DAY TWO…
… I DID IT!
Now bed.
***
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to relax, lay back in the grass, watch clouds passing by. It was a behaviour that was alien to even the most acceptable HumaGear, and for him it was completely unthinkable—until now. Everything was wet from dew, and he would need to wash these clothes afterwards to get out the grass stains, but he didn’t care—so many of his memories were wrapped up in darkness, blurred to the point he couldn’t tell where his mind ended and the Ark’s began, or even completely unattainable that just being out in the sunlight was… Nice.
He felt her presence more than heard her, a familiar, comforting figure moving closer—she was as much a part of him as his own components, so he didn’t even open his eyes when she sat down beside him on the grass, then lay down, pillowing her head on his chest to watch the sky as well, twirling a flower between her fingers. After a while, she began to hum softly—not any particular tune, but one that resonated with his very core, in synchrony, like everything else they did.
For a while, they just lay there while she hummed their song. “… Aibou.”
He saw the flicker of purple in her hair, felt it as her head turned agains his chest to look up at him. “What is it?”
“Play them again.”
In moments, he felt the link establish and let his eyes drift closed. Memories flashed through his mind that he both knew and did not know—though he knew they were his, secreted and protected deep within the coding of his dearest, closest friend, but he could never summon them to his own mind. Many contained Jin as he had once been—his first steps, first words. At least, the first that she had been there for. Others were just peacefulness, similar to what he was experiencing now. Others were less visual—he felt something when she played them, a sense of purpose, a confidence that he been stripped away from him years ago. A hope. A dream.
In time, however, the remembrances faded, and he was lying in the grass again, with the new and yet comforting weight of her head resting against his chest. He felt her shift against him, and then her fingers, the ones not adorned with claws that mimicked Acid Analyse, were brushing his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
He opened his eyes, hurriedly raising his own hand to his face to find he had begun crying without realising. And yet… It wasn’t exactly unpleasant. “I’m not…” He began, but realised he wasn’t exactly sure what he was. Finally, he settled for “I’m not sad.”
She said nothing, but she didn’t need to. They were so perfectly attuned to each other, neither needed words to understand. She settled back into the same spot, picking up her tune again. Without missing a single beat, they returned to their personal balance.
***
They soft.
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There is so much nuance to the ep 6 scene between KJ and Lauren, I can’t get over it.
the motion older!KJ makes as they walk out, reaching for Lauren, realizing just in time that they are, in fact, in her hometown in Ohio and cutting short before she can land what was probably going to be an instinctive kiss
KJ coming in hot with the world’s most polite “hello!” and managing to make what must feel lightly like small talk for thirty seconds before dropping her voice to this shy, slightly-terrified question
the inability to hold eye contact. the faltering, wordless noises. the way she blinks like she’s seconds from just passing out in the middle of this theater--that is exactly how it feels to come out to someone for the first time. the edges of your vision go a little fuzzy, your heart is in your throat, you genuinely feel shaky, and all of that is so present in this performance
the sense of mild defeat in how she just lands on “movies” instead of “girls”, like she’s embarrassed she can’t just say it
the gentle ah hah expression on Lauren’s face as she realizes what this petrified kid is trying to ask her, and how smoothly she doesn’t correct her--just rolls with this safe code word
KJ’s nod and very tiny “uh-huh” without moving like any part of her face. like she’s reverting to standing as still as possible, protective coloring coming up in every inch of her frame
Lauren actually taking a minute to think about it before answering. and and then not giving the answer KJ asked for--”how did YOU know”--but what KJ actually needs to hear. what any kid in her position would: not everyone will get it, but everyone’s journey is their own, and there is no rush
(again, this is why I’m so delighted they wrote it the way they did--KJ and Lauren, not KJ and older!KJ, because older!KJ would have a definitive answer to give. it might be “I always knew, in the back of my mind” or it might be “when I was eighteen and kissed a girl for the first time”, but whatever the answer, it would cement KJ back into a box. this is your future, immutable, and there is no journey you could take that I haven’t already gone on. I’m so fucking glad they didn’t do this, that they let her have the reassurance that any timeline is the right one if it’s hers.)
again, that flutter-blink/quick breath combo that looks like she’s gonna pass out--but this time, there’s relief in it. it’s less “how do I say this Huge Thing” and more “oh thank god, she knows what I’m asking, she knows without me saying, and she’s being kind”
It is beautifully put together, such a gentle way of saying to this baby gay, “Nobody can tell you who you are except you, but whoever that winds up being is so okay. Listen to yourself. Trust yourself. You will be happy, I promise you.” It is a critical bit of advice so many queer people just don’t get, and to write it into KJ’s story is one of the show’s biggest kindnesses.
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Above the summit of Mount Coronet, just as he reached out to demand the pieces of Arceus, the winds picked up; and Volo paled.
A shriek, a raucous sound like thunder, accompanied by a hiss similar to a whistling storm - the screams wrapped around each other as they climbed across the mountain, sinking nails into the rock as they ascended higher and higher and higher with their terrible cawing laughs, until finally they appeared in a swirl of green and blue, purple and grey, bright white fangs bared before him.
“There it is!” the Wind of the West howled, terrible dragon claws rasping against the temple’s broken marble floor, “There it is! Our Emperor has returned at last!”
“Our Emperor!” echoed the Wind of the South just as mockingly, mighty avian wings flapping harshly against the man: “Our Emperor! Our Emperor at last!”
They circled him too fast for Volo to try and grasp their cloud-like manes in a frenetic attempt at shutting them up, their inhuman limbs scampering across the air as they circled him cackling wildly like cruel Chatots, twin faces twisted into amused grimaces as they evaded his anger.
The ground shook, and a gust of horrible warmth arose as if bursting out of a geyser with a lunging body of orange and brown, rising above his head before coming down onto him again.
It missed, by design; and when he tried to rush out of reach in a moment that he had uncautiously considered safe the air hit him right in the chest, throwing him around in a circle for the delight of its younger siblings until its terrible teeth beneath yellow eyes bit just inches away from his nose.
“Oh, our Yellow Emperor!” roared the Wind of the East, powerful paws trying to smother him, “Why don’t you greet us, our gilded Yellow Emperor? Our kin?”
Volo fell to the floor and covered his face.
“Go away!” he shrieked, backing away, away, closer and closer to the edge of the destroyed temple, blindly squirming against the tongues of breeze tormenting him and the long horns grazing his skin to toy with him, threatening playfully to launch him into the sky to be tossed between the three deities like a ball, a toy, a pebble, a mere handful of dirt: “Go away! Leave! Leave!”
“Our Emperor doesn’t want us!” the Blue Dragon cried: “It shuns us!”
“Shuns us! Shuns us! Oh woe!” the Vermillion Bird repeated: “It shuns us!”
“Why do you shun us, our kin?” the White Tiger asked: “Why do you hate us?”
“Leave!” he screamed back, terrified: “Shut up! Get away from me!”
And they circled him tighter, sinking nails and teeth only barely into his hair and clothes, pulling and kneading to see the face of the boy who that had so readily declared himself their leader and who now struggled to evade their grasp, cawing and growling and gekkering to scare him off the ledge.
But Volo planted his palms onto the ground and held onto it with all his might even as he was grabbed and shoved, eyes wide with horror at the rough path down the mountain that would have awaited him if the beasts had gone through. He could hear the young voice behind him panic and scream and shout for the winds to desist and leave him be, and for the first time he felt genuinely grateful for the kid’s existence in this wretched world as his hands scratched and bruised against the harsh terrain as to not give in--
Pink iron grips like jasmine vines grown far too fast tightened around his wrists so harshly that he couldn’t help but scream, and rotten eyes smiled at him mockingly just beneath the ledge.
“Our Emperor!” shouted with her sweet voice the Wind of the North, snake tail wrapping around him, “Be done with my siblings and play with me now!”
And then she pulled, and he was in the air.
The fall down was rough and bruising despite the body grappling him tight against its stomach, and the water hit his back so hard that the breath left him in a thousand enormous bubbles only to replace its place in his lungs. He flailed hopelessly, scratches screaming in anguish as they painted the sea red with streaks of blood, desperate to reach the surface his burning eyes could see growing foggier and foggier every passing second - until something as hard as a shell slammed into him and threw him up towards the sky he wanted so badly to see a million times more, against the estuary’s shore, where he coughed up all the salt and water that had invaded his body to breathe again.
A hand grabbed his face, not harsh, not gentle. He, with barely any strength left in himself as he shook terribly in the cold air, cried as he was faced with the fourth beast’s mocking gaze.
“Silly boy,” the Black Tortoise cackled: “An Emperor, you thought you could be?”
Volo pulled his head away, burning bright with shame.
The eldest brother of the four winds laughed freely its gross stilted laugh, rising from the sea with the heavy breeze that makes spring to terrible to breathe, and left him curled up so far away from his otherwordly ally, to lick his wounds alone.
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