crisp air of the forest, “this isn’t funny!” You’ve been at this for what feels like forever and it’s just not working.

You can’t find him.

The wind was chilling you to the bone and it was almost dinner time. This was becoming more and more pointless as the minutes ticked by. You just wanted to find him so you both could go eat.

“Okay, well if you’re not gonna come out then I don’t wanna play anymore!” You shout, fully ready to turn tail and get out of there.

You hear a groan from the bushes and Touya emerges, his hair now white on one side and red on the other.

“You’re no fun.” He chides. “What are you gonna do when you have to find a villain?”

“I’ll find them, of course! But not on an empty stomach.” You huff, just glad that he’s stopped messing around and you can both head back now.

You are both six years old and Touya’s passion for becoming the number one hero burns brighter each passing day. You can only imagine what the coming years will be like.

Touya stood up fully, brushing the residual snow from his pants, forever unbothered by the cold. “Right… whatever you say.”

In that moment your stomach growls and Touya raises a brow.

Frustration makes itself known again as you stomp your foot in the white snow, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “We were at this for so long! I’m tired. And cold.”

“You’re always cold.” He muses, walking towards you and taking your hand.

You shrug, ducking your nose into your scarf to avoid being called Rudolph again, as Touya loves to do. Instead, you try to focus on the warmth of his hand in yours. “And you’re always warm.”

Touya hums, leading you both back to his home that was nearby. His mother promised to make Udon tonight and it was all you could think about.

“You know, you haven't said much about your new baby brother.” You start, tilting your head to get a better look at him, he always seemed more tense when going towards the home.

His tense features smooth out at the mention of his new sibling, brows softening and a smile sliding onto his face. “Oh, yeah. Well he doesn’t do much yet. He can’t talk or anything. He’s trying, but he’s kind of a potato.”

The comment makes you laugh, and you watch as fresh, new snowflakes make their way down from the sky, landing in Touya’s hair and your jacket. It’s at this moment you decide that winter is your favorite season.

The way Touya squeezes your hand brings you back to the present, the warmth making your heart dance. “But, I can't wait until he does talk. I bet he’ll be pretty cool.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” You agree, “But you have to make sure you set a good example for him. Or else he’ll be the cool brother, you know.”

Touya scoffs, brows furrowing in irritation that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I know that! I’m always cool…”

You mutter a soft sure as your best friend’s home comes into view.

Udon was so close, you could almost taste it.

“Race you there!” Touya shouts, dropping your hand and taking off, effectively leaving you in the dust.

“Hey!” You try to catch up, but the headstart he had over you was too great, and you end up last — much to your dismay. Touya was already inside and kicking his shoes off by the time you made it in. “You cheated!”

The boy only shrugs, removing his coat and putting it away, “If you wanna be a hero you have to always be alert, that’s what dad says anyway.”

You follow suit, kicking off your shoes and jacket, and running to greet his mother. It was perfect timing, you noted, as Rei had only just begun placing piping hot bowls of Udon down at the table for all of you.

“Hi, Fuyumi!” You greet watching her emerge from further into the home. She returns with a wave, taking her place at the table.

There was no time to waste as you dig into the soup, enjoying the way it warmed your insides from the cool air outside.

“And where have you two been all day?” Rei questions, tone neutral and patient. It’s at this moment you notice the overheated head of the household was not present for dinner. It's something you cannot say that you mind, given how tense the air is when the man does come around.

“We were out playing hide and seek.” Touya supplied through a mouthful of noodles.

Rei looks skeptical, resting her chin on her hand as she watched her son. “Just playing hide and seek, Touya? No extra training?”

The boy stops, watching his mother before taking a sip of his water, “Maybe a little bit of training…”

“Touya.”

“What?” He asks, growing aggravated at the woman's pestering. You could only watch as the interaction went on, trying to enjoy your Udon as best you could.

“I told you not to push yourself today. It’s already hard enough to get your father to give you an off day, at least enjoy it by not overdoing it.”

“I wasn’t overdoing it! It’s fine, okay?” His frustration is growing and you begin to shift in your seat, unsettled by the conversation. It wasn’t the first time Rei had scolded Touya about quirk training, but it always ended the same — no progress on the topic being made.

Rei sighs, the stresses of her day to day beginning to catch up with her. “I just don’t want you to overdo it. I want you to enjoy being a child too, Touya. Just have fun sometimes.”

“But I do have fun — all the time!”

She’s tired, you can tell by the bags lining her eyes and the unkept status of her hair. Your mom looks like this too, on the days her job runs over and she has to come home late. Maybe all moms look this way, you ponder as you down the rest of your soup.

“Listen, I know you want to get stronger, but you’ve been turning up hurt more often than not. At least hold off until the doctor's appointment.”

You watch as Touyas brows scrunch and his lips turn down in a frown. You know that look very well. He's upset. “What? That’s dumb! I won’t be the best if I let a few burns stop me.”

“Touya…” Rei looks like Touya, you realize in this moment, a near carbon copy of her son the way her features mirror his own. “It’s just for a little while, okay? Not forever.”

He scoffs, done with the conversation and Rei only looks on. “Whatever.”

That’s the end of the conversation, sending dinner into a deep silence with tension crowding the air.

By the end of dinner, you are more than ready to head to bed, quick to finish your nightly duties and prepare for bed.

You try to bite back a yawn as you slide the door to the bedroom open, it is futile and you feel the tears pull at the corners of your eyes — signaling that it was time for bed.

Touya was already clad in his pajamas and currently rolling out the extra futon for you to sleep on. It was a soft white and blue and you wasted no time getting under the blankets.

“Hey, don’t go to sleep yet.” Your best friend whined, arms crossed and judging stare watching you make yourself comfortable.

You sit up, meeting his eyes with a raised brow. “‘M not. Just getting comfy.”

“Yeah, sure.” He stops, dropping his eyes to his lap, lost in thought. “Do you think she was right?”

“Hm? Who?”

Touya sucks his teeth, eye roll not directed at you, but his frustration. “My mom. When she said that I train too much.”

“Oh,” you didn’t think so. You were sure how much Touya trained with his father, but you knew it was never anything extensive when it was only you two together. There was no way that was considered too much. “No, I don't think you do.”

He smiles, and you feel like you’ve made the right call. “Good! I just want to be strong. I don’t see why she doesn’t get that. She says I'll end up hurting myself. But when I get burned it’s only a little bit.”

“Yeah, when I use my quirk too much my head will start to hurt really bad and my nose bleeds a little, but it goes away after a while.” You bring a hand to your nose, thankful there was no metallic smell lingering from the last time you used your quirk.

“The burns go away too! I knew you would understand.” He smiles, and then focuses on you, tone serious. “Hey, let's make a promise, then.”

This piques your interest. “What kind of promise?”

“That we’ll both keep trying to get strong. We can look after each other so we won't push too hard. Promise?” He holds out his fist with his pinky extended. His eyes are vivid within the dark room, the cerulean blue filled with a boyish determination that makes your mind rush and your heart flutter.

It's so quiet, the hushed whispers between you two make this feel more like a secret than a promise, and maybe in some ways it is. A secret that binds you both to each other, one that is in its own a safety net and a comfort when you need it most.

You reach back, interlocking his pinky with yours. “I promise.”

He brings it forward, pulling you towards him just a little. Touya kisses the exposed part of your pinky, and you bring his closer to do the same.

The deal was sealed. Promise made.

The sound of footsteps pulled you both from your steely gaze and towards the door. Touya's eyes widened, knowing you both were not supposed to be awake at this hour. You lock eyes and both duck down, covering yourselves with the blankets and feigning sleep.

It was just in time as the door to the room slid open, a wandering Rei glancing around the now still room. She stood there for a moment — muttering about how she could have sworn she heard voices — before turning to leave, door sliding shut and footsteps trailing back to her side of the home.

Both you and Touya tried as best you could to keep your snickers and laughs down, even going as far as slapping a hand over his mouth and yours to silence the noises. Only once there were no more sounds of footsteps did you release your hold on him, bringing an index finger to your mouth to shush him further.

“Okay,” Touya whispered into the quiet of the room, his voice carrying despite the honest effort to be silent, “we have to go to bed, for real this time.”

“Yeah.” You nod, trying your best to bite back a smile. You were sure the both of you were the only two people awake in the world right now. No one else but you, him in the pale moonlight — with the stars tagging along, sneaking into the space and lighting up the dim room, eavesdropping on your hushed laughs and promises.

“Goodnight,” he breathes, no more than a whisper.

“Goodnight, Touya.”

—--------------------

You wake with a start, body sitting straight up in bed as your chest heaved. Your eyes darted left and right but all you could see was the familiar posters along the walls of your bedroom.

Your bedroom?

“Oh, I see you’re awake.”

Your head snaps to the voice, honey sweet and always familiar. Your mother stood at your door, leaning against the dark wood of the doorframe and giving you a look that made a pit form in your stomach. You clench the cotton of your bed's comforter, the fabric anchoring you to the room.

“You’ve been out for a while.” She continues when she realizes you won’t speak. And what could you say? That you chased your dead best friend in the forest and overused your quirk to catch him? It sounds ridiculous.

So, you bring the words to your mouth and try to give her a response. Even if it’s a small, insignificant one.

“Have I?” The words feel dry and heavy on your tongue, like you haven’t spoken in days. Maybe you haven’t.

Your mother nods, taking your response as consent to come further into your room. Her steps are soft, as if any loud noise would scare you off or make you shut down. It’s hard to look away from her worried gaze, so you don’t.

You watch as she makes her way over, sitting down on your bed and the look she gives you makes your chest ache.

The somber aura in her eyes brings you no comfort.

“What were you doing out there?” She skips to the point, not wasting another minute. It’s like the question has been running through her head for a while now.

Your eyes fall to your fists clutching the bedsheets.

What could you say?

“I…” You swallow, the worst she could do was not believe you. “I saw something in the forest.”

Your mother shifts on the bed, turning to look at you head on. “What did you see?”

There was no way she wouldn’t think you were crazy, but you had to try.

“Touya. I swear I saw him.” Your eyes meet hers and you wished they hadn’t. The look of sorrow is now replaced with something much worse. Pity.

“Sweetie…”

You inhale, tears blurring your vision and you knew this would happen. “Don’t! It was him — I know it was.”

“I'm not saying it wasn’t.” She defends, bringing a hand up in surrender. “I’m just worried about you. You know what the doctors told you about your quirk.”

The quirk. You didn’t even think about that.

Too caught up in the possibility of seeing Touya again.

Your mother sighs, “You’ve been out for three days. Three. You can’t blame me for being worried about you — or upset.”

And you don’t.

Three days is a long time. You reach a hand up, taking note of the bandages wrapped around your head. You’re not even sure how you ended up back in your room.

“Just… Remember what the doctors said.” And you do remember! But it was an emergency. One that you couldn’t risk letting pass you by. She speaks again, her voice stern. “I don’t want to lose you.”

You sit there in silence, taking her words in. The heavy tears on your lower lids fall, dampening the blanket in droplets.

“It’s around that time of year again, I know. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. As a mother I wish I could protect you from this kind of hurt.” She stops, voice wavering as her own eyes grew glossy. “But it’s also why I can’t risk losing you either.”

You want to say something, anything to make her stop. It’s not the same.

“I don’t doubt that you saw something, but I want you to understand that it was late at night, and you’re still grieving.”

Your jaw is starting to ache from how hard you’re clenching your teeth — fury below the surface of your frustration.

Of course she doesn’t believe you.

Why would you be foolish enough to think she would?

She sighs, the lecture coming to an end. “Don’t destroy yourself for this, okay?” Your mother reaches out and covers your exposed hand with her own. It takes everything in you not to snatch it away.

“Promise me, please.”

You meet her eyes, the sorrow swimming in them makes you feel like you’re drowning, so you do the only thing you can think of — you nod, and agree.

“I promise.”

And you do. It won’t destroy you to find out the truth. You’ll be okay and intact. No promises will be broken, not again.

You go out to the forest that night. Even though your head is still wrapped in bandages and you get dizzy if you turn your head a little too fast — you still go. You have to.

It’s eating you up and you have to be sure you weren't hallucinating.

Your mother has been keeping a close eye on you. She’s so worried, not only about your physical health but your mental health as well. And you don’t blame her. To have her only daughter fall out in the forest and wake up claiming to see her dead best friend? It’s worrisome, but you know better.

You wave the flashlight in your hand, backtracking your steps in the forest.

It's fruitless, due to the fresh fallen snow and lack of footprints. But that doesn’t deter you. You know he was here, he had to be.

After what felt like an hour of a search, you decide to turn back, knowing there would be no point as the snowfall increased. It would eventually make things harder to see and you would rather not get stuck in a snowstorm.

Fuyumi won’t say it out loud but she is worried about you.

She’s worried you have finally gone off the deep end and you are too far gone to be brought back to shore.

“Fuyumi, I know what I saw. It was him — I swear!” You pleaded, knowing how you must sound.

She knows how much you love Touya, and how devastated you were, but what she doesn’t understand is what you mean when you say you saw him.

Her eyes were filled with sadness and …pity. The same pity that’s been haunting you for days now. “I believe you saw something. I don’t want to shut you down, it’s just… I know how your quirk is. I know what happens if you overuse it. It could have been in your mind right before you went out.”

You scoff in shock, eyes wide and disbelieving of what you’re hearing. Of all people you thought Fuyumi would understand, or at least hear you out.

She doesn't understand. She wouldn’t understand.

You shake your head, eyes downcast as you fight the familiar burn of tears in your eyes, muttering under your breath, “I know what I saw.”

Those were his eyes. It was his nose and his hair. It was Touya.

This doesn’t stop her from trying to comfort you, bringing that familiar hand to your shoulder and giving it a squeeze. What would usually feel like a comfort is now a vice, suffocating you as you drown is the reality around you.

No one will believe a word you say.

“Maybe,” she starts, words careful and gentle, knowing you were as fragile as glass, ready to shatter at any sudden movement. “Maybe Touya is watching over you in some way. Like a guardian angel.”

The warm tears fall now, unable to be held back by your crumbling will.

“I know how hard it is, really, I do. But I want you to know that you’re not alone, okay?” You can feel Fuyumi’s gaze on you, silently pleading for you to look up, look at her, but you won't. You can’t. You know what you saw and it doesn’t matter if anyone believes you.

You would never stop looking for Touya.

Fuyumi lets you go and it feels like you can breathe again. She has become such a good friend over the years, second best to Touya, but it’s not the same.

You go to stand, having had enough of crying for one week and she stops you.

“Wait, I don’t want you to go! At least stay for dinner with us. Does your mom work late tonight?”

You nod, she usually does on Fridays.

“Then it’s settled. Stay over, let's watch movies or something.” She falters, eyes to the floor as she bites her bottom lip, “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

Something in your heart tugs and you agree, moving to join her once more in the living room.

Fuyumi may not understand, but she was still your close friend. “Okay, but I get to choose the movie, though.”

And she smiles.

For now, you would be okay.

—----------------------

“It’s so stupid!”

There’s a flash of fire and a tree goes up in flames. Touya is upset.

“It’s just not fair.”

“I know…” You drag, hating when he got this way. “But it’s what they told me.”

“That means we can’t be heroes together anymore!”

The wave of sadness you feel makes your head hurt and eyes water. “I know… I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, they told me I had to stop training, too. Dad said he wouldn’t do it anymore because I hurt myself. You know what I say to that? Who cares! We can be strong if we want to. It's not fair.”

You know it’s not fair.

You are seven years old when the doctors tell you that you cannot continue to use your quirk.

Telekinesis is not only rare, but it is dangerous. Not just to you, but to others around you. The doctors were very clear about what would happen if you lost control or if you overexerted yourself.

The consequences could be devastating.

But quirks are such an important part of one’s life and for them to tell you to just not use them? It’s unheard of.

It also doesn’t help that Touya has another sibling on the way. One that his father is eerily excited about.

“Do you remember our promise?” He asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

You nod, knowing the promise is something you could never forget.

“Well, I think it's more important than ever now. If they dont want us to do it, then we just shouldn’t tell them.” There is a determined purpose in his voice as he turns to face you, committed eyes meeting yours.

“I don’t know, Touya. That sounds like lying.”

“It’s not if you don’t say anything.” He insists, tone even.

Your gaze falls to the ground, watching as the wind blows the leaves along the snow. It’s like their own secret dance. Your promise is beginning to feel more like a secret dance as well.

“Look,” Touya starts, walking towards you and capturing your attention once more, “I swear, if anything happens, I’ll just say I did it.”

You shake your head, brows furrowed in confusion and fists clenched, “No! Then you would get in trouble, and what if we can’t hang out anymore? We can be in this together, Touya.”

He smiles, soft and sweet. Your dedication relaxes him more than he thought it would.

His warm hands are on your face again, warming your cheeks and the butterflies that have been living in your stomach go wild again. You absently wonder if you should tell your mother about it.

“Your nose is all red again, Rudolph.” He says before bringing you closer and brushing his nose against yours.

You were sure if your face got any warmer you would probably explode.

Touya carries on, walking away from you and further into the forest. You trail behind, even though you knew this part of it well, you still didn’t want to run the risk of getting lost.

“Where are we going?” Your voice carries in this part of the woods, and it sounds more like a shout.

“I found this cool spot the other day! Let me show you.”

Confident as always, Touya trails through and you speed up to chase him.

Now you're sure your face is red, but he doesn't mention it again.

“It’s down here.” Touya points and there’s a drop to get to the area.

It only takes a jump and he lands on his feet — he makes it look so easy, but you know he’s probably gotten a lot of practice and put himself in positions more dangerous than this.

There’s that doubt in the forefront of your mind again, the fear that makes you hesitate. “I don’t like heights, Touya.”

“It’s okay! C’mon, I’ll catch you. It’s just a little further.” He’s reassuring as he holds out his arms.

Always fearless Touya.

You trust him, and it’s all you can think as you close your eyes and give yourself a little running start and then jump.

There’s a ringing in your ears again and you don’t feel his arms right away, instead you feel light. As light as a feather as you drift down to the ground.

The lack of impact makes the fear ebb away as you open your eyes. There’s Touya, arms out and waiting as he watches you with widened eyes filled with wonder.

You’ve somehow activated your quirk and slowed your own fall. You absently think that it almost feels kind of fun, the way you softly land in Touya’s waiting arms.

“Whoa,” he starts, eyes never leaving yours. “You looked like an angel or something.”

You don’t know why, but the comparison makes your cheeks flush as you fight for a way to respond.

Nothing comes to mind and you only bite down a smile. You’ve never tried something like that before with your quirk and the excitement makes your fear fade away.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Me either,” you shrug. It’s new to you too, and you weren’t against trying it again.

“Well, c'mon, let’s go before it gets dark.” And he’s taking off, pulling you along with him by the hand. The wind is chilly but it doesn’t completely cool you. Touya keeps you warm, from the outside by his hand and from the inside with his words. Maybe there was more to his fire quirk than you thought.

“Don’t run so fast, Touya!”

He laughs, but slows down for you, looking back and flashing a smile, “Whatever you say, angel.”

—-------------

It’s the end of March and spring is on the way.

The snow melting, the rain clouds are rolling their way in, readying to greet April and bring life to the incoming May flowers, and your mother—

“We need them by tonight!” She yells through the phone and it’s enough to make you hold the device far away from your ear.

“I heard you the first time, mom.” You sigh, looking around again for the small shop and making your way towards it. “I’ll have all the stuff by then. The party will be fine, I promise.”

Tonight is your father’s big homecoming day from overseas. He’s been working away from home for eight months now and your mother has decided to throw him a welcome home party at the last minute. He will be here by tonight and so will the guests — if you finish in time everything will go according to plan.

“I just want everything to be perfect.” Her voice presses and you hum in response. You know how she wants things to be, but your father isn’t picky. He’s the most easy going man you know and if there’s a hiccup here and there, well, you’re sure he won't mind.

“Okay, mom.” You start, grabbing your items and making your way to the checkout line. “I’m about to check out now, so I’ll let you know when I'm on the way home.”

She sighs on the other end, but lets you go, not before fully explaining why she needs the banners and streamers in a certain color and you cut her off, hanging up and checking out.

It's been a few months since the incident in the forest and you’ve given up trying to make anyone see your point of view. They all thought you were hallucinating, but you knew better. You saw Touya. There was nothing they could say or do to make you think otherwise.

You heave a sigh and continue your walk through the town thinking of the countless decorations you will undoubtedly have to help your mother hang for the night. It gives you something to do, but god, last minute events were not your favorite.

There aren’t as many people out and about this time of day and you're thankful. It’s almost peaceful, the way you can weave through the sparse crowd and get lost in your own thoughts.

Until you see it.

It makes you stop in your tracks, heart beating so loud in your chest you could feel it pulsing in your ears.

White hair and blue eyes.

You take a few hurried steps to the alley you know you saw the figure go into.

He was wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled up, but you knew the moment he turned and his eyes met yours. Touya.

Without a second thought you dropped the bags you were holding and ran after him. He was halfway through the window of an abandoned building when you made down the alley, but was swift as he jumped through it. There was no doubt Touya was fast, but you wouldn’t let him get away. Not this time.

You follow him, jumping through the same window and chasing as he maneuvers through the dusty dilapidated building. It’s hard to catch your breath and you are sure you’re running on pure adrenaline now, but none of that matters.

All that matters now is that you aren’t crazy. It was broad daylight when you locked eyes. You know Touya is alive.

“Touya, wait!” You barely register the tears running down your face as you run, but you dont care to wipe them away. Why would he run from you? Why would he hide from you? There are so many questions that you need answered. “Stop!”

He takes a left turn and you follow, before seeing him dip right and it’s getting harder and harder to keep up. After the last incident you refuse to use your quirk. Not unless you wanted to ruin your chances and pass out again.

At one point you lose him completely, but there is no outlet in the dusty room you’ve cornered him in. He has to be hiding somewhere.

“Touya, please! If that’s you,” you yell out, voice hoarse from emotion, “please, come back. Talk to me.” You’re looking around the dark room, walking further in and searching for something, anything that shows his presence.

You make the mistake of having your back to the door, the only exit in the room and Touya darts out, passing you and making it back into the main part of the building.

You curse before hurrying behind him, but it was too late. All you could see was him hopping the window and landing on his feet below. It was too high for you to follow so you only grip the window pane, tears of frustration running down your cheeks as you watched him run.

“What about our promise?” You yell, wondering if your words could reach him.

There’s a sick feeling forming in your gut and you try to pull yourself together — wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt and the sobs shook your body. You had a party to prepare for and you couldn’t keep playing this game of back and forth.

Your mother gives you an earful when you arrive home much later than you were supposed to, but she was so focused on getting your father’s welcome home party together that she let you off the hook easily.

As long as you helped her hang the decorations.

There is a tense air around the both of you and you know your mother is hesitating asking. You aren't sure if it’s to save you the trouble of a pointless conversation or if she is just tired of hearing about it.

You decide not to tell her of your latest meeting. Brushing off any odd stares and worried glances with excuses of being tired. It was not wise to tell anyone what you saw. They would only think of you as the girl who cried wolf.

When your father made it home you knew he could tell something was off with you by just one look alone.

He participated in the socializing and games until the crowd died down and people began to leave. You had called it a night long ago and made your way to your room, headphones on and catching up on homework.

There was a knock loud enough to hear through the headphones, making you remove one and causing you to turn and see your father standing at the door.

“Yes?” You ask, unsure what he could want at this hour.

He gives you a small smile, one as gentle and kind as you've always known him to be, and asks to come in — taking a seat on your bed while you close the book at your desk.

“I wanted to talk.” He started, watching as you removed the headphones from your head completely and gave him your undivided attention, sure that this would be about what’s been going on lately.

“Have you started looking for colleges?”

The question surprises you, and you shake your head. You should start looking soon, since you turn seventeen soon and only have one year left, but it hasn’t been your main priority. “No, I haven’t.”

He only smiles, eyes crinkling shut as he waves off your worried expression, “It’s fine! I actually had an alternative for you. It’s something I've been looking into during the business trip.”

Your interest is officially piqued as you urge him to continue.

“Well, I’m sure you know this, but you have a pretty rare quirk.” He starts, tone leveled, “I’ve been working on research studies and there’s somewhere I found that would love to have you intern and learn more about it.”

You tilt your head. “You want me to be a guinea pig?”

“No!” Your father laughs, already knowing how it would sound. “No, not that at all. I want to understand your quirk better, and for you to understand it better. I think it would be good for you. A chance to grow.”

To grow. You narrow your eyes at the words, starting to understand what he was getting at. “So you’ve heard.”

“I did. And before you get upset — I believe you. I will always believe you, and that's why I want you to do this." His words make your eyes widen and he continues. “It’s in a small town a little further away, but the internship comes with your own apartment and a stipend for food. Your mother and I will still support you, of course...”

You hold a hand up to stop him, “wait, how far away is the town?”

Your father rubs the back of his neck, an anxious habit he’s had as long as you could remember. “About four hours from here.”

“Four hours?” Your voice is louder than you meant for it to be but you can't help it, standing to your feet in disbelief.

“It’s such a good opportunity for you, honey. This town… has too many memories. It’ll help you grow. At least tell me you’ll consider it?”

It feels like hours before you speak again, the stunned feeling hijacking your body. But you do respond, you owe him that much.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.” You give, taking your seat at your desk again. It feels like your mind is swimming, but you had to at least mull it over.

“Thank you,” your father stands and hugs you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before exiting your room. “I promise it won't be so bad. Goodnight, honey, I love you.”

You only nod in response. Maybe getting away would be good for you.

The first day you find a gift it is raining outside.

You stumble up to your front doorstep, closing your umbrella and shaking off the excess water.

“What the…” You reach down to pick up the little box, and turn it over to examine it. Maybe your mother got something delivered.

The thought follows you into the home as you pull off your raincoat and rainboots, making your way to the kitchen where your mother had started on dinner.

“Oh, welcome home.” She greets, stirring the pot of soup and eyeing the box in your hand. “What do you have there?”

Your brows furrow as you take a seat at the table. “I thought you would know. It’s not for you?”

“Nope.”

The response only makes your brows furrow more as you search for maybe a name or any indication that it was delivered to the wrong place.

“You should open it.” Your mother pipes up and you shrug, ripping the paper and opening the box.

You drop the box the moment you see the item.

There was no way.

“What? What's the matter?” Your mother questions, her eyes filled with worry as she reaches for the box.

You snatch it away from her and dart off to your room, supplying her with an excuse about how you don’t feel well before locking yourself in your bedroom.

The box held a golden locket inside of it. It was in the shape of a heart and you were terrified to open it and see what lay inside of it. You decide that the suspense would be too much and open it anyway — the photo makes your breath hitch.

It was you and Touya.

You, with your bright eyes and happy smile and Touya, half white and half red hair looking at you as you hug him, cheeks pressed together.

There was no denying it now. Touya was alive and he was hiding from you.

Maybe he’s watching over you — like a guardian angel. Fuyumi’s voice rang in your head as you fought the tears blurring your vision.

Why would he send you this and not talk to you?

All of it made your head spin as you thought of the countless reasons and possibilities. You didn't bother to wipe the tears from your eyes as they rolled down your cheeks. Only opting to lay down in your bed, holding the locket close to your chest as you stared at the ceiling above.

It made no sense. Touya could trust you, so why would he hide from you?

Unless he didn’t want to be found.

The next gifts come in different forms and sizes, ranging from your favorite snack to cute cards.

Always something small but never with a note or handwriting. It was almost like he truly didn’t want to be found.

And maybe he didn’t.

It’s scary at first, receiving random gifts and items from someone who might as well be a ghost, but as the months went on you grew used to it and even began to expect it at some point.

Now you knew you could rest easy knowing that Touya was alive and maybe, just maybe he was waiting on the right moment to come out. You would trust him.

It also doesn’t take long for you to come to a decision with your fathers offer.

It’s an amazing opportunity and you should take advantage of that while you can. You tell him as much and you could feel his excitement through the phone call. He was away on business again, but he would handle most of the heavy lifting, all you had to do was apply and wait on your offer once you graduate.

There was just one thing you had to do before you left.

—--------------------

You are eighteen years old when you leave Musutafu.

By this time you couldn’t take it anymore. Either Touya had gotten better at hiding or he knew you would be leaving soon, but there was nothing else from him — and there hadn’t been for months. At this point it felt like glimpses of the past haunting you. Every part of the city reminded you of him and of your childhood together.

Fuyumi was upset to see you go, but she understood.

You still believed, deep down, she thought you were losing your mind.

You needed this though – needed a getaway. The ghost of Touya was holding you down, holding you back.

Even though the gifts stopped coming months ago.

She is kind as she hugs you and waves you off, knowing that one main reason for your company in her home was to visit Touya’s shrine. She does not stop you, does not ask questions — not after the time she mentioned how you didn’t bring him up as often.

There was no need to. You only told her that you’ve moved past that and you knew Touya was watching over you, a small smile on your face as you touched the locket dangling from your neck. Fuyumi didn’t bring the topic up again.

Today is the day you leave. You had waited and waited for any sign of Touya again, but there was nothing. So you took matters into your own hands, making a little bag of gifts and a card that held the new updates to your life and address.

It was a long shot, but it was a chance you had to take.

Once you finished, it didn't take long to make your way back home, gathering your things as your parents insisted on driving you to the train stop. With your mother buzzing around you like a bee, making sure everything was perfect before you went off on your own.

The idea of new beginnings had begun to feel a little more welcomed.

Your new apartment is small.

It is small and cozy and just enough for you. It’s a comfortable one bedroom place and you can only imagine all the ways you will decorate the space.

The town is also cozy and quaint – one that is reminiscent of old fairy tales, but a lot less magical. You can't help but sigh at the mundane routine you’ve fallen into since you’ve arrived. A nice walk from your apartment to the research lab, and from the research lab to your home. Since it’s summer there aren't many researchers on campus, so you have more than enough time to explore the parks and stores.

One week turns into two and then two weeks turn into a month. You’ve gotten used to the small town and the people that live there. It's become relaxing and the new routine has eased your nerves. Maybe your father was right about needing a change.

But no matter what you do, you cannot stop thinking about Touya.

The thought of leaving him is heavy, but when you touch your locket, you know it is for the best.

Everything changes on a Thursday night.

It’s a normal night, one where there is no need to go to the lab, so you hang around in the apartment — setting up cozy lights and posters from home. It’s beginning to come together more and more everyday, and you decided to end it all with a simple and easy meal. One that you could mindlessly eat while watching a movie.

It's a foolproof plan, really.

You’re stirring the pot of noodles, humming a tune when you hear the knocks at your door. It is dark outside, and you haven’t made enough friends to warrant visitors, so the idea of a guest at this hour sends alarms ringing in your mind.

You grip the wooden spoon tight as you take cautious steps to your door, knowing that if it came down to it you would be more than ready to whack whoever trespassed.

“Who is it?” You call out, loud enough for the intruder to hear, but get no response.

At this point you are sure it was just your imagination and you turn, ready to get back to your noodles, when the knocks sound throughout the apartment again.

Frustrating is the only thought on your mind as you stomp towards your front door, ready to give whoever was on the other side of it a piece of your mind for interrupting your peaceful night with this bullshit—

The door swings open and your words die on your tongue.

Cerulean blue looks down at you and you were right — he has gotten taller.

“Hey, angel.”

You couldn’t believe your eyes. You wouldn’t believe your eyes because if you did you would see Touya, your childhood best friend Touya on your doorstep. Real and in the flesh, hair white as snow and eyes worn with fatigue.

“Can I come in?” He asks and you are shellshocked, only stepping to the side as your eyes follow his every move.

This was a moment you thought of for years after your first encounter in the forest, and for him to be here, with you. It didn’t feel real.

“Touya,” you gasp, voice low as if being any louder would wake you from this dream you must be having.

“I know.” His eyes are downcast with a sorrow you’ve never seen in him before, “I.. have a lot I want to tell you.”

It’s at that moment that the timer for your ramen goes off, startling you both and sending you rushing to the kitchen. You offer him a seat and insist that you’ve made enough for the both of you.

There was so much you needed to discuss, so much to catch up on. You didn’t know where to start.

The little table you use to eat on is small, but perfect for the two of you, you realize as you set both bowls down and hand him a set of metal chopsticks.

Your heart was in overdrive as you ran through thousands of things to ask, millions of unspoken words to say. You’ve imagined this moment in your head for years. Time and time again you’ve thought of what you would say to him, what you would do if you ever saw him again.

Now the opportunity has presented itself and all you can manage is a wide eyed look as you both quietly eat your ramen.

Surreal.

This moment feels surreal and you’re sure that if you make any sudden movements or ask any loud questions, that it would be gone. Touya would be gone, disappearing in an instant and leaving you alone in your apartment.

He speaks first, saving you the trouble of searching for words. “The food was good.”

His voice sounds scratchy, like it hasn’t been used in years and you can't help but wonder why.

“Thank you.” It’s all you can manage to get out, stunned to your core and desperately searching for words.

You go to stand, taking the empty bowls with you to the kitchen and Touya follows suit, trailing behind in the small space of the apartment and you are hyper aware of his presence.

You can feel the warmth of his body even when he is steps away from you. It radiates and blankets you in feelings you haven’t felt in years.

As you place the bowls in the sink you can’t help but wonder where should you go from here. It’s a thought that plagues you as you grip the edge of the sink, fists tight and head hung low while you brace yourself to turn around, to face the reality of the truth standing right behind you—

You do it. You turn and it’s not a dream. It’s not your imagination, you conclude as you look into Touya's eyes, blue and familiar. Eyes you would know anywhere.

His hair is snow white, the last color you saw it as before he—

“You kept it.” His eyes drop to the golden locket around your neck, a small smile pulling at his features.

“Of course I did.” You’re firm, bringing two fingers up to brush against it, the cool feeling bringing you comfort over the last few years.

His gaze seems far away as he zeros in on your locket, “I was worried you wouldn’t, after the last time we—“

“Don’t.” You cut him off, words sharp. “Don’t talk about it. Not tonight.”

You don’t know what you’re doing or where your mind is going as you take a step forward. He’s so different, yet so familiar and you can’t help but reach your hand up to brush over the newly faded scars along his cheek.

Touya leans into the touch, closing his eyes and allowing you to feel.

When he opens them again you get that feeling in your chest that always pulls at you and for the first time, you can finally place a word to the feeling.

“I’m sorry,” you stammer, vision blurring with tears as you fight for your words, “I’m sorry I didn’t—“

Touya stops you, crashing his lips into yours and effectively silencing your racing thoughts. It’s warm and he’s so close, you wish you could pull him closer but you settle for this, allowing the tears to freely roll down your cheeks.

When he pulls away there is only the smallest distance between you two. Noses so close they are almost touching.

“I don’t care about any of that,” his eyes are so focused on yours, it feels like he’s put you in a trance. “I’m the one who should be apologizing, anyway.”

Before you could even shake your head, tell him no it’s the other way around, he’s pulling you back into a kiss, one so soft and so gentle you feel as though his lips were made for yours.

It presses on, your hands finding his hair, soft and fluffy as you’ve always known it, while his hands hold your waist, pulling you in and keeping you close.

This is not your first kiss, and it’s not Touya's either. You both decided at around eleven years old that you would try to emulate your parents and see what the fuss was about. Surely enough, you didn’t think you did it right because there was nothing. No sparks, no fireworks — just lips pressed together.

You were both too young at the time, you now realize as you wrap your arms around Touya's neck, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. Way too young to realize that love is not fairytales and fireworks.

Love is slow, it is steady and it is this — right here, right now, kissing your best friend in your tiny apartment kitchen.

It’s perfect, you think as you both make your way to the bedroom, Touya trailing behind you for once as you lead him through the space. Hushed laughs and soft smiles dance together as you fall onto the bed.

He is above you, and you wonder how you could have ever lived without his presence. The thought makes you sick.

“I love you.” And it’s not your lips that moved, not your voice. It’s Touya, as he looks down at you, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Touya…” Your heart swells and it’s then you feel it. The droplets of tears, falling from his eyes and onto your cheeks. They were as warm as he had always been and you waste no time pulling him down into another kiss — pulling away only enough to press your foreheads together. “I’ve always loved you.”

And you have. Even in death you loved him, nothing could take that love away from you.

The next kiss is hungry, teeth and tongues clashing in a rush as you both fought to remove your clothes. You have regretted all the things that went unsaid, the actions that went undone and you were both not going to waste any of this new time you had been given.

You feel one of Touya's fingers prod your entrance and the hesitation reminds you that you’re both inexperienced. New to the world of sex, but forever patient. You could guide each other, you decide as you gasp when he slowly slips a finger inside, slick coating the digit and making the press easier.

Touya watches you with heavy lidded eyes as he pumps the digit, causing you to whine at the pressure. He pulls out soon after, searching for your sensitive bundle of nerves and giving a sly smirk when you moan at the touch. He’s found it and wastes no time rubbing circles, slow at first to get a feel of what makes you tick, but gaining more confidence as he goes on.

There was a pressure beginning to build in your lower abdomen and it made you pull him close, thighs tensing as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Close?” His voice is a whisper beside your ear.

You only nod, unable to give him a verbal answer as your pleasure builds.

You can feel his smile as he turns his head, cheeks brushing against yours. “Let go for me, I’ve got you.”

And you do.

You let go of the tension and allow your body to fall into the pleasure of your climax— gasping as it washed over you in waves, sending shocks of pleasure radiating through your body.

“Fuck,” Touya moans above you as he works you through it, only moving to line up with your entrance once you’ve come down from your high.

The press of it makes your breath hitch, but when you look up into Touya’s eyes you feel safe.

“Tell me if you want to stop, okay?” And you nod, trusting him to be soft and slow.

He’s nervous, too, and you can tell by the way his brows furrowed in focus. He doesn’t want to mess up your first time, but nothing could ruin this moment. Not even the twinge of pain you feel as the head of Touya’s cock pushes past your entrance, the tight muscles constricting against the intrusion.

You reach out, hands finding balance against his back as he pressed on, muttering words of comfort to you and ebbing away the pain.

It doesn’t take long before the pain has been washed away and replaced with the blossoming buzz of pleasure, Touya's hips having a steady pace as he begins to gain more momentum.

The pleasure is quickly building again and you tell him as much, crying out when he snaps his hips at a particular angle and sends a flash of bliss up your spine.

“Fuck, Touya, there! Right there,” you cry and he catches on instantly. He’s always been a fast learner.

The angle he has is perfect as he brushes against the soft spot inside you over and over again, making your thighs shake and toes curl in pleasure as you meet your end once again. The feeling settles deep in your bones as the warmth of it spreads throughout your body like a warm blanket.

Touya isn’t far behind, if his erratic pace was anything to go by. You could only watch in awe as he chased his high, with his brows furrowed and eyes tightly shut. You fall more in love as you feel his hips stutter and then stall, his white hot seed filling you from the inside and making you shudder.

It was a new feeling that you believed you could get addicted to if you weren’t careful.

But none of that mattered right now, because Touya was leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips and you knew that right here, right now was the most important.

Everything else would have to wait until tomorrow.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #touya x reader #dabi smut #mha x reader #my works #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi x you #touya todoroki x you

149 notes · View notes

alienaiver · 1 month

Text

Rugged

Aizawa Shouta x GN!reader

warnings: quirk-induced amnesia, canon minor character death (major in my heart tho), spoilers for... season 5 and forth? to be safe wordcount: 4.9k content: confessions, first kiss, fluff, sfw, no use of y/n, pro hero reader but quirk is unspecified, canon compliant, genderneutral reader, poc!friendly reader, body positive reader, hurt/comfort in like the mildest sense, soft love, amnesia situation, friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, started as a meme turned into something serious, something about cats, unbeta'd, flashbacks to high school days

notes: this is so embarassing to admit but i only came up with this story bcos of that tiktok/insta reel (link is a tiktok as thats where i could find the source material) about having a type that's 'rugged'. it was supposed to just turn into a little joke on that and... uh, ykno suddenly i was almost 5k deep into a childhood friends to lovers, ..ya my brain had a VISION alrighty!!!!! please enjoy a one-eyed kitty, one-eyed aizawa and interrupted confessions!

Aizawa’s leaning forward on the desk, meticulously writing down an exact copy of your notes from English Literature that he missed yesterday due to being in the infirmary… again. He’s always known that becoming a Pro Hero with a non-physical quirk would be tough, but he didn’t imagine landing himself in a hospital bed as often as he does. He’s bulking up nicely, but he feels beaten black and blue every other day and it’s… exhausting.

Rewarding, but exhausting nonetheless. He’s momentarily disturbed as a chair is being dragged across the floor, screeching away before haphazardly thrown next to the desk, wrong side facing it, and Yamada throwing himself onto it, arms leaning on the backrest. He says your name in a sing-song voice – your given name, has he no shame? - and steals a peek of you from over the rim of his glasses. You rest your head in your palm and smile at him, “what’s up?” you ask, and he hums as if he’s thinking deeply about something. Aizawa’s got a bad feeling about whatever subject he’s about to bring up; ever since he appointed himself Aizawa’s wing man, the pestering’s both been non-stop and non-discreet.

Aizawa keeps his face buried in the notes, purposefully removing himself from the conversation.

“What’s your type?” Yamada asks and Aizawa has to hold back a facepalm. You simply giggle and play with the zipper from your pencil case before you answer, “hmm, I’m not sure. But with all due respect, I know it’s not you,” you tease him and he straightens his back in mock-surprise, the conversation’s one you’ve had before. He takes a hand to his chest, “what? Not me? Well you’re not my type either!” the shriek in which he yells is a little too loud, his quirk still a little too unmanageable when he gets excited – he winces as the rest of the class turn their heads. You simply laugh and bite your lower lip. Aizawa steals a look at you through his bangs, admiring the glimmer in your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sorry ‘Zashi, I truly am, but… you’re just not… rugged enough.”

“What? I’m so rugged. I can be rugged!”

“Look at you, you’re not rugged,” you laugh as you gesture vaguely to… all of him. He takes offense as he puffs up his chest, “how am I not rugged? Because I’m not wearing a flannel in 80 degree weather?”

You hide your face in your hand as you try to contain your laughter, “yeah, sure, whatever… but look at you now. You fly off the handle like that, you’re too angry.”

“That’s a very rugged thing to do!”

“No, it’s really not.”

Aizawa has been saddled with the two of you for almost two semesters now, and he’s still not entirely used to the way you joke around. In the beginning he was always worried about you fighting and not getting along and he’d stare at you both with wide eyes like a startled cat and hope you’d settle down soon. You always did, laughing like the greatest joke was just told.

You lean forward on the table to bark out a laughter deep from your stomach, momentarily blocking the view of your notes that Aizawa’s copying. He lets out a soundless grunt at you being so close and pulls away in surprise when he accidentally smell your shampoo. He wants to lean forward again, to commit the scent to memory, but you’re already straightened back up, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye, “you don’t even want me, Hizashi, why is this always so important to you?”

This makes Aizawa freeze, terrified that Yamada will accidentally tell his secret to you. But Yamada simply crosses his arms, puffs up his cheeks and nods, “you’re right, I don’t. But I want you to want me. I’m the entire package.”

You laugh and shake your head, letting your arm fall onto the desk in defeat. “Sure then, ‘Zashi. I want you. Badly. More than anything. Please go out with me.” your face is as flat as Aizawa’s can be, and Yamada smiles proudly, “no thank you.”

Aizawa’s startled out of grading papers when his personal phone starts ringing next to him on the desk, the screen much too bright for the darkened room he’s situated in. It’s an unknown caller, which makes him hesitant at first but since it’s well past office hours, he knows it won’t be a salesman of any sort.

He bites his lower lip before he picks up.

“Aizawa speaking.”

“Ah, good evening. I apologize for contacting you at this hour, however, you are written down as the emergency contact for…” he apologetically butchers the pronunciation of your name, but gets your hero name correctly, “this is Aizawa Shouta, right?” the person on the other end confirms, and Aizawa nods before he verbally comes up with an answer.

“Well, it’s just that…” he explains your situation precariously, advising Aizawa to just come down to the station if he’s able, since someone will need to escort you home. He makes sure to remind Aizawa that you have two more emergency contacts on file in case he’s not available, but after getting the location, he’s already up from the chair before he’s hung up with the poor officer dealing with you.

From the call he knows you’re neither mortally wounded or in any kind of distress. You were on patrol when you encountered two villains. One of them turned out to have an amnesia quirk, and now you were stuck at the precinct, not entirely sure where your apartment is located. The officer informed Aizawa that you seemed calm and collected but that the last date you remember was well over 10 years ago even if you haven’t age-regressed in any way.

When he arrives, the officer leads him to one of the offices, profusely apologizing and thanking him at the same time. He’ll never really get used to the way newly appointed officers act around Pro Heroes.

Even if all facts and rationale tells Aizawa that you’re fine, he still grips the door handle way too tight, throwing open the door and evidently scaring the shit out of you, sprawled out on the couch with an ice bag on your knee. You spew out some profanities as you sit up. Aizawa immediately calms down as he sees you alive and well. He thanks the officer and agrees with the officer to sit down and talk with you before taking you home. He bows before he closes the door and looks back at you.

“I already gave a statement – was anything missing?” you ask, resting your hands neatly on your thighs. Aizawa shakes his head, “I came to pick you up – they informed you about which of the emergency contacts to call, right?”

Realization seems to travel across your features as Aizawa masks the sting he feels. Instinctively you reach out, but ultimately pull your hands back, “Aizawa?”

For a split second he lets his emotion show on his face – the way you say his last name instead of his given name, but he’s quick to hide it again. He nods and sits down on one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table, “I was informed that your memory’s been wiped.”

You nod and look at the floor, “yeah. They took in the villains and interrogated them. It seems it’ll wear off in five to seven hours, but until then I’m stuck with my first work study as my most recent memory. I don’t feel like high school me, though, it’s just like there’s an empty gap in my timeline and not an age-related kind of thing. I can’t remember what has happened since then, but cognitively speaking, I’m still myself.”

Aizawa breathes in sharply, “well, that’s a relief. I have enough students to take care of,” he dryly jokes and the way your eyes widen make him self-conscious. He shouldn’t have made the joke he thinks as he shrinks in on himself.

“You’re a teacher?”

The way you ask betrays your emotions all too clearly and Aizawa holds back a snort. If the last of his personality you remember is high school, he gets why you struggle with the image of him taking care of the budding youth.

“A homeroom teacher, actually.”

Whatever preconceptions you had initially seems to dissipate and you smile proudly, “that’s amazing.”

You haven’t commented on his appearance; besides the moment where you didn’t recognize him, you don’t seem all too taken aback by his lack of eye and prosthetic leg. He’s relieved.

“You ready to go?” he asks, patting his lap with his palms before bracing himself to get up. You get up too and stretch your arms over your head, waiting for that satisfying pop, but it never comes. Annoyed, you let your arms falls and Aizawa smiles at you.

He leads you out of the room and as you put on the jacket he came with, he thanks the officers for their work with some polite back and forth and a bow.

The trip back is quiet as you seem to just take in your surroundings. You stop by your Agency to grab your personal items and civilian clothes that you left behind before your patrol. Luckily the offices are mostly cleared out, so you don’t have to ‘meet’ everyone and Aizawa gets out of explaining everything to everyone.

“Do you want me to escort you to your place? Or do you want to come to mine?”

The question is straight-forward and innocent; you sleep over so often that Aizawa’s spare futon has simply been dubbed your futon, but you seem taken aback, eyes wide and mouth agape. For a moment Aizawa’s blind to the confusion before he remembers.

“Sorry, you sleep over at my place a lot since it’s close to your work. I thought you might also like to see Benben.”

Your eyes that had seemed so tired ever since he arrived, lights up in recollection and excitement, “Benben’s alive and well?” you ask, absentmindedly leaning into Aizawa’s space in your joy. He struggles not to lean back reflectively.

“Yeah, she’s living with me now. She’s becoming old, though. But you’re still her favorite human, so she’d be happy to see you too.”

You giggle into your palm, clearly trying to picture Benben. She was a stray that you and Aizawa started to feed your leftover lunches to back during your first year at U.A. She was also one of the reasons you even started bonding with the stoic classmate. When you talk about the name Benben, a very bad nickname based off of bento, you always laugh and tease Aizawa about his cat-naming skills. While he defends himself in front of Yamada – the man with a habit of getting out his childish side – he never once argues against you on that subject.

Next to Aizawa, you clear your throat right as he’s about to unlock his front door. He’s been polite enough to not comment on the level of staring you’ve done ever since he picked you up, but it seems to be getting too much for yourself. He smiles at you gently, like he’s communicating with a lost child, and the smile makes you act before you can think too long about the action. Aizawa’s breath hitches and whole body freezes when your cold fingertips reach the skin of his cheeks. Your eyes look at him like they’re searching for something, and shortly after your palms make contact, your thumbs start traveling around his face, from his eyebrows to the slope of his nose and then a finger is being traced over the scar under his right eye. He can see all the questions fly through your head, the way you hold back from tracing the eye patch but stare at it like it’s not supposed to be there. He’s about to clear his throat when a thumb starts tracing his chapped lips before continuing down to his jawline, tickling his 5 o’clock shadow. As he tries to smile patiently at you, you mumble something under your breath that makes Aizawa’s heart stop for just a moment too long before racing at the same speeds as Yamada’s car when he’s late.

“It really is you… you’re just so…” you pause for a moment to swallow thickly and lick your lips, “…rugged.”

Not until you’ve had your (in Aizawa’s terms) grabby little fingers on every part of his face and given his heart an aneurysm with your words, does realization hit you. You seem to shrink and pull away to bow half-way a few times at him. Aizawa grumbles out a weak complaint about personal space and jingle the keys again to find the right one. No matter how advanced his work place is in terms of security and technology, he finds it unbelievable how many different types of keys he is expected carry for the school grounds alone. Logically, he’s aware that he’s fumbling due to your innocent advances but his brain’s not exactly acting calm and rational, so he furrows his brows and as he puts in the correct key, takes in a deep, calming breath.

When he motions for you to enter the apartment, he can’t help but observe you as you curiously peek around while you enter. You don’t toe off your shoes or step up from the genkan until the door behind him is locked and he gestures to the left pair of slippers in front of you. You let out a breath as you mumble, “sorry for intruding…” as if this isn’t your home away from home.

As Aizawa toes off his own shoes, he takes notice of your searching eyes. He jerks his head towards the living room, “she’s probably sleeping on the couch. She can’t hear very well anymore, so she doesn’t greet by the door.”

There’s a clear sort of heartbreak in your eyes that Aizawa recognizes, before you nod and walk in the direction of the living room. While your memory might be gone for the moment, it seems there’s muscle memory still intact as you purposefully step over the loose floorboard he always warns guests about. He smiles at that. Benben seems to spot you from her pillow on the couch because no sooner than you enter the room, he starts hearing the hoarse bleating of the senior kitty in there. She must’ve stayed up when Aizawa suddenly left, since it’s out of routine. She’s never been able to meow properly, which enchanted you since she first bleated at you for a bite of your convenience store-bought onigiri back when the two of you met her for the first time.

He hears you coo at her and can only imagine you both before he turns the other corner for his office to shut down the computer for the night. He quickly rejoins you and finds you with Benben on your lap, purring and headbutting your hands to her heart’s contents. When his eye travel higher to meet yours, he’s taken aback momentarily at the strained smile and wet eyes.

“She looks so loved.” you try to explain, and Aizawa can’t hold back the blush from the compliment. She does look loved now, a little on the fuller side (not by a lot, as her physical health is very important to Aizawa), her coat is shiny despite the coarseness that age brings, and she no longer has that stubborn eye infection it took Aizawa several years to treat out of her; she’s missing an eye now as a result, but she’s healthy.

You look around his living room, smiling and heaving in breaths at all the external proofs for her love; she has a pet staircase to both the windowsill, couch and the dining chair next to his; there are three different cat towers and several cat shelves for her to perch on although they’ve rarely been used for several years now. Aizawa can’t bear to take them down – what if she wants to go on one last adventure to the shelf highway he built for her close to the ceiling? It obviously wouldn’t be safe for her to do so, but robbing her of the options feels cruel to his heart.

When you pet her behind her ear and Aizawa situates himself on the floor pillow, you giggle, “you match.”

You’re referring to the missing eyes and while Aizawa takes no offense from the comment, he can’t help but snort at the straightforward observation. It’s very like you.

“How did you lose it?”

You don’t remove your eyes from Benben as you ask and from the shaky lilt to your voice, he knows you’re afraid of the answer. He’s afraid of telling you, too.

So much bad has happened during those years – you were there during his low points after, and asking that question is like removing the experiences you’ve shared. The grief you’ve suffered.

But he knows you want to know. Before he can answer, you continue, “can you tell me everything? About you… Oboro and Hizashi, too. I was informed it was only you, Hizashi and my mom on my emergency contact list. I know it’s not supposed to be miles long but… yeah…” you trail off and Aizawa’s grateful that you’re not looking at him. He’s not sure he’s able to control his face right now; and the emotion he’s showing wouldn’t be remotely close to soothing for you.

“Uh,” he jerks and clears his throat several times to stall, “when did you say your memory would be back?” he asks instead even if he’s aware of the answer.

You look up and hum thoughtfully, “they said five to seven hours around … two hours ago? So…” you count on your fingers and despite everything, Aizawa huffs out a soundless laugh, “three to five hours? Give or take.”

He inhales sharply. He can’t drive you off for that long, even if he used going to bed as an excuse. You’d just toss and turn in fear of what you’d come to remember.

So he tells you. He retells every painful memory with clear objectivity, pausing to let you process each one, seeing the light slowly dissipate in your eyes for every terrible incident. When he reaches present day, he inhales slowly and holds his breath for a moment to control his own emotions.

You’ve stopped petting Benben who’s sound asleep on your lap now, your hands hanging like lifeless limbs by your side. Aizawa then clears his throat, “you were scouted. In third year. ‘Zashi opened a radio station shortly after graduation. Oboro’s mom still invites us for hotpot for his birthday every year despite the mismatch in dish and weather,” you both laugh at that one – of course she insists on his favorite dish on such an important day. An image of the four of you huddled around, sweating over a pot of delicious food has you throwing your head back in sincere laughter, “you have a prodigy; you inspired me to take a pupil on as well, and he’s graduating this spring… I, uh… I use eye drops now.”

The last tidbit of information makes you turn your head so fast you almost get whiplash. Then, your expression turns stern, “didn’t I tell you! Didn’t I tell you to be careful!” you reprimand and he almost rolls his eye at you. Almost.

You shake your head at him and focus back on Benben, a little more color on you again as the mood has successfully shifted. He’s unsure if you’re pretending to be fine for his sake or if he actually succeeded in making you feel better, but he can’t stifle the yawn that comes out of him as soon as he feels relief.

You look up apologetically, “oh my God I’m so sorry, I’ve kept you up haven’t I? Please, you can just go to bed, I’ll be okay!”

Aizawa wants to argue but he also can’t fight the creaky ache he feels in his bones. He went straight from a night shift to school, napped in the teacher’s lounge and then home to grade papers. He’s dead-tired.

He gets up to carry his futon into the living room and set yours up in his bedroom. Usually, you sleep in the same, bare room as him and Benben, but he feels it might be too much for you without your memories, even if you sleep on separate futons with space in between. You make a joke about the futons but then, in a soft voice admit, “I think it’s nice you sleep on something accessible for Benben…” there’s a warm tone to your voice that makes him blush heavily before he pushes you out of his living room.

“I’ll sleep out here, you take the bedroom.”

You meekly argue about taking his bedroom, but he shuts you down in the same way he’s always done, and urges you to carry Benben in with you. You agree to have the door ajar in case Benben wants to walk around, and you bow your head when you bid him goodnight. Aizawa lets the light in the hallway stay on.

////

You wake up with a hitched breath and sweat on your brow, unsure when you managed to fall asleep. Disoriented, you take in Aizawa’s bedroom; you were supposed to sleep home tonight after your shift though, not to mention that Aizawa’s futon isn’t laid out next to yours. It takes you a moment to gather your bearings until it all comes back to you. You’d lost your memory.

You’d lost yourself. You hug your arms around you as the feeling of being lost still sits heavy in your body and makes you shiver. Seeing Aizawa was terrifying; you’d no idea of the obvious horrors he’d had to endure. You didn’t remember your best friend’s death.

For a moment you control your breathing, making yourself calm down as best as you’re able. It makes sense why Aizawa decided to sleep in the living room, if the last memory of him was a pimple-y teenager and not the gruff man he is today. You close your eyes and think back to right before you entered the apartment.

You roll onto your stomach and hide your face in your hands, letting out a drawn-out flustered groan. Without thinking, you kick your legs on the bedding to alleviate the embarrassment that’s coursing through you at your own actions. You’d just went all up in his face! The sensation of his stubble underneath your fingertips, his warm breath and his chapped but so, so kissable lips.

No!

You groan again, drowning in your one-sided misery of a crush. Your honed Pro Hero senses are completely dulled by your pining, so when Aizawa suddenly throws open the door and asks if you are alright, you screech as you lift your head from the pillow, “Shouta!”

“Shit, sorry, I heard you moving around so I thought you might have a nightmare,” he hurries to explain, secretly relieved to hear you say his given name again. He frowns when he can’t see your face with your back turned to him. Still frozen, you barely breathe before he continues, “...you are alright, right?”

Making a grimace and with no interest in facing him right now, you choke out “mhmyepdefinitelyeverythingsperfect!” in one single breath before you’re forced to inhale deeply. You hear Aizawa’s metallic foot as he walks towards your futon and hear the rustling of his clothes as he bends down in a squat next to you, “you don’t sound perfectly fine to me, though. Do you have a fever? Is it an aftershock from getting your memories back?”

Being the perfectly rational man that he is, he oversteps any boundaries to quickly check your temperature with his palm. Embarrassment can come after he’s made sure you’re okay.

You push his hand away weakly, still looking pointedly at the wall in front of you, letting out a strained laugh, “heehee, I’m just… you’re right, it must be an aftershock, right? Nothing else!”

He lets you swat his hand away without much resistance but stays where he is, letting the silence hang over you both for a minute. Suddenly, he croaks out all hoarse and desperate, “Just tell me if there’s anything, please.”

Your shoulders fall at the voice. Aizawa’s the opposite of having a heart on a sleeve, but you’ve been with him through enough tragedies to know he must be scared shitless right now. Whenever you or Yamada is even remotely bruised, he fusses over you in his own, annoyed way, until he finds you sufficiently healed. You sigh before you let your head fall back onto your pillow, a short moment to gather your thoughts and feelings before having to face him.

It must’ve been a lot for him, when you asked him to recount the years you’d momentarily lost. It would’ve been better to let it be, but he knew you so well and knew you wouldn’t let it go. Curiosity kills the cat, right?

With heavy and slow movement, you turn around so that you’re facing him, hoping your expression won’t betray your real emotions. You sigh and reach out for his hand. It’s shaking but as soon as your warm fingers make contact, he flinches before he relaxes.

Then, he grunts like he’s annoyed and chastises you for worrying him. You giggle, “I’m sorry, you’re tired, right?” you ask, knowing his schedule this week is packed. He usually leaves little wiggle room for emergencies, however many he encounters.

Before he can reply, you pull at his hand and he topples over, half on the futon and half on the floor, on his knees. You laugh and pull him even closer to you, hoping your beating heart isn’t as loud as it feels.

You and Aizawa have cuddled before; loneliness and grief has made you carve out comfort in each other, but nothing else have ever been spoken aloud. No kissing, no romantic notions to trace back to. Having a one-sided crush since high school feels deafening right now, when all the years travel back to you after what only amounts to a moment without them.

You want to tell him how you feel; losing your memories made you realize how much you’d like for him to comfort you with kisses if anything should ever happen; how you’d like for him to hold you without holding back.

He grumbles where his head is rested in your neck after he’s settled, but he makes no effort to move. You nuzzle into the mane of hair and breathe in his scent; it’s a lavender-scented shampoo that Yamada insists on buying for him. He never accepts it without complaining, but he also never showers without using it. There’s a spare in your bathroom, at the Agency’s bathroom and at his teacher’s dorm at U.A.

“Y’know, I was really surprised for a moment that you became a teacher.”

He makes no movement, but you know he’s listening.

“But as soon as I thought about it, it made perfect sense. You care so much it sometimes hurts to watch…”

You feel his fist tighten around your bedding, but he stays otherwise quiet still.

“You hurt watching me, too, right? How we both have a habit of bending over backwards for what we perceive is right.”

You start dragging your hands through his hair, letting out a sigh.

“I like that we know each other so well. I like how after so many years, you’re still right here in my arms…”

You pause as his upper arm snakes around you, a sharp exhale against your neck.

“You’ve never dated anyone. At least, not anyone you’d tell me about, so I have no idea where this will lead me to but,”

You take a moment to gather your nerves. There’s really no backing down now. Even if you regret it, your words have already given your feelings away; there’s nothing you can take back.

There’s nothing you want to take back.

You’re about to continue your confession when Aizawa pushes against your neck, his warm lips, soft despite the dryness, presses against your pulse point. You can hear your heartbeat so loud in your ear that the rustling of the sheets from Benben is indistinguishable to you, the only sensation you’re able to take in being Aizawa’s lips as they briefly pull away from your neck, only to push back higher up, closer to your jaw.

You whine and pout, but it’s shaky and without much force. You want to protest, scold him for interrupting you but suddenly he lifts his head to face you, and you’re faced with wide eyes and blown pupils. He steals a glance at your lips before he licks his own, pink tongue peeking out. You feel like a cornered prey, one that’s about to be devoured by a beast. When he hovers mere millimeters above your lips he pauses as if to ask for permission and the sigh you let out makes him know that everything’s okay. That everything he’s ever wanted, wished for, dreamed of, is real.

That losing your memory for a second made you desperate to make more meaningful ones.

And you kiss.

While curiosity did kill the cat, satisfaction definitely brought it back.

#its been a while since i wrote and posted a full blown fic so im suddenly nervous........ in like the way i used to be when i started! its #little fun to feel that way again after 30+ works!!!#aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x you #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #bnha fluff #aizawa shouta fluff #reader insert #nohr.writing #nohr.bnha #i honestly MOSTLY hope that this is coherent. i really did shift my perspective half way in bcos i like to flesh out pain apparently KJDASK #ilysm yall<3333 hope u enjoy this smooching offering

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medtech-mara · 1 year

Text

Trauma Team Flashback.

Jack’s POV

9:30pm Monday:

“Welcome to Blue Remedies Medical Clinic, we are currently cl-” Joi, the clinic’s AI appeared and began to give her speech about the clinic hours and currently being closed.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, Joi. It’s just me.” Jack stumbled into the clinic in a disheveled mess. His button up shirt had started to work its way up, leaving a little duck tail in the back.

Climbing his way up the stairs, he gripped onto the railing tightly in fear of falling. In this current drunken state, it was very well possible. Stumbling to the right and into his bedroom, he had begun to strip off and put on just a pair of sweats. Rolling himself down onto his bed, turning over and looked at his side table, with a picture of Mara, a Fifth of Centzon Totochtin, and a small figurine of a wrestler, Jack loved growing up, a gift from Mara when they were kids. Something he’d treasured all these years.

Grabbing the fifth, he unscrewed the lid and began to position himself up just right to be able to drink with little hindrance and began to take a couple swigs when his internal agent displayed a notification.

1 Message from Emma Adams:

Just saw Mara bring in a couple of her new “chooms” in pieces to Med Center. You really need to keep a closer eye on her. Don’t worry. I’ll be delivering her home safe.

He felt anger grow in his chest, he wasn’t sure how much more he could do to keep an eye on Mars and keep her safe. Whatever life she was living with this new output she has, isn’t really her. He knew it. She was only going to get herself killed if she kept on the path she was going down… Or worse..

2058

An alarm starts blaring to inform the crew inside the AV that there was a call nearby. A collective groan came out of everyone. It had been a long and exhausting night for TTI Flight Crew 406, but at the very least this would be their last call.

The AV horns began to blare.

LANDING STAND CLEAR INITIATING SECURITY PROTOCOL FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS

The automated message looped as they started to land. Everyone was getting in positions. Jack looked over at Mara from the back of the team. They were the Medics, the ones to grab the patient and begin medical protocol and return to the AV.

The moment the doors opened, a familiar sound that everyone on board had heard more than a few times were the death shrieks of a woman, there were also the sounds of people arguing and suddenly shots began to ring out.

The Vanguard pushed forward and allowed Jack and Mara to move forward to the patient.

It was understood between the two that Mara would provide the cover with her shield, while Jack got the patient loaded up and ready to move.

Looking around the room it was something that was a common sight of a scavenger's makeshift den, though it was looking like they had been posted here a while. Which meant they got careless and targeted the wrong person for cyberware.

According to the ping it was the person on the table at the moment, the woman screaming. Mara was too busy providing cover for Jack and helping push back the Scav’s. Whatever this girl had, they wanted. When Jack got close enough to the woman screaming to begin his work and laid eyes on her face, which only made his stomach drop. He knew who this was.. However it was too late for Jack to try and get the patient's oxygen mask on to somewhat cover their face. The Scav’s had retreated in fear of NCPD, and Mara was now sheathing her shield on her back and turning around.

To Mara’s horror, she saw a close friend of hers from childhood laid on a makeshift medical table, Jennifer Costa. There was blood everywhere, her cyber limbs had been removed, but that wasn’t all. Her abdomen was open, her entrails were exposed, from first glance you could see where they had crudely cut her open and began to remove her kidneys, one of them at least because it hung from her body… All while she was still conscious. Panicked, Mara got to Jennifer’s side and Placed her hand to the back of her head with one hand, and the other rubbing her cheek, and Jack could tell she was crying and saying something in portuguese.

Despite all of Jack’s attempts, there wasn’t a shot in hell that she was going to make it no matter how fast the team had responded to the call. Having to pry Mara from her friend's body had to have been one of the hardest moments he had ever had to face. She was unwilling to leave her body behind, but no matter how empathetic the crew tried to be, they were still antsy to get back to the station and clock out. It took all of Vanguard to get her back into the AV.

He’d managed to get Mara to her apartment at 5:20am, and exhausted as he was, there was no way he felt safe enough to travel..

“Hey, Mars, I’m gonna crash on the couch, that okay?” Jack was now sitting down on the couch and was kicking off his boots to prepare himself for an uncomfortable couch nap. When Mara came from the bedroom still in uniform.

“You and I both know we’re too big to sleep comfortably on that tiny couch. Come take a nap in my bed, it’s plenty big enough for us to have our own space.” Mara had paused for a moment, and her face changed into deep sorrow. “Plus I don’t want to be alone right now.” Shifting her gaze to Jack, she awaited his response.

Feeling his heart skip a beat, it was a bittersweet feeling. Something he’d waited for so long was right in front of him, but the circumstances were all wrong. Nodding, he stood up and walked into the bedroom. Mara had already laid out a pair of old sweats down onto the bed for him.

By the time the both of them had crawled into bed and started drifting to sleep, the sun was filling the room with light. Reaching over Jack, Mara pulled the curtain in front of her bed closed. Half asleep, she just laid herself against Jack’s chest and snuggled up close.

Jack lifted his free hand up Mara’s cheek and went to caress it with the tips of his fingers, when he jerked them back for a moment in doubt… No, it was fear. What if She… Pulling his hand back, he just leaned his head back against the pillow and allowed himself to just enjoy this moment before falling asleep.

Snapping back into the moment, with the warmth of Mara still clinging to his chest, Jack’s hand clenched his shirt as he began to pull at it slightly, as if the fabric of his shirt was heavy. His mind rushed, It was only a matter of time before the same thing could or would happen to Mars. He has to keep her safe, no matter what.

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk red #LegendsofNightCity #tabletop roleplaying #2065 #MaraGuererro #JackAdams #EmmaAdams #trauma team #Panthera #cyberpunkredcampaign

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davyjoneslockr · 9 months

Note

kakyoin for the character ask thing?🙏

(For this ask game)

First impression: Like Narancia, I kinda knew I’d like him before I even got to Stardust Crusaders because my best friend (who got me into JJBA) really liked him. I actually got him a Kakyoin button for his birthday shortly before I started the series. Once I actually reached that part, I was kinda surprised that he started out as a villain, but I really liked his fight with Jotaro, his “redemption” (if you can call Jotaro removing the fleshbud in like 30 seconds a redemption lmao), and how his demeanor contrasted Jotaro’s nicely.

Impression now: Okay you get a senior discount if you remember this, but I actually had a MASSIVE Kakyoin phase a few years back. He very quickly became my favorite character over the course of SDC, and I still can’t listen to Goodbye Nostalgia without crying. He’s not at the forefront of my brain anymore, but I still really like him. He’s a great foil for Jotaro, and he’s so serious yet so strange and off-putting and that’s awesome. I wish we’d gotten more of his backstory sooner, because the idea of a character feeling isolated and unable to connect with others because of a stand (not its ability, but its mere existence) is so so good, but I still thought the flashbacks we got were effective. Honors student art kid who hangs out with his weird green tentacle monster and plays video games and eats cherries in the most unhinged way possible and has a mullet is just a great character concept all around ngl.

Favorite moment: Love all of the Death 13 fight it’s so good. I know people talk about the rest of the Crusaders being OOC, but honestly. I think it works here. Up until that point, Kakyoin sort of acted as a support or in conjunction with someone, usually Jotaro or Polnareff. So to see him isolated and having to figure things out in his own, grappling with questioning his own sanity and fearing the others leaving him, but also needing to take drastic actions in order to save all of them, is so awesome. As much as I love the scenes where Jotaro and Kakyoin have to rely on an unspoken trust in each other, or where Kakyoin and Polnareff have a semi-antagonistic brotherly relationship, I think Kakyoin himself really shines in that fight.

Idea for a story: Ohhh so many. He has so much squandered potential. I’d love to write something about his childhood, particularly his experiences at his old school and his relationship with his parents. And like I said with Polnareff, I want to know more about his time with Dio. Also, just. Everyone lives AU shenanigans. I love thinking about him finishing his high school years with Jotaro and then going off to Florida together for college and. Old Kak makes me cry. Let him be an unhinged middle aged man still getting into wacky stand-related hijinks. I need to write my part 6.5 Jouta au.

Unpopular opinion: Considering how much discourse inexplicably surrounds this guy, I feel like any opinion is an unpopular opinion at this point lol. So this probably isn’t a super unpopular opinion in the grand scheme of things, but whatever. I really like Jotakak. No qualifiers or conditions or anything, I just think it’s a good ship. Loners turned high school sweethearts who move in together probably too soon after graduating, but it works out because they’re the only ones who really get each other, and they grow old together, and they spend their afternoons doing word searches in the newspaper (but actually they just circle every instance of ASS and FART they can find and lose their shit over it). Like. Imagine being their classmate, and this new kid comes to school and he has a massive fight with the resident delinquent, and then they both disappear for a few months, and when they come back they’re best friends. And then you see them at your high school reunion years later and it turns out they moved to Florida and got married. Incredible dynamic imo.

Favorite relationship: Probably obvious at this point, but I love love love the way Jotaro and Kakyoin are foils and crafted to be literal opposites in every way, and yet they fit together so perfectly and their dynamic works so well. And his relationship with Polnareff is just. Chef’s kiss. They’re so weird and they shouldn’t be friends but they are. 20something eccentric flamboyant French man and this weird Japanese teenager who is his best friend. RE the ideas for a story thing, I wonder if they knew each other at all while working for Dio – and how different it must have been for them to see each other when they’re not under the effects of a fleshbud.

Favorite headcanon: He has a habit of running away from home, for both short and extended periods of time. It’s usually to get away from his family and the rest of the world, and to just have some time alone with his sketchbooks and Hierophant Green. He feels it’s a lot easier to deal with loneliness when other people aren’t around to serve as reminders. That – along with the fact that I hc his parents to be… not the worst, but not great – is why it took so long for his family to realize something was off when he disappeared for the last time.

#sorry again these are taking so long but i WILL do all of them don’t worry #also i’ve been writing kakyoin again recently and man. it’s making me nostalgic. i’ve missed this guy #jjba #noriaki kakyoin

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sleepy-shutin · 1 year

Text

saw someone else do one of these and i figured it would probably be useful and interesting to track this sort of thing over time.

i discovered my DID in 2018, originally thinking it was OSDD-1.

originally i was in a lot of endo spaces and thought i was fictive heavy and had like 60+ alters and i called them all headmates and couldn’t orchestrate a system meeting to save my life because half the alters i thought were real fucking weren’t. they constantly pressured me to have more and more fictives, in a subtle sense, and while it wasn’t necessarily conscious, i eventually complied. i was like that for about two years, and the damage it did was insane. when i realized what was happening i had to re-start everything and make it make sense.

that was around 2020-2021.

it is now november, 2022. currently, my pluralkit is rocking about 29 different listed parts. there are a few more that aren’t listed, so it’s probably safe to say somewhere around ~30+ is the most accurate number we have right now.

we are nowhere near fictive heavy, and 90% of the alters even remotely related to fictivehood are from a particular piece of media that we have had as a (now fading/faded, due to host change) special interest for over half a decade, which makes a lot more sense than having a new alter for every new media, lol.

i was talking about this earlier with a friend, but even back then it was scary every time i split a new alter or thought i had a new alter. it’s terrifying to have that many alters to me. knowing that there are quite possibly more. that there’s quite literally nothing i can do about it right now. i don’t have a therapist. i don’t even have a diagnosis. i can’t even get one. i have nothing right now, because i’m still at home.

i still have so much self doubt. i’m looking back on the last handful of years as a different part than the ones fronting and it was pretty traumatic, but i can’t help but feel like we were kind of a little bitch about some of it. lmao.

then i remember some of the other stuff that happened and i realize, maybe i have more PTSD than i thought.

then i remember how little i remember about my childhood and i’m like. ah.

i have exactly one, maybe two memories. no context, no idea who’s involved in either of the images i was given, and i still can’t even tell if the second one is a real memory or not.

when i was in the episode i got that second flashback in, it looked so real to me. now, whenever i try to look at that image, it looks like a cartoon. i can’t really explain it.

thinking about all the alters i have makes me want to vomit.

of course, welcoming with open arms, giving them a space where they can be themselves, including them, communicating with them.

but with every discovery of a new part, every angry child, every self destructive teenager, every condescending adult, i get a familiar feeling. one that makes me feel like the empty socket of a gouged-out eye. something once there, violently removed, leaving the space it occupied hollow and empty.

with every new part, it’s a reminder of a piece of myself that was ripped away, a piece that had to be separated for the greater good.

another piece that was forced to take on a burden that the rest of us can’t.

another piece that does nothing but feel pain.

another piece that just gets on with it.

another piece to do the same task that another part can do, but in a slightly different way because of the new situation that they were split in.

definitely switched in the middle of writing this haha.

whatever.

i don’t even remember what i was talking about.

i guess the point is that i have ~30 confirmed parts now and i don’t know how some people could have more and not feel so incredibly... desolate.

30 pieces of something un-whole is a lot more than one would think.

#part ???#journaling tag

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silverwings22 · 1 year

Text

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 44: Control: Halsey

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter Warnings: Flashbacks, PTSD, mood swings/aggression, nightmares

Previous Chapter:

Next Chapter:

Echo couldn't sleep. His body was screaming for rest, but the corporal's mind was racing like he'd had sixteen cups of caf and a stim pack.

Like the worrier he was, he found himself going through a scrolling list of concerns. If he picked a problem and solved it, he could put a mental check by that and it usually put his mind at ease.

They should be doing more against the Empire? No, that required input from the rest of the team and he wasn't waking them up.

They were broke and legally homeless? No, too big an issue for one man right now.

He'd hurt Omega's feelings and led her to almost get herself killed on a treasure hunt? No, she'd forgiven him after they talked. That one was okay.

Miria was having bursts of anger over the strangest triggers. First the mirror Hunter had told him she'd punched, then she'd accidentally spilled the sugar making tea and thrown her favorite teacup into the sink so hard it shattered. Both times she'd immediately burst into tears and apologized, but it was so far removed from her norm that it freaked him out.

He knew it had to have something to do with the Force. He wasn't a Jedi, but he was smart. He could put his mind to this one… he got up. This was his puzzle for the night.

His brothers were all asleep in their bunks. Hunter was on his side and had his head between his pillows, reducing sound and light so he could rest. Wrecker slept on his back, limbs half off the bed and one boot still on. Tech was face down, goggles crooked and whatever project he'd been tinkering with still next to him from where he'd slumped over still working. Echo always found it interesting to see how people got most comfortable, how personality shone through at their most vulnerable moments. He'd always slept on his back, one arm over his chest and the other behind his head. It made hammock sleep an easy adjustment, and when he'd had all his limbs Fives used to tease him that he even slept by regulation.

He glanced at Miria's bunk. Once upon a time, Crosshair slept on his side in it. One arm under the pillow, the other on Miria. She was a side-sleeper too, either facing away and spooned to his chest with her hands cradling his to her sternum or nose to nose with her lover and her pinky hooked into his. Either way, she used to keep her hands close to her body. Now, she slept with them stretched out towards the empty side of the narrow bunk. Reaching for the warmth of a body that wasn't there.

It broke Echo’s heart to think that, even in a crowded bunkroom his friend still felt all alone. But he knew exactly who to ask for help on this problem.

He headed to the hold and shut the door so he wouldn't wake Hunter, glancing at the chrono. Based on the time, it should be mid-afternoon on Naboo. Perfect.

He set his holo-projector on a crate and sat in front of it, typing in a comm frequency. "Mrs. Annalise?"

"Echo? Oh, hello honey! How are you? Is everything alright? Not that anything has to be wrong, of course, but it's unusual to hear from any of you unless Miri is calling. Everything is okay, isn't it?"

Echo smiled wryly. Annalise was a flurry of frenetic energy, often just as much of a worry wort as he was. He liked her, but it was curious to see just how different she was from her usually shy and reserved daughter.

But Miri wasn't being quite so reserved lately, which was the problem. "Everything is… mostly okay. There's been a little disturbance I was hoping to talk to you and your family about. You know more about the Force than us."

"That sounds ominous. I'll get Argais and Irene."

"Thank you, ma'am." Echo waited, fidgeting with his mechanical knees. He was a little worried about going behind Miria's back to talk to her family about this mess… she'd always done right by him. She'd led the team that saved him, advocated for him, secured him a proper hand… Still, it felt like the only way to help her was this path.

He hoped she'd understand.

Annalise returned with her brother and sister-in-law. "Now then, Echo. What's the trouble?"

"It's Miri. She's… physically okay. Well, as okay as she can be. But we've all noticed little things indicating she's getting sicker. Bloody tissues in the trash, her wheezing after going up the ramp…"

Argais nodded. "We knew her illness would worsen without the aid of the Temple healers."

Echo nodded. "That's not the really troubling part. It's… her temper."

Irene looked surprised. "Temper? Miria? That girl's mild and sweet as condensed milk. I didn't think she had one."

Echo grimaced. "I didn't either, except for one night she got drunk. But… she's started having these fits."

Argais frowned, crossing his arms. "Fits?"

"Like she can't control herself. The first time, Hunter said she put her fist through a mirror. I didn't see it first hand, but I saw her knuckles later."

Irene snorted. "Luckily she can't feel them."

"Rini!" Annalise squeaked. "That's my child!"

"Who's almost thirty and was a decorated war General. Continue, Echo."

The clone nodded. "Yesterday she bumped the sugar over while making her tea. She drops stuff a lot, even with her braces on. But, when it hit the floor she just… went stiff. For a moment, she just stared at it, then she picked up her teacup and threw it. It was her favorite one, too… it shattered all over the place. And just as quickly as it happened, it was gone and she was sitting on the galley floor crying."

Annalise's eyes filled with tears. "Oh… my poor girl…"

Argais sighed. "I was afraid of this."

"What's wrong with her, Brother?"

Irene looked stone faced. "The Dark Side."

"But you said she wasn't a Sith, Rini!"

Argais put a hand on his sister's shoulder. "She is not."

Echo frowned. "My understanding of the Force is really black and white, Master Draper. If she's not a Sith, then she's a Jedi. Right? But Jedi don't use the Dark Side."

"For most cases, you would be right. But my niece is a unique circumstance. She was exposed to the energy of the Dark Side, and she carries its effects upon her." Argais sighed. "For all her life, she has fought the dark within her. Her strength to prevail comes from her faith in the light. Or… it did"

"She's losing her faith." Irene grumbled. "She no longer believes in herself. What happened that started this?"

"I'd guess Kamino. After what Crosshair said, I guess it rattled her…" Echo frowned.

"What did that bastard say to her?!" Annalise squawked.

"That he didn't care about her… and that she'd die soon."

Argais rubbed his temples. "I see. She no longer believes herself to be strong enough win the fight, so she loses."

"You know what I think." Irene huffed again. "And I'd know."

"What can I do to help?" Echo frowned.

Irene fixed him with a look, one both stern as a military commander and fond as kin. It reminded him of clone commanders, big brothers looking out for the men under their command. "The darkness is a part of Miria. Until she masters it, she'll never be whole. And she can't master it until she accepts it. The only thing you can do is not let her crash when she hits rock bottom, because she's going to have to make a choice."

Echo swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll do my best… but that's what I was afraid of. I think, given the choice, she'll choose to sacrifice herself."

Argais sighed. "The teachings of the Jedi. All that is dark must be rejected… even if it means cutting yourself to ribbons. One of the many reasons I left the Temple."

"Don't blame yourself, cyare. Give the girl a chance to save herself. It's the only way." Irene patted his arm. "Keep an eye on Miria, Echo. Report back to me when you can, and we'll keep this conversation between ourselves."

"Yes ma'am, Lady Draper."

Irene grinned. "Vizla. And… that reminds me of something. Let me know when you're coming to Naboo."

Miria didn't like missions that split the group. She liked ones she wasn't going on even less. Cid had sent Hunter and Echo off on their own, leaving her to fret at the bar with Tech while Omega beat Wrecker at dejarik in the corner. Even her favorite game couldn't tempt Miria away from her worrying.

"Your fists are clenched, General." Tech said gently. He'd been keeping an eye on things like that lately, since she had a tendency to break the skin of her palms with her nails.

"Oh… sorry dear. I'm just worrying again." She made an effort to lay her hands flat on the bartop. "I don't like being sidelined. What if they get into trouble?"

"Hunter and Echo are more than capable." Tech assured her. "And we are capable of tending to things here. Please relax, the stress is bad for your blood pressure. You will get another nosebleed."

Miria sighed. "You're right… and worse than my mother."

"I am rarely wrong. And Lady Halcyon is quite intelligent as well."

Miria glanced over as Omega beat Wrecker for the third time in a row. "I wish I could put my mind to other things as easily as they do…" She finally whispered. "All they're concerned about is who owes who Mantell mix."

"If I overheard correctly, Wrecker owes Omega two cartons. Which means he will ask you for the credits, seeing as you and Hunter control our finances and Hunter will not give him money for juvenile wagers. I wish you would not."

Miria smiled. "I have a small reserve in the budget for them. It makes them happy, and Hunter doesn't need to worry about anything else."

"You did not tell him about it?" Tech looked surprised.

"Not as long as our other expenses are paid."

"Do you often keep secrets from us?"

Miria paused. She'd told the Batch about her still lingering bond with Crosshair in the aftermath of Kamino. That had been her only real secret; they'd known everything else over the years. "Not really… I don't have many secrets. I used to keep them for others. That was the paradox of my place in the Order, I suppose. I knew so much about so many people, and no one knew me. Until I met you all, anyway."

"Such as?" He raised an eyebrow.

Miria smiled sadly. "Obi-wan had a son with a Mandalorian duchess. Master Windu fed the birds on the eastern terrace every morning. Aayla let a box of frogs loose in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Anakin used to…" Her voice trailed off at the mention of Anakin, and she closed her eyes. Just as her composure returned, Cid popped up.

"Quit running up the power bill. I've got a mission for you four."

Omega blinked. "But Hunter and Echo aren't back yet!"

"We won't need them. This'll be quick anyway, you'll be my security crew." Cid looked expectantly at Miria. "C'mon."

Miria ran a tired hand through her hair, wincing when it caught in the joints of her brace. "And where are we going, dear?"

"Safa Toma."

"We will need more of a briefing than that." Tech grumbled.

"No time, the shuttle is here. Come on." The trandoshan plucked Miria's hair from her hand and pulled her along by a wrist. Her claws were surprisingly gentle on the delicate limb, though there was an indignant look on the Jedi’s face as she was hauled out of the bar.

"Cid…"

"It'll be fine, Stripes."

Miria sighed. "Omega, dear. Grab my helmet?"

"I see why you needed security." Tech said mildly as the quartet followed Cid through the crowded stands of a loud stadium. Miria kept close to Omega, the hood up on the Jedi’s little caped cowl even with her helmet on. It made it less recognizable as a modified clone helmet, and made her feel better about the raucous noise.

"This place is… boisterous." Miria agreed. "What are we doing here?"

"Betting. Here, look." Cid led them to a railing to look out. "This is-"

"Riot Racing." Miria blinked, cutting her off.

"You are… familiar, Miri?" Tech looked at her. She appreciated that he called her name when they were out in public, instead of her now defunct rank as he did in private. "General" painted a target on her back… but right now she wished he'd call her anything else. Another voice had called her Miri, long ago, in a place just like this.

"There was an underground circuit in the lower levels on Coruscant." She swallowed hard, mouth gone dry.

"And you went? That doesn't seem your style." Wrecker grinned.

"It wasn't. But it was an old friend's." She hugged her arms tight to her sides, hoping the distress didn't show in her voice.

Cid gave her a look, but was distracted by several modded-out speeders flying by. "That's my ringer. TAY-0." She pointed to the lead racer.

"Well, he's winning." Omega giggled.

TAY-0 took the lead and won as another speeder wrecked behind him. Cid grinned. "Come on, let's collect."

The group followed her to the service pit, where a droid was getting out of the speeder. "Your ringer… is a droid?" Tech blinked, surprise on his face as he took off his helmet.

"Could you calculate split second corrections at that speed. I didn't think so." The droid had an arrogance that felt like more than programming. Miria wrinkled her nose.

"Yes, I could." Tech said flatly.

"Unlikely." TAY-0 waved a hand as Cid headed to pick up her bets and examine the speeder.

"The 12 series speeder model was not designed for high speed." Tech mused.

"That's why we mod them. I can handle it, Spectacled Spectator." The tension between this droid and Tech was palpable. At least Wrecker was laughing.

Miria looked mildly at Cid. "Your ringer needs a manners upgrade, dear."

Cid just laughed. "Don't be so uptight, Stripes. What, this not entertaining enough for you? Muscles is having a good time."

The Jedi glanced over at Wrecker, who was quite happily shoving a sausage in his mouth as he offered another one to Omega. They were grinning, looking like this was just a day outing between brother and sister.

Not too many years ago, hadn't she done the same?

"Come on, Miri. Isn't this fun?"

"Anakin, this is so dangerous! What if you get hurt? And Obi-wan would throttle me if he knew we were here…"

"What Master doesn't know can't hurt me. Plus I'm saving up what I win, so I can free my mom. That's the right thing to do, isn't it Miri?" Blue eyes peered at her from the face of a thirteen year old padawan. She was twenty, barely knighted herself, and she loved this sweet boy with all her heart.

Miria sighed, slowly handing him the helmet she'd taken from him. "Oh… alright. But be careful, dear. I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt."

"I'll be fine. I'm a good pilot." Anakin looked at her, already her height now. "You won't tell, will you?"

"No. If anyone asks, we went on a walking meditation through the city." She assured him. "It'll be our little secret."

Miria was rudely interrupted from her thoughts at the approaching footsteps of a large Dowutin and entourage approaching. "Ciddarin Scaleback." He smirked. "You've got a lot of nerve being on my turf."

I've never heard her full name before. Miria eyed the big hustler with what she hoped looked like venom and not a wet tooka-kit's hissing.

"Grini Millegi." Cid huffed. "Business is business, and I've got business here."

Miria was the first to get between them, Wrecker and Tech right behind. "That's quite close enough, sir." She lifted her chin, wishing she was a little more intimidating right about now. Five foot nothing barely came to Millegi's navel.

"Huh. Got yourself some misfit bodyguards? Gutsy, but they won't be nearly enough to beat Jet Venim." He gestured to his little lizard-faced racer.

"TAY-0 won the last race." Omega grumped from Miria's side. "He'll do it again."

"Then you won't be opposed to our usual side wager, will you Cid?"

Behind her, Miria felt the bubble of anxiety oozing sickly yellow into the Force. Cid didn't like this at all, but her pride won out. "Fine."

"See you on the track." Millegi smirked. Venim snarled something sharply.

"What's he saying, Tech?" Wrecker frowned.

"You do not want to know."

Millegi and his crew left, and Miria took a long moment to relax her shoulders. "He seems very familiar with you, Cid."

"And antagonistic. This 'side wager' seems of a personal nature." Tech nodded agreeably.

"It's just business." Cid's reply was a little too quick, and Tech shared a glance with Miria that spoke volumes in silence.

She's hiding something. But what?

The thought made Miria uncomfortable. Painfully so. She was trusting Cid with the only thing she had in this galaxy anymore: her family. The Batch was her family just as much as the blood kin on Naboo that she already loved so much… but had the trust been misplaced? She didn't trust herself enough to know anymore.

TAY-0 got back in the speeder and the rest of them followed Cid back to the stands. Miria hung back from the railing a few steps, arms crossed tightly. As the speeder engines roared to life and they took off, she cleared her throat. "Don't stand so close, Omega."

"Why not? I want to see." The girl blinked at her, wide eyed. Miria was grateful she had brown eyes. A blue eyed blonde child looking at her like that might have undone her with this backdrop.

"These kind of races are dangerous. They're using live weapons systems, and any injuries in the crowd are considered collateral damage."

Wrecker made a face. "She hates collateral damage, kid."

Miria swallowed her instinctive response that a Jedi shouldn't hate anything. It would have only been a lie… a Jedi shouldn't lie either, but she was starting to think she'd never been much of a Jedi anyway. Hadn't she lied for Anakin? She'd kept secrets, omitted truth in favor of protecting people she cared about, been so hopelessly attached to anyone who ever so much as smiled at her.

She couldn't help but think of Crosshair again. Oh, they were two halves of the same coin. Both so lonely, so damaged by the galaxy around them. He kept everyone at arms length so the rejection wouldn't sting so badly, while she tried to mold herself into perfection so no one would leave her again. She'd been arrogant to think she was teaching him anything with her endless forgiveness… her method was no better.

Three stands over a crashing speeder accidentally overshot his weapon, and a spectator went down with a blaster wound to the chest. Miria sighed. "Like that, little love."

"You knew something like that could happen. Did you ever race, Miri?" Omega tore her eyes from the action to tug at Miria's cape gently.

"I was never much of a pilot, dear." Miria shook her head. "I was… simply an escort."

"I thought your training included piloting skills." Tech frowned.

"Oh, I know how to fly. I've been told I'm not half bad at it." Miria shrugged. "It was just never a passion of mine. The best pilots fly with their hearts."

"Like Hera said. Flying is a feeling." Omega grinned.

Miria nodded, uncrossing her arms to drape them loosely around Omega's shoulders as the girl stood in front of her. Her chin came to rest on Omega's head. "That's right, dear… besides, Obi-wan hated my flying. I like to spin, it's a neat trick."

Tech and Wrecker were both silently grateful she'd changed position. She'd looked just a little too much like Crosshair.

Cid was yelling into her comm at TAY-0 not to take the left tunnel as the race went on.

"What's the left tunnel?" Omega frowned.

"A death trap."

"The entire course is a death trap. With so many random variables, I cannot determine who will win." Tech sighed.

"I would certainly hope TAY-0." Miria's voice was mild again, watching the large screen ahead. "As poetic as seeing that arrogant droid be taken down a peg might be… Cid is counting on him."

"You're insulting the droid?" Wrecker tried not to laugh. "You apologized to a trash can when you bumped into it last week."

"I didn't like how he spoke to Tech."

On her other side, her favorite genius stood up a little taller. Logically, he knew Miria cared for them all. Still, when he knew she mostly thought of their missing brother and directed her physical affection on Omega… it was nice to be reminded that she was looking out for him too.

The racers had entered Gambler's Gulch. Eyes glued to the screen, Tech took a step closer to Miria. "You have more data than I. What do you predict?"

Miria had heard this story before, about an impossible pod race on Tattooine and a brave little boy who just wanted to help the strangers trapped on the planet that held him a slave. She'd seen that same little boy, racing for credits to buy his mother's freedom as well. How did that little boy become the monster in my nightmares?

"Sabotage." She answered. To Tech's question or her own, the answer was the same.

"Is that really how these things usually go?" Tech blinked.

"Watch."

Tech did as he was told, and immediately decided to err on the side of Miria's experience. Venim had a claw attachment that was clamping onto the back of TAY-0's speeder, a circular saw cutting into the stabilizers. The droid went spinning out, careening into the wall. Venim took first place and the crowd went nuts.

"Dank ferrik." Cid gulped.

Miria glanced at her. "What exactly does that side wager entail, Cid?"

"More credits than I've got."

Miria sighed. "This… is going to be messy. Tech, Wrecker, let's go recover the speeder and droid."

"If there's anything left." Wrecker shook his head.

They headed down to the track, Wrecker and Omega gathering the bits of TAY-0 while Miria and Tech inspected the speeder. "I do not believe this is salvageable." Tech muttered. "But I may be able to repair the droid if we find all the parts."

"We have larger concerns. Here comes Millegi." Miria frowned.

"Time to pay up." The massive Dowutin grinned.

"I need time. You'll get your credits, I'm good for it." Cid protested, looking at Wrecker as Millegi's crew moved towards her threateningly. "You mind stepping in here? I didn't bring you for company!"

Miria caught her hand drifting towards her rifle. She was ready, no, eager to fight. This wasn't her. She didn't even kill spiders, she didn't swat mosquitoes, she was Mother Veractyl who practiced defense and taught The Great Negotiator how to solve troubles with words. Why was she looking forward to the taste of blaster residue and blood between her teeth?

Omega denied her before she could deny herself. "Wait! One more race, double or nothing!"

"Your speeder and droid are scrap, kid." Millegi crossed his arms.

"We can fix them. If we lose, we'll pay you double. If we win, we get Cid."

Wrecker frowned. "Kid…"

"We have to help her. She's our friend." Omega said firmly, turning pleading eyes to Miria. "Right Miri?"

"That's the right thing to do, isn't it Miri?"

Her hand dropped from the rifle. "Give us till tomorrow to fix the droid and speeder. We'll race."

"Then I'll keep Cid as collateral. And when you lose, you better pay up… for your sakes." Millegi muttered, leading the trandoshan away.

Tech looked at her. "Are you quite sure we can do this?"

"I don't believe we have a choice."

Tech worked on the mouthy droid while the others put the speeder back together. They at least had pit droids to help them, which left the bedraggled Tech to deal with TAY-0's attitude undefended.

"It's worse than I thought, Miri." Omega shook her head.

"I see. But we'll make due… pass me that welding torch, please. And back away, you'll hurt your eyes." The Jedi had her chest armor and cape off, with a welding mask on her face. "Fortunately, I know how these blasted things are built."

"Then I am more concerned with the droid." Tech grumbled.

"I can race. Where are my arms!?" TAY-0 wailed.

"Tech, if he gives you too much trouble… he doesn't need his vocal components to operate a speeder." Miria looked up, sliding her mask up on top of her head.

"I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I can tolerate this mild irritation." Tech smiled a little, ignoring the droid's chatter.

"Or we could scrap this plan and just go rescue Cid." Wrecker offered.

"Millegi is a powerful criminal with significant resources." Tech shook his head. "We cannot implement our standard military approach here. He would retaliate, even if we were successful, and it would likely get us all killed."

Miria nodded. "Tech is right. Our only option is to win the race."

"I will. Which is lucky for you, since the last competitor who didn't pay up is facing permanent retirement out in the eastern dunes." TAY-0 chirped. "So get my limbs on correctly. That's not how you wire that servo. Have you ever done this before, human?"

Tech sighed. "Yes."

"Mouthy." Miria said dryly, getting back to her weld.

Omega stepped a touch closer as Wrecker went back to sorting parts. "Are you okay, Miri? You're… acting funny. You're scaring me."

"I'm alright, little love. There's simply… a lot on my mind." The Jedi hated that she was upsetting the girl. She loved Omega dearly, and part of her commitment to keeping the girl safe was protecting her mental well-being. It was no small feat in their situation, but Miria tried.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Miria finished the seam she was working on and sat back, pushing up her mask again. "... the reason I have any familiarity with racing or speeder building is because I used to help Anakin." She finally admitted. "He was… like a little brother to me. He used to sneak out to race in the lower levels, and I caught him once and followed him. At first I tried to stop him… racing is so dangerous and he was so young. But he convinced me that it was for a good cause. After that, I'd go with him and help him. He was a great pilot, and a brilliant mechanic…" She closed the hatch she was working on and shook her head. "He had so much promise, and so much goodness inside of him. But he still fell to the dark side. He became Darth Vader."

"The one who burned your hands?" Omega blinked.

"Yes. Among other things." Miria nodded. "He's done so many terrible things since Order 66. Things that will haunt me until my dying day. But I still see the little boy who used to come to me when he was scared, or needed help. To think that he's become so lost…" Miria paused. She felt lost too. Would, one day, someone she loved think back on her with the same sorrow and horror she did about Anakin? Would there be a day that her nightmares came true, and when she looked at her ruined hands they would be filled with blood? It seemed impossible now, but once it had seemed impossible for Anakin.

And for Crosshair.

Omega hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry, Miri." She whispered. "If you want to stop doing this, we can find another way to help Cid."

"No. This is the quickest way to resolve the matter without fighting." Miria shook her head. "And… you were right. Cid is our friend. Helping her is the right thing to do."

"Can I do anything to help you?" Omega didn't let go of her tight hug.

"You just keep being you, my dear. Your kind heart has a way of tempering the worst impulses in a broken thing like me." Miria kissed her cheek.

Omega finally relented and picked up a spanner. "Broken things can be fixed. You'll see."

"I hope you're right, little love."

The creche room was so oddly quiet. Miria was on edge the moment she realized where she was, turning around in the large playroom. This place was always a bustle of little ones, never so still that she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. "...hello?"

"Master Miri?"

Miria spun around, eyes wide. Thirty or so little ones, none a day older than eight, were staring at her with dull and hollow eyes. There were burn marks on their clothes… lightsaber burns. "Where'd you go, Master Miri?"

Her heart seized in her chest. Her crechelings, her life's duty, her pride and joy… these precious little lives were all ended. These children were dead. "My babies…" She whispered.

"Why'd you go away?"

They were all speaking in unison, an eerie sound to the ears that once delighted in their laughter. "... I went to war, sweethearts."

"Why? Why'd you leave?"

"It… it was the right thing to do. To fight for freedom…" Her eyes stung, tears welling up. "To protect other young ones…"

"That's what you told the council. But you lied."

"N-no, I didn't. I wanted to-"

"You wanted to prove you were just as strong as everyone else. You wanted to be noticed." The dead younglings started to crowd around her, the wounds that should have been cauterized starting to seep blood. "You abandoned us."

"No! I was trying to protect you, I wouldn't-" The blood was lapping at her ankles, cold as a Kaminoan sea. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean for any of you to get hurt!"

"You lied to Master Kenobi about Anakin. You knew he killed the Tuskan village. You knew he was falling." Little hands grabbed at her limbs, dragging her into the blood. She tried to struggle as the children, her beloved crechelings, started trying to drown her in it. "But you didn't tell. You were too busy being selfish, Master Miri. You were so sure you were enough to keep him in the light. You were wrong."

"Please! Let me go, please! I'm sorry!"

The door behind her was opening, and she craned her head to see if salvation was on the horizon. The children were still trying to force her face under, the sticky blood soaking her skin.

"Crosshair!"

Her sniper stood with his arms crossed, his rifle on his back, in black armor. She flailed an arm up, sobbing out his name as red dripped from her skin. "What a mess you're making." He sneered

"Crosshair, darling! Help me, please!"

His laugh was icy as Hoth. "Help? Who's going to help a traitor like you?"

"Cross… love, please." Her voice wilted, but her pleading didn't.

"You betrayed the Jedi long before Order 66, Miria. I'm only returning the favor." He pulled his rifle up, the children parting and letting her go. Miria rolled over on her hands and knees, staring at him as he took aim.

"Darling…" She whimpered. "You said you loved me."

"Who could love a traitor with the blood of children on her hands?" Crosshair growled.

Miria let a scream fall from her lungs as his finger twitched on the trigger. "CROSSHAIR!"

"CROSSHAIR!" The sleeping quarters in the pit came to life at the sound of their Jedi screaming, the woman sitting bolt upright in her bunk so fast her head slammed into the underside of Tech's above her.

Wrecker rolled onto the floor, and Tech jumped into the ceiling. "What's going on?" The big clone mumbled, confused and disoriented with a petrified Omega who’d been cuddling with him when the screaming started.

Tech was the quickest to recover, flipping from his mattress down to the Jedi’s. "A nightmare. She is still partially asleep."

Miria was kicking and screaming, tangled in her blankets that still felt like blood and clammy hands on her skin. "Get off, get off me!"

Tech quickly ripped them off her and caught her by her upper arms. "Miri, look at me." He said firmly. "You are safe. We are on Safa Toma."

She fought him a moment more before her eyes focused. "T-tech?" Her voice was raw.

"Yes. Take a deep breath." He instructed, ever pragmatic. "You had a nightmare, but it is over now. You are not in danger at this time."

Miria swallowed, breath ragged. There was a trickle of blood coming from her nose, and it took her a couple seconds to realize it was her own she could taste. Her blood, not that of murdered crechelings. "... a nightmare."

"Yes. I am going to let you go now. Can you sit up on your own?"

She nodded shakily and his fingers released her. Every inch of the woman was trembling. "Th-thank you… I'm s-sorry. I woke everyone up…"

Wrecker glanced at Omega, clinging to his side. "We're all okay. Just a bad dream." He clarified, both for the kid and Miria.

Omega nodded slowly. “Are you okay, Miri?”

The Jedi flinched. A child calling her name didn’t usually fill her with horror… but then again, she didn’t usually feel like if she looked at her skin it would be stained with blood. “Who could love a traitor with the blood of children on her hands?” She could still hear Crosshair’s voice over Omega’s sweet one.

Tech frowned, lightly putting a hand on her shoulder. “Here, General. Walk with me to the workshop.”

Wrecker gave Tech a concerned look as he put an arm more securely around Miria and led her out of the room. He simply nodded, the unspoken words hanging between him and his brothers.

Let me try. Nothing else has worked.

When they arrived in the down in the workspace where TAY-0 was powered down to prevent his constant nagging, Tech sat Miria down and gently checked her hairline where she’d smacked her head into the underside of his bed. “You’re going to have quite a bump, but it does not appear to have split the skin.” He painted the knot with some bacta cream to reduce the swelling and sat across from her. “I am concerned about you, Miri.”

“It was only a nightmare… I’ve had them before.” She rested elbows on her knees and cradled her tired face in her hands. “I’m just sorry I startled everyone.”

“You have had nightmares before, but this was an extremely violent one. They are getting worse, not better.” Tech sighed. “We discussed this on Bracca. You must allow me to help, or I am unable to do so.”

“I don’t know that you can, Tech. There isn’t much for another to fight when the monster is in your skull.” She shook her head. Her skull was pounding like that monster inside it wanted to burst out through her eye sockets right now.

“Perhaps talking about the content of the dreams would help us determine the cause?” Tech’s index finger poked into the air, his adorable little habit every time he had an idea.

She wished she could find it as endearing as she usually did. “I know the cause, Tech. It’s the guilt.”

That seemed to confuse her usually unflappable genius. “Guilt? What reason do you have to be guilty, Miria? You are one of the most ethical people I have ever met.”

She shook her head. “I wish that were true. Perhaps if I was, there would have been less bloodshed.”

“What do you mean by that?” Tech put his hand on her arm gently, leaning in to indicate she had his full attention and support. She knew this man, he’d do anything to help her that he was able to pull out of that brilliant mind of his. She’d trust him with her life, but she didn’t think he could do anything about this problem.

She ran a hand through her hair quietly. “I knew Anakin was acting strangely… we all saw that village on Tattooine. But I didn’t say anything to the council or Obi-wan… and the Order paid for my silence. And everything about this racetrack reminds me of Anakin…"

"You were not to blame for his actions." Tech said firmly. "General Skywalker was a grown man capable of making choices."

"I should have done something, Tech. If I'd stayed in the Temple, maybe I could have saved the younglings at least. But I was selfish, playing soldier when it was never really capable…"

"You are quite capable. Without your leadership, it is likely we would have been killed several times during our service." Tech assured her. "Even if we had not been, the experience would have been far less pleasant."

She hung her head. "Then why do I feel responsible?"

Tech paused, watching the top of her head a moment. "Emotions are… not my area of expertise." He finally said gently. "But… in my understanding of the Jedi, it seems they taught you from a very young age to take on the burden of responsibility. You have always accepted beyond your fair share. The standard by which you hold yourself is unrealistic, if admirable. That is the disconnect. You are only one woman. No matter how many places you believe need you, you can only be in one. You would have always had to choose."

Miria heard Echo’s voice, in their quiet conversations on the way to Raxus. She had to choose her path, who she was without the Jedi Code to guide her. Maybe Tech was right, the Code had asked so much of her… to be the perfect Jedi, she had to not be Miria. A ghost, a shell holding only lofty tenants she could never hope to embody when by nature she was a lonely dreamer.

Crosshair called me a dreamer once.

"Tech?" She swallowed and lifted her head.

"Yes?"

"When it is all said and done… when I am gone back into the Force, do me a favor?"

He nodded immediately. "If I am capable, then yes. I promise."

"Don't let them remember me as a Jedi. Don't let them honor an obedient servant. Tell them all the truth. That I was stubborn, that I argued with the Council at every turn, that the day they made me a master I woke up in a hotel room in Crosshair’s arms. Make sure that the galaxy knows Miria Halcyon lied, and fought, made mistakes, and broke oaths… don't let me die a Jedi. Let them remember who I really was. A Bad Batcher, from the very beginning to the end."

Tech squeezed her arm. "You have my word, General."

"It's almost time, TAY-0!" Omega chirped. Early morning light was coming down brightly over the racetrack, and they'd pulled off nothing short of a miracle by getting both droid and speeder operational.

Miria leaned against the railing with Tech, who was glued to his datapad. "Did you give her caf this morning?"

"Negative. The caffeine would be detrimental to her growth." He didn't look up. "In addition, the instant caf that Cid keeps in the workshop is disgusting. I do not dislike anyone enough to give it to them."

Miria laughed softly. "That didn't stop Wrecker from drinking an entire pot."

"He did that to himself."

She leaned over to peek at his datapad. "What are you looking at, dear?"

"The track schematics. I believe it would be beneficial to divert power from the weapons system to the rear reflector shields during the race."

TAY-0 flapped a metal hand. "Racing is about speed and skill, humans. Which you have none of. Offense is the best strategy!"

Tech scowled. "Miri accurately predicted both the spectator fatality and your loss in the previous race."

"And Tech put you back together. You could show some gratitude." Miria arched a graceful brow.

TAY-0 scoffed. "I'll win this my w-"

"Look out!" Miria grabbed Tech by the arm, dragging him back a few steps as a speeder veered off the track and slammed into TAY-0. His newly reattached limbs went flying.

"Oh no…" Wrecker deflated.

"I… regret nothing." The droid lifted its head before going dead.

"Accidents happen all the time." Millegi's voice caught everyone's attention. "But you're down a racer. Looks like you forfeit."

Tech put a hand on Miria's arm as she started to pipe up. "I will race."

"Tech!" She whispered. "You've never even been to a track before this mission."

"I am capable of learning as I go." He gave her a smile. "But I would prefer if you were the one in the comms, for your insight."

Miria blinked, eyes widening.

"Watch out, Anakin. Third place has a slug thrower bolted on! Pass from the left."

"Gotcha. Good eye!"

"Engage that outboard plasma cutter now! You'll melt the barrel before you get in front of him."

"You're good at strategy, you know."

"All those games of dejarik are paying off."

She grasped Tech's hand tightly. "Together, then."

Millegi seemed surprised. "Then I guess we're still on."

Miria nodded. "Wrecker, Omega. To the pit. Tech… be careful."

"I will."

They darted to position and Miria picked up the comm. She handed Omega the datapad. "I'll need your hands, little love. Ready, Tech?"

"Yes, Miri."

The announcer was listing out the competitors and paused at Tech's name. "Tech? Really, that's his name?"

The crowd was silent, the cheers for the previous contenders seeming louder now.

"We'll show them." Miria breathed.

"We certainly will." Tech was almost laughing.

The engines fired up and the starting shot went out. The speeders went shooting forward.

"Stay out of the middle of the pack. They'll try to box you in." Miria ordered. "Watch the one in second place. He has rear mounted guns."

Tech swerved to the outside as she suggested, just in time for that rear gun shed mentioned to take out the racer behind him.

"Approaching Gambler's Gulch."

Miria scanned the screen and the datapad. "Keep to the left. Don't let Venim behind you in tight quarters." She was chewing her lip. "You're doing fine for the first lap, but they'll have tricks as the finish gets closer."

"How well did you weld the weapons system array?"

"I left the standard setup to preserve weight. What are you thinking?"

"I need more speed."

Miria blinked. "Wrecker, back up as he comes in for a pit stop."

"What?!"

Miria took a step back with Omega as Tech's ship came in, dropping the weapons array without ever stopping.

"Which tunnel is shortest?"

"The left one, but the track is incomplete."

"Transmit the schematics for the left tunnel."

Omega squirmed. "Tech! You'll never make it with the tunnel in that shape."

"I will if I'm going fast enough."

Miria nodded. "Send the schematics, Omega. Tech, you're going to have to use environmental support without your weapons, in addition to calculating the speed you'll need to jump the broken track."

"I can do both."

"I know you can."

In his speeder, Tech smiled a little and laid on the throttle as he swerved into the left tunnel. The track was shattered in places, and it surprised him that Venim was right on his tail.

Miria's eyes never strayed from the screen, clutching the comm so tightly the plastoid housing creaked. "Revert power from the shields to your engine. He can't shoot you if you're going too fast to hit."

"I was just thinking that myself."

Tech zoomed forward, Venim right behind. "Wait for it." Miria ordered.

The circular saw was extending, Venim's eyes now focused entirely on cutting into the rear of Tech's speeder. Closer… closer.

"He's getting too close Miri!" Omega gasped.

"Wait for it." Miria repeated.

Wrecker was holding his breath. The saw was getting closer.

"Miri!" Omega yelped.

"Now, Tech!"

Tech zoomed up the side of the wall to the ceiling. Behind him, Venim didn't see the broken track until it was too late and hit it, his speeder crumpling and sending smoke rushing down the tunnel. It made a spectacular entrance for Tech, who came flying out a couple paces ahead of the other racers and went flying across the finish line.

Wrecker and Omega screamed with delight, hugging each other. "Yeah Tech!"

Miria sank down against the railing, finally relaxing. Tech parked, opening the hatch and climbing out. The crowd was going insane, chanting his name. He looked up at the stands, catching his General's eye. She lifted her hand, saluting with 2 fingers as she'd seen Crosshair do whenever one of them spotted him in a sniper’s perch.

You'd be so proud of your brother, love.

Wrecker scooped Miria and Omega onto his shoulders and took them down to the track. "You did it!" Omega squealed.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Tech smiled.

Wrecker looked sheepish. "A little."

He set the girl's down and Omega ran to hug Tech. "Let's go get Cid."

Miria nodded. "Yes. I'm quite ready to go back to Ord Mantell. Millegi's suite is above the track, and I just saw Venim limping that direction."

"Should we be worried?" Wrecker frowned.

"Cid is associated with criminal elements. I think concern is warranted." Tech sighed. "I have reservations about how little we know of her past, despite her being a former Jedi contact."

Omega made a face. "She's our friend. And the Jedi trusted her, right Miri?"

The Jedi had trusted Cid. But they'd also trusted Palpatine, the emperor who'd destroyed them. Echo had told her the voice they'd heard give Order 66 was the same as the one in his address to the clones on Kamino. He'd been a monster in plain sight, and even the wisest among them had fallen for his facade of a gentle and grandfatherly leader.

Miria didn't think she was very wise. She was a wayward Jedi who'd abandoned her code. She was an abandoned lover with an empty bed. A pacifist who'd gone to war, an angel of mercy with fits of rage, a mother with no child to call her own. If the masters had been fooled, what hope did she have of knowing who to trust?

Omega was still expecting an answer, so she swallowed her doubts for the time being. "She's done right by us since we met. Let's go get her."

They headed up to the suite. Venim was already sulking at the bar, but Cid was grinning. "We held up our end, sir." Miria said mildly. "It's time for you to return Cid."

Millegi sighed. "Just business."

Cid jumped up and walked over, clapping them all on the shoulder. "I knew you could do it! I owe you one, Goggles."

"I suppose you do." Tech nodded.

"I'll find a way to make it up to you all. Come on, let's get out of here." Cid headed straight for the door.

The clones and Miria turned to follow when Venim reached for a blaster on the bar.

"I wouldn't do that." Miria wasn't even facing him. "Accidents happen at racetracks all the time."

Millegi took the blaster from him. "You four. A word of advice."

They all looked at each other before turning around again. "Yes?" The tired Jedi raised an eyebrow.

"Your loyalty is impressive. But with Cid, it doesn't always go both ways. Watch your backs."

Omega grumbled and took Miria by the hand, pulling her out the door. The clone brothers followed. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Miria didn't respond, just put her hand on the girl's hair softly. They met Cid back on the shuttle, Wrecker loudly praising Tech's racing while Omega giggled and told Cid about their night in the pit.

Miria settled herself into a seat, pulling up her comm while no one was paying her any attention. "Aram?"

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

"Would you mind doing a little information digging for me? Using your mother and father's underworld contacts?"

"Sure. Beats juicing three hundred kilos of Nabooian rosebuds."

"I need to know everything you can find on the background of Ciddarin Scaleback."

#explict #eventual smut #crosshair #original character #chronic illness #clone force 99 #the bad batch #caught in the crosshairs

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harriertail · 2 years

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Can you elaborate on your opinions on gray wing?? I’ve only ever seen ppl describe him as a good dad who couldn’t breathe and I never read him entirely as that so I’d love to know your thoughts!!

(long) Well i don’t know.

I don't dislike him but i don't like him (skip to bottom for TLDR if you care) I can't really discuss Grey Wing without also Clear Sky so. There is an opinion of him being 'good dad can't breathe uwu he made starclan' which I used to just accept but re-reading DoTC (parts of) its kinda... not true. The DoTC cast are flawed characters, they are mean (to each other, to strangers) they are pretty fucking stupid, and overall opinions tend to be (exaggerated) 'Clear Sky worst man ever, Grey Wing did nothing wrong', or 'Grey Wing is actually awful, Clear Sky did what he thought was right he's actually super nuanced' even tho there are a lot of smaller moments of awfulness from the both of them that show their awfulness.

I feel a lot of CS/GW opinions hinge on rejecting Thunder and the First Battle/borders thing > 'smaller' scenes of awfulness > Clear Sky and Thunder especially, theres scenes in TR and BS/AFD (so even post 'redemption') of Clear Sky trying to 'one up' Thunder and show off while hunting or traversing the forest, the killing of Misty, Jagged Peak, letting Tom sod off with TTs kits and lying about it, trusting One Eye, the whole Micah and Willow Tail thing, etc, so i definitely see Clear Sky as bad guy and not 'morally grey' or whatever, he's only really good to his new family with Star Flower or cats when they threaten to leave him (AFD). He disowns Jagged Peak and Thunder because they aren’t useful to him, but SF constantly boosts his ego and his new kits don’t give him trouble so he likes them. He doesn’t really get a redemption, beyond being leader of SkyClan. I can’t really see any ‘nuance’ to him, he’s not evil evil he’s just a generic dickhead (with a splattering of murder) and doesn’t really do anything by APoS/MV to make him not a dickhead. I like the idea that SkyClan’s removal from the forest was due to Clear Sky’s wickedness, and the dreams the med cats had of SkyClan being exiled came with whispers of ‘you brought this onto yourself’. I think Quiet Rain was right to disown him (and the fucking 'i forgive you' come on, very ooc, QR was fucking vicious all her life and definitely were i think Clear Sky got it from- I think the mountain cats all got their occasionally horrible personalities from their harsh environment and constant suffering in the mountains but) // I also don’t buy the whole ‘Clear Sky did bad things he knew others thought were bad but he had to do it he was suffering so much making those decisions, it was for Thunder/Jaggeds/insert character’s own good’ idea like, he knows he’s a dick, he knows he’s in the wrong. I wish his POV went more into the suffering in the mountains (Quiet Rain, Fluttering Bird, his dad) and how that directly affected him (nightmares? flashbacks? comparing everything to the mountains? we only get a few ‘ive seen cats starve’ lines like okay u had a rough childhood stop killing people; all of your friends are telling you this is a bad idea wth)

Onto Grey Wing (lol) > i think the 'uwu soft' opinions come from the old trope of 'evil sibling, good sibling' repeated in warriors (Hawk and Bramble, Ivy and Dove etc). His moments of awfulness are probably less obvious as he is the first POV so like... subconsciously we probably take his 'word' for more (same way people see Squirrel as annoying becoz Brambles POV introduces her as annoying), but most of his interactions with Turtle Tail and Bumble either come from a complete fucking socially-inept idiot who is too harsh and doesn't realise, or a really mean guy. I don’t know why Tall Shadow made him leader in TR and I don’t know why he got a ‘second chance’ with Slate. He can be pretty rude to Thunder but its nothing major, its just a sign that he’s got the familial dickhead streak. Um where was I going with this? Oh yeah, my opinion. IDK. The whole ‘good dad’ i don’t get because he just like, oversaw Turtle/Hawk Swoop raising her kits/Thunder and didn’t really, raise them; TT’s kits are basically plot devices, especially Pebble Heart. anyway. I think a lot of DotC conversation (including this) is pointless because not only is the overall arc flawed in terms of plot and character consistency, but because Clear Sky and Grey Wing make a lot of bad decisions and say/do some bad things that the narrative kinda expects us to just be like ‘and then they were good leaders’ in the end (I have a few ideas for a dotc rewrite but). I don’t like either of them, but I don’t hate them. I dislike the way their characters (in a writing sense) continued after TFB, and i think both of them becoming (in the narrative) leaders and founders kinda softens our perception of them being.. not good people. But i also just tune out any ‘grey wing good clear sky bad’ discussion because i don’t really care either. The more I think about DoTC now the more mediocre i think it was lol. The last chapter of APoS was good tho.

TL;DR - I think Clear Sky is a major dickhead, and i think Grey Wing is a lesser spotted dickhead. I don’t really care for DoTC after more than 5 minutes of thinking about it. All the characters have room temperature IQs. Grey Wing needs a different personality because he’s very all over the place to me, and Clear Sky could have been something.

#idk dotc discussions just... tire me out or bore me #like the erins should have made their clan founders better cats in the end (like explicitly becoz look at MV Skystar)#and also Grey Wing rlly just died so the series could end 'poignantly' and just.. eh idk #his personality is just whatever the scene needs hes basically an observer and like. if he is to be the 'good mirror' to CS #then he needed to be.. more proactive and reasonable when dealing with Thunder and post TFB Clear Sky.#clear sky should have stayed the villain (explicitly) and been killed off with a member of his Clan coming to be the first Skystar #and build up what he couldn't #very long post but yeah thats my View #asks

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sleepymarmot · 1 year

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Dragon Age: Absolution liveblog

“The Herald of Andraste sealed the breach. They killed Corypheus.” It’s hilarious that instead of trying to be vague the writers straight up addressed the Inquisitor personally as they/them. Assigned nonbinary at netflix.com

“Because people like you never try!” Bold words from a white human to a brown elf

“I’m not a rebel”, says a Qunari mage walking around and doing whatever she wants. Girl, do you know how lucky you are?

*wife appears silently on the background for two seconds* *I cheer*

“You have to stop running from the past, Miri. If you can’t do it now, I worry that maybe you never will.” Stop trying to put a good face on a bad game, this is no therapy and you know it!

“The Templars don’t protect people from mages who turn evil.” AS IF THAT’S WHAT THEY DO IN OTHER COUNTRIES LMFAO “Instead, they act as enforcers for powerful mages called Magisters.” Yeah and in the South they act as enforcers for a powerful church called the Chantry, huge difference Is this monologue strictly for the benefit of the viewer unfamiliar with the setting?

Is Miriam seriously reviewing her super secret plans in public?! In a tavern where magisters go?? What

I had to look up who Sumalee Montano played, this is very far from the Inquisitor's voice

“If you don’t come back, I’ll kill you myself.” How many times can you use this stupid phrase

Oh, I thought she’d actually have to pose as a slave and it’d take one or two episodes. Okay

Well all of this is extremely childish and generic on every level possible. Not that I expected much more, but Tevinter Nights and the recent comics were certainly better.

Ooh, finally some useful new lore! A spirit of wisdom in what seems to be a normal form, since the mage instantly recognizes it! Look at the number and placement of the eyes. So Pride demons have seven eyes, and Wisdom spirit have eight symmetrical eyes? So when wisdom is corrupted into pride, it loses an eye? Interesting.

“The last and greatest work of Magister Amelia Pavus.” Huh! Will we get a cameo from Dorian if it's his family business?

Oh no he’s going to turn this spirit into a demon in front of our eyes! “You dare command me, like some common shade?” That sounds like Pride already! Welp, of course. Lol, dude, this is literally spirits and demons 101. You trap a spirit and force it to act against its nature, it becomes a demon! I’ll give the writers props for this, it’s a good showcase of this Extremely Relevant to the Plot and Main Lore process.

Can a single mage in the show use a spell recognizable from the games?! The designers were aware this is based on a video game and should maintain some semblance of visual continuity in combat skills, right? Yes, we know the combat abilities in the games don't look exactly the same in-universe, which is exactly why it would be interesting to see what they do look like for the characters!

Oh, is Rezaren the childhood friend from the flashbacks?

I don’t understand what happened (was he a traitor? possessed? is he dead?) but either way it’s really stupid they're wasting Fairbanks like this

This guy is supposed to be our first Lord of Fortune in the visual media? What a shame.

It's one (1) Rage Demon... How hard can it be it’s literally the weakest demon category

Holy shit, Qwydion used Wall of Fire! Fucking finally! Looks like Chain Lightning, too. Is she our representative for DAI magic?

Huh, last flashback he was horrified Miriam killed everyone in the room, I thought he’d want revenge instead of welcoming her. And is she actually an illegitimate child of a magister?

Was that an Energy Barrage?

Ooh, so that’s why the camera focused on the guard’s helmet and his constant silence.

“Blood magic is not the answer.” Btw I still don’t understand why Hira didn’t just use blood magic like her expected her to do and instead decided to bring the entire castle down.

Uhh I’m not sure that's how you safely remove an arrow...

Dude do you have to use blood magic on her at the exact same time someone else is trying to use healing magic on her lol. I mean in the games these two types are incompatible for the caster, not the target, but I guess they decided to extend that rule for drama.

Didn’t expect this guy to get so evil so fast lmao

Hira went into a heist mission with her last name right on her chest?!

“I knew exactly what that artifact was, and it’s the last thing we need to make sure all of Tevinter will burn.” Uhh I’m not sure she is with the Inquisition... And the Agents of Fen’Harel have a different agenda and usually are elves.

“The Crimson Knight” Oh is this about the spoiler I saw before I blocked the tag? Not Fen’Harel then.

Lmao I thought this was going to just be a bromance situation. I guess they had to quickly canonize another gay pairing after the main one got destroyed so that people wouldn’t complain. (Btw I don’t even see who kissed whom because these guys are fucking identical and I can only tell them apart by height and weapons.)

“Help me take the Circulum to what’s left of the Inquisition and we can try again” Nooo fucking way, I thought this was the day of getting rid of toxic people in your life?? Well I’m glad Hira made it easy for her because that was really dumb of Miriam. I know she had a rough day, but girl...

Well, not very excited about the sudden announcement that the Red Templar faction is back for DA4 and Meredith who was one of the most interesting and realistic villains in the franchise is back as a cartoonish shade of herself.

Alright, due to the plot being interesting the rating in my head went up to 6/10 or even 7/10. Still, the dialogue remains awful and the body language/expressions are tiresome cliches. How old is the target audience for this, about nine? Since the Dragon Age games have the Mature/18+ rating due to all the dark and sexual content, the quality of writing and directing should be adult level too...

#dragon age #blah blah blah

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toraleistripe · 2 months

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So y'all wanna hear about a dumb thing I did to one of my dolls as a kid? 😅

Okay, so I recently found one of my Bratz dolls when I was going through some stuff that's been packed away in my garage for years. And this is a doll I've had since I was a kid, she's a first edition and everything. I remember being so excited when I first saw her, but she came in a two pack with her sister. I'm talking about the legends themselves, Roxxi and Phoebe.

I can recall the hype I felt for Roxxi like it was yesterday, oh MAN was I ever excited about that girl. But like I said, she came in a two pack with her twin sister, Phoebe. And I certainly don't hate Phoebe, but I didn't really care for her much back in the day, I only wanted Roxxi. I ended up getting the two pack, I don't think it was for my birthday or Christmas or anything like that, I think my mom just got them for me because I asked. And I ended up giving Phoebe to a girl I was friends with at the time since I didn't really want her that much in the first place.

And at some point over the years, Roxxi ended up in my garage, packed away with a bunch of my other childhood stuff. She was such a mess, I felt really bad when I saw her. She's not in horrible condition, but her hair was a mess and she has a few smudges on her face that I haven't tried too hard to remove yet because I'm kinda nervous, I don't want to accidentally damage her face paint somehow, so I'm not sure how I'll go about fixing her as far as that goes.

But anyway, her hair was a mess and felt kinda dry, so I decided to take her clothes off and wash her today. Well she didn't have her pants, I'm not sure where they're at, but she wasn't wearing them when I found her. She was only wearing her shoes, shirt, and jacket. And as soon as I saw her without her pants, I had a flashback to something I'd done to her when I was a kid, something I'd completely forgotten about until I recently found her.

Are y'all ready for this...

I painted, yes, PAINTED a swimsuit on her.

WITH NAIL POLISH 😅

YEAH, I SURE WAS A DUMBASS KID, LEMME TELL YA FKJGKDJKSJD

I vividly remember one of my friends painting a swimsuit on at least one of her dolls and for whatever reason I thought that was a GREAT idea, so I decided to do it too. And for whatever fucking reason, I decided to do it to Roxxi in particular.

So today, when I was cleaning her up, I was so frustrated with my younger self for doing that to her. I managed to get all of the top off (yeah, I painted a BIKINI on her, so she had nail polish slathered all over her in two different areas), but the bottoms were a lot tougher to get off, I managed to get most of the nail polish off her lower area, but there's still some there and IDK if it'll ever fully come off.

I also washed her hair with some Dawn dish soap, so hopefully that will help her hair look and feel better. She's drying right now, so I won't be messing with her again until tomorrow. But man oh man do I regret painting a fucking bikini on her. Roxxi, hon, I am so sorry I did you dirty like that 😭

I'll probably post some pics of her once she's dry, unless I end up having to wash her some more.

So in conclusion, here's a word of advice, do NOT paint swimsuits on your dolls, you more than likely WILL regret it when you're older and will end up looking back and cursing your younger self for doing something so dumb.

#Bratz #Bratz Roxxi #Roxxi Bratz #my dolls

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radiorenjun · 3 years

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I Don't Need It

• Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader

• Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

• Na Jaemin despised the idea of soulmates, he wanted to fight against fate for choosing his soulmate for him. Even if it means his stubborn childhood best friend wouldn't stop trying to make him accept about the similar tattoos on their wrists.

• Warnings: mental breakdowns, heartbreak, rejection, major angst, arguments, flashbacks, physical injuries, fighting, underaged drinking, panic attacks, mentions of death, slight mentions of drugs(?), BY FAR THE ANGSTIEST CHAPTER I’VE WRITTEN IN THIS DAMN SERIES.

• Wordcount : 11 k

• Masterlist here!

• Chapters: XII, XIII

“So are you coming to Hyunjin’s party this Friday?” Hyuck asked, poking your hand with the back of his pencil. You turned to him, humming in response. “You know! His parents are on a business trip for the week and his dramatic ass decided to throw a party,” he explained causing you to let out a small ‘oh’.

“Donghyuck, you know very well I don’t do parties. Plus the bad kids usually spike the coke with alcohol. We’re underaged,” you stated with a roll of your eyes, glancing at the teacher, who was marking papers from last week’s pop quiz, for a split second. “We’re almost 18,” he deadpanned.

“The keyword is ‘almost’, Hyuck. We’re not of legal age yet. Sure a few of us are but that doesn’t mean we should,” you huffed as Hyuck let out a small scoff. “Come on, you’ve never been to a party in months! Let loose a little! Exams are catching up, we need to relax for a bit before we get stress piling up our backs!” Hyuck exclaimed before being silenced by the teacher.

“Lee Donghyuck! No talking in class!” he barked, causing Hyuck to flinch at the loud tone. “Sorry sir!” he said with an enthusiastic tone before turning to you with an unbothered expression, tapping his pen against the book in front of him. “So, you in or not?” he asked, raising a brow at you with a smug expression on his face.

“Why are you so keen on getting me into this party anyways? Hyunjin, himself, doesn’t mind that I’m not coming,” you chuckled, taking your whiteout to remove the word you misspelled. “I just haven’t seen you loosen up in a long time, you know? Enjoying music with your pals, hanging out and drinking some coke. The fun things people our age do,” he explained, causing you to scrunch your nose in confusion.

“I don’t think underaged drinking is ‘fun’, what if the police come or something? The neighbours could’ve called them for being too loud,” you raised your brow, causing Hyuck to take a deep breath as if to say ‘you’re overthinking this too much, you dumbass’. “Come on, you’re an extrovert, aren’t you? Can’t you at least show a bit of interest in this? This could be the last party of our senior year,” Hyuck whined.

“It is tempting, I admit. But the thought of getting my drink spiked or the police coming in to arrest me isn’t that sexy, you know?” you said with a sarcastic roll of your eyes. “It’s still tempting, right? Good enough, I’ll have Renjun and the others pick you up on Friday, then,” he gave you a small thumbs up before finally focusing on his work.

You couldn’t even refuse, you knew once Hyuck set his mind onto something, there was no turning back. Accepting defeat you went back into working on your own assignment before your head shot up in alarm as your mind finally processed his words. “Wait, Renjun and the others are coming too?” you asked incredulously.

Hyuck nodded, letting out a small hum of confirmation, not looking up from his paper. “The others managed to drag both Renjun and Chungha into this so you won’t be alone if you end up sulking in some corner of the party,” he jokes, scratching out a sentence he wrote aggressively on his paper. “That’s seriously concerning,” you furrowed your brows.

“It works either way,” he shrugged casually.

“I can’t believe you actually dragged me to a party,” you groaned, glaring daggers into Renjun’s skull. The said boy rolled his eyes at you, “in my defense, I’m also getting dragged into this party!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the sunshine-like boy smiling gingerly in the driver's seat. “You guys need to relax before the exam season starts. You’ll be thanking me for dragging you here in the future,” Hyuck said as he made a left turn.

“I’m sure that’s not happening anytime soon,” Yeoreum snickered, shaking her head as she continued to text on her phone. “Come on! Almost everyone in school is coming! At least look happy for it. Hyunjin always throws the best parties,” Hyuck whined, finally parking in the vacant spot beside what seems to be one of the football player’s cars.

“True. I rarely go to Hyunjin’s parties. His house is large as fuck, I rather not get lost again to see people making out or drinking in every corner,” Hwall joked, fixing his hair in the rear view mirror. “No kidding, he’s a rich kid! Second rich I mean, right below Chenle,” Yeoreum exaggerated, giggling when she remembered how Chenle offered to buy her a laptop in exchange for her homework answers.

You rolled your eyes at them, opening the door to step out of the car once Hyuck parked properly. Loud music pierced your ears as you turned your head towards the large house. You and your friends walk up the porch, watching how a few students you barely know were sitting on the porch drinking whatever liquid they poured in their red solo cup.

“Ugh, it reeks of alcohol,” you scrunch your face in disgust when you enter the door, standing close to your friends as your eyes scan the crowd of bodies in the room. “Someone must’ve spiked a few of the drinks,” Renjun commented, a frown placed on his lips as he examined a half filled cup filled with what was supposed to be coke but reeks of alcohol. You peeked into the cup, scrunching your nose when you smelled the ever-so-familiar bittersweet scent.

“Whatever. Dude, look! I forgot how Hyunjin had a cheese and chocolate fondue maker!” Hyuck exclaimed, pointing at the table filled with foods and drinks. “Hey! Hyuck! Y/n! Renjun!” a familiar voice called out from the sea of people dancing and chatting. You turned your head to see that none other than Hwang Hyunjin, the party hoster, himself had come up to you.

“It’s so good to see you here, it’s been a long time since I saw you guys in this kind of an environment,” Hyujin chuckled, giving Hyuck and Renjun those typical bro-hugs that they usually do. “Well, I would be fast asleep in my bed right now if it weren’t for a certain someone,” you nodded your head to Hyuck who was sinking a strawberry under the chocolate fountain with a toothpick. Hyuck grinned, “yep, that’s me! You’re welcome, by the way!”

Hyunjin laughed, taking a sip of his own red cup afterwards. “Well then, don’t let me stop you from having your own fun. Go crazy and relax! This is our last year of highschool after all, embrace it!” Hyunjin raised his hands up enthusiastically with a giggle. You chuckled, eyeing the cup in his hands before asking, “whatcha got there?”

Hyunjin’s bright smile faltered as he stared down at his own cup with confusion. He shrugged at you. “Don’t know, really. A few of the seniors came in with some liquor and sodas for the ones who don't like alcohol so I think this is a bit of both? I don’t know, Hendery gave it to me a while ago,” he explained, shaking the cup to watch the liquid inside swoosh around.

“But it’s good, though. Want to try?” Hyunjin asked, stretching his hand to gesture you to take his cup. Renjun stepped in before you could reply, pushing Hyunjin’s hand away as he shook his head. “No thanks, we’re good.” he replied shortly. “Cokes good for us, thanks anyways.” you added with a soft smile, grabbing a new cup from a box below the table.

“Where’s Hyuck?” Renjun asked all of a sudden, making you turn to where the boy in question had been previously helping himself to some fondue who had disappeared. “Dammit, he must’ve run off somewhere,” you mumbled, pouring yourself some coke from one of the large bottles. “Typical Lee Haechan, the party animal himself,” Hyunjin chuckled, trying to spot the honey skinned boy somewhere in the crowd before shaking his head.

“Anyways, I’m gonna get going. Enjoy the party,” Hyunjin gulped down the remaining contents of his beverage, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he placed the cup back down on the table. “Try not to get into too much trouble,” he smiled, patting both of your shoulders before walking away. You clicked your tongue, sighing heavily as you spotted a few of your friends in between the crowds, smiling at how happy they looked.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom for a minute, you good with being alone?” Renjun asked, patting one of his pockets to check if his phone was still in his pocket. You nodded, shrugging. “Go ahead, I’m going to walk around and explore,” you shook the cup in your hands, watching the liquid swivel around. “Explore? What are you? Five?” He snorted, pulling out his phone.

You rolled your eyes, shoving him forward playfully. “Just go, you idiot. I’ll call you if I need you,” you snickered, watching Renjun stick his tongue out playfully at you before going to find the bathroom. You sighed before standing up straight and started walking around the party. Taking a sip of your drink before scanning the room, hoping to find someone you knew.

“Y/N!”

You turned your head, cup in between your lips to see Jeno waving at you from the ping pong table. Smiling, you head on over to your friend, relieved to see a familiar face “Hey, I didn’t know you’re here,” Jeno greeted, patting you on the shoulder as you came up to him. “I just got here with the others, Hyuck dragged us here,” you explained, taking another sip as you examined the almost filled cups displayed on the table.

“We’re playing beer pong,” Yongbok, one of Jaemin’s teammates, explained, closing one eye to aim his ball on the target. “Beer pong?” you gaped, “aren’t you still 17, Yongbok?” you added with a raise of your brow. “Loosen up a little, y/n. It’s just a game, the loser has to chug this all down. And I’m not going to lose,” Yongbok replied with a small wink before tossing the ping pong ball, cheering when it landed on the cup.

“It’s just a little game, don’t worry, no ones actually going to drink,” Jeno waved it off, attempting to convince you to join in on their game. You raised your brow at him, “really?” you asked with a deadpan expression. Jeno let out a childish smile, grabbing the ping pong ball when Chanhee threw it at him. “Want to try?” he offered, handing you the small orange ball in his hands. “Me?” you raised your brow at him incredulously.

“Yeah, why not?” your friend shrugged casually. “It’s easy, just toss the ball till it lands on one of the cups,” he explained. “I know how beer pong works, you dumbass!” you retorted, eyeing the ball for a short moment before grabbing it from his hand. “I guess one game wouldn’t hurt,” you sighed, handing him your almost finished cup before moving to stand beside Chanhee and Younghoon.

You eyed the cup you wanted your ball to land on, aiming the ball slightly to the left before tossing gently, watching as the ball bounced on the liquid surface of the cup and landed perfectly in the middle row. With a loud cheer you continued to play for the next fifteen minutes till you finished your drink. “Damn!” Younghoon cheered, giving you an impressed expression. “You’re pretty good at this,” he commented, grabbing the ball from the cup with a chuckle.

You shook your head with a small laugh, “no, dude. Jaemin taught me how to throw like that,” you explained. “That explains everything. Soulmates do think alike, huh?” Chanhee laughed, pouring more liquor into his cup. Your heart clenched slightly at those words as Jeno handed you your cup back. “Definitely,” Younghoon agreed with a nod.

“You want to go for another round?” Chanhee asked, filling the cups with more beer to make the game slightly harder. You gulped, finishing your drink before shaking your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m good. I’m going to go get myself more coke, this one tastes kind of funny, though,” you placed your cup on the table before waving your friends off to find your way to the kitchen.

Jeno furrowed his brows, noticing how your words were slightly slurred. “What’s up with her? She looked pretty sad,” Chanhee asked, running a hand through his hair, tossing the ball in his palm to the cup, cursing when he missed inevitably. “What? Haven’t you heard? She and Jaemin aren’t on good terms lately,” Younghoon hissed before giving the boy a smack on the back. “No one for sure knows what happened but people said Jaemin did something real bad to make her that sad,” he added on.

“Excuse me, how was I supposed to know that?” Chanhee retaliated in response. “I don’t go around listening to gossip from the cheerleaders like you do,” he snapped back. Younghoon rolled his eyes at his friend, “here’s the actual tea, though.” he started again, taking a large gulp from his cup. “You know how if you hurt your soulmate, like emotionally, they’d start to feel burns in their mark?” He murmured under his breath.

“Yeah, isn’t it some sort of old tale or something? I mean, come on, your tattoo suddenly burns you because you can’t handle a few harsh words? That’s preposterous,” Chanhee scoffed, tossing another ball towards one of the cups, missing once again. “You don’t know if that’s fake, dude! People are saying how those two kept covering up their marks to hide the burns! And that’s on having a toxic soulmate relationship,” Younghoon exclaimed, nudging his friend playfully.

“Damn, that’s just depressing. I feel bad for them, really,” he replied with a sympathetic tone. Jeno, who was quietly listening to their conversation, was lost in thought. He wanted to shut down the rumors and help his friends, but yet again, he doesn’t know the full story of what went on between the two of you. “Jeno?” his friends call out, snapping the boy out of his train of thoughts. He hummed in response, looking up from the cup he was holding, which happened to be the one you left behind.

“You okay, dude?” Yongbok asked with a raised brow, grabbing a ping pong ball of his own. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m good. Did you notice how funny y/n was acting before she left?” Jeno asked, lifting the cup up to his nose to take a sniff. “No, not really, why?” Younghoon shook his head, furrowing his brows at the boy.

The familiar scent of alcohol hit his senses when he took a small sniff of the cup, making his eyes wide in alarm. “Oh shit,” Jeno cursed, dropping the cup to the floor as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “What’s wrong?” Chanhee asked, his lips forming a concerned frown. “She drank alcohol, I need to call the others before something happens,” Jeno explained briefly, his thumbs fiddling with his phone.

Meanwhile, you found yourself walking into the backyard. Hyunjin’s parents are quite loaded, so you weren’t that surprised to see how spacious and large it was. “Y/n?” a voice said. You turned your head to see Jaemin sitting on a lounge chair beside the door, a red cup in his hand and a lollipop in the other. “Jaemin?” you replied with a raised brow. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here,” Jaemin smiled, sitting up straight.

“Hyuck dragged me here a while ago,” you explained shortly, examining the backyard. “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like parties that much?” you asked, walking closer to him when you realised that you didn’t see his car parked on the sidewalk before you left for the party. “A party from time to time isn’t too bad. Hyunjin said it’ll do me good to relax once in a while,” he chuckled, shooting you a sweet, charming smile.

“You wanna sit down?” he offered, patting the empty lounge chair beside the one he was sitting on. You bit your lip, eyeing him for a moment before mumbling a small ‘okay’ under your breath and sitting down beside him. “Why aren’t you inside with the others?” you asked quietly, your tone almost hushed as you succumb to the serene atmosphere. The loud music almost muffled by the closed door.

“I.. I just wanted some fresh air. The smell of alcohol was getting to me,” he responded almost hesitantly. “You?” he turned to look at you, popping the lollipop into his mouth. “Same as you, I was playing beer pong with Jeno and the others not too long ago,” you smiled, watching how Jaemin’s light hearted expression grew into a concerned one. “You played beer pong with them?” he asked with a low voice, almost in a motherly tone.

You raised your brows in alarm, waving your hands around frantically. “No! I swear it’s not what you think! I didn’t drink anything, I just tossed ping pongs into a few cups! I promise you!” you shook your head vigorously as Jaemin eyed you suspiciously. “You sure?” he asked, leaning forward towards you to see if you were actually lying before giving you a small smile when you gulped. “Okay then, I believe you,” he nodded with a small chuckle, his heart fluttering at how adorable you looked.

You pouted when you saw his amused expression, slumping back against the chair with a huff. He let out a small giggle at your little antics, watching you dramatically sling your leg over the other and turn your head away. “You’re still as dramatic as the last time we hung out,” Jaemin commented, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you frown, jerking your head towards him with an offended tone.

He shook his head, reaching over to pinch your cheek gingerly. “You know very well what I meant,” he giggled, retracting his hand and setting it back on his lap. “You’re always acting dramatic for the sake of making people laugh,” he said, winking as he gave you a knowing look. You chuckled, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. “Shut up, remember that time when I gave you a rock for a gift,” you giggled, smiling brightly at the distant memory.

“You literally saw the rock a couple weeks ago, you know I kept it all this time. Of course I remember, you even stuck a fucking Doraemon sticker onto it for ‘decoration’,” he used his two index and middle fingers to emphasize on the ‘decoration’ word, laughing lightly. “Shut up! I thought it was funny! Clearly, I should’ve taped a picture of my face to it so you’d remember my existence bugging you on a day to day basis,” you joked, laughing along as your mind flashed back to the deadpanned expression Jaemin had when you gave him the rock.

“In my defense, you could’ve gotten me something nice like- Oh I don’t know, a jar of your Mom’s peanut butter cookies? Some homework answers? A fucking hug? But no, you decided to go for a damn rock you found on the streets,” he exclaimed incredulously, waving his hands around to exaggerate at his words.

“I’m unique, Jaemin. You loved that gift! Trust me, when I saw that smooth ass rock I instantly thought of your annoying ass constantly throwing paper planes to my window in hopes of talking to me when you could just knock on the door like a normal person!” you laughed, pushing his shoulder playfully as he pouts at you. His doe eyes glaring daggers at you as he cocked his head to the side in an almost offended way.

“This says a lot of what you think of me. If you’re unique then I’m unique as well because who the fuck needs to walk to your front door when you can throw paper planes like a hopeless romantic?” Jaemin huffed, puffing his cheeks out as he crossed his arms against his chest. “You should be grateful to have me as a best friend,” he mumbled under his breath, causing you to giggle even more. A small smile reached his lips as he watched you laugh so innocently in front of him, a light laugh eliciting from his own lips.

Your giggles died down slowly as your bright smile faltered as you gazed up at the night sky, sighing deeply as thoughts rushed through your brain. “I can’t believe this is actually our last year of highschool,” you sighed, tucking your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs as you leaned your chin on your knees.

“Yeah,” Jaemin sighed, a frown now forming on his lips as he followed your actions and gazed up at the cloudy sky. “In a couple of months, we’ll be off to college and having more responsibilities laid out on us,” he added with a heavy heart, biting down on the stick of his lollipop to hold himself back from engulfing you in a tight embrace.

“God, it’s so weird. It felt like I just turned fourteen yesterday, you know?” you turned to look at Jaemin with a sad smile, who nodded quietly in agreement. “Time flies so fast,” he mumbled in response, his heart feeling heavy by every word. He was too caught up in his own problems to realise how his school year was coming to an end.

And honestly, Jaemin felt as if he was taking one step further away from you with each passing second. He knew if he couldn’t get you back in his life by graduation, then he would live on not knowing what to do for the rest of his life. He truly didn’t want that, he didn’t want to go to college without you standing by his side.

“Remember when we were still 15? We dreamt about all the things we wanted to do when we get to college?” he asked, wandering his gaze down from the sky to the soles of his sneakers. “I do.” Jaemin turned to see you looking back at him with a sorrowful expression that mirrored his own. “We wanted to go to apply for the same jobs, the same college, live in the same flat. Everything,” you added on with a small smile. “It’s been so long since we had deep conversations like this,” you chuckled.

It pained both of you to know how you two were getting further and further away from each others’ grasps as time went on. How life couldn’t just stop for a split second to let you two catch up, to let you two talk it out. To let you learn how to let things go and forgive him. But you both knew that was close to impossible. Life was getting into the way of fixing your relationship.

“It’s been so long since we had a long conversation in general, actually,” he chuckled, causing you to giggle, nodding in defeat. “You got me there,” you chuckled, feeling your heart clench slightly at his words before letting out an exasperated sigh, eyes looking back up at the sky.

“God, I just can’t believe it. Soon, we’re going to have jobs, study whatever for college, go out of town and live all on our own. Go down our own separate ways in life. Is this what growing up feels like? If only I could go back to when I was still in elementary school, really. Life was way simpler back then,” you rambled on, your tone getting quieter and quieter till Jaemin could barely hear you speak.

“I’d give anything to be fourteen again,” you sighed, leaning back against the chair with your arms outstretched beside you, closing your eyes to bask in the comforting atmosphere. Jaemin stared at your content expression, his lips parted ever so slightly as he tried to find the words to say next. “Who said we have to go our separate ways, though?” Jaemin asked in an almost inaudible tone after a pregnant pause.

You hummed in response, opening your eyes slowly to look back at the starry sky. “What did you say?” you murmured, fearing that you misheard him, your heartbeat beginning to pick up its pace. Jaemin took a moment to take a deep breath, mustering up the courage to repeat his words as his heart raced in his ears. “What if..” he gulped, his voice trailing off.

He turned to lean closer to your chair, watching as your eyes widened slightly at the sudden proximity. “What if I don’t want us to go our separate ways?” he asked in a brave tone, his eyes filled with determination and nervousness. You furrowed your brows, your pupils scanned his own as you sat up from your relaxed position, scooting back a little to give you both some space.

“What do you mean by that exactly?” you asked, cocking your head to the side in confusion.

He gulped, feeling his palms getting sweaty as his heart beats rapidly against his chest. “What if I still want to do the things we wanted to do back when we were 14?” he blurted out, pulling out the lollipop from his mouth and placing it in his red cup. “What if I still do want us to live together in the same flat? Go to the same college?” he rambled, catching you off guard with how bold he sounded.

“Jaemin, what? You know very well we-”

“We what? We stopped talking, so? We can start over and we can rekindle our friendship, right? Come on, we’ve been through thick and thin,” he leaned closer to you, causing your throat to run dry. “Jaemin, you’re getting a little too cl-” you stammered before Jaemin cut you off briefly. “Y/n, we’re soulmates, right?” he whispered, his face coming dangerously close to yours. You tensed up at the word, putting a hand on his chest to try to gently push him away, but for some reason you couldn’t.

You didn’t want to.

Something inside of you didn’t want you to push him away. Both of your eyes were locked in a trance when you felt Jaemin leaning closer and closer towards you, his head leaning to the side as you felt his breath hit your face gently, one of his hands coming up to lay on your knee for support. Your heart beating erratically in your chest, breaths hitched, eyes half-lidded when you felt the soft surface of his lips brush against your own.

Before Jaemin could actually press his lips against yours to kiss you, you felt your heart clenched tightly against your chest. The memory from the night at his house and the dinner party hitting you like a truck, causing you to use all of your might to shove the boy harshly off of you. He grunted in response, his back hitting the table beside his chair.

Your eyes shut tight as words came rushing through your brain, your heart beating fast and aching like hell against your chest, you clutched your left wrist in your palms, trying to ease down the burning sensation against your chest. You leaned your head down, tears pricking your eyes as you let out small whimpers under your breath.

Jaemin’s frantic apologies turned deaf as your thoughts became messy, all you could focus on was the pain in your chest and the flashbacks coursing through your brain. Your vision blurred as tears cascaded down your cheeks, small whimpers turned into small cries. Your thoughts became loud, you wanted to cup your ears in an attempt to shut them out but the pain in your left wrist was too great for you to pull away for even a second.

“I’m sick and tired of being constantly reminded that I’m bound to be soulmates with someone I didn’t choose to love.”

“I’m sick and tired of you constantly forcing me and telling me things just because we have the same stupid mark! You don’t know what it’s like when people tell you how to feel!”

“It’s exhausting to be with someone who’s so whiny and pushy. No matter how many times I fucking turn you down as gently as possible you’re stubborn self couldn’t see how annoying this whole thing is.”

It felt like hell.

“I-I’m so so sorry! I don’t know what came over me, oh god, what have I done? Fuck,” he rambled to himself, panic rising up his body as he apologizes repeatedly, oblivious to how much pain your were in. “God, I shouldn’t have done that. I-I’m so so sorry, I swear I just couldn’t take it anymore. I just- Y/n?” he looked up to see you clutching your wrist against your chest, breathing heavily to stifle your soft cries.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Jaemin asked, his tone becoming worried and more panicked. He could feel his heart shattering into pieces when he saw your frozen state. You were trembling in your seat, your knees tucked against your chest as you held your left wrist protectively against you, small cries and whimpers eliciting from your mouth. “Y/n, hey, I’m so sorry for getting into your personal space like that, I really really am I-”

“Jaemin, I’m sorry,” you whimpered out, taking Jaemin aback. He watched as tears streamed down your face like a leaking tap as you mumbled small (almost inaudible) apologies under your breath. “I’m so so sorry, Jaemin,” you cried out, your voice breaking as sobs came out of your throat. “I didn’t mean to annoy you, I didn’t mean to ruin our friendship, I didn’t mean to do anything bad,” you cried, sniffling back your tears as words echoed in your mind repeatedly like a big cave.

“Anyways, I see you two are still getting along well. Tell me, Y/N, has my son finally accepted your undying love for him?”

“It hurts, it hurts, it really fucking hurts,” your breathing became unsteady as you gripped your wrist tighter, clenching your teeth to keep yourself from crying out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to have a soulmate who loves me back.”

Jaemin froze in his spot, his eyes going wide and red. His own heart was aching and his own tattoo mark started burning against his skin, but it was nothing compared to the pain he was feeling as he watched you break down in front of him. His mind screamed at him to comfort you, to hold you, to remove your pain away, anything to help you. But his body refused to move, he couldn’t move.

Does this always happen behind closed doors? Did you feel this much pain and guilt whenever he wasn’t looking for the past two years? Is this what made Donghyuck and Jeno glare at him with disappointed looks whenever he talked crap behind your back?

He felt sick to his stomach, guilt swallowing him up whole as memories of the warm smile you would always give him whenever he was in your line of vision was almost too painful to look at. Why were you willing to go through so much pain just for him? Just for someone who never treated you in the way you deserved?

It took him all this time to realise that you were constantly putting up a cheerful facade to convince everyone how you were determined to get Jaemin to fall for you, when really, you were just trying to convince yourself. He now realised why you said no to him. It did look pretty ominous for him to just show up two months after completely cutting off contact. God, if he were you, he never would’ve forgiven himself for all this.

It reminded him of the first time he felt his heart ache. How intense the pain was, so intense that he couldn’t even move from his spot. He felt his fingers twitch at his sides when he realised your tattoo mark was burning you. He heard his own heartbeat in his ears as he hesitantly leaned forward to you, his hands reaching out to hold you.

Your heart was ready to burst in your ribcage, you could practically feel burn marks forming against your wrist. Your heart screaming and pleading for the pain to stop but the voices in your head didn’t want to shut up. The voices- no, Jaemin’s voice inside your head was making the pain more unbearable by each passing second.

“I’m sick and tired of you not leaving me alone. I don’t like you like that, and I never fucking will. Get that through your thick skull, y/n.”

“Y/N.” a muffled voice called out.

“I mean it, y/n.”

“Y/N!”

You felt your left wrist being tugged out of your grip, a warm figure leaning close against your own, engulfing you in a tight embrace. You opened your eyes wide, feeling your breath hitch. It took you a second to realise that Jaemin was hugging you as tight as he could, his arm was wrapped around your shaking frame. His head was tucked in the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your skin comfortingly.

His thumb managed to slip into the cuffs of your sweater, softly caressing and soothing the burning pain, running the pad over the burnt skin and your redden tattoo mark. The sweet scent of his cologne hits your senses, calming you down almost instantly. The voices in your head disappeared as if they were shadows and Jaemin was your light in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled weakly, feeling Jaemin pull away slightly. “I’m sorry for annoying you so much back then,” you whispered, basking in the feeling of Jaemin’s gentle hold on your wrist tightening, his arm that was previously around your waist had been retracted to his side. “I know I’m an annoying person in general but I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable all this time, I swear,” you used your free hand to wipe your tears off.

Jaemin smiled softly at you but before he could say anything, the universe decided to break into the comforting silence between you two.

“Y/N!”

You and Jaemin turned with wide eyes to see Renjun had opened the door widely, a worried expression spread across his face. Renjun’s pupils flickered from your teary eyes to Jaemin’s hold on you, his mind immediately going places before blood boils in his veins. “Na Jaemin, what the fuck are you doing to her?” he exclaimed, stomping over to the two of you.

“Renjun, calm down!” Jeno and Hyuck suddenly came into the scene, running with their phones in hand. “Oh shit,” Hyuck cursed, his eyes going wide when he realised they must’ve interrupted something. “What the fuck happened here?” Jeno exclaimed, feeling the tension in the air as they came up to the both of you.

Renjun pulled you off of Jaemin gently, “what were you doing to her?” he glared at the poor boy who gaped at him, not knowing what to respond. “Renjun, I-” you started before Renjun gently pushed you to Jeno and Hyuck’s grip, stumbling at your feet, you felt Jeno grip on your arm to help you stand up straight. Your mind spun as you tried to process what was happening.

“I said, what the fuck were you doing to y/n?!” Renjun grasped Jaemin by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up as he glared down at the younger boy almost menacingly. “We weren’t doing anything,” Jaemin shot back, pushing Renjun’s hands off of him as he stood up from the lounge chair with a deep frown on his lips.

“Really? Then why is she crying, huh? You must’ve done something to her,” Renjun growled, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy, who raised his brows in surprise. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the one who spiked her drink,” he spat, his eyes filled with anger and disgust towards the boy who he once called a friend.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jaemin yelled, his blood boiling at how Renjun could accuse him of doing such a thing. Why the hell would he say something like that? “Jaemin,” Jeno called out in a strict tone, causing the two boys to turn to him. “Y/n’s drink was spiked.”

You and Jaemin’s eyes widened at his words, mouth gaping. “What? But I’m fine,” you said, shaking Jeno’s hold off of your elbow before feeling weak at the knees. “She was fine a while ago?” Jaemin stuttered out, his heart dropping to his stomach when he realised if you didn’t push him away, he would’ve kissed you while you were intoxicated.

“Someone poured in some spiked alcohol while we weren’t looking, I don’t know who but I saw some white stuff in her cup,” Jeno explained, extending his hand to help you get up as you leaned against Hyuck. You felt dizzy, nauseous and hazy. Whatever you were drinking must’ve started kicking in now.

Oh god, why does this have to happen now?

Why now? Why you?

“Y/n, I-” Jaemin took a step closer to you before Renjun tugged him back by the fabric of his jacket. “You’re not going anywhere, you asshole!” he barked, the strong grip he had on his shirt causing Jaemin to stumble back on his feet, almost falling in the process. “Cut it out, Huang, I need to make sure if she’s okay-”

“No you’re not! I saw you try to kiss her, you’re not getting even an inch closer to her, you prick!” Renjun grunted when he shoved Jaemin back when he tried to push through the smaller boy to get to you. “I think we should get you inside to sober up,” Hyuck mumbled to your hazy state, watching you nod ever so slightly as you felt sick to your stomach. Renjun and Jaemin’s argument fell deaf to your ears, everything was spinning, your vision blurred and your mind pounded.

As Hyuck and Jeno dragged you back inside to get you to a quieter environment, Jaemin and Renjun continued to argue. “Fuck off, Huang! I need to check if my soulmate is alright,” Jaemin hissed at the shorter boy, shoving him backwards before turning around to go after you. “You heartless monster!” Renjun called out, causing Jaemin to stop in his tracks.

“How could you call yourself her soulmate after all the things you did? Do you have any idea how much she’s cried over you?!” Renjun gritted his teeth, fists clenched at his sides as he took a few steps closer to Jaemin. Jaemin stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding against his chest as he listened to the other boy’s words clearly.

“Y/n deserves to be happy, you sick bastard! She deserves to actually be happy, even if it means getting you away from her, you should be fucking ashamed of yourself!” Renjun exclaimed, knowing his words finally got through him. He couldn’t take it any longer, he was tired of seeing you cry over Jaemin everyday, he was tired of you putting up with so much pain just to move on from him.

He knew that you were moving on for the sake of Jaemin’s own happiness, not yours. So Jaemin doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable standing next to you, so that Jaemin doesn’t have to put up with anyone saying how he should be more considerate of having a soulmate like you. So you two could stop feeling so bad whenever your friends, your parents, your family would bring up the soulmate topic.

He was tired of seeing Jaemin so selfish all the time. It was time for him to get a taste of his own damn medicine, even if it meant saying what he promised he wouldn’t tell.

“You think I don’t know about that Renjun? You think I don’t know how much pain she’s been through because of me?” Jaemin snapped back, his fists clenched as he trembled, his guilt swallowing him up whole as he continued to speak. “You don’t think I’m tired of her looking at me with a fake smile just to convince me that she didn’t mind me rejecting her all the time? You don’t think I feel bad for her?”

Jaemin turned to face the boy who held a stone cold expression, he walked up to Renjun with a cold glare. “I don’t know if you know but lately, I’ve been trying to compensate for all the things I did in the past two years. I want to make things up so neither of us can be in pain anymore, y/n always wanted a soulmate who would shower her with countless love and affection. She deserves at least that,” Jaemin spat out, his heart screaming at him to let all of his pain out.

“Oh so you’re just doing this just to repent for your sins. You don’t actually like her, huh? That really says alot about you, Na Jaemin,” Renjun crossed his arms with a disappointed shake of his head. Jaemin jerked his head back, eyes wide at his statement, shaking his head vigorously. “No! She’s my best friend, of course I love her!” Jaemin couldn’t stop the words from exiting his mouth.

He never said he loved you before. So why now? Why didn’t he say it when you needed it?

Did he love you? Or was he saying it just to prove a point?

What was wrong with him? How did things become this messy?

“Sure, if you loved her then why the fuck did you do it?” Renjun resisted the urge to punch Jaemin across the face, swallowing down his nervousness as he finally spoke out what needed to be said. He knew you’d probably won’t forgive him if you found out he was the one who spilled this to Jaemin but at this point, if it gets Jaemin to leave you alone so you can live your life in peace, then so be it.

“Do what?” Jaemin asked, his eyes glaring daggers at the boy. “Why the fuck did you have to break her grandmother’s music box, you inconsiderate bastard!?” Renjun yelled out, causing Jaemin to tense up. His eyes going wide at the older boy’s words as silence finally broke between them, the atmosphere becoming thick.

“What are you talking about?” Jaemin managed to blurt out, his blood running cold when he remembered the wooden pieces of your music box hidden in a box underneath his bed. “Remember the music box she gave you at that dinner party? Yeah, that music box was the last gift her grandmother gave her before she passed away,” he hissed, watching as the blood drained from Jaemin’s face.

Jaemin’s heart dropped, his mind went blank as his throat ran dry. “What?” he said, flabbergasted by this new fact. “Yeah, why did you think she made a big deal out of it in the first place, huh? You’re so fucking sick, I can’t believe you didn’t know that. Didn’t you just say she was your best friend?” Renjun raised his fist to hit Jaemin before pausing, watching as how the boy stood in shock, trying to process his own thoughts.

Renjun’s eyes soften at this. After all, Jaemin was one of his closest friends before this whole mess started. When you told Renjun about how Jaemin destroyed the last gift your grandmother gave you, he was beyond livid. He wanted to kick Jaemin to the curb and make him beg for forgiveness but you insisted that he was just probably stressed and he didn’t mean to break it.

But he remembered judging by how broken you looked back then, it was as if you were saying that to reassure yourself rather than him. He remembered how you made him promise not to talk about this to Jaemin. You didn’t know if Jaemin knew about the previous owner of the music box, you doubt that he did. But in case he didn’t, you didn’t want him to feel guilty for it. After all, it did made you come to your senses that you were making him hate you with every step you made.

Renjun sighed, lowering his fist before moving to bump his shoulder harshly against Jaemin’s with a scowl spread across his face. “If you really do love her, then stop hurting her,” he mumbled under his breath before leaving a distressed Jaemin behind in the backyard all by himself.

Jaemin stood there frozen for a couple of minutes, hearing his heart beat getting faster and faster, his ears ringing loudly as his thoughts became messier. Guilt filled his stomach even more with the new information, tears lining his vision as he stared into nothingness. He sat back down on the lounge chair, running a hand through his hair and gripping it tightly.

He tried to keep his breathing stable as he fought the urge to let out a sob, his other hand clutching his knees as tears finally dropped from his eyes. Small water droplets stained his jeans as the hand that was in his hair came down to cover his face, sighing deeply before he lets out a loud-

“FUCK!”

“Y/n?” Jaemin called out, poking his head around the corner to see you sitting on the floor all alone. 15 year old Jaemin just arrived at the hospital with his parents with a bouquet of flowers for your grandmother, who was on her deathbed. It was a long week, especially for you.

Your grandmother was in the terminal stages of cancer. The doctor said she didn’t have much time left so he told your family that it’s best to start saying your goodbyes considering she has less than two months left to live. Jaemin knew how much your grandmother meant to you. After all, she was one of the nicest people he’s ever known.

She loved him and treated him as if he was her own grandson, despite the fact that she firmly believed that you and him were destined to get married. She often told him funny stories, good advice on life and took pictures of the two of you whenever you were together.

The thought of never seeing your grandmother again made his own heart heavy, but he couldn’t imagine the pain you were going through, yourself. Ever since your grandmother was hospitalized, you haven’t been in the best of moods. You always checked your phone in case you got a call from the hospital or in hopes that you got news that your grandmother was getting better.

But of course, you never did. And it killed Jaemin to see that it was killing you from the inside.

When Jaemin arrived at the hospital with his parents to say their own goodbyes, he noticed that you weren’t in the room with the rest of your family. Being the good best friend that he was, he decided to leave the room when no one was looking to try to find you.

You hated the hospital. It’s where a lot of lives are brought in and out of this world. The smell of hand sanitizers and disinfectants were almost too overwhelming as he ventured down the empty white halls. Sooner or later, he found you all crawled up in the corner at the end of an empty hall.

You were sitting down, your legs pushed against your chest, your arms wrapped around your legs as you buried your face into your knees. Jaemin felt small needles piercing his heart when he heard your soft cries echoing the empty room as his eyes wandered to the brightly decorated box placed right beside you.

“Hey, y/n,” he spoke in a soft, almost hushed tone. You let out a small hum, sniffling afterwards as Jaemin took small steps towards you. “How are you holding up?” he asked once again, squatting down in front of your crying figure. “Bad,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you spoke.

Jaemin bit his lip nervously, unsure of what to do to make you feel better. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he whispered, bringing his hands up to his knees as he watched you attempt to keep your cries down so as to not disturb the other patients. He sighed when he saw you shake your head, your hair swishing to the side cutely at the gesture.

He chuckled sadly, nodding slightly before realising that you couldn’t see him. “Really? Not even a drink or a pastry? I promise I’ll pay if you want something from the cafeteria,” he offered once again before earning another shake of your head. “Okay,” he muttered, biting back a small sigh before scooting closer to you.

You heard him move to sit beside you on the floor, copying your position as his legs tucked against his chest, arms wrapping around them as he held the bouquet in his hands. You looked up at him, ignoring the fact that you probably looked like a huge mess with tears and snot dripping down your face. But fortunately for you, Jaemin didn’t seem to mind.

He shot you a sweet comforting smile. “Hey,” he said, watching as you wipe your face with the sleeves of the sweater you were wearing. “You want to talk about it?” he asked rather hesitantly, scooting closer towards you so your shoulders were touching. You sniffed, feeling your eyes get watery again before furiously wiping your tears away, your face scrunched up as you try to keep yourself from screaming out in pain.

You shook your head once again, sobs eliciting from your mouth as you continued to cry. Jaemin nodded, his heart aching even more as he watched you break down in front of him. He felt his hands twitched as he continued to listen to your soft sobs, desperately trying to think of something to make you feel better.

He turned his head to you, his eyes boring into your figure. He kissed his teeth, sucking his lips in for a brief moment before mumbling a small ‘screw it!’ under his breath. He lifted his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders before gently pushing you to lean against him. His hand came up to your head, gesturing you to lay on his shoulder.

You jumped at the sudden contact, turning your head up to look at him with confusion. Eyes widening slightly when you saw that Jaemin was already looking back at you with half lidded eyes, exhaustion glossing over his pupils as he shot you a small smile. You wanted to ask him why he was here? When did he get here? How did he find you? But your heart was aching too much for you to mind it.

You sniffed before leaning your head back down on his shoulder, basking in the comforting silence between you as you continued to cry by his side, letting him stay right beside you. His hand that was on your head was now caressing your hair gently, his head moving to lay on top of yours as he closed his eyes in content.

“She can’t leave yet, Jaemin,” you muttered against the fabric of his shirt. “She can’t leave yet. I want her to see me with my soulmate tattoo on my birthday next year. I want to see how happy she’d be when I tell her I found my soulmate. I want her to tell me stories of how she met grandpa again-” you started sobbing against his shirt, wiping the snot off of your nose.

Jaemin frowned, pulling you tighter against him when he felt your tears soak through the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t mind though, as long as you feel better at the end he was willing to sacrifice all his shirts for your tears.

You both sat there for what felt like hours, eventually falling asleep together side by side on the floor. But sooner or later, one of your aunts found and woke the two of you up, saying how your grandma wanted to talk to Jaemin.

“Jaemin?” you questioned, rubbing the sleep out of your puffy eyes as you stood up with him. “Yeah, she said she had something important to give him,” your aunt nodded, giving the two of you a heavy smile as the three of your walked back to your grandmother’s hospital room. “Something to give me? But why?” he asked, turning to you with a perplexed expression.

You shrugged weakly, patting his shoulder. “I bet it’s to give you a jar of her cookies or something. Maybe to tell you the details of our supposed marriage later on, who knows,” you chuckled, cringing when you heard your voice crack at the end as you tried to hold back a sob.

“I mean, she gave me a goodbye present as well,” you said, gesturing to the bright box in your hand. “What did she give you?” he asked, looking down at the box. You shrugged, “some old stuff Grandpa got her on their first date, I guess,” you bit your lip as you fought the urge to cry again. ‘This really is a goodbye,’ he thought to himself.

Jaemin gulped, feeling his heart ache at the thought of never eating your grandmother’s special cookies after this. A lump gathered in his throat when he realised he won’t get to visit your grandmother after this.

No more playing around and listening to her life stories. No more eating her famous peanut butter cookies whenever he visits her home. No more getting your picture taken during the most random of moments and angles.

Jaemin bit his lip before knocking on the door, opening it with the other to poke his head in the room to see your grandmother talking to his teary-eyed parents. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when he saw your grandmother on her deathbed. Her skin almost pale as snow, body laying weakly on the white hospital bed as the heart monitor beeped so eerily every second.

“There he is!” your grandmother exclaimed, lifting her hands up with such enthusiasm that you could hardly believe that she was on the brink of life and death. “Jaeminie! How are you, my lovely boy! My my, you’ve grown so big! It’s been- what? Three months since I saw you?”

It was at that moment, Jaemin realised how much you resemble your grandmother. How you both managed to bring light and laughter even at the hardest times, even when you weren’t in the best condition. He shook his head out of his thoughts before his mind could wander to places he didn’t want to go.

“Hi, grandma,” he let out a forced smile, trying to ease the tension as he avoided his parent’s sadden expression. “So you said you wanted to talk to me?” he asked as he came up closer to her, sitting on the empty chair beside his parents, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he gulped silently.

She hummed and nodded, reaching over to the box placed on the table beside her bed, letting out a soft grunt. “Indeed. But before that, let me give you some presents first! I am not going to throw away the tradition of me giving random gifts to my grandbabies whenever I see them whether I’m sick or not,” she said, placing the brightly decorated box on Jaemin’s lap.

Jaemin felt his chest ache at the thought of your grandmother thinking of him as her own grandchild despite only being your childhood best friend. “You really didn’t have to,” he sighed, shaking his head up at her with a sad smile. “Oh nonsense! You’re part of the family, you deserve a gift as well before I go!”

Jaemin couldn’t figure out for the life of him how she could act so casually when everyone around her is mourning and sorrowful. After all, she wasn’t going to stay in this world for much longer, how was she so cheerful in front of so many people?

“Now, don’t give me that look! Go on! Open it! I’d like to take one last picture of my future grandson-in-law when he opens my last gift to him!” she gingerly reached over to the camera beside her frame. He chuckled slightly, pulling on the ribbon wrapped around the box ever so gently, pulling the lid off of the box before his jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

There was a camera flash, signalling that your grandmother had taken a picture of his reaction.

She laughed, “you’re always so dramatic, son.”

Inside the box was a thick photo book that appeared to be made by hand. The pages were sewn together with brown thread and the hardcover of the book had a picture of you and Jaemin on the day you first met when you two were merely toddlers. “I-Is this?” he stammered, he couldn’t find the words to express how he felt at that moment.

“Yep, a big photo book filled with all the pictures I took of the two of you ever since you two were still babies. I got your parents to send me a few pictures to complete the whole book, though,” she explained as she examined the result of the photo she took. Jaemin took the photo book out of the box, opening it gently with his hands in awe.

He felt a smile spread across his cheeks when he flipped through the pages as memories came flooding through his thoughts. “I see you like my gift,” your grandmother smirked, crossing her arms. He looked up from the book, nodding before closing the book and placing it gently back into the box. “Of course! I love all of your gifts, grandma!” he smiled.

“That’s good to hear,” she nodded with a heavy sigh before her expression grew dark slightly. “Jaemin. I don’t know if you know but my condition isn’t getting any better,” she started, her tone growing more serious and strict, her hands gripping on the white blanket draped over her lap. “This might be the last time I see you,” she sighed.

“And I just want you to know. Even if something happens to me. Even if you and y/n have some kind of an argument. Even if the two of you don’t end up being soulmates like I always hope you would. Please look after Y/n.”

Jaemin felt his heart stop at the mention of you, gulping nervously. “You know Y/n yourself. You know how clumsy she is and how she puts others before herself. Therefore I’m trusting you, young man, to look after my granddaughter no matter what happens. Okay?” she stared at Jaemin so intensely, a sad smile forming on her lips as her cheerful demeanor faltered.

Jaemin gulped, nodding in determination as he gripped the box tightly in his hands before taking a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“Y/n!” Jaemin called out.

You turned to see Jaemin running up to you with wide eyes. You felt your heart race at the sight of him, eyes widening as you quickly shove your book into your locker. You slammed your locker shut before sprinting away, slinging your bag over your shoulder with your Biology textbook in hand.

“Y/n, wait! We need to talk!” he exclaimed, chasing after you down the halls, avoiding the eyes and whispers around you. “Shit, where’s Renjun when I need him?” you muttered to yourself as you turned around the corner, almost slipping across the wet floor in the process.

Unfortunately for you, Renjun had a meeting with the principal regarding the art club, leaving you all alone for the next half an hour. You found yourself running towards the entrance of the library, earning a distant ‘no running in the library!’ from the old librarian as you sprinted to the novel section.

You panted when you looked back, watching the entrance of the library with the corner of your eyes. You saw Jaemin burst through the door, earning a soft scolding a second later. You watched him take heavy breaths as he came up to the librarian with a worried expression, you assumed he was probably asking if she saw you coming here.

You leaned against the bookshelf, letting out a small sigh, rubbing your temples in distress. It’s been two days since the whole incident at the party. Despite being intoxicated, you remembered the events that happened clear as day. You remembered taking a sip of what was supposed to be cola, you remembered how addicting it tasted at that moment that you couldn’t help but drink more.

You remembered playing beer pong with Jeno and his friends. You remembered seeing Jaemin in Hyunjin’s backyard with his usual charming smile stretched across his face. The beautiful night sky with stars scattered all over. The close proximity between you as well as Jaemin’s fresh cologne filling your senses.

The exhilarating feeling that is being touched by your soulmate. The feeling of your hearts combining. How your breath hitched when Jaemin’s lips grazed your own, how your heartbeat was so fast you thought it was about to explode. How you never wanted the feeling to end.

How the universe tore the two of you apart in a second.

You remembered the flashbacks that occurred to you that night, how you shoved Jaemin away. The feeling of your heart being crushed to pieces over and over again, the excruciating pain in your left wrist. You couldn’t remember how it stopped though. You did remember the feeling of Jaemin embracing you to help comfort you.

You remembered his hair tickling your neck, his padded thumb caressing your left wrist. How your heart soared at his soft touch, the way he held you against him as if you were as fragile as a rare jewel he found in a deep cave. Your head ached at the thought of it. It was too good to be true.

‘He was probably being nice,’ you thought to yourself bitterly, closing your eyes for a brief moment before shooting them open at the sudden tight grip on your shoulder. “Y/n, we really need to talk,” Jaemin spoke from behind you, causing you to push his hand away harshly. “What is there to talk about exactly, Jaemin?” you asked, feeling your figure tense up at the sight of him.

“You know very well what,” he furrowed his brows, grabbing your hand to keep you from going anywhere. You gulped, knowing Jaemin wasn’t going to leave you alone until you talked. “What?” you sighed, rubbing your face with your free hand, letting Jaemin hold the other in his as you ignored the heart lightening feeling that it brought.

Jaemin inhaled deeply. closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening them to look at his tight grip on your hand. “Why didn’t you tell me that the music box you gave me was the gift your grandmother gave you before-”

“How did you know about that, Jaemin?” you gasped, eyes blowing wide. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He ignored your question, looking up at you with such sadness in his eyes that you could feel your own heart ache at the sight. You frowned, attempting to tug your hand out of his hold.

“Jaemin let go,” you mumbled. “No, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you give me such an important thing anyway? Why would you give away something so special and valuable? I don’t understand, I’m just-” he rambled on, his grip getting tighter on your hand.

“Let go, Jaemin!”

“No, tell me why!”

“You really want to know?” you frowned, pulling your hand out of his so harshly it took Jaemin aback at the sudden force. You clenched your fists by your side, feeling your heart ache again. “You really want to know, Na Jaemin?” you spat watching as Jaemin gulped in front of you. “God,” you bit your lip, leaning your head up when you feel your eyes begin to water.

“I know this might be a shitty reason but before that dinner party, I was already on the brink of breaking and leaving you be. I was tired of feeling like shit all the time, I was tired of seeing the both of us unhappy all the time whenever I stood beside you,” you raised your forearm over your eyes, furiously wiping your tears away.

“I just figured,” you paused, swallowing down a sob when you realized the heartache you endured for the past two years was finally catching up to you. “If my soulmate can’t make me happy like the stories Grandma told me. Then maybe-at least I thought,” you sniffed your tears back, pulling your arm down to lay by your side almost lifelessly.

“I thought, if I made him happy, then we both can be happy together. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to feel upset anymore. But it didn’t work and I honestly don’t see a reason to keep doing it if it’s going to make you even more unhappy,” you whimpered, wiping your tears away before walking away from a hurt Jaemin behind at the novel section of the library.

Jaemin felt his own heart ache at your words, clenching his fists when he felt the familiar stinging sensation against the skin of his left wrist. Realising how fucked up the situation became with every step he takes, realising how he didn’t know what to do to heal the both of you. To make the two of you go back to when things were normal.

He realised he heard you call out his name desperately too many times, and yet, he didn’t care. Now that you stopped calling his name, he has no one else to turn to other than the hollow shell of your old self. But he knew he wouldn’t let you go when you were finally willing to walk away from him.

“I-Is it really too late for me?” he mumbled quietly to himself before a tear trickled down his cheek.

T A G L I S T : @candiednickles @itlittlefangirl @cherrym4rk @gotoartistprofile @d-nghyck @kingjvngins @aconeptun @chaeshii @lixseu @morks-watermelon @12am-musings @cherrystay @lowkeyviv @btm-taeyong @gothmingguk @luvlyjaemin @cowward @smileyyuta @cakelyn @uncovermenow666 @comically-sleep-deprived @wtfhaechan @xcherrybbyx @wishing–butterfly @wordsgodeep @seeing-dreams @sweetmoonlight9 @chwenchew @stuckwithhyuck

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moiraineswife · 4 years

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Jasnah - The Facade Meta

Today we’re going to discuss the stormlight of my life, your life, your cat’s life: Jasnah Kholin. Topics of discussion include (but will likely not be limited to): the face she wears, the effect her childhood and what we know if it has had on her, madness, her mother, her perceived invincibility, and whatever else strikes me as relevant in the midst of this chaotic clusterfuck of yelling tarted up as character analysis.

Now. To business:

Let us begin at the beginning (of what we know) and talk about Jasnah’s childhood illness, and what this has done to her in terms of her relationship with her mother, her outlook on life, and her perception of, well, perception…

“It’s your daughter,” Dalinar guessed. “Her lunacy.”

“Jasnah is fine, and recovering. It’s not that.” (OB, 49, Born Unto Light)

Peppered through Dalinar’s flashbacks in Oathbringer are small hints at the dark side of Jasnah’s childhood. We’ve had hints before that Jasnah’s life has not always been...entirely typical for a princess.

Her existence as a radiant was a hint itself, as it's implied most of them are ‘broken’ in some way.

The others are more obvious: Kaladin’s depression, Shallan’s PTSD, anxiety, and DID, Dalinar’s repressed memories, and alcoholism etc,etc.

With Jasnah, you know it has to be there, but it’s harder to see. To use Shallan’s metaphor, she’s like a cracked vase, but the cracked side has been turned to the wall, so the outside world sees only smooth perfection.

This flashback comment is the most obvious indication at what caused Jasnah to break. A fairly shocking one for a reader as 'Jasnah' and 'lunacy' seem to match as well as chasmfiends and tea parties.

It also provides some rather awful context for this segment a few chapters earlier:

“Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

“It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.” (O, 47, So Much Is Lost)

We know, given Shallan’s research into Taln at the behest of the Ghostbloods, that the current treatment for madness involves confining the person in darkness.

It seems like far too much of a coincidence that Jasnah, diagnosed with lunacy, would have memories of screaming herself hoarse in a dark room that could somehow be unconnected to this.

Based on my shoddy maths, she was around 11 or 12 at this point, which is marked by many, especially Navani, as a turning point in her life. There was a profound change in how she acted with those around her following this.

“She wouldn’t let me be a mother to her, Dalinar,” Navani said, staring into the distance. “Do you know that? It was almost like . . . like once Jasnah climbed into adolescence, she no longer needed a mother. I would try to get close to her, and there was this coldness, like even being near me reminded her that she had once been a child. What happened to my little girl, so full of questions?” (WoR, 67, Spit and Bile)

It seems like too much of a coincidence, again, to assume that Jasnah’s childhood illness and her confinement had nothing to do with her reluctance to allow Navani to mother her any more.

Jasnah herself reflects that her imprisonment, for lack of a better word, taught her that people she loved could still hurt her. It seems very likely that this refers to Navani and Gavilar, as they would have allowed this treatment to continue. It’s also likely the reason for the change in their relationship afterwards.

Navani's presence didn't remind her she had been a child; it reminded her of what had been done to her.

Navani’s little girl was branded insane and locked away in a dark room with her parents' consent. This removed her ability to trust in Navani to mother and protect her. She kept her distance, she kept herself aloof and removed from everyone, and that’s something that hasn’t changed over twenty years later.

She takes no wards, an expected thing for a woman of her rank. She's unmarried, well past the age she should be. She has no friends, the closest she has are both "pen pals" she communicates with via spanreed.

Jasnah, of all the characters in Stormlight, is the one least emotionally connected. She clearly loves her family, and is devoted to them...But again it's from a distance.

She works in the shadows with assassins to protect them. She studies the end of the world a world away from everyone she loves.

When we see her in Kharbranth for the first time with Shallan, she’s alone.

The servants she uses seem to belong to the Palaneum. She travels alone, she researches and works and bears her burdens alone.

The sole exception is Ivory and she doesn't really have a choice with him BUT to have him with her.

I am NOT suggesting that Jasnah doesn’t actually care about her family/Shallan - we see repeatedly that she absolutely does.

Poignantly, the first thing Renarin’s visions predict that turns out to be false is the lack of love that Jasnah has - they claim she will choose logic and kill her cousin, but she chooses to save him instead.

It’s clear that Jasnah cares very deeply...but she also deliberately distances herself, both physically and emotionally, from other people.

(continued below)

Jasnah is so independent that it’s almost a flaw. She’s an interesting opposite to Kaladin, in this regard.

Kaladin defines himself so much by those around him, his family, his men, those under his care and protection, that that almost becomes a flaw in him. He destroys himself to protect them, and every failure wrecks him.

Jasnah keeps everyone away. She operates alone, in secret, and she clearly struggles to let people get close to her.

The reasons for this are twofold, I feel.

The first one is assassins: Jasnah has been ‘killed’ by one such assassination attempt, has survived another, who made multiple attempts on her life in the form of Kabsal, and has almost certainly experienced more beyond that.

Her casual expectation that Kabsal is trying to use Shallan to get close to her, likely, though she doesn’t say it, to kill her - which turns out to be true.

She knows firsthand how easy it is for someone with enough money and influence to place spies and assassins into a setting- she does it herself all the time. And it resulted in the death of her father.

In a lot of ways, she’s as paranoid about assassination as Elhokar is - she just expresses it in a far more subtle/rational way. Where Elhokar rants and panics, Jasnah blocks up air vents and rejects rooms in the 90000 foot, lost for centuries, tower with balconies because they're a security flaw.

The second reason for her emotional isolation, I believe, is what caused her initial withdrawal from Navani.

Being believed mad, locked in a dark room, screaming for help and being ignored, and knowing that your parents, the people whom you went to with questions and looked to for safety and protection are at least partially responsible, all at the age of eleven is...fairly damaging.

Jasnah hides the effects of her trauma far better than Kaladin or Shallan. This is probably partially because she’s older and has been dealing with it for longer.

By this point, her trauma reactions (which went, by her own admission, unaddressed by her family after what happened, which is traumatising in itself), have melded in with her personality/are brushed off as simply Jasnah being Jasnah.

“I know what people say of me. I should hope that I am not as harsh as some say, though a woman could have far worse than a reputation for sternness. It can serve one well.” (TWoK, 8, Nearer the Flame).

As a matter of fact, we know full well that Jasnah ISN’T as harsh or stern as she’s claimed to be. Shallan repeatedly affirms to Kabsal, and to a reader, that Jasnah is not what she expected - a stern, harsh mistress. She also notes that Jasnah believes herself to be one - likely due to everyone else perceiving her that way.

I think the perception of Jasnah is one that she’s cultivated deliberately - a stern, aloof, even harsh person. Not one anyone would want to be close to. Also not someone anyone would associate with weakness, or needing to be cared for or protected.

More than assassins, I think Jasnah fears people who love her with good intentions, and the ability to assert those good intentions upon her, because it's "for her own good".

When she was a child it led to her imprisonment, something which still triggers traumatic flashbacks over ten years later. She fears having people she loves hurt her. And so she keeps them away, and cultivates for herself a presence that doesn’t need to be cared for, that almost doesn’t need or want to be loved, so that can never happen again.

She rejects, most notably and strongly, her mother, and any implication of a husband. This has led to speculation about her sexuality - maybe she’s gay - though it seems fairly acceptable in Alethkar for a person to be gay (they don’t even have to fill out social reassignment forms!). I

It might be more frowned upon in noble society, due to the expectation of forming political marriages, and while I don’t necessarily doubt it (give me queer Jasnah, Brandon, I beg of you, I’m a starving lesbian and I need this) the only commentary we have from Jasnah on the subject sems to suggest a different, sadder, motive:

Jasnah relaxed visibly. “Yes, well, it did seem a workable solution. I had wondered, however, if you’d be offended.”

“Why on the winds would I be offended?”

“Because of the restriction of freedom implicit in a marriage,” Jasnah said. “And if not that, because the offer was made without consulting you.

[...]

“It doesn’t bother you at all?” Jasnah said. “The idea of being beholden to another, particularly a man?”

“It’s not like I’m being sold into slavery,” Shallan said with a laugh.

“No. I suppose not.” Jasnah shook herself, her poise returning.

(WoR, 1, Santhid).

This is the only time, after an entire book of content in which Jasnah, amongst other things: Soulcasts three men into oblivion, is almost assassinated repeatedly, is betrayed by the first person she’s taken in and trusted in a long time, and is researching the literal end of the world, that Shallan notes Jasnah looking nervous/uncomfortable in discussing anything.

And it’s about marriage.

Jasnah views marriage as being a ‘restriction of freedom’ and finds it distasteful because it encompasses the idea ‘of being beholden to another’.

Anything that even implicitly binds her to another or puts them in her power is something she wants nothing to do with. And, legally, if she were ever to be accused of lunacy again, the two people most likely to have the authority to make a decision on her treatment/send her back to the ardents would be either a parent, or a husband.

The first she’s distanced herself from in pretty much every way since the first event, and the second she’s refused to entertain for years, to the point that high society whispers that she must be gay.

I also think she's uncomfortable because she sees what she did here - setting up a betrothal, which she views as a restriction of freedom - for Shallan, without consulting her, as the same thing that was done to her as a child.

A restriction of freedom for Shallan’s own good. The same justification that was used to imprison her. It's obviously not the same, but Jasnah views marriage as a kind of imprisonment. So in her mind it is.

Jasnah also has huge trust issues. She just covers them with what appears to be personality traits - of being independent, and aloof - but that’s largely just a cover for her own insecurities, and her fear of ever having her freedoms restricted again.

This idea also gives a little bit more of a twist (or dramatic gut punch, thanks Brandon), to her advice to Shallan about perception and power:

“Power is an illusion of perception.”

Shallan frowned.

“Don’t mistake me,” Jasnah continued. “Some kinds of power are real—power to command armies, power to Soulcast. These come into play far less often than you would think. On an individual basis, in most interactions, this thing we call power—authority—exists only as it is perceived.

“You say I have wealth. This is true, but you have also seen that I do not often use it. You say I have authority as the sister of a king. I do. And yet, the men of this ship would treat me exactly the same way if I were a beggar who had convinced them I was the sister to a king. In that case, my authority is not a real thing. It is mere vapors—an illusion. I can create that illusion for them, as can you.” (WoR, 1, Santhid)

Jasnah is talking here with Shallan about being more confident, assertive, and being able to have people do what you want (Something Navani later notes Jasnah is very good at doing).

But I think Jasnah uses this same idea - the power of perception, as a defence mechanism against her trauma, a way to protect herself.

We dismiss her isolation as aloofness. We dismiss her lack of emotional reaction as a cornerstone of the "strong female character" trope. But I think it's deeper than that. Because Jasnah isn't ACTUALLY like that deep down. It's a perception she works very hard to achieve.

Jasnah uses logic in a similar way to how Shallan uses art and drawing, or how Kaladin uses training with the spear. It’s a distraction, a grounding technique, something she can calm herself with. It’s an anchor and a crutch all at the same time.

Jasnah is logical to a fault, to the point that it makes others see her as a monster lacking empathy. I don’t think, at any point in the last few books, we’ve seen Jasnah genuinely distressed/angry/displaying emotion to the point she’d be considered out of control.

Almost all the other POV characters have had moments of weakness/breakdowns/extremely poignant emotional displays. But not Jasnah. All we ever see from Jasnah is the controlled, cultivated perception that she wants us to see. Something which I think is rooted in her trauma.

Logic is the antithesis of lunacy. Rational thought is the direct counter to madness. If the whole world sees Jasnah as logical, utterly in control of herself, if that is the perception she has everyone believe at all times then she can’t be accused of madness again.

Madness, at least in Jasnah’s mind, is an outburst of excessive, uncontrolled emotion. It is the opposite of logic. It’s acting impulsively, without thought, based purely on emotions. Ivory supports this idea:

“Ivory, you think all humans are unstable.”

“Not you,” he said, lifting his chin. “You are like a spren. You think by facts. You change not on simple whims. You are as you are.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“Mostly,” he added. “Mostly. But it is, Jasnah. Compared to other humans, you are practically a stone!” (O, 39, Notes)

Even Ivory, who has been closer to Jasnah in recent years than anyone we know of in the series so far, characterises her this way.

She rejects this idea, telling Ivory that:

“You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many.” (O, 39, Notes) I think this is true, she does let her passions rule her, but she doesn’t let anyone, even Ivory, see that from her.

That's deliberate. She deliberately makes herself out to be this logic-driven robot, with no feeling or passion.

To the world, Jasnah Kholin is the consummate scholar, the eternally logical thinker, untouched by empathy or feeling. This is how she wants them to think of her.

We know that it’s not true. We know that Jasnah is driven by emotions - her guilt at feeling like she failed Gavilar, her fear for what’s coming for the world, her love for her family, her true passion for scholarship and knowledge.

This is particularly notable when set against a character who exemplifies the opposite in so many ways: Kaladin.

“Yes. The answer is obvious. We need to find the Heralds.”

Kaladin nodded in agreement.

“Then,” Jasnah added, “we need to kill them.”

“What?” Kaladin demanded. “Woman, are you insane?”

“The Stormfather laid it out,” Jasnah said, unperturbed. “The Heralds made a pact. When they died, their souls traveled to Damnation and trapped the spirits of the Voidbringers, preventing them from returning.”

“Yeah. Then the Heralds were tortured until they broke.”

“The Stormfather said their pact was weakened, but did not say it was destroyed,” Jasnah said. “I suggest that we at least see if one of them is willing to return to Damnation. Perhaps they can still prevent the spirits of the enemy from being reborn. It’s either that, or we completely exterminate the parshmen so that the enemy has no hosts.” She met Kaladin’s eyes. “In the face of such an atrocity, I would consider the sacrifice of one or more Heralds to be a small price.”

“Storms!” Kaladin said, standing up straight. “Have you no sympathy?”

“I have plenty, bridgeman. Fortunately, I temper it with logic.” (O, 39, Notes)

Ah, the old ‘punt the Heralds back to Damnation to buy us time’ argument. Lovely.

Jasnah and Kaladin are at two different ends of the sympathy-logic spectrum and it was kind of inevitable they’d clash. But I think it makes Jasnah’s assertions more...Stark and shocking, when she pitches them to Kaladin.

What she suggests IS logical. And it’s actually the same sort of logic that led the Heralds themselves to abandon Taln to Damnation in the first place: “better that one man should suffer than ten.”

It’s a cold, harsh, brutal logic, and it’s very typical of how Jasnah likes to present herself when she’s speaking to others.

The killing of the footpads in Kharbranth is another prime example - it’s all cold, dissected logic when she reasons through it with Shallan afterwards. (Though I imagine if we saw Jasnah’s POV of it in the moment, it would be very different than what she presents).

Because what I find most interesting about the Heralds argument is that we get Jasnah, just Jasnah, away from anyone who has to view her performance of perception, reflecting on the situation. And her internal thoughts/her private reactions are very different from those she displays in public.

“These words trouble you,” he said, stepping up to her again and resting his jet-black fingers on the paper. “Why? You have read many troubling things.”

[...]

Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.

“Have you ever wondered how it would feel to lose your sanity, Ivory?”

Ivory nodded. “I have wondered this. How could I not? Considering what the ancient fathers are.”

“You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many. In my times of peace, however, my mind has always been the one thing I could rely upon.”

Except once.

She shook her head, picking up the paper again. “I fear losing that, Ivory. It terrifies me. How would it have felt, to be these Heralds? To suffer your mind slowly becoming untrustworthy? Are they too far gone to know? Or are there lucid moments, where they strain and sort through memories … trying frantically to decide which are reliable and which are fabrications…”

She shivered. (O, 39, Notes).

In an ironic (fuck you Brandon) twist: I think Jasnah knows EXACTLY what she’s suggesting they do to the Heralds. She’s also probably the person in that room who has the most experience with/has contemplated most what they would be condemning them to, and who therefore empathises with them the most.

It’s STRONGLY implied in this passage that Jasnah has experienced some sort of hallucinations in the past. Possibly this is connected to some kind of neurodivergence. I think this more likely than the alternative - that she was seeing into Shadesmar, because I believe that her imprisonment was what caused her to ‘break’ and enabled her to form her spren bond in the first place. But it’s possible.

Regardless of what’s happened in the past, now, Jasnah’s mind is her sanctuary. If she only ever knows one thing it’s her own mind. She’s a rationalist. She puts her faith in things that she can know intuitively, via logic, like maths - things that exist independently of god, that cannot be doubted. Their truth is tied to their very existence. All that's required to know it is to know her own mind and reason. Losing that is quite literally the worst thing she can think of.

And honestly? Taln’s story probably really fucks with her. Because what he went through is what she went through, too, as a child.

Taln was dismissed as a madman, because no one believed what he said, even though it was true. Truth doesn’t matter; not when it comes to being perceived mad. Nor does being right. Taln was telling the truth. Taln was right. Taln was a goddamn Herald. And they still decided he was mad and locked him away in a dark room, alone, the same way they did to her.

Jasnah knows what that feels like. Jasnah empathises with Taln and the other Heralds more than probably anyone else. But she speaks of condemning these people to that fate, to the greatest hell she can think of, calmly, and rationally. But that’s absolutely not what she really feels/thinks. There is...Such a stark difference, when you really sit and think about it, in the Jasnah that she lets everyone see, and the Jasnah that exists only behind closed doors.

She could see Jasnah’s face, hand against her temple, staring at the pages spread before her. Jasnah’s eyes were haunted, her expression haggard.

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. (WoR, 6, Terrible Destruction).

The text itself characterises Jasnah’s mask as a defence. A defence against being known, a defence against being seen as anything other than perfectly logical. Having this mask so firmly and so constantly in place is a lot of work. It’s almost a compulsion for her at this point - the refusal to let anyone else in, the strict adherence to logic, regardless of her own feelings or how it makes others see her. Better to be emotionless and in control, utterly, unquestionably sane and rational, than to ever go back to being considered mad.

This, ironically, isn't rational behaviour. It's a trauma response. I'm stating this, the idea that being emotionless/always rational prevents anyone viewing her as insane again (though, again ironically, this is exactly what Kaladin accuses her of being (OUCH)). But I think these are facts in Jasnah's mind? It's her coping mechanism. It's a really bad one. But that's what it is.

As an interesting side note - I think the only time we ever see Jasnah draw emotion spren is when she’s on her own (or assumes she’s on her own, as in this passage, or too exhausted to keep them away entirely - like the single fearspren she draws later in this chapter).

This feels notable because every other character who features in the books, even minor side characters, draws emotion spren of one sort or another at some point in the text.

Jasnah, for all that she’s on screen, draws very little. This may be a function of her ability to tap into Shadesmar, to keep them away, remove any trace of emotion spren from spawning around her. That or she just has such a tight hold on her emotions that she doesn’t draw them.

Either way, I think it’s (another) sign that her behaviour isn’t entirely natural. Spren are everywhere on Roshar, you draw them when you feel a powerful emotion - that’s a natural day-to-day occurrence there.

Unless you’re Jasnah.

Maybe that’s straying a little too far into the realms of what’s reasonable, but I do still think that Jasnah’s output, especially when it contrasts, often very strongly, with her internal feelings, is a coping mechanism/a response to the trauma she endured as a child.

Madness is a fairly strong theme in Stormlight, a few of the characters discuss it/experience it. Syl asks Kaladin fairly directly what it is:

“What is madness?” she asked, sitting with one leg up against her chest, vaporous skirt flickering around her calves and vanishing into mist.

“It’s when men don’t think right,” Kaladin said, glad for the conversation to distract him.

“Men never seem to think right.”

“Madness is worse than normal,” Kaladin said with a smile. “It really just depends on the people around you. How different are you from them? The person that stands out is mad, I guess.” *(TWOK)

Dalinar’s TWOK arc deals very strongly with madness and the ability to trust your own mind. Taln is, as has been noted, locked away for being mad. Several of the Heralds and the Fused are described as mad after what they've been put through. It's something I expect to be explored further as the series progresses.

Jasnah, I think, is the character who tries so hard never to seem that way. Never to be unhinged, or unbalanced, or affected by what's happened to her. But of course we know that she is.

I think, though, that it’s easy to write off Jasnah's trauma. The other characters all have flaws that are very obvious/things that make them obviously ‘broken’ in terms of their spren bond and the oaths they need to speak.

Kaladin suffers from depression, and from crippling guilt, and taking on too much responsibility. But also with his anger, and his hatred towards those who have wronged him, and how that can push him to blame them/avoid responsibility for what’s happened to him. Basically, his inability to let go or move forwards.

Shallan has the opposite problem, and an inability to look back/face the past. She repressed memories of trauma, and wove lies over them to protect herself, which she had to overcome to progress.

Dalinar had his alcoholism, and prior to that, his ‘addiction’ (which I think is absolutely how it’s written/the parallels are pretty obvious) to The Thrill. He had to accept responsibility, and guilt, and grief, and pain. He had to acknowledge that he had been a bad person, who was not worthy of Evi, but also that he’s capable of change, and improving himself, and becoming a better man.

Their trauma responses are loud, and obvious, and messy. They're aware of them, a reader is aware of them, the other characters are aware of them. "They stand out" if you like.

Jasnah does everything she can to ensure the effects of her trauma never stand out. To the point that other characters fairly consistently characterise Jasnah as perfect/an ideal woman.

I’m NOT saying that the text ACTUALLY presents Jasnah as being perfect/without any flaws (that’s...that’s kinda the point of this entire meta) but the characters gloss over these things/her flaws are perceived as good things?

She’s seen as so aloof, so unflappable, so commanding, and in control. She’s highly intelligent, she’s beautiful, she’s a cunning tactician and politician. Shallan claims that she’s almost always right, which Renarin backs up. Dalinar trusts and respects her, and wants her back at the war camps to aid them. She’s a highly revered scholar, respected, and brilliant. She is, in a way, almost beyond human, let alone being flawed or broken like the rest of them.

Jasnah grimaced at the thought. Shallan was always surprised to see visible emotion from her. Emotion was something relatable, something human—and Shallan’s mental image of Jasnah Kholin was of someone almost divine. (WoR, 1, Santhid).

Shallan reflects that seeing her as divine is a weird way to consider a heretic, and we’re kind of led along into that thread. But it’s also very...Othering?

It’s a “positive” kind of othering: she’s divine/superhuman, that’s great! Only it’s...It’s not? It’s so easy to see Jasnah as beyond human, and that makes us forget what she’s endured, and ignore the walls she’s put up and the profound effect that it’s had on her. And the fact that this is not healthy at all.

It's so unhealthy to be put on a pedestal this way. And it's unhealthy to cultivate a persona that makes the only response to you one that sees you as beyond human/without typical human reactions and emotions?

Shallan can be a bit whimsical and can romanticise/idealise people, but even Navani, another deeply scholarly, rational, and logical thinker, categorises Jasnah in a similar way.

She’s dismissive of the idea that Jasnah can have died. Even when others (like Adolin) start getting worried about the ship’s delay, Navani is sure that Jasnah is fine.

Part of this is, I assume, due to the fact that Jasnah is a radiant and, as the Diagram predicts, they survive when they should have been killed - so Navani has had this idea reinforced with empirical evidence over the years, which is noted in the text.

However, when Shallan first brings her the news of Jasnah’s death she refuses to believe it. Even after Shallan tells Navani she watched Jasnah stabbed through the heart, Navani still refers to her as being ‘unconscious’ (which...is actually correct, in this instance) but that is besides my point: regardless of reason or logic, people presume that Jasnah is beyond such mortal, trivial, human things like death:

‘Though Jasnah had been away for some time, her loss was unexpected. I, like many, assumed her to be immortal.’

If she’s beyond death, she’s certainly beyond something like trauma, or being broken, or damaged.

“You’re still human,” Shallan said, reaching across, putting her hand on Navani’s knee. “We can’t all be emotionless chunks of rock like Jasnah.”

Navani smiled. “She sometimes had the empathy of a corpse, didn’t she?”

“Comes from being too brilliant,” Shallan said. “You grow accustomed to everyone else being something of an idiot, trying to keep up with you.”

[...]

How surreal it was to imagine Jasnah as a child being held by a mother. (Wor, 77, Trust).

More ‘othering’, less positive than the divine, but it clearly categorises Jasnah as something other than human, and in this case, it fixates on her lack of (perceived) emotion.

Jasnah has so defined herself by her lack of emotional response to things that even those closest to her -her ward and her mother - view her as emotionless, like a rock, a corpse, dead. Ivory also says this in a previous quote “you are like spren” / “you are practically a stone.” Jasnah is categorised as strong, invulnerable to emotion, beyond human, something other.

Though Jasnah, as she herself admits, makes decisions based on emotion.

For all that she says about pursuing the footpads in Kharbranth as purely an act of logic/civic duty, I think you can sense the emotion in that moment.

“Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it? (TWOK, 36, The Lesson)

Shallan can sense it. This is the point where Jasnah’s mask is at its most strong. She defends, calmly and rationally, what she had done. But I think at this point Shallan, and the reader, gets the sense that when Jasnah is her MOST logical and composed, she’s also her most vulnerable and emotional.

She does the same thing in the scene with Kaldin discussing the fates of the Heralds - yet we actually see later, not just through Shallan, the emotions, and the turmoil, and the direct, traumatic flashbacks Jasnah is experiencing in that moment. All covered up with logic and reason.

I think what Brandon is doing with Jasnah is really clever. Because I think media has conditioned us to accept these cold, aloof characters.

Characters who have become hardened to the world, and numbed by their experiences with violence and trauma. So we accept these things more readily as personality traits/a symptom of modern media.

I think especially with female characters. The "strong female character" who isn't allowed to cry lest she be called hysterical, who can't react to trauma or she's weak, who can't have an outburst of emotion or she's mad.

With Jasnah, I think Brandon is continuing to show how trauma expresses itself differently in different people. And I think, once explored more directly, Jasnah will become a condemnation of the easy acceptance/idealisation of these kinds of traits. What she’s doing is not okay. It’s not healthy. It’s as self-destructive as what Shallan, or Kaladin, or Dalinar was doing, we've just been conditioned to accept and even praise it.

Jasnah has so much pressure piled upon her to be perfect. She’s made an illusion so believable even those closest to her can’t see through it. She comes across as divine, as something other than human, as emotionless, and absolute. She’s become a constant in the world of those around her. She’s a law of nature more than a person - like a spren.

Except she’s not.

She’s human.

And she’s broken.

And she’s suffering a trauma that makes her afraid to be even a little bit human - because then they might think her mad again, and she’ll lose everything, and she can’t handle that.

I’m FASCINATED to see Jasnah’s interactions (if we get any on-screen) with Taln and Ash. It will probably give a big insight into her character, her relation to madness/her past illness, and I think it will bring out an interesting side of her, which I’m curious to see.

But I'm also really interested to see how Brandon explores the idea of the "ideal traumatised woman' and how that's absolutely bullshit and completely unhealthy.

Jasnah is, on the surface, everything men demand from a "strong female character". She's been exposed to trauma but she doesn't "let it define her" (ie she doesn't seemingly react to it at all). She's beautiful, and she's intelligent, she's a (literal) Queen, she's a fighter/skilled warrior, she's never "overly-emotional" - she reacts to trauma exactly as she's "supposed" to - as defined by men, she's the epitome of a stereotypical "strong female character".

Except there are obvious flaws in that ideal. The first one being: she does not exist for men. Fairly obviously. She point blank refuses a husband.

Also: it's been implied, as per this meta, that this is NOT an ideal anyone should aim for. It's actually very unhealthy and self-destructive and I really, REALLY hope that when Brandon finally digs into Jasnah that this is something he explores.

Jasnah is not perfect. She is not unbreakable, and invincible, and beyond emotion. And she shouldn't be. She shouldn't be idealised.

She's a person. A human being. And she should be able to express herself and process her trauma in a healthy way that allows her to heal and grow. She shouldn't be forced into anyone's ideal of who or what she should be.

I'm just...Really really excited for Jasnah's arc and what Brandon can say through her and the harmful tropes regarding women's trauma he can explore and god...can I just have the next six stormlight books now please?

#Jasnah Kholin #brandon sanderson #the stormlight archive #the way of kings #words of radiance #oathbringer #shallan davar #kaladin stormblessed #dalinar kholin #navani kholin #wheee everyone gets mentioned #i hope this makes some kind of sense??#like it does to me but who tf knows how it comes across to y'all #i considered cutting this up into smaller chunks #but that's just not true to the taryn experience #you get an avalanche of content or radio silence for 3 months #i cannot do a balance #jasnah just fascinates me so much #and in terms of meta/character analysis she's distinctly lacking and it bugs me #i want to do a parallels meta with jasnah and kal too bc i think that would be Interesting #and i think Kal's flaws would be cool to dig into via the lens of Jasnah's perspective/contrast #but we shall see #stormlight meta #my meta #taryn writes meta #taryn writes #text post tag #long post #some day someone on roshar will get therapy and deal with their trauma in a healthy way #today is not that day

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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YYH Recaps: Episode 1, Surprised to be Dead

Hello, all you hypothetical readers! It's a beautiful spring day and I have a free afternoon ahead of me, so what better time to start another massive project while I guilty stuff my other WIPs deep into the depths of my hard drive? Yeah. Iffy life choices aside, someone mentioned a few weeks back that they'd love for me to recap a show I have more positive things to say about than negative (RIP RWBY) and ever since Netflix announced that their live-action adaptation of Yu Yu Hakusho is in the works, I've been itching for a re-watch of the anime. With the RWBY hiatus underway, it seemed like the perfect time to fulfill both desires.

Before we begin though, I'd like to touch on a few things that are going to influence this project.

First, YYH is near and dear to my heart. Written by Yoshihiro Togashi in the early 1990s and later adapted for an American audience by Funimation, I had the pleasure of experiencing this story five different ways: as a serialized tale in Shonen Jump, a binge read when I had the money to buy the manga, tiny snippets of the anime on Adult Swim late at night — don't tell my parents ;) — as an after-school treat on Toonami, and then years later as a re-watch when I introduced it to a friend (who, in turn, blessed me by having us watch Fullmetal Alchemist next). I used to keep a Hiei bookmark in everything I was reading, the spirit gun made it into our witch-wolf-space adventures on the playground (middle school was wild), and there was a long period of my life where I tried very hard to teach myself to stand with my hands behind my back, precisely as Genkai does. Spoiler alert: I failed. So to say I love the series is... a little bit of an understatement. I bring this up simply as a way of demonstrating that there's more than a bit of nostalgia attached to YYH for me and that will inevitably cloud my reading of it. How can it not? So that's just something to keep in mind as I work through a series that, like any having hit its 30th birthday, has its outdated, flawed, and other questionable aspects.

Second, but very much connected to the first point, is that these are pretty casual recaps. I summarize and extrapolate, focusing primarily on plot and dialogue (but with the occasional cinematography aspect tossed in). I'm not conducting research on the cultural history here — something that will come up at least once in this episode — I'm not arguing an overarching thesis, and I've never been someone who focuses on the author/production/trivia of a series. I'm here for the story as the story is presented to the viewer. If you've read my RWBY Recaps, this will function precisely the same way, with the only difference being I'm engaging with a finished text as opposed to an ongoing one, so there’s a lot less, “Maybe ___ will happen” theorizing going on.

Third, I obviously recommend that you watch the show yourself (you can find it on YouTube!), but you don't have to know the series to follow along. As these massive paragraphs attest, I tend to be both detailed and verbose, so we'll be covering every major plot point — and most of the smaller ones too.

Finally, I'm working from the dub. I know, I know, the horror. But it's what I grew up on and, honestly, I think it's superior to the sub. YYH's dubbing is in a class all its own and to this day there are very few shows that compare to it. Trust me, it's a good call.

That's enough of the boring chit-chat though. Let's get started!

Our very first episode "Surprised to be Dead" opens on a crowded street. We see lots of traffic, people going about their business, and a pedestrian crossing sign that, crucially, turns red. This is our normality and, like in every genre story, you need to break that normality at some point so that the protagonists can go on their fantastical/supernatural/science fiction journey. YYH eases us into things by first breaking the normality of an everyday afternoon: there's a screech of tires, quick shots of a man pushing a child out of the way of an oncoming car, and then his back is hitting the windshield. We begin this story with a horrible — but otherwise mundane — car crash.

Now, these flashes alone have a fair bit to unpack. Despite later getting a brief shot of the man's scared face right before he's hit, the moment's focus is really on the child. He's the one foregrounded in the initial, slow-mo shot. He's the one who appears in color while the man is kept in shadow. This isn't just a hit, it's a rescue. The camera is also careful to follow the soccer ball this kid was playing with (more on that later in the episode), with it flying through the air as the man is hit and bouncing to a stop in the street, acting as the dramatic finish. It's childhood! It's innocence! It's play on a sunny afternoon! And it's all gone wrong.

This moment is chaotic and even a bit confusing. Not in the sense of what's happening — that is quite obviously a guy being hit by a car — but who the victims are, how precisely this came about, or even why we're meant to care about this beyond a generic capacity to feel for other human (fictional) beings... that's all removed. And it works. As the crash takes place, the camera pans across the stunned crowd and we, the viewer, become a part of that crowd. They don't know what precisely is going on either. We're all just horrified onlookers as a sudden tragedy takes place. We're all watching the same show.

So everyone realizes this guy has been hit. People are staring in shock and someone calls for an ambulance. We see the driver fall to his knees in the street, distraught, shakily saying, "I didn't mean to..." It's a very serious and emotional scene that —

— is immediately tempered by this guy waking up, complete with a cute 'pop!' sound effect when he opens his eyes.

This is YYH's brand, this Very Serious Circumstances skillfully interwoven with casual indifference/comedy. It's admittedly far from a unique brand, but it's an excellent choice given that this is the same attitude that will drive 99% of our protagonist's interaction with the world.

Speaking of said protagonist, our guy wakes up, opens his eyes, and realizes that he's floating. There's a great, disorientating shot from his perspective where everything is upside down, causing him to nearly fall out of the air. Well would you look at that, he's as confused as we are. It's our audience surrogate!

A narrator says, "And so it all begins. This boy's name is Yusuke, he's fourteen years old, and he's supposed to be the hero of this story. But oddly enough, he's dead."

Game of Thrones might have made it popular, but YYH did it better.

(Yeah, yeah, I know one death kick-starts the journey and the other is a shocking twist. Just let me have this.)

Now, it's a weird introduction, right? At least at the end. The announcement that change has occurred, a name, an age... that all checks out. But "supposed to be the hero"? What the hell is that “supposed to” mean? Our narrator gives us the easy, surface answer: "But oddly enough, he's dead." We're capitalizing here on the audience's expectation that death ends a character's journey and though they may have been a hero previously, they can no longer be one moving forward. That function within the story has passed. So it's this intriguing question of, "What kind of hero do you have when that hero is dead from the start?" but as we'll see soon, there's an additional meaning here of, "How can Yusuke be the hero?" As this premiere sets up, Yusuke doesn't act like the hero is “supposed to” act.

Until he saved this kid.

But right now he's just confused: "Okay, this is weird. Stupid weird."

Two EMTs arrive on the scene and are hilariously useless. You know how in any medical drama a doctor will stop CPR after a couple of seconds because obviously you're not going to spend half the episode on realism? Well, that's this only a thousand times worse. One guy just looks at the kid and announces he's fine except for some bumps and bruises. Meanwhile, the kid is sobbing.

"Well, at least one of them is," replies the other EMT, because I guess he can tell Yusuke is beyond hope without taking a pulse or anything? "I hate cleanup," he complains as they load his body onto a stretcher because that's? An empathetic response to have??

Honestly this scene is wild.

Yusuke is understandably upset that he's, you know, dead and all. He starts hounding the EMTs who, unable to hear him, just go about their business of taking the kid and his body to the hospital. "You think you can just do whatever you want because you have that stupid uniform on? You can't just write me off. Listen to me!" and Yusuke tries to punch one of the EMTs in the head, resulting in him floating right through.

What a great way to introduce your protagonist's personality. We see here that when things go wrong Yusuke's default emotion is anger and it starts creeping in even before he thinks the others are ignoring him: "Stupid weird." He has problems with authority — "You think you can just do whatever you want because you have that stupid uniform on?" — is used to others listening when he gets angry — "You can't just write me off!" — and is poised to use violence at the slightest provocation. Yusuke is a guy who, right now at least, is ready to punch first and ask questions later.

As Yusuke floats back up into the air and the ambulance drives away, he finally cools down enough to try and think his way out of this. "It's not like this is the first time you've been in a jam,” he thinks. Yusuke recalls that yeah, something was different about today...

...he actually went to school.

Catch me laughing that this idiot boy equates the weirdness of him dying with going to school. Good lord.

Anyway, this jumpstarts our flashback. We open on a generic, anime middle school (that always feels like a high school to me) where the principal is calling for Yusuke through the loud speaker. Oooo someone’s in trouble! We follow a young girl up to the rooftop and she gets a classic hair-blowing-in-the-wind moment to establish that she's our love interest. Meet Keiko Yukimura.

Keiko finds Yusuke hanging out and immediately starts lecturing him for trying to chew gum and refusing to wear the boys' uniform. "Oh, give me a break, Keiko. I look better in green." Note that it's here we learn her name and it's an easy, casual way to introduce it. I bring this up because Yusuke's introduction via our narrator is very much... not that. It's an on your nose statement about his name, age, and importance to the story, and if you're just starting the show in 2021, it might come across as a rather armature move. Like something out of a kid's show, perhaps. Yet here we see that this was a deliberate choice, considering that YYH is capable of introducing character information naturally when it wants to.

This moment also tells us that Yusuke cares a great deal about his image. More on that in a bit. Because Keiko isn't finished her list of grievances yet, going on to say that his attendance record has hurt their entire class, hurt her as class representative, and if he keeps going down this path he won't even graduate middle school. "Sometimes I think you don't care about anyone but yourself and then you don't even do that right!"

They're legit complaints. Too bad Yusuke is busy looking up Keiko's skirt.

Yeeeeah. Sadly, this is common for anime, particularly a 90s anime like YYH. Even presumably more progressive series like My Hero Academia feature characters like Mineta, whose entire personality is being a pervert, and the creation of abilities that "require" kids/young women to be scantily clad. See: Yaoyorozu. YYH is no different in this regard, with various forms of sexual harassment functioning as a shorthand for how much Yusuke secretly likes Keiko. "Boys will be boys," right? Obviously not.

Like so many others series, the creators get away with it because they’re framing it as a bad thing. It's totally fine because look, Keiko slaps him! This is teaching the viewer how wrong this behavior is. Never mind that this is clearly an established habit between them, that Yusuke laughs off Keiko's discomfort, and that the whole scene is meant to be funny for the viewer. That's the real purpose here; it’s not a PSA on harassment.

That, and to establish the long-suffering love Keiko has for Yusuke in turn, largely stemming from a life-long friendship. "Dumb boy! He hasn't grown up a bit since he was four years old." We see that Keiko's early interactions with Yusuke have given her insight that others lack. As she heads down from the roof she runs into two girls hiding around the corner, too scared to come out lest "the great Urameshi" set his sights on them. Isn't Keiko terrified of what he might do to her? "Or worse, what others might say of it?" Like any classic high school middle school setting, one's reputation is king. Yusuke cares about how others see him — maintaining that tough boy attitude — and the girls care more about what the rest of the school might think of Keiko's interactions with him than the presumed harm Yusuke could do to her. They heard he can summon 2,000 men with just a whistle and that he "kills for fun!" But that means nothing in the face of people talking about you. Despite being one of the most popular girls in school, Keiko is the outsider here via her disinterest in what other people think.

The animation changes here, giving us a good look at how the girls picture Yusuke: tough, scowling, surrounded by shadows, and backed by an entire army.

In contrast, we've already seen what Yusuke is really like.

Keiko laughs the image off too. Yusuke is more like a "lamb" than a killer and besides, he couldn't order around two people, let alone two hundred. "He doesn't have many friends."

"That's not what I heard," says one of the girls.

"Yeah," goes the other. "I think we would know."

Again, rumors rule here, with whispers in the hall considered more reliable than someone who interacts with Yusuke on a daily basis. Keiko doesn’t have a hope of changing their minds.

Oh, as a side note, I love that they gave Keiko Miyazaki-esque hair. It's very emotive.

Yusuke escapes outside where the principal is still calling for him to report to his office. He overhears a conversation around the corner and we cut to two boys, one of which is showing a wallet off to the other. He explains that some bully tried to rough him up, but he said he was Urameshi's cousin and the bully took off, dropping his wallet in the process. The guy's friend is impressed, but what is he going to do if Yusuke ever finds out he lied? Not to worry, he says, that "blockhead" would probably think it's true even if he did somehow hear.

Yusuke, obviously, does hear about this and he, also obviously, does not believe this guy is his cousin. He looms ominously and they scurry up against a wall, terrified and offering him the wallet as an apology.

"You think I want your money?" Yusuke yells.

YYH is, in many respects, a rather simple story, but I appreciate the hints of complexity in these otherwise straightforward interactions. It's not that this guy used Yusuke's name to steal a wallet, he used it as a form of protection against another bully — a far more sympathetic motivation. It's not that Yusuke's fearsome reputation has resulted in any genuine respect because once people think they're safe they reveal how little they think of his intelligence — he's a "blockhead." And Yusuke, though intimidating and violent, is not your average, schoolyard bully. He doesn't care about money, only the insult and the damage this guy using his name might have done to his reputation. There's a little more nuance here than you might otherwise expect.

Also, note how dark the boys' standard uniforms are and how much they blend into the rest of the world. Yusuke, as our protagonist, stands out in his bright clothing. He was right, he does look better in green!

So he's ready to clobber this kid when one of the teachers arrive: Mr. Iwamoto.

Iwamoto demands to know what's going on, but the boys are too terrified to rat Yusuke out. Noticing the wallet on the ground, he assumes that Yusuke was after their money, something that greatly offends him: "Whatever!" Iwamoto goes on to say that, "No good weeds like you should have been plucked a long time ago," making it clear that he considers Yusuke a hopeless case. The positive aspects that Keiko sees, as well as the complexity the viewer sees — to say nothing of his introduction of saving a kid — aren’t considered here.

Notably, Iwamoto exists in part to show us what Yusuke could become. Not a teacher (he's obviously not attending school enough for that!), but a cynical man who is cruel for cruelty's sake. Yusuke is already barreling down that path, ignoring Keiko's advice, terrorizing other students, trying to punch EMTs, etc. If his life (or afterlife...) hadn't changed through that accident, this is the kind of person Yusuke might have grown up to be, and we can see that clearly in the visual parallels between them. Dark haired men dressed in green who scowl with ease and toss out cutting insults. Yusuke is staring his future in the face.

For now he walks off with a final shot, "You shouldn't talk. It makes you sound stupid." This time Yusuke makes it to the school's entrance and tries to enjoy his second attempt at chewing gum, but someone hits him in the back of the head.

"Okay, somebody's DEAD — ah. Sorry, old man."

"That's Mr. Takenaka to you."

Our principal has finally left the office and hunted down Yusuke for himself! Putting this interaction immediately after the one with Iwamoto allows the viewer to compare them. Yusuke might be irreverent towards his principal, but it's clear there's still some kind of respect between them. Yusuke only starts threatening because he doesn’t realize who hit him and once he does realize it's Takenaka, he immediately apologizes. That "old man" comes across as a teasing insult and Yusuke allows himself to be briefly dragged back towards school, rather than throwing a now classic punch. In turn, Takenaka cares enough about Yusuke to try and keep him on the straight and narrow. He utilizes Yusuke's preferred language — violence — but in a casual way, nonthreatening way: slight hit to the back of his head, noogie, pulling him along by the ear.

It's the sort of physicality we're used to seeing in media between a parent and child who are outwardly antagonistic, but actually share a deep bond. Takenaka is also careful to frame their return to his office as a "discussion," not a punishment, and offers Yusuke tea along with the conversation. Whereas Iwamoto considers Yusuke to be a "weed" that should have been plucked from their school long ago, Takenaka is determined to help Yusuke bloom.

If we're continuing the flower metaphor :D

Yusuke isn't in the mood to play along though. He gets away by using a fake ear, startling Takenaka when it unexpectedly pulls free. Yusuke escapes the school grounds and Takenaka, suffering a back twinge from his fall, can't chase after him. Poor guy. I understand that pain lol.

Yusuke heads home where we're introduced to his mother, Atsuko. Most notable in her first shot is the soft lighting that highlights her looks. We're not told how old she is here, but I believe she's around 28 — and she looks it, if not younger. Given that Yusuke is 14, that means Atsuko was a mom at his age. This is a quick and subtle way to tell us about Yusuke's home life. There are more overt details in this scene — it's at least lunchtime and Atsuko hasn't left her bed yet, she demands that Yusuke make her coffee instead of greeting him, it's all meant to imply (before we actually see) that she's an alcoholic — but her age is another way to highlight the broken household here. There's no partner in sight and she clearly had Yusuke as a teenager. He hasn't had a strong parental figure to take care of him. If anything, Yusuke is taking care of Atsuko here.

"Oh great, mother of the year!" basically sums things up.

Atsuko wants to know why Yusuke isn't in school and he says that everyone is pissing him off today, particularly with their preaching. "Dear, if you hate preaching so much you should live on your own... but you can't do that, can you?" Alongside a rough upbringing, Yusuke is suffering from the common problem of being trapped in a dead-end life. He hates his school, his town, and coming home to find his mom hungover. Yusuke has no prospects and, outside of one principal, no one who is actively working to help him find some. Even the little things he hates, like being preached to, are unavoidable because if you want to live on your own, that requires money. Good luck pulling that off as a middle schooler whose only skill is street fighting!

Yusuke walks off in a huff, literally shouting in a street about what a bad day he's having (and hilariously scaring off pedestrians in the process). His shout brings trouble though. A couple guys appear to ambush him, their boss close behind. The music increases the tension, Yusuke's expression is serious, and we even get a Dutch angle thrown into the mix.

For any who don't know, the Dutch angle is a popular film technique to establish that something is wrong. There's tension in the scene, something uneasy is at play, and the world is now literally off center. It's perhaps most famously used in Do The Right Thing to establish the friction between an Italian-American pizzeria and the predominantly African American neighborhood it's based in.

But it's also used a great deal in horror as a way to say: yup, shit just got real. Scary real.

This Dutch angle introduces a character you may not appreciate at first, but absolutely should: Kazuma Kuwabara.

He's initially the comic relief and that's clear in his introduction. Within seconds we move from that intimidating arrival to, well, seeing him. To be clear, I've got nothing against redheads with big chins, but compared to Yusuke's design, Kuwabara is meant to be the funny looking one. His threat level plummets the moment we get a look at his face, especially in a series that will occasionally use looks as a (supposed) measure of intelligence.

Also, Kuwabara is dressed in light blue so, like Yusuke, we know he's important!

Any assumptions that his appearance isn’t meant to imply a goofy, embarrassing personality are put to rest when Kuwabara starts rambling about how they last time they fought Yusuke just got a cheap shot in and he'll definitely win this time. Yeah, he won't. Yusuke is thrilled by this diversion though and we get a shot of him looking almost as creepy as Keiko's friends think he is. Whatever else might be said about Yusuke, he is absolutely a monster in a fight.

Which we see here. If anyone picked up the series without knowing this was a fighting anime, they'll realize it now. Yusuke's choreography is stylized to show off his skill: he disappears with a 'whoosh' and dark lines to suggest inhuman speed,

attacking Kuwabara with a knee to the face, utilizes flying kicks, lands perfect, precision punches, and ends it all with the toe-tip landing we've come to expect of all powerful fighters. Kuwabara never even got a hit in.

Happy as a clam now, Yusuke wanders off whistling and Kuwabara's friends are left to pick up the pieces. AKA, his likely broken bones. I love that they're legit friends though and not just nameless goons for the sake of giving Kuwabara a small gang (though their names won't come up until later). "That makes 0 wins an 156 loses!" one of them cries, trying to get Kuwabara to stop ending up in the hospital, probably. We establish that Kuwabara is The Most Dramatic Ever when he pulls his broken body into a seated position, shouting, "No! I almost had him that time!"

Then he passes out.

Kuwabara, honey, you obviously did not almost have him, but god bless you for the outlook. The most optimistic thing on this Earth is a well-loved Golden Retriever, but Kuwabara comes in at a very close second.

With his dream to one day beat Yusuke in combat established, we cut to Yusuke wandering the street where the episode opened. "Okay, I'm remembering" he says in a voiceover. "After that I met the kid."

The soccer ball reappears as it rolls to a stop at Yusuke's feet. He grabs it and immediately starts yelling at the kid. Horrible protagonist, right? Well, Yusuke is trying to instill in him the danger of using this street as a playground, a worry the viewer already knows is 100% justified. “Listen, kid, that’s dangerous! There are cars going by that will splatter you into the pavement!” It's one of those quick moments where we get to enjoy Yusuke's duality: he's someone who is nearly making a toddler cry, but for rather understandable reasons. He's got the right idea, but needs to go about it in a more mature manner.

Which is precisely what he attempts to do. Sort of. Yusuke changes gears, though whether it's a more "mature" route is certainly up for debate lol. He tries entertaining the kid instead, raising and lowering the soccer ball to reveal goofy faces.

When these fail to impress, Yusuke goes full out by stuffing the ball into his pants, pushing his nose up with a pair of chopsticks he got from god knows where, and generally just putting on a display.

So Yusuke cares very deeply about his reputation... but only when it comes to those who are an established part of his life. Keiko, Mr. Takenaka, and the other kids at school all need to maintain a particular image of Yusuke, one that he's carefully cultivated. But random pedestrians on the street? Who cares about them? Let them talk.

This shows us that Yusuke does indeed have priorities over his own, selfish goals. Namely, the happiness of some kid is more important to him than looking "cool" for a bunch of strangers. Lots of characters with Yusuke's surface attitude would sneer at the idea of degrading themselves for — their words — some brat. But Yusuke, as we constantly see, actually does have that heart of gold. “Well, if all else fails I can still make kids happy.”

Although... I'm not sure what to make of his display itself. I have the distinct sense that there's something prejudiced here that I'm not able to fully articulate, what with the chopsticks, slanted eyes, bald head, and the like, though to be entirely frank I don't have enough knowledge of Japan's history to say precisely what it might be. Or, really, whether it exists at all. Just something to chew on.

What I am sure about though is the importance of having the child label Yusuke as monster — "Yeah, monster! — but in a delighted manner. Yusuke is indeed some kind a monster, someone who disappoints adults and terrifies his classmates, a demon fighter on the streets too, but here that identity is reworked into something positive.

Having successful secured a laugh, Yusuke tells the kid — calmly this time — to go play elsewhere. The toddler stares up at him with the blank expression only kids can manage.

Well, kids and whatever headspace I'm in after writing these metas.

To absolutely no one's surprise except Yusuke's, the kid does not go elsewhere. Instead, he continues kicking the ball down the street, causing Yusuke to exclaim, “Dammit, what’s the use? The kid can get smashed by a car for all I care!” Liar, liar.

The picture becomes desaturated as the kid kicks the ball and it flies into the street, time slowing down to show it landing precisely in the middle of the road. Yusuke again yells for him to stay put, but when has a toddler ever listened? He begins to walk into the road as our driver arrives, speeding, swerving, and paying more attention to the girl at his side than what's in front of him.

This time, we see the accident from the front with both Yusuke and the kid presented equally.

There's a cut to black and when we return we're in the present, Yusuke floating above the policemen now investigating the scene. “So that’s it? I’m roadkill?” As Yusuke realizes he's dead, specifically that he's a ghost, a voice goes,

"Bingo! Bingo! You win the prize!"

A woman has appeared who is quite obviously othered by the standards of the episode so far. Unlike the greens, blues, and browns of the series' modern clothes, she's dressed in hot pink kimono with blue hair to match. She's also, you know, floating on an oar.

“I didn’t expect you to figure it out so quickly," she says, referring to Yusuke's revelation that he's dead. Apparently, those who meet unexpected and/or violent ends tend to take some time coming to terms with their demise. It's a nice acknowledgment of Yusuke's intelligence in an interaction that's otherwise... not great for his self-esteem.

Meaning, this woman is about to drag him lol.

She introduces herself as Botan, pilot of the River Styx and guider of souls to the afterlife. You might also know her as the Grim Reaper.

(Hey, RWBY fans: I originally wrote that as Grimm Reaper 🤦‍♀️)

It's an claim Yusuke takes issue with because 1. Botan is too pretty to be the Grim Reaper and 2. If she was really some god of death she'd be taking this much more seriously, not laughing and saying, "Bingo!" For the audience this does two things. First, it acknowledges our own expectations and validates them. Yusuke's world isn't so far removed from our own that he takes Botan's looks and personality at face value, he also expected a skeleton with a scythe. So don't worry, all the weird stuff in this series is weird to our protagonist too. They'll be explanations. Or, even if there’s not, you’re not wrong for being surprised.

Second, it sets up the very common theme in YYH of undermining those common assumptions again and again and again. We've already seen it with Yusuke, wherein characters who look and act a certain way are, supposedly, destined to be that person and nothing more. Yusuke is meant to be just a "weed," a dumb, violent, angry loser who goes nowhere in life... but we already know he's more than that. Botan is supposed to be scary and serious, but she says nah, I want to be cute and bubbly instead. No character in YYH embodies who they're "supposed" to be when you look past those surface characterizations. They play the part of archetypes — and do keep certain parts of their expected personalities — but they're also far more well-rounded than that. Which yeah, is something most people expect from any story nowadays, but YYH is particularly adept at making you think you're watching Simple Show A only to turn around and surprise you with More Complex Show B.

It's great, trust me.

So Yusuke is pissed that Botan isn't adhering to those expectations, in the same way that he works hard to validate others expectations of him. He doesn't know how to deal with someone challenging his world view yet. Rather than angering Botan though, she just nods and says that this response makes sense for him. “Rather than being scared, or surprised, you yell a lot and tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about." Taking out a notebook, she quickly summarizes everything we learned in the flashback — minus Yusuke's complexities: he's fourteen, in middle school, is ill-tempered, violent, hates authority, and is a horrible student.

Typically, Yusuke responds by getting angry and trying to snatch the booklet out of her hands, only for Botan to pull it out of his reach, laughing. The tables have turned! Rather than being surrounded by people who cower at Yusuke's imposed authority, he now finds himself faced with someone who laughs at his transparent attempts to take control of the situation.

Calming down, Yusuke wants to know if the kid he saved is really alright and Botan offers to let him see for himself. That offer produces Yusuke's first, genuine smile.

They fly to the hospital where a doctor is in the process of giving the kid a clean bill of health, his mother crying with relief.

That's enough for Yusuke. “Alright, Botan, I’ve got no regrets, so you can take me to hell or wherever it is I’m going.”

That tells you all you need to know about Yusuke's self-worth, despite his bad boy attitude. His life is a dead-end as far as he can see and most of those around him haven't done anything to dissuade him of that idea. He says he doesn't care if the kid lives or dies, but then instinctively saves him. Post his death, Yusuke doesn't have anything he considers a regret, or anything he'd like to do before he leaves, like saying goodbye to a loved one. Oh, he's also pretty sure he's going to hell and has resigned himself to that without a fight.

Uplifting!

Botan just laughs though, saying that she's actually here to offer Yusuke an "ordeal" that could bring him back to life. See, he wasn't supposed to die today — let alone die saving a kid — and frankly they don't know what to do with him. It's another neat summary of what we've already learned: Yusuke is a far more complicated case than the afterlife assumed and now, when push comes to shove, deciding whether he belongs in heaven or hell is... muddled.

There's a fantastic story there about the problems with an afterlife that reduces a person's entire life to a few surface characteristics recorded in a book, refusing to acknowledge the context of their situation, or their capacity for change. “Run someone with your credentials a thousand times and they never would have saved a kid like that." Except, of course, Yusuke did save him, so those "credentials" are suspect, to say the least. However, YYH is not a story that explores these issues. Instead, I recommend you watch this!

Rather than being upset at the afterlife's low opinion of him (because let's be real, Yusuke shares it), he latches onto a little detail Botan let slip. If he wasn't supposed to die today... then was the kid?

Mmm... no. Actually, without the chaos of Yusuke jumping into the road, the driver would have swerved at the last second and the kid would have not only lived, but actually come out with one less scrape.

So Yusuke is obviously upset by this news! I would be too!! Holy shit, hang onto the "it's the thought that counts" message with everything you've got.

Also, don't think too much about the fact that the afterlife apparently knows exactly what will happen to people, down to how many cuts they accumulate in an accident. Also, don't think too much about where the afterlife foreseeing the crash begins and the unexpectedness of Yusuke interfering ends. That way lies madness. This will never come up again, so just let it go.

Sorry, 2013 me hijacked the post for a second.

As said, Yusuke is understandably upset by this revelation and as he fumes I'm reminded that this series likes to pull some amazing expressions.

Botan reiterates that it's all fine because Yusuke can come back to life. Weren't you listening? He should feel honored, in fact, considering that an offer like this only arrives every 100 years or so. Well, that explains why all of humanity isn't grappling with people coming back to life on the daily. One person every generation isn't going to cause much of a stir.

However, instead of jumping at the chance Yusuke announces that Botan is just like the teachers at school: she doesn't know what she's talking about. “You said yourself my life was kind of pathetic, right?” he says, going on to explain that everyone will be happier now that he's dead. His school won't have to deal with his behavior, Keiko won't have to nag him, and his mom will be able to party whenever she wants. It's a win-win for everyone involved.

Hmm, this feels familiar.

Don't worry, Yusuke doesn't need to experience a whole alternate reality to get the message.

“I’m sorry you feel that way at such an early age," Botan says and she is sorry, because despite her teasing nature that's a legitimately horrifying thing to believe. Yusuke won't budge though and after a little back-and-forth Botan leaves, telling Yusuke he should think it over while visiting his wake. She'll come back once he decides what to do.

“Do you have worms in your ears, lady? I did decide!” but Botan is long gone.

We cut to that night where Yusuke has indeed decided to attend his own wake. Maybe because of Botan's advice, maybe because he's just morbidly curious. We’re not given insight into the decision.

Atsuko is a mess, to put it mildly, not dressed for the occasion and sitting slumped against the way, staring vacantly as the guests offer their condolences. Yusuke is surprised by the fact that his entire class is here, but quickly writes them off when he sees two of the boys laughing. I'm on the fence about this detail, which I'll unpack in just a second.

First though, Yusuke sees Keiko exiting the house, inconsolable in her grief. She collapses on the ground with her two friends trying to offer comfort, despite the fact that they had nothing good to say about Yusuke himself. Good on them.

Before he can think too long on this though, Yusuke is distracted by Kuwabara's arrival. Unlike Keiko's crying, he expresses his grief through yelling. Specifically, yelling at Yusuke. For dying. For daring to "run away." His own friends are physically holding him back as he charges into the wake, screaming, “Who am I gonna fight now, huh? Who am I gonna fight?" It's not really about the fighting, of course. At least, not the fighting alone. "You’re supposed to be here for me," Kuwabara finishes, the punch he's thrown at Yusuke's photo going limp and catching his first tear.

You know, for all the goofy expressions, this show really is gorgeous. Just wait until we get to the fight animations.

Kuwabara's reaction is why I hesitate to write off the classmates like Yusuke has. Granted, we have no reason to believe that they care for him as Kuwabara does — they're nameless background characters defined only by their terror of "the great Urameshi" — but it's still a split second taken out of context. We don't know what they were laughing at, or if laughing is a part of their grief. God knows I personally laugh at the most inappropriate moments. If you tell me someone has just died there is a very good chance I will laugh awkwardly as I try to process that. It’s just a reflex. All of which I bring up not because these side characters are important, but because Yusuke's perception of his own worth is. The point of each of these moments is to show that those around him have always cared for him, even if Yusuke didn't notice. It's nice to think that extends to his classmates too. The variety likewise exists to show us how people grieve differently, with Kuwabara's friends not understanding that this is how he's working through the trauma: “This place is for mourning!” He is mourning, even if his way of mourning isn't as socially acceptable as Keiko's. So if screaming and throwing punches is valid, crying is valid, staring stoically in a drunk stupor is valid... why not laughter too?

Not likely, perhaps, but possible.

As an additional possibility to chew on, watching this premier again, it struck me how more emotional Kuwabara's scene is compared to Keiko's. Don't get me wrong, crying and calling Yusuke’s name gets the point across, but it's two seconds of generic grief compared to a much longer scene rife with intensity. When Kuwabara arrives the music swells and everyone is forced to pay attention to him. His grief is loud, violent, and given symbolism with his fist and the photo. There's more effort put into his reaction, frankly, so it wouldn't surprise me if fans started shipping them after this. That grief combined with an "enemies to lovers" possibility is a pretty potent mix. To be clear, Yusuke/Keiko is the (oh so obvious) canonical endgame and in the fandom Yusuke/Kuwabara can't compare to another slash ship that will turn up later, but this is a good example of how writers can craft some Very Gay Scenes without realizing it. When you have the girl crying prettily for a second and the guy absolutely losing his mind over Yusuke's death, questioning his purpose now, his support network, and then collapsing in grief... don't be surprised if your audience goes, "Oh hey, maybe they'd be a good couple instead."

But I digress.

The only people who are unquestioningly happy about Yusuke's passing are Mr. Iwamoto and his co-conspirator, Mr. Akashi. You know Akashi is another bad guy because he has bucked teeth and "ugliness" is an easy way to code for evilness. YYH is not immune to those mistakes :/

These two are really something else though, standing in the middle of a wake and claiming it's “too bad that car wasn’t big enough for them too," referring to Kuwabara and his friends. Wow! What stellar members of the academic community. Iwamoto goes on to say that Yusuke dying at least accomplished something good. Not, mind you, saving the life of a child, but rather looking good for their school's reputation. Akashi agrees, but says it's likely Yusuke only accidentally saved him while trying to steal the kid's lunch money. Remember, that accusation of theft is the one thing Yusuke has said outright that he does not do.

He's pissed listening to all this — wouldn't you be? — but knows by now he can't do anything about it. In another fantastic shot, Yusuke hovers his hand over Iwamoto's shoulder, desperate to grab him, when Takenaka's arrives there instead.

“What do you suppose is more disgraceful? That boy showing his misery, or your insensitive and idiotic words!”

HELL YEAH. You tell 'em, Mr. Takenaka.

Yusuke gets his third shock of the night at this passionate defense. Takenaka leaves the teachers to go pay his respects, but admits to Yusuke's picture that he just can't speak well of him. He was surprised to hear that Yusuke gave up his life for another and it's a fact that he acted selfishly. Though he doesn't say it in as many words, Takenaka explains that he's not grieving because Yusuke was a good person, but because it's so clear to him that he might have been. “Why didn’t you stay? You could have made something great out of yourself.”

Normally, "Why didn't you stay?" is just something for the living to grapple with, as the dead obviously don't have any say in what happens to them. But Yusuke does. It's here that the lighting grows soft again and Yusuke considers Takenaka's words. Keiko and Kuwabara grieve for who he was, but Takenaka grieves for who Yusuke could have been — someone that might still exist if Yusuke decides to undergo this ordeal.

Atsuko adds fuel to the emotional fire, breaking down and hiding her face in her knees.

Finally, the kid Yusuke saved arrives with his mother. Because yes, Yusuke saved him in every way that matters, considering no one else knows — or will know — that he'd have lived anyway. I like that the show doesn't allow that knowledge to undermine the emotion of their arrival, or what Yusuke’s act meant to them.

The mom tells her son to pay his respects and the kid thanks Yusuke for saving him, and for "making faces." He clearly doesn't get what's going on here. This is confirmed as the two leave and he asks his mom if he can play with Yusuke again tomorrow. “I know some people sounded angry at him, but he’s really nice!"

They're probably just crying because they want to play with him too, he thinks, which just makes his mom join in. Everyone is crying in this club tonight.

Those words are the cincher for Yusuke and with a brief montage of all the grief he's witnessed, he makes his decision.

We cut to later that night where Yusuke floats above the city, admiring the moon. Botan reappears and he asks, “Have you ever not known about something that seemed obvious to everyone else?” Yes, everyone has experienced that at one point or another. She asks if he's made his decision and Yusuke agrees to try and come back to life.

Emotional revelations out of the way, we're allowed another tone shift as Botan yells with joy, speeding off and causing Yusuke to grab hold of the end of her oar, lest he be left behind. Cranky as always, he demands to know where they're going. "To the spirit world, of course!" They're off to see someone who can explain the ordeal and give Yusuke the tool needed to complete it. Just hang on and enjoy the ride.

Thus ends our very first episode! Ah, the nostalgia. This is part one of a four arc series, with the anime cutting out a lot of the filler stories found at the start of the manga — a smart decision, I think. They primarily do the work of teaching Yusuke what he learned at the wake, so if you can accomplish that as quickly as the adaptation did, all the better. Especially since Yusuke needs to grow a great deal beyond the basic understanding that people might, sort of care for him, and that work will occur primarily through a job he's going to take on. The series isn't really about his death and it's not about an attempt to come back either — it's about what happens once you get that second chance. So this is the setup, but it's important setup all the same.

No need to skip ahead though. I've blathered enough for one recap. I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you when the writing gods next bless me with energy! 💜

#YYH #Yu Yu Hakusho #YYH recaps #mymetas

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delphinidin4 · 3 years

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“Abominable neglect and unkindness”: Fanny Price and Trauma

I have C-PTSD, and it’s really been on my mind as I’ve been rereading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen: her heroine of Fanny Price is so OBVIOUSLY traumatized that I started making notes upon notes upon notes in my kindle copy on her symptoms and their causes. A couple of my followers said they’d be interested to read my analysis if I wrote it up, and it doesn’t take much to encourage me to put a few thousand words on the page screen! So below is my (probably WAY too long) analysis of Fanny Price’s emotional trauma and complex PTSD (a form of PTSD often caused by long-term emotional abuse/neglect). It’s hella long. sorrynotsorry lol

*unleashes inner academic*

Part 1: How Fanny Price Was Traumatized

Trauma 1: She is taken from family and home.

Okay, imagine this: You’re ten years old. You grew up in a noisy, lower-middle-class family with multiple little siblings and both your parents. You are the oldest girl, and are important to all the members of your family because you act as “playfellow, instructress, and nurse” to your younger siblings. You are also “exceedingly timid and shy”. And suddenly you find out that your mother is SENDING YOU AWAY--far, far away--to aunts and uncle and cousins you’ve never met before, to be raised by THEM instead of your parents. Leaving everything else out of the equation for a second, that by itself would be ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING. You would feel like your parents didn’t love you and didn’t want you. You weren’t important to them. You might wonder what you did wrong to be sent away. And THEN it turns out you’re NEVER COMING BACK. EVER. Fanny doesn’t see her family again until she is, I think nineteen years old. At first, she doesn’t even have the means to write to her brother William, which was to be her ONLY connection to her family: it seems her parents don’t write to her at all over the course of the novel.

All of this would be bad enough. But to come to a place that was entirely alien to everything you had known... I mean, think about it. This is Mansfield Park, an ENORMOUS house with MANY servants, a completely different way of doing things. There’s MONEY. Even the items around you are of a totally different quality than you’re used to: Austen says of Fanny’s initial impression of Mansfield, “The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her. The rooms were too large for her to move in with ease: whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she crept about in constant terror of something or other; often retreating towards her own chamber to cry.” The accent people speak with is probably different. The vocabulary is probably different. And everybody DEFINITELY thought she was under-educated (more about this in a bit) because she didn’t have the education of a gentleman’s daughter--because she ISN’T a gentleman’s daughter. It must have caused her intense culture shock.

Trauma 2: William’s absence

It’s clear that in her childhood in Portsmouth, William is the dearest member of Fanny’s family (see below for a discussion of her parents). When Fanny first arrives at Mansfield, Edmund discovers that,

dear as all these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them who ran more in her thoughts than the rest. It was William whom she talked of most, and wanted most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself, her constant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was the darling) in every distress. ‘William did not like she should come away; he had told her he should miss her very much indeed.’

Fanny’s one really warm and loving connection seems to be with William, and she is parted from him, first by her move to Mansfield, and then by his going to sea:

Once, and once only, in the course of many years, had she the happiness of being with William. Of the rest [of her Portsmouth family] she saw nothing: nobody seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again, even for a visit, nobody at home seemed to want her; but William determining, soon after her removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister in Northamptonshire before he went to sea. Their eager affection in meeting, their exquisite delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of serious conference, may be imagined; as well as ...the misery of the girl when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christmas holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin Edmund.

Fanny continues a correspondence with William when he is at sea, but it’s clear that his long absence from her life is very difficult for her.

One final note on her being parted from her family for long intervals: I think we might actually see a sign of this trauma in an emotional flashback later in the book.

For those unfamiliar with complex PTSD, flashbacks don’t always mean that you have a sort of hallucination of a traumatic experience. In the case of complex PTSD and PTSD from early childhood trauma, flashbacks often occur in the form of “emotional flashbacks”: instead of re-experiencing the sensory input of the traumatic experience (seeing and hearing the experience all over again when triggered), emotional flashbacks consist ONLY of the emotional content of the trauma. They result in sudden rushes of negative emotions such as fear, shame, sorrow, despair, embarrassment, anger, etc. This may be partly because the trigger is acting on so many different traumatic memories at once (the brain can’t just pick out one to show to you) and partly because the traumatic memory being triggered is from so early in your childhood that you don’t have a direct memory of it anymore, just the trauma memory. Emotional flashbacks can be identified by comparing the emotional response to the stimulus: If the emotion is inappropriate for the situation or inappropriately intense, it may well be a flashback.

In this scene, Miss Crawford--whom Fanny does not care for at all--is taking her leave of Fanny: I find it to be illuminating.

And embracing her very affectionately, “Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you.”

Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word “last.” She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could.

It sounds to me as if Fanny is having a negative reaction that is out of proportion for and inappropriate to the situation. Miss Crawford is leaving, and Fanny is GLAD that she is leaving. Nonetheless, she is involuntarily emotionally “affected” by Miss Crawford’s goodbye, and cries far more than is actually in keeping with her feelings. It seems like Fanny is triggered by the leave-taking and “the melancholy influence of the word ‘last’.” Fanny has had traumatic leave-takings from her family and her beloved William; and things like “This is the last time I’ll see you for who knows how long” must have been said to her before in intensely traumatic situations. So it’s no wonder she gets triggered by this situation’s similarity to those and has an out-sized emotional response. Separations from her family and from William were definitely traumatic to her and reminders of them now trigger trauma responses.

Trauma 3: Emotional neglect by parental figures

Fanny might not have been so badly traumatized by leaving her family and being separated from William if she had had emotional support from adult caregivers. Research has shown that if a child has even ONE adult to whom they can talk openly about their feelings, that can insulate them against the effects of trauma.

Fanny doesn’t have this. Both Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram are emotionally neglectful and distant.* Lady Bertram is pleasant, but is entirely self-centered and doesn’t really GAF about anybody or anything that doesn’t directly affect her. While she never abuses or hurts Fanny with unkindness, she also never comforts her, listens to her, or seems to do anything but get Fanny to fetch and carry for her and do half her sewing for her. There is a total lack of emotional connection between them until considerably later in the story.

[*Footnote: Miss Lee is surprisingly absent from the narrative and seems to be of no emotional support to Fanny whatsoever.]

Sir Thomas is worse. While he intends to take good care of Fanny--and to his credit, he does make sure she has her material needs met, is well educated, gets exercise, etc--he cannot be said to be NICE to her. Even when she first arrives, when he is trying his hardest to be kind, Austen says, “Sir Thomas, seeing how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was conciliating: but he had to work against a most untoward gravity of deportment.” He’s not good with kids, and he seems to be highly critical of Fanny, especially before his return from Antigua. Apparently he used to terrify her in childhood by catechizing her on her lessons in French in English, which implies he constantly found her wanting. His parting words to her on the beginning of his voyage to Antigua are downright scalding: “If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince him that the many years which have passed since you parted have not been spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten.”

JFC, Tommy-boy. Throttle back a little, can’t you?

He’s not popular even with his own daughters: Austen says of Maria and Julia, “Their father was no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it from all restraint”. Sir Thomas comes across as a bit of a martinet, always finding fault and always saying no. At best, he doesn’t seem to be at all warm and encouraging, and appears to be almost entirely ignorant, not only of what Fanny’s character is like, but also about his own daughters’ characters.

There’s also the problem of his lack of understanding and compassion for Fanny. She describes him as “all that was clever and good,” but both his cleverness and goodness frequently seem to be lacking. He doesn’t understand Fanny’s feelings any more than he understands those of Maria, sending Edmund to sound Fanny out on the subject of Mr. Crawford because he CANNOT understand how a woman might not love a man that was clever, pleasant and rich. While he provided the money to raise Fanny, his disregard of her is clear when he sends her on a long visit to Portsmouth, where her health suffers. Even Crawford recognizes Sir Thomas’s likeliness to neglect her:

I know Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards you. I know the danger of your being so far forgotten, as to have your comforts give way to the imaginary convenience of any single being in the family. I am aware that you may be left here week after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle everything ... without involving the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he may have laid down for the next quarter of a year.

Sir Thomas, while priding himself (and being praised by others) as being so kind and clever, has low emotional intelligence and too little care for Fanny. Despite his occasional kindnesses, and her claim on his care as his direct dependent, she is not one of his priorities.

Of course, Fanny’s own parents would have had the strongest effects on her earliest years (especially considering the Prices didn’t seem to have a nanny or governess, so Mrs. Price would have been responsible for all her education, as well). It’s clear that Fanny’s mother didn’t show her much love in her early childhood: Mrs. Price is described as

“the ‘mama’ who had certainly shewn no remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this [Fanny] could easily suppose to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could deserve.”

We can see Fanny here doing what so many emotionally neglected children do, making excuses for their parents and assuming that the emotional neglect and abuse they suffer are somehow THEIR fault. Many emotionally abused or neglected children believe that they’re too loud, too needy, too much, and even ugly, blaming themselves for their parents’ rejecting and disgusted behavior toward them.

It’s proven, however, when Fanny goes home, that her parents are just as neglectful of her as she felt them to be formerly. Her father is “negligent of his family”, and her mother clearly does not really love her:

Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs. Price’s attachment had no other source. Her heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had been much to her.* She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts. These shared her heart: her time was given chiefly to her house and her servants.

[*Footnote: I have to stop here for a moment and mention poor Susan, whom I like better at every reading. With Mrs. Price only loving her sons and Betsy, with Mary dead and Fanny gone, Susan was for years THE ONLY completely unloved child in the house, which must have been pretty awful. It’s clear that Fanny and Susan have suffered rather similar fates in being raised without love, and Susan only responds more with irritation and Fanny more with tears: “Susan was only acting on the same truths, and pursuing the same system, which [Fanny’s] own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and cried”. Please tell me somebody’s written a sequel about Susan?]

Again, while Mr. and Mrs. Price are not CRUEL, they’re not KIND, either. They are deeply emotionally neglectful toward Susan and Fanny, and Mrs. Price shows favoritism for the rest of her children, thus hurting her daughters further. Fanny’s probable surmise when she was sent away that she was not loved or wanted by her parents unfortunately appears to be very true. While an adult like Fanny can rationalize such behavior by her parents (even if it pains her), a child cannot do so, and the Prices’ lack of love for their own daughter must have been traumatizing and contributed to her belief that she can never matter to anybody (more on this in a bit).

Trauma 4: Lack of Companionship: Maria and Julia (and Miss Lee)

Fanny’s education when she arrives at Mansfield is not that of a gentlewoman--hardly surprising, given both her family’s socioeconomic position and her mother’s busy-ness with her family and general indolence. Maria and Julia’s education on scholarly subjects is clearly much stronger (they’re also 2-3 years older than her), and we know that their moral education was neglected, so that they only care about whether Fanny is rich and well-educated like themselves:

They could not but hold her cheap on finding that she had but two sashes, and had never learned French; and when they perceived her to be little struck with the duet they were so good as to play, they could do no more than make her a generous present of some of their least valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport of the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper.

They’re generous enough to give her presents (though their least-valued belongings), but not generous enough to actually spend time with her, and it appears that this pattern holds throughout Fanny’s time at Mansfield.

At first, Mrs. Norris, Sir Thomas, and Miss Lee all think her actually stupid instead of just ill-educated: we are told that not only did Miss Lee “[wonder] at her ignorance,” but

A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to [Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris]. Fanny could read, work [that means “sew”], and write, but she had been taught nothing more; and as her cousins found her ignorant of many things with which they had been long familiar, they thought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first two or three weeks were continually bringing some fresh report of it into the drawing-room.

You would think that the adults at least would realize that Fanny hadn’t had the opportunity of a gentlewoman’s education, but no, they attribute it to natural stupidity instead of opportunity:

“My dear,” their considerate aunt would reply, “it is very bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself.”

It is only Edmund who perceives that Fanny is not only NOT stupid, she’s actually clever:

He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, and heard her read the daily portion of history; but he recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment: he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.

One wonders, if a sixteen-year-old boy hadn’t decided to undertake part of Fanny’s education himself, how much worse off would she have been?

That Fanny’s companionship fell almost entirely to a teenage boy six years her senior who spends most of the year away at boarding school/university, is a ringing indictment of the behavior of Maria and Julia, and of those who should have been encouraging them to make a friend of their cousin.

Trauma 5: Mrs Norris (who gets a fucking section all her own)

Here we are. We’ve finally come to it. The other four traumas would certainly have been sufficient to cause C-PTSD, but JFC, Mrs. Norris could have caused it all by her lonesome. While she comes across as amusing in Austen’s sardonic style, she is absolutely toxic for Fanny’s mental health.

Mrs. Norris seems to have had an out-sized effect on the three Mansfield girls. Generally, mothers were in charge of the education of their daughters (even if indirectly, through a governess), so while Sir Thomas did examine them on their lessons, it was really supposed to be Lady Bertram’s job to see to their practical and moral education. But Lady Bertram is an absolute zero, a completely passive character, and Austen says directly that, “To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the smallest attention.” So it seems like the much more active Mrs. Norris stepped in, and her influence was extremely strong with all three of them, despite her being married and having her own house and her own concerns for the first seven or so years of Fanny’s time at Mansfield.

We can see her influence with all three in the fact that all three of the Mansfield girls end up evaluating themselves in almost perfect accordance to how Mrs. Norris evaluated them. Maria, the golden child*, became very spoiled and proud and thought she could do almost whatever she wanted. Fanny, the scapegoat, came to believe that her only worth was in being “useful” (Mrs. Norris’s hobby-horse) and that she could never be of any importance to anybody. And Julia, while closer to Maria’s level of treatment than Fanny’s, also suffers from comparisons to the golden child:

That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circumstance, but in a greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less flattered and less spoilt. Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to Maria.

[*footnote: Treating one child as the golden child and one as the scapegoat is a very common tactic of abusive caregivers. The scapegoat becomes entirely worn down in self-esteem so that she is powerless to fight back against the abuse. The golden child and other children see how the scapegoat is treated and try hard not to rock the boat because they don’t want to end up like that.]

Mrs. Norris teaches Fanny from the beginning to judge and reject her own natural emotions. On her first traumatic separation from her family, Mrs. Norris lectures her incessantly on how she ought to be HAPPY, not sad:

Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for her not to be happy.

Fanny is taught to regard her own natural feelings as “wicked”, especially when they are a negative reaction to how the Bertram/Norris family treats her. While she can see some of her own feelings as just--when they have been sanctioned by Edmund’s judgment--any feeling that tends away from perfect gratitude toward the Bertram/Norris family she immediately rejects as an immoral response. She frequently takes herself to task at these moments. Anger and resentment are natural responses meant to help us protect ourselves against mistreatment from others, and this self-defending response is entirely squelched by Mrs. Norris’s behavior to her.

Mrs. Norris’s behavior toward Fanny is not only emotionally abusive; it is also at least physically neglectful, if not physically abusive. Despite the fact that everyone agrees that Fanny “is not strong”, Mrs. Norris makes a lot of difficulties in Edmund’s attempts to make sure Fanny has a horse to ride, and also refuses to allow Fanny a fire in the East Room, even in the middle of winter, a privation that ever Sir Thomas thinks bad enough that he countermands it--though doing so with a little explanatory disclaimer to Fanny explaining why Mrs. Norris MEANS well and why Fanny shouldn’t dare to be angry, or indeed anything but immensely and forever grateful for their neglectful treatment of her:

Your aunt Norris has always been an advocate, and very judiciously, for young people’s being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation in everything. She is also very hardy herself, which of course will influence her in her opinion of the wants of others. And on another account, too, I can perfectly comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I believe has been, carried too far in your case. I am aware that there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction; but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever harbour resentment on that account. You have an understanding which will prevent you from receiving things only in part, and judging partially by the event. You will take in the whole of the past, you will consider times, persons, and probabilities, and you will feel that they were not least your friends who were educating and preparing you for that mediocrity of condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant; and of this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the respect and attention that are due to her.

~*GAAASSSSS-LIGHTINNNNGGGGGGG*~

“Oh, shit, you’ve been freezing to death here for years because your aunt’s an abusive asshole. Oh, but there are three million excuses for her, and also you’re SO GOOD AND GRATEFUL that I KNOW you’ll never allow yourself to see it for the abuse it was, and aren’t you so GRATEFUL to us all for everything we’ve done for you? We MEANT well. And being abused was good for you anyway. If you ever get mad at your abusers I’ll treat you with withering criticism.”

*gagggg* I could write an entire essay explicating the gaslighting in that passage ALONE.

I could go on and on about Mrs. Norris’s abusive behavior toward Fanny, but I think most of it’s perfectly obvious to the reader. I think a very interesting argument might be made on whether Mrs. Norris would count as having a form of narcissistic personality disorder--always worried about her own importance, living through her golden child Maria, taking everything out on her scapegoat, insisting always on associating her own value with that of Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram and insisting on Fanny’s status being lower because her own self-esteem is dependent on being as good as her sister Bertram and better than her sister Price. Might be interesting.

Part 2: Fanny Price’s Trauma Responses

Complex emotional trauma expresses itself in a number of symptoms and behaviors. We’ve already talked about emotional flashbacks, and I’m going to look at four more major aspects of Fanny’s trauma responses.

Anxiety and Hypervigilance

People with PTSD often suffer from hypervigilance, where their body is constantly on high alert for threats in their environment. These threats are not only physical threats (resulting in things like jumping really hard at sudden noises) but also interpersonal threats. For instance, whenever I hear people talking really quietly in my house, I stop whatever I’m doing and listen REALLY HARD because I’m worried they’re talking about me and it’s gonna be bad.

Fanny exhibits this same behavior when she has retreated to the East Room when Crawford is in the house to propose to her:

She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no footsteps approached the East room, she grew gradually composed, could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.

Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard; a heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house: it was her uncle’s; she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at it as often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to speak to her, whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door and asked if she were there, and if he might come in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in French and English.

Her trembling at the sound of her uncle’s footsteps looks like hypervigilance, and the fact of her childhood “terror” being “renewed” sounds like she’s having another flashback, since she so strongly associates the presence of her uncle in the East Room with those painful childhood visits. She reacts with physical symptoms of stress, trembling at his approach.

Fanny’s anxiety and hypervigilance also demonstrates itself in her being constantly convinced that people are going to be angry with her. When she turns Mr. Crawford down, for instance, she is CONVINCED that Miss Crawford is going to be furious with her, and fears to meet with her. Edmund tells her Miss Crawford isn’t REALLY angry with her, but cannot convince her:

The promised visit from “her friend,” as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said... she was in every way an object of painful alarm. ...The dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny’s only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack.

Fanny is so terrified of a polite confrontation with Miss Crawford, whom she has never seen angry before, that she spends DAYS trying to never be alone so that she’ll feel protected by the presence of company! Of course, when Miss Crawford DOES visit, she’s nothing but friendly. But Fanny’s PTSD couldn’t allow her to believe that until it happened. Her anxiety is intense, and this sort of thing happens repeatedly over the course of the novel.

Over-accommodation of others / people-pleasing

Childhood emotional trauma frequently leads to people-pleasing behavior: doing what you do not want to do simply because someone else wants you to. To understand this, you have to put yourself into the point of view of a very young child or an infant. Children depend entirely on their caregivers for survival: they are aware of this on an instinctive level. If the caregiver shows them very conditional love, only appearing pleased with them when the child does things they like and displeased when the child does things that inconvenience them, the child quickly learns that they need to please their caregivers in order to survive. “Mom gets angry when I cry--Mom doesn’t like me to cry--if Mom gets angry at me, I could starve to death--I need to not cry.” Obviously this line of thinking happens on a subconscious rather than a conscious level, but it’s incredibly powerful nonetheless. I have found myself in situations where a person with some kind of power over me--a doctor, for instance--shows displeasure with something I say to them, and I INSTANTLY find myself backing off, making light of it, taking back everything I said, etc, even though I very much meant it and it needed to be said. The people-pleasing instinct is very strong and difficult to overcome.

In Fanny’s case, it isn’t just a matter of her caregivers showing her inconsistent love in early childhood. Even as an adult, she is fully aware that she needs to please the Bertrams, or she--and her family!--are SCREWED. She is entirely financially dependent on the Bertrams. If she displeases them, not only can they make her life at Mansfield even MORE uncomfortable than it already is, but they can send her back to Portsmouth. Even worse, they could stop their financial support of William and the financial support they are periodically sending to the rest of her family. Huge things hang on Fanny’s pleasing the Bertrams, and it’s small wonder she has developed the habit of trying to please everybody constantly (even her un-pleasable Aunt Norris).

Fanny repeatedly does things she doesn’t want to do, simply because someone asks or tells her to, even if there’s likely to be no major consequences if she doesn’t. One example is on Miss Crawford’s last visit to Mansfield, when Fanny is trying her darnedest to avoid speaking with her alone:

[Miss Crawford] was determined to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably soon, in a low voice, “I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere”; words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable.

Fanny doesn’t want to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny doesn’t NEED to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny could stall, perhaps until Miss Crawford left. Nonetheless, the MOMENT Miss Crawford asks it of her, Fanny does it--even though she’s clearly terrified, feeling it “in all her pulses and all her nerves” (more on this physical reaction later). She acts almost like Ella Enchanted: she literally can’t say no.

Likewise, she doesn’t take opportunities she is offered to do things that she DOES wish to do. After a very long description of how much she wants to dance one evening, when her only chance of a partner is Tom, the following exchange occurs:

When he had told of his horse, [Tom] took a newspaper from the table, and looking over it, said in a languid way, “If you want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up with you.” With more than equal civility the offer was declined; she did not wish to dance. “I am glad of it,” said he, in a much brisker tone, and throwing down the newspaper again, “for I am tired to death.”

Fanny DOES want to dance, and the way that he worded the question, she could very well have said, “Yes, please,” and gotten up to dance with him. He has made it obvious that he doesn’t want to dance, and she has picked up on this and said--not only that they don’t have to dance, but the LIE that she doesn’t WANT to dance--in order to please him. Later Austen points Tom out as a hypocrite when he complains, “It raises my spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing, whatever it be!” But while it is true that Tom left Fanny LITTLE choice in the matter, it is also true that a stronger character, like Miss Crawford, could probably have found a way to say that she DID want to dance, even with such an unencouraging questioner. Fanny cannot do this: she has been conditioned all her life to give in to people--because her very SURVIVAL has depended on it.

In particular, Mrs. Norris has squelched Fanny’s independence of spirit very firmly. At one point she observes, very unfairly,

There is a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before—she likes to go her own way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get the better of.”

As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust.

Obviously, Mrs. Norris is completely wrong about this. But as long as she can project* the fault of independence on Fanny, and punish Fanny for this false fault, she can prevent her from ever developing it. By picking on the least little supposed sign of independence and harping on it for ages, Mrs. Norris can prevent Fanny from ever developing a will of her own.

[*Footnote: this is another thing narcissists do: they project their own bad behavior on to others. Mrs. Norris is definitely not secretive, but she is very “independent” and has a lot of “nonsense”--instead of consulting with others about what they actually need in any given situation, she TELLS them. She has no spirit of cooperation, and all her “services” to others tend to be officious and useless.]

Low self-esteem

I thought about putting this together with the section on Mrs. Norris, because Fanny’s self-esteem has been so much shaped by her aunt. This is the kind of message Mrs. Norris is constantly drilling into her about the lowness of her importance:

The nonsense and folly of people’s stepping out of their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. That will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last.

This message is so entirely in keeping with the messages Mrs. Norris has been indoctrinating Fanny with over the years that she has fully internalized it. When a primary caregiver tells you over and over again that you do not matter to anyone, you come to believe it:

[Fanny:] “I can never be important to any one.”

[Edmund:] “What is to prevent you?”

“Everything. My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness.”

“As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness without wishing to return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend and companion.”

“You are too kind,” said Fanny, colouring at such praise; “how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me.”

Fanny’s “I can never be important to any one” sounds very much like a triggered teenager sobbing, “Nobody will ever love me!” even while friends next to her are demonstrating that they DO love her. The survivor of this kind of abuse comes to a place where their beliefs do not reflect reality because their beliefs instead reflect the intense emotional rejection they have received from their main caregivers*. Fanny is important to Edmund, William, and Lady Bertram, but is convinced that she not only is NOT important to ANYONE, but never CAN be. She also convinced that she is foolish and awkward, probably by the early experiences at Mansfield when she didn’t know all the intricate rules of high society and was far behind Maria and Julia in her education. Fanny, though she is extremely shy, manages to carry off most things with surprising grace, and she is clever and has a wisdom and common sense in some things far beyond her years. Yet she is CERTAIN that she is “foolish and awkward”, because she has been repeatedly called so by authority figures in her life and almost all of her family at Mansfield.

[*Footnote: these extreme beliefs are often couched in “black-and-white” language: “EVERYBODY hates me, NOBODY loves me, I’ll NEVER be able to do it right, I’ll be alone FOREVER”. We can hear this in Fanny’s “I can NEVER be of importance to ANY ONE”.]

Fanny not only thinks very lowly of herself, she also is afraid of being praised or of anything that could possibly raise her self-esteem. For instance, in a discussion with Edmund, she explains why she never wants anybody to notice her:

[Edmund:] “Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you in every respect; and I only wish you would talk to him more. You are one of those who are too silent in the evening circle.”

[Fanny:] “But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. Did not you hear me ask him about the slave-trade last night?”

“I did—and was in hopes the question would be followed up by others. It would have pleased your uncle to be inquired of farther.”

“And I longed to do it—but there was such a dead silence! And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, or seeming at all interested in the subject, I did not like—I thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself off at their expense, by shewing a curiosity and pleasure in his information which he must wish his own daughters to feel.”

“Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of you the other day: that you seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women were of neglect.”

She is literally fearful of notice and praise--because Mrs. Norris has told her repeatedly throughout her life that she must NEVER shine more than Maria or Julia, must NEVER take attention away from them--a sort of vicarious narcissism. And Fanny feels that to receive a compliment, to state her own opinions, or even to TALK much in company is “stepping out of her place”, the high crime and misdemeanor of Mrs. Norris’s upbringing.

I was raised by a narcissistic caretaker, and I am sometimes suddenly overwhelmed with terror that I’m taking too much attention to myself and that I’m therefore BAD somehow. Because a narcissist (or their proxy, the golden child) must always be the center of attention, the scapegoat is emotionally punished for ever taking the spotlight. Mrs. Norris is disposed to be upset when Sir Thomas holds a dance in Fanny’s honor, and is only reconciled to it because SHE will be able to make herself the center of attention in the preparations.*

[*Footnote: I think another argument can be made for Mrs. Norris’s narcissism in her response to Crawford’s proposal to Fanny:

Angry she was: bitterly angry; but she was more angry with Fanny for having received such an offer than for refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, who ought to have been Mr. Crawford’s choice; and, independently of that, she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had been always trying to depress.

Mrs. Norris is DETERMINED to put Fanny down, as the scapegoat, and is offended that one of her golden children (her emotional stand-in) is shown less honor in this situation than the scapegoat. For the scapegoat to be elevated and her narcissistic stand-in to be neglected induces a narcissistic rage.]

“Sensibility” and High Sensitivity

In the 18th century, a theory and “culture of sensibility” grew up in places like Britain, France, Holland, and the British colonies. Encyclopedia.com’s article on sensibility states, “Sensibility (and ‘sensible’ and ‘sentiment’) connoted the operation of the nervous system, the material basis for consciousness.” But the workings of the nervous system, they believed, affected more than just the physical body. Some people, it was held, had greater sensibility than others: their nerves were more easily affected by not only physical but also emotional and moral input, and they responded accordingly--not just in word and in deed, but in tears, blushes, trembling, fainting, etc. It was believed that people’s emotional responses AND physical responses could tell you something about their physical AND moral makeup. A truly modest woman, for instance, would blush and look confused when confronted with something that offended her maidenly modesty. A woman--or indeed, man--who was truly moral and “sensible�� would be emotionally affected by something sad, such as a tale of oppression, to the point of openly weeping. A heroine of sensibility would most likely faint if threatened with something she found, not only physically frightening, but morally abhorrent (such as a forced marriage). This is part of the reason for what seems to use like excessive emotional reactions in some 18th-century novels: the writer is demonstrating her characters’ moral superiority through their physical sensibility.*

[*Footnote: Encyclopedia.com adds, “The coexistence of reason and feeling was assumed, but the proportion of each was endlessly debated, above all because of what many saw as the dangers of unleashed feelings... [After the French Revolution,] The debate over the proportions of reason and feeling in persons of sensibility was politicized, and the need for women to channel their feelings toward moral and domestic goals was reemphasized. The word ‘sentimental,’ which had been used positively, became a label for ‘excessive sensibility’ and self-indulgence.” We can see this conflict clearly in Austen’s Sense and Sensibility!]

There is, in fact, a modern equivalent to the 18th century idea of sensibility: the concept of the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) or Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS). First proposed by Elaine Aron's book The Highly Sensitive Person (1996), the theory suggests that SPS

is a temperamental or personality trait involving "an increased sensitivity of the central nervous system and a deeper cognitive processing of physical, social and emotional stimuli". The trait is characterized by "a tendency to 'pause to check' in novel situations, greater sensitivity to subtle stimuli, and the engagement of deeper cognitive processing strategies for employing coping actions, all of which is driven by heightened emotional reactivity, both positive and negative". (wikipedia)

While some people have mocked this theory as pseudoscience, Aron is by no means the only researcher to have studied it, and a great many people who suffered from people telling them “You’re too sensitive” when they were hurt have taken comfort in the positive affirmation that high sensitivity is a natural phenomenon and can even at times be regarded as a strength rather than a character flaw.

It seems to me that there is a good deal of overlap between those who self-identify or may be identified as HSPs and those who have C-PTSD. Whether this is because greater emotional sensitivity leads to a greater incidence of traumatic responses to negative experiences, or whether high sensitivity is itself a product of repeated childhood trauma, I can’t say. (Heck, it could even be that the HSP’s belief that they’re over-sensitive comes from childhood gaslighting!)

What I can say is that Fanny Price exhibits, not only hypervigilance, but also what Austen would call “great sensibility” and I would call “SPS”. Fanny has the greatest sensibility of any character in the entire novel, even Edmund: she judges more clearly on moral matters than Edmund or Sir Thomas, and has the strongest physical and emotional reactions to stimuli. She seems to be constantly blushing, trembling, or tearing up. This is not only painful to modern readers (who, if they’re not pained by sympathizing with her, may well be pained by what seems to them a lack of proper 21st-century backbone in a main character) but is clearly highly uncomfortable at times to Fanny herself. She might be able to pride herself on her moral discernment (not that Fanny would EVER pride herself on ANYTHING), and she may be in transports of happiness when something good, like William’s arrival or promotion, occur, but she is often “cast down” as well by things that seem to others like trifles. We see this not only in her hypervigilance but also in the depression and the black-and-white thinking which are often the products of trauma. Edmund observes to her, “It is your disposition to be easily dejected and to fancy difficulties greater than they are.” Fanny’s apparent high sensitivity may be just a natural trait (made worse by trauma) or may itself be a product of trauma.

Conclusions

At the end of all this, I’m really not sure what I think about Fanny’s “happy ending”. On one hand, she gets what she’s always wanted in life: companionate marriage with Edmund, valued by Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram, with Mrs. Norris (and Maria) gone forever, and Julia and Tom chastened and better behaved. It seems perfect for her. But a little voice inside of me keeps saying how very unlikely it is. People rarely change as much as Sir Thomas does in the book--and in fact, we are only assured by Austen that Sir Thomas comes to value Fanny more: we don’t actually SEE it. I can’t help but feel that Fanny must still have been subject to ongoing gaslighting about how she was brought up and about respect toward Mrs. Norris and himself. Fanny got what she thought she wanted, but at the same time, she didn’t get free. Especially considering that Austen goes out of her way to say that things COULD have turned out differently and that Fanny and Crawford COULD have been happy together, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Fanny had ended up with the ONLY person in the entire book who truly recognizes how badly she has been treated at Mansfield Park:

[Crawford]: And they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness.

#jane austen #mansfield park #trauma #c-ptsd #literature #tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk

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sandersseduction · 3 years

Text

Truth is I Want You

This work is part of @sanderssidessmutmonth ! Roman Week Day Five, Roceit!

Content: Alcohol, Making Out, Grinding, Rimming/Eating Out, Anal Fingering, Size Kink, Doggy Style

Pairing: Roceit

Word Count: 2681

Roman sat down in the circle among friends and strangers, everyone chatting excitedly for the game to begin. The closed door did little to muffle the music blaring from the speakers in the main room. The theater major took a slow sip from his red cup, though there was no alcohol in it. It was just Coke. He had a class at 8:30 in the morning, and he was not about to risk a hangover for that.

“Okay, everyone know the rules?” Roman turned his attention to his friend Patton, who apparently was the one running the game.

“It’s Truth of Dare Babe, ‘s not complicated,” a guy, in a pair of sunglasses of all things, drawled out before taking a long sip from a starbucks cup. Everyone else let out murmurs of agreement and Patton beamed.

“Okay then I’ll go first!” With that, his friend spun the bottle in the center of the circle. Roman watched as it spun around, excited to see if it would land on him or someone else. The spinning slowed down to a stop, the neck pointing right at someone in a beanie. “Truth of dare!” It was plain adorable how excitable his friend was. It gave Roman flashbacks to childhood sleepovers.

“Dare me.” The beanie headed stranger decided and Patton took a moment to ponder.

“I dare you to…. Drink a cup of pickle juice!” Even the dare was like being back in elementary school. Laughter filled the room as people jokingly shoved at the daree before they got up to leave the room. Everyone scrambled to follow, wanting to witness it occur. Moving through the frat house, the group made their way to the kitchen.

“Do they even have pickles?” Someone asked, Roman didn’t know who. The answer arrived shortly after when a quick rummage through the fridge revealed a jar of the pimply green vegetables. Phones were taken out, Roman’s among them, ready to record for future hilarity. The lid was removed and a cup gathered, everyone cheering on as the juice was poured in. Roman hit record on his phone the second the cup was lifted, and as they drank from it, everyone yelled out commentary. The face the stranger made was priceless, they looked like they wanted to gag.

“Ugh fuck that was so gross. Shit man.” Everyone laughed at that before hurrying back to the room they had originally congregated at. Beanie spun the bottle and the next victim was the Emo guy Virgil that Patton was roommates with. “Truth or dare?”

“Umm.” Virgil seemed to weigh his options, brooding eyes wandering all over the place. “Truth.” A few people booed, wanting something more exciting, but Patton shushed them and gave Virgil a thumbs up.

“Okay uuh-” Roman tuned out for a moment, taking his attention to where his cup had disappeared to when they had all left. He could have sworn he left it nearby when he got up but none of the cups he could see were the dark color of his soda. Where-

“I think this is yours.” A familiar voice whispered in his ear. Roman snapped his head towards the source, eyes wide as he spotted Janus García sitting right next to him. Heat rushed to his face at seeing those mismatched eyes so close, his heart racing in his chest. When did he get there? Roman did not remember sitting next to him. In fact, he recalled at the start of the game, he had been sitting by his friends Logan and Nate. Did they not join him when everyone came back in?

“W-what?” he stuttered out when he recalled the handsome man had said something to him. A smirk was sent his way, and it did wicked things to his insides, before the other held up a red cup with dark liquid inside. “I said, I think this is yours.” Janus repeated, still leaned in close to be heard over the music and others cheering and chatting. “I thought it was my rum and Coke, but there is most certainly no rum in it.” With bright red cheeks, Roman took the cup from him, the fingers brushing in the change. The touch sent electricity through him.

“Thanks.” he said softly, perhaps too softly in such a loud setting but Janus seemed to hear him because he nodded before turning his attention back to the group. Roman did the same, holding his cup close if it had the secrets to the universe. His attention returned to the game just in time to see the bottle land on Logan, whom he now realized sat across the circle now.

“Dare.” Roman watched silently at the biology major’s act of bravery, ready to take on whatever challenge Virgil would give him. He took a sip of his drink while the Emo instructed Logan to speak only in puns for the rest of the game, before remembering that Janus had drunk from it too.

Oh my stars, it's an indirect kiss! he thought, flushed and embarrassed. He probably didn’t even drink from the same spot as the other, but the fact that they both had was enough to get his heartbeat pulsing hard. Or maybe that was the bass shaking the whole house? Either way, the thought was in his head now, and grew more aware of the other man’s body close to his own. Only inches kept their crossed legs from touching.

“Roman!” He jolted at the call of his name, blinking to see the bottle facing him and his brother grinning devilishly. “Truth of dare?”

When did Remus go? he wondered, blinking in confusion. Had he been so lost in his thoughts he missed other turns? Damn. Well he knew better than to take a dare from the other. That was just asking for trouble. “Truth, I guess.” Remus pouted at that, which only proved him right in his choice, but then a manic grin took over his face.

“Who do you have wet dreams about?”

“What the fuck Remus!?” Roman exclaimed, his flush darkening while his nose crinkled. He did NOT need his brother of all people asking that. That was just so wrong.

“You gotta answer or take a penalty~” his lookalike singsonged, and Roman had never had a greater urge to punch his brother in the face than in that moment. The rules of the game were clear though, and knowing his brother, Remus was probably hoping Roman would take the penalty. It was almost tempting too, just to avoid confessing out loud of the subject of his lusty thoughts.

But his competitive spirit wouldn’t allow it. With a nervous glance to the side, he cleared his throat before looking down at his lap. “... Janus García.” The man in question stiffened beside him and Roman felt his stomach sink. As the crowd laughed and teased, Roman felt his blush spread to the tips of his ears. It was single handedly the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him. Silently, he spun the bottle just to get the attention off of him and didn’t even bother to pay attention to who it landed. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” It was sunglasses and starbucks.

“I dare you to uh, french kiss the frat mascot.” It was some stuffed jackalope thing that some thought was a taxidermied rabbit with antlers glued on and others thought it was just a very realistic but utterly fake stuffed animal with antlers glued on. No one really knew as it had been part of the fraternity for decades. Starbucks agreed and everyone laughed and recorded the dude after he retrieved it, losing their shit as he proceeded to make out with it.

The game went on after that, but Roman couldn’t really focus. Not when Janus was still right next to him while knowing that the theater major had dirty thoughts about him. He had more than that, but the point remained. He wasn’t actively changing seats, which had to be some kind of positive right? Maybe he wasn’t disgusted by Roman and his feelings? He could only hope things wouldn’t be too awkward after the night was over.

When the game finished, ending after Tayln puked from spinning too much and too fast for their dare, Roman got up with everyone else and made to leave. Before he could even get to the door however, hands grabbed hold of him and spun him around. He locked eyes with brown and green, inhaling sharply as he realized that Janus had stopped him. Actually more than stopped. He was being moved backwards until his back met with a wall. “Uh-”

“You cool with me rocking your world?” Chestnut brown eyes blinked, his jaw dropping a little. “Need an answer, darling.”

“Y-yeah,” he managed to get out, heat pooling low in his gut. “Yeah, I’m cool with that.” The second he finished talking, his lips were stolen in a heated kiss. A groan left him as rough lips pressed firmly into his, hands reaching up loop around Janus’ shoulders. The other man pressed him further against the wall, their hips grinding into each other. Large hands gripped his upper thighs, and suddenly he was being lifted. With a squeak, Roman wrapped his legs around the tanned man’s waist.

In his surprise, a tongue slipped into his mouth. “Mmm~” he moaned, shivering as the muscle rubbed against his own. Without a thought, he rolled his hips and moaned again as he grinded into Janus. The other moaned as well, moving his own hips in tandem. “Fuck!” he gasped out, breaking the kiss to catch his breath. Janus’ lips moved onto his neck, pressing bruising kisses down and setting the skin on fire.

“Get a room!”

Right, they were at a party. Roman sort of forgot about that.

“We do have a room, you just came in it.” Janus retorted, lifting a hand up to flip off the people that came in. And somehow still able to hold Roman up holy shit-

“If you’re gonna fuck, go somewhere else.”

The air seemed to change after that statement, a sexual tension forming as Roman’s eyes met with Janus. An eyebrow raised, a silent question forming. Roman bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah okay.” Just like that, he was set back down and his hand grabbed. The two moved through the house, pushing through the crowd of drunken people and up a flight of stairs. Next thing he knew, he was in a bedroom and lips locked back onto his as he fell onto a bed.

Hands moved all over as the two explored their bodies, hips grinding against each other in a frantic rush. “Wanted you for so long.” Janus confessed, sitting up to remove his shirt. The sight of his pecks was downright mouthwatering. Roman rushed to get his own shirt off before pulling the other back down. The feel of skin against skin was a rush, sending heat all over.

Shoes and pants went off next, a scrambled affair as the two tried not to be apart from each other for long. The moment they were both naked, Roman was flipped around with his face pressed into the pillow and his ass up. A tongue prodded between his cheeks, pulling a gasp from him as his hands clenched at the sheets. Janus seemed quite skillful, eating him out with gusto and making him pant and moan like never before.

He was so lost in the haze of lust, that he didn’t notice the other take out lube. Not until a wet finger pressed against his rim to join in. “Aaaah fuck~” he groaned out, pressing back at the invading digit. He whined when the tongue vanished, rolling his hips to try and find it back. “Fuuuuck.”

“That’s the idea Roman.” Janus chuckled, slipping in a second finger inside. It burned a bit, but Janus moved slowly. Working him up with a patience that Roman did not feel at all. By the time the third finger entered, he thought he was going to lose his mind.

“Mmmh please~” he begged, rolling back onto the fingers to get them in deeper. They brushed against the bundle of nerves that was his prostate, making him cry out in bliss. “Please, fuck me already!” If he didn’t get his ass pounded into soon, he was going to die!

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” The sound of a wrapper filled the air and Roman looked over his shoulder to see a condom get freed. It also gave him the chance to truly see Janus’ cock. The size of it made him moan as his own cock twitched. “Like what you see?” Janus asked, a smirk on his face.

“Yesss.” Roman couldn’t even pretend to play coy. He was hot and bothered and wanted that dick in him yesterday. “God you’re huge!” Janus seemed to appreciate the compliment, leaning down to nip at Roman’s shoulder as he slid the condom on. He gasped at the bite, shivering helplessly while his lover lined himself up. When the head pushed in, Roman inhaled sharply.

Janus didn’t go far before he stopped, letting the theater major get used to how full he was getting already. “Relax.” he instructed, rubbing at his hips to help soothe him. It took a few minutes, but eventually the burn subsided and Janus pushed more of himself in. It felt like an eternity before he bottomed out, but once he did, they were both panting and Roman’s cock began leaking.

He was so full and it reached so deep. The tip barely pressing on his prostate already. “Oh god.” he groaned, pressing his face into the pillow.

“You’re so tight.” Janus moaned out, his hands tightening their hold on Roman. “Fuck.”

“Thats ah- that’s the idea.” Roman couldn’t help but return the other’s cheeky statement. A pinch on his ass had him yelping before it turned into a moan as the cock inside him moved. “I’m ready.” he gasped out, wiggling his hips to make it move again. “Come on, you said you were gonna rock my world.” With a growl, Janus pulled out to the tip before slamming his hips back inside. “AH!” Roman scrambled to hold onto something, the force of the thrust pushing him forward.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” came the growled response, Janus pulling back before thrusting hard again. His thrusts were slow but powerful, knocking the air from Roman’s lungs as he was railed into. “God you feel incredible!” the man went on to praise, making his lover moan shamelessly.

“You’re so deep!” Roman babbled out, writhing under the onslaught. The pace began to pick up, Janus pounding into him faster. A hand gripped his dripping cock, making his back arch as he moaned loudly. The man above him began to pump his hand in time to the bruising thrusts, leaving Roman helpless to the pleasure.

It was with almost no warning when he came, the peak sudden as he cried out Janus’ name. The man in question continued to pound inside, moving faster as he chased his own release. It was boarding on too much when he finally came, pressing in deep as he emptied into the condom. The two groaned when he finally pulled out for good, leaving Roman empty as he let his legs collapse. He was only vaguely aware of Janus throwing the condom away before returning back to bed.

“No one’s gonna get mad we had sex in here right?” he asked, brain function returning to him enough that he realized they had to be in someone’s room.

“Nah, this is my room. We’re fine.”

“Oh good.” He hadn’t been aware that Janus was a member of the fraternity, but that was lucky for them that he was. An arm wrapped around his waist, causing him to open an eye he didn’t know he closed. Janus snuggled in close, his own eyes slipping closed.

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

“I got an 8:30 class.”

“Don’t worry, I’m an early bird.”

#sanderssidessmutmonth #sanderssidessmutmonth2020 #romansweek2020 #roceit #roman sanders #ts roman #janus sanders #ts janus #deceit sanders #ts deceit #college au

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schnitzelbutterfingers · 4 years

Text

the forgotten one- chapter 2

A/N: hiya there! here is the second chapter of ‘the forgotten one’! this is also emotional, and angsty, but don’t worry. there will be some fluff in the next chapter. seb and jazmin the mother will arrive at boston. ethan’s still processing the news and he’s afraid. SO afraid. and abby... well you’ll find out!! sorry this took almost two weeks. sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? but i finally completed it!! as always, forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. lmk if you want to be added or removed from the tags. enjoy!!

summary: Louise Ramsey, the mother of the famous, brilliant diagnostician Ethan Ramsey, is back into his life. However, Louise holds many secrets, dangerous secrets, that could harm him, Dr. Abigail ‘Abby’ Chacko (my MC), and the very few lives he actually cares about. It is up to Ethan, Abby, and their friends to save each other from what is about to come.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x mc (dr. abigail “abby” chacko)

warning(s): violence and blood. there might be some fluff along the way, but you get the gist. DON’T READ IF YOU”RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH DEATH, VIOLENCE, and BLOOD.

word count: 3042

masterlist

Seb’s POV

When he saw Amma standing still, a tear tracing her cheek, it practically grieved his heart. He looked elsewhere, when his eyes landed on a picture of him and his baby sister. It was when Seb graduated from John Hopkins University at the age of 24, getting accepted to a residency program in Northwestern Memorial Hospital, where he was working presently. He had a bouquet in his hand, made by his sister. It was swelled with red roses, white calla lilies, and orchids. They were smiling, and Abby was lowering her lips to his cheeks, a gesture in which he adored. Merely looking at it made the running pains flow through his blood, banging at his heart.

Instantaneously, he heard a small thud. He turned around and directly perceived that it was the sound of knees, because he regarded his mother on the ground, sobbing and screaming. Amma suffered from anxiety and depression, something is being treated by Dr. Joah Jehovah, a psychologist. And it took all of his willpower to not imitate her actions.

Her sister. Stabbed. By some freak. After barely surviving the assassination attempt. He questioned God again and again as to why his baby sister should be punished like that. What did she ever do? She suffered frequently through her childhood, and she suffered just two weeks before, and now... she’s suffering again. Will she be able to endure this?

No, Seb chastises himself. Don’t think like that. She has survived worse, she’ll survive again.

After comforting Jazmin and blinking back some tears of his own, he forcibly opened his MacBook Pro and breezed through American Airlines, trying to buy the first two tickets to Boston, Massachusetts. This had been their second time flying to Boston this odd year, the first time when Abby was stuck in the contamination room.

First class seats. Like I would care at this point. They purchased economy seats out of hurry and rushed to the airport. The whole flight, Jazmin was trying to conceal her face with a crimson scarf, not presenting anyone her tears. There were two oblivious people in the front seats, laughing and smiling uncontrollably, and he desperately wanted to yell furiously at them, tell them to stop before he loses his unconscious mind. If it was possible, he would want to shout from the top of his lungs on the airplane. But that’s not fair, even to the two passengers. Because they’re really excited to see Hamilton. How did he know? They’re holding two tickets out in the open, and it wasn’t difficult for Seb to read them. Ah, the benefits of observation.

He was trying to stay strong for his mother, but a few times, he excused himself to the bathroom, where he would shed some tears, hoping, praying, for her angel sister to survive.

They landed in Boston, and when they were getting their luggage from the rack, he only saw her. And Ethan. He had no idea what Ethan was going through.

Seb and his depressed mother are now in a taxi, going to Edenbrook Hospital. The sun’s shining goldenly, a few clouds in the sky, perfect for a picnic date. Ragged tears of nervous sweat are prickling on his head even though the weather is chilly. There is snow, kids making snowmen, snow angels, snow ball fights. It reminded him of Seb’s and Abby’s childhood.

The siblings almost never had the chance to play out in the snow because Abraham and his people would whip them with a belt. Whenever their father is not there though, Amma would sneak them out and they always made the most of their time playing out in the snow. He can still remember their grins and how Abby got her first frostbite for staying outside for five hours. Eventually, Jazmin had to drag their butts back into the houses, where they shared hot cocoa. When snow was falling in her first winter in Boston, she was so excited that she called Seb to let him know. He had a small smile on his face as Abby ranted to him about what she and her roommates will do.

He can note how Amma was trying to possess a determined face. The ominous silence sounds almost deafening, Seb takes out his phone and dials Ethan’s number. Someone picks up but that someone is not Ethan. It’s Naveen.

“Naveen?! How is Abby?” Seb places the phone on speaker phone, so his mother can hear what Naveen has to say.

“Abby’s surgery was successful. The stab wound affected her liver, but Dr. Tanaka and the surgeons managed to fix it. She is now sleeping in Room 24B.” He paused for a moment. “Are you and Jazmin in Boston?”

“Yes, Naveen. We’re on a taxi heading to the hospital.”

All the while he can hear himself thanking God, the angels in heaven and all the saints for taking care of his baby angel. Jazmin is spilling joyful tears and sobbing. However, he also wants to know where he is. Where his anxious friend is. He nervously takes a deep breath and questions the senior doctor.

“...Naveen? Where is Ethan? Harper was the one on the other end the first time. At that time, I knew it was because Ethan didn’t have the strength to talk to me. Abby is alright now. Why is he not talking to me?”

There is dead silence on the other end. The only sounds he can detect are the cars on the other lane and the taxi’s radio playing I Can’t Feel My Face by The Weeknd. Wow, what a great song accompanying my mood, he thinks sarcastically. Ultimately, he hears the chief gathering a deep breath.

“Come to the hospital immediately. I will tell you what happened.”

“Okay, Naveen. Thank you.” he says as he frantic cut the call.

Seb and Jazmin share a concerned look. As they drove through Edenbrook’s main entrance, he couldn’t help but think. Whatever is happening now, it’s not good.

________________________________________________________________Ethan’s POV

Relaxation. Ease. Relief. Relief.

Relief was the word he used when his longtime mentor Naveen survived. Relief was the word he used when Abby won her hearing, an obstacle that almost stopped her from saving more patients and sufficiently advancing her career. Relief was the word he used when he saw his Rookie again after two months in the Amazon, fighting off a virus with the W.H.O. Relief was the word he used when he felt her head on his shoulder while driving her back to her shared apartment from the dinner with the governor. Relief was the word he used when he had her on the luxury yacht, distracting him from the opulence and Leland Bloom. Relief was the word he used when he passionately kissed her outside of his apartment after the softball game, the first time in a long time. Relief was the word he used when he caressed her with his lips during the Mass Kenmore heist. Relief was the word he used when he announced on national television that he wasn’t single, which somehow, didn’t make him feel anxious. Relief was the word he used when Abby overcame the toxin, which threatened to take the lives of her and Rafael, already killing Danny Cardinal and Bobby Gunderson. Relief was the word he used when they cuddled and clung fondly to each other in the ski resort, blocking the sounds of the wind rattling against the windows, a huge blizzard taking place outside. And now...

Relief was, no, is the word he is using to accurately describe how Ethan feels after his Rookie’s surgery.

He does not want to undergo that. Ever. Again.

If he ever sees Louise Ramsey in his sight, he will lose it. He will lose it. He will lose. It.

He started believing in that woman again, only to be driven back to square one. She rubbed a huge pack of salt deep into the wound in his heart. In fact, it was Abby who recommended that she should hear Louise out.

*Flashback*

Ethan can’t sleep. He tries to close his eyes, hoping that the next time he unravels them, it will be five a.m. He reveals his eyes again and groans. His clock reads 1:12 a.m.

The radiant moonlight is shining through the windows and onto his satin sheets, the sole source of light in his room.

Ever since his mother came to the ER, admitted in there for an apparent overdose, that was all he could think about. And Abby..

He shut her out. Once again. Thinking about how he slammed the on-call room door in her face made him wince with guilt. He hadn’t sighted her after that. How were they supposed to be in a relationship (are they in one?) if he keeps shutting her out again? He can’t even open up his feelings to her, the one who shared her past, her present, her deepest, darkest secrets...

Ethan instantly decides to contact her.

The phone picks up on the second ring.

“Ethan? Is everything alright?” Abby sounds awake, not tired at all. He hears papers shuffling on the other side.

“No, Rookie. I wanted to apologize for the way I acted today.”

There is a long moment of silence. “What are you talking about? What are you apologizing for?”

She sounds genuinely curious and confused, he wants to scoff at her for neglecting what happened. For not being mad at him. For not shutting him out. Just like he did many times.

“I closed the door in your face after you had attempted to console me after Louise came in the ER. It was downright impolite of me, and I am sor-” he is interrupted.

“Ethan, don’t ever be sorry for that. I understood that you needed some space. And besides, I have to admit.. if I was in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.”

She pauses for a moment, and this time he almost hears the sound of her unique heartbeat. “I will never know the pain you suffered during your childhood after knowing that your mother left you. But I do know this. I will always be there for you, Ethan Ramsey. Whether you like it or not.”

His heart swells with genuine emotions and tears starts to burn through his eyes, but he forces to flutter them away, his throat tightening.

“Abby.. I... thank you. That means a lot to me. And, for the record, I’ll always be there for you, Abigail Chacko.”

Abby laughs wholeheartedly, hearing the words she used back to her, the first pleasant sound of his whole day that makes his stomach flip.

The laughter dies down, and there is silence stretching for a long time. At the last moment, Abby promptly breaks it, a sense of relief flooding through his cells.

“...How are you, really? With everything that’s been going on with your mom, I mean.” Then, there is a painful quietness that seemed acutely uncomfortable. She breaks it again, with a gentle voice. “I’m sorry. I know how painful this situation is, and just wanted to-”

He waves off her apology with one question, a question that had been racking him for a long time. “..What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

“...What do you mean?”

“If you had a similar circumstance where someone who hurt you came back again into your life, in a long time, what would you do?”

The once visible moon is now being hidden by a cloud, showing off a little bit of brightness, as if performing an act of humility as he waits for an answer. After an eternity in what was only a few minutes, she answers.

“I would forgive them.”

Ethan isn’t genuinely shocked to hear this, but it still makes his lips slightly part. He knew Abby’s and Seb’s childhood, which, from what he undoubtedly heard, could have been more painful and terrible than his own. They got beaten up and assaulted almost every day, Seb had told him days after they became friends. So, he decides to ask this one question.

“..Why?”

“..I didn’t say I was gonna forgive them quickly, did I? It takes time for a person to truly forgive someone, and to me.. that’s okay. If they haven’t changed, I will still forgive them, but not immediately, but if they did change and they want to be a different person, then I will forgive them, no matter what they did to me.”

Ethan lets out a sigh he has been containing for a while, instantly recognizing his need for oxygen. If her father came back, as a changed man, would she forgive him? How can she do that? No, the key question is, how will she do that? Before meditating deeper into his thoughts, she disrupts him.

“Is this about your mother, Ethan?”

“..I.. I’ll admit I have been thinking about that. I also have been wondering.. I’m like my mother aren’t I?”

Bewilderment substitutes her gentle voice. “What are you talking about? You’re not like your-”

‘I push everyone away, especially you. Every time when you try to get close to me. That’s exactly what my mom did to me and my dad. She left us without a note. I left you to the Amazon with no reason as to why I did it.”

“Ethan-”

“Tell me, Abby. Tell me that you weren’t hurt by my actions and I will let this topic go.”

Another impressive silence, until he hears some cars honking on the bustling streets of Boston. And he hears her familiar voice on the other side, bringing remorse but an equivalent amount of considerable comfort in him. “..Ethan.. you may have hurt me. A lot. I’ll admit that. But you are not your mother, do you understand that?

Ethan tries to swallow a small lump in his throat. “You’ve changed. From pushing me away to letting me in. I am honored to be a part of your life in this way. And, to answer another question of yours, in my opinion, I think she really wants to change. For Mr. Ramsey and for you.”

His throat tightens again as he hears her speak once more. “It takes a lot of courage for someone to visit their family after 25 years. Maybe she does really want to change. But I’m not making any options for you. This is your choice and yours only.”

She still aids him, even though he shut her out today. She still cherishes him, even though What did I do to deserve her? he thinks.

“Ethan? Are you there?” he hears her troubled voice. He speaks to alleviate her worry.

“...Thank you. For this, I mean. For always being there for me when I need you.”

She sighs contentedly . “Ethan, I told you once before, and I’ll tell this again, until you get it in your head. I’ll. Always. Be. There. For. You. Whether you like it. Or not.”

*Back to present*

“Ethan?” He hears a familiar voice from down the hallway. Seb. Next to him is what he presumes to be Jazmin. Their eyes are pinkish, cheeks blushed and streaked with tears.

How is he going to talk to them? How is he going to talk to Seb, the one most beloved friend that he has, cares for and trusts? How is he going to talk to Jazmin? Even though they hadn’t really seen each other before, they usually communicated on the phone a lot, and she seems to be the dear mother he never had until now. And he.. he failed them.

Seb speaks up first, looking at him straight in the eye. “We know everything, Ethan. We know.”

Ethan stands there. Not moving. His face looks deathly pale as he looks at him and his mother. They.. know? But ho-

“Did Naveen have anything to do with that?” Ethan replied angrily.

The successful surgeon sighs profoundly. “Yes, he told us. But before you say anything, just hear us out, okay?”

Ethan speaks low, in a terrifying voice that makes interns want to get away from him. He cuts Seb out before he states anything. “..I’m sorry. I apologize. I really am sorry. I can’t believe that woman really put her through this, and it almost seems unbelievable. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have started to trust Louise again. And I promise you that when I get that witch in my hands, I will-”

Jazmin instantly ceases him with a raise of her hand. “Son, do you think we’re mad at you?”

The attending’s eyebrows draw together as confusion overtakes his senses. They’re not enraged at me?

She chuckles slowly, as if sensing uncertainty. “To answer to your lack of certainty, I’m not mad. I’ll never be mad at you. you are not your mother. You are not Louise Ramsey, do you understand me, young man?”

Emotions. Sentiments. They’re flying around him as she announces these words. Suddenly he recalls the similar words his Rookie said.

But you are not your mother, do you understand that?

“I..”

Seb scores him off. “Ethan, stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do. You never made a mistake and we know you love our Angel as much as we love her.”

“I... I love her, don’t I?”

His best friend snickers. “Took you long enough.”

Next to him, Jazmin is sending the doctor a goofy smile.

Suddenly, the moment of ease was interrupted gently by Caspian, a male nurse.

“Abigail Chacko?”

Ethan almost passed out from hearing her name. To not make the moment more awkward, Seb responds for him. “We’re here for her.”

“Abby is conscious and is asking for Dr. Ramsey.”

_______________________________________________________________

Mystery Man’s POV

I walk outside of the ‘prestigious’ hospital. No one minds me. They’re absolutely that stupid, aren’t they?

Louise calls me. “I escaped. Now tell me, what should I do next for our plan to be a success?”

I respond cautiously to her with ease. “Our secret spot. I’m on my way there. Meet me at 5 A.M. Sharp.”

Louise chuckles wickedly. “Marrying you does have its perks.”

I smile wickedly. “It indeed does.” Right away, I cut the call.

________________________________________________________________

A/N 2: any idea who the mystery man is? hint: it’s not alan.

A/N 3: sorry for the cliffhanger!! i promise you that you’ll know more soon.

tags: @missmiimiie @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble @udishaman @caseyvalentineramsey @queencarb @choicesstan1 @newcolonies @arcticrivers @angela8756 @takemyopenheart @rookie-ramsey @ohchoices @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @drariellevalentine @openheartfanfics

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart choices #pixelberry #pixelberry open heart #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

Captain Swan Movie Marathon: “Carolina Moon”

Here is my second submission to the @captainswanmoviemarathon event!! This one is a modern au of the Nora Roberts tv movie (adapted from one of her novels) Carolina Moon. The main female character in the movie is psychic/clairvoyant (I’ll admit, I’m not too sure on the distinction between the two) and I thought her visions and what she goes through in connection to them made a nice real world parallel to Emma’s magic. (There’s also a scene in here where the male lead says something that I could so perfectly see Killian saying to Emma… I just cannot wait to get to that point!)

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this romantic thriller with some murder mystery elements. There are some instances of abuse and violence in here though - which I feel like I should mention, since that’s a little darker than my typical style. Most of them are in flashbacks of Emma’s past, or in visions she has of victims, more than in the actual present day plot, still I wanted to make people aware before we got too far.

Please enjoy! (I’d love to hear what you think.)

Chapter One

July 1993

The water at their hideaway always feels so good. She could sink into it until her head slips below the surface and never, ever want to come up for air. It’s cooler, more luxurious than even the rich, satiny sheets on the trundle bed those rare nights she gets to sleep over at Rose’s. Emma Swan’s gangly, 13-year-old limbs slice through the murky water as if the constant humidity and sultry air of Storybrooke, South Carolina can’t penetrate here in their little haven. She knows, of course, logically, that the real world isn’t all that far away. The shaded pond she and Rose discovered two summers ago is just a short trek into the woods at the furthest edge of Rose’s family’s boundless acres. Still, it feels removed enough to bring Emma a sense of peace and contentment she gains nowhere else.

Looking over her shoulder to the large, smooth boulder jutting up out of the pond at the bank where they left their flip flops and cutoff denim shorts, she can see her best friend stretched out with her new book where they had spread their towels on the rock’s surface, just in the wash of warming sunlight that streams through the tree branches overhead. Her friend’s flawlessly creamy pale skin is prone to burning, but at the moment Rose seems willing to take the risk for the benefit of lazing cozily to read as she dries in the sun after taking a quick dip. Shaking her head, Emma plunges back under, happy to stay in the chilly water a bit longer herself. She knew as soon as they’d met outside Rose’s house that afternoon and Rose had held the newest entry in her favorite mystery series in her hand that she wouldn’t be able to resist burrowing into those pages for long.

It’s funny, Emma supposes, but that’s exactly what bonded she and Rose in the first place. They might seem different on the surface, but in the end, neither of them quite fit with everyone else, and so they gravitate to each other, and have ever since Emma first arrived in Storybrooke as an eight-year-old orphan. They’re willing to give each other at least one other person who takes them as they are and with whom they won’t have to pretend. Emma doesn’t care if Rose wants to read quietly and tell her about the stories she’s already finished instead of picking out dresses for the next cotillion class or preening in front of the mirror to practice batting her eyelashes to charm boys or bragging to Emma about which ones she intends to kiss. Her sister Ruby, who shares the same thickly shining, burnished mahogany hair and pretty pink lips but little of her fraternal twin’s calming, gentle personality, does enough of that for the both of them. Their mother, a former debutante and southern belle, delights in the one daughter’s traditional coquettishness, and despairs of the other’s shyness, a true throwback to another time who wants nothing more than to see both daughters marry well and retain their places atop the social ladder. In turn, Rose doesn’t mock Emma for her thick, dark-framed glasses or secondhand clothes, nor does she cringe away from the “fits” that sometimes take hold of her friend, making strange, disturbing scenes Emma can’t understand flash across her mind with such intensity they sometimes knock her off her feet. Emma knows Rose’s mother and sister find her an unsuitable and embarrassing companion for Rose, but she is eternally grateful her friend seems able to see the best in anyone - even a lost girl nobody else wants - and so blithely acts as though she has no idea of the rest of her family’s opinions.

Cringing even while still submerged in the pond’s depths and practically invisible, Emma tries not to think of her unwanted visions. Her strict, hypocritical, and more than a bit deranged foster father claims she’s possessed - and more than once has taken her episodes out on her hide. The man swears he’s beating the devil out of her and putting the fear of God in Satan’s place when he takes the thick leather strap to her shoulders, back and legs until she bleeds, but Emma has already lived long enough in a cruel and unfair world to know that his violence and “discipline” have less to do with parenting and concern for her soul, and more to show for his own twisted mind and overindulgence in the bottle. She wants to hide her spells from him, but when they come on her so abruptly and with such power, they are impossible to miss. She can’t fathom how a person like him was deemed fit to take in and care for a child, but it seems to be her lot, and so she simply grits her teeth and survives.

It’s different when the spells happen around Rose; the slight brunette merely rests a cool, steadying hand on Emma’s forehead or her arm until it passes, helps Emma stand until she feels in control again, listens as she attempts to make sense of whatever she’s seen, and most importantly… believes her. If only she could stay in the huge house Rose’s family calls home. She’d cook, clean, do chores, and stay in the servant’s quarters, Emma isn’t picky. It would still be a far sight safer than the situation she had in the rundown shack with the monster who’d been deemed her caretaker. Barring that, she would honestly rather live wild in these woods and survive off the land. She knew which plants and berries were safe to eat, Graham, her friend and a fellow orphan now happily adopted, had taught her how to fish; it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d get by, and at least no one would lay a hand on her again.

This afternoon, those eerie images she sometimes had seem far away as she splashes up out of the water, trying to arc playfully like a mermaid as she breaks the surface. Drawing in a big gulp of air after staying underwater so long, Emma startles at the sound of teasing laughter, and whirls to see three figures on the bank where she and Rose left their shoes and shorts.

“Well, look here,” calls out a taunting voice that never fails to set Emma’s nerves on edge. “It’s the baby beached librarian and her drowned rat friend!” none other than Emma’s nemesis Killian Jones crows from his vantage point on dry land.

Rose sits up ramrod straight, book still in hand and annoyed scowl on her face at the quiet of their sanctuary being interrupted. She isn’t genuinely angry, though; for all that she and her sister shared little in common, she and her two years older brother are affectionately close. “Shut up, Killy!” she shoots back, throwing in the childhood nickname they all know he hates. “Who asked you to come looking anyway?”

The boy standing next to Killian speaks up next, making Emma scowl just as playfully as Rose had moments before. Graham Hunter might as well be her big brother; he’s the closest thing she’d had to family since her parents were lost in a car crash and she was thrown into the foster care system. Be that as it may, he and Killian Jones are thick as thieves, and he’ll give her a hard time for all he’s worth in while in the presence of his buddy. “We just wanted to swim,” he calls across the water to the two girls, smirking at Emma, now standing in the water with one hip jutting out and hands planted on her waist. “How were we supposed to know you two were infesting it?”

“Ha!” Emma jeers back, the affront plain in her voice; despite the fact that the entire routine is like a practiced girls-versus-boys exchange they’ve all engaged in countless times. There isn’t much else to do for entertainment in their sleepy little one-horse town. “You idiots know this is Rose and I’s hideaway, fair and square!”

“Well, Rose’s anyway,” a third voice cuts in snidely.

The cruel jab reminds Emma once more that she is just a charity case, quite possibly only included in anything at all because of her friend’s kind heart, and causes her gaze to cut sharply to the third member of the boys’ little crew, hanging back slightly in the shadows behind Killian and Graham as he always does. Her green eyes narrow to slits in genuine dislike and suspicion. Where before her animosity was largely for show, when they land on Walsh Ozman it is all too real.

She has never understood why the other two boys - jokers and annoyances though they may be, but good guys when it comes right down to it - hang out with Walsh at all. Where Graham and Killian are much more cut from the same cloth - athletic, outgoing, well-liked and pleasant - Walsh is a splindy, sniveling character, complaining and whining whatever their little trio gets up to. He lives not far from Emma’s foster father’s cabin with his single mother - a bushy-haired redhead who seems strangely overprotective and attached to her only child. Most people give the property a wide berth, except when high schoolers teepee it the whole month of October, and the general town consensus is that Zelena Ozman might be a witch and to steer clear. Still, beyond all of that, Emma might have been able to look past the boy’s circumstances and see him for himself - she of all people knew the gift it was not to be judged by where a person came from - if Walsh hadn’t simply given her “the willies”. Even standing too close to him made the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end - and not in the way that nearness to Killian sometimes did; an altogether much more pleasant tingle, even if she was just as unable to explain one as the other.

“We could just take their things,” Walsh suggests, holding up the threadbare, faded jeans Emma had left on the bank. “Make them walk back in their skivvies.” The wicked smile on his face makes Emma’s stomach turn over sickly.

Something sharp flashes in Jones’ eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly and his head giving a subtle shake of dissent that Emma can see even at the distance she stands away from him. Protectiveness, chivalry, or maybe the honor of a southern gentleman passed down to him through generations of his impressive family line, whatever it is, it sparks to life in his eyes at that moment as he quashes Walsh’s mean-spirited suggestion in no uncertain terms. “That’s my little sister you’re talking about Oz,” he growls, smacking the worn material from the smaller’s boy’s hands, even if the article of clothing isn’t Rose’s at all.

Emma feels her breath rush back into her lungs, though she continues to watch the guys warily for whatever they might do or say next. Before long, they grow bored of standing around and move on, hollering out age old taunts of “Bye, losers” and “Hey, smell ya later” to Emma’s derisive snort and Rose completely ignoring them to flip open her book again.

However, even with the intruders gone, it seems as if the perfect comfort of their retreat has been shattered by the unsettling interruption. Soon, Emma wades to the shore and Rose clambers down from her perch, to dress once more and return to the world outside. For a moment, as she refastens her jeans around her skinny waist, Emma feels a strange prickling along the fine hairs on her arms… like they’re being watched. She jerks around, searching the surrounding trees and brush, but can’t see or hear a thing.

Rose’s small hand takes hers, snapping Emma out of the moment. “What is it?” she whispers, only true caring in her voice. “Did you sense something?”

Emma nods, but can’t give her suspicions voice. Usually her vision are clearer than that - this had just been heavy breathing and like looking at herself and Rose through another person’s eyes, outside her own body.

Rose stooped to grab the little canvas bag she’d bought along with water bottles, towels, and a second book in it. “Hey, don’t worry, okay?” she offers, hopeful and kind as always. “You’ll figure it out. Wanna meet back out here tonight? Secret Sister bonfire?” she winks mischeivously. “I have to get to dinner now. You know how Mama hates it if I’m not washed up and properly attired for the evening meal - or a second late. But we can talk some more then, maybe you’ll remember more and it will be clearer.”

Emma nods gamely. “The stars’ll be beautiful by midnight,” she suggests. “And we’ll definitely have the place all to ourselves.”

“Since we were so rudely interrupted,” Rose chimes in with a giggle and roll of her eyes.

“Shake on it, pinkie swear,” they say together in practiced unison, executing a complex handshake that ends with their pinkies hooked together and wide, matching grins on both their faces.

“Thanks Rose,” Emma whispers sincerely, trying to speak around the lump in her throat as if it’s no big deal. “I’ll be out here as soon as I can sneak away.”

Rose, for her part, wraps her taller, golden-haired friend into a tight, momentary hug. “Hey, we’re Secret Sisters! You can count on me. I’ll see you then!”

They part ways at the edge of the forest, Emma heading to the rundown cabin that serves as her nightmarish version of a home and Rose to the pristine, Jones mansion standing tall over all the surrounding land. Rose looks back over her shoulder with a smile and wave that bolsters Emma, and the memory fades back into the haze of the past…

Eighteen years later….

September 2011

The blaring of the horn as a sports car whizzed by, barely missing the nose of Emma’s beat-up yellow VW where it had begun to edge out into the country intersection jarred her back to the present with a gasp and painful jolt to her chest. Panting for a moment as she gripped the steering wheel, Emma tried to clear her head and calm the pounding of her heart at the near-miss.

‘Get it together,’ she berated herself. It might have seemed like only yesterday as she remembered that sunny afternoon at the swimming hole, but that day had been nearly two decades ago. She was a grown woman, had made a way for herself, fighting tooth and nail for every step forward, and she answered to no one. She had learned to stand up for herself, to control her visions and use them for good, and was a special consultant for the NYPD. But, more than all of that, she had come back to this place to find peace, to lay to rest the ghosts that followed her everywhere else she’d gone in the years between, once and for all. If she expected other to leave the past in the past, she’d first have to manage it herself.

She’d had no way to know as she and Rose parted that afternoon with promises and plans for later that it would be the last time she would ever see her friend. Emma had harbored the pain and the guilt and the unanswered questions ever since. Finally, it was time to meet the gazes of all of those who’d stared at her in suspicion before she’d been packed up and moved away once more, and it was time she found answers. She wasn’t the scared, whipped, mistreated adolescent she had been at 13. What she had lived through then wasn’t her fault, nor was what had happened to Rose that muggy July midnight.

And if she had to return to Storybrooke, South Carolina to lay that burden down… well, it was long past time she did.

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#captain swan movie marathon #cs ff #cs au #carolina moon #chapter one #cs mc

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