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pockydays · 3 years

Text

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that.

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual.

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense.

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right?

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences.

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly.

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product.

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply.

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving.

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings.

“Thanks,” he responded curtly.

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand.

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded.

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand.

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior.

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to.

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right?

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper.

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his.

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.”

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips.

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?”

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought.

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did.

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts.

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered.

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air.

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed.

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?”

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?”

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him.

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier).

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course).

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence.

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said.

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice?

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue.

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again.

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken.

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was.

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x gn!reader #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu oneshot #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu angst #tsukishima angst #tsukishima oneshot

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outbythehighwind · 4 years

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Aerith & Tifa: Visual Design

An Analysis of the Final Fantasy VII Heroines [Part 1]

This is the first part of my in-depth analysis on FF7′s heroines, where they are depicted as perfect foils to one another. For those who don’t know, a foil is a character who contrasts with another and simultaneously highlights the qualities of that other character. Foils can range from protagonists & antagonists to, in the case of the FF7 girls, very close friends. In exploring this particular writing technique, I will examine their differences and similarities, friendship, relationships to Cloud and Sephiroth, and their differing but equally important roles as heroines in the overall story. Before starting though, I want to mention one thing: I adore both characters, and Tifa and Aerith are to me the exemplary role models of fictional heroines.

Now let us begin with the first thing we are introduced to: their visual designs. (Note that visual design, like narrative, is a tool that can be purposefully accurate and/or purposefully misleading. This should be kept in mind throughout the entire analysis, for FF7 - to no exaggeration - gets more than the average game's pleasure out of tricking, subverting and astonishing it's audience.) Now, onto our beloved flower girl...

AERITH

Aerith’s visual design, at first glance, is one of a meek and kindly girl. Her long, sleeveless dress, pearl pink in color, elicits an air of grace, of softness and serenity. She appears gentle and pure. These qualities are enhanced by the matching pink ribbon in her hair, which adds an additional purity to the character – one of youthful girliness, evoking a naive separation from the gigantic world around her.

Accompanying the dress and ribbon is a short sleeve crop jacket. And instead of enhancing this grace and naivety, its crimson shade shows quite the opposite. Red is a bold and brazen color. Coupled with the 90’s crop-style of the jacket, it enforces strength and vigilance. The loud (and somewhat rebellious) qualities of her jacket countervail the quiet elements of her dress and ribbon. They are a contrasting balance, as we will soon find out, of Aerith’s personality. She is gentle and pure, but she is no softie. She has complete confidence in herself.

These contrasting qualities are connected in the fact that red and pink are proximate colors. While the dress and jacket themselves are from two different worlds, the colors go together. Moreover, red and pink are the colors that represent love. Mixed together, they create ‘hot pink’ – a color used to communicate playfulness. A beautiful metaphor for both Aerith’s love for all life and her playful, sassy personality.

Moving on to her footwear, we find an even sharper contrast. One would expect that a person who so fashionably marries grace and strength would have stylish footwear to match. Yet here is Aerith with a pair of grimy, commonplace boots. While the dress, jacket and ribbon communicate her nature and personality, these grimy, commonplace boots inform the player of the life she is leading – the life of a girl who has grown up in the slums. These grimy, commonplace boots are the wise and fitting footwear to get by.

Aerith’s boots and hair are the same shade of brown, framing the vibrant personality her outfit presents. In addition to the bright, lively clothing, her hair is a standout feature of her character. And there is another character that shares this feature. Aerith’s trademark bangs share an almost-identical design to Sephiroth’s, an allusion to her in-every-sense enemy foil. Not only do the pair share similarities in their hair, but also in clothing: Sephiroth’s collar parallels Aerith’s jacket; his wrist-cuffs parallel Aerith’s bracelets; his cloak parallels the length of her dress; and his eyes – although mako-induced – are an even deeper green than Cloud’s, in direct match to Aerith’s.

Their bright green eyes further represent their foil-roles in relation to the external plot of FF7 – the plot concerned with the Planet. Aerith’s eyes are green with life, representing her connection with the Planet. Sephiroth, of course, holds a connection too, though his Mako-induced green is not his authentic color, portraying him as the false ‘savior’ he acclaims himself to be, in contrast to the true savior that is Aerith.

To see Aerith and Sephiroth’s designs as directly antithetical to one another, consider their concepts below, with Aerith’s weapon and hair trailing right while Sephiroth’s weapon and hair trails left – like a mirror image. Also, notice Aerith’s bright, vibrant design against Sephiroth’s dark, monochromatic design - a visual display of life and light against darkness. But more on Sephiroth later.

There is no FF7 character with a brighter visual design than Aerith – fittingly, for she is the party’s light. In the remake, her outfit is much the same, if not expanded upon. The jacket reaches her hips rather than waist, and the boots are black, yet about as commonplace as the original brown boots. The notable difference is her dress. The remake fits Aerith in a looser, frilly dress, which actually enhances her grace and creates a more deceptive air of naive youthfulness, much like the longer crop jacket further enhances her boldness.

TIFA

There are two roles incorporated into Tifa’s visual design: Tifa the barkeep; and Tifa the monk (that is, a martial artist of FF-verse). We will begin with the former, the first role introduced when the player meets her in Seventh Heaven.

Tifa’s barkeep design consists of black forearm sleeves matching a black skirt that is held up by suspenders. With her hair tucked behind her left ear, a teardrop earring is visible. Immediately, one gets the sense of warmness and invitation they would associate with a hostess. The skirt and suspenders appeal to the sensuous aspect of the design while the sleeve and earring give off an aura of classiness. Overall, an attraction is formed between Tifa and player – that sense of warmness and invitation drawing the player toward her. This attraction is enhanced by her long, dark hair and warm, wine-hued eyes. Not only is the color of Tifa’s eyes a clever nod to her literal bar-hosting, but it alludes to what her bar-hosting metaphorically symbolizes – a nurturing motherliness accentuated by their warmth. Not only is the player drawn in by the clothing she dons, but Tifa’s natural features are what inaugurates the invitation.

Next is the role of monk. Padded gloves and boots match the dark red shade of Tifa’s eyes, coupling her warmth and hospitality with strength. Strength and its associated qualities – firmness, power, intensity – are usually found in opposition to tenderness. But manifested in these items of clothing that are the same color as the defining embodiment of the latter (Tifa’s eyes), strength and tenderness are bridged together. Tifa is a fighter fueled by compassion. Tifa is a fighter who fights to protect. A matching dark red band ties the ends of her locks together to keep them collected, and on her left elbow and boot are armored guards, enhancing her aura of strength. Finally, she wears an ordinary white tank top for practicality in movement.

Put together with the elements of her bartender design, Tifa’s fighting gear gives her an unconventionally unique appearance: a smash-’em-if-required barkeep; a drink-serving monk. This overall appearance has an appropriate balance between allure and profession. It is attractive without being voluptuous. It is welcoming without hiding the fact that she could easily kick one’s ass if need be. And across her entire visual design, the two roles are in equilibrium. The player is drawn in to her design in the one sense, and then they are let in on what she is physically capable of. In other words, Tifa’s visual design uses its every component to give the player insight on her character. At the same time, however, it purposefully masks a great deal.

Accompanying this ‘smash-’em barkeep, drink-serving monk’ design so centered on conveying its dual-role aspects, are two items that educate the more observant player on Tifa’s circumstances. One of these has already been mentioned and is the classiest element of her design, while the other – which will likely go unnoticed – is the most ordinary. The former, Tifa’s aforementioned earring, is in the shape of a tear, subtly reflecting her past of sorrows and heartache. Yet it is her outfit’s grandest, most expensive item; this past of sorrows and heartache is what enabled her to become strong while remaining compassionate for others. Being a single teardrop on only one ear signifies how Tifa deals with emotions – the emotions she, as her name suggests, locks away in her heart. One drop for herself, the basic remembrance, the fuel, is all she outwardly allows.

Then we have the most ordinary item – a pair of woolly black socks. These socks are so subtle that even the exceptionally observant player might miss them, yet they are the single item that appeals to neither monk nor barkeep. They are distinctly… Tifa – Tifa the ordinary. Every other element is inch-perfect on what it communicates, yet here is a pair of ordinary socks that look as though they were thrown on in a morning’s rush. They give her this every-girl, neighborly quality which the player will be distracted from until the truth comes to light, with Tifa’s centrality and intimacy in the internal plot being revealed – the plot concerned with saving Cloud.

Speaking of literal neighborly vibes and intimacy, it is worth mentioning in brief that certain elements of Tifa’s outfit share similarity with Cloud’s. Both wear two metal guards only on their left side (Tifa on her elbow and boot and Cloud on his shoulder and wrist), a subtle allusion to their being ‘half’-selves on the surface (Cloud with his Zack-delusion and Tifa with her hidden feelings). Cloud too wears an earring in his left ear – a studded one, signifying, like Tifa’s teardrop, a certain brokenness of self. In Advent Children, both wear a black sleeveless vest with a high zip collar, a black cape, black boots (notice that Tifa has now replaced her trademark red) and a wolf symbol (on Cloud’s badge and Tifa’s ring) – a symbol associated specifically with Cloud. I mention these details because of Cloud’s centrality to Tifa’s story and vice versa, which will later be discussed in her role as heroine.

Tifa’s design for the remake is a nice though slight variation that fits in with the more realistic aesthetic. Her skirt has pleated segments, making for more realistic movements during combat, and her abs are toned, further enforcing her strength and perseverance in protecting her loved ones. Her black thigh-highs are an additional element, complimenting her forearm sleeves.

Despite the subtle, throw-‘em-on-in-a-hurry socks being foregone, Tifa’s remake outfit perfectly balances her barkeep and monk roles. The omission of such a neutralizing feature works even better with regard to Tifa’s character, in my opinion, for her true thoughts and feelings will be hidden for much of the game. Thus we are led astray, and the narrative will constantly push us further and further away from her inner emotions hidden beneath these two outward roles.

By visual design alone, and in the narrative that will follow, the player is led to believe Tifa has complete confidence in herself. But appearance of course, like narrative, can be deceiving.

SUMMARY

Straight away, by visual design, we have two heroines who are each a blend of multiple characteristics, yet not fitting a particular trope. They are completely unique in their own right, exemplifying both relatable and admirable traits.

Aerith, who we expect to be the meek and youthfully naive girl at first glance, embodies an undeniable self-confidence that compliments her kindness. Tifa, who looks extremely confident on appearance, has an emotional shyness masked by two bold outward roles. Aerith is the vibrant light who guides outer world adventure; Tifa is the inviting warmth who makes one feel at home. Aerith bridges the attributes of grace and toughness; Tifa balances the qualities of compassion and strength. While both exemplify these heroic traits by their very design, they are - however subtly shown - struggling slum girls.

#my analyses #ff7 1997 #ff7 remake #tifa lockhart #aerith gainsborough #parallels

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moonwaif · 4 years

Text

Upon Reflection

Summary: After nearly a year of pining on his lonesome, Wei Wuxian returns to the Cloud Recesses when a suspicious attempt is made on Lan Wangji's life. While keeping his feelings for Lan Wangji a secret, staying out of trouble (mostly) and trying to be a decent teacher (debatable), it doesn't seem like Wei Wuxian's life could get any more difficult.

Then one morning he wakes up in Lan Wangji's body.

Aka, the post-episode 50 CQL body swap AU you need in your life.

Tags: Body Swap AU, Mutual Pining, WWX has one brain cell, instead of OCs I'm borrowing SVSSS characters, CQL Verse, might mess around and resurrect some people

Rating: T

Excerpt:

“Speaking of Hanguang Jun, what’s his opinion on all of this? Does he even know you two are here?”

Jingyi and Sizhui share another look, and this time it’s guilty. Wei Wuxian chuckles softly, a bitter taste in his mouth. As if Lan Wangji would ever send his disciples out to fetch Wei Wuxian and bring him back to the Cloud Recesses, like some lonely prince in a fairytale romance. If he wanted Wei Wuxian’s help, Lan Wangji would have sought him out himself, instead of letting the months slip past by the handful without so much as a word.

“We left without telling him,” Sizhui admits, “but we had to. You see . . .”

“See what?” Wei Wuxian asks, when it becomes apparent he’s not going to finish. Sizhui glances at Jingyi, who after a few seconds rolls his eyes and nods reluctantly. Sizhui swallows, then speaks.

“Three days ago, Hanguang Jun fainted.”

After parting from Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian deliberately avoids the Cloud Recesses. He’s too brash, too lascivious, too everything for that place. Going back would only spell trouble. Apparently the Cloud Recesses don’t feel the same way, however, because eventually the Cloud Recesses go looking for him.

He’s in a little town just outside of Yueling when the voice calls out to him: “Master Wei!”

Wei Wuxian turns, smiling as soon as he sees the face it belongs to. “A-yuan! What are you doing here?”

Lan Sizhui beams. Beside him, a typically sour-faced Lan Jingyi crosses his arms.

“What am I, chopped meat?” he grumbles.

“Oh, sorry! It’s good to see you too, Jingyi.”

“Master Wei,” Sizhui exclaims, approaching, “we’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Is that so? Then you must be tired. Come on--let’s find a place to sit, and you can tell me about everything you’ve been up to.”

They choose a small restaurant close to the town’s entrance--one of the few public places available in the vicinity. Wei Wuxian manages to dodge most of their questions. What has he been doing over the past year? Oh, traveling here or there with Little Apple, going on the occasional night hunt, enjoying his newfound free and easy life. What about them? Have they heard from Wen Ning? How is everyone at the Cloud Recesses? Zewu Jun and the others, are they doing well?

How about Hanguang Jun?

At this question, Jingyi and Sizhui share an uneasy look. Wei Wuxian's gaze sharpens.

"What?" he asks, glancing between them. "Why are you making that face? What's happened?"

"No reason," Jingyi says quickly, and Wei Wuxian could swear that he feels him kick Sizhui under the table. "He's just busy with a lot of new initiatives."

A spot of warmth blossoms in Wei Wuxian’s chest, replacing the momentary anxiety. “Typical Hanguang Jun. What's he got planned?"

"He is opening the Cloud Recesses back up for lecture," Sizhui answers. "In just eight days, all sects will send their disciples to study cultivation methods.”

“Not all the sects,” Jingyi clarifies, and there it is again--the uneasiness. “But most of them, anyway.”

Wei Wuxian nods thoughtfully. “So the sects are willing to send disciples again, huh? That’s good. Hanguang Jun is wise to bring the clans back together that way.”

“Yes,” Sizhui agrees. “But, um . . .”

Wei Wuxian looks at him expectantly. Sizhui takes a deep breath.

“You see, the thing is, Master Wei . . .”

“We think you’d make a great teacher,” Jingyi finishes.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw drops. “Huh?”

Sizhui seems to sense that they’ve caught him in a moment of weakness, because he launches in full force.

“Your knowledge and innovation in talismans could be a great resource for students. Additionally, your experience and methods in deduction could really help the disciples when they are first learning how to do night hunts.”

“And the younger generation likes you,” Jingyi adds. “If you go, you’ll definitely be popular with the students.”

“Er, guys,” Wei Wuxian says weakly. “I’m flattered, but haven’t you heard the stories about when I was in the Cloud Recesses? I was a terrible student. I really don’t fit in there.”

“Your unconventionality is what will make you unique as an instructor,” Sizhui says, and Wei Wuxian can tell that he must have planned that line with Jingyi during the journey from Gusu.

“Maybe, I guess. I don’t really know anything about teaching.”

Besides, how could he teach cultivation when he didn't even have a golden core?

“You were a great teacher before!” Sizhui insists, and for a split-second Wei Wuxian is almost worried he read his thoughts. “Back when we were working together to escape from the Burial Mounds, you explained everything so well. All of the young people really understood and liked you.”

“Yeah but what about their parents?” Wei Wuxian counters. “If you announce that I’m going to be there--which I won’t be, by the way, because I’m not going--no one will want to send their kids to the Cloud Recesses. They’ll think it’s bad luck, or that I’m going to teach something unorthodox. Even worse, what if I attract unsavory disciples who just want to learn about demonic cultivation? That really won’t look good for the Gusu Lan sect."

“You’ll have the approval of his Excellency, Hanguang Jun,” Jingyi says calmly. “His word will be enough.”

Wei Wuxian's eyes narrow. “Speaking of Hanguang Jun, what’s his opinion on all of this? Does he even know you two are here?”

“We left without telling him,” Sizhui admits, “but we had to. You see . . .”

“See what?” Wei Wuxian asks, when it becomes apparent he’s not going to finish.

Sizhui glances at Jingyi, who after a few seconds rolls his eyes and nods reluctantly. Sizhui swallows, then speaks.

“Three days ago, Hanguang Jun fainted.”

---

They say that time changes everything, so why is it that visiting the Cloud Recesses feels like a journey to the past?

There are some marks of change. The reconstructed buildings, a memorial here and there for those who gave their lives defending the Cloud Recesses from the Wen clan. But it’s the same tranquility, the same warmth and sense of safety, that almost has Wei Wuxian believing that at any moment Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang are going to round the corner laughing, ready to pull him off on another misadventure.

Maybe the Cloud Recesses haven’t changed, but Wei Wuxian has.

The heart inside him is certainly different as he gazes at Lan Wangji's silhouette through the screened window, arms moving gracefully as the gentle tones of the guqin drift on the night breeze. Once upon a time, Wei Wuxian was willing to do anything to catch the eye of the Second Jade of Lan. Whether it was playing the clown, showing-off his martial skills or even risking his own safety, he never once felt shy about it. Now, over a decade later, just thinking about talking to Lan Wangji is making his stomach tie up in knots.

It’s been almost a year since he and Lan Wangji officially parted. During that year, they only met once or twice, when Lan Wangji surprised him with a visit. The visits had been brief, but there was a moment when Lan Wangji looked at him, pinned him with a dark, trembling gaze, and in that instant Wei Wuxian truly believed that he was going to invite him back to the Cloud Recesses. But he hadn't. Lan Wangji merely left with the promise to visit again soon, and then never came back.

Wei Wuxian isn’t bitter. It makes sense that Lan Wangji’s path would lead away from him, to a place of glory and light. A place where he probably doesn’t have time for the troublesome, complicated life of Wei Wuxian.

But now, as he watches Lan Wangji through the screen, head bowed, the familiar melody somewhat lonely and melancholy, Wei Wuxian feels like an ass.

He should have been checking up on Lan Wangji.

“Hanguang Jun was injured several months ago,” Sizhui had explained back in the restaurant at Yueling. "Afterwards, he secluded himself and went to cultivate in Cold Pool Cave. When he returned, he seemed to have healed. But as the leader of the four sects, he has many responsibilities. He was working so much, and going on night hunts, and then preparing for the lectures--he never got time to rest. Finally, just a few days ago, he collapsed. Jingyi and I overheard him talking with Zewu Jun. The doctors want him to rest, but with the lectures starting, there’s no time. He’s already committed to taking on the lion’s share of the classes. We’re worried that with all of his obligations, his condition will only get worse.”

Outside of Lan Wangji’s window, Wei Wuxian sighs. 'Lan Zhan,' he thinks. 'You really never change, huh.'

He watches for a few moments longer, then removes Chenqing from his belt. He raises the flute to his lips, waits for the right opening in the song, then softly blows.

The guqin goes silent.

The silhouette doesn't move once as Wei Wuxian plays. It sits, still as a statue, until the song finishes. Wei Wuxian waits until the last notes dissipate in the air, then lowers the flute.

"Lan Zhan, are you ready to tell me the name of that song?"

"Wei Ying."

The words are quiet, but once uttered send a smile spreading across Wei Wuxian's face. It doesn't last long. The shoulders of that silhouette suddenly tense, then spasm in time with deep, guttural coughs.

Wei Wuxian moves quickly. “Lan Zhan,” he calls, opening the door, “I’m coming in!”

The look Lan Wangji shoots him from across the room is bewildered, but he’s too busy coughing into his sleeve to say anything. Wei Wuxian rushes over, crouching beside him, one hand unconsciously settling on the spot between Lan Wangji's shoulder blades.

He’s beautiful as always, Wei Wuxian thinks, in that heavenly, elegant way that could make one believe he stepped out of a poem or a painting. If it wasn’t for the faint circles beneath his eyes, the sheen on his forehead, or the pallor of his cheeks, Wei Wuxian probably wouldn’t even notice anything off. He reaches for Lan Wangji's wrist, feeling his pulse. His brow furrows. He lets go of the wrist and quickly moves his fingers to the acupoints on Lan Wangji's chest.

He doesn't need to be an expert healer to know that something is wrong with the energy circulating in Lan Wangji's body.

"Lan Zhan," he murmurs, face darkening. "What is this?"

Lan Wangji coughs a few more times, then pauses, catching his breath. At last he lowers his sleeve. His eyes meet Wei Wuxian’s.

“Wei Ying, why are you here?”

He actually has the audacity to sound a little bit worried--as if Wei Wuxian has appeared because he’s gotten caught up in another dangerous situation and needs his help. Wei Wuxian leans back, suddenly angry.

“Because of you, that’s why! You shouldn’t make your disciples worry so much!”

Lan Wangji drops his gaze. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! Don't you know Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi came all the way to Yueling looking for me? All because of you!"

“They did what ?”

Crap. Wei Wuxian didn’t mean to get them in trouble. He waves it away hurriedly. “Whatever, whatever, never mind that. Anyway, what's going on? How come your energy's so . . . stagnant like this? Is that why you went to cultivate in Cold Pool Cave, to balance things out?"

Lan Wangji’s expression shifts imperceptibly, growing a little sad, a little embarrassed.

"Poison," he says at last.

Understanding creeps over Wei Wuxian like nausea. "You mean that injury you received all those months ago--"

Lan Wangji nods. "Poisoned."

Panic seizes Wei Wuxian like a greedy ghost. “But there’s something we can do, right? What did the doctor say?”

“It’s not lethal,” Lan Wangji replies calmly, and Wei Wuxian’s shoulders relax. “But periodically, the flow of energy is interrupted.”

“Periodically. So like, only sometimes, when you’ve been using a lot of energy, right?”1

“Mhm.”

Wei Wuxian bites his lip thoughtfully. “I see. And the cure?”

"None."1

“Bullshit! There’s gotta be something. Check the Forbidden Library."

“We searched there. So far, nothing.”

“A poison that’s not even in the Forbidden Library? Lan Zhan, no matter how I think about it, this is really just too suspicious. Where were you when it happened?”

“A village, north of Xietang2. Night hunt.”

“Who sent you there?”

“Rumors. A ghost, disappearances on the western bridge. But when we arrived . . .” Lan Wangji looks up. His face is grave. “A demon.”

Every single warning signal in Wei Wuxian’s mind is blaring. A demon in a small village with an extremely rare poison, who Lan Wangji, the newly appointed Chief Cultivator, just happened to encounter?

“How did it poison you?” he asks.

“Its blade.”

Wei Wuxian wants to know more, but Lan Wangji suddenly lets out a stifled, dry cough. The sound shakes Wei Wuxian to the core.

The questions can wait.

“Now that I’m here you should just rest, okay?" he says soothingly. "Focus on getting better. I’ll be here to help out, so don’t worry about anything. Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

The hand on Lan Wangji’s back slips over his shoulder as Wei Wuxian prepares to raise them both up. Lan Wangji, however, remains seated.

“You’re staying?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course I’m staying! You really think I’d let you start that lecture series without me? Someone has to make sure the lessons are at least a little bit interesting, or the Gusu Lan sect will have all of those poor kids bored to death!"

Besides, if there really is someone who has it in for Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian is going to stick around and make sure they don’t get their way.

Lan Wangji straightens. “Then, a room--”

“Zewu Jun already prepared one for me. He set me up in the Silent Room.” Probably because it’s farther away, Wei Wuxian thinks. He’ll cause less problems out at the Shadow Bamboo Pavilion. Not that Wei Wuxian is complaining. The moments he spent in that room were warm and comforting, even if they took place during one of the most difficult times of his life. It has nothing to do with the fact it used to be Lan Wangji's old room, or anything.

The lines around Lan Wangji’s mouth soften. This time, he allows Wei Wuxian to lead him to the bed. Wei Wuxian waits until he’s settled before speaking.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian clenches and unclenches his fists awkwardly, then straightens. “All right, then. Sleep well, Lan Zhan. We'll talk later."

He turns and is about to step away, when Lan Wangji’s voice stops him.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian's heart trembles behind a tightening smile. He waits for Lan Wangji to continue, to say, 'I missed you.' 'I missed you like you missed me.' 'Stay with me.' 'Come to bed.'

“Thank you," Lan Wanji says.

Wei Wuxian wants to laugh at himself.

“Lan Wangji, you already know words like ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ are unnecessary between us."

Something like a smile crosses Lan Wangji’s face, and he looks away. “Mm."

Wei Wuxian watches him for a moment longer, waits until Lan Wangji's eyes slip shut, and leaves. His stomach is heavy with worry and guilt. To think, this whole time he's been feeling sorry for himself because Lan Wangji hasn't come to visit. Meanwhile, Lan Wangji has been cultivating in isolation, struggling to suppress the poison in his body while still managing his duties as leader of the clans. Now that he knows the truth, Wei Wuxian feels like the biggest jerk alive. He sighs as he shuts the door, and swears a solemn vow.

He’s going to make it up to Lan Wangji. This time, he’s going to be the one doing the protecting, the one doing the aiding. And this time, he definitely, most certainly, absolutely will not cause Lan Zhan any problems.

TBC . . .

Footnotes:

1. This is basically just MXTX's "no cure" poison from SVSSS. (The cure will not necessarily be the same)

2. Xietang is a previous name for Xitang, one of the water towns in Jiashan county. (Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xitang)

#wangxian #the untamed #cql #cheng qing ling #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #fanfic #wwx #lwj #my stuff

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theguestlectureresponse · 3 years

Text

Polly Borland | Week 2 Response

From the series Bunny (2004-5)

Polly Borland’s series ‘Bunny’ mocks the stereotype of the strange and ridiculous ways in which women are depicted sexually within photography. By utilising actress Gwendoline Christies unconventionally attractive features, Borland imbues the images in her series with a feeling of playful awkwardness and absurdity that challenges societal norms of what it is to be a female who is depicted as erotic and feminine (National Gallery of Victoria, 2018).

When I first saw this image (attached) during the weekly lectures I was very intrigued. The composition and use of technical skills draws the audiences eye directly to the reflection of a smiling Gwendoline Christie. Whether the smile was intended to be innocent or not I don’t know. However, upon viewing I was filled with a sense of uneasiness over the cynical and predatory aura exuded by the image because of Christie’s smile and hidden eyes.

The main idea that came to mind was the disconnect sometimes seen between reality and the reflected image. An exaggerated example of this would be in cartoons or even horror films when a person looks into a mirror and their reflection moves or changes but the real self does not change.

(Unknown, 2020)

I believe that Borland’s image captures the essence of this. Since there is no reference to where the reflection is coming from its as if the reflection is its own entity then can move as it pleases.

What was I expecting to see in the mirror when it doesn’t match what’s reflected?

Does the mirror accurately portray what I look like in reality?

The physical traits that we personally value relies heavily upon what we see being valued in the media. By creating the Bunny series Borland successfully responds the negativity and somewhat unrealistic standards of how females are portrayed.

~~~

Word Count: 292

References

National Gallery of Victoria (2018). Polly Borland, Polyverse. National Gallery of Victoria. https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Polly-Borland_Large-Print-Labels.pdf

unkown (2020). unknown [digital still image]. Favim. https://favim.com/image/7722617/

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courantvvitch · 5 years

Text

character study: natal chart

bold: applies always

Italic: sometimes applies

Sun:: Aries, 26° 50' 45" [second house] The sun determines your ego, identity, and "role" in life. It's the core of who you are, and is the sign you're most likely to already know. Your Sun is in Aries, meaning you are fundamentally assertive, and persistent, and courageous. Naturally competitive and fiercely independent, you push things forward with energy and enthusiasm and persevere through anything. You need to learn to understand other people as complex wholes. It's in your second house, meaning you feel the need to distinguish yourself from others through money, material possessions, and security.

Ascendant:: Aquarius, 27° 2' 56" [first house] Your ascendant is the "mask" you present to people. It can be seen in your personal style and how you come off to people when you first meet. Some say it becomes less relevant as you get older. It changes every two hours, so if it doesn't make sense, text your mom to confirm your birth time. Your Ascendant is in Aquarius, meaning you come across as broadminded, intellectual, and prone to abstraction, though somewhat detached or abrupt in your dealings with the real world. Your unconventional interests may seem eccentric or pretentious to others.

Moon:: Scorpio, 21° 55' 41" [ninth house] The moon rules your emotions, moods, and feelings. This is likely the sign you most think of yourself as, since it reflects your personality when you're alone or deeply comfortable. Your Moon is in Scorpio, meaning your emotional self is intense, passionate, and a bit dramatic. You have trouble opening up and letting other people in, and try to keep your intense darker emotions private. You find it difficult to trust others, which means your powers of perception may manifest in suspicion and controlling tendencies. It's in your ninth house, meaning you find security and safety through philosophy, faith, education, politics, and travel.

Mercury:: Aries, 29° 59' 38" [second house] Mercury determines how you communicate, talk, think, and process information. It also indicates how you learn. It is the mind's planet. Your Mercury is in Aries, meaning your intellect is quick, independent, impatient, energetic, and direct. You think fast and start conversations with enthusiasm. You're likely to yell. It's in your second house, meaning you are curious about and inclined to analyze what is valuable to you, the resources (talents, money, self-worth) you have, and the resources you want.

Venus:: Pisces, 24° 9' 26" [first house] Venus determines how and what you love. It indicates how you express affection and the qualities you're attracted to. Your Venus is in Pisces, meaning your romantic side is sentimental, dreamy, and gentle. You have an endlessly deep well of compassion and love, but have trouble protecting yourself in relationships. It's in your first house, meaning that for you, love is often expressed in your self and self-image—and, because it's your first house, your Venus in Pisces is hyper-present in your personality.

Mars:: Leo, 16° 12' 17" [sixth house] Mars is the planet of aggression. It determines how you assert yourself, take action, and the energy that surrounds you—particularly in your sex life, your ambitiousness, and when you're angry. Your Mars is in Leo, meaning you assert yourself in a way that is authoritative and persuasive, and you push things forward with confidence and gusto. It's in your sixth house, meaning you put a lot of energy into work, routines, and bodily health.

Jupiter:: Sagittarius, 14° 59' 21" [tenth house] One of the two social planets, Jupiter rules idealism, optimism, and expansion. It's also very philosophical. Your Jupiter is in Sagittarius, meaning you grow and find understanding through exploration, travel, questioning, curiosity, independence, and debate. It's in your tenth house, meaning you find success through career, goals, and responsibility.

Saturn:: Pisces, 19° 58' 25" [first house] The other social planet, Saturn rules responsibility, restrictions, limits, boundaries, fears, and self-discipline. Your Saturn is in Pisces, meaning you struggle with your tendency to be pushover, daydreaming, and your emotions. It's in your first house, meaning you have had difficulties with your self and self-image—and, because it's your first house, your Saturn in Pisces is hyper-present in your personality.

Uranus:: Aquarius, 0° 20' 11" [eleventh house] Uranus stays in each sign for seven years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules innovation, rebellion, and progress. Your Uranus is in Aquarius, meaning other generations are shocked by your generation's unconventionality, intellectuality, and detachedness. It's in your eleventh house, meaning that for you, this manifests in rebelling against dated expectations about social status, including platonic and casual friends, along with your hopes, wishes, and dreams.

Neptune:: Capricorn, 25° 31' 0" [eleventh house] Neptune stays in each sign for around fourteen years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules dreams, imagination, and the unconscious. Your Neptune is in Capricorn, meaning your entire generation finds inspiration through hard work, responsibility, seriousness, and ambition. It's in your eleventh house, meaning that for you, this manifests in your ideal—verging on unrealistic and impractical—about social status, including platonic and casual friends, along with your hopes, wishes, and dreams.

Pluto:: Sagittarius, 0° 4' 35" [ninth house] Pluto stays in each sign for up to thirty years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules power, intensity, obsession, and control. Your Pluto is in Sagittarius, meaning your generation's psyche is comparatively positive, free-spirited, curious, optimistic, forward-looking, independent, and confident. It's in your ninth house, meaning you personally are transforming outdated forms of meaning through philosophy, faith, education, politics, and travel.

tagged by: @irishtemplar [ thank you lovely!!! ]

tagging: @moltementi (Perci!), @chaosandghouls (Creedence!), @vortexparadox (whoever is suitable xD), @lombredufait, and YOU!

#;that boston blueblood hellion / about #;what do you mean i'm it?! / tag games #//god all of link's placements are ridiculously accurate #//especially the aries mars fjgdhfkgj

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antimundi-blog · 5 years

Text

* CHARACTER STUDY + NATAL CHART .

curious ? find out yours here ! bold the statements that strongly apply .

SUN VIRGO, 6°40'18" FIRST HOUSE

The sun determines your ego, identity, and "role" in life. It's the core of who you are, and is the sign you're most likely to already know. Your Sun is in Virgo, meaning you are particularly smart, responsible, hard-working, and self-sacrificing. You're thorough, meticulous, and intentional in everything you do—you can accomplish things that most people can't, but may also get bogged down by the details of your day-to-day. You have a need to be wholesome. It's in your first house, meaning you feel the need to distinguish yourself from others through your self and self-image—and, because it's your first house, your Sun in Virgo is hyper-present in your personality.

ASCENDANT LEO, 11°35'40" FIRST HOUSE

Your ascendant is the "mask" you present to people. It can be seen in your personal style and how you come off to people when you first meet. Some say it becomes less relevant as you get older. It changes every two hours, so if it doesn't make sense, text your mom to confirm your birth time. Your Ascendant is in Leo, meaning you come across as bright, good-natured, and magnetic. Your energy makes you seem either like a know-it-all or the life of the party—but always the center of attention.

MOON PISCES, 20°48'54" EIGHTH HOUSE

The moon rules your emotions, moods, and feelings. This is likely the sign you most think of yourself as, since it reflects your personality when you're alone or deeply comfortable. Your Moon is in Pisces, meaning your emotional self is empathetic, dreamy, sensitive, and gentle. You feel vulnerable much of the time, and desperately wish for a partner who deeply understands you. It's in your eighth house, meaning you find security and safety through darkness, taboos, rebirth, sex, and transformation.

MERCURY LIBRA, 2°7'23" SECOND HOUSE

Mercury determines how you communicate, talk, think, and process information. It also indicates how you learn. It is the mind's planet. Your Mercury is in Libra, meaning your intellect sees both sides to every situation. You're a charming and diplomatic relativist, searching for balance in every set of ideas, though this may come off as insincere or indecisive. It's in your second house, meaning you are curious about and inclined to analyze what is valuable to you, the resources (talents, money, self-worth) you have, and the resources you want.

VENUS CANCER, 21°10'51" TWELFTH HOUSE

Venus determines how and what you love. It indicates how you express affection and the qualities you're attracted to. Your Venus is in Cancer, meaning your romantic side is gentle, thoughtful, and sentimental. You love being tender, kind, and nurturing to the people you love. You're intensely loyal, but this may stem from a fear of rejection. It's in your twelfth house, meaning that for you, love is often expressed in privacy, secrets, and introspection.

MARS CANCER, 22°59'18" TWELFTH HOUSE

Mars is the planet of aggression. It determines how you assert yourself, take action, and the energy that surrounds you—particularly in your sex life, your ambitiousness, and when you're angry. Your Mars is in Cancer, meaning you assert yourself in a way that is emotional and somewhat passive-aggressive, and you push things forward only when you feel safe and secure. It's in your twelfth house, meaning you put a lot of energy into privacy, secrets, and introspection.

JUPITER CAPRICORN, 7°51'11" FIFTH HOUSE

One of the two social planets, Jupiter rules idealism, optimism, and expansion. It's also very philosophical. Your Jupiter is in Capricorn, meaning you grow and find understanding through responsibility, practicality, ambition, seriousness, efficiency, rationality, and power. It's in your fifth house, meaning you find success through romance, self-expression, creativity, and pleasure.

SATURN ARIES, 5°59'53" EIGHTH HOUSE

The other social planet, Saturn rules responsibility, restrictions, limits, boundaries, fears, and self-discipline. Your Saturn is in Aries, meaning you struggle with aggression, impatience, defensiveness, hastiness, and conceit. It's in your eighth house, meaning you have had difficulties with darkness, taboos, rebirth, sex, and transformation.

URANUS AQUARIUS, 1°18'1" SIXTH HOUSE

Uranus stays in each sign for seven years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules innovation, rebellion, and progress. Your Uranus is in Aquarius, meaning other generations are shocked by your generation's unconventionality, intellectuality, and detachedness. It's in your sixth house, meaning that for you, this manifests in rebelling against dated expectations about work, routines, and bodily health.

NEPTUNE CAPRICORN, 25°20'36" SIXTH HOUSE

Neptune stays in each sign for around fourteen years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules dreams, imagination, and the unconscious. Your Neptune is in Capricorn, meaning your entire generation finds inspiration through hard work, responsibility, seriousness, and ambition. It's in your sixth house, meaning that for you, this manifests in your ideal—verging on unrealistic and impractical—about work, routines, and bodily health.

PLUTO SAGITTARIUS, 0°26'10" FOURTH HOUSE

Pluto stays in each sign for up to thirty years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules power, intensity, obsession, and control. Your Pluto is in Sagittarius, meaning your generation's psyche is comparatively positive, free-spirited, curious, optimistic, forward-looking, independent, and confident. It's in your fourth house, meaning you personally are transforming outdated structures of the home and family.

TAGGED BY: @loyalservants ty friend!

TAGGING : @isiliden, @forgedvalor, @tryvyalsynnes (pick whoever!), @cookignis, @sparkadream, @servomundi, @cuervocanto, @uccisore

#headcanon // slivers & fractals #...this is actually p damn accurate #niceeee

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loyalservants · 5 years

Text

* CHARACTER STUDY + NATAL CHART .

curious ? find out yours here ! bold the statements that strongly apply .

SUN

TAURUS, 22°51'43"FIRST HOUSE

The sun determines your ego, identity, and "role" in life. It's the core of who you are, and is the sign you're most likely to already know. Your Sun is in Taurus, meaning you are fundamentally stable, deliberate, and practical, though somewhat stubborn. Your sensual side takes comfort and pleasure very seriously—you appreciate nice things when they're useful and meaningful. People appreciate how reliable you are. It's in your first house, meaning you feel the need to distinguish yourself from others through your self and self-image—and, because it's your first house, your Sun in Taurus is hyper-present in your personality.

ASCENDANT

ARIES, 29°50'44"FIRST HOUSEY

Our ascendant is the "mask" you present to people. It can be seen in your personal style and how you come off to people when you first meet. Some say it becomes less relevant as you get older. It changes every two hours, so if it doesn't make sense, text your mom to confirm your birth time. Your Ascendant is in Aries, meaning you come across as independent, energetic, and direct. You seem to move quickly, sometimes with the appearance of more haste and impulsiveness than thought, patience, or follow-through. Sometimes your forthrightness comes off as conceited or rude.

MOON

SAGITTARIUS, 18°11'5"EIGHTH HOUSE

The moon rules your emotions, moods, and feelings. This is likely the sign you most think of yourself as, since it reflects your personality when you're alone or deeply comfortable. Your Moon is in Sagittarius, meaning your emotional self is restless, self-questioning, optimistic, and independent. You may hide your sensitivities behind an interest in finding new ways to feel. It's in your eighth house, meaning you find security and safety through darkness, taboos, rebirth, sex, and transformation.

MERCURY

ARIES, 28°15'22"TWELFTH HOUSE

Mercury determines how you communicate, talk, think, and process information. It also indicates how you learn. It is the mind's planet. Your Mercury is in Aries, meaning your intellect is quick, independent, impatient, energetic, and direct. You think fast and start conversations with enthusiasm. You're likely to yell. It's in your twelfth house, meaning you are curious about and inclined to analyze your secrets, dreams, and mental health.

VENUS

ARIES, 11°23'1"TWELFTH HOUSE

Venus determines how and what you love. It indicates how you express affection and the qualities you're attracted to. Your Venus is in Aries, meaning your romantic side is enthusiastic, impulsive, and direct. You fall in love quickly, and out of love just as fast. You tend to be forthright and direct with your crushes—even if you haven't confessed, you make a lot of inside jokes, touch them a lot, and maintain eye contact. You alternate between seeming demanding and disinterested in the relationship. It's in your twelfth house, meaning that for you, love is often expressed in privacy, secrets, and introspection.

MARS

TAURUS, 22°36'54" FIRST HOUSE

Mars is the planet of aggression. It determines how you assert yourself, take action, and the energy that surrounds you—particularly in your sex life, your ambitiousness, and when you're angry. Your Mars is in Taurus, meaning you assert yourself in a way that is practical, concrete, and relaxed, and you push things forward stubbornly. You rarely make the first move. It's in your first house, meaning you put a lot of energy into your self and self-image—and, because it's your first house, your Mars in Taurus is hyper-present in your personality.

JUPITER

PISCES, 21°53'26"ELEVENTH HOUSE

One of the two social planets, Jupiter rules idealism, optimism, and expansion. It's also very philosophical. Your Jupiter is in Pisces, meaning you grow and find understanding through empathy, dreaminess, and compassion. It's in your eleventh house, meaning you find success through social status, including platonic and casual friends, along with your hopes, wishes, and dreams.

SATURN

ARIES, 27°6'58"TWELFTH HOUSE

The other social planet, Saturn rules responsibility, restrictions, limits, boundaries, fears, and self-discipline. Your Saturn is in Aries, meaning you struggle with aggression, impatience, defensiveness, hastiness, and conceit. It's in your twelfth house, meaning you have had difficulties with privacy, secrets, and introspection.

URANUS

AQUARIUS, 12°44'19"TENTH HOUSE

Uranus stays in each sign for seven years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules innovation, rebellion, and progress. Your Uranus is in Aquarius, meaning other generations are shocked by your generation's unconventionality, intellectuality, and detachedness. It's in your tenth house, meaning that for you, this manifests in rebelling against dated expectations about career, goals, success, and responsibility.

NEPTUNE

AQUARIUS, 2°8'23"TENTH HOUSE

Neptune stays in each sign for around fourteen years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules dreams, imagination, and the unconscious. Your Neptune is in Aquarius, meaning your entire generation finds inspiration through detached analysis and intellectual pursuits. It's in your tenth house, meaning that for you, this manifests in your ideal—verging on unrealistic and impractical—about success and responsibility.

PLUTO

SAGITTARIUS, 7°4'42"EIGHTH HOUSE

Pluto stays in each sign for up to thirty years, meaning it rules a generation more than a person. It rules power, intensity, obsession, and control. Your Pluto is in Sagittarius, meaning your generation's psyche is comparatively positive, free-spirited, curious, optimistic, forward-looking, independent, and confident. It's in your eighth house, meaning you personally are transforming outdated taboos around darkness, sex, and transformation.

TAGGED BY: @apprenentice TAGGING : @guvernantka, @scldsouls, @multimentium, @blckwiidcw, @antimundi, @adamantiiine

#Behind The Mask ( OOC )#The Fool Who Seeks Counsel With A Wise Man Is Wise ( Athera Headcanons )#U Should See Me In A Crown ( Dash Games )

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decadentrpg-blog · 5 years

Photo

WELCOME EM, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GENEVIEVE WOOD

Admins Note: Wow what a powerful, bad ass woman you’ve developed. I love the insightful head cannons exploring her curiosity and her urge to understand the world in her unique perspective. Her relationships have been beautifully explored - from Darius to Ophelia to Proserpina, all being a special fragment of her existence. She’s everything I could have hoped for! I can’t wait to see her on the dash, breaking and putting things back together! Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

Out of Character

Name / Alias: Em

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Timezone: EST

In Character Application

Full Name: Genevieve Wood

Sexuality: Pansexual

Gender/Pronouns: Cisgender Female, She/Her

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Headcanons:

ONE :: GIRL QUESTING, GIRL QUESTIONING. Your childhood days are perhaps characterized best by a reluctantly unbound exploratory curiosity. Your family is not old blood or money in the way other families are, but it hardly matters; the place you call home is deceptively expansive, leaving you nooks and crannies and rooms to make your own. You are young the first time you realize your home violates the principles of reality — bigger than it ought to be when you see it from the outside you are five the first time you really understand what magic is in a physical sense. And though five is thought to be too little to grasp the finer points, you question and you question and you question until the finer points start to unravel themselves. Perhaps this is where it all begins, because when you finally understand, there’s satisfaction of a sort before you realize something that imprints itself into your memory: there is so much you don’t know and you want answers for all of it.

Over the years, you become adept at destroying, learning and then in a twist, creating things new. There’s a certain pleasure gained in tying your hair up with a ribbon, destroying something, studying the pieces and then improving upon it as you rebuild. Such tendencies—often mechanical in nature—exasperate your mother profoundly because she dresses you in pretty things and you inevitably make ruin of them, because she would prefer you be more the quintessential pureblood daughter, soft and dear and obliging, but there is no stopping you.

Through trial and error, through exasperation, time outs and threats ranging from laughable to somewhat terrifying for your youth, your mother and father learn that there are only two ways to stop your questioning: one) give you answers until you’re satisfied or two) provide the means by which you can obtain answers for yourself. Punishment only silences you temporarily, and rules, both new and old, are ignored with equal fervor. And so, your parents, though they love you dearly, often opt for the second of the two options, if only because you try their patience with their questions, because you are enough to make their heads spin. Perhaps you ought to feel badly for that, for the way you are trying, but the truth is like so: questing girls pursue their aims without regard paid to consequences, questioning girls need answers and you, you are a questing girl, a questioning girl, fearless and insatiable.

TWO :: ON THE MYSTERIES OF A HEART. There are societal conventions that speak to what love and attraction should be in various forms, but you reside well outside any of them. In this, like so much else, you are a thing ill-defined and seemingly without particular rhyme or reason. A curious woman, wont to interest bordering obsession as regarding whatever catches your eye, you have a penchant for inquiry that leads you to the heart of things, of people. Like so, for you the appeal is not a type, the appeal is what lies beneath.

This leads you to Darius, to a sweet, almost chaste kiss as a venture into exploration, an answer to questions you don’t dare ask aloud, but wonder about all the same. Though, perhaps, calling it chaste is unfair because that implies a lack of passion; perhaps it’s better to say innocent and questioning, for like so much else, the knowledge and experience earned helps you evolve, though it comes at a cost. You want to learn about Darius, and you do, but what you learn you do not entirely like; Darius is not like you, questing and questioning, unabashedly true to what the heart demands. He is cowardly in his devotion and though you might have fallen for the facade once, for those golden curls and a winsome smile, you’ve never been attracted to what you see underneath.

And it leads you, eventually, to Proserpina, though that path is somewhat winding with other boys who possess features and traits that make you look twice before you see her. There’s a naïveté to what exists between you, at first. Again, it’s curious and curiously born, a bright-eyed interest and a first of a different sort. She is an answer to questions about yourself, the beginning of an unbinding from traditional labels, but she is so much more than that; she is ever fascinating. Perhaps you’re a fool to fall for a woman who whispers lies as she breathes and does it so convincingly, but hearts are not meant for rationale, they want as they will and yours has been long undone by the puzzle of Proserpina. After all, didn’t you once trail fingers along her form if only to touch her and whisper, “my dear heart”? Would you not do it again were you allowed a chance?

Ultimately, there are those less true than their word, but you are absolute, an unerring truth in a world of lies and falsehoods; reckless as it might be, you fall in love with the heart of people and you pity anyone who loves for less.

THREE :: THE PATH NOT TAKEN. Before you even think about stepping foot in Hogwarts, it is clear you will belong in one of two houses: Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. It might be Gryffindor for the way you play with a certain reckless abandon, even in your childhood, unquestioningly certain of your right to what pleases you no matter what the rules might say, unafraid of the truths such recklessness might show. But then, it could be Ravenclaw; with an insistent sort of curiosity that is equal parts your greatest virtue and your worst vice, you are, in some ways, quintessentially of the sort that cannot make a home anywhere but the high tower, wearing blue and bronze.

You are a coin flip, two distinct parts that ought to be at odds, but come together to make a wild, bravely questing girl, so much so that even those who know you best cannot decide what you will be. Your mother says Ravenclaw, your father Gryffindor, though his choice might be more pride and a desire to see you follow in his footsteps speaking than a true reckoning.

You yourself hardly know what to think, except it doesn’t matter. When the time comes, you unintentionally oblige the Sorting Hat well and make yourself known. There are children in this world that are chimeric mysteries, who might truly belong one place and another, who might be influenced or even created, by the choice made for them, but you are not one of them at heart. No, you sit under the Sorting Hat, not thinking of what might be, not telling yourself to be brave for what will come or trying to want one future over another. Instead, you find your thoughts tangential to the moment, in that you simply wonder about the Sorting Hat’s magic; it’s a shame, you reflect as you wait for your future, that the hat is something you cannot destroy and remake until you understand it. The hat only laughs at your thought process, says, “With curiosity like that, it better be Ravenclaw!” and that is the end of that.

For every question and option, even for that singular moment where your world is a coin standing on edge and Gryffindor is an equally acceptable choice for that earnest reckless of yours, Ravenclaw is where you belong. Unquestioningly.

FOUR :: A LADY’S GUIDE TO IMPROPRIETY & NON-MALICIOUS RULE-BREAKING. The older you’ve gotten the more the style in which you display your non-compliance and unconventionality has changed. Only don’t be fooled. It’s not about that. It’s never about that.

In childhood, it’s always about understanding. Rules are a prison that stymie intellectual curiosity in the name of safety, a thing for which you’ve never had any use; with a world full of possible paths for exploration all about you, you hardly have time to think about something so foolish as caution, nor patience for the very same. These years are full of solitary time, of wild adventures, of incessant questions, interspersed with necessary socialization, which sounds lonelier than it feels. You suppose you have friends, but truly, you prefer the solitude of your own seeking and the satisfaction found in answers to the play-pretend games others your age want to play.

School and adolescence change everything. You could hardly be called quiet, with the way you so vocally wonder, but in truth, by comparison to others your age, there is something lacking to your social skills. A mess of a contradiction, introverted in social interactions, extroverted in inquiry, the two resolve into something between when you learn to find people as interesting as things. It’s different, of course, because you cannot destroy and rebuild people in the same way you can do things, but it’s that very condition that proves to make people all the more interesting. After all, things are as they are while people are variable, changeable, manipulatable. Perhaps that’s why you come to get along so well with some of the Slytherins, like Ophelia, during your later days at Hogwarts. You aren’t afraid to say things that are less than polite, or do things that are less than kind if only to find out what will happen. It’s not a matter of hearts or feelings but one far more linear; A leads to B and then on to C and you like to know what reactions will occur. And if you’re being honest with yourself, when it comes to the unbinding of people, there’s something messy in it that you’re loathe to delve into; far better to have someone else spill the guts and leave them for you to study.

Adulthood has different rules too, because it’s here you are taught the questionable virtue of propriety. The older you get, the more you ought to simply know better as if being older means being better, as if curiosity is not justifiable cause and lies are acceptable means by which to make it through the day. You never quite mean to become a beacon of truth, to become something unflinching blunt, but as you leave Hogwarts behind, you come to realize that the real world is not half so simple as the walls of your school were — there’s privilege and wealth and the delusions born of it and there’s fervency and new causes and a belief in change. Perhaps you fall in line with the latter because at least there you find more truth, or perhaps it’s because you like to see how things shake and stir and propriety is not a world lilted off tongues and praised profoundly. To make change one must be true and improper. Is there anywhere else you belong?

In Character Paragraph:

The ballroom was the oddest battleground she had ever encountered, though to call it that was perhaps inaccurate. Hypothetically, this evening had been proposed and planned in the name of charity and was being attended under the very same guise, but underneath the glitz and the glamour and the music, there was a subtle rippling, an divide amongst the younger generation that did not echo in their older American counterparts — it was a world of differing problems and concerns, though Genevieve darkly figured everyone would be dragged into it in the end.

Problems had a habit of eventually rearing their ugly heads at the least convenient moments, as she well knew, considering she had, more than once, done her part in bringing the truth embedded within them to light. It had earned her a reputation of a sort, though she hadn’t ever bothered to give that much thought. She acted as she did not because she wanted to harm, but because she simply valued the truth enough to make sure it was known, and, perhaps too, because when it was all said and done, she liked to be able to step back and watch the consequences of unpleasant truths unfold as they might.

It was so interesting to watch people react.

Tonight, however, was not a night for such a course, not that she didn’t think on it for a moment; there was interest to be had, in making the divide between them terribly plain, but what was the point? To bring it into the open would only ruin the cause that brought them all here, which even she wasn’t heartless enough to do. Plus, there was loyalty to be had yet, and perhaps, maybe, a kernel of a belief in the just nature of the cause to which she had aligned herself. Change was worth sitting on the truth for, at least for now.

That being said, aligning herself to a cause and alienating herself from people she was fond of had never been her way; though she stood with The Coalition, she didn’t ignore The Pride Society, the way others did, the way others might have wished her to. Perhaps that marked her as wrong, Darius certainly liked to assert that sentiment, but she was truer to her heart than any sort of external ideal and there were women across the room who certainly held pieces of hers.

Firstly there was Proserpina. Decorum and discretion dictated she wasn’t supposed to stare, yet the secret that was bound between them all but commanded otherwise. Perhaps that was only fair, that she stare if she so please because the fact that it was secret was neither Genevieve’s desire nor her demand. Secrecy meant so little to her, but it meant so much to Proserpina; it was a fool’s game, one without reciprocity of a kind, but she cared profoundly for what the other woman wanted.

Tonight the other witch was as radiant as ever and it made her want in a way she couldn’t explain. What was she to do about Proserpina when the woman somehow took her words? It was equal parts intriguing and irritating to love a woman that simultaneously defied explanation and stole the words that might allow an honest try at making one.

And secondly there was Ophelia. Though dear to her, despite the fact that they were no longer children and the difference in their lifestyles at this point, Genevieve had begun to view the other woman with dread of a sort; her marriage was not doing her the wonders sometimes advertised and the woman Genevieve had once known was gradually slipping away from her. She pitied her, but no matter what words she had tried so far, she had been frustratingly without effect. Genevieve was beginning to think that Ophelia, the friend perhaps dearest to her, would prove to be another puzzle she could not solve.

The very idea made her heart ache and yet, she would greet the woman all the same, and use their proximity as means by which to, perhaps, steal a moment with Proserpina. It was likely unfair to use Ophelia this way, but if Ophelia knew, Genevieve felt fairly certain that she would consent willingly; one of them deserved a moment’s happiness, no?

The band swung into a new song and she found a familiar face in front of her, a hand outstretched and an offer put to air: “Will you dance, Genevieve?”

For a moment, she barely heard, thoughts elsewhere, intent on women she wasn’t supposed to associate with. And yet, the sentiment repeated itself, so her gaze flicked across his face, noting a warning there. It was a subtle thing, resting in the muscles somewhat tense and a certain gaze in his eyes, but once she saw it, it couldn’t be unseen.

It made no impact.

“No, thank you,” she replied simply, before side-stepping him, intending to stay true to her course. She wanted what she wanted, damn the costs. Only, before she could take a step forward, she found that previously outstretched hand, now resting on her arm, holding in place, albeit gently in obedience to the concern of appearances on a night like this.

“Don’t go over there. Don’t talk to them.” It was a low warning and were she more an ideologue, more devoted to the cause itself, she’d heed it unthinkingly.

“Let go of me,” she returned in a soft warning; she was not known for her temper, but a hint of one flashed in her gaze at the idea of being denied. And when he didn’t move fast enough for her, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and said bluntly, “If you think you can stop me from going to greet my oldest friend, you are sorely mistaken. And to pretend they don’t exist or that they’re monsters and therefore easy to hate is the coward’s way. I disagree with her, but I care for her still.”

Before he could reply, because really she didn’t want to hear whatever would come of it, she walked away. She had intended to skirt the room, to cross an unspoken, undrawn boundary with a measure of discretion simply for the ease of it, but now it felt like there was no choice but to be openly true in a way that made a statement. That was fine, she wasn’t particularly bothered by that; perhaps she was always meant to be the one who walked across the invisible line with her head held high and an unerring certainty that it might have been breaking unspoken rules, but the rules were inconsequential when compared to a heart’s desire.

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sanrionharbor-blog · 5 years

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Thoughts on Sansa S8 Endgame

Speculations galore! Long post ahoy!

Let’s run through every possibility I can think of for the end of show-Sansa’s story (and yes, there will be many more possibilities besides these because GOT is layers upon layers, man, I’m still new to the fandom, and there’s probably a lot I’ve missed).

At the very least, let’s do this categorically.

Dead, Alive, or a Fate Worse Than Death?

1. I’d bet money that Sansa survives the whole dang thing

2. But if she does die…it could be A) Sacrifice to save Arya, Jon, and/or Bran, B) in a possible collapse of Winterfell, C) after ensuring the demise of Cersei or a similar threat, D) something worthy of a song

3. Crack Theory: Sansa Becomes the Night Queen?

Shipping...

1. Let’s start with the most popular ship: Jonsa. While I’m not personally a Jonsa fan, I neither hate it nor see it as a complete impossibility. And while I’m not personally a Jonerys fan, I neither hate it nor see it as a no-brainer. Jonsa makes sense practically (uniting Targ and Stark, North & South; they already trust one another; cousin marriage isn’t considered incest in-universe, etc.), though I’m not entirely convinced if the show goes this direction that it would be the most romantic ship ever. The best I see is that it has vibes similar to Ned/Cat when they were first married to one another; they didn’t love each other romantically at first, but it would come with time. As for political!Jon Theory making this ship possible, while I wouldn’t completely put it past the GOT universe to make Jon that cold, it honestly doesn’t jive with what I think is at the core of Jon: which is a hardscrabble sort of nobility, decency, honesty. I mean, if he was politcal!Jon, wouldn’t he have come up with a smoother way to handle Cersei in their first meeting? Anyhoot, the ship isn’t hateful. I think the biggest obstacles are the fact that, even though they are technically cousins, they were raised as brother and sister. You don’t just erase that. This is somewhat “remedied” by the fact that they were never close and Sansa pretty much treated him as a whole-lot-less-than-a-brother for most of their childhood. But GOT has never shown incestuous relationships (again, I don’t really consider historically based cousin relationships as incestuous, but it is a close family bond never-the-less) as a good thing. At all. The Targ’s went mad; Dany’s brother was creepy as fudge; UMM Jaime x Cersei dear Lord; Craster and his Merry Brood, etc. (But this mainly just spells doom for Jonerys, IMHO). So, as with anything in GOT--it’s possible, it’s also not possible, there’s undertones, but there’s undertones for the complete opposite thing happening, etc. Lastly, as for the “romantic framing” of S7, I think it falls under that same maybe/maybe-not. I LOVE Jon and Sansa’s dynamic, even if I don’t see it as romantic, even if does or does not end up romantic. It is certainly one thing: intimate. And the framing (forehead kiss, bittersweet reunion, worrying for one another’s safety) supports that at the very least. If they don’t end up romantically, Jon is the last real strong male relative that Sansa has. That’s not to diss Bran, but D&D have made him a remote magical old man stuck in a teenager’s body. In some ways, he’s dead to Sansa too (as Meera said, “You died in that cave.”). The poetry, the irony, is that the people Sansa had the most problems with in her family (Arya and Jon) are all that Sansa has left now (yes, yes, I love Bran, but again he’s acting more like a solo unit than a family unit at this point)--and she realizes how much they’ve always meant to her. Jon, and Arya for that matter, are different sides of Sansa, just as she is a different side for each of them. The parallels are lovely, and this ship could very well set sail.

2. My personal favorite: Sanrion (Sansa x Tyrion, Tyrion x Sansa, whatever the preferred parlance is). Yes, I’m biased, so this entry will be the longest--BUT, let’s remove my shipper goggles. This, to me, is just as possible as Jonsa. That is, I don’t see it as guaranteed at all, but there’s plenty to read from the text. Let’s get the trouble spots out of the way: 1) the build-up has been few and far in-between since S4 (though they did throw us a bone in S7). 2) the 50/50 chance of Tyrion dying in S8 (no, I’m not basing this on “leaks,” interviews, or what-not--I’m just using this as a baseline guess, given that this is GOT and given that Tyrion is at the center of a very dangerous web of relationships), 3) the show possibly not wanting to ask a twentysomething actress and a nearly 50-year-old actor to act out anything deliberately romantic (however, I don’t expect an on-screen ship to be anything but unconventionally romantic--I very much see it being done with subtle dialogue, color theory, ambiguous looks, an epilogue, etc), and 4) Tyrion may or may not be in love with Daenerys. None of these trouble spots spells doom for me. The greatest “doom” is simply Sansa ending up alone (thematically possible) or with someone else (also thematically possible). Let’s break down counter-points to the trouble spots, then I’ll list my reasons why this ship could sail. 1) Almost all relationships in GOT are troubled and/or unconventional, built up over one season, hidden underneath layers of symbolism, or suffer from the fact that one or both partners are either dead or seperated (by this same token, Sansa’s other popular ships, Jonsa and Sansan, also suffer the same dearth of “development” or copious screen time. Arguably, Jonsa’s foundations were mostly built over the later seasons), 2) yeah, Tyrion could die (and I would be heartbroken but not blindsided) or Tyrion could live (but I would bet money that Sansa lives through the whole thing), 3) the show already put them through the most awkward phase of their “relationship” (i.e., their wedding night, though it was toned down compared to the books) and they can still sell this relationship in any number of ways (again, dialogue, color theory, looks, just holding hands again geez Louise), 4) Tyrion’s “love” for Daenerys is incredibly debatable and may only be used as fuel for a soap opera plot that I really hope doesn’t happen, but even the director of the S7 finale said Tyrion’s main concern was political and Dinklage proposed the idea that Tyrion only “think he’s in love” with Dany, that what most people feel for Dany is awe (I’m neither a Dany fan or hater, but it’s hard to deny that she’s shocking, enthralling, powerful, attractive, a force, for lack of a better term). Now, on to the practical/thematical reasons why I think this ship would work. Let’s use letters for this, haha. A) Fairy Tale parallels/Turning Tropes Upside Down: It’s easy to read inversions of fairy tale archetypes into Sansa’s storyline, as that is what her character is naturally drawn to: songs, princesses, true love, beauty. So far in the story she has learned that looks can be deceiving; life is not a song (though I wouldn’t be surprised if GRRM turns this on its head again, and Sansa simply learns that all great tales involve sorrow and darkness as well as joy and light--i.e., bittersweet vs. simply sweet); people are not black and white (Tyrion shows her that the Lannisters aren’t necessarily all evil and Littlefinger shows her that allies, even someone who loved her mother, are not necessarily all good); etc. Just some of the fairy tales/tropes that play into Sansa’s personal storyline and the subtext of Sansa x Tyrion include: Beauty and the Beast, Psyche and Cupid, Hades and Persephone, The Princess in the Tower archetype, and many, many more (I’ll meta about it one of these days--and there are already many excellent posts under the Sansa tag that expound on these). B) The Queen Elizabeth Theory: So Sansa has parallels with two remarkable historical Queen Elizabeths: Elizabeth of York and Queen Elizabeth I. Since this has been said by so many before, here’s a quote and link to the article as summary: “The show is based off the War of the Roses, the real-life family feud between the Lancasters and Yorks that ended with the two broods combining their houses. Since the storyline happening at the end of season seven is extremely similar to this moment in history, we can infer that GoT will follow that path...” Link C) Character Actions Written Especially For the Show: Just to name a few: GRRM purposely changed a moment in the books to where Sansa hands Tyrion a cup instead of him having to crawl underneath a table to do so; Tyrion remains loyal to his wedding vows (and this is probably inspired by his trauma for having killed his father and lover as well) even when it was very possible that Sansa had left him high-and-dry and the marriage was, in Tyrion’s own words, a “sham marriage”; Sansa and Tyrion both stick up for one another’s character, etc., and D) Also, aren’t they technically married? :-p [There’s a lot more, but again, I’ll save that for a future meta]

3. Sansan: While there may end up being a slight possibility in the books, I don’t think show-Sansa and show-Sandor are heading in this direction. However, the same fairytale motifs play into play here: Beauty and the Beast, Hades and Persephone, etc. Also, bridge4 over on Youtube has a fabulous analysis of the “unKiss” over on his channel, which I think could pop up in some shape or form in S8. Here’s the link

4. Sansa Alone: Also supports the Queen Elizabeth theory. Specifically, Elizabeth I “the Virgin Queen.” This would a different form of poetry/irony: Sansa, the one who wanted most to be a queen consort and be married to a handsome king and have babies, ends up as a queen (full-stop) but leverages her power as a single lady. Not my favorite ending for Sansa, as I’m Teh Unabashed Romantic, but it’s plausible, thematic, pragmatic. Only time will tell!

The Fate of the North, Night King, Direwolf Theorizing

Just spitballing various takes:

1. The war is “won” (as in mankind survives), but Winterfell or possibly the entire North is compromised. As in, perhaps they have to trade the North to the Winter King at the promise he won’t invade the rest of Westeros. Or Winterfell explodes, so the North and all of Westeros is saved but the Starks lose their home

2. The Starks deliberately blow up Winterfell, for any number of reasons. Perhaps a bunch of wights or what-nots ended up there. Perhaps the dead in the Crypts were resurrected, and this was the only way to neutralize that threat. Or something deeper and darker lurks in the Crypts, something worse than the Night King. In fact….

3. Maybe the true enemy ends up being something awoken within the Crypts of Winterfell, and the Night King is not what he seems….

4. The old gods play an unexpected role

5. The godswood is burned or ends up in splinters or is used to create a new throne (ending the age of iron, fire, blood and making this a “time for wolves”)

6. Sansa’s direwolf Lady is resurrected (of course, poor Lady is headless…) and manages to wound Cersei (if she gets her arse up north, which seems unlikely) before Cersei’s killed by whoever the heck the Valonquar is

7. Speaking of, could Ghost be the Valonquar? I mean, he was the runt, the littlest brother of the brood. Eh, dunno. I just don’t expect the Valonquar to be anything close to what we think he/she/it/them is.

8. I like the idea of parts of the ocean being permanently frozen over because of something the Night King does. Dunno why. I don’t think there’s any foreshadowing to that in the show; it just sounds cool, and represents a permanent consequence to the land. Because I do not expect there to be zero consequence for the landscape of Westeros itself. The Greyjoy’s are already kinda sorta doomed (with eunuch Theon being the last male of that line, unless Euron’s got a kid somewhere and he ends up surviving to take the throne and not be a dick about it), so it’d be a bit of tragic poetry if their islands, their seas were frozen and lifeless but thanks to their efforts the rest of Westeros is safe and their people will have to make a life on land

9. One or both remaining dragons are frozen for all timez

10. Sansa becomes Queen in the North or Queen of the Seven Kingdoms (is there really an in-between?)

Bonus

Lastly, here’s just an observation on an important part of Sansa’s storyline and character development: Arya Stark. I believe Sansa and Arya adopted different pieces of the original storylines in GRRM’s book proposal outline--not that I put much stock in the outline. Sansa was created, at first, to add tension to the Stark family. GRRM says he was surprised by Sansa’s developments; he also says he empathizes with whichever character he is currently writing, so I think he just naturally found things that he liked in Sansa that made her more than a complication device. Because his original vision included Arya as the sole Stark daughter, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sansa and Arya aren’t the result of this once singular character being developed into two very different ways. The archetypal Amazon Wild Child and the Princess in the Tower. Two sides of the same coin--or, in Ned’s words, Sansa is the sun to Arya’s moon and vice-versa. For this reason, I don’t put it past Sansa to continue developing her personal brand of Brave Northern Lady and Arya developing her personal brand of Brave Northern Lady. Because that is what they both are: brave, northern, ladies. Will Sansa find herself at the center of a love triangle? I really, really hope not, but at this point if it is gonna happen I find it much more likely with Sansa than with Arya.

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