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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

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Since the very conception of the motion picture, the LGBT community have been represented on-screen in some form. An early example is Algie the Miner (1912), a short silent film which follows the effeminate Algie (Billy Quirk), who enjoys kissing cowboys. In order to marry someone’s daughter, he heads west to prove that he’s a man. While this is quite an outdated stereotype of being gay, the portrayals have varied greatly over time. Only recently is LGBT representation becoming more positive and common. However, when it comes to portraying bisexuality on-screen, it still seems to be a difficult task.

Many narrative tropes have been birthed through filmmakers trying to show sexuality on-screen and most of them contribute directly to the overall erasure of bisexuality in cinema – usually with ambiguous portrayals, negative stereotyping and characters needing to pick a side. Not all instances are problematic, but their prevalence isn’t helping to combat the stigma that bisexual people face. There are three main tropes when it comes to depicting bisexuality, which is infidelity, picking a side, and the horrible husband. They’re usually found together in a common narrative that erases bisexuality, whether intentional or not.

Infidelity

There’s a long-standing stereotype that bisexual people are more likely to cheat on their partners and are incapable of commitment. This is a trope that is heavily carried in some of the most well-known depictions of bisexuality. Typically, a female protagonist is engaged or married to a man, but she meets a lesbian woman and they become involved sexually and romantically, leaving the protagonist torn between two lovers. This happens in Imagine Me & You (2005) when Rachel (Piper Perabo) falls in love with lesbian flower shop owner Luce (Lena Headey), who provided the flowers for her wedding to Hector (Matthew Goode). It’s a fairly average film that could’ve been amazing had it acknowledged Rachel’s bisexuality, but it’s still one of the better ones considering Perabo and Headey have amazing chemistry.

For some reason, bisexual characters are often in serious relationships when they’re suddenly sexually awakened. This happened to Rachel right after her wedding because she happened to meet the right woman. While this type of experience does happen in real life, it’s always the go-to narrative for films about women realizing they’re not one-hundred-percent straight. In these instances, the same-sex love affair acts as the conflict within the narrative – this can create good drama when done right, but it gets boring and bisexual characters deserve better than constantly being portrayed as cheaters. People are not more promiscuous or likely to cheat on their partners because of their sexuality, but these tropes are constantly telling people otherwise.

We deserve to see bisexual characters whose sexuality isn’t the main narrative focus or who at least explore their sexuality outside of a relationship. Appropriate Behaviour (2014) is a good example of this as Shirin (Desiree Akhavan, who is also the film’s writer and director) is a bisexual Persian American woman who is keeping her sexuality a secret from her judgemental family, while also attempting to rebuild her life after breaking up with her girlfriend. Seeing bisexuality portrayed on-screen is another place where people pick up more stigma or acceptance, and with bisexuality it, unfortunately, seems to be the former. This is why bisexual filmmakers like Akhavan are better suited to portraying the experiences of bisexual men and women than others.

Picking A Side

When the protagonist is in conflict with her sexuality, the people around her usually wonder if she’s a lesbian now – despite them being engaged or married to a man. This can be seen in Below Her Mouth (2010) where Jasmine (Natalie Krill) begins having an affair with Dallas (Erika Linder). When her husband finds out, he tells her “You’re a lesbian” but she tells him that she loves him and nothing has changed between them. It seems impossible to grasp that a person could be attracted to both men and women. Bisexuality is erased.

Some films insinuate that the protagonist isn’t necessarily bisexual or even a lesbian, it’s just that they’re attracted to this one woman only and no others – they’re an exception! This is the kind of impression you get from Below Her Mouth, but also from other films such as Imagine Me & You and Elena Undone (2010), which isn’t particularly helpful for lesbian representation either. In Imagine Me & You, Rachel tells Hector “You are my best friend. That was enough before, and it will be enough again.” This implies that Rachel was never truly attracted to him in a romantic sense, thus implying that she’s a lesbian. While this could be a case of compulsory heteronormativity, it seems problematic as it’s never discussed or explained. Avoiding discussions about sexuality – as most of these films do – are what contribute to this trope massively and result in misinterpretation and erasure.

Films as new as Netflix’s Alex Strangelove (2018) also feed into the idea that bisexuality is a stepping stone to picking a side. Alex (Daniel Doheny) prepares to lose his virginity to his girlfriend but finds his plans derailed when he’s attracted to another boy. He spends most of the film questioning his sexuality and at one point thinks he’s bisexual. The film does highlight biphobia which brings attention to this problem, so it’s disheartening at the end when Alex realizes he is gay and not bisexual after all. The set up for Alex Strangelove was perfect for a bisexual love story and, while it’s still positive LGBT representation, it’s a shame it didn’t stick with that. It’s even rarer to see bisexual men portrayed on-screen, so it would’ve been really rewarding.

It’s important to acknowledge that bisexuality is a comfortable place for some people to be while they’re trying to accept that they are gay – and there’s nothing wrong with that. However, there still seems to be some widespread discomfort when it comes to sexuality being fluid. For bisexual people, there isn’t any side to pick – they’re not torn between polar opposites, nor are they confused. They aren’t on the fence, they’re on both sides of the fence. Nevertheless, films continue to portray bisexuality as a personal conflict that needs resolving, and it does this by putting bisexual characters in a situation where they’re having affairs. This makes their sexuality the narrative conflict, which is wholly problematic in itself.

The Horrible Husband

The protagonist’s fiancé or husband is usually abusive or passive in the relationship, and thus portrayed as the antagonist. She is then drawn to a lesbian woman who treats her so much better and gives her the attention she deserves. Sometimes it’s as though these films are saying that lesbianism is the cure for a dissatisfying heterosexual relationship. This contributes to bisexual erasure by suggesting that bisexual women can only be happy with women and never with a man because they’re horrible or not good enough. It also perpetuates the idea of picking a side – almost telling bisexuals that they should just be lesbians instead.

This trope is found in films like Elena Undone, where Elena (Necar Zadegan) meets Peyton (Traci Dinwiddie) who is a famous lesbian writer. Elena’s husband Barry (Gary Weeks), however, is a homophobic pastor. Elena Undone is actually loosely based on director Nicole Conn’s real-life romance with Marina Rice Bader, but the film itself isn’t great. It’s also shown in The World Unseen (2007) as Miriam (Lisa Ray) quietly follows the customs of 1950s South Africa, alongside dealing with her abusive husband Omar (Parvin Dabas). Miriam becomes empowered to change her circumstances when she meets and falls in love with free-spirited cafe owner Amina (Sheetal Sheth).

A much better film that deals with this trope is Bound (1996). Lesbian ex-con Corky (Gina Gershon) arrives at an apartment building to start work as a painter and plumber. She soon finds herself being seduced by Violet (Jennifer Tilly) who lives next door with her boyfriend Caesar (Joe Pantoliano). Violet explains that they’ve been together for five years and he’s a money launderer for the mafia. She wants to escape and make a new life for herself, so she and Corky plan to steal $2 million of Mafia money and blame it on Caesar. The horrible husband trope actually works well in this film because the women plan to screw Caesar over and it doesn’t use Violet’s infidelity as the main narrative conflict – it’s a lot more original, which isn’t surprising as the first directorial feature film from the Wachowski Sisters. Bound would’ve been much less effective if Caesar was just a regular guy who Violet hated, but she has a better motive with the drama surrounding his violent mafia connections.

These three tropes are collectively the entire plot of Imagine Me & You, Elena Undone, The World Unseen, I Can’t Think Straight (2008), Kiss Me (2011) and more. It’s a shame that there isn’t always a huge focus on the actual relationship between the two women in these films. It’s more about them hiding their relationship and because they officially get together at the end, we never get to see much of what their life is like as a couple. They all feature very similar themes, meaning that when it comes to telling the stories of bisexual characters, the narrative is rarely diverse. Romantic comedies in general always follow the same beats which is fine, but these tropes for bisexual characters either erase their sexuality and/or display it as a problem.

These tropes can still work well (like with Bound) depending on certain aspects of the narrative. Infidelity works well in Carol (2015) due to the 1950s setting. Carol (Cate Blanchett), who is in the process of divorcing her horrible husband, and Therese (Rooney Mara) have to hide their relationship due to homosexuality not being accepted during this time. This adds an extra layer to the narrative, giving actual depth to why things are happening the way that they are. There’s also Disobedience (2017) where it works well due to the Orthodox Jewish culture. Ronit (Rachel Weisz), who is considered bisexual, returns to the community for her father’s funeral to find her childhood friend Esti (Rachel McAdams) married to a man. Esti describes herself as a lesbian woman in a relationship with a man, which is disheartening but works in the film’s world. Disobedience also plays through the infidelity trope very differently to other films, allowing it to be more effective.

The Erasure

In films with bisexual characters, it’s rare that the word “bisexual” actually comes up. It’s mostly ambiguous, implied or erased completely by the protagonist seemingly picking a side. It’s constantly reinforced by narrative tropes that are set up for dramatic entertainment, with no real intention of representing sexuality with genuine care. Erasure also happens due to words like “gay” being used as an umbrella term when referring back to certain films. Brokeback Mountain (2005) and Call Me By Your Name (2017), for example, are often referred to as gay films on social media due to the gay relationships portrayed, However, the characters are portrayed to be sexually fluid/bisexual due to the nature of their relationships with women. It also happens with films like Blue Is the Warmest Colour (2014) which is always painted as a lesbian love story when Adèle (Adèle Exarchopoulos) is clearly bisexual. It’s not necessarily bad to use gay and lesbian as umbrella terms, but it, unfortunately, does contribute to bisexual erasure. We should be bringing more attention to bisexuality on-screen and pointing it out specifically when we see it.

One of the biggest erasures is the portrayal of bisexual men. They appear much less frequently than bisexual women. The most recent example that comes to mind is Jake Gyllenhaal’s character in Velvet Buzzsaw (2019), but the word bisexual was never used and he was portrayed as being promiscuous, which fits into the negative stereotype (although the film is satire so perhaps it can be excused). Some better, or at least more interesting, depictions of bisexual men are still out there and can be found in films such as Velvet Goldmine (1998), Kaboom (2010), The Comedian (2012), The Lobster (2015) and Moonlight (2016).

If anything, bisexual characters are usually left out of the bury your gays/dead lesbian syndrome trope. It’s very common both in film and television for gay men and lesbian women to be killed off in some dramatic way, such as in Brokeback Mountain, The Fox (1967), Les Biches (1968), Lost and Delirious (2001) and A Single Man (2009). Bisexual women have been killed off quite a bit in television – like Marissa Cooper (Mischa Barton) in The O.C. – but they’re relatively safe in film and hopefully, it’ll stay that way.

Acknowledging Bisexuality

It is disheartening that bisexual representation on-screen isn’t as good or as frequent as gay and lesbian representation. We’re also at a time where it could be massively improved, but now we face the barrier of “queer” as another umbrella term. It’s wholly unhelpful when not everyone identifies with it and when we want bisexual characters to say the word bisexual on-screen. We want to be acknowledged. Bisexual actress Stephanie Beatriz made sure her bisexual character in Brooklyn Nine-Nine got to say it earlier this year, because that word means something to certain people and the impact is great. Hopefully this will start to happen more in film going forward.

There are definitely films out there where the word bisexual is actually said, like in Appropriate Behaviour, Kiss Me, Velvet Goldmine and Margarita with a Straw (2014). It’s rare that we hear it so when we do it’s pretty exciting. In addition to these, other films that feature positive and/or complex portrayals of bisexual characters in general (and not the previously discussed tropes) are: Cabaret (1972), Chasing Amy (1997), Black Swan (2010), Atomic Blonde (2017) and Tully (2018).

There have been many positive and negative depictions of bisexuality, but the majority of them aren’t great or feed into the biphobia and the erasure of the identity. Filmmakers need to do better when it comes to portraying bisexual characters and their stories. It’s always helpful when bisexual people themselves get a voice, whether as writers, directors or actors. For some reason, although there are exceptions, most straight male and lesbian filmmakers have trouble portraying bisexuality both positively and accurately. They essentially give the message that bisexuality doesn’t exist or is an inner conflict that needs to be resolved. We must do better because one day someone will be watching a film where a character says “bisexual” and their life will suddenly fall into place.

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writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

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Red

Summary: Y/N has been having an infuriating dry spell in the love department lately, thanks to lockdown, and her roommate Jensen is getting fed up with her attitude. So, he lets her in on a little secret…

Pairing: Danneel x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: female masturbation, talk of male masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk, praise kink, light degradation, lockdown was hard on singletons but great for phone sex operators Word Count: 4.5k Created for: @anyfandomgoesbingo - Sex Hotline AU | @spnkinkbingo - Tribbing

A/N: Requested by @danneelsmain - hope this lived up to your expectations babe! I haven't written Danneel before but I really enjoyed writing this ❤️

“Yes... yes... yesyesyes–”

“Hey, Y/N!” Bang, bang, bang! “Hurry up in there will ya? I’m dyin’ here,” Jensen jiggled the doorknob to no avail, and Y/N was incredibly thankful she’d remembered to lock it this time.

I’m dying here, Y/N thought to herself, pulling the shower head from between her legs with a frustrated huff, the water swirling down the drain carrying the fading vestiges of her almost-orgasm with it. She had been so close. Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Just a minute!” she shouted, frustration tipping over into anger. The knob on the faucet was twisted to the ‘off’ position with unnecessary violence, and the shower curtain was attached at one less ring than it had been half an hour ago when it was yanked open to settle against the back wall of the tub.

Bang! Ban–

“Seriously, Jensen?!” Y/N barely had the towel secured around herself before she threw open the door, hastily ducking to avoid Jensen’s knock-in-progress.

“Thank fuck.” Jensen danced around Y/N and shoved the door shut, sending Y/N slipping across the tiles on her still-wet feet and locking her on the other side. The clearly audible hiss of Jensen relieving himself leaked through the door and Y/N growled in frustration, aiming a kick at the door before stomping down the hallway to her room.

He couldn’t have waited ten more seconds…

It had been bad enough that lockdown got them all stuck at home with no possibility of one night stands, or follow-up booty calls to keep her sex drive in check, but now Y/N was having an even bigger problem. She hadn’t been able to get herself over the finish line for at least two weeks, and she had no earthly idea as to why. Y/N was beginning to think that regular orgasms were part of the reason that she was usually nice to be around, because right now she felt like she was one bad joke away from stabbing somebody.

And that someone was likely to be Jensen.

Tucked up into the corner of the couch was Y/N’s standard position these days. She wasn’t sure what was playing on the TV, something as mindless as she felt right now.

“Budge up.” Jensen hit her feet and flopped back gracelessly on top of them without giving her the chance to move them.

“Ow, asshole!” A pillow whipped through the air and collided squarely with the side of Jensen’s face.

“What is your problem lately?”

“You, clearly,” Y/N snapped, pulling her knees into her chest defensively. Jensen raised a single eyebrow, giving her a pointed look. “No, it’s not you,” Y/N admitted, letting some of her aggression seep out of her frame with her words. “Sorry.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

There was a stiff silence between them, Jensen waiting for Y/N to break and answer his question and Y/N knowing that she didn’t want to talk about this with Jensen but not seeing a way out of the conversation. Jensen had an irritating habit of getting her to open up about things she never planned on telling people – like the fact that she was gay. And now he was about to hear far more about her sex life than she ever wanted to share with someone of the male species.

“I’m, um,” her cheeks were on fire as she glanced up to see Jensen looking back at her with concerned curiosity. “I’m… having a problem,” she finished lamely.

“Okay…”

“I can’t… Do you ever–” Y/N choked on the words every time they tried to bubble through. “So… um, it’s– it’s been a while.” She saw comprehension flash over Jensen’s freckled face a moment later.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You know PornHub has a whole section for lesbian shit, right?” Another pillow hits him in the face. “Okay, okay, ow,” Jensen rubs his jaw in exaggeration. “But seriously, it’s been a while for everyone. You just gotta take business into your own hands.”

“You don’t think I’ve been doing that?” Y/N hissed, unconsciously checking around them as if someone else was in their apartment who might overhear.

“Well then what’s the problem?”

“I haven’t like,” Y/N made a variety of nonsequitous hand motions that had no bearing on the word ‘orgasm’ but Jensen seemed to get the message.

“How long?” he cringed.

“Like, almost three weeks? And it’s not like I haven’t been trying like, everything, I just… can’t,” she shrugged helplessly. “Has this kind of thing ever happened to you? Is there something like, physically wrong with me?”

“No, no, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with you,” Jensen rushed to reassure her, patting her leg awkwardly. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

“So it’s happened to you too?” Hope shone from Y/N’s face that maybe she wasn’t doomed to a life empty of sexual pleasure.

“Well… no, not exactly.” Y/N’s shoulders drooped, hopes slashed.

“How are you staying so sane?” Y/N accused. “You used to be with a different girl every few days before all of this.”

“Hey! I was not,” Jensen was mock offended but Y/N could tell he was also a little proud. “And I’ve, uh… I’ve got my sources,” his eyes twinkled mischievously as he answered her question.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, have you been sneaking out behind my back!”

“No,” he rolled his eyes, “nothing like that.” Jensen pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the screen as Y/N watched.

“Jen, if you’re trying to show me porn, I’m good. Don’t need to see what you get off to,” Y/N shuddered at the thought. A text beeped on her phone a second later, Jensen’s name popping up on the screen.

“That’s my source,” he explains and she opens the message to see a 1-800 number, next to the word Red.

“Red?”

“Red.” Jensen confirmed with a wicked grin, nodding sagely.

Y/N could not believe she was about to do this. She looked down at the number on her phone screen, ready to dial as soon as she pressed the little green button. Jensen’s assurances echoed in her head. Best phone sex I’ve ever had… she actually gets off with you, she’s not just faking it… sounds so hot, and her body is killer in her profile pic. Admittedly, the picture he’d shown her had been really fucking sexy. A slender girl in small red panties and unfairly pretty breasts cradled in a satin bra covered in little hearts, dark red hair pinned up around her face in a vintage style.

Before she could talk herself out of it again, Y/N pressed dial and held the phone up to her ear. It rang a few times before connecting to an automated menu, and Y/N was secretly relieved she wouldn’t have to ask an operator if she could speak to ‘Red’.

Thank you for calling the Sugar Lips Hotline. Please enter your card details to continue.

Jensen had warned her about this part, so she had her card sitting out of her wallet on the desk in front of her.

If you know who you are trying to reach, please press one. If you would like to be assigned a random operator, please press two.

Y/N shakily pressed the number one, and then put the phone on speaker while she was at it.

If you would like to speak with Candy, press one, followed by the pound key. If you would like to speak with Kitty, press two, followed by the pound key. If you would like to speak with Lance…

Y/N wondered if she would still have the confidence to go through with this by the time the robotic voice mentioned ‘Red’.

If you would like to speak with Red, press thirteen, followed by the pound key.

The moment of truth. Y/N entered the number 13 and then pressed the pound key. The line began to ring again.

“Hi there,” a temptingly soft voice slipped through the receiver of the phone sitting on the desk in front of her.

“Hi-i,” Y/N’s voice was jarring in comparison, breaking on the first word she uttered.

“Oh, so I’ve got a pretty little girl on the line today, huh?” Y/N didn’t know how to answer so she didn’t, hands frozen in a death grip on the sleeves of her too big sweatshirt. “What’s your name, baby?”

“Y/N,” she whispered back, suddenly scared that Jensen would be able to hear every word being said in her room. Quickly digging into her pockets she pulled out her headphones and plugged them into her cell. Why hadn’t she done that earlier?

“That’s such a pretty name, baby,” the woman cooed, and now her voice was right against Y/N’s ears; it felt like she was in the room, whispering against her skin. “I’m Red.”

“That’s what I should call you?” Y/N managed to keep the tremor out of her words this time.

“Unless you want to call me something else? I can be whoever you want me to be baby girl. Mommy, ma’am, mistress…” Y/N’s heart thundered against her ribs. She realised that she had no idea what she wanted from this – she just knew she was desperate. “Or maybe you want to be in charge? I could be your baby, your good little girl.” Y/N wished she could see Red right now, watch what she looked like as she purred all these promises down the line, teasing and tempting.

“Is,” Y/N gulped, “is there anyone you want me to be?”

“Nuh-uh,” she tutted, and Y/N could imagine her shaking her head, red curls flying by her cheeks. “This is all about you Y/N. I’m here to make you feel good.”

Y/N felt a lick of heat curl in the base of her stomach, twisting itself around her intestines.

“Yeah, I could use that,” she laughed nervously, figuring she should be honest if she wanted this to work out well. And she really needed it to.

“Oh, have you been feeling a little pent up baby?” Red’s voice echoed in Y/N’s ears. The small vibrations coming out of her earbuds were enough to start sending a pulsing sensation down the side of her neck, worming its way under her skin and into her veins. Christ, it had been too long.

“You have no idea.”

“Well, I betcha we can fix that. Are you somewhere comfortable sweetie?”

“I could get on the bed?” Y/N offered, wondering why she hadn’t started there in the first place, rather than at her desk.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Red purred seductively. “Why don’t you stretch out on the bed, get yourself nice and cozy. Maybe prop a pillow up next to you and think about me snuggling you in real close. Wish I could be there to put my hands all over your body.”

Y/N was thankful she was already sitting on her bed by the time Red finished painting her little scene because if she’d been walking, she’s pretty sure her knees would have given out.

“Fuck, it’s been so long since I felt another girl’s hands on me.” She tried not to be embarrassed at how whimpery her voice had gone. If this went well it was about to get a whole lot worse anyways.

“I want to touch every inch of you,” Red breathed heavily. “Run my fingers through your hair, over your neck, down your back. Would I find a bra there to unhook, baby?”

“Yeah,” Y/N sighed, arching her shoulders and feeling the band scratch taught around her ribs, pushing her breast up towards her chin.

“Why don’t you take that off for me?”

“Okay,” Y/N felt her voice shake as much as her hands as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, breathing deeply when the pressure of the garment disappeared.

“Bet that felt good, didn’t it baby?” Red laughed knowingly.

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed, loosening up a little at the acknowledgement of a shared experience, something all girls could relate to. She pulled her arms through the straps beneath her sweatshirt and shimmying the discarded bra out the bottom before pushing her arms back through her sleeves. The peaks of her nipples tightened as they caught on the pills of fleece that now sat against her chest.

“What else are you wearing?”

Suddenly embarrassed she hadn’t thought to put on anything sexy in preparation for this call, Y/N didn’t manage more than an “um…” before Red laughed, a warm sound that melted into her like chocolate against your tongue.

“Why don’t I tell you what I’m wearing?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded before she remembered that Red couldn’t see her. “Bet it’s something really sexy,” she attempted to flirt, cringing at how awkward she sounded.

“Well that depends,” Red mused. “Do you like lace?”

“Yeah,” Y/N breathed. She loved seeing girls in lace lingerie; the way the delicate weave of the pattern offered small tastes of the skin it covered, the way you could feel someone’s warmth seeping through such a thin fabric so easily, the way it felt to have someone touch you or suck you through such a meagre sheet of modesty…

“What about stockings?” Red voice broke through Y/N’s train of thought, pulling her back to the vaguely out of body experience she was having.

“Love them,” Y/N answered quietly, trying to pitch her voice the way Red was, low and alluring.

“Well, that’s a shame,” she sighed dramatically. “Because I’m not wearing anything at all right now, sorry to disappoint.” Y/N couldn’t see her but she would bet anything Red was wearing a big pout right now. She wondered what her lips looked like. In her head she pictured soft and pillowy.

“You are such a tease,” Y/N laughed, hoping to disguise the pang of arousal that had shot through her a moment before.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you baby?”

“Yeah, I really do,” Y/N found herself admitting unconsciously.

“Are you gonna keep teasing me, or are you gonna get naked too baby girl?”

A throb of desire fluttered between Y/N’s legs, her pussy clenching, and when she squirmed back into her pillow a little she felt the lace fabric of her own panties sliding a little more between her thighs. Her arousal had started to soak out of her and into the material.

“You want me naked?” Y/N’s words scratched their way out of her throat, trying to pull her confidence along with them.

“Oh god, please baby,” Red moaned loudly, but it didn’t sound fake. It was like Jensen had told her, it sounded like she was really enjoying this, and like she was actually getting off on what was happening between them right now. “Want to feel your skin against mine.”

“I want that too, baby,” Y/N’s hasty breaths shook her words. She stripped out of her underwear and shoved her phone and headphones down the front of her sweatshirt so she could shimmy it over her head without disconnecting the earbuds. She didn’t want to miss anything.

“God, if I was there I would kiss all over you. Bet you taste amazing,” Red sighed, and Y/N could hear something shifting over the phone, like fabric moving around.

“Are you on your bed too?” Y/N asked.

“Yep, all spread out for you baby girl.”

“Are you touching yourself?” Y/N’s confidence was starting to build as she heard how much Red sounded like she’s into this, and she couldn’t deny she was turned on too. She felt wetter than she’d been in weeks, and when her fingers drifted down over her stomach its muscles twitched in anticipation of where she was about to touch.

“Where do you want me to touch?” Y/N let her eyes slide closed, and she could imagine Red batting her lashes as she asked - where do you want me to touch? - She pictured the girl she’d seen in the photo poised over her, legs straddling Y/N’s hips as Red ran her hands over her own body, fingers trailing over her throat, fondling her breasts, twisting around the pink flesh at the tips of each, lingering on the soft of her stomach before dipping lower.

“I want you to touch between your legs and tell me how wet you are,” Y/N said between deep breaths, trying to keep her voice even.

“I’m already so wet for you, baby,” Red gasped, and Y/N hoped it was a reaction to her fingers slipping inside her pussy.

“If you were here with me, what would you do right now?”

“I’d make you watch me fuck myself on my fingers.” Holy shit, Y/N couldn’t help the moan that bled through her lips, and she heard Red chuckle. “Yeah, you like the sound of that baby?”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N whimpered, her own fingers finally making their way between her legs and sliding easily through the slick she found there.

“I’d straddle myself right over your face, so you could see my fingers fucking my pussy, feel me dripping on you.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“And then, when my fingers are nice and soaked, you’re gonna suck them clean like a good little girl, aren’t you sweetheart?” Red’s monologue was absolutely wrecking Y/N, she wanted everything the woman on the end of the line was describing so badly. “Want you to do it to yourself, since I can’t be there to do it for you. Can you get those fingers nice and wet for me baby?”

“Fuck, yeah, okay.” Y/N pushed two fingers inside her pussy, clenching around them wantonly. She must have let out some kind of noise because Red giggled again before she continued talking.

“That’s it, fuck yourself for me baby girl, until I can do it for you.” And fucking hell, the thought of Red actually with her, touching her, fucking her… “Your fingers nice and dirty now?”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N squeaked, pressing against her g-spot to get herself even wetter.

“Good girl,” Red hummed. “Now suck them clean for me, Y/N. Want you to taste just how sweet you are. God, wish I could taste you too,” she moaned, her breath hitching.

Y/N obeyed Red’s instructions, sucking her fingers into her mouth and twirling her tongue around them, curling it across the dips and whorls of her fingertips. She groaned around the digits in her mouth, trying to make it audible that she was doing as she was told.

“Good girl,” Red cooed again, obviously hearing Y/N’s sucking. “Good filthy girl. You’re so dirty aren’t you baby, bet you’re dripping onto the sheets right now you’re so horny.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N felt her whole body clenching as she pushed her hand back between her legs, toying with her clit and sending fresh jolts of desire to her core. “Fuck, I’m touching myself again. Couldn’t help it, you’re so hot baby.”

“I want you to touch yourself sweetie. Want you to make yourself feel so good.”

“I want you to feel good too,” Y/N whimpered, maybe stupidly, but she remembered Jensen saying that Red got off with him and she wanted the same thing. She wanted to know that Red wanted her, that Red found her sexy. She didn’t want to be in this alone.

“Oh, I am feeling so good baby girl,” Red assured Y/N, her voice brimming with sincerity and whimpers to back it up. “Fucking myself so good, pretending it’s your fingers inside me.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Y/N couldn’t come up with anything more eloquent than that. The more she played with herself the foggier her brain got.

“What are you imaging right now?”

“Thinking about you, you on top of me.”

“You want me on top, huh? Want me to hold you down a little, baby?”

“Mm, yeah,” Y/N sighed, slipping two fingers from her free hand down to her entrance and pushing them inside, keeping her other hand on her clit, rolling it between her fingers. “You could hold me down, grind yourself against me. Use me to get yourself off.” Y/N’s breathing was ragged now, and the fingers inside her pussy sought out her g-spot again, starting to focus their efforts a little more concertedly on the spongy bundle of nerves.

“Oh sweetie, that’s so hot, fuck,” Red moaned heavily, her breath catching on her curse. “I’d grind against you so good. Rub our pussies together, all slick and hot, grind my clit against yours nice and hard. Fuck, touch your clit for me baby.”

“I am,” Y/N gasped, drawing fast little circles over the nub between her legs. “Fuck, want all that so bad. Think you could come like that? Just from rubbing your pussy on me, getting me all wet and dirty?”

“Fuck yes, love rubbing my pussy on yours, love grinding our clits together. I could tease you so good. Go nice and slow, wonder how long you’d last before you start begging me to let you cum.”

“I’m close,” Y/N whimpered, surprised at how true it was. She hadn’t gotten so close to cumming this quickly in ages.

“Already baby? You naughty little girl,” Red groaned, and the sound of bed springs crackled through Y/N’s earbuds too. Y/N pictured Red arching off the bed, fucking her hips into her fingers. “You want to cum for me baby?”

“Fuck, yes, yes please,” Y/N begged, feeling the muscles in her thighs and stomach starting to constrict, heat singing through her veins.

“Not yet baby, keep fucking yourself.” Y/N let out a pathetic whine in protest. “You can do that for me, can’t you sweetie. Fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Good girl, I’m so fucking close baby.”

“Fuck, please, want you to cum. Want you to cum with me.” Y/N’s eyes squeezed tight as small pinpricks of light started to burst in the darkness of her vision.

“Gonna cum for you, baby girl,” Red cried, voice high and tight. “Fuck, I’m gonna squirt, I can feel it. Gonna squirt all over your pussy, fucking soak you.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N felt like she might actually start crying, she needed to cum so badly. She was so so so close.

“Rub that little clitty, pretend it’s me rubbing up against you. All hot and wet,” her voice was breaking, her words short and breathless, and Y/N could tell Red was as close as she was. “Gonna cum all over you. Fuck, gonna squirt so hard bet I could actually cum inside you.”

“Holy fuck!” Y/N’s hips snapped into the air, searching for the imaginary body she wished was there. It was becoming hard to hear through the intense buzzing in her ears. Every nerve in her body was pulled taut, ready to snap.

“Cum for me Y/N, c’mon baby, you can do it, want you to cum for me like the good little girl you are baby, c’mon.”

Y/N was sobbing, wrist pistoning her fingers in and out of herself faster than she ever remembered being able to move, and she felt the walls of her pussy clamping down, trying to keep the pressure inside where it wanted it. And then she couldn’t take it anymore. Everything froze. She might have screamed, but to be honest she couldn’t be too sure, because she couldn’t hear anything except the white light that had flooded the dark space behind her eyelids.

Lockdown became much more bearable after that day. Though Y/N did have to try really hard to not think about the fact that she and Jensen were kind of fucking the same girl. In a way. It was weird. But if she ignored that part, then her ‘dates’ with Red were perfect. She was finally able to release all the tension, sexual and otherwise, that this whole mess had building up in her system constantly. And eventually, the world started to open back up and things started to get just a little bit easier.

Y/N wondered what she would do when lockdown was well and truly over. When the bars and clubs opened up again, would she and Jensen go out and try to hook up like they always had before? Would everything just go back to normal? Would she still want to call Red if she was getting actual sex with a real girl, and not just her hand or a bit of silicone? Yes. The answer was most definitely yes, Y/N had to admit to herself. Even though it was just phone sex, it was still some of the best sex she’d ever had.

Well, Red is a professional, she thought to herself wryly as she spooned some froth onto the top of the cappuccino she was making. The coffee shop she worked at had reopened last week, finally.

“Y/N! Can you jump on register while I take my break?” Michelle called from the end of the counter.

“Sure thing,” Y/N smiled and wiped her hands off on her apron, making her way behind the other baristas to the cash register. She briefly glanced at the line of people waiting to order – a couple of college kids carrying some scary looking textbooks, a portly man scratching his bald patch, a pretty girl with shiny hair and awesome winged liner. Y/N blushed as she caught the eye of the girl, and immediately looked back at her tablet, typing in her register code.

“Hi there, what can I get you?” Y/N’s customer service voice was alarmingly cheery, and the two college guys blinked, startled, clearly still unused to interacting with humans again – Y/N knew the feeling, cringing internally. She made a note to dial the pep back a little.

“Hey, what can I get you?” It was the pretty girl at the front of the line now.

“Um, I’ll have a caramel latte, please,” she answered with a bright smile, red lips stretching across shockingly white teeth.

“Size?” Y/N asked, tapping the order into her tablet.

“How big can you make it?” the girl giggled, and Y/N looked up, something tugging at the back of her mind.

“Um, large?” Y/N answered absentmindedly, trying to figure out what was bugging her so much. The girl just nodded, politely accepting the fact that Y/N had skated over her joke. “Can I get a name for the order?” She grabbed the large sized cup and uncapped the marker, hand poised over the white cardboard, ready to write.

“Oh, sure. It’s Danneel.”

“Danielle?” Y/N asked, her mind still wandering.

“No, Dan– you know what, it’s a weird name. Just go with Red.”

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sierraraeck · 3 years

Text

A Cruel Joke

Emily x Bi!Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You find solace in the arms of a hurting FBI agent after she comes to investigate the death of your best friend.

Category: Angst, implied smut.

Warnings: 15 year age gap between adults (37/22)

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: If you don’t like the name Alexa, I’m sorry, just try to imagine that it’s a different name.

A lesbian and a bisexual walk up to a crime scene. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, but this situation was very real, and very unfunny.

You’d had a bad feeling. That should have been enough to get you to stay with her, you’re best friend, but you didn’t. You had been selfish.

And now she was dead.

Alexa was dead.

And it was your fault.

Had you just pulled yourself together and been there for her as a friend, stopped worrying about how you felt, she wouldn’t have walked back to your campus apartment from that party alone, and she wouldn’t have been vulnerable to the monster that took her and he wouldn’t have…

But he did, and now you were numbly walking down the sidewalk that led behind the sorority house you’d been partying at and to the local park, not even registering anything that was happening around you.

You’d heard the news before you could even press send on a text making sure she was okay. You’d heard the news, but you had to confirm for yourself. She couldn’t be dead, she just couldn’t be. You saw her only last night, not even six hours ago.

Despite officers and other important people yelling at you to get back, you just kept walking towards the crime scene, taped off with that awful yellow color.

Just as you were about to duck under the tape, approach the group of suits standing with their backs to you in a half circle, you felt a hand on your shoulder, a presence appearing in front of you.

“Miss, I’m sorry but you can’t be here.” It was a delicate voice, belonging to a woman.

“I have to know if it’s her. I just saw her, it can’t be her, I have to know if it’s her,” you mumbled in a panic, still trying to get a glimpse of what was sprawled on the ground in front of the officers. You realized they were staring at you now, but you couldn’t look away. You had to know.

“Miss, please, you shouldn’t be here,” the woman repeated. Her hand was still on your shoulder, and you finally looked her in the eyes, took in her face. Her features were gentle yet strong, and there was something striking about the contrast between her dark hair, fair skin, and pink lips.

You were trembling, something she could feel against her fingertips, and the water brimming in your eyes was enough to let her know how much you cared, probably more than anyone around.

She quickly glanced back at the other men behind her, and the tallest one nodded. With her hand still on your shoulder, she escorted you away from the scene, and away from prying eyes to a secluded park bench.

“Would you like to take a seat?” she asked.

All you could do was nod. Nothing felt real. Her voice sounded like it was reaching your ears by an old, fuzzy radio set up 10 feet away from you. This can’t be happening.

You plopped down on the bench with much less grace than the woman before you, who introduced herself as Agent Prentiss. “But you can call me Emily,” she’d said. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you whispered. Your arms were wrapped around yourself as you asked, “Is it her? Is it Alexa?”

Emily dodged your question with another question. “Who’s Alexa?” You later realized why she didn’t ask you how you knew her. She didn’t ask because she’d have to ask ‘how did you know her’ and not ‘how do you know her,’ something that surely would have set you off.

“She… she’s my b-best friend,” you mumbled around the lump in your throat.

“You mentioned that you just saw her. When was that?”

“Last night. We decided to crash the party with some of our friends who are actually in the sorority,” you explained meekly. “Please, Emily. Would you please tell me if it’s her? I have to know.”

Emily sighed and gave you a sad look, which was really all you needed, but hearing the words made it final. “Yes. We found identification on her with the name Alexa Stephens. I’m so sorry.”

Your whole heart shattered. You cared about her more than any of her other friends, and you sometimes wondered if you cared about her more than her family. She had a rough childhood and couldn’t stand to be in the same state as them anymore, which is why she transferred halfway through her freshman year. You immediately connected with her and you’d been friends ever since.

Your mind was racing, thinking of all the questions you needed answered, all the things you could have done differently to keep her alive. If you would have just been there…

“It’s not your fault,” the angelic voice broke through the static in your head, as if she could hear your thoughts.

“It is,” you whimpered, “If I had just pulled myself together, we would have walked home together, and she wouldn’t have been alone. Oh god, she died alone.”

“You did nothing wrong. You didn’t know, you couldn’t have. I’m sure you did what you thought was best in the moment.” It didn’t make you feel a whole lot better, but you grasped onto her words in an attempt to calm yourself down. You knew there was still more information she probably needed from you. You took some deep breaths, closing your eyes. A warmth spread its way through your palms, and you realized that the agent had put her hands in yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze. You held onto them like an anchor point. “Can I ask you a few more questions, or would you like to take a break?”

In through your nose, out through your mouth. You opened your eyes and nodded. “I want to help in whatever way I can.”

Emily continued to ask you questions about your night and if you remembered anyone suspicious. She asked if there was anyone who was staring at her, to which you told her that would be half the people at the party. Alexa usually had a steady stream of boys coming and going, some she dated and some she didn’t.

You never really understood that. You barely liked one person, let alone multiple back to back or at the same time. But Alexa just had this appeal to her, and while some would disagree with you, you thought she had a big heart. A big, blind heart.

“Thank you so much for your time. Give me a call if you remember anything else, anything at all,” Emily said, handing you her business card, “and I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. I will,” you answered dryly.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

You woke up feeling out of sorts. You’d dreamt of her last night. Well, you’d dreamt of them. You saw Alexa laughing, and then you saw her sprawled on the ground, an image your mind had created all by itself, and then you saw Emily. Felt her soothing hand on your shoulder, her warm palms encasing yours.

Then you woke up. The whole thing made you feel weird and sad and tired.

You picked up the business card Emily had given you, twirling it in your hand. You hadn’t remembered anything new, but you felt safe around her. Noticed, important, like you mattered. You realized just how much you were lacking that from Alexa, from your other friends.

Simply calling her wouldn’t do, though. You wanted to see the woman that for once in your life made you feel like you didn’t have to pretend you were okay. She knew you had lost someone close to you, and didn’t expect you to keep it together.

What were you saying? You put the card down, remembering that you’d only spoken to her for all of 30 minutes and she was just doing her job. Nothing more, nothing less. You also had the wherewithal to know that you were probably only grasping at any minute display of affection since you’d just lost the one person you so desperately wanted it from but could never get it. It made you feel pathetic and angry.

God you were also just so tired.

Classes were not going to happen, so you just laid back down, hoping to be swept into another dream.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

A knock at the door woke you up. You weren’t sure what time it was, but you didn’t really care as you walked to the door.

Without looking through the peephole, you eked the door open. Emily was standing there along with another agent you’d seen at the crime scene.

“Hello. Y/N, right?” the blond asked. You nodded. “My name is Jennifer Jareau, and I believe you’ve met Emily.”

Emily smiled at you and you forced a small smile back. “What can I do for you?”

You invited them in and they asked you a few more questions. However, you were only half paying attention to what they were saying, and more paying attention to the way the two women were interacting. You’d sensed a tension the minute they walked in, but it seemed to be one sided. You figured it out by about the eighth time Emily glanced over at Jennifer. You recognized the look in her eyes: a mixture of love and hurt. You’d seen it too many times in the mirror not to pick up on it. But what really caught your eye was how many times Emily’s gaze traveled down to Jennifer’s hands. Specifically her left one with a shiny diamond on it. One look at Emily’s hand, and well, it wasn’t too difficult to put the rest together.

“Thank you again for your time,” Jennifer said, shaking your hand. Emily was slower to move, making eye contact with the other agent, some message you were not privy to passing between them. Jennifer gave you a tight lipped smile and left, but Emily stayed.

“I wanted to give you this,” Emily explained, holding out her hand. There was a small necklace in it, one you recognized immediately. “She was still wearing it and I thought you might want it back.”

You took it out of her hand, admiring the small heart pendant that dangled at the end. You’d bought it for Alexa for her 21st birthday. Her last birthday. “Thank you so much,” you said as you started to tear up. Just when you thought you’d cried yourself dry.

“Of course.” You thought Emily was going to leave after that, but she lingered a moment longer. You looked up at her, and she bit her lip, probably trying to decide if she should ask her next question or not. “She wasn’t your best friend, was she?”

You gave a weak smile, dropping eye contact. “That depends. Are you asking her or me?”

“I’m asking you.”

“No, she wasn’t. She meant more to me than that. But I never meant more to her. I sometimes wondered if I even meant that much to her,” your voice wavered.

“I’m sure you did,” Emily tried to reassure, but you weren’t buying it.

“Hope so,” you muttered. Looking back up at Emily, you held her eyes this time. “What about you and Jennifer?”

Her response was immediate. “What?” She sounded shocked, but you could tell she was trying to play it off.

You offered a single laugh. “I may not be a genius FBI analyst or profiler or whatever, but I know a hurting gay when I see one.”

Her mouth was still open, like she was going to try to come up with an excuse, but instead she just sighed. “That obvious?”

“Clearly not to Jennifer.” You shrugged. “Looks like I’m not the only one to lose someone recently.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Emily shook her head.

“You don’t need to downplay your pain,” you told her. “I know how bad that hurts. Why do you think I left that party early?”

A look of understanding flashed through her eyes. “A constant stream of guys…” Emily quoted your from earlier.

“Yeah,” you shrugged again. “Sometimes it’s just too hard to watch. Sometimes it’s just too hard to listen. When she’d come back to me crying over a break up when I was sitting right there… it’s painful. And that night I just couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t watch her waste her time on another guy who was going to hurt her. So I left. Look where that got me,” you mumbled the last part.

Emily gave a sad, bitter laugh. “She asked me to be her maid of honor.”

You sighed with her. “I’m sorry.” You had barely noticed the tear that escaped her eye before she forcefully brushed it away.

Something changed in her demeanor when she realized a tear had escaped, speaking faster as she headed towards the door. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this. You already have a lot on your plate, and I don’t need to be unloading my personal issues on you. Again, I’m sorry, I will make sure-”

“Emily,” you cut her off, grabbing her arm and turning her towards you as she was about to reach for the doorknob. You weren’t sure what you’d been planning on doing once you stopped her, and the first thing you thought to do was hug her. You pulled her in close and wrapped your arms around her. She seemed shocked, but put her arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world for the two of you to be doing.

You don’t know how long you stood there, but you would’ve stayed there forever if you could. The warmth and safety of her arms was something you’d never really experienced before.

When she pulled back from your embrace, you realized you’d both been silently crying. Her fingers traveled over your jaw, and her thumbs brushed away your tears. Your faces were only inches apart, but something in the back of your head told you that it wasn’t the right time.

Instead, you leaned forward and kissed away her tears, pressing your lips to her cheekbones. You felt her eyelashes on your face, a feeling you tried to commit to memory. A feeling you never got to experience with Alexa. One you never would.

“Y/N,” she whispered. You heard everything in the way she said your name, a warning that no matter how badly the two of you wanted this right now, it wasn’t a good decision.

“I know,” you whispered back, resting your forehead on hers, “Just please. Please let me live in my head for a little while longer.”

You stood there for a few more moments, her hands cupping your face and your hands on her back before she completely pulled away. “I will make sure we do everything we can to find the man who did this.”

“I know,” you repeated. “Thank you, Emily.”

She offered another small smile, but this time it felt a bit more sincere. With that, she left to continue fighting the monster that had ripped the earth out from under you.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Three more days and another victim later, the case was closed. Emily and her team had caught the bastard, putting him away for good.

You felt like you owed it to her, to the whole team, to go down to the local station they were set up in and thank them.

The moment you walked in, Emily spotted you. She put down whatever pictures and maps were in her hand, and rushed over to you. Without exchanging a word you embraced, similarly to how you’d done a few days ago, although much shorter this time as you were in public.

“We got him.” Her voice was assured and her lips curved in just the smallest way as she studied your face.

“I don’t know if I could ever thank you enough,” you told her. You looked over her shoulder to the conference room she’d just abandoned, catching the majority of the other members looking your way. “Is that your team?”

Emily turned around to follow your gaze, most of the others looking away as she did so. “Um, yes. That is them.” You couldn’t exactly figure out what subtle meaning was in her tone of voice, but ultimately chose to ignore it.

“Can I… um, well, can I talk to them? I want to thank them,” you quickly explained. Emily turned around to give you a shy smile.

“Sure,” she agreed, heading towards the conference room. You figured that was your cue to follow her, so you did, trialing close behind her.

She pushed open the doors and introduced you. Of course, they all knew who you were as you’d been a mess when you showed up on their crime scene, and had apparently been a ‘big help’, which the tallest man with a stern face, told you.

“Oh, I didn’t really do anything,” you waved him off. “You did all the hard work, which I wanted to thank you all for. It means a lot that you were here and able to close this case. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” a tall, strong-built man replied. “Happy that we could help.”

“But a lot of the credit should go to Emily,” a thin man with curly hair stated, a small smirk on his face, “She really did most of the work.”

Emily opened her mouth to protest as she gave both men a dangerous side eye, to which all they did was fail to suppress a smile. You stopped her before she could refute, “Well, thank you.” The message was broad, directed towards everyone, but your eyes lingered on Emily.

She gave you a single nod, and you quickly glanced around the room at the agents that helped get justice for Alexa before heading out the door. You looked back at Emily before you left, her eyes following you out while the two tall men behind her were passing knowing looks. You caught a glimpse of the blonde agent staring at the whole interaction, then biting her lip and looking away. You looked back towards Emily and the two male agents, the bald one shaking his head in what you could only guess was amusement, something you felt a little flattered about. Again, you weren’t a profiler, but you could read the classic signs of friends teasing friends over something like a crush. You hoped your brain wasn’t too foggy from the whirlwind that your life had become to mistake those signs for something they weren’t.

You were just getting into your car and pulling the driver’s side door shut when the passenger side swung open. Emily plopped down in the passenger seat of your car, quickly shutting the door. Surprised to see her, you just sat there like a fool looking at her.

She glanced over at you, biting her lip, a little bit of mischief in her eyes. “Are you going to drive or should I?”

In response, you finished shutting your door and started the car. “What took you so long?” you teased. “Was it Jennifer?”

“Let’s not talk about Jennifer,” Emily responded, a level of conviction in her voice you hadn’t heard yet.

“No, let’s not,” you agreed. Let’s not talk at all. You leaned across the console, bringing her face to yours with a hand on her cheek. She kissed you back, deeply. Oh what it was like to kiss someone you had feelings for, and not only kiss them, but have them kiss you back. You hadn’t realized just how starved you’d been of this feeling.

You pulled back first, needing to get some air back in your lungs. You plopped back down in your chair a little dazed.

Emily wetted her lips. “I know you wanted to do that before. Why’d you wait?”

“I waited to help you. To help get justice for Alexa,” you briefly explained, pulling out of the parking lot. “I know how important it is to have a clear head.”

“And now?”

“The investigation is over, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Emily confirmed.

“Then I am done waiting. That was the biggest mistake I ever made with her. I waited to tell her until she… until it was too late. I’m never going to do that again. Never.” It was a promise you intended on keeping.

“I did the same thing,” Emily shared, her voice getting quieter.

“I know. So let’s both just agree to be honest and forward with what we want,” you suggested.

“And what is it that you want?”

“You,” you confessed.

The drive from the precinct to your apartment was short, and you were there within the next couple minutes or so.

Taking Emily’s hand, you led her up the stairs and through the door of your apartment. The moment you shut and locked it, Emily was there, pulling you close and kissing you with much more passion than she had before. You pushed off her blazer and started frantically working on the buttons of her dress shirt. You had to part for a moment, just long enough for her to pull your shirt over your head. You were going in to kiss her again, when she stopped you.

“Woah, woah,” she whispered. “Slow down. I want to savor every last moment of this.”

Her eyes tore down your figure, fingers brushing over your collar bones, down around the swell of your breasts and over your stomach. When they reached the top of your jeans, she looked up at you. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to be pushing you to do something you’re not ready for yet. I don’t want you waking up regretting this because you still haven’t taken the time you need to grieve Alexa.”

“Let’s not talk about Alexa,” you copied what Emily had said about Jennifer earlier. “I want to be here with you. Will you let me be here with you?”

She slowly nodded, and the moment she did, you put your lips back on hers. They were soft, just a bit swollen, and she swiped her tongue across your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to her without question, and did you best to resume the work on her dress shirt buttons. Your tongues tangoed as you finally got her shirt off her.

As you led her to your room, you were thankful you didn’t have to pass Alexa’s, and even though no one else lived in your apartment anymore, you shut the door out of habit.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

You woke up just before the early morning sun, drinking in the sight of the sleeping woman next to you. Your legs were tangled in the sheets, arms wrapped around each other.

Even though you’d had the entire night to admire her body, you couldn’t keep yourself from looking over her in awe. The way her face looked so at peace when she was sleeping and the way her dark hair messily fanned around her head made her look too perfect to be real. Everything that happened must’ve been a figment of your imagination, and the little solace you found in her felt like it was going to evaporate with your dreams.

And in a way, it was.

Once she woke up, she’d fly back across the country and go back to working her job like she’d never even met you. Maybe she hooked up with girls all over the country. She didn’t really strike you as that type, but you didn’t really know her.

The universe was playing a cruel joke on you. When you had the chance to spend years with the girl you were in love with, you didn’t have the guts to tell her how you felt, and now that you did, you only had a day or so with her. But in the end, both would leave. Both would be out of your life forever.

You’d been so caught up in these thoughts that you hadn’t noticed Emily peek her eyes open. The sun had just started shining through the blinds, and she squinted against the light. She was also able to see the wet streaks glinting against your skin.

That jolted her awake, sitting up on her elbow. “Hey,” she soothed, cupping your face, “What’s going on?”

You placed your hand on top of hers and wiped at your tears with the other. “You’re perfect,” you told her, voice barely above a whisper, “And you’re leaving. Everyone leaves.”

Instead of responding, Emily tucked you under her arm and held you while your wept. She whispered sweet nothings into your hair and cradled the back of your head. You held onto her like she was the only thing keeping you together, keeping the withering pieces you called yourself from crumbling completely.

But, as you’d said, at some point she’d have to go. She’d have to pick up her things and head back to her life. You were going to have to figure out how to manage on your own.

Once you’d calmed down enough, you apologized to her. She told you that she was there for you, and that you’d always have her number, which helped you feel a little better. Just as she was finishing putting on her clothes and heading toward the door, you said, “You know it’s not too late to tell Jennifer your feelings, right?” Emily gave you a sad look, one that told you it was too late, but you persisted. “She’s only engaged, and engagements can be broken. I saw the way she looked at you yesterday.”

“What do you mean? I thought you said she was oblivious?” Emily countered.

“True, but I was paying a lot more attention to you that day,” you informed her, which made her lips turn up. “But I’m talking about back at the precinct. As I was leaving and you were looking at me, and those two male agents were making eyes about the whole thing, I saw how she looked at you. She was jealous, and I think a little sad too. I’m just telling you that the worst thing that could happen if you tell her is she says no. The worst that could happen if you don’t tell her is you miss out on a life with her. Or before you know it, she’s getting hurt in the field and you end up right back here, just like me. Please, Emily. You have a chance to go for it, to tell her how you feel, something I was too stupid not to take advantage of when I could. Do it before it eats away at you any longer.” It was a plea by the time you finished.

Emily had never looked at you with pity before that moment, but there was a hint of the feeling in her eyes when you finished, like she thought you were desperate or naive. And, maybe you were, but you also thought that some of the pity might have been for herself.

You stood up out of bed, and approached her. She was standing frozen in the doorway, and the look of pity disappeared when you whispered, “It’s not too late.”

Emily pressed her lips to yours, in a slow, delicate way, one that felt like a goodbye. When she pulled back, her eyes were still closed and she barely spoke against your lips. “I hope you’re right.”

You looked deep into her eyes once she finally opened them, trying to remember the shape and the color, and how it felt to get lost in them. But then they were gone again, replaced by the hair on the back of her head as she walked away. She gave you one last small, sad smile before walking out the door of your apartment. That, you knew, would be it.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

~11 months later~

Voicemail from: Emily Prentiss

“Hey Y/N. It’s me, Emily. I know we haven’t talked since the last time I saw you, and I know this phone call is kind of out of the blue… but, uh, I just felt like I should call you and tell you this myself. You were right. It wasn’t too late, and I told her. I told Jennifer how I really felt, and she broke off the engagement to be with me. We’ve been together now for about ten months, and um… well, this time around we both have rings on our fingers. So I guess what I’m really trying to say is thank you. Had it not been for you, or what you said to me that last night, I would have had to be the maid of honor at her wedding and watched while she married someone else, and the guilt would have eaten me alive. So thank you. You’ve changed my life. I hope that things are going well for you because you deserve everything that’s right in the world. Really, you do. And you always have my number if you ever need anything. Okay, um, I guess that’s all. Goodbye Y/N.”

Taglist

@90spumkin

#criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss x reader #emily x reader #emily prentiss angst #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss #prentiss x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #prentiss #cm angst

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Abridged: 1981

The X-Men, those back-to-the-future mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 141 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Brent Anderson, Dave Cockrum, Jim Sherman, Bob McLeod and Josef Rubinstein

While I also committed various fashion atrocities at the age of 14 (tye-die and fauxhawks, oh my), even Liberace would find Kitty’s outfits too much. (Uncanny X-Men 149; Uncanny X-Men Annual ‘81)

We dial back from the v. epic scope of the last few arcs. Instead, 1981 is just a lot of fun! We get:

Storm and Emma doing a Freaky Friday!

the X-Men vs. Magneto (again!)

A surprisingly effective Alien rip-off

An dystopian future! (OoOoOoOo)

Last year was the year of the Dark Phoenix, this is the year of Kitty Pryde. That’s not to say Jean’s death is swept under the rug: all throughout, we see her friends mourning her loss or remembering her fondly. (Scott even gets to have a demonic adventure about it.) But in general, Claremont puts Kitty in the forefront, fleshing out his YA-addition to the team. And what would a YA heroine be without a grim dystopia? Roll out the iconic Days of Future Past!

To be fair, 2013 was a dark time for all of us: What Does the Fox Say somehow got to the top of the charts and I was still watching Glee. (Uncanny X-Men 141)

How cool would it have been to see a name like Jonothon Starsmore or Eva Bell on those tombstones?

Anyway, that’s Kate. Kate’s had it rough. Mutants are at the bottom of the foodchain, most X-Men are dead and only a small cadre of resistance fighters remain, Sentinels dominate, and while she is married to Piotr, her children have been murdered. Bleak. Luckily, the rebellion has concocted the plan to shunt Kate’s spirit back in time to prevent this awful future from happening. (You’ve seen Days of Future Past, the last passably good X-Men film, you know what’s up.)

Let’s do the time warp again! 1981!Kitty’s mind gets taken over by 2013!Kitty, who promptly tries to convince the X-Men that a new Brotherhood of v. Evil Mutants will try to kill Senator Kelly, a presidential candidate who tries to put the mutant menace on the agenda. (Mutants tend to blow stuff up when he’s around.) Since the X-Men recently took a literal trip to Dante’s Infero and also befriended a cosmic world-ending entity, they basically shrug and go: “Yeah, this checks out.”

Off to Washington they go (zoommm) and there, they happen upon the Baddest Bitches in Herstory:

“How dare you hate mutants, senator Kelly! We’ll fix that by killing you!” (Uncanny X-Men 141)

This All-New, All-Different Brotherhood consists out of:

Destiny, a blind woman who can see the future. Definitely the eeriest member of this group. Badass lesbian, though that won´t be canon for years.

Avalanche. Greek who makes things shake. Is a long-standing member of the X-Men Rogue’s gallery, but rarely features in the spotlight. I think he got more characterization in four years of X-Men Evolution than he ever did in the comics.

Mystique. Shapeshifter. Ruthless and unhinged, the Cersei Lannister of the X-Men universe. Absolute legend, secretly the wife of Destiny, currently not as unhinged as she’ll be later. Immediately implied to be related to Nightcrawler: it’s the yellow-eyes-blue-skin-combo.

Pyro. Can manipulate fire, not create it. Absolute pillock, in all the best ways of the word. Originally intended as gay, but they decided to make him Australian instead. (?!)

Blob. Big, strong, immovable. We’ve seen him before.

One of the details in this fight I enjoy is that Storm is still struggling with her leadership, although she has a better grip on things than Cyclops:

Wolverine then proceeds to use those iconic but deadly claws about twice per issue for the next, oh, forty years. (Uncanny X-Men 142)

While the X-Men fight the Brotherhood in the present, we cut back and forth to the future. There, the X-Men consist out of some familiar faces - Storm, Colossus, Wolverine - and some surprises: Magneto (in a wheelchair), Franklin Richards (son of) and an unfamiliar ginger girl called Rachel. (She’ll be important later.) We even learn (one of) Magneto’s names: this is the first time he’s canonically called Magnus.

One of the strengths of Days of Future Past lies in its brevity, the way it tantalizingly taunts us with a brutal but familiar future without giving away too much. It’s single-handedly responsible for all those dark future timelines the X-lines are so fond of which will eventually culminate in time-displaced grandsons from alternative dimensions and the impossibility of a succinct answer to the question: “Who’s Cable?” Too much of a good thing and all that.

Still, what Days of Future Past does so successfully is:

Put the idea of the mutant menace back at the forefront, hammering home the metaphor of mutants being a minority. Mutants being put in camps and being forbidden to breed should - regretfully - make us think of all too many real life equivalents. (Specifically, all of the imagery harkens back to the Holocaust.)

It starkly shows what happens should the X-Men lose, reminding everyone of the stakes. The X-Men are here for a reason: bridging the gap between mutants and humankind. If they fuck up, we end up with mutant concentration camps.

It helps that the X-Men in the future almost all die horribly: Franklin is incinerated, Storm is impaled… It's brutal stuff. The only one to survive is Rachel, who wonders if their plan actually changed the future or if they created an alternative timeline. (It did the latter, sorry ‘bout it, Rachel.)

In the present, Kate chases after Destiny, who trains a gun on senator Kelly. I always wondered how this works: if Destiny saw the future, she knew that killing Kelly would trigger a terrifying future. What in the current Marvel timeline made her decide that the Days of Future Past was better? Did she see her own death? Did she see the Onslaught-crossover coming? The Chuck Austen run? What was it?

In any case, time-anomalous Kate stops Destiny from killing Kelly and the future is safe! For now. Kate disappears, Kitty returns to her body and some of the Brotherhood are apprehended. All is well, for now.

After being a key figure in DoFP, Kitty is also the main character in the Christmas special, which is basically a straight up horror and a pastiche of the Alien-movie.

Seriously, John Byrne still isn’t sure why he wasn’t sued by Ridley Scott for this. (Uncanny X-Men 143)

If you love Kitty Pryde? Read this issue. If you’re not convinced you like 80’s Kitty? Read this issue. It’s not continuity relevant and it’s basically Kitty playing the part of a Final Girl in a horror where she’s being chased by a demon, but it’s so good. It showcases all her strengths and her foibles. Kitty’s intelligent, cute (sometimes preciously so) and brave, but she’s also young, self-conscious and hot-headed. And it's not as if the other X-Men automatically adore her: Storm berates her all the time, she’s afraid of Kurt because of the way he looks (though she grows out of that) and she fights with Professor Xavier a lot. Moreover, she has a clever power-set for a young superhero who faces menaces on a daily basis: a thirteen year old who can go intangible is far less likely to have reality ensue on her and be dramatically offed because she's better at protecting herself.

I’m sure there are people who thought Sprite was hogging the spotlight, but I, for one, say she brings more to the table than, say, Angel. She’s not the Dawn Summers of this franchise.

Scott also gets a side quest. Poor guy can’t catch a break: first the love of his life dies, so he quits the X-Men, then he realizes he can’t do much else than be a superhero. He becomes a sailor on the ship of spunky captain Lee Forrester, is drawn into the sadistic plans of a demon unironically named D’Spayre and then shipwrecks in Bermuda with Lee.

The X-Men, meanwhile, are tormented by a team-up of Doom (who’s currently Latverialess and working on a comeback) and Arcade, that annoying crony. Locke, Arcade’s dom, has kidnapped the loved ones of the X-Men (Moira MacTaggart, Jean Grey’s parents, Illyana Rasputin and Amanda Sefton) in order to blackmail them into getting Doom to free Arcade. Apparently, Arcade accidentally insulted Doom and DOOM DOES NOT FORGIVE THAT FOLLY.

While the B-Squad (Polaris, Havok, Banshee and Iceman) goes to save Arcade’s hostages, the X-Men sneak into Doom’s castle. Well, except for Storm, who doesn’t give a single fuck and simply flies up to Doom, demanding an audience. Doom likes the cut of her jib and invites her to have dinner. (This is pre-Tinder, so this is a legit way of scoring a date.)

If Storm has a flaw (I said if!), it’s got to be her atrocious taste in men. (Uncanny X-Men 145)

The X-Men find Arcade’s cell empty, while Arcade casually saunters up to Storm and says hi. Storm realizes too late that this is a trap: while the X-Men are all trapped in Saw-like traps, Storm is encased in ‘living chrome’.

If you remember she’s claustrophobic, you know why this is a bad move.

While the X-Men free themselves from their traps - Polaris hilariously has to deal with a murderous merry-go-round - Storm is slowly driven mad in her prison, triggering a worldwide tempest. (She causes Lee and Scott to shipwreck.) Under the threat of Wolverine’s claws, Doom releases Storm - or rather, unleashes her.

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!” (Uncanny X-Men 147)

The memory of Jean brings Ororo back to herself and she starts undoing the superstorm she created. (If only climate change were reversed that easily.) Their confrontation ends by Storm easily forgiving Doom, because she apparently trespassed on his grounds without adequate cause.

Mkay.

All of Arcade’s hostages return to their homesteads, except for Illyana Rasputin, Piotr’s sister: she’s staying at the mansion for a while. Angel, who’s sort of been a part of the team since the Phoenix thing, has had it with Wolverine and his ‘tude, and decides to quit the X-Men : he doesn’t want to be a part of an outfit that has a killer like Wolverine on it. (Or maybe he’s just mad Claremont didn’t give him any storylines: his presence has been mostly pointless.) It’s too bad he left before Kitty started experimenting with her outfits: I bet he would have loved her ugly-ass costumes.

Equally inconsequential is the introduction of a brand new character, who then proceeds to disappear from the narrative for the rest of the year:

Black Tom has tried to kill you at least twice, but him sending you a long-lost daughter doesn’t give you pause? Ugh, Sean, you deserve Moira. (Uncanny X-Men 148)

Intrigued by Theresa? TOO BAD, WON’T SEE HER AGAIN ANYTIME SOON.

Another new character is the lonely, decidedly mutant looking Caliban, who can sense “people like him” and is on the lookout for companions. Like many lonely people who try and grasp at friendship, he decides to overshoot his shot and ruin the night of Storm, Kitty and Jessica Drew at a Dazzler concert. Because he tries to kidnap Kitty, the girls react a trifle aggressively. When they realize their mistake - the eerily pale Caliban is a simpleton rather than a menace - he’s already fled. No mention is made of the Morlocks yet!

There’s also another dull annual where the X-Men team up with the Fantastic Four to save Arkon’s dimension from the Badoon and yaaaaawn. Far more interesting is the landmark issue #150. Slowly, through the adventures of Scott and Lee Forrester, Claremont has been setting things up for the return of a favorite villain. While the X-Men investigate Magneto’s old base in Antarctica on a hunch of Professor X and tangle with Garruk, Scott and Lee survive Storm’s tempest, only to wake up next to a strange island that seems to have been raised from the ocean.

It’s apparently some ancient citadel from a long forgotten civilization with a fondness for squid statues. (I don’t know man, I’ve never been to the Bermuda Triangle, maybe this is just super-accurate.)The tentacles make Lee Forrester feel very amorous, but before Scott can tell her he is way too repressed to just have sex with an attractive someone he’s known intimately for a month or two, Magneto saves his ass by revealing he, in fact, raised this island from the seafloor.

Oh, Magneto. So extra.

My ambitious little mutant demagogue then proceeds to take the entire world hostage, showing how much he’s grown from the pompous, raving madman from the sixties. (Sure, Magneto is still a bit of a madman, but increasingly, he starts being on the right side of history.)

“I’m trying to make Magneto more sympathetic.”

“Just put him on a page with some bigger villains who are less noble, like the Vanisher, Count Nefaria, or…”

“Reagan, Thatcher and Brezhnov?”

“Er.” (Uncanny X-Men 150)

It’s obvious Magneto is being pivoted as a more noble villain, codified into the well-intentioned extremist we know and love today. Not only do we get the first hints at his past, fleshing out his motivations, he’s also not wrong. Humans are historically not great at taking care of the planet or each other.

When the Russians call his bluff and launch nukes at Magneto’s new island, he quickly disarms them. His retribution is swift and ferocious: the entire citadel is a machine that massively amplifies his powers. He sinks the submarine that launched the missiles, condemning the entire crew to death, and he casually erects a vulcano in a Russian city in Siberia.

Damn. Not messing around this time.

Despite his good intentions, Magneto is still definitely in the wrong: not only because of his methods, but as Scott points out: if Magneto unifies the world under his kind of benevolent dictatorship, all of that will simply fall apart as soon as Magnus dies.

In a way, Magneto is just as big a dreamer as Charles is: Charles believes in peace and integration, whereas Magneto believes his iron fist will be enough to make a perfect world happen. Both of them ignore the reality that acceptance is difficult and messy, because you’re trying to change essential human nature: the fear of the other. Magneto believes in big, sweeping gestures that will fix the world in move, while changing the world is also boring, hard work. One step forward, two steps back. Magneto just wants to leapfrog to his ultimate goal.

The X-Men fly over the citadel, returning from Antarctica, and their plane crashes into the ocean. (Magneto does not brook planes over his territory, humans!) The Professor is also nearby, looking for Scott with Moira, Peter Corbeau and Carol Danvers. The X-Men sneak onto the island, but to their horror, their powers are nullified by some machine of Magneto. They reunite with Scott, who formulates a plan to thwart the would-be ruler of the world.

While the rest of the X-Men go to trash the machine, Storm, Kitty and Lee infiltrate the control chamber where Storm finds a sleeping, shirtless Magneto. Once again showing her terrible taste in men, she is not weak in the knees at the sight of a sleeping Magnus: instead, she contemplates killing him.

Storm knows how dangerous he is, but she also knows that he’s a great man who’s fighting for ideals, no matter how misguided. She hesitates too long: Magneto stirs, suspects an attack and tosses her out of the window, to her death.

Magneto quickly undoes the sabotage the other X-Men have wrought to his machine. A fight erupts. Storm, meanwhile, has managed to grab hold of a ledge. She crawls back up and smashes an important-looking computer, restoring everyone’s powers.

The battle turns grim, but Scott sends Kitty away to wreck Magneto’s machinery. She sneaks off, following Scott’s orders and destroying both Magneto's power-up device and all of his plans by phasing though the computer circuitry. Magneto senses this and furiously gives chase. Overcome by rage, he attacks Kitty and disrupts her phasing power with a magnetic bolt, seemingly killing her?

Everything about this story beat is great: mama bear!Ororo, mournful Magnus and even the fact that Kitty’s godawful outfit serves a narrative function: highlighting to us (and Magneto) just how young she is. The fact that Kitty’s Jewish is just icing on the cake. (Uncanny X-Men 150)

And thus, the softening of Magneto commences. 1981 might be a year with wildly varying narratives, but it has given us at least three enduring legacies to the X-Mythos: a new kind of Magneto, a fondness for dystopian futures and the character of Kitty Pryde, who's really come into her own this year.

Ugliest Costume: Kitty! Purposefully, but still. Best costume, by the way, goes to Destiny, with her creepy, creepy golden mask. Just imagine this lady casually strolling across a battlefield, eerily calm and collected, dodging everything you throw at her. Awesome design.

Best new character: I usually pick one character - what good is having a shared award when declaring the best of anything? - but this year, it’s going to one of my favorite couples: Mystique and Destiny. Can’t wait to see more of them.

Most audacious retcon: Blob somehow retroactively becomes a member of the original Brotherhood, which is not what happened. Ever weirder is Xavier pondering that he never met Magneto before his attack in X-Men #1, while their cordially adversarial relationship rooted in a youthful friendship would soon become a cornerstone of the X-Men.

What to read: Uncanny X-Men 141 - 143 and 150 - 152

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red1culous · 3 years

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Oh part 5

Part 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7

After the events of that day wound down a little you made your escape. Much to Pepper’s chagrin. You finally answer her after receiving her 11th text and millionth missed call. In your pyjamas tucked underneath your covers you shoot her a quick apology blaming something frivolous for not being able to stay longer. Of course she forgives you immediately. Which makes you feel even worse for what you did. But you were finding it more and more hard to breathe after your encounter with Natasha.

And so when Pepper orders 2 dozen more cupcakes to be personally delivered to the Tower in a weeks time, claiming it to be for a big board meeting, you couldn’t but say yes to her.

Next week rolls around faster than you would have liked. As the deadline drew closer, your work partner becomes more and more frazzled at the idea of a repeat order from the Avengers.

“Do you think we could get a seal like the ones they put on English jams from the Queen?” she asks excitedly hovering over you as you put on the finishing touches.

“Are you insane?” you laugh shoving her slightly to create some distance between the both of you. “What would it even say, ‘Official Caterers to the Worlds’ Mightiest Heroes’?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You’re right that’s way too long. We need an acronym.”

You sigh heavily as she continues wearing a hole in the flooring. “What about OSTLER?”

“What does that even mean?” you scrunch up your face trying to focus on your task.

“Official catererS The worLds’ mightiEst heRoes!” she exclaims as if it was obvious.

“I don’t think that would—“ you try before she cuts you off.

“ARTHRITIS? cAtereRs To tHe woRlds’ mIghTIest heroeS?” she spurts out almost tripping over her own words.

“No that won’t—“

“Ok then what about FLATTISH? ” oFficiaL cAterers To The mIghtieSt Heroes. Good right?!” she says her enthusiasm off the charts.

“You know what,” you say shaking your head as you carefully pack the cupcakes into its boxes, “how about you think of something and let me know when I get back.”

“Deal!” she squeals.

“Now please help me load up the truck or I’m going to be late!”

xxx

You stumble on the highly polished marble floors of the Avengers tower as you strain trying to balance 3 boxes of cupcakes and your sling bag dangerously close to falling off your right shoulder. “Hi,” you manage to huff the burly man sitting at the front desk, “I have a delivery of cupcakes from—“

“Ah Ms. Y/N? I was told to give you this and send you up immediately” he says slotting a keycard in between your fingers and walking you through the security body scanners. “Ms. Potts said you know your way around?” he adds as he waits for you to manoeuvre through the smallish space trying not to crush the boxes you held a little tighter to your body.

“Yes I do but—“ you try.

“Splendid well have a good day” he cuts you off again as he leaves you to wait by the elevator. You sigh as you take a breath to calm yourself. Emily hadn’t stopped chatting your ear off causing you to run 10 minutes late. You hated being late. In fact, being on time was considered late to you. Trying to peer at the watch on your wrist was pointless as you when you did try, you almost dropped the boxes you were carrying. You peered at yourself in the mirror reflection of the elevator doors and wondered if everything in this building was polished to perfection. Scrunching up your nose at your less than perfect appearance you try and blow some hair that had fallen onto your face away. And what’s worse, you started to feel an itch on the tip of your nose.

Oh for Christ’s sake.

You try and rub your nose against your shoulder but the movement causes you to almost drop your boxes. Then you tried to relieve the itch by rubbing it against the boxes but that seemed to make it worse.

DING.

Freaking finally you think to yourself. Shimmying in sideways you notice someone already inside the space. “Sorry,” you apologise watching your feet so you don’t trip over anything, “wide load” you chuckle nervously.

“It’s fine” the stranger says and your eyes widen momentarily before you slowly turn so you can face her.

“Oh!” you curse your luck. “Natasha.”

“Hi” she says softly giving you the smallest of smiles. You notice her backing up into the corner as her eyes move from yours to her feet. She doesn’t look up. She looks so small there with her arms wrapped around herself as if she was trying to disappear. All of the sudden you’re overcome with sadness. Why would she need to hide away. From you. Was she hiding from you?

You can’t help yourself. “Hey Nat” the words slip out before you can stop yourself.

She looks up hesitantly. “Yeah?” her voice is soft. Cautious.

“Umm…” your brain is moving as the speed of light trying to come up with something. “Sorry” you wiggle your nose, “my nose is…is itchy. Would you mind?” you groan internally at hearing yourself.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she takes a half step towards you. “Here?” she rubs her index finger on the tip of your nose.

You weren’t trying anything. Your nose was truly itchy and had it not been for Natasha you might’ve sneezed and dropped everything. “Mmm thanks” you say as the itch subsides. Natasha looks up at you and smiles. It’s then you notice her red swollen eyelids and the puffiness under them.

“Are you ok?” you say instinctively.

“I’ve…I’m ok” she says taking a step back and casting her eyes downwards again.

“Can you help me with these?” you add not giving her a choice as you bend your knees slightly to slide a box into her hands. You can tell she wasn’t expecting that as she looks at you briefly with surprise in her eyes.

“Sorry it’s just I’ve been holding onto these for close to 40 mins now and I can’t feel my hands anymore” you say trying to lighten the mood.

She gives you yet another timid smile. “It’s no worry” she says just before casting her eyes back down to the floor. Just before she does you watch as the overhead lights catch the puddles in her green eyes and the guilt that overcomes you feels like someone has just slapped you across the face with a hot iron. You turn your face forwards and pretend to not notice her wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

DING.

The elevator doors open and you’re greeted by a very smiley Pepper Potts. “Y/N!” she beams, “oh Natasha I thought you were headed to that meeting downtown” she says stepping aside and walking the two of you to the conference room.

“I…uh…no, I mean it was postponed” she stutters a little.

“I’m so sorry,” you turn to face her after placing the boxes onto the conference table, “if I had known I wouldn’t have imposed on you.”

“No no” she says, “it wasn’t an imposition at all, Y/N” the way she says your name is laced with regret and hurt its almost tangible.

Pepper signs for someone to come and deal with the boxes as she fishes out a cheque which she expertly folds and slides into the breast pocket of your jacket.

“I should go” Natasha mumbles softly and immediately turns around walking out of the conference room leaving you to just stare at her go.

You turn back to Pepper and she’s smiling sympathetically at you. “Why do I feel like I just killed a puppy?” you say fishing the cheque out of your pocket. Your eyes grow large as saucepans, “Pep this is way too much” you exclaim.

She laughs at you as she wraps her arms around you. You hug back. “You feel like that because you still care about her” she says stroking your back. “And shush it’s not too much.”

“Pepper you overpaid me by 200%!” you pull away slightly holding her at arms length.

“Can you just…” she picks the cheque from your hands and refolds it placing it back into your pocket, “…accept the good things that come to you without making such a fuss.”

You pout and she pulls you back into another hug. This one tighter than the one before. And you hug back squeezing your eyes shut because you know exactly what she’s talking about.

Tagging: @thewidowintheweb @natasharomanoffismywife @imnotasuperhero @cybeleceto @silverwing2522 @thelastavenger-3000 @peggycarter-steverogers @rooskaya-yelena @blackwidowromonoff @lesbian-x-blackwidow @nowthisisliving27 @izalesbean @aaron-despair @marvelfansince08love @rileigh519 @wannabe-fic-reader @hcartbyheart @marvel-randomness @thewitchandtheassassin @username23345 @xixxiixx @rebeliz777 @summergeezburr @frostedfavesmain @higherfurther-romanova @sapphicluxanna @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @madamevirgo @an-evergreen-rose

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x reader #black widow #redfic #oh

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sylverstorms · 3 years

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Fantasy Cruise

This piece is made for a very special someone, @standoutofthecrowd as a gift. The characters in this story are original and do not belong to any fandom. If you give it a read, I hope you enjoy ❣

Warning! The rating of this is M for Mature themes. ;)

They called it the Fantasy Cruise.

The hyper-luxurious ship of not-so innocent dreams, which promised to make anyone’s fantasies a reality during its five-day trip across the Mediterranean.

Well. So long as the money was there for an individual to afford one of its limited, mind-boggingly expensive tickets. Whoever said dreams were cheap clearly hadn’t heard of that cruise.

The advertisements all over the world promoted the experience as ‘starring in a romance movie’. And wouldn’t anybody be excited to star in their very own epic adventure?

“No.” Quinn deadpanned, dragging her luggage behind as she followed Lena into the fifth circle around the same deck, where their cabins were supposed to be.

“What do you mean no, stupid, isn’t this amazing?!” the other girl asked excitedly.

Quinn wondered what exactly was so amazing about getting lost on a piece of wood floating into the vast blue sea. Her glare met Lena’s back without much of an impact.

“No means no. It’s fine at best.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Quinn! Just look at this!” the redhead said, turning around to throw an arm around her shoulders and motion towards the polished-to-a-sparkle saloon, as if that would change the brunette’s entire worldview. “I won us free holidays to the world’s sexiest cruise. You should be beside yourself with excitement right now and buying me a shit ton of drinks as thank you!”

Quinn shook her head. “Correction; You won a trip for you and Mike –but then you had to go and break up and drag me into this, at the last moment.” As always. The woes of being a best friend.

“Because your single ass could really use what this dreamy ship has to offer.” Lena stated.

“It could also use some rest and relaxation at my grandparents’ seaside house.” The brunette countered. “Instead of being the wingwoman to the universe’s most annoying redhead.”

Lena grimaced. “And a sucky wingwoman, at that. Most of the guys I’m interested in come onto you.”

“Except I’m a tad too gay to care.” Quinn let out a small, exasperated sigh.

“Well, then this cruise is your chance! There are a ton of girls here and I can guarantee they aren’t straight as arrows, hon.” Lena replied. “Tell you what. When we find our rooms, we’ll take a look around. And if nobody exists to catch the great Quinn’s interest, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the trip.”

Quinn’s brown eyes immediately lit up at the sound of that.

“I should be offended at how much you perked up just now.” The other girl commented. “But, anyway. Do we have a deal?”

They shook hands. “We got a freaking deal.”

It only took another hundred turns to find their respective rooms.

…

Quinn was no stranger to waiting for Lena to get ready. The woman could show up anywhere from a quarter to an hour later than their arranged meeting time, so it was nothing out of the norm.

Alone in the empty corridor, Quinn checked her smartwatch, then leaned back against her door with a bored huff. She could already feel the ultra-comfy, queen-sized bed within calling her name, but if she gave into the urge to rest Lena would surely come in like the human wrecking ball she was and ruin it for her.

Giggles from down the corridor reached her ears, then.

Two girls were walking towards her, one raven-haired, the other blonde. Quinn didn’t really pay them any mind, until they were close enough to tell the cute laugh belonged to the blondie.

The stunning blondie.

Quinn hoped –but wasn’t betting on it— that she was subtle in her double-take. Because as soon as the beauty entered her field of vision, all else faded into the background. The girl’s hair was shining like silken strands, her pink lips glossy and glistening, absolutely kissable, her pretty face and killer body taken straight out of a dream.

Hazel eyes met brown for a single, earth-stilling second.

Then the girls were past her and Quinn blinked, checking the blonde’s back out before she disappeared around the next corner.

Damn, she thought. Maybe all that crap about fantasies coming to life weren’t complete bullshit, after all.

“Why do you look like a fish out of water?” Lena’s voice came, shattering the dream to pieces.

“Because I felt like one, waiting for your sorry ass to get ready. Move it or I’m going for a nap.”

“No, you’re not~ we’re hitting the pool.” Lena sing-songed.

Ugh. Maybe I can find someone to keep her busy for the next four days. Quinn thought. She’s happy, I’m free, win-win.

If she only knew…

…

“Hey. Hey look.” Lena whispered. Quinn huffed over her drink. “How about that guy? How would you rate him?”

“Why do you assume my answer’s gonna change? All guys get a zero out of ten from me. Period.”

“He’s an eight at least.”

“Sure, Lena.”

“How about that sexy over there, who’s been staring at your abs for the past ten minutes?”

“Hm?” Quinn turned, following her friends’ gaze under her glasses.

The drink nearly dropped from her hand when she saw the blonde from earlier on the other side of the crystalline pool, fair skin glittering from suncream. The brunette’s throat went dry.

“Ah, now she’s speechless.”

“Tsk. Don’t be an idiot, she’s probably not even gay.”

“Do you have eyes? Even I can tell she’s interested.” was the immediate reply.

“From this distance you couldn’t tell a dude apart from a girl, you idiot.” Quinn teased with a smirk.

“You’re the idiot if you don’t act fast and another girl chats her up first. Remember; We’re here to have a good time. Stop being uptight; There’s your good time, all blonde and waiting for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, Lena, whatever you say-” But her friend was already rising from her sunbed. Quinn didn’t pay her any mind, at first, thinking she was just going for a swim or for a guy that caught her eye.

Instead, five minutes later, much to Quinn’s terror, the insufferable redhead was taking a seat right beside the cute blonde.

To say the brunette rushed to the other side of the pool would be an understatement. She could not recall a single instance in her life where she ran faster. It was practically teleportation.

“Hello, girls. This one has had too much to drink so excuse me, I’m taking her away~”

“Lies, they needed to know you have the hots for blondie but you’re too pussy to make a move-” the redhead began.

Quinn covered Lena’s mouth with a hand, pulling her into a headlock with the other. “Shh, don’t listen. We’re leaving. Sorry for the interruption.”

“Sad.” Miss Cute Blonde spoke up with a shy smile. “So… you’re not interested in me.”

“I… did not say that.” Quinn replied, heart suddenly in her throat. “I also didn’t say I don’t want your number.”

“Oh, good.” Another darling smile.

God. Head empty, girl too pretty. Quinn mentally slapped herself to get her shit together. “And definitely didn’t say I don’t want to see you at the bar later. At, like, ten o’clock.” Thank whatever higher power graced me with this sudden bravery.

“Maybe I’ll be there.” The blonde said.

It was only after Quinn went back inside with her friend in tow that she realized she didn’t even ask for the girl’s name.

“You’re welcome.” Lena laughed.

“Shut up…”

“You’re such a useless lesbian, by the way.”

…

Night had well settled over the ship. The massive pool at its pinnacle stood illuminated by both the moonlight and the soft LEDs within it, creating a beautiful setting, equal parts calming and seductive. Perfect for drinks and dates.

Quinn adjusted her blue button-up shirt as she walked out into the deck, greeted by the wonderful sight. There were tons of well-dressed people all around, but her eyes caught on one individual only.

“Hi.” She greeted, surprised she could speak at all, with the gorgeous blonde right there and dressed up just for her.

“Hey.”

“You look beyond beautiful. Only problem is, I can’t keep calling you ‘cute blonde’ in my head.”

“You look sexy. And you can call me Paisley, Quinn.” she replied in her sweet voice.

“You… know my name.” Don’t blush, don’t blush—

“I asked your friend.” came the shy admission.

“Yeah? What else did you ask about me?” Quinn smirked, slipping into the stool next to hers.

“Um… if you like girls…?”

“If I like you?” Feeling bolder, she raised a challenging eyebrow.

“If you like me…” Paisley chuckled there at the end. It was a sound that shot straight to Quinn’s heart.

And that– was worrying.

Because this was quite literally her dream girl in front of her... except she’d already paid the price of dreams, before. It had felt similar, then, since the first moment. A zap, undeniable attraction. An instant connection. And then… she’d been left bitter and alone.

Cold. Afraid to approach women for anything other than one quick, meaningless night.

“I think it’s quite easy to tell I do like you. A lot of things about you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, that melodic voice. How come a girl like you is single? That’s a crime.”

“Um. Long story, I guess. How come a girl like you is?”

“Long, unhappy story.” Quinn grimaced.

“I have time.”

They ended up chatting the night away, until the small hours of the morning.

…

The deck had nearly emptied.

Paisley and Quinn were walking side-by-side, admiring the dark waves as they gently lapped at the stark white shell of the cruise. It was time to say goodnight, but both were hesitant to go. To break the moment. To lose the chance for more.

Slowly, they turned to face each other.

“I had a great time.” Quinn began. “Thanks for the amazing company.”

“No, thank you…”

Neither moved to leave. Instead, they gravitated closer. Perhaps it wasn’t a smart move. Perhaps it would only lead to more trouble in the end. Perhaps it was fated. Perhaps it was fleeting.

But.

Quinn knew she would regret it for her entire life if she let Paisley slip away without first knowing exactly how soft her lips would feel against her own.

“So…” She began. “In the hypothetical scenario I wanted to kiss you before we go… would you like that?”

A brilliant smile, enough to rival the moon in its shine. “Hypothetically… I would.”

No more needed to be said.

The lock of their lips spoke the rest for them. Slippery, soft, tasting of daiquiri and strawberry lipgloss, that kiss was everything.

That kiss was the beginning of everything.

…

A full day had passed and they spent every moment together.

Swimming, laughing, trading interesting little facts and life stories. Trading kisses. What they had was a bond that formed so suddenly yet so powerfully it defied even logic.

As love often did.

And it was love. They both knew it, instinctively. Perhaps they weren't ready to admit it, perhaps the word was scary to fully register, yet that didn't make it any less true.

Every kiss fed something more than desire. Every caress, over an arm, over the gentle curve of a neck or a thigh, carried more than a physical aftershock.

They both knew they were on the same page on what they wanted, come nighttime. It was a wonder they hadn't ripped each other's bathing suits right by the pool so far. But they could only play nice for so long.

Quinn could feel her skin alight with want at every wayward trail of Paisley's nails on her. She wanted to have everything with the girl, even if it was just for a few days, just for one unforgettable night. They could worry about the rest later. They were already in too deep, anyway.

Paisley's back pressed against the door to her room. Her mouth was already onto Quinn's, tongue over her own, soft sighs and breaths filling the nonexistent space between their bodies.

Quinn's hands slipped under the blonde's top, caressing her tight, quivering stomach.

“Ah, at this rate we'll never make it inside.” Paisley panted.

“Good. Then whoever comes this way will know you're mine to have.” Quinn replied. Her teeth caught the sensitive shell of an ear. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? For them to walk in on us like this? With my hand in your pants, rubbing you slowly?”

“Mmh.. Fuck...”

“With my fingers in your pussy, working deep?”

“Fuck Quinn...” Paisley groaned, pushing herself down on the thigh trapped between her legs. It only made the ache at her center worse.

Quinn couldn't help but rub herself against her, to ease her own lust. Their lips locked again while Paisley fumbled blindly for the electronic lock. It was a wonder they got the door to open with how focused they were on each other. Quick steps took them to the plush mattress at the far end of the room.

The brunette pushed gently, taking great pleasure in how easily her lover allowed herself to fall. Pale wrists were pinned onto the bed while thirsty tongues and bodies sought each other out...

But then they both pulled back. Paused. Stared into each other's eyes. The mood shifted like the wind before a storm. All the previous lust melted into something softer and far deeper, the urgency muted as they slowly started peeling each other's clothes off.

“You really are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.” Quinn whispered.

“You're the most stunning I've seen.” Paisley said back, a hand caressing her brunette's strong shoulders.

As much as she wanted to melt under the ministrations, Quinn wanted to bring her girl to that serrated edge of bliss, first. Thus began her descent down the marble plane of the blonde's neck, pausing to mark the skin with her teeth before soothing it with licks and kisses, enjoying every hitched breath she drew.

God, she feels so good...

With a light caress over Paisley's thigh, her mouth licked over a hard nipple, paying it the proper attention before moving further down. Her blonde was quivering by that point, non-verbally begging for her release. Every muscle taut, every breath shallow, eyes blown into swirling black pools. She was breathtaking.

Everything about the moment was.

When deft fingers finally dragged over soaked flesh, the reaction was as immediate as it was loud. Quinn decided she could easily get hooked on the sound and repeated the same motion with her tongue, from bottom to top.

She could feel in her mouth how ready to topple over the edge Paisley was for her. How she tried to last longer but couldn't help it. Quinn didn't think she could wait any longer, either. She needed to see her unravel more than she needed oxygen, right then.

With the insertion of fingers and a powerful suck, Paisley was crying out into the room, arching, clenching and contorting for her. Quinn, brought to the edge by her voice alone, couldn't help but grind down on her leg to mirror her release.

They both lay together after that, basking in the quiet closeness of their afterglow, hands roaming, worshiping, until the sunrise greeted them with its golden glory.

...

“I'm scared.” Paisley admitted between them. “That when the cruise ends, so will we. And I'm not ready to let this go tomorrow.”

“Neither am I. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.” Quinn said. “I haven't felt this way before. I don't generally feel things so... powerfully.” But this one slipped right under her defenses, somehow.

“But how will we make this work? You live here. I live on the other side of the world.” The blonde lowered her head, expression overtaken by sadness. “We'll just hurt to be apart.”

“We'll hurt, yes. But we won't 'just' hurt. Every relationship comes with pain— I think it's unavoidable, whether one’s partner is near or not. The question is, whether that pain is worth it. And I'd rather hurt yearning for you than for not having you at all.”

“I— I don't know what to say...” Paisley trailed off. “I only know I can't bear to lose you.”

“You won't lose me if you don't let me go. I will never abandon you, never let you face this shitty world alone.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

A promise sealed with a kiss and intertwined fingers below a gorgeous sunset.

And as it turned out, love can defeat any obstacle if it's real and true. Physical restrictions don't matter when it comes to what the heart needs. Distance bends before it. Even time can. Laws of physics and reason cease to apply.

The heart will love what it is meant to love.

#creative writing #original character #oc x oc #fanfiction #original work #quinn and paisley #love story #wlw #lgbtq #the gay is everywhere #happy pride 🌈#gift fic

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

Text

here it is!

my pride and joy, the piece that has completely hijacked my brain and my life for the past 24 hours. this is the prologue, some might say, to TDOSA, featuring the vibes of an endless, sunny summer, the sense of floating through time and space, and a lot of lesbian yearning and projection, i present: the summer of seret ashling.

cw implied sex, blood

word count around 6300

one time tags of interest @ashen-crest @ettawritesnstudies

tdosa taglist (lmk to be added/removed) magic-is-something-we-create @hysteriwah @imjustalonesomewriteblr @a-forgotten-dusk @bronwennjames @metanoiamorii

Lysandra Fleming’s summer begins like this: a lonely night in Briar Bar, sipping a warm mug of cherry syrup. Not because she is cold—the heat in Vashiri Valley does not begin with summer, nor does it end there. Cherry syrup is vile and bitter and sweet at the same time, made worse warm, but the smooth way it goes down reminds her of childhood, the strange days when she actually liked this stuff.

Not home. She has not had a home since she was a child, when the supposed charm of the palace still worked on her. What were once silky ribbons in her hair became the invisible chains and rules of her parents, tying her down.

Lysandra, you can’t do this, it will reflect badly on us, or Lysandra, you can’t speak to that person, can’t smile at them, can’t see them, don’t you know what they did ten years ago? Don’t you know who their parents are? Vashiri Valley is struggling for power enough without you mucking it up.

Lysandra stopped smiling altogether.

Now, she comes to Briar Bar to be left alone with her cherry syrup, to melt into the crowd, to be normal, for once. Instead, others smile at her the way her parents always encouraged she smile, fake, polite enough, with an ulterior gleam in their eye. So many eyes watch her in want, but she does not feel seen at all by any of them.

The room’s quiet conversation dims and dissolves into whispers, prompting Lysandra to glance over at the reason. The reason is facing away from Lysandra, wearing a tall black hat and a black suit that nearly blends into the darkness of the walls, if not for the white shirt the woman is wearing underneath.

Lysandra didn’t see her come in, and all eyes turn to the tall, dark stranger, wondering the same thing. Her companions across the room point her in Lysandra’s direction, who braces for another meaningless smile, another delighted to meet you, Highness.

The woman turns, and Lysandra sees brown skin, black hair falling in long, loose curls, a subtle, close mouthed smile that draws her attention instantly. Brown eyes meet Lysandra’s green.

“Seret Ashling, my princess.” Seret Ashling leans down, never breaking eye contact, and kisses the top of Lysandra’s hand, holding her fingers delicately, but not like she’s glass. She treats Lysandra like she knows, instantly, her boundaries, how far she can safely push, what Lysandra can take—which is a lot more than most people guess.

Already, Lysandra likes her.

Lysandra is not her princess. She knows the name of every person in this valley, and she knows she’s never even seen Seret before. Even the name is foreign to her. Seh-reht.

That makes it all the better.

She moves her stool a little farther from the empty one beside her, raising an eyebrow in an invitation Seret accepts, removing her hat and tucking it under her arm to smoothly mount the stool. Seret sits with a straight back but ankles curled around the legs of the stool, adding enough humanity to her presence to make Lysandra smile.

She does not prop her elbow on the table, she does not order anything, but she does stare at Lysandra like she’s the most interesting person in the room. Lysandra can tell, somehow, that this gaze is genuine, not hastily crafted and practiced to impress her.

She offers to buy Lysandra another mug of cherry syrup, and Lysandra lets her.

***

Everywhere Lysandra goes, Seret seems to find her. She’s the talk of the valley, enrapturing them with her tall, dark, handsome aura, her small smile, the way the sun shines off her hair.

Finally Seret takes the leap and asks her out to places in Vashiri City Lysandra has been a thousand times, but somehow Seret’s presence paints color to her world again instead of the dull greens and golds the valley has become.

Their connection is instant, from Briar Bar to the lane of potion shops to the muffled awe in Seret’s face when she sees the Academy. At some point, Seret takes Lysandra’s hand, and they stroll through the town like they are not a princess and the new obsession of Vashiri Valley.

Everyone has been asking Seret about herself, where she’s from, what family she has, but she slips out of answering like a snake from a trap. Her smile is quite persuasive. Lysandra doesn’t even try to pry the answer out of her, though she might be the one person to succeed. Seret still looks at her every time like she’s the sun and the moon and the stars.

Lysandra’s heart thrums with nerves every hour before their dates, afraid of messing things up and driving Seret away, but the moment Seret enters the room, her heart calms. Seret gives her a warm hug that envelopes her whole soul, tells her she missed her dearly, and Lysandra wonders why she was ever worried. Seret seems impossible to offend.

“I am going to buy you a gift,” Seret announces on one of their dates in town, in a tone which makes it clear this is non-negotiable. Lysandra only nods. Seret pauses between two shops, one being the most popular jewelry store in the city with a line out the door, the one across the street being an adorable but little known competitor.

Lysandra waits for Seret to get in line for the popular jewelry store, but instead the woman lingers in front of the door of the other shop before opening it. “Don’t peek,” she says with a little smile, shutting the door and triggering the little bell. Lysandra stands there gawking like a fool until Seret emerges ten minutes later holding a little square box.

When Lysandra opens it with trembling hands, she finds a little heart shaped necklace, gold with a silver center on a golden chain. The gold probably isn’t real, probably just paint, but the pink paper wrapping the necklace and the little thank you card inside the box make her smile when the shop across the street wouldn’t.

The plain red and blue shelves in the windows of the other shop, where her family’s jeweler gets his jewels, have nothing on the soft pinks, greens, and browns of the cheap shop owned by twins. They keep flowers in their windows, pink carnations, and prices written in loopy court script.

“Do you like it?” Seret asks nervously, and Lysandra realizes she hasn’t said a word.

“I love it. Thank you.” She offers it up to Seret to clasp around her neck. Seret’s warm fingertips brush the back of her neck, and shivers run down Lysandra’s spine. This is special, her heart keeps telling her, like she doesn’t already know. This is different.

“How did you know?” Lysandra asks.

“Know what?”

“That I’d like this better than the shop across the street.”

“You’re a princess, you’re used to expensive jewelry, and you’ve publicly and loudly denounced royal life. Also, I’d rather give my money to them, seems like they actually need it. Don’t you agree?”

Lysandra has to take a deep breath to keep from blurting out something stupid. “Yes. I agree.”

Their first kiss a day later is a ray of light and a shadow of darkness, colliding and exploding in a glorious show of white and black, settling as ashes and debris into serene, calm gray. They are not the sun and moon. Lysandra is too sharp to be the sun, Seret too dim to be the moon.

It is the death of something. The birth. Lysandra can’t define what.

***

When Lysandra asks, Seret says she came to Vashiri Valley to visit and experience its delights, after which she meets Lysandra’s eyes and kisses her hands.

Lysandra hangs around the city apartment Seret rents. It’s close to Wynn’s cabin where she sleeps. She hasn’t slept in the palace in months. The layers of security and scrutiny she has to pass to enter are not worth the temporary comfort of a soft bed and her favorite meals.

She’s sleeping beside Seret before long, unable to bear being apart from her for that long, wondering how she behaves during such a precious time. Seret’s arms are even warmer around her under cool sheets, and in the morning, Seret brings her coffee before disappearing behind a white door.

She reappears in a cloud of steam, smelling like sweet flowers and honeysuckle. Lysandra gets to kiss her good morning and wonder how she got so lucky.

They’re invited to plays, the nights at the bars for amateur bards, the travelling witches who perform at the amphitheater. Lysandra has been to every event in this valley at least once, usually at the request of her family, but Seret loves going. Like the city and the shops and the Academy, experiencing Seret’s joy secondhand is intoxicating.

Everywhere they go, every table they sit at, whether it’s the theater or the bar or a café for a simple breakfast, people are fawning over Seret. The entire valley is enamored with Lysandra’s new lover.

Seret seems to find it amusing, the way they pat her arm and show a comical amount of interest in everything she has to say, just waiting for an opportunity to ask questions that they must know will go unanswered.

Lysandra sits quietly, burning from the way Seret entertains them, smiles at them in her private way. She wants Seret all to herself. She’s used to sharing things with the public, she’s had to share herself her whole life, but Seret is different. Lysandra doesn’t care if it’s selfish, Seret is hers.

When everyone finally seems like they’ve gotten their fill of Vashiri’s new inhabitant, Lysandra takes her to the edge of the forest and the dead tall grass fields beside it. She gets to watch the exact moment Seret falls in love.

Seret has never grinned, never raised her voice louder than a murmur, but her hitch of breath and the way she reaches for Lysandra’s hand is all she needs. Pride blooms in Lysandra’s chest at the realization she’s learned Seret’s little tells like that.

“It’s just a field,” she laughs. She’s laughing more, now, thanks to Seret. Stoic, cynical, unpleasant Princess Lysandra, laughing. This is why she hasn’t let Arlin near Seret yet, she’d never hear the end of it.

“No, it’s not,” Seret breathes, radiating darkness and mystery in a way that is curious, enticing, instead of harmful. Lysandra just wants to follow her into the shadows where no others can see them, hurt them, touch them. “Can’t you see?”

Lysandra strains her neck, but it’s not the fact that Seret is taller than her that’s the problem. “No.”

Seret pulls her along and begins running instead of answering. Lysandra yelps in surprise and stumbles along, staring enviously at Seret’s long legs—long legs, long arms, long face, long fingers, everything about Seret is long. She sweeps Lysandra up in her arms and spins her around, feet in the air, Seret’s strong arms keeping her up.

Seret is grinning for the first time, showing perfect white teeth, her joy the only reason Lysandra doesn’t scream in shock. She trusts Seret utterly, she realizes in a paralyzing moment of clarity, the sun warming her back, the wind blowing through her hair. Seret has never given her a reason not to.

“What’s the matter with you?” Lysandra asks, though she can’t keep the joy out of her own voice. Seret is infectious. Anything she feels reflects on Lysandra.

“We had fields exactly like this in the city where I grew up. I can’t believe I haven’t seen these yet.” She finally sets Lysandra down and immediately kisses her, as has become a habit the last week. Lysandra gives in, gives over entirely.

She has twisted and forced a key into the lock of her heart, but now, she hands the broken key to Seret and wishes her lucky trying to fit it in the rusty, damaged old lock. Lysandra knows she’ll unlock it fast, her eyebrows pinched and frowning in concentration, long fingers working quickly.

She doesn’t tell her that, of course.

Even then, Lysandra knew.

***

They find a cabin at the edge of the fields and the forest which they quickly move into, abandoning Arlin and the boys and Lysandra's family and Vashiri Valley for themselves. Lysandra has no remorse.

Seret shows her how to live in darkness, in quiet, in peace. They prepare coffee in the mornings before the sun floods the fields with light, arms brushing and using only using their sleepy voices when they need to, not wanting to disturb the holy peace of the morning.

They bathe in the evenings indoors where the fading sun doesn’t reach, sitting close in a tub of river water that Lysandra heats.

They spend all day laying on their backs in the fields, one of them lying on the other while someone’s hair is stroked and someone speaks over the wind.

When the afternoon heat turns the sunlight from pleasantly warm to scorching, they move to the shade of the big oak tree near their cabin to eat.

The shadows are their friends in this haven, where no one and nothing else exists but them. Seret trusts them like they trust each other, content to close her eyes and lay her head back against the trunk when she’s done eating.

Lysandra loves the warmth of the sun, but she hates the harsh white spotlight of her family, the prickly rules tying her down, the sense that she can’t ever escape their restraining eyes. She can hide in the darkness from Seret. They’ll never catch her.

Lysandra has never been so invincible, light enough to be picked up on a cloud every time the wind blows. Seret is the only magical thing she’s met that doesn’t have a drop of magic within her.

Seret is ineffable. Unknowable. Larger than life. Lysandra can never hope to understand her fully, but she can try, she can watch and observe, attempt to learn the inner workings of Seret’s mind.

“Seret?” Lysandra asks one afternoon just like every other, where the peace and warmth of their retreat cannot be broken. “Where are you from?”

It is the first time she has asked. She holds her breath, waiting for Seret’s answer, which takes a long time to come. Seret chews on her lip, her expression as guarded as always, until she finally smiles. “Wherever you want me to be from. North, south, east, west, I’ve visited them all. Pick one and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Lysandra’s chest opens to swallow an ache of emptiness. “Maybe later.” It’s not what she wanted, and they both know it. Lysandra inches mere breaths away from Seret’s side, but it won’t go unnoticed. She thought Seret might actually tell her. She rubs the small gold heart between her fingers and sighs.

“Hey,” Seret says, turning Lysandra’s chin towards her. “It’s not because I don’t trust you, because I do. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone, more than you know.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?” Need, embarrassing and whiny, sneaks into Lysandra’s voice, but she ignores it. She’s entitled to this answer, at least.

“I don’t want to shatter your world.” Seret sighs and shifts to take Lysandra’s hands in both of hers. “I am from the south. I ran away from home at a young age to travel because my upbringing was hell, and I’ve never stopped since.”

Lysandra breathes out.

“None of that changes how I feel about you,” Seret continues, pleading, the most passionate Lysandra has ever heard her. “I have never met anyone like you, even with everywhere I’ve been. I do not want anyone but you.”

No one has ever said anything like that to Lysandra, and hearing it now gives her pause. The way Seret’s eyes burn on her skin with their dark intensity is exquisite. Lysandra will never get used to it. She does not want to.

“I would not want this with anyone else.” It does not mean the same thing, but Seret smiles, close mouthed, anyway. At times like this, Seret’s secretive nature makes Lysandra’s blood boil, unvoiced screams rise in her throat. She has given so much of herself already, why can Lysandra not know of her past, her family, her ugliest emotions?

She never wants Seret to treat her like glass. The first day they met, Seret got it right. Lysandra can’t bear the thought that Seret is any less perfect than she thinks, that would shatter her, not knowledge of the world beyond the valley.

Lysandra has gotten all she will today. She is content to sigh deeply and lay her head on Seret’s arm. Seret will stroke Lysandra’s hair, and the wind will ruffle her own, and Lysandra’s urge to push it back will fight the warmth settling into her bones. They are fine. They will be fine. Nothing more.

***

On lucky occasions, Seret shares stories of her travels from who knows when, who knows where. She has been everywhere, she said, and Lysandra believes her. She asks about the north, the far east, the west, and Seret’s homeland, the south.

The south could mean any number of things. Lysandra has never been out of Vashiri Valley, and her family have always been vague about what lies beyond their mountains, but Seret describes an actual ocean, the cold water wrapping around her ankles, the hot sand burning her feet.

She takes Lysandra to a desert in her mind, great, sprawling cities, icy lakes and snowy mountains to the north. To the east, she says, more ocean with great brown ships. Lysandra doesn’t care if she’s lying.

She lays in the grass on her side and lets the wind blow her skirts while she travels the world in her mind. Seret closes her eyes and traces mountains, rivers, canyons on her spine, unconsciously pointing in those directions. Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat.

Seret opens her eyes briefly to ask, “Am I boring you?”

Never. You couldn’t if you tried.

Lysandra shakes her head. Seret’s slow, easy smile returns, and the warm fingers on the skin revealed by her backless dress whisk her away to a thousand new worlds so big she can’t even imagine them.

***

“Does it ever bother you that I’m a princess?”

Seret smiles. “That isn’t something that would bother most people in my position.”

“I’d disagree. As the lover of a princess, you have no privacy, there’s expectations, rules you have to follow, harassment…I suppose a better word would be faze. You met and introduced yourself and spoke to me as if I were normal.”

“I called you my princess. the day we met.”

At Lysandra’s withering look, Seret chuckles. “Who said you aren’t normal? You didn’t have any control over what family you were born into. I would still feel the same if you hadn’t rejected your family and your role, if you were princess first and person second. It would be a bit harder to get to you, though, in that stronghold. To me, in that bar, you were just the prettiest girl in the nicest dress with the most captivating eyes. They told me you were a princess—so what? I love you anyway.”

Lysandra’s cheeks burn hot, and she chokes on saliva. The wind picks up, and she feels like she’s falling. How can Seret just say things like that and expect Lysandra not to explode and melt into the sun? “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Seret smiles again. “I’m not looking to get anywhere. I’m not like those people at the bar when we met. I’m not trying to be like anyone. I’m not not trying to be like anyone. I’m not looking to impress you, honestly. I’m just being honest.”

Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat like a branch stuck in a river, unfazed by the powerful oncoming waves.

Seret is clearly not looking to hear it back, but Lysandra gathers all her courage and quietly says, “I love you, too. I--”

She shies away from Seret’s intense gaze, burning on the back of her neck. “I’m not good at, uh. Saying things like this. Like you. But I want you to know that you’ve changed my life. I don’t know how to thank you for all that you’ve done for me, given me. This place is nothing short of perfect. Every minute we’ve spent together has been nothing short of perfect. I’m sorry I haven’t given you anything back.”

“My dear, you are quite mistaken. You’ve given me the ultimate gift: yourself. The opportunity to know your heart, your mind. You’ve let me in when I can tell you have trouble doing so.”

She kisses the back of Lysandra’s hand, looking up at her through her eyelashes, as she often does. It still makes Lysandra’s entire being heat like the sun itself came down to lay its rays gently onto her, powerful but careful with her.

“You are my entire world,” says Seret, the sun. “The most precious creature in all the places I’ve visited, all the creatures in this valley alone.”

Lysandra smiles. “You haven’t met Wynn Scylla’s dragonlings.”

Deflect. Defend. Dismiss. Seret sees through it.

Lysandra lays their lips together, hoping to convey without the painful process of words said aloud just how much Seret makes her hurt. Seret makes her burn and ache in the best of ways, like a satisfying stretch after waking up from a stiff nap.

Seret challenges her to face things she loves shying away from, things like the swelling of her heart which she hasn’t felt in years. Seret is terrifying, all consuming, but Lysandra can’t imagine a world without her. Much of her allure comes from her mystery, however infuriating her secrecy is.

Hours later, when they’re full and sated from dinner, after they wash the dishes side by side at the river and after they’ve bathed in the tub in the house, Lysandra hears a faint hum, high and low, continuous, lulling and soft. She turns her head and discovers it’s Seret, humming to herself as she drapes the wet towels out to dry. “What’s that you’re humming?”

Seret pauses her sweet melody. “Hm? Oh, just some music from the east. If I had the proper instruments, I would play the tune.”

Lysandra chokes on air. “You can play music, too?”

Seret smiles. “I can do many things.”

“Oh?” Lysandra doesn’t know where her sudden burst of courage comes from. Perhaps she’s the one looking to get somewhere. She raises an eyebrow and crooks a finger, hoping a low tone will convey her point. “Come here and show me.”

Seret is quiet, face blank. Lysandra wonders, belatedly, if she does in fact have unknown boundaries.

When Seret desperately searches her eyes for consent, Lysandra realizes it was shock and not disgust that rendered her speechless. “You mean—” Seret asks, hoarse, never breaking eye contact. Lysandra shivers. She had that effect on her?

“Yes.”

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment, Seret’s hungry gaze fixed on Lysandra’s pale shoulders, the towel wrapped around her middle. Then they’re both moving at once, mouths moving in the same pattern of Seret’s melody, a symphony of hearts beating in time.

If Lysandra is Seret’s world, Seret is the center of Lysandra’s.

***

At long last, Lysandra’s family gets wind of Seret. Lysandra doesn’t want to know how. Maybe Wynn and Petrus spread it around by accident—she loves those boys, but they couldn’t keep a secret if they tried. Maybe it was Arlin, who Lysandra finally let meet Seret.

All she does know is that her family is demanding to meet their middle princess’s lover, which means they’ll clarify if they’re allowed to be together or not.

“I’m sorry,” Lysandra whimpers, on the edge of tears in Seret’s arms. “I don’t want them to touch us with a ten foot stick, but if we don’t go, they’ll send someone out here to find us and disrupt our world. I’m so sorry.” Something about her family interfering in her and Seret’s affairs makes Lysandra boil like nothing else.

“It’s okay, my princess,” Seret murmurs into her hair, cupping the back of her head, rocking them back and forth. “We’ll go, I’ll tell them what they want to know, we’ll come right back here. It will only be a few hours. Their opinion won’t change how I feel about you, but I’ll do whatever you feel is best.” The sorrow in Seret’s tone implies too much.

Lysandra pulls back. “Don’t you ever think I’d leave you for my family. Right now, I’m thinking much the opposite.”

Seret purses her lips. “What objection would they have to me? The whole valley seems to like me, why wouldn’t they?”

“You’re not a noble, you don’t have a title, you have nothing to offer them, you won’t even tell anyone where you’re from, and you’re the lover of their middle child.”

Her voice is bitter, matching her heart. Seret’s arms tighten protectively around her. Lysandra switches from bitterness to anger to guilt in a second. How dare her family do this to them? What makes them think they have this right?

They control Vashiri Valley, but Lysandra can’t remember the last time they appeared in public, and their power is distant at best.

They control Vashiri Valley, but they can’t control her.

“No matter what they say,” Lysandra says into Seret’s chest, “I am never leaving you. You’ll have to pry me away. Whatever polite, diplomatic accusations or insults they throw at you, ignore them. You don’t have to tell anyone, especially them, about yourself. You’re with me because I love you, and that’s all we care about. Okay?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one who needs reassuring, Lysandra.”

“Shut up. I’ll be fine.” She pulls back from warmth to wipe her eyes, hot shame from crying coating her face, but Seret pulls her back in.

“There’s no shame here,” she whispers, kissing Lysandra’s temple. “Comforting you is my pleasure, though I wish you didn’t have a reason to cry. Everything’s going to be okay, my princess.”

Lysandra breathes.

She wears the gown she wore when she and Seret met, soft pink with a low neckline, tiered ruffles reaching down to her ankles, frilly short sleeves. Maybe familiarity will give her some comfort, whether that’s Seret’s hand on her thigh or this dress pinching her arm.

Seret wears the same black slacks, white shirt, and black jacket she always wears, thoroughly combs her hair, but leaves the hat at home.

At the dinner, she is perfect. she speaks only when spoken to, sits with that straight, enviable posture, praises the food like it’s the substance of heaven itself, the best she’s ever had.

She’s gracious, thankful, answers every question they ask. If she had a title, Lysandra knows her family would be simply begging them to marry.

Things start out pleasant, her family treating Seret with the polite, arm’s length attitude Lysandra expected. Finally, the dreaded question comes.

“So, Seret,” Lysandra’s mother asks, folding her hands, “where are you from?”

Lysandra clutches her necklace, the one Seret gave her, and prays. Please don’t let them be the first ones you tell. They don’t deserve that.

Seret smiles. “This soup is delicious, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, thank you, you’ve said so already.” Her mother is reaching the end of her patience—Lysandra has been on the other end of that short patience dozens of times. Her blue feathered hat and perfect red lips cover up a much nastier woman. “Please tell us about where you live.”

“Well, Lysandra and I have been living next to the forest all summer. The fields there are positively peaceful, you should visit them sometime.” She pauses to let horror sink into the hearts of luxury groomed royals. Lysandra bites down on a smile. “But I am technically still renting an apartment in the city.”

“Where you came from,” Lysandra’s father adds, sharp, on the end of his patience as well. Lysandra wonders how much Seret prepared for this. Seret is smart, she must’ve known she couldn’t wiggle her way out of the question with her usual tricks. “Maybe who your parents are.”

Seret appears to consider the question. “I’d rather not say,” she says, stirring her drink with her spoon. Silence falls onto the room. Lysandra holds her breath.

Her mother nods her head tightly. “Very well. In that case, we’re going to have to insist you stop seeing our daughter.”

Seret bows her head in humble acceptance, but Lysandra stands up, every fiber of her being filling with inexplicable rage. She told herself she wouldn’t display a reaction, she would just accept the denial and then ignore it, like Seret will, but hearing it so frankly from her mother’s lips is different from imagining it.

“You don’t have the right to tell me who I can and can’t see just because you feel like it,” she spits. “I’m an adult. I haven’t lived here full time or done the duties you ask of me for years. You should disown me. Save yourselves the trouble of dealing with me any longer.”

Seret’s hand lands firmly on her knee as if to say no, don’t. Lysandra captures her hand and holds it above the table for the whole family to see.

“You’re the one who chose to come here,” Lysandra’s mother says.

“Yes, because I knew you’d hound us if we didn’t.” Lysandra can feel her chest being ripped open from the top down. Seret’s fingers squeezing hers is the only thing tethering her to herself. She pulls tightly on Seret’s fingers, who takes the hint and stands. They walk out without another word, without a glance back.

When they get back to the cabin, Lysandra sinks onto the couch in their living room face first, and immediately begins to cry. The seconds it takes for the door to click and Seret’s boots to march across the wood are far too long, until warm arms wrap around Lysandra’s back and Seret buries her nose in the back of her hair. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, which only makes Lysandra sob harder.

“I don’t know why it still matters. I knew this was exactly what they’d say. I didn’t want it to affect me. I want to move on from them.”

Seret stays quiet, just letting Lysandra exist and holding her through it. They don’t speak about it again.

Things are different after that. The fields and the cabin have been tainted with mere mention of the royal family’s presence. The spell has been broken.

The wind comes less, the sun seems to burn in a way it didn’t before. Lysandra doesn’t treasure dawn and dusk the way she used to, and baths are just baths. The only thing that hasn’t lost its magic is Seret, as kind and loving as always.

A week later, Seret begins taking trips into the city to gather everything from her apartment and bring it to the cabin, everything of Lysandra’s from Wynn’s cottage.

No matter how many times Lysandra offers to help, Seret insists she’s fine, she doesn’t want Lysandra to come into the city and get hounded and harassed by the usual people dying to meet the princess.

Arlin and the others come to visit a few times to keep her company while Seret’s gone, to speak about the upcoming Academy year, their last year, to learn the place Lysandra disappeared to the entire summer.

She’s happy to see them, happy for the company, but her heart never stops aching for Seret, wondering what she’s doing. Arlin and the boys stay for dinner well after Seret’s back, so she’s never given a moment alone to think.

This continues for a month.

Arlin and the boys become as intimately familiar with the cabin, the fields, the river, and the forest as Lysandra was with Wynn’s cottage on the forest’s other side.

Lysandra flies toward the end of summer in a haze, perpetually afraid to break the peace, shatter the dream, feel the cold seep into her bones once more. She has grown so used to the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin, the safety of Seret’s arms and her soothing voice.

Seret is never too loud, never jarring. Seret seems to float on the wind; sometimes her mind is lost to Lysandra as she stares into the sky at nothing.

Seret is—

Seret is many things. Nothing at all. Everything all at once.

Ineffable.

On what Seret says will be her last day of moving, she kisses Lysandra’s cheek and says, “I’ll be back,” like always. Lysandra thinks that’s rather silly—of course she’ll be back, that’s a given—but it’s sweet.

Arlin and the boys won’t be over since they have to collect their books for school in two weeks and otherwise prepare. Lysandra spends the day in the river, letting the water suck all the thoughts from her head.

By the evening, as Lysandra waits on the porch with dinner ready, Seret is still not back.

She probably got held up with the loading carts she’s been using, Lysandra tells herself as she gathers her shawl, puts on a dress fit for the town’s eyes, and begins the long walk there. She stopped to have dinner, or something. Maybe she met Wynn’s dragonlings at last.

Seret would’ve run back here herself to tell Lysandra she wouldn’t be back until later because of the dragonlings, or she would’ve sent a magical letter, or something. Seret has told her over and over how much she hates to see Lysandra in pain, and how she’ll never, ever be the cause of even the slightest worry.

Dread sits heavily in Lysandra’s chest.

The area near the school is in chaos, looking for her. No one she meets will tell her what’s going on, why they refuse to meet her eyes, why they offer faint smiles in place of explanations.

When Lysandra is shown the rooms in the Academy Seret broke into, the bizarre circles drawn on the floor in chalk, the thick books lying open, the blood splattered all over the floor, and finally, Seret’s body lying on the floor with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, Lysandra falls to her knees and doesn’t get up.

Her entire being is shattered with a force she didn’t know existed, with waves of invisible pain too strong for this realm. Everything feels empty and quiet, but not quiet in the serene way of Seret’s.

She screams, and it rips her open. It rips every part of good out of her and replaces her with numb, muffled, faint feeling. Later the waves of pain will come back, the longing for Seret’s warm arms to wrap around her and make everything all better, but now, she’s able to look at the body with only thin trails of tears streaming down her face.

Seret’s white shirt is soaked through with a circle of bright red blood. The whole scene is almost unreal. If not for the blood and the cold feel of her hand, Lysandra’s Seret Ashling looks the same. Her hair is neatly arranged, her face free of the splattered blood.

Death is too simple a word for what happens to Seret.

She is gone, says a voice, Seret’s voice, her smiling face haunting Lysandra behind her closed eyes. The ghost of Seret’s fingers cup her jaw, stroke her cheekbones, brush soft lips over her forehead, push her spectacles up.

I love you, my princess, Lysandra hears when she touches her ear to the floor, soaking the front of her dress with her blood, such a cruel reminder of Seret’s humanity. She was brutally, unfortunately, unbelievably human. She may have reached beyond this realm to grab a fist of love for Lysandra, a greater capacity than any human could hold, but that couldn’t save her from her own humanity.

I’ll be back. Seret’s last words to her.

She wasn’t just going into town to move.

Lysandra clutches the necklace Seret gave her and squeezes until it hurts. It fits easily in her palm, hangs right over her heart. The death of Seret Ashling is going to hit Vashiri Valley like the rare storms, unforgiving and violent, bringing destruction that takes years to recover from.

Lysandra squeezes the necklace, closes her eyes, and breathes slowly, steadily. The storm will wipe her out faster and harder than anyone else, but she’s the one who has to control it singlehandedly, and that will be about as easy as trying to capture an actual storm from the ground.

She won’t survive this, but she’s known for months that if anything ever happened to Seret, she never would. She can only submit to the darkness—the bad kind, this time—awaiting her, return to reality behind this door.

#writing #writeblr #my wip #my writing #fantasy writing #fantasy writeblr #fantasy #lila's wips: dosa #bean's excerpts #lila's short stories

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bloodyshadow1 · 3 years

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Beauyasha week Day 3: Scars

You're Worth Trying to be Better For

I did metaphorical scars for today's prompt, not much more to say. Hope you like it, more prompts on their way, at least 1 more, though I'll do my best to write more. If you like my work and feel like encouraging me to write more, leave a comment if you want. They help more than you know

“Hey Yash,” Beau said calling after her girlfriend. They had just dealt with a band of giant spiders that was plaguing a small town in the southern parts of the Empire. It wasn’t a hard fight, not after the year they had, but for most normal people they could have been a problem.

Beau was worried, her girlfriend had been distant the last few days, even quieter and withdrawn than usual. Beau didn’t want to push her, she didn’t have a lot of experience being a girlfriend and didn’t think forcing Yasha to talk about things would help. But now that she wasn’t even scavenging parts of the dead spider’s to eat as a snack later Beau knew something was wrong.

So when Caleb created the tower for the night, Beau moved to talk to Yasha in private. The barbarian didn’t even come to dinner with the rest of them, she just retreated to her room in the tower without saying a word. She had barely used it since they became girlfriends, most nights they spent together in Beau’s room. But the last few days they both slept alone, Beau respecting Yasha’s privacy up until now.

Beau knocked on the door, there wasn’t an answer, but the door opened all the same. She saw Yasha sitting on her bed, just staring at her wildflower mural turned away from the door. “Yasha,” Beau said again, more pleading this time as she tried to keep her heart from breaking.

Yasha didn’t say anything but she did stop and turn around to look at her. Her eyes were distant and unfeeling, like they had been when they first met and Beau was trying to ignore the pain. She was already doomed, in the, ‘when she’s hurting I’m hurting,’ phase of their relationship.

“I’ve tried to give you space,” Beau said inching closer, “I really have. But you’ve been so closed off the last couple days. If I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry, please just tell me so I can fix it,” she begged.

That got a reaction of Yasha, “what are you talking about,” she asked unsure of what Beau meant. Her voice was rougher than usual, after not being used for days it came out even more gravelly.

“Y-you’ve been so distant and quiet,” Beau said softly, not trying to agitate Yasha, trying to not sound too accusing. “I figured it must be something I did, so please just tell me so I can make it right.”

It all came crashing down to Yasha, it wasn’t about Beau, but it wasn’t not about her either. Yasha knew, a part of her at least, knew that Beau for all her strength, and beauty, and brilliance, was incredibly fragile. In their time together, Yasha had done her best to make Beau feel as loved as she deserved to mitigate the damage her family had done to her. No wonder she’s like this, Yasha withdrawing, instantly translated into her doing something wrong.

“Beau,” Yasha said softly, “come here,” she patted a spot next to her on the bed.

Beau moved slowly to sit down at Yasha’s side, not wanting to say or do anything to upset the larger woman. Beau knew it had to be something she did, it was always something she did.

“Beau,” Yasha said with her hand on Beau’s chin so her girlfriend would look at her, “you did nothing wrong, I promise.”

Beau was a damn good liar, that helped her know when people were lying to her. She knew in her very soul that Yasha, tall, powerful, beautiful Yasha wasn't lying to her. There wasn’t a trace of falsehood in her violet and green eyes. “T-then why,” Beau started to ask but couldn’t form the words.

“It’s not because of you Beau,” Yasha said feeling ashamed she had put her girlfriend through, “it’s because of me. A few days ago, I had a dream and it bothered me,” that was an understatement if there ever was one. She turned away from Beau, staring into her beloved’s face would make it harder to formulate her thoughts, Beau had the right way of making her mind leave her in all the best ways.

“Was it, you know,... Obann,” Beau asked carefully. Yasha had spoken the the party about her time under Obann’s control, but she knew it was still some of the worst time in Yasha’s life under his control.

“No, I haven’t dreamed about him in a long time, thankfully,” Yasha said struggling. Beau deserved to know the truth, no matter how much it hurt. “It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a good dream, a very good dream,” she said more to the room than to Beau.

“Well…, that’s good, right,” Beau said, knowing the answer. Yasha wouldn’t have been so distant if it was a good thing.

“The dream was good,” Yasha said gripping her hands, her knuckles turning white, “it was of Zuala.” Even after all this time it hurt to say her name.

“Oh,” Beau didn’t know what to say, she knew Yasha was married before, that her tribe killed her and she ran away. But she barely mentioned her and Beau didn’t want to pry. “Well I mean that’s normal, she was a huge part of your life, I’m sure you have a lot of good memories of her.”

“I didn’t dream of our past Beau,” Yasha said, the words coming out like a curse. When Beau didn’t say anything she continued, “it wasn’t real, of course, but when I dreamed I wished it was. I dreamed that I charged forward instead of running away, that I took my wife in my arms and we ran away together. I dreamed of what our life would be together, if she survived.” Yasha sounded miserable.

“I can see why that would make you feel terrible once you woke up and she wasn’t by your side anymore,” Beau said.

“I woke up miserable because I remembered that I loved you,” Yasha shouted. “No, not like that,” Yasha said moving to Beau whose face fell, cupping Beau’s face so she couldn’t look away. “I felt like I was betraying you…, by dreaming of her.”

“What,” was all Beau could get out.

“I love you Beau, I love you so much,” the pain in Yasha’s voice hurt. “But I can’t love you with all my heart. Zuala will always be a part of me, no matter how hard I try to bury my memories of her, they keep bubbling up. When I’m awake you’re there and I don’t think about her as much, but when I’m asleep alone, I can’t help where my mind goes. If I could stop them I woul-.”

She would have kept going but Beau stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Yasha,” Beau said calmly, “I don’t want you to forget about Zuala.”

“H-how can you not,” Yasha asked, as tears started to pour down her face. “How can you be with a woman who doesn’t love you with all her heart. You deserve someone who loves you more than anything in the world, Beau.”

It took a bit for Beau to get her thoughts in order, to decide on what she was going to say. Finally, she came to a conclusion, “Yasha, can I tell you a…secret I guess. I wasn’t really trying to keep it a secret but I also haven’t tried talking about it.” She looked at Yasha for confirmation and when Yasha gave her a nod she continued. “I have a crush on Jester, a big one. I’m not going to break up with you, or cheat on you, or do anything with her, I promise, but it’s still there.”

“I don’t really know when it started, you know how I am with pretty girls, she was the first real friend I ever had and then as we kept traveling together maybe something grew as my feelings for you grew also. I felt like shit, like I was living out every lesbian stereotype in the dirty books I read as a kid, obsessing over my best friend who has a crush on a guy, it’s so cliche, but it still happened. I couldn’t control it any more than I could control falling in love with you. I’m happy for her and Fjord, and I’m even happier for me and you, but I still have feelings for her. They’re not nearly as strong as the feelings I have for you now, but when you were controlled they were pretty damn strong because Jester’s cheerfulness was one of the few things that could soothe the ache in my heart not knowing if you betrayed us or not.”

“I’m not trying to say this to hurt you or to pull this out to counter what you told me, but I just wanted you to know because you need to know you’re not the only one whose heart is made to love more than one person. After telling you that, do you still love me,” Beau asked very quietly now, truths on the table, ball in Yasha’s court.

“Of course not,” Yasha said, surprising herself with how easy it was to say. Yasha knew in her heart that there wasn’t anything Beau could do that would make her hate Beau.

“Well I feel the same way,” Beau told her, giving her girlfriend a smile. “I know you don’t want to talk about Zuala, and I respect that. But I’m not the jealous type, I know she was beautiful and amazing. And I’m just happy she was there for you when you needed her to be and I’m so sorry she was taken from you before her time.” She kissed Yasha’s hands.

“You didn’t even know her,” Yasha said, trying to resist, but if their time together has proven anything, she is bad at resisting Beau.

“No,” Beau admitted, “but you loved her, you love her, I can’t believe that someone you love so strongly, even after all this time could be anything but wonderful.”

“You know that means you too now,” Yasha meeting Beau’s eyes for the first time in a while.

“I-I don’t know about that,” Beau mumbling some excuses. It was funny to see her stumbling over her words, but it hurt to see her so down on herself. Beau was amazing, she was strong, smart, funny, beautiful, and so much more, yet she can’t see it. Beau’s heart was so strong but covered in the scars of what her parents had done to her, just like Yasha’s had been for what the tribe had done to Zuala.

“Well how about we help each other out then,” Yasha suggested. “Not today, but someday, I would like to talk about Zuala, if you’ll be willing.”

“You telling me stories about beautiful women, how can I say no,” Beau said, trying to be funny.

“And maybe, I can show you how wonderful you are so you stop hating yourself Beau,” Yasha said, cupping Beau’s face softly in her massive hands.

“I’m not sure it will work Yasha, I’m pretty broken,” Beau told her, “but I’m willing to try anything for you.”

“That’s all I’ll ever ask Beau, because I won’t stop trying, ” Yasha said, kissing her. Her heart was still hurt, but it was healing, a lot of that is thanks to Beau. And she’d love Beau enough to make her stop hating herself one day. There would always be scars on her heart from losing Zuala, but that was okay because women digged scars. At least her woman did and that was all that mattered.

Notes:

To be honest, I'm not super happy about the ending, I rushed it because I wanted to post today and I have my dnd game in a few minutes but I hope you enjoyed it all the same.

#critical role #the mighty nein #beauyashaweek2021 #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #my work #fanfiction #beauyashaweek2021 day 3 scars

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iwowzumi · 3 years

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so i’ve had a few hours to process mi and i know that mstief has said it’s very much about chronic illness and while i very much agree, it’s MY coping series and i get to project onto it so i’d like to throw my hat in the ring for it’s about mental illness as well, especially the more “””destructive””” ones, and specifically how people cope with it. tw for mental illness, s/uicide, and all the stuff that comes with it.

because ronan and hennessy are undeniably destructive, either because they can’t help it (murder crabs, the lace) or because they want to be (ecoterrorism, hennessy’s orb). this applies both to their immediate surroundings AND to themselves, their relationships. and while in these cases the cause seems to be the dreaming, it would be easy to draw a parallel to mania or psychosis, maybe dissociation (though dissociation among trc/tdt characters i.e. jordan, matthew, adam is a discussion for a different day). i’m showing my hand a little but i also think ronan’s paranoia in this book is pretty significant— see his whole “everyone was in on it” spiel when it was, at its core, his loved ones trying to protect him from self-destruction. i also think mental illness here is deeply tied to creation/dreaming (as it is for many mentally ill people). ronan creates and sometimes creates destruction but when he doesn’t it destroys him (nightwash) and hennessy has a mental block, arguably due to trauma that keeps her from creating at all (the lace) but i digress.

the way i see it, ronan and hennessy are two very mentally ill people coping in very different ways. or rather, they are at different stages in their coping process. hennessy (although she very much has an individual struggle i want to emphasize that) is where ronan used to be. she’s s/uicidal— i think that’s inarguable. the lace aside, she even asks for liliana and carliana to kill her. but i think the lace speaks for itself. it hates her and it destroys, but it’s really hennessy hating herself, wanting to destroy herself. thats why she keeps dreaming doubles (though i would also argue that the doubles are an attempt to imagine a hennessy without mental illness, without trauma). that’s as much as text, and it’s nearly a direct parallel to how ronan used to view himself. he used to dream doubles as well— versions of himself to give to his self hatred and s/uicidal tendencies. hennessy is learning, she’s stopped dreaming doubles, but on some level she still hates herself enough to want to die. it invades her dreamspace and renders her unable to create. it makes sense to me that she was only able to dream the orb after encountering carmen and liliana, two supportive (and lesbian, diversity win!) women who explicitly tell hennessy that her life has value. but her solution to turn off the ley line is also interesting to me. the lace, her tendency for self-harm that tends to manifest when she creates, is so overwhelming that the only way out of it that she sees is to remove her ability to create altogether, and i wonder how this will affect her. i’m eager to see how her character develops in the third book and i hope that will come in the form of her treasuring her own life and reclaiming her ability to create from her trauma and mental illness as well as rebuilding relationships with people (jordan!) who she’s pushed away out of fear or self martyrdom.

and then there’s ronan. we’ve never seen ronan at his most s/uicidal— that was pre-trc, when he went to the hospital. idc if they were his dreams, that was a s/uicide attempt and i will not be dissuaded on this. still, a lot of trc was ronan coming to terms with himself as a dreamer, a gay man, a high school dropout, a mentally ill person, and learning that his life DOES have value! and that’s a lesson i think he’s learned by tdt, and certainly by mi. he wants to live, and he wants to create! but he feels stifled by a world that doesn’t want to accommodate that. in this world there’s no space for his murder crabs or his hay barn full of wheels— for his mania and destruction. and he feels and fears that his loved ones only want him as a diluted version of himself, which is devastating when you’ve only just learned to accept all of yourself. and it’s hard because you don’t want to hurt your loved ones! or yourself! but you also don’t want to be treated like glass, or like you’re defective, or like you have to hide the wild and sometimes ugly parts of yourself to be palatable enough for society to accept you. so he creates bryde. someone like him, but who has it all together and is in control, who can help him create a world that accommodates him, doesn’t stifle him, but also indulges ronan in his most self-isolating, paranoid compulsions. bryde is both an indulgence and a self-protective measure. i think this is why the lace is afraid of bryde because on some level, bryde IS the lace, just in a different form, evolved, a different way of coping that involves living. but it’s also why adam and all of the people who love ronan are afraid of the lace— they can see that bryde is just as destructive, just in a different way.

this is not to say that either hennessy or ronan are wrong, that one is coping “better” than the other, that they’re coping badly, or that bryde and lace are their “evil mental illness.” it’s way way more complex than that, and that’s why i find myself increasingly sympathetic to hennessy even as she becomes more destructive in the same way that i can’t find myself completely disagreeing with bryde. these parts of hennessy and ronan can be inwardly and outwardly harmful but they can also be beautiful and necessary— hence the magic that is dreaming. (this is also not to say that the people they dream aren’t autonomous, but that’s a whole other can of worms) the mental illness can’t be shunned away or eliminated entirely. it has to be radically accepted as a part of the whole that is ronan and hennessy. and that’s a lifelong process that i think every mentally ill person grapples with, and i’m very much looking forward to seeing how hennessy and ronan evolve with respect to these concepts in the third book

#this is SO long and i am clearly projecting SO much but please read this i worked so hard on it #i probably missed a lot but this is my first time publicly posting meta so iiiiiii don’t care #this is my long winded way of saying ronan and hennessy get therapy challenge <3 #hennessy #ronan lynch #tdt meta #trc meta #mi spoilers #dreamer trilogy #the raven cycle #syd text #oh also dont come at me for glorifying mental illness or using wrong terminology i will literally egg your house #tw mental illness #tw suicide

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stanzoeywade · 4 years

Text

Poppy x MC Tinder AU

Summary: based off that one tumblr post about a girl who never experienced an orgasm and their friend hooks them up with their lesbian friend. aka, the au that no one asked for.

in which Veronica and Chloe find out that Poppy's never experienced an orgasm and they decide to help her out by creating a tinder account for her, cue MC finding her account and shenanigans happen.

Warnings: swear words maybe some smut but nothing too graphic. (OWO)

If anyone wants to be added to taglist please reply. As always these are only my headcanons so enjoy my take on that tinder au anon asked @somewillwin about. Your brain anon omg.

Taglist: @somewillwin @belvoiresqueenbee @origmansello @clownery-is-a-new-personality @kamilahtrash @poppysminion @poppysimp @captain-hanadeleine @poppysmc @iiizdumb @uselesslesbianfr @scattered-to-the-winds @idiot-justidiot @toyhenoctus

First of all this discussion happens one night where Poppy, Chloe and Veronica get their asses drunk at a frat party. Believe or not the top 3 girls of Belvoire actually care about each other, they just have a really weird way of showing it.

A heart to heart talk starts and the three of them start to confess things that they would never talk about when sober. Cue Poppy saying "I've never experienced an orgasm in my whole life."

Chloe and Veronica just look at Poppy shocked and their jaws drop. Veronica just looks at Poppy with a weird look of pity, whilst Chloe just stares.

After realising what she said Poppy quickly sobers up and clams her mouth shut. "What do you mean you've never had an orgasm before?!" Veronica all but yells. "Gee V, couldn't you have said that any louder, I don't think the whole school heard you." Poppy replies sarcastically.

Veronica just rolls her eyes and says "Girl, you're not getting out of this convo that easily. Now spill the tea sis." Chloe and Veronica look at Poppy expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate. Poppy just sighs and looks away cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed.

The two don't stop pestering her, so Poppy has no choice but to raise her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, I'll tell you" she says as her eyes narrow dangerously. "But if you tell anyone about this, I will actually erase the both of you from planet earth."

Poppy begins to explain that none of her exes made her feel good, and that whenever she had sex with any of them she always had to fake it, so much so that she's started to find sex boring.

Veronica and Chloe share a look and nod at each other. The both of them say "We're gonna set up a tinder account for you to find a good lay (basically the british version of saying good fuck), because that's just pretty fucking sad. Why didn't you tell us sooner, like bruhhh??."

Poppy just looks away and says "Its not like I can just go up to you guys and say 'I've never orgasmed before'". The two just nod their head in understanding before taking Poppy's phone and installing tinder.

They spend some time taking and choosing the best photos for Poppy to use on her tinder profile. (If anyone has seen Euphoria, you know that scene where Rue helps Jules take nudes, it's like that but PG-13) Considering that the three of them were pretty drunk, it was surprising to see how well it turned out.

Feeling sleepy, both Veronica and Chloe retreat back to their room, and Poppy just feels so tired that she falls asleep as soon as the other girls leave.

Waking up the next morning Poppy wakes up to the sound of her phone beeping numerous times and annoyed by the constant ping, she picks it up to see that almost all the notifications were from tinder.

Poppy is confused because wtf? When did she download tinder??? And then it hits her like a truck, 'Oh shit, we were all drunk as fuck last night, I thought that was some bizarre lucid dream but I actually have a tinder account. Fuck.' - she thinks to herself, embarrassed that Veronica and Chloe know her secret.

She sees a few messages from the group chat. Veronica sent her a message. "Poppy, istg if you delete tinder after all the time we spent making your profile look cute, I will post the ugliest picture I have of you on my insta." it reads. What surprised her is that Chloe actually backs Veronica up by saying "Yeah Poppy, it took our three collective brain cells to curate that account so you better use it."

Poppy giggles a little amused by her friends' reaction and she messages them back by saying "Fine, but if it doesn't work out you guys have to pay for my next shopping spree." Chloe and Veronica just agrees albeit unwillingly, but they know not to argue back.

Poppy decides to check the messages and matches that she got on tinder, disappointed but not surprised, most messages say "Send nudes" or a nude pic is attached to their messages. Poppy just rolls her eyes as she immediately unmatches them.

You were looking on tinder for your latest hook-up with no strings attached because ewww commitment and no one really caught your eye, except Poppy. Imagine your surprise when you find Poppy's profile on tinder, deciding that it was a troll account you decide to message them saying "Wow, of all the people you could choose to pretend to be, you choose the HBIC of Belvoire. Stop trying to catfish people, that's just shitty."

Poppy shocked at the sudden message that she gets from you scoffs and replies back "I'm not pretending to be anyone, Farmsville, in case you didn't know even I'm allowed to use tinder."

You just roll your eyes and text back "If you really are Poppy Min-Sinclair, prove it. I might hate Poppy's guts but trying to ruin her reputation by doing shit like this isn't funny."

This catches Poppy's attention, and suddenly she's curious. 'Why would she even stand up for me?' she can't help but wonder.

Poppy screenshots your conversation and sends it to Chloe and Veronica who have vastly different reactions. Veronica's response compiles of this emoji 👀, and the words "Farmsville likes girls, we been knew." and Chloe's response is more of a "WTF, I thought she was dating that Zoey girl."

The girls tell her that it would be fun to mess with you, and they tell her that she should prove that the profile is hers. Veronica also messages her privately saying "girl, her bio legit says 'not looking for commitment' this is like your chance to sleep with her and if you don't, I will." Poppy just grunts in annoyance and decides that fine, she supposed that you were attractive enough for a hook-up.

When you don't get a reply within the next ten minutes you scoff and roll your eyes. 'Damn, people really stoop so low huh.' - you think to yourself. There's a slight disappointment that crosses your mind once the account stopped replying to your messages. You were kind of hoping that it was the real Poppy after all.

Against her better judgement (gay denial right here folks, you're the first to see it), she decides to take a selfie and sends it to you.

Right as you're about to unmatch to what most likely seems to be a fake account, you're surprised to see a message from Poppy's supposed account. It was a selfie of Poppy, where instead of her usual pink fur coat, she's wearing something casual, and to be fair it's a really nice mirror selfie. (This is what I imagine) (I still stand by my headcanon of Poppy looking like Chungha but I couldn't find a good photo lolol)

Doubting that it's really Poppy, you decide to check your socials to see if she's uploaded any new images, and so far you haven't found anything. However you're nothing if not stubborn. You ask if she could prove that she's real and not some weirdo.

Poppy just rolls her eyes annoyed that she's being questioned, as a last ditch effort to gain your trust she sends another selfie, which is a bit more revealing than the last and once you see it your brain stops functioning.

Regaining your composure, you message her saying "I thought you had a boyfriend? What the fuck?" The only response you get is a reaction gif of some girl rolling their eyes. Being the little shit you are you decide to annoy her by sending selfies back, each photo more provocative than the last.

Poppy amused by the photos decides to get you back and it becomes a game of one-upping each other to see who takes better thirst traps. This continues on for an entire week (It's such a stupid competion and both of you know but you're both competitive af so yeah.) until Poppy snaps and contacts you using her actual phone number instead of the app.

Poppy's already frustrated and she's annoyed because she can't stop thinking about you and your stupidly hot, gorgeous body - oh my god I'm going insane she thinks to herself. She decides enough is enough and messages you. "FUCK YOU FARMSVILLE! BACK DOWN ALREADY!"

You wouldn't be yourself if you didn't have a sassy comeback ready so you reply with "FUCK ME YOURSELF YOU COWARD!" sending her yet another thirst trap, this one more revealing than the others.

Poppy snaps when she sees the message and she's quick to make a reservation to her favourite hotel in NYC, because as if she'd be seen taking you to her room. She gets the biggest room because she's extra like that and she knows she deserves the best.

The only response you get is a pinned location on the map, aptly captioned, "Meet me here Farmsville and I'll make you eat your words."

Still feeling feisty you reply with "Is that a threat or is that a promise? 😘😜" and Poppy just tells you to hurry up.

This is a really stupid idea - you think to yourself. You can't help but be suspicious of Poppy wanting to meet up, after all she can use this information against you. However none of that matters to your lust riddled brain, considering the last hook-up you've had was with Professor Kingsley and that was quite some time ago and you're really horny for some action.

You quickly dress in your best underwear, and choose something fashionable yet casual to wear because let's face it even if you hate Poppy, you don't want to look like a loser if you're gonna hook up.

Once you get there, you quickly make your way to the designated room that Poppy told you to go to. Knocking on the door, you're lowkey expecting Belvoire students to berate you, but once the door opens all you can see is Poppy.

Poppy is dressed in nothing but her underwear as she pulls you into the room. Feeling a bit awkward, you decide to break the ice by saying "I lowkey expected this to be some weird plan where you embarass me in front of your clique."

Poppy just looks at you and she scoffs as she says "As much as I hate you Farmsville, even I wouldn't stoop that low. Plus it's a crime to share nudes without a person's permission." You just look at her in disbelief jaw dropping as you take all of her in. I mean if you thought she looked good in the photos, then damn seeing it in real life was a different experience entirely

She notices that you're staring and she just flashes you a smirk and says "See something you like?" and all you want to do is wipe the smirk off her perfect face.

Stepping closer to Poppy, you make the first move and kiss her roughly, each kiss longer than the last and you can feel your heart pound as your nervousness dissipates and all you can focus on is the smell of Poppy's perfume and how it drives you wild. As well as how soft her skin feels against your hands and it's enough to drive you over the edge.

Poppy pulls away and you follow after her, annoyed by the fact that the kisses stopped. You can hear her pant as she struggles to breathe.

As soon as Poppy catches her breath, she says "I'm starting to feel under dressed so let's fix that shall we?" She pulls you towards the bed and she strips your clothing off, and you can't help but stare because holy shit this is actually happening. You start to wonder if you're dreaming until you feel Poppy kiss you again, this time slower and softer and you can't help the wistful sigh that escapes your lips.

You decide to take the lead until you hear Poppy say something. "Wait a minute Farmsville." You stop and listen because no matter how sexually frustrated you might be at the moment, consent is always important.

You wait patiently for her to start talking and she says "Don't make fun of me, but I've never known what an orgasm feels like." You can tell that she's flustered by the way she looks away and refuses to make eye contact.

Your eyes soften up and you kiss her gently on the neck and whisper "I guess that's something we can improve after tonight, but if you feel uncomfortable at any moment in time just tell me to stop." Surprised that you even cared about how she felt Poppy just nods her head softly at you.

"I'm gonna start touching you, okay Poppy?" you say your voice gentle, as you hope that it soothes her nerves. "Just relax and let me do the work, alright, I promise I won't hurt you." Poppy just shoots you a shy smile and your heart pounds because fuck that's the cutest fucking thing you've ever seen.

Kissing your way to her inner thighs, you can hear and feel her squirm against your touch. In order to keep her still, you place her hands on your hair and assure her that it's okay if she tugs on it. You place your hands on her hips to keep her steady as you tease and suck on her clit.

Poppy's small moans of contentment makes you want to do more, so you try extra hard because you want to hear more. You can feel Poppy's body begin to shudder and you can tell that she's close and spurred on by that you insert your fingers into her core and thrust until you can hear scream in pleasure.

You can't help but stare as her body starts to spasm and you let her grind so that she can climax again and it's the most erotic moment of your life.

Poppy feels her whole vision turn white for a moment and she feels euphoric once she realises that she came.

As soon as she regains her bearings, she turns to you, who looks very satisfied, and omg did she just see you lick her juices off your finger. That sends a wave of arousal straight to her core and she looks away embarrassed from being turned on again just a few seconds after coming.

You put your hand on her chin and turn her face towards you forcing her to make eye contact. "It's not over yet, Princess. I'm pretty sure that we can wriggle more of those out of you and the night is young." you say your voice dropping an octave.

By the time that you've finished, Poppy's mind has gone blank and she feels so tired that she doesn't think she can move. She's got to give you props though, because goddamn that was the first time she actually enjoyed sex and she actually got to cum too.

Noticing that Poppy's too tired to move, you decide to lift her up in a princess carry and surprised by your sudden action Poppy's about to protest until you just tell her to be quiet.

Placing Poppy in the bath tub, you turn on the faucet and makes sure that the water isn't too hot or cold as it fills up. After the bath has been filled you slip into the bathtub behind Poppy as you help her clean up.

'Okay now she's just being unfair, why is she being so nice.' Poppy thinks to herself. Trying to make conversation Poppy says "Why are you taking care of me, I half expected you to leave after we fucked." You rest you chin on her shoulder and say "I didn't want you to catch a cold, and besides what kind of a person would I be if I just left you on your own? I like to think of myself as a gentlewoman." You start to place soft kisses on her shoulders and Poppy just sighs wistfully, feeling at peace as she leans back against you. "Don't tell anyone but this was actually the most fun I've had. Hell I don't think any of my exes would have compared against you." Poppy says shyly.

You can't help the smile that creeps it's way to your face. "You can't say shit like that Poppy, I'm pretty sure you're gonna give me a heart attack if you act this soft." you say teasing lilt in your voice and you can hear Poppy giggle. It sounds so soft and you realise that it's a sound that you want to hear.

Your relationship as enemies with benefits start and the both of you can't really keep your hands off each other, God forbid if you're in the same room.

Intense stares from across the room that everyone assumes to be glares, but little do they know that it's your own way of communicating.

One day Poppy calls you up and tells you that you're going shopping, but in reality it was just an excuse to spend more time with you. On the way to the mall, you guys get frisky in the car and before you can stop yourself you say "Babe" and you can't help but think that you've fucked up.

Poppy doesn't say anything but she likes the new pet name and can't wait to hear you say it again.

You guys go to a high end designer store and one of the staff approaches you and says "You guys look good together." While you're quick to deny it, Poppy just thanks them, but as she hears you deny it her eyes widen and you can see her heart break in front of your eyes. Poppy runs off and you're confused.

The employee looks at you and says "I probably shouldn't say anything else today but you should go after her. It's obvious that you both like each other."

Searching the mall, you're relieved once you see Poppy sitting down on a bench, and you approach her carefully. You see that her eyes are red and you feel shitty because you're the reason why she's crying.

Poppy notices you and she's about to run off again until you catch her wrist in your hand. "Poppy please look at me." you plead and she doesn't budge as she tries to get away from your grip.

Seeing that she can't outrun you considering you're holding onto her she just sighs and looks at you. Her face is covered in tears and you use your other hand to wipe them away.

"You know after you called me babe in the car, I was so happy because I thought that it meant that we were dating, but I guess I was just another girl for you to fuck." Poppy says and your heart breaks.

"I thought that you didn't like me that way, so I quickly denied that we were dating. I do like you Poppy, but you never made it clear that we were in a relationship. Though to be fair I should have tried to clear things up too. I guess we're both idiots huh?" You say as you hold her face between your hands.

Leaning in you capture Poppy's lips and she eagerly kisses you back, happy to resolve the misunderstanding.

Unbeknownst to the both of you a Belvoire student caught everything on camera and by the next day everyone on campus knows that you guys are dating.

No one dares to say anything because uhhh POWER COUPLE and they're highly scared of Poppy killing them lol.

Long story short Poppy sees your tinder account and you compete for better thirst traps and well you start fucking and it ends up with you two dating.

Well that was long, hope you guys enjoy, don't forget to like or reblog if you like it.

#playchoices #poppy min sinclair #queen b #poppy x mc #poppydailychallenge #choices #makepoppyali2020 #queen b poppy #choices stories you play #tinder au #veronica lombardi #chloe st. james #headcanons #choices fic #i hope y'all enjoy reading #these is just my take on the Poppy tinder au that anon asked @somewillwin #squint squint #veronica x mc but its one sided bc mc is only interested in poppy

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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

Text

The Nature of the Beast

Blurb: The Doctor is taking you to the one person who has dealt with the Monks before and you weren’t expecting the ‘monster’ in the Vault to be quite so hot.

Content Warning: hopeless lesbian, a thing for hands (because who doesn’t)

Taglist: @kjaneway1 (if you would like to be added please fill in this form)

Beep. You eyed the Doctor with some worry as he fiddled with the extensive locks, each part letting out a further bleep of approval as he came closer to completely unlocking the Vault. He had said he had to do this, that he had no choice and that’s what scared you the most. What monster could he have locked up deep in the basement of the university? You’d never seen him so visibly nervous and your muscles felt frozen at the prospect of coming face to face with the creature. As the doors swung open, you gripped tightly onto Bill’s hand, bracing yourself for whatever beast was within.

The delicate strains of a single melody echoed around the expanse, the piano eerie in the total silence. A woman sat at the stool, head resting on one hand while the other fiddled with the keys, playing the repetitive melody. You shared a confused look with Bill as you dropped her hand, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

The Vault was bigger on the inside, perhaps Time Lords needed to overcompensate for something, and there were even wide windows letting in grey light. As you continued further into the room, you noticed that the woman and the piano were inside a hexagonal containment field. Glowing blue posts outlined the raised podium, sparse bar the figure and her piano, and a few ratty-looking pieces of furniture were scattered around the rest of the room. The Doctor flopped into a leather armchair as the doors swung shut behind you, flicking his coat out before sitting. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“But it's, it's just a woman,” Bill blurted, arms spread wide as she hesitated. The aforementioned woman stopped playing and turned around to fix the Doctor with an unimpressed look. “God, the way you and Nardole have been carrying on, I thought you had some kind of monster in here, or something!”

You eyed the woman curiously, wondering what about her was so terrifying. Hair awry, eyes a brilliant burning blue, you couldn’t keep your eyes off the spellbinding figure.

“I do.” His gaze never once shifted from eyeing the woman and he sighed. “Missy, Bill and Y/N. Bill and Y/N, Missy, the other Last of the Time Lords.”

Bill raised her hand in a small wave as the woman eyed the two of you up and you smiled weakly. You shivered involuntarily as her eyes brushed over you, feeling oddly drawn towards her.

“Wait a sec.” Bill turned to the Doctor with a frown. “Why have you got a woman locked in a vault? Because even I think that's weird, and I've been attacked by a puddle and she’s snogged a Zygon.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a snort as you realised it was not the time nor place to be making fun of the current state of your love lives. Although it was understandable why they were in such a state, considering you had the hots for an incredibly dangerous Time Lady.

“She's going cold turkey from being bad.” The Doctor glanced up at Bill, eyes finally straying away from Missy. Missy hmphed, not looking away from the piano as the Doctor zeroed back in on her. “I want to ask if you've had any dealings with the Monks before.”

“Of course. I've had adventures too,” she preened, her voice lilting as she twisted her torso to face you all. She had a strong Scottish accent, maybe that was another Time Lord thing, and her voice dropped as she teased. “My whole life doesn't revolve around you, you know.”

“Did you defeat them?” Bill piped up, desperate, brow creased. The guilt was dripping off of her and you winced, wishing you could do something to alleviate it. You knew she blamed herself for the state of the world but, despite the Doctor’s remonstrations, she’d done what she believed was right and you would stand by her for that.

“I did.” Her self-satisfactory tone was tinged with affront, as if there was no doubt in her ability to defeat the Monks. Your teeth tugged on your bottom lip as you watched her, completely enthralled.

“How?”

Missy seemed amused with Bill’s bluntness, painted lips pulling into a savage grin as she exhaled a short laugh. Giving her a once-over, her eyes caught on you again, lighting up as you fidgeted under her gaze.

She turned away again. “I've got some requests. I want some new books, some toys,” the Doctor sighed, “like a particle accelerator, a 3-D printer, and a pony.”

“I don't think that you really grasp what's going on here,” he huffed, his accent bleeding through stronger as his frustration grew. “Nice people generally don't haggle over the fate of a planet.”

“I once built a gun out of leaves. Do you think I couldn't get through a door if I wanted to?” The tension hanging in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife and you gulped as her stare drilled holes into the Doctor. You weren’t sure what you were feeling at her somewhat veiled threat, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t solely fear. Missy jumped up, spinning to face the Doctor by the side of the piano. “I'm here, all right? I'm engaging with the process.”

“Okay,” Bill jumped in, glancing at you for support. You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we can, we can get those things for you.”

“C'est supère.” Missy overenunciated the French and you bit back a grin, noting her disappointed expression at the lack of reactions. She sighed, crossing her legs, and tilting her head. “So, what have you got so far?”

As the Doctor rose, so did Missy. He began to pace, each step leading to more thoughts tumbling out of his mouth. But you were distracted by the divine figure in front of you, enshrined in a tight purple suit and sinfully demure white blouse. “They hold on to power by targeting the part of the brain specifically to do with memory and perception, correct? Right?”

Missy closed the lid of her grand piano, fingers deftly clasping around the stand for the lid and folding it down. “Getting warm. Fingers tingling.”

“But they target it with what exactly? How do they sustain it?” Missy sat on the piano lid; hands clasped in her lap as the Doctor rambled. “How do their lies infiltrate the brains of billions? Is it some kind of airborne psychoactive?”

She shifted to lying on the piano lid, gaze following him as he paced round. Something in the shrewd look in her eyes reminded you of a cat watching a mouse.

“Oh my God.” The reverent gasp slipped your lips as she kicked her legs up. The smirk tugging at the corners of her lips gave away that she’d heard you and you flushed.

“No, no, that's very cold, very cold.”

“Something that's constantly being fed to the populace, constantly consolidating its hold. Is it in the water?”

“God, no. It's freezing, freezing.” She gestured wildly; legs kicked up in the air behind her. “Absolutely freezing. Couldn't be colder. Very, very, chilly. So, so chilly.”

Missy swung her legs round and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as she straightened up and jumped off the piano. She winked at you, smoothing down her skirt.

“Oh, come on. I'm bored!” She whined. “You haven't been to see me in six months. No-one has! Not even that bald bloke who looks like an egg.”

“What, you left her alone in here for six months?” You and Bill both whirled on the Doctor, mouths agape.

“Six months,” Missy whispered, repeating Bill with an expression of mock horror.

“I was in prison for six months.” The Doctor protested.

“Start at the beginning.” She ordered, treating him as a teacher would a little kid. “How do they get a foothold on a planet?”

“Some idiot asks for their help.”

Bill glared at the Doctor and you narrowed your eyes at him. Sure, it hadn’t been the greatest idea to ask the Monks for help, but he could have at least been somewhat grateful for how much she was willing to sacrifice for him. And for regaining his vision.

“Well, not just any idiot. It has to be a properly consenting human mind. A pure request, one without agenda or ulterior motive.” Missy’s lips twitched as the Doctor spun on his heel, stalking away from you all. The mania lurking in the back of her eyes frightened you and you shrunk closer to Bill.

“It's them.” The Doctor faced you again, a resigned smile on his face. “That person creates a psychic link, which forms an anchor that keeps the Monks in power. They're the lynchpin.”

“Scalding. Ow.” Missy’s eyes darted surreptitiously from the Doctor to you and back again, lips forming a perfect ‘o’. Your brain short-circuited, eyes caressing the sharp contours of her cheekbones and jawline. God, she was hot.

“But the brainwaves of one person wouldn't be powerful enough to contain an entire planet,” he trailed off; you could almost see the cogs whirring in his great mind. He paused, waving a finger. “The statues! As soon as they got here, the Monks put up statues in every town square, and every park, and every playground.”

“You're on fire, you're literally on fire you're so caliente. That's Spanish for hot.” Missy called back to you and Bill, who could do no more than stare and try to follow on with the Time Lords’ discourse.

“The statues are transmitters. They boost the signal and beam it out all around the world.” The Doctor grinned smugly.

“Boom! You've exploded.” Missy gestured with her hands, the light glinting off the tops of her cheekbones. You inhaled sharply. “Now, all you have to do is find whoever opened the door to the Monks in the first place.”

The Doctor glanced at Bill, raising his eyebrows. “Say I already have.”

“Oh! Well then, you're sorted. Just kill them,” the Doctor’s grin dropped, “that weakens the Monks' grip on the world.”

You grabbed onto Bill’s hand tightly, watching as her face fell, crestfallen. She almost seemed resolved and you rubbed your thumb over the back of her knuckles.

“No, no. No, no, that can't be right,” the Doctor scoffed disbelievingly, somewhat taken aback. Though wasn’t this response unsurprising? “There are planets that the Monks have ruled for thousands of years.”

“It's passed on through the bloodline. Usually the lynchpin goes on to lead a normal life, have their own family, and the link is passed down through the generations.” Missy strode forward, resting one arm up against the supporting poles, the other resting on the enticing curve of her hip.

“But the Monks must have worked that out. They've been doing this for millennia.”

“Why? If the link is passed on, the Monks stay in charge, through, they think, their ruthlessness and efficiency. But if the lynchpin dies and the link isn't passed on, and the Monks get booted off the planet, well, they just chalk it up to experience,” Missy gesticulated, each new point greeted with a flick of her wrist.

She sat down once again, resuming her place at the piano and her fingers ran daintily over the keys. You followed her hands with an unnecessary fixation, wetting your lips nervously as the joints flexed and danced across the notes. Bill’s sudden movement broke your concentration, and you shared a look with the Doctor.

Bill caught the expression on your faces. “No, it's okay. I want to speak to her.”

“Yes?” You couldn’t help the rising disappointment as Missy turned to face her, hands dropping off the piano.

“So when you defeated the Monks, that's how you did it?”

“Well, at this point, all that was left of the bloodline was a wee girl,” you swallowed harshly at the thickened accent, “and I just pushed her into a volcano.”

You could have sworn Missy glanced at you when she repeated the stressing of word in her heavy Scottish accent, that her lips had twitched at your visceral reaction.

“It's me. The lynchpin is me.” Bill’s voice trembled, tears threatening to break from her eyes. You inched closer to her, not close enough to touch but enough to provide some sort of support.

Missy’s attention jumped straight back to Bill, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly.

“Awkward,” she sang, leaning back on the piano with a hint of smugness at the discordant chords.

“So you're saying I have to die.” No. The Doctor would come up with something else, he couldn’t just let your best friend die.

“No. If you were just to die, everyone's false memories would have to fade, and that could take ages. It's actually better if you keep breathing, if your brain just keeps transmitting, well, nothing. That would blot out the residue false memories.” The grin on her face almost convinced you that the option she was providing was an improvement. Almost.

“What would be left of me?” Bill’s eyes never left her face.

“You'd be a husk. Completely and irrevocably brain-dead. You couldn't even get on Celebrity Love Island.” It was her matter-of-fact tone that riled you, the inevitability in her voice.

“No.” You stepped up beside Bill, face to face with the Time Lady and almost fearful at the feral look buried deep in her eyes. A hand clasped around your elbow as the Doctor yanked you and Bill back from the containment field.

“Even if that was the truth, the fact that you're suggesting it shows there's been no change, no hope, no point.” The Doctor’s words were harsh and the spark in Missy’s eyes fizzled out, replaced with an all-encompassing sadness. Your heart ached for her, despite her sole resolution to your problem being for Bill to virtually die. “We don't sacrifice people - it's wrong - because it's easy.”

“You know, back in the day, I'd burn an entire city to the ground just to see the pretty shapes the smoke made. I'm sorry your plus one doesn't get a happy ending, but, like it or not, I just saved this world because I want to change. Your version of good is not absolute.” A watery sheen covered her eyes, missable as she blinked it away moments after it appeared. “It's vain, arrogant, and sentimental.”

As the Doctor backed down and you were left staring at the forlorn Time Lady, a pang of empathy struck a chord in your heart. The Doctor made it very hard for you to feel like a ‘good’ person - the very first time you met him, he had yelled at you for taking a decision which had saved the entire planet, albeit whilst risking your own life. And forever was a long time to be stuck in his shadow of goodness.

“If you're waiting for me to become all that, I'm going to be here for a long time yet.”

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bipirate · 3 years

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Female characters so often play a mechanical role in MDZS plot before being killed so MXTX can focus on relationships between men she finds way more fascinating. In the book, WQ is here just to do the GC transfer, and she apparently never thought about the ethics of what the other Wens were doing before WWX stumbled on her with JC and then she suddenly decided to risk her and WN’s life (ofc WN survived in the end no matter how improbably, not her) while in CQL, she has a whole arc about slowly 1

the rest + my response are under the cut bc it got kinda long

deciding to do the right thing and shouldering the resulting burdens mirroring WWX’s and LWJ’s.

JYL is here only to build WWX’s character as being violent only on other people’s behalf when he punches JXZ or goes berserk after her death, birth a kid (she’s dispatched right after) so MXTX might explore JC, WWX and LWJ’s relationships through him later on and have a weird romance with JZX to move the plot along. Her relationship with her family or absence of cultivation are never explored or explained, and her character arc is just taking everyone’s BS and staying understanding and accommodating and never wanting anything for herself like a good woman should for MXTX.

To contrast with YZY, the only female character with actual power who very tellingly uses it only to abuse people and ruin her family and sect (plus she’s depicted as hysterical and irrational!), reprising that old misogynist trope that a women outside men's control will ruin everything with her caprices so women shouldn’t be trusted with power. Even such a minor character as madam Mo follows this trope, being depicted as in charge in her family and a pretty terrible person at the same time.

LQY needs to be saved in the cave despite being supposedly a cultivator (it’s not framed as her needing someone to fight at her side like LWJ needed WWX, but someone to save her) then she needed a public argument about WWX to realize that there is sexism towards women bc she apparently never faced it before as a low status servant?! MXTX, really? And then after being accused of acting irrationally, she irrationally storms out, abandoning the cultivator position she fought hard to reach (in CQL, she was part of the Jin sect so at least refusing to be complicit in Jin’s crimes while in MDZS, she was just a bystander from a no-name sect) and just forgets about WWX, never trying to warn him or help him or anything.

MXTX can’t have a woman having initiative, which is probably the same reason why XXC never tries to teach A-Qing cultivation so she can protect herself or have a job that isn’t panhandling bc then she wouldn’t be able to die helplessly to fuel man angst, so MXTX said no. Unsurprisingly, madam Lan has no backstory when it would have been such a good character arc for adult LWJ to try to learn the truth about her and come to terms with it, Lan Yi and BSSR are never shown when in CQL they create a parallel with LWJ and WWX and can be read as lesbians if one is inclined (I am).

And to be clear I like many of those female characters though probably not in their MDZS versions, but I wanted to examine the sexist tropes that MXTX seems so fond of and makes such common use of to show that it wasn't just random coincidences but a choice on her part, and it can’t be blame solely on genre conventions either as there are often women characters with good characterizations and their own arcs in wuxia and xianxia (LoF has plenty!)

(breaks added by me) yeah you’re right, the way mxtx writes women is just appalling. i think the cql team did the best they could with the source material they were given. they gave the women a bit more agency.

wen qing being introduced earlier did wonders for her character arc, not that she had one in the novel - she’s so one dimensional and unlikable in mdzs! but in cql we see that she only worked with wen ruohan because her little brother and the rest of the dafan wens were being threatened. just that little bit of extra information made her so much more compelling. still it would have been so cool if they’d written it so that wen qing (and jiang yanli) did survive, source material be damned.

i’ve also touched on this before but when i read the novel, i was so surprised at the lack of jiang yanli! jyl is one of the most important people in wwx’s life and she’s barely present. her death in the novel made me feel Nothing. i think it’s absolutely inspired of the cql team to not only introduce wen qing during the cloud recesses lectures arc, but also take jiang yanli along. they build up the yunmeng siblings relationship as early as possible and it pays off. i also love that she is present during the fall of lotus pier in cql. she was absent in the book and we never saw what an impact this had on her. i just cannot understand why mxtx would write her out of these incredibly important moments, only to kill her off later and expect us to feel any kind of emotion about it. it cheapens wwx’s reaction to her death, too.

you’re absolutely right about the other characters too and i don’t want to write a Whole response to every single one of them, but i do want to talk about mianmian. i’m sad that she didn’t get much better treatment in cql. i would have loved to see her fighting, defending herself instead of needing to be saved. i also really wanted her and lwj to be friends..... i’m pushing the lwj + wlw agenda but like. i really wanted to see the conversation they had right after she left the jin clan. there was Such potential there. i like that they had her come back with her husband and daughter in the future and that she was adamant about teaching her child that the yiling laozu is not a bad man. i’m glad cql placed this reunion with mianmian where they did - it’s not a secret that i Hate the novel epilogue where she reappears, if only because mxtx wrote it so that mianmian’s daughter saw wangxian kissing and got scared of wwx for this reason. as if gay men corrupting little girls was not a dangerous homophobic trope already.

also from what i’ve seen of the tgcf donghua (i havent read the book), she hasn’t uh. improved wrt writing female characters lmao

#also yes i am also absolutely inclined to read bssr and lan yi as lesbians.#mdzs critical #anon #ask

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emblemxeno · 4 years

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Interesting to see some semblance of Soleil discourse again. I hated her when i played fates, and was genuinly surprised that people really loved her. Do you think a lot of her shittier aspects were from Fates' shoddy translation, or was she always sort of bad?

Sorry for this taking so long! I figured I might as well make this a sort of definitive post about Soleil since I talk about her a lot, so I put some more research and effort into it than I initially planned.

Soleil’s writing does have a lot of differences between the Japanese version and localization, but I have many, many issues with both.

Japanese Soleil

Soleil in the Japanese version of Fates is, to put it simply, a train wreck. As we know, her defining trait is her love of girls. However, with Soleil it goes past attraction and flirting into outright predatory behavior.

In many of her Japanese supports, Soleil creeps around girls, be it generic girls off-screen, or her female support partners. She hits on her mother in their support, she plans to sneak behind girls and embrace them out of nowhere in her support with Ignatius, and she harasses Ophelia and planned to get a better look at the latter’s figure in the tents when they switched bodies.

But the absolute worst was her Japanese support with Forrest.

Basically, she’s chasing Forrest around because she’s convinced he’s a girl, despite him telling her over and over that he isn’t. Soleil is extra creepy in this one, saying things like “I can’t hold myself back anymore” and “I won’t do anything bad, so just give in.” Forrest goes so far as to even compare her to a wild animal stalking its prey.

Forrest then tells Soleil once again that he’s a boy, and what does she do? She asks him to prove it by getting naked and bathing with her. Forrest, of course, refuses again. Soleil then finds out from others around camp that Forrest was telling the truth; but she still can’t keep her urges down and keeps making unwanted advances and touches towards him.

That entire support is extreme sexual harassment. It is one of the worst supports I have ever read, especially since it’s played for laughs and it can later advance into an actual relationship between them. Treehouse did realize how bad this support was, and changed it from the ground up into something completely different, which is one of the very few things I will thank them for.

Now, localized Soleil is another beast entirely. Before going into my issues with her localized version, I’ll explain the context behind her trope.

A History Lesson

Soleil’s character at its core is based on the Class S trope. Class S is a Japanese term describing romantic friendships between girls. It’s origin and popularity is owed to things like western women’s literature (such as Little Women) being translated for Japanese audiences back in the early 20th century and the all-women Takarazuka Revue theater being established; these helped cultivate feelings of sisterhood and a sense of romance for young female audiences, especially since most schools at the time in Japane kept boys and girls separate. While there was a decline in the Class S genre after Japanese schools became more co-ed, it has made a resurgence in popularity ever since the late 90′s with light novels like Maria-sama ga Miteru.

Class S had a rather big impact on Japanese society, where it was actually expected to happen and treated as something wonderful for these kinds of close friendships to develop between young girls.

However. These aren’t treated as real romantic relationships. They’re seen as nothing more than a phase. After adolescence, girls are expected to ‘mature’ or ‘graduate’ in a sense, into a real relationship with a man. To still have Class S relationships with other girls when you’re supposed to be in a “real” relationship is seen as a sign of immaturity.

Soleil Herself

So what does this mean with Soleil? Lots of her supports in Japanese have other characters being bewildered or even annoyed by her continued love for girls, because “she’s technically an adult now, shouldn’t she have grown out of that phase?”

Shigure gets surprised that she’s trying to learn how to sing to impress girls. F!Corrin wonders why she won��t give up her mindset already. Soleil gets jealous of Asugi’s popularity with girls and childishly tries to imitate him. Sophie says she doesn’t have time for Soleil’s antics because the former is trying to be a mature, devoted knight. Ophelia is frustrated that they can’t be “normal” friends instead of Soleil chasing her around and proclaiming her love.

They treat her obsession/love for girls as something childish for an adult woman like her to still have, much like Japanese society does. Soleil is Class S.

Soleil does actually get a chance to technically grow out of this phase, much like adult women are expected to. She ‘graduates’ into adulthood once she becomes romantically involved with her male romance options in the Japanese version; a “real” relationship.

As a gay man, you can probably guess how I feel about this trope. While it has had impact on helping Japan ease up on its more conservative beliefs and lots of Class S media has been created by actual queer women (like Nobuko Yoshiya), it’s still not a great feeling when same sex relationships are basically treated as not real or just a phase in someone’s life. It sucks, especially when I think the Japanese Rhajat/F!Corrin support is one of best in Fates. But enough about me, what does this have to do with localized Soleil?

Where The Localization Fumbled

Since she was already getting her fair share of controversy thanks to the many incorrect reports of conversion therapy during her support with M!Corrin, Treehouse decided to go the whole mile and rewrite some aspects of her character. This included removing the Class S aspect of her, and adding in a line from Laslow (as well as her roster description) that basically confirms she’s bisexual.

Except... they messed it up. They made her apparently bisexual, but they removed the romantic aspect of almost all of her S supports, all of which are dudes. Instead, most of her S supports result in promises of friendship or partnership of some kind. The only romantic S supports she has in the localization are with M!Corrin because Avatar privilege, and Forrest, which can still kind of be taken as platonic.

This doesn’t make sense. Why go out of your way to make Soleil bisexual, but remove her romantic supports with dudes? Her wlw side isn’t suddenly erased if she were to marry a dude, what’s the deal here? Did two different people have a hand in this and just didn’t communicate? Did one intend to make her a lesbian and the other wanted her to be bi?

This is a huge inconsistency and fumble on Treehouse’s part, one of their biggest. Hell, besides that, they didn’t even remove all of her creepy aspects either; she still creeps on girls in her Ignatius support (she now plans to pinch them instead of embrace them from behind), and while her support with Ophelia was toned down, it still isn’t great. Why go so halfway on this, especially since she’s the most controversial character in the game?

Conclusion & Overview

So yeah, those are my thoughts about Soleil. Her Japanese characterization is a predatory mess and based on a trope which I am not fond of whatsoever, while her localized characterization is only somewhat better as a person and is plagued by a whole slew of new writing problems because her bisexuality just wasn’t done correctly by Treehouse.

Which honestly? It makes me kind of sad. Soleil has a lot of good things about her. I like her shamelessness, her confidence. Her shyness is basically an inverse of Olivia’s, where the latter is shy all the time except when dancing whereas Soleil is only shy and insecure when dancing; it’s a neat full circle for the entire family line. She has a couple of great supports too, like with Laslow and Kiragi. Her design is adorable, she’s a good unit, female mercenaries are always a plus, and her new voice actress in Heroes is one of my favorites.

It’s just everything else is... bleh.

I don’t dislike her as much as I did a few months ago, because looking over her supports again endeared her to me a little, but unfortunately she still has too many things about her that I hate for me to say anything better than that.

#fire emblem #fire emblem fates #fire emblem if #fe14 #the soleil chronicles #queer characters #lgbtq characters #gay characters #writing

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the-kellephant · 3 years

Text

Title: Love Blossoms Here Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Cheryl/Toni Rating: Mature Summary: Toni noticed her the second she walked into the LGBT Center. How could she not? With her bright red hair, penetrating dark eyes, and blood red lips, this woman commanded attention. Notes: Written for cherylmarjorieblossom as part of the Black is Beautiful Exchange.

Toni noticed her the second she walked into the LGBT Center. How could she not? With her bright red hair, penetrating dark eyes, and blood red lips, this woman commanded attention. Not to mention the fact that she was absolutely gorgeous. She looked a little lost, a little unsure of herself, but then again, many first timers to the LGBT Center did.

Toni watched as a determined look slid onto the woman’s face and she stepped into the room. Her eyes swept the room, landing on each person in the Center until her eyes locked with Toni’s, making a jolt pass through Toni’s body. Toni had to bite her lip to keep from shivering. Yeah, this woman was going to be trouble. She just knew it.

The woman wandered over, purpose behind every step of her three inch heeled shoes. Toni put down the clipboard she’d held and turned to fully face the redhead.

“Hi,” she said in her most welcoming voice when the woman got close enough. “I’m Toni. This your first time in the LGBT Center?”

“How ever did you guess?” she asked. Her voice had a bite to it that Toni liked.

Toni smirked. “I definitely would have remembered you,” she replied.

A pretty blush spread across her cheeks before that determined set to her face came back. “That’s quite a compliment. Do you say that to all the girls?” she asked.

“Definitely not,” Toni admitted. “Just ones I find interesting.”

“And you’re so sure I’m interesting,” the woman said. Her voice was filled with ice, her eyes flinty.

Toni wasn’t sure what she’d done or said to cause the abrupt change in behavior, but she wanted to remedy it. Toni normally wasn’t one to let others get away with being rude to her, but the LGBT Center was the exception. So many of the queer people who showed up at the Center had been burned by cis and straight people that they were wary by nature. Toni was willing to give the woman the benefit of the doubt because there was a set to her shoulders that told her this woman had been through a lot in her life.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” Toni said. “Let’s start over?”

Just like that, the tension left the woman’s shoulders and she deflated. “Actually, I’m sorry. I’m just so used to people trying to use me that I get defensive.” Ah, so Toni was right. She had been burned.

“I get that,” she said, empathy in her voice. “I think that happens to a lot of us here.”

“Do you get a lot of people here who get defensive like I just did?”

“A fair amount,” Toni admitted. “We all have our story and reasons for why we are the way we are.”

The woman hummed in agreement.

“So, did you come here to talk to someone?” Toni asked.

“I honestly don’t know why I came. I’ve known for awhile that I’m a lesbian, but I’ve never spent much time around other LGBT people. I’ll never admit this out loud again, but I think I’m a bit lonely for company,” the woman said. She had her arms crossed over her chest and looked like she was shutting herself off. Toni recognized it as something she used to do back when she’d first come out several years ago.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she said. “Why don’t we sit down and talk a bit? Your ankles have to be killing you.”

Just like that, the woman opened back up. “I’ll have you know I can walk in these heels all day long!”

“I have no doubt you can, Red,” Toni replied, amused. She led her over to a small round table and took a seat. After a moment’s hesitation, the woman joined her.

After they settled in, Toni asked, “So what can I call you?”

“Oh,” she said in surprise, “I never introduced myself, did I? I’m Cheryl Blossom.” She stuck out her hand and Toni shook it.

“Toni Topaz,” she said, enjoying the warmth of Cheryl’s smooth hand. “Nice to officially meet you, Cheryl Blossom.”

Something struck at Toni’s memory banks. Blossom was a pretty uncommon last name. Her eyes widened. “You don’t happen to be from Riverdale, do you?”

The expression on Cheryl’s face crumpled. “Yep, I’m one of those Blossoms.”

“Gotcha,” Toni said. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say to Cheryl. Cheryl’s family was the reason that many of Toni’s relatives lost their jobs when they closed the maple syrup plant, making times hard for them for years after. Still, Cheryl would have just been a kid. It wasn’t her fault it happened.

Then she remembered what had been all over the news a few years ago, that one of the Blossom twins had been murdered. That had to be Cheryl’s brother. She was the right age for it. “Oh,” Toni said, her voice soft.

“You’re surely thinking of Jason, aren’t you?” Cheryl asked.

“I really am sorry about your brother,” Toni said. She wished there was something that she could actually do for Cheryl, something more than just offering platitudes she’d likely heard dozens of times before.

“Thank you,” Cheryl said. “I appreciate that, Toni.” Cheryl gave her a smile that was so blinding it made Toni’s breath catch in her throat. Wow, Cheryl truly was beautiful.

Before she could stop herself, Toni said, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, especially with someone you just met, but you can talk to me about your brother if you ever want to. My parents died when I was little, so I know what it’s like to lose someone.”

Cheryl looked surprised. Recovering, she said, “Thanks, I might just do that. I’m sorry about your parents too.”

“Thanks,” Toni said. She didn’t like to talk about her parents, not with anyone outside of her family, but she didn’t mind talking about them to Cheryl for some reason. Okay, so Toni knew the reason, but she wasn’t ready to delve into that just yet.

They continued to talk to each other until Cheryl had to go to class. Toni felt as if she could talk to Cheryl for hours. She was disappointed when Cheryl had to leave, but they exchanged numbers so that made her feel a little better. Within minutes, Toni had an incoming text.

Thanks so much for talking with me today. You’re a really great listener. I hope we can see each other again! Xo

Of course Toni had to text back. They continued texting each other throughout the evening. Cheryl sent her a photo of her dinner that she dropped on the ground right outside her dorm and Toni told her stories about growing up on the south side of Riverdale. They might have been from the same town, but they grew up in totally different worlds.

On Thursday, they met up for coffee together in the student union. Standing in line together, Cheryl pointed to a flyer by the cash register. We’re hiring , it read. “I wonder if they would hire me,” Cheryl mused aloud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Cheryl, but I thought your family was rich,” Toni said.

“Oh, they are,” Cheryl replied, a peculiar look on her face. “But Mumsy cut me off when I came out to her right before I left for school this year.”

“That’s terrible!” Toni said. Before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed Cheryl’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. A blush stole across her face and she let go.

“Thanks, Toni,” Cheryl said, giving her a half smile. “My parents have always been terrible people. Jason was the only one I really had growing up.”

Cheryl told Toni all about her brother until it was time for them to place their orders. Within a few minutes, they had their drinks and claimed a table on the edge of the cafeteria.

Toni debated with herself about whether she should tell Cheryl about how unaccepting her Nana was. Ultimately, she thought it would create some commonality with her new friend. “And it’s not that I don’t love her - I do - I just don’t understand why she can’t accept who I am.”

“I wish I knew, Toni,” Cheryl replied. “You deserve to be accepted for who you are. You’re wonderful.”

Toni had to fight to keep the blush from her face. “You know you deserve to be accepted for who you are too, Cheryl.”

She watched as Cheryl’s eyes darted to the side. Clearly, there was some part of her that still struggled with accepting herself. Ultimately, Cheryl sighed and looked back at her.

“I know that there’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian, I do. It’s just that I grew hearing my entire life about how bad it is. Sometimes it’s hard to let things like that go,” she said.

Toni reached across the table and took Cheryl’s hand in hers for a second time. “I know,” she said. And she did. Toni liked to think she was a calm, confident, put-together sort of person, but even she had doubts about herself sometimes.

“You’re really easy to talk to, Toni Topaz,” Cheryl said. She laced their fingers together, making Toni’s heart begin to beat hard in her chest. Oh, she was totally in over her head.

“Thank you, Cheryl Blossom,” she said, “You are too.”

Toni went home that day totally confused. While she knew she was attracted to Cheryl, that she had a bit of a crush on her, she was also excited to have a new friend. The Southside Serpents were almost all guys so she’d never really had any female friends growing up. Sure, there were a few people at the LGBT Center that Toni was friendly with, but no one she was particularly close to. It was nice being friends with another woman. She just hoped her crush didn’t get out of hand and ruin her friendship with Cheryl. It had happened to her once in high school and had been devastating because it had ruined the friendship. She didn’t want that to happen again.

Unsure of what to do, she turned to her roommates. Fangs and Kevin were a couple who’d both grown up in Riverdale too, though they went to different schools. They’d met at Pop’s, the local diner, and had bonded over their love of musicals, quickly falling head over heels for each other. Toni loved them to death, but their lovey dovey-ness could be a lot sometimes. Still, they were the best people to talk to when it came to matters of the heart.

“That is the third time you’ve sighed in as many minutes,” Keven said as the three of them sat together on the couch watching the new season of The Great British Bake Off .

“Kev, she’s got a lot on her mind,” Fangs said, cuddling into his boyfriend's side. “It takes a lot of energy to pine over a girl.”

“You two both suck,” Toni said. She grabbed the throw pillow she’d tossed on the floor earlier and whacked them both with it.

“We know!” they said in unison, making Toni roll her eyes.

Fangs leaned around Kevin and patted her thigh. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”

So she told them all about Cheryl, how she was new to being out and how much they got along and how pretty she was. “I do really like her, but I can’t put that on her. She’s new to everything and doesn’t need me projecting on her.”

“She could like you too,” Fangs said.

Toni buried her face in her hands and growled. When she pulled her hands back, she looked at her roommates and said, “But what if I’m the first girl that’s been nice to her and she’s projecting on me ?”

Kevin looked thoughtful. “That’s pretty common for gay and bi people to do after they come out. Maybe you could wait a bit, see how things go?”

Always the diplomat, Fangs said, “In the meantime, why don’t you invite her over? You said this girl doesn’t know any other queer people.”

Toni looked off, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I could do that. We could make a movie night of it. Maybe this weekend?”

“Sure,” Fangs said. “We don’t have any plans for Saturday night, right?” Kevin shook his head. “Saturday night then.”

“Great!” Toni said. She felt a bit better. Fangs and Kevin were right, being friends with Cheryl and just seeing where things might go was definitely the route to go. She didn’t want to crowd Cheryl during such a vulnerable time in her life. And she needed a friend, someone who knew what it was like to grow comfortable with their sexuality. Toni could be that person for Cheryl. She wanted to be that person for her. She might have a crush, but she genuinely wanted to be friends with her first and foremost.

Smiling to herself, she grabbed her cell phone from the couch armrest and brought up her text thread with Cheryl.

Movie night at my place on Saturday?

Thirty seconds later, she got a reply. What sort of dress code would movie night entail?

Definitely comfy clothes. We can get out pillows and blankets and make it a sleepover with my roommates. You’ll love them. Cute gay couple.

Sounds perfect! See you Saturday xo

Saturday came much faster than Toni anticipated. It was probably a good thing though because she’d spent the last few days totally distracted. Fangs even commented on how antsy she was.

She just couldn’t help it. The more she and Cheryl texted, the more she liked the sometimes flirty, sometimes wildly sarcastic woman. Sure, she was a little apprehensive about being someone’s first girlfriend right after they came out - that was a lot of pressure on someone - but there was more than that. For one, she didn’t even know if Cheryl felt the same way as she did. And for two, she didn’t know if it was a good time for either of them to get into a relationship.

Cheryl was still figuring herself out and, between classes, her job, and the dance team, Toni was busy all the time. When would she even have the time to hang out with a girlfriend? It was all so confusing that Toni wanted to scream.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Fangs said, taking a seat next to her on the couch. “I can tell.”

Toni scrunched up her face. “What thing?”

He sighed and slung an arm around her shoulders. “That thing where you’re trying to talk yourself out of being happy.”

Toni felt cold shock course through her. “How on earth can you possibly know that?” she asked.

Fangs rolled his eyes. “We’ve been friends forever, Toni. You think I don’t know all your tells by now?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What tells?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not gonna tell you that because then it will be harder for me to read you.”

Toni pouted, knowing it wouldn’t actually get Fangs to tell her. He was almost as stubborn as she was.

“Right now, I’m guessing you’re psyching yourself out about your girl coming over.”

“She isn’t my girl,” Toni reluctantly said despite how much she wished otherwise.

He rolled his eyes again. “But you like her. I can tell. Hell, even Kevin can tell.”

There was no point in keeping the truth from Fangs. He’d know the truth as soon as Cheryl stepped inside the apartment. It would be written all over her face. For as good as Toni was about keeping her emotions hidden, she wasn’t so good at it when she fell head over heels for someone like she was with Cheryl.

“Yeah, yeah, Fangs, I like her,” she said. “So what?”

He sighed and gave her a look. “Just...just don’t write off your own happiness, okay? I know we’re both used to having nothing, but you’re allowed to take something for yourself once in a while. I look a chance with Kevin and I’ve never been happier.”

Maybe Fangs was right. Maybe she shouldn’t write Cheryl off as a potential girlfriend so quickly. After all, Cheryl was an adult and could make her own decisions about when she was ready to start dating.

After twenty minutes of scrolling and re-scrolling through all her social media accounts (and rereading texts she’d sent to Cheryl) a knock sounded from the door. Toni jumped up, darting to the door. Before she could ever think about it, she yanked the door open to reveal Cheryl wearing cute pink star pajamas and holding a bag and pillow. She still had her hand raised from knocking on the door.

A smile spread across Cheryl’s face, automatically making Toni smile back. “Wow, that was fast,” Cheryl said. She looked happy to see Toni and it made something warm settle in Toni’s stomach. Happiness.

Toni continued to smile at her until an odd look crossed Cheryl’s face. Toni could smack herself. Stepping out of the way, she said, “Sorry! Come in.”

Cheryl did, depositing her bag and pillow on a chair. “It appears that I’m appropriately dressed,” she said, eyes roaming down Toni’s body, taking in her camisole and plaid pajama bottoms.

“You are,” Toni said. Cheryl wasn’t wearing her trademark red lipstick and it made her look a lot younger, somehow softer. Her eyes darted down to look at Cheryl dressed in a tight pink vee neck t-shirt that showed just a hint of cleavage. Her cheeks burned as she looked back up at Cheryl, who simply smirked at her.

Toni was just about to apologize for gaping at her when Kevin and Fangs stepped into the room. “I thought I heard company,” Fangs said, walking over to them.

Kevin stayed rooted to the doorway of his bedroom. “Cheryl?” he said. His voice wavered.

Surprise took over Cheryl’s face. “Keller?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Toni said, “I forgot that we all grew up in Riverdale. You went to the same school, right?”

“You could definitely say that,” Kevin said. He looked like he was about ready to bolt.

Cheryl hesitated but then stepped closer to him. “Kevin,” she said, “I’d like to apologize to you for how I treated you in high school.”

“Um, okay,” Kevin said. His shoulder, which had been tense and raised, slumped back down. “Go on.”

“You probably won’t believe this, but I was so jealous of you in high school. You were out and happy. Your dad accepted you and you were free to be who you wanted and I just couldn’t be. I wasn’t ready to be. I hated myself so much. It didn’t help that when my mom suspected that I was a lesbian, she threatened to send me to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy.”

All four of them grimaced. They knew exactly what happened at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy.

“That doesn’t excuse me being a total bitch to you though,” Cheryl said with a frown. “I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness, but I do want you to know that I’ve had time to reflect on who I used to be and am sorry.”

“You’re, um, you’re really gay then?” Kevin asked.

Cheryl nodded. “I am. It’s taken me a long time to be able to say it, but yes, I’m gay.”

All the tension in Kevin’s body released. “Okay,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive just yet, but I would like to get to know who you are now.”

“Thank you, Kevin,” she said. She stuck her hand out and Kevin shook her hand.

“Well,” Fangs began, clapping his hands together, “for as nice as this mush fest has been, we have some movies to watch, don’t we?”

They all laughed. He’d always been good at diffusing tension in a room.

Hours later, after Fangs and Kevin headed to bed, Toni and Cheryl lay on the floor together. They faced each other, talking about anything and everything while a movie played in the background.

“What you said to Kevin earlier,” Toni began, “it takes a really big person to admit when they’ve been wrong. I like that about you, Cheryl.”

“It was the right thing to do,” she replied. “He deserved an apology.”

“Yes, he did.”

“After tonight, I think we might even be able to have friends.”

Toni smiled. “I’m glad. Fangs and Kevin are my best friends and if we’re going to be friends, you have to get along with them.”

“Is that all we are?” Cheryl asked, tucking one of Toni’s braids behind her ear. “Just friends?”

Toni sharply inhaled, her breath catching in her throat.

Cheryl frowned. “If I’m reading things wrong, then please let me know.”

Gulping, Toni quickly said, “You aren’t! I was just surprised! I thought I was going to have to pursue you.”

“I’ve always been one to go after what I want,” Cheryl said, widely grinning. “And what I want is you.”

Toni returned her smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then come and get me,” Toni said. “I’m right here.”

After that, all Toni was aware of was the feel of Cheryl against her, their bodies melding together as they kissed and touched every inch of skin available. They rutted against each other, their legs slotted together as they moved their hips. Toni’s hand slipped under Cheryl’s shirt and she moaned above her.

“Do you want to keep going?” Toni asked, loving the feel of Cheryl pressed against her.

“Oh yes, Toni, I do,” Cheryl said, biting her lip and moving her hips in an enticing circle.

“Me too,” Toni replied.

Her fingers moved to the hem of Cheryl’s t-shirt and she pulled it up Cheryl’s body. Cheryl sat up and pulled her shirt off the rest of the way, revealing lovely pale skin. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples were pink and pulled into hard nubs. Toni’s hands immediately went to them, taking them in her hands. Cheryl threw her head back and moaned. With her red hair falling down around her shoulders, Cheryl looked like a goddess, more beautiful than anyone Toni had ever seen before.

Her breath caught. Damn but she wanted to keep Cheryl with her always.

“Toni, please,” Cheryl murmured, canting her hips forward and riding Toni’s thigh.

Toni grabbed Cheryl’s hips and sat up, her lips just an inch from Cheryl’s. “Anything you want,” she said. “Anything.”

“Touch me,” Cheryl said breathlessly.

“Anything,” Toni repeated.

Without a word, she flipped them over so Cheryl lay on her back, nestled in the pillows and blankets they’d laid on the floor. Her hair spread out around her like a reaching flame, one that Toni felt herself quickly becoming ignited by. She reached down and ran her fingers through Cheryl’s hair. It was just as soft as it looked.

“Toni,” Cheryl murmured. To Toni’s ears, it sounds like a prayer, like the sweetest song she’d ever heard.

She leaned down and kissed her lips, relishing in the taste of her before kissing down the side of her neck, her clavicle, her breasts. She sucked a nipple into her mouth and laved her tongue over it. Cheryl writhed under her.

Cheryl brought her hands up and under Toni’s camisole, quickly stripping her of her shirt and sports bra. Her hands cupped Toni’s breasts and she was sure that she never felt anything as lovely as Cheryl’s hands on her.

“You said you’d give me anything I wanted,” Cheryl began. “Well, I’ve decided that I want to touch you. ”

“Are you sure, Cheryl?” Toni said, straining to think while Cheryl touched her. “I’m more than happy to touch you.”

“I know,” Cheryl said, wearing a cheeky grin. “But I want to touch you first. I want to make you feel good, Toni.”

Toni didn’t even need to think it over. Cheryl touching her sounded like a dream. “Okay.”

Cheryl grinned wickedly at her. “Good,” she said, “now on your back, TT.”

After that, things passed in a haze of Cheryl’s hands on her body, her lips on her thighs, and her fingers buried in Toni’s pussy. It was magnificent and before she knew it, she was coming hard around Cheryl’s fingers.

Slowly, she came down from the pleasure, rolling onto her side to give Cheryl a long kiss after Cheryl laid down next to her. “That was amazing,” she said.

“What can I say?” Cheryl said. “I’m a fast learner!”

“That was your first time?” Toni asked, surprised.

“With a woman,” Cheryl said. “I’ve had sex with men before, but I never enjoyed it. But I really enjoy having sex with you.” Cheryl looked vulnerable as she said it, as if Toni was about to contradict what she’d just said.

“I enjoy it too,” she confessed. Cheryl’s face lit up. “Now, how about I finish what I started before?” And she did. Several times.

They slept cuddled up together all night. For as nice as it felt to have sex with Cheryl, waking up in her arms was a revelation. Toni decided then and there that she wanted to wake up in Cheryl’s arms as often as she possibly could. If she played her cards right, maybe she could do it forever. It was too early to say that for sure just yet, but she had a good feeling about it.

Just as she was getting ready to doze back off, Fangs’ and Kevin’s bedroom door opened and they walked out, stopping near where they lay.

“Toni?” Cheryl mumbled, opening her eyes. When she saw Toni looking at her, she smiled.

“Morning,” Toni said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Good morning!” Kevin said, startling Cheryl. She rolled over in Toni’s arms to look at them standing there. “We thought we heard the sounds of sapphic lovemaking late last night.”

Fangs grinned at them. “And early this morning,” he said.

“And early this morning,” Kevin agreed.

Toni didn’t normally get embarrassed, but she blushed. Over Cheryl’s shoulder she saw that her pale skin had flushed scarlet.

“So,” Fangs said, “are you two Facebook official now?”

Cheryl looked back at Toni. “Are we? Girlfriends?” she asked.

Toni smiled. “I’d like to be.”

“Yeah, me too,” Cheryl said, her cheeks still pink.

Toni heard the guys wander away but paid them no attention. She leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to Cheryl’s lips. “I’m glad,” she said. “So glad.”

#riverdale #choni #cheryl x toni #riverdale femslash #femslash #my writing

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thexfridax · 4 years

Photo

Translated interview with Director Sciamma

‘We started a culture war‘

Andreas Busche and Nadine Lange, in: Der Tagesspiegel, 29th of October 2019

Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]

Manifest on the female gaze: Céline Sciamma speaks about her period film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’, MeToo in France and queer visibility.

In France, Céline Sciamma, born in 1978, is already revered as the new feminist and notably queer voice of French cinema, in the tradition of Claire Denis and Catherine Breillat. The director (‘Tomboy’, ‘Girlhood’), who writes her own screenplays, is largely unknown in [T: Germany]. This is most likely about to change with her fourth and most beautiful feature film so far. At the Cannes Film Festival, the period love story between the young painter Marianne and her model Héloïse, daughter of French aristocrats, won the Best Screenplay. Between the rugged landscape of the coast of Brittany and the candlelit interiors of an old villa, the film creates a utopia of solidarity and female desire, in which the characters of Marianne, Héloïse and Sophie the maid overcome class barriers.

Interviewers: Ms Sciamma, ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ is your first period film, it takes place a few years before the French Revolution. Why is this era important for your story?

Céline Sciamma: My interest in those years came from art history. At the time, there was an unusual number of female painters, hundreds in France and across Europe. It really moved me to discover the biographies of these women, who had successful careers. They supported each other and were very political. There was for example feminist art criticism at the time.

I: Noémie Merlant plays the painter Marianne, who is commissioned to do a portrait of Héloïse, a daughter of aristocrats. There are two main themes: the representation of female painters in bourgeois society and the female gaze – and how this [T: gaze] is reflected in the art world at the time. How are these themes connected?

CS: When I went into more detail about the work of female painters in the late 18th century, I realised how much the female perspective is missing from art history. For me this is the most painful loss, which results from the elimination of the female gaze: this relates to the artwork themselves, but also to what art brings to our lives, the memory of a kind of intimacy.

I: Marianne is not based on a specific female painter. But is she representative of women at the time?

CS: I collaborated with an art sociologist, who did extensive research on this era. All biographical details for Marianne correspond to the time in which she lived. The dynamics of a biopic – a successful woman who defies societal norms – never really interested me. My film is a manifest on the female gaze. But there’s also melancholy in this process, because we have to restore something that has been ignored for a long time.

I: Why melancholy?

CS: It makes me sad, because this perspective was withheld from me all my life. That is why the scene, where Marianne, Héloïse and Sophie the maid re-enact an abortion, is so important for the film. By painting an abortion, the act becomes art and is therefore represented. Art gives women the opportunity to tell their own stories. But it’s not only about the past. The topic of abortion is still virtually invisible in cinema.

I: How do you deal with this lack of female perspectives as a screenwriter and director?

CS: I was aware about the lack of queer and lesbian representation in cinema early on. But it becomes dangerous, when we don’t realise anymore that something is withheld from us. I noticed this again, when I watched ‘Wonder Woman’ by Patty Jenkins. It is hard to express how you feel when you know you’re not represented, and at the same time are oblivious to the power it can give you to recognise yourself in cinema. That was a new experience for me.

I: You were one of the initiators of the 50/50 by 2020 movement, which is committed to gender parity at festivals and in film. What do you expect from Cannes next year?

CS: I’m glad that this topic is finally taken seriously. We set out our target for Cannes and want more transparency in the selection committee. However, to achieve these, you have to introduce quota. The board will be replaced [T: next] year, let’s see how it works. We started a culture war. One of the most important things for me is the work on inclusion. The 50/50 [T: movement] and the film production/promotion agency CNC created a fund for cultural diversity in [T: film] productions last year. There’s usually less budget for films made by female directors, this inequality will be slightly mitigated. More than 20 films have already benefitted from this fund.

I: There is progress on one hand, but on the other hand some things are deteriorating again. Do you see it in a similar way?

CS: We had no MeToo-debate in France, unlike the one in the US. The [T: debate] was quickly hijacked and reinterpreted as discussion about free speech: that feminist film criticism would lead to a new form of censorship. You could feel the backlash in France. A good example: Sandra Muller, who created the French MeToo movement ‘Balance ton Porc’ [T: ‘Denounce your pig’, see here for the evolution of the term ‘pig’ in this context] just lost a libel lawsuit. Action was filed by the man, whose harassing statements she made public. The level of societal discourse is not where it’s supposed to be.

I: You lead by example: There are mainly women working on your sets.

CS: It creates a different atmosphere, that is for sure. But I’ll tell you something: Women only make up 50% of the crew, my crew is probably one of the most diverse in France. Claire Mathon is my cinematographer, but a lot of men work with her. My cutter is a man though. It’s about the right balance. The film world is very much dominated by men, but I don’t want to exclude anyone.

I: In Cannes, you said something similar about your colleague Abdellatif Kechiche, who was criticised for his voyeuristic gaze on women, for example in the Palm d’Or winner ‘Blue is the Warmest Colour’. Do you want a cinema, in which your and his gaze can exist side by side?

CS: We have to be conscious about our perspective. In France, I’m always asked about my female gaze, but no one is ever asking a [T: male] filmmaker about his male gaze. Which is still considered as gender neutral. Of course, you can love ‘Blue is the Warmest Colour’ as much as you love ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ [T: 😈], otherwise cinema will become a battlefield of ideologies. We just have to learn to read the images correctly. I would like to invite Abdellatif Kechiche to this relatively new discourse. But he should be asked the same questions as me.

I: You call ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ a manifest on the female gaze. What does that mean?

CS: It starts with the screenplay. I wanted to tell a love story on equal terms. There is no gender-specific power imbalance in the film. That was important for me, especially in a time, in which gender inequality was the social norm. There is also no intellectual dominance between Marianne and Héloïse, they both come from the upper class, are sophisticated and self-determined. Between them, they did not have to negotiate a status.

I: What role did your actresses play in this?

CS: I wrote the film for Adèle Haenel. But it only works if she has a partner who is equal to her. Noémie Merlant is about the same age as Adèle, they are even the same height, which cannot be underestimated in cinema. That’s why shorter actors often have to stand on a pedestal. All these considerations are political, but they are also an offer to the audience: for new emotions, for surprises. Equality creates freedom, because social rules are overturned.

I: As Marianne, Héloïse and Sophie keep to themselves, they are not exposed to the male gaze. They can move freely.

CS: That’s why I don’t think of my film as social utopia. Every utopia is based on our experiences and ideas. You cannot easily find this kind of solidarity among women, you have to create this freedom. That’s why I decided to exclude male characters. What I exclude from the shot also defines what is shown in the picture. That’s the power of cinema.

I: Your film is about the visibility of women. They tell each other, how they see one another – and thus create an image of themselves. At the same time, desire arises from their gazes. How do you create this feeling of intimacy?

CS: We offer a philosophy and politics of love. Even the depiction of queer sexuality in cinema is based on heterosexual paradigms. We first had to learn how to deconstruct this gaze on us. Similarly, it’s also about abolishing the outdated ideal of the muse. There is of course a hierarchy on set, but we tried to transfer the working relationships in the film to our shooting.

I: All your films have queer aspects. Do you ever had any problems to fund your films?

CS: No, but that’s because I don’t need so much money. ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ did cost 4 Million Euros. If I had asked for 12 Million Euros, it might have been different. I can’t complain. I live in a country, in which I can make these kinds of films and be radical. 23 percent of French films are made by female directors.

I: It seems like there were more [T: female directors] recently?

CS: No, the figure has been constant for 20 years. We are just forgotten and then ‘rediscovered’. Think about Alice Guy-Blanché, who made films at the time of Méliès [T: around the turn of last century]. She did everything by herself, used the first closeup. She literally co-invented the cinema. But like all the women, who were active at the beginning of film history, they were driven out, when it was suddenly about money.

Still from ‘Be natural: The Untold Story of Alice Guy-Blaché’ (Pamela B. Green, 2018)

#Céline Sciamma #Der Tagesspiegel #2019 #Portrait of a Lady on Fire #German interview #Manifest on the FEMALE GAZE #Nope on Blue is the Warmest Colour #Alice Guy-Blaché #Cinema #My translation #long post

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