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mydarllinglover · 9 months

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SafeHouse || Seven

"Looks like Potter's definitely over his crush on you then" Theo teased.

Theo, Blaise and I were sat in the boys dorm room after being kicked out the common room for being "friends with Draco", waiting for him to get back from his detention after what he pulled at the match today.

Dressing up as dementors to scare Harry into losing was seriously the best they could come up with, really? pathetic.

"What do you mean?" I asked him, I didn't know if i was feeling offended or Jealous to be completely honest.

"Well didn't you see the way he kept looking at Cho Chang, and How he was about to give up the Snitch until Wood shouted at him" Blaise laughed

"I dont blame him" Theo Smirked

"Well I see Harry as a good friend, so It doesn't bother me in the slightest, in fact, I'm actually very relieved." I rolled my eyes and kept a straight face.

"Really? well then, how come your clenching your fist pretty hard and your cheeks look really red for someone who doesn't care" Blaise teased, from his bed

"They are not!" I unclenched my fists to cover my cheeks

"Oh my god, do you like Potter?!" Theo slapped my shoulder, laughing his head off

"What? No I dont, shut up" I slapped him back

"Yes you do! Keira likes Potter, Keira likes Potter, Keira likes Potter!" He sang

"Will y- Shut up Theo!" I lunged at him, Jumping at him so he fell backwards on his bed causing me to fall forwards on him, then I continued to attempt to shut him up as he still sang, Blaise was wheezing

"KEIRA WEASLEY LIKES POTTER!" He shouted

"NO I DON'T!"

"Oh really, If you dont like him then Kiss me" He grinned, making me freeze

"what?" my eyes went wide

"Well if you wanna prove that you dont like him, then the only logical thing to do is kiss me"

"oh is it really" Blaise deadpanned

"Shut up Blaise" Theo reached for a pillow and tossed it at Blaises head who had easily dodged "I only missed because your on me by the way"

"Mhm, suuure" I rolled my eyes

"Anyway, Weasley, Kiss me if you wanna prove you dont like Potter" he said, A smirk plastered to his face

"I am not doing that" I crossed my arms, looking down at him, my eyebrows furrowed

"Keira likes Potter, Keira likes Potter, Keira likes Potter" He continued to sing, I had enough so I did the only thing I thought of and Pecked his lips to shut him up, the kiss only lasted for zero point three seconds but I was blushing furiously, both of our eyes were wide and the smirk fell off his face

"Oh shit" Blaise laughed from behind us

It took a minute for the shock to wear off, and when I realised what I had just done I jumped off Theo and sprinted for the door, almost knocking Draco over on my way out

"Whats wrong with her?" I heard him ask them, I could hear Blaise desperately trying to explain but cutting himself off by laughing.

A few days had passed since what happened in the dorm, both Theo and I refused to speak to each other, out of embarrassment, I resorted to hanging out with Ron, Harry and Hermione whenever I could.

Every time we had made eye contact by accident suddenly the cracks in the table had become the most interesting thing i had ever seen.

The downfall to being around Ron again was of his recent attack by Sirius Black, when I had first heard about it, obviously I was very worried and concerned for the safety of my brother, but it was the thousandth time he had said it when I starting growing angry at Black for not following through, it was the only thing he had to talk about, making sure everyone in the castle was aware, three times over.

"Yes, hi, yep, apparently he did nearly get attacked by Black, uh huh biig knife, traumatising, nearly died, But Ron scared him off, bye bye lovely to see you, ta ta now" I waved off to the two Hufflepuff girls, who had approached the Gryffindor table, before they could say anything

"Keira! what the bloody hell, its my story!" He said, looking annoyed I ruined his moment

"Yes, I am aware of that, I've only heard it so much its drilled into my brain" I snapped

"Whats wrong with you, you've been moody ever since you started hanging out with- why have you started hanging around us again, what happened to your little Slytherin group?" He asked me

"Nothing! I have to go" I rushed before speed walking out to my class, that unluckily, wasn't with Gryffindor.

The four of us were in Herbology, on the same table, thanks to Draco and Blaise inviting themselves to it after I had got there first, and Theo not wanting to be sat with the other Slytherin's reluctantly joined.

Draco tried to make conversation, Theo and I refusing to speak and Blaise not being that talkative, I could tell Draco was getting frustrated.

"For Salazars sake, can you two put this pathetic thing behind you, its stupid!" Draco pointed at Theo and I

Neither of us spoke

"Look, Keira, do you have feelings for Theo?" He asked me

"Wha- I, No, No I do not!" I rushed out

"Gee thanks" Theo muttered, rolling his eyes

"Theo, do you have feelings for Keira?"

"No! Definitely not!"

"Exactly! so the kiss was meaningless and you can put it behind you" Blaise reasoned

"Or, if it makes you feel better, you can kiss the both of us to show you dont have feelings for any of us and it was just a kiss between people" Draco said

"What? how does that make any sense?!" I dropped my arms from holding them across my chest, staring at Draco as if he grew three heads

"Or..." Blaise thought for a second before he grabbed Draco's face in his palms, planting a kiss on his lips "See, just a meaningless kiss, nothing else" He shrugged.

But Draco was stood frozen to the spot, his eyes wide and in shock until Blaise elbowed him in the ribs "See! Drac, meaningless and we're still cool"

"Ri- right, y-yeah definitely, so can you two just make up already"

"Fine, but only because im sick of hearing Ron talk about his stupid attack" I pointed my index finger at them. "Theo, are we good?" I leaned over the table to see Theo past Draco and Blaise

"Yeah, we're good." He nodded

"Thank Merlin" Sighed Draco

"But no more singing that thing, and stop saying it" I said sternly, furrowing my eyebrows at Theo.

"Deal" He rolled his eyes.

"what thing?" Draco asked

"Nothing!" Theo and I rushed out in unison.

"So does that mean you're going to hang out with us again?" Blaise asked me

"Awe, did you guys miss me?" I said in the most sweet sugary voice I could manage

The three of them all exchanged looks before becoming certainly interested in the plants we working on, ignoring me completely.

•

"Did you know that this is the most haunted place in Britain!" I recited what Hermione had told me about the shrieking shack to the boys who were eager to check it out.

We were In Hogsmeade, without Draco, and Theo and Blaise were making me go to the Shrieking shack with them.

"Even more reason to check it out!" Theo laughed

"I'm serious, lets go"

"Awe, are you scared" Blaise laughed

"Yes, actually, I am, and I think its a bad idea to go there, so we should be turning around and going to Hogwarts!"

"Wait Is that Draco? with Crabbe and Goyle?" Theo asked, pointing to a side of the hill that they were walking up

"But, he said he was too busy to come to Hogsmeade with us, that rat!"

"And is that your brother, on his own?" Blaise Pointed to Ron

"Oh no, this can't be good" I whined and we went to run over

"Suppose you'd love to live here, wouldn't you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room- is that true?" Draco Drawled, in that cold mean voice that I hated

"I swear he forgets we're related" I sighed, annoyed.

Ron looked like he was about to leap on him and I was close to doing the same.

Theo grabbed a hold of me to stop running down there to beat Malfoy for my own benefit apparently, but I was too mad to see what that was.

Suddenly Ron relaxed.

"We were just discussing your friend, Hagrid" Malfoy said to him, I had completely forgot about the hearing and buckbeak until now, guilt rushing over me like icy water.

"Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his Hippogriffs-"

SPLAT!

Draco was cut off as a chunk of mud had hit him out of nowhere, his hair was dripping with it. I didn't feel sorry or sympathetic for him.

It was the earths way of showing him what he is. Muck. I can't believe I had forgotten about Malfoys plans to have Buckbeak executed.

"What the -?" I was snapped out of my thoughts by Malfoy's scream, Theo and Blaise pissing themselves laughing and Ron leaning on the fence for support.

"What was that? Who did that?"

"Very haunted up here, isn't it?" Ron said, so casually

SPLATTER!

Crabbe and Goyle had been hit too. Theo wheezing more, using my shoulder to support himself

"It came from over there!" Draco wiped some of the mud off his face and pointing

Crabbe and Goyle went about jumping and twirling around the air, trying to catch whoever had thrown the mud, Crabbe then went to ram my brother before tripping on air, his foot catching on something and next thing I knew, Harry Potter was stood there

"What do you know, Potters got an invisibility cloak" Theo whistled

"AAARGH!" Draco yelled before running the other way, back down the hill

Harry had disappeared again, Ron then walking up to the place he was just stood, muttering something to him before turning around to spot the three of us, panic washing over his face.

I nodded at Ron in understanding, and to tell him we wouldn't tell.

"You mention this to anyone and i will kill you both" I threatened Blaise and Theo, Them nodding quickly, then I stormed back the way we had came from.

"come on! I wanted to see that Shack!" Theo moaned, stomping his feet before following me.

•

"Ugh! I am so mad, at myself and him and the situation, how could I have forgot what he was planning for that poor defenceless creature, It was Malfoys fault Buckbeak attacked him! He is such a tosser! They must all think I am a disgusting creature hater for being seen with that filthy piece of shit!" I screamed in frustration.

Theo and Blaise were sat on the Slytherin Common room sofa's watching me pace up and down them.

"K, I'm sure no one thinks that of you" Theo sighed, boredom obvious in his tone

"I hate him, I hate him! He is having poor innocent Buckbeak sent to- He insulted my brother, my family, me! I hate him so much, That spoilt prick!" I seethed

"Maybe you should think about something else, like your fourteen now, whats it like being a teenager for another year?" Blaise said

"I Dont know, ask Theo, he's been one longer than me! I want to break his face! I hope he falls off his broom, might knock some humanity into him!"

"Keira, seriously you need to calm down" Theo said, using his hands to demonstrate calming down.

"You need to calm down!"

"Hey, the weirdest thing happened today, did you know Pot-

"YOU!" I cut Draco off as he walked into the common room.

"Woah, whats gotten into you? Anyways as I was sa-

"How could you be so cruel, you piece of shit, you crumb, you snivelling stick insect, troll!" I cussed at him, most of them not making sense but I got my point across

"Guys? what is she going on about?" He looked at the two boys alarmed

"I could beat the shit out of you!" I went to lunge at him but Theo had caught me, holding me around the waist, my back to his chest and easily lifting me off the ground

"Get Off Me! Let me hit him!" I thrashed, trying to get out of Theo's grip

"Chill, before you hurt yourself" He muttered in my ear

"But I want to hurt him!" I had rage tears flowing down my cheeks, but I was too pissed off to care, why did I have to cry when I was upset! It made me feel weak and pathetic.

"I'm going to take her ... else where" Theo told them "Knock some sense in to him" Theo said to Blaise, nodding at Draco, then continuing to carry me out of the Slytherin Common room.

It wasn't until we passed the corner in the hallway when he had put me down, but not letting go of me.

"Breathe!" He ordered "Your going to send yourself into a frenzy"

I tried to steady my breathing. Eventually the tears stopped and I was breathing normally. He turned me around in his arms.

"You good?"

"Y-yeah, I'm okay I nodded, staring at the ground, embarrassed.

He lifted my chin with his finger so he could see my eyes and examine my face, I blushed scarlet as I kept his eye contact.

Cupping my face he then used his thumb to wipe away my tears, then ran his thumb across my bottom lip.

I had this weird feeling in my stomach, I didn't know what to do, I felt conflicted.

I must of imagined it but I swear I noticed how he moved his face closer to mine.

"Guys" Blaise had said, interrupting our moment, I jumped away from Theo instantly.

"Y-yeah?" I tried to stop my racing heartbeat, scared Blaise would be able to hear it thudding against my chest.

"He wants to talk to you, he said its not what you think" Blaise rolled his eyes

"I dont care about what he has to say, he's probably lying, I wouldn't put it past him, he did lie to us earlier" I pointed out

"Maybe it might be useful just to hear him out" Theo suggested

"I dont want to hear anything out of his mouth, I'm going for a walk" I told them before disappearing around the corner and to walk around the castle, due to Blacks break ins, we weren't really allowed out of the castle with out permission, so exploring this old castle would have to do.

I didn't return until a few minutes till curfew, wishing that the common room was empty to make it easier to get to my dorm.

But of course not, obviously wishes don't come true.

"Keira" Blaise called for me when I tried to ignore the three of them sat on the sofa, Draco looked sheepish, Theo looked pissed off, it was unnerving seeing him like that, He normally being the immature laid back one, cracking inappropriate jokes and always having a witty one liner. Blaise looked neutral.

"I cant talk, I am going to bed" I told him

"Keira, please, you don't even have all the details" Draco said

"And you insulted my family, and By the way, No, we do not all share a room, just to answer your question" I looked at him now, glaring at him, the mere sight of him made me feel sick.

Then I left to go to my bed.

"You screwed up, seriously" I heard Theo say to him

"Shut up, Nott".

•

"Hagrid, I am so sorry about Buckbeak, I am so sorry for being selfish, I should've helped, I am so sorry, He doesn't deserve this" I said to Hagrid after our Care of Magical creatures lesson

"Don't beat yourself up Keira" Hermione told me

"S'all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They were all sittin' there in black robes an' I kep' droppin' me notes and forgettin' all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione. An' then Lucius Malfoy stood up an' said his bit, and the committee jus' did exac'ly what he told 'em..."

"There's still the appeal!" Ron had said fiercely. "Don't give up yet, We're working on it!"

"Yeah!" I said "And we will all help, I promise, and all the Malfoys can do one, the lot of them!" I barked, we were walking up to the castle, Theo, Blaise and Malfoy were walking in front of us, all three of them kept looking back at me.

I saw Malfoy flinch when I said his name. I don't care. Doesn't matter to me.

"S'no good, That Commitee's in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. I'm jus' gonna make sure the rest o' Beaky's time is the happiest he's ever had. I owe him that..." Hagrid had then turned and hurried back to his cabin. My heart hurt for him and Buckbeak.

"We have to do something, we cant let this happen" I said

"We will" Harry had said, the first time he had said anything since the class finished

"Look at him blubber!" I turned to see Malfoy stood close to us, Theo and Blaise by his side, but they looked shocked that Malfoy said that.

It was as if he didn't care I wasn't speaking to him, purposely trying to make it worse, or maybe he didn't care about me.

"Have you ever seen anything quite as Pathetic?" he said "and he's supposed to be our teacher!"

"Drac, what the hell are you doing?" Blaise asked him

Ron and Harry were about to go for him but Hermione had got there first- SMACK!

She had slapped the righteous prick around the face, and by the red mark on his face, I would say it was hard.

A bubble of amusement came flowing out my mouth, smirking at the look of shock on his stupid face.

All the boys were stood like statues, just staring at them.

"Gowan 'Mione!" I cheered, everyone stared at me as I laughed.

"Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul- you evil-"

"Hermione!" Ron warned, trying to grab her hand as she swung it back.

"Get off, Ron!"

"Wow, Malfoy, you really do have a talent for nearly getting beat up by girls" I said, talking to him for the first time. "really impressive, I must say"

Ron and Harry shot me a confused look.

Malfoy had disappeared down the corridor. Theo and Blaise didn't follow

"Nice one, Granger" Theo smirked, looking her up and down, admiring her.

"We better go, you coming, K?" Blaise asked me, nodding down the corridor

I let out a huff "Fine, Merlin, I hope he's in so much pain" I growled and stomped over to them.

I turned and nodded at my brother, Harry and Hermione

"K?" Ron mouthed and I just shrugged

"Thanks again 'Mione, His face!" I roared with laughter before turning back around and following the two boys to the dungeons.

"Bloody hell, I hope he's crying" I grinned

"Remind me to never fall out with her, she's scary" Theo said to Blaise

"This is the best birthday present ever, even though my birthdays been and gone, I am so happy" I ran into the Slytherin Common room but it was empty, so I ran all the way up to the boys dorms, barging my way in, to see him sat on his bed, his hand supporting his head, he looked miserable.

I hesitated slightly before remembering how much I hated him.

"Y'know, this is the best day of my life, Seeing The, Draco Malfoy finally get what he's deserved for bloody ages" I said, still grinning from ear to ear

"Piss off, Weasley" He grumbled

"Nah, I'm good, so what now Malfoy? are you going to have her trialled as well? Because you decided to poke the sleeping dragon and then got upset when it had enough?" I asked him.

I stepped towards his bed "Because that's what you do, isn't it, You think everyone owes you something, when you give nothing in return, but hurt them, even if they thought you were friends, Merlin, you sure are a Slytherin, well especially the house animal that is"

"I gave you that necklace didn't I?" He pointed at the snake pendent

"If its that much of a deal that you think it buys my silence when you insult my family, then you can have it back" I spat, unlatching the chain and throwing it at him, He caught it in his hands, looking disappointed. "If you will excuse me, I've got to see what I can do to save a Hippogriff from being wrongly executed" I spun around and started to walk out before he called my name, but I just rolled my eyes and carried on.

He then grabbed my arm, to stop me from leaving

"Will you just wait!" He snapped, but then said the next thing softer "Please, will you please at least here what I have to say" I could see the desperation deep in his silver orbs. This was a new low for him.

"I don't care, Malfoy, Go cry to your Father about it" I glared at him

"That's not fair! You can't scream and insult me and then not even hear my side!"

"OH HO, when have you! Ever acted fair once in your life? Let go of me, Now!"

"No. Not until you listen to me" he tightened his grip on my arm, his nails pinching into my skin

"Malfoy! Stop, your hurting me!" I whined, trying to get him off my arm

"Bro, what the fuck?" Theo barged in the room, and Draco dropped my arm like I had burned him

"What?! No, Keira, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to"

"Leave me alone" I glared at him, storming out the room to my own. I hate him so much.

#theodore nott x you #theo nott #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott #theodorenottsafehouse #dracomalfoyxoriginalcharacter #draco lucius malfoy #draco x female reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #ron weasley #harry potter #hermione granger

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codegeassfacts · 2 years

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Ichirou Okouchi Interview in Continue Volume 42 (October 2008)

(This interview was done shortly before the release of the last episode of R2 and was released after the ending; You'll get some information about the making of the anime, the characters, the relationships, the ending, and much more) It's lenghty but definitely worth the read !

A chaotic and shocking final episode. What becomes of the world now?

-----Congratulations on the completion of "Code Geass"!! It was a shocking final episode; did you have a difficult time writing it, Mr. Okouchi?

Okouchi: No. The last episode wasn't difficult at all; in fact, it was the middle parts of R2 that turned out to be rough going. For the final episode, [I'd/we'd] already decided on the ending when writing the script for the first episode of the previous series. Episode 1, Episode 25 (Episode 1 and the final episode of the previous series) and episode 25 of R2 -- these episodes did not deviate much from our original plans.

-----When did you submit the script for the final episode?

Okouchi: In May, 2008.

-----So it was pretty smooth sailing.

Okouchi: That's true. Still, it takes quite a bit of time animating what's in the scripts for "Code Geass", so I wanted to have finished writing [the scripts] earlier, to be honest.

-----How did you feel right after the completion of the scripts?

Okouchi: I wasn't really aware of it, but I suppose I was sentimental about it in my own way. The sub-series compositionist, Mr. Yoshida, told me "This is the first time I've read a lyrical script from you, Mr. Okouchi." It's not about the contents, though; the flow of the writing -- the stage direction had a lyrical touch to it. Where I'd usually write "And Lelouch turned around.", I wrote in the style of "Lelouch turns around. His face is brimming with melancholy." instead. Suzaku, wearing Zero's mask, shows up in the middle of Lelouch's parade... the succession of scenes in that climax was written in a lyrical manner.

-----I'd like to ask some questions about the shocking end: in the climax of the second half of the series, the person standing in Lelouch's way was his brother, Schneizel. Under normal circumstances, without there being a war, [Schneizel] would have been a wise ruler, wouldn't he?

Okouchi: Had Lelouch only not existed, I think that, in Schneizel's lifetime, at the very least, there would be an end to war. However, he does not have "emotions", or rather, he has nothing possessing him. This is why he is incapable of creating a "tomorrow".

-----Still, isn't it possible that defeating the wise ruler Schneizel, the person who was supposed to have brought order to the world, might lead to some [viewers] interpreting it as a Bad End?

Okouchi: That's true. There are probably a lot of people who think of it as a Bad End, a tragedy, considering the protagonist's, Lelouch's end as well. However, Lelouch says in the first episode: "Only those prepared to be shot are allowed to pull the trigger themselves." If you were to think of that as his pride, then I think his getting shot (killed) in the end was a logical end. Of course, I understand that not all of the viewers will accept this ending. There were people who wanted a happier ending, after all.

-----Was there a dispute among the staff members regarding the ending?

Okouchi: No. It was decided fairly naturally. During the "Code Geass" script meetings, there are many cases in which there were a number of disputes, but there were barely any when it came to the scripts for (the previous series's) episode 25 and the final episode. I think everyone felt the same when it came to the end of the character that is Lelouch.

-----Why were you so bold as to choose this ending when the viewers might see it as a Bad End?

Okouchi: Bold... yes, we were so bold as to chose this ending. Perhaps the show that is "Code Geass" ending up this way was decided the moment Director Taniguchi and I teamed up. I suppose you can call it our sense of aesthetics, or perhaps a part of our psychological makeup.

-----Would it be possible for you to elaborate on this?

Okouchi: In the intial planning stages, "Code Geass" was being developed as a show meant to be aired in an evening slot. The contents [of the show back then] were completely different as they are now; it was more of a regular mecha show, and the protagonist was an exceptional pilot.

-----However, the time slot shifted from an evening slot to a late-night one.

Okouchi: That's right. At that point, we already had the structure of the series [completed], and the script for the first episode had also been written. Which is why even with the time slot change being final, "This show is plenty interesting, it'll do fine in a late-night slot", "We've already come this far, let's just go ahead with what we have" had been the general consensus. While it was certainly true that we didn't have much time, I was against it. There are shows and strategies more fitting for late night slots, and when I expressed this, I found that Director Taniguchi felt the same way. Even though it was difficult, and there was no guarantee of it being a success, [I/we] decided to create a different project more suitable for a late-night slot.

-----At that time, Lelouch and the Geass...

Okouchi: Did not exist. However, the things we'd already discussed regarding the project and the results of our research did not go to waste, of course.

-----This reminds me of Lelouch's line in the final episodes of "R2": "It may be difficult, but even so, I want a better tomorrow."

Okouchi: I hadn't realized it when I wrote those lines, but it certainly describes our [real life] situation. To go back to the drawing board obviously means a lot of time and effort, and moreover the chances of it failing were high. Even so, I thought it would be better for it to become a better show. To put it in a cool-sounding way, we chose a "tomorrow" we hadn't seen yet over "today". Having completed the scripts and watched the visual product anew, I thought that the mentality of the creators end up reflected in their works. At the same time, I was both surprised and happy to find that the same applies to me.

------I see. So Lelouch's decision was also your, Mr. Okouchi's, and Director Taniguchi's decision.

Okouchi: Which is why I think of both our and Lelouch's decision as Happy Ends. I believe that there will be better things in the tomorrow awaiting Nunnally, Kallen, and the rest who have been left behind. And surely Lelouch, who was able to make this into a reality, can only be happy [about this].

The Tyrant Emperor Lelouch: A Modern Day Hero Figure?

-----How long have you been involved [in the project], starting from the time spent on the evening slot project, and ending with the completion of "Code Geass"?

Okouchi: About 5 years, from the planning itself and up until the airing of the final episode. This year marks the 10th year since my debut as a scriptwriter; this is the longest I've ever been involved in a project, I think, and I doubt I'll ever come across anything like it ever again.

-----In the first episode of "R2", Lelouch declares: "I'm not the one at fault; the world is." In other words, "Code Geass" is the story of the side attempting world domination, isn't it?

Okouchi: It's the opposite of your usual anime set-up, isn't it? A demon king instead of a hero. The leader of Evil instead of the ally of Justice. I think this set-up was made possible thanks to the shift to the late-night slot. If it had been an evening slot, we wouldn't have received the "OK" for this. Although starting with "R2" the show is now being aired in an evening slot, it only came to be because of the results obtained in its late-night slot. The set-up being a complete 180 meant it was something worth doing for me, as a scriptwriter, and it was fun. There being nothing else like it, it's impossible to predict what's going to happen next week. In my opinion, it being an original work was an advantage, and we were able to make the most out of it. If it had been based on a pre-existing work, you'd inevitably find out what's going to happen next.

-----I've heard that Lelouch, the character who was eventually labeled The Tyrant Emperor, was born from the results of careful research. Is this true?

Okouchi: It's true that it came in handy for Lelouch's character, too, but the research was actually done during the planning stages. It's not like we went to Akihabara, or asked the readers of anime magazines what kind of anime they want to watch, though. It was more general; we researched what the younger generations of today are thinking, and what it is they wish for.

-----Can you give some specific examples of what you did?

Okouchi: There [is a / are] magazine(s) in which the lyrics of recent songs are compiled. [I/we] bought [it / those] and checked out which words are often used and what sort of theme was more prevalent. We polled school teachers as well, and that was informative, too. I've heard that Mr. Taniguchi visited schools for research purposes during "Zettai Muteki Raijin-oh", but this was the first time I did it.

----What did you ask about?

Okouchi: Values, mostly. What's "cool" in their eyes? What can they never forgive? Things like their future dreams, and what the teachers feel has changed between now and back then. Having heard their answers, I felt that things have changed since my time. At the same time, I thought that there were things that have not changed much, like the universal feeling of wanting to be acknowledged, and the impatience and the idealistic views the young possess. This show, "Code Geass", embodies the modern spirit, and although the set-up is the complete opposite of your usual anime, that is exactly why, as a story, it has all the right ingredients. Lelouch's enemy is his father, he treasures his family (younger sister), and harbors righteous indignation against the world...... Whenever youths are mentioned in the news, there is a tendency to put the spotlight on only a certain group of the them, like those who are arrogant or violent. In actuality, the ones giving up their seats to the elderly on trains are, more often than not, young people, and not middle-aged men and women.

-----Now that you've mentioned it, Lelouch, too, is kind towards the weak. After all, the reason Shirley fell in love with Lelouch was because she saw him help an elderly [couple] in trouble.

Okouchi: Helping the weak is the characteristic of a hero, and it's an aesthetic value that hasn't depreciated over time. However, I think that setting out in a showy manner, defeating the powerful who are abusing the weak, and being thanked by the weak in return is the "cool" thing in the past, while the heroes of today are "cool" because even when they've saved the weak they simply leave in a cool manner, and don't make a big deal out of it.

Lelouch and Suzaku: The Ultimate Relationship

------In "Code Geass", there exists a powerful, special power known as the Geass: "if you look into your opponent's eyes, you can make him/her carry out your command once and only once." However, Lelouch wasn't over-dependent on it, and overcame his problems using tactics and strategies instead. It didn't become just a superpower show, which made it distinctive from the rest.

Okouchi: If I were to explain this from the perspective of the character settings [we came up with], the power that is the Geass was an unknown power to Lelouch. He had no idea how long the effects could last, so it was dangerous [for him] to be over-reliant on it. Lelouch is a character with a skeptical side to him, you see. He does not consider the idea of fighting with just the Geass as his weapon. On the other hand, explaining this from a creator's point of view, this show has supernatural powers, scheming politics, mecha, school [life], mysteries..... [I/we] wanted to make this a show that can be enjoyed on many different levels, which is why we didn't turn Geass into an invincible power. This is why it has a one-use-per-person limit, and has no effect against enemies in Knightmares.

------Now that you mention it, Lelouch is weak when it comes to mecha battles. A mecha show with a protagonist who isn't a brilliant pilot was a refreshing change.

Okouchi: In the scriptwriting stages, he actually had average skills, but the [other] staff members, beginning with Mr. Taniguchi himself, joined in and it ended up like that. That's what's interesting about the group effort that is anime [productions].

-----Lelouch doesn't undergo the [character] growth most mecha anime protagonists go through. There are no special moves to remember, and it's not like his mech powers up either.

Okouchi: In Lelouch's case, the expansion of the Black Knights serves as [his character growth]. From the very beginning, it has been a fascinating aspect of the show, a small organization expanding with every victory, and various commanders coming to lend a hand like in the Annals of Three Kingdoms or as in the case of Oda Nobunaga. I wanted to introduce this flavour to this show, too. Consider it the pleasure of seeing your deck of cards grow, if you will.

-----I suppose it feels like "Pocket Monsters" or trading card games to today's highschool students.

Okouchi: Something like "I tap Zero's card and hereby summon Staff Officer Diethard's card." (laugh)

-----When watching "Code Geass", one gets the feeling that Lelouch's growth as a character has nothing to do with using the Geass or the strength of his mech, but rather the psychological strength he obtains. Even when he's facing "the deaths of many people", he takes it all in.

Okouchi: "Code Geass" has, in a manner of speaking, all the essentials of a stereotypical story about growing up that has been around forever. A young boy who has nothing obtains a power one day, goes up against the world and ultimately surpasses his father. The decision Lelouch made in the end was one he could make because of what he experienced in the preceding 50 episodes. It was because of his psychological growth, and not his physical growth or the development of his abilities.

-----I think many viewers thought there would be a Geass battle with the Emperor at the end.

Okouchi: This was something we discussed in the early stages, but we didn't want to end the show with mysteries or mysterious powers. The final enemy being real world enemies, Schneizel and Nunnally, and not those related to the Geass, the Emperor and Marianne, had to do with our not wanting to have Lelouch conclude his battle in another dimension. [I/we] wanted [the show] to end with a battle between humans, and Lelouch's decision as a human being.

-----In the final episode, the person Lelouch entrusted his "Zero" mask to was his childhood friend Suzaku. The things their relationship had to go through to get to that point... there were some awful things. Episode 17's "The Taste of Dirt" was especially shocking. Lelouch got down on his knees to plead, and Suzaku stepped on his face. The protagonist gets down on his knees! The protagonist gets his face stepped on!!

Okouchi: In the initial script, Lelouch got down on his knees before Suzaku and that was it. Having read that, Mr. Taniguchi said we should go as far as to have [Suzaku] step on his face.

-----.....Hahaha. What sort of conversations do the both of you, Mr. Taniguchi and Mr. Okouchi, have regarding the scripts?

Okouchi: Mr. Taniguchi is someone who allows you relatively more freedom when writing the first drafts. It goes without saying, though, that before that, we've already talked about and decided upon the necessary elements before hand, like having to explain the world in this number of episodes, or making sure the protagonist's objective is understood [by the viewers]. Once I've written the first draft, it works like what your usual anime shows, in which the director, producer(s), people from the TV station and the distributor all get together for a "scenario discussion". In the case of "Code Geass", what's different is the fact that Mr. Yoshida, the sub-series compositionist, Mr. Morita Shigeru of Special Settings, Mr. Murata Kazuya, assistant director, Mr. Teraoka Kenji of Concept Design were part of the meeting too. In the beginning, Mr. Kimura Takahiro was involved as well.

-----That's quite a number of people. Why is that?

Okouchi: [I/We] wanted to make a multi-layered show, so I wanted to hear opinions seen from differing perspectives, such as directing, animation and script. So I assembled all those I trusted, and asked them to speak their mind freely. I had them read the script, and then tell me, without reservation, their doubts, feelings, opinions and desires.

-----And with that..... Lelouch ended up with his face getting stepped on.

Okouchi: That's right (laugh). At that time, everyone, with their grasp of what "Code Geass" is all about, got really pumped up and excited and things accelerated in the direction of the face-stepping. Finally, even Producer Kawaguchi [joined in and] said we ought to make "The Taste of Dirt" the subtitle for this episode.

-----After that, Lelouch and Suzaku got over their conflict and became accomplices working towards a common goal. Lelouch became the Emperor, and Suzaku, as Knight of Zero, became the Emperor's sword.

Okouchi: It's a relationship you can't describe in a word. To simply call it friendship isn't quite right.

-----It was quite the relationship, after all, what with their shooting at each other with guns and getting down on their knees to beg (laugh)

Okouchi: Exactly. And it's not just about their having mutual interests, either. It's impossible to describe it in a word, but it's a very strong bond. Lelouch as a kid, Lelouch in school, Lelouch as Zero -- only Suzaku sees all of it. Kallen, Nunnally, C.C., even -- none of them sees all of [Lelouch]. Playing together, running away, living, killing each other, even the knowledge of their having killed their own fathers. In terms of revealing who they are, only these two are completely naked. This is probably why the two of them were able to team up in the end.

-----Why did you have to push them so far just to get them to team up?

Okouchi: I suppose this is what you call the creator's touch. Not mine, though, mostly Taniguchi's. If I had been the lone creator, this might have become a gentler story. I feel that anime..... group efforts are truly wonderful in the sense that I was able to go places I wouldn't have been able to reach alone. If I only wanted to tell a story there's always the novels option. This is why I'm fascinated by the job that is anime scriptwriter. And the other staff members involved in the script discussions, too -- without them, "Code Geass" would never have become what it is now.

The mystery behind the creation of "Geass Lines"

-----In the previous interview (Continue vol. 33), you, Mr. Okouchi, talked about your being particular when it comes to the dialogue. In R2, there have been many shocking lines as well. For example, there's "I'm going to squeeze out every last usable drop out of you before throwing you out like a tattered rag!".

Okouchi: I didn't write that with any real intention in mind, though. The line came out fairly naturally, there wasn't much thought in it. However, everyone else around me found it very much amusing, while I myself was just in a "Huh?" state of mind. Is it really all that funny?

-----It's a line you don't usually hear, I think. Moreover, I was surprised that tattered rags actually exist in the world of Code Geass.

Okouchi: Lelouch lived in the Kururugi family's storehouse when he was young, so he used a worn-out, tattered rag back then. I'm sure of it (laugh)

-----So, does that mean that the famous quotes in Code Geass weren't actually planned?

Okouchi: No, some lines were calculated, of course. Code Geass was written in the style of an opera, so there was a conscious effort to write over-the-top, theatrical lines. However, I'd call these "Geass lines", rather than "Okouchi lines". I wouldn't be able to write lines like these for other shows. Many of these lines everyone has been kind enough to consider "famous quotes" were lines this show, Code Geass, has given me the opportunity to write.

The bonds obtained at the end of a 5 year journey

-----In the final episode, the lives of the characters after Lelouch's death were shown in the style of an epilogue.

Okouchi: The epilogue, Kallen's monologue and so on were the realization of not only my own "dream" but also that of the rest of the staff members involved [in the project]. When we discussed the script, I asked each of the staff members what they would like to see happen to the characters. When you've been involved in a single project for nearly 2 years, you tend to form attachments and wishes. It goes without saying that we weren't able to fulfill everyone's wishes, but we did try our very best. I thought that would be the best way to end a show that was made possible by way of everyone's efforts.

-----Some unresolved mysteries still remain.

Okouchi: From the very beginning, [I/we] never planned on explaining everything. In fact, if you ask me, I think we might have overdone the explanations. While it's undeniable that Lelouch's story has ended with a full stop, the other characters' stories are still on-going, and it's not like the world [of Code Geass] itself has come to an end either. [I/we] didn't want to end it by closing it up for good.

-----Well then, do you, Mr. Okouchi, have any unfinished work remaining?

Okouchi: Right now, no, I don't.

-----Now that you've finished your work on "Code Geass", which has spanned almost 5 years, what kind of show do you think it's turned out to be, Mr. Okouchi?

Okouchi: Starting with Mr. Taniguchi himself, I think the staff members for Code Geass were a 2-Years-Only Dream Team that can never be assembled again. For example, in the art department, we have CLAMP, Mr. Kimura Takahiro, Ms. Chiba Yuriko, Mr. Nakatani Seiichi, Mr. Yasuda Akira, Mr. Nakada Eiji, Mr. Teraoka Kenji -- usually these people take on whole projects by themselves, and yet we have a number of them here. Mr. Yoshida, the sub-series compositionist, was my junior back in university, which was why I was able to casually ask him for a favour, but under normal circumstances he would be the head series compositionist. I'm thankful to be able to have been part of such an extravagant production.

-----I'll be blunt: Are you thinking of a sequel?

Okouchi: This is a show that's produced great results, so it's certainly true that there have been some suggestions [for a sequel], but for now there are no such plans. As of now (this interview was held September 2008) the final episode still hasn't gone on air yet, so I don't feel like thinking about the future yet. I'd like to think about it once the final episode has aired and I've heard what the fans have to say. I don't intend to deny the commercial side of anime productions, of course, but I'd like to decide only after knowing what the customers think. Which is why for now, I'm eagerly anticipating the airing of the final episode.*

Translation curtesy of Celiss Galvea**

Hope you enjoyed ~

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rayshippouuchiha · 3 years

Note

Yamada: so how did you and izuku start dating

Aizawa: I saw him crush a watermelon with his thighs and I accidentally said out loud “oh god I wish that were me right now” and here we are now

~The way this immediately and completely ate my entire brain~

Of three things Aizawa Shouta is absolutely sure:

One, he simply was not built for operating during the daylight hours. Nighttime really is where it's at in his opinion. The general lack of crowds and eye-searing sunlight just can't be beaten. (Dusk and dawn hours also get a pass but they're both on thin ice.)

Two, the beach is a sandy hell-scape whose only redeeming factor is the convenient access it provides to the eldritch horror that is the ocean aka the place he'll doubtlessly end up drowning himself when he finally, and according to Hizashi inevitably, snaps and runs gibbering mad into the abyss.

And three, he's absolutely and irrevocably cursed. He's being singled out and punished from on high by the gods themselves. His name is writ large across the cosmos in mockery. There is a cosmic "kick me" sign taped to his spiritual back and Shouta's going to hunt his former student Sero down and give him detention for life for encouraging his family's patron god to put it there.

By this point it's really the only logical explanation.

Which, as a card-carrying atheist, he's pretty sure is saying something about the depth of his feelings regarding his current circumstances.

Because there's no other explanation for why or how he's managed to find himself in this current situation.

The situation being, of course, Shouta, in full hero gear, standing in the hot sun on a pristine sandy beach, surrounded by screaming fans as he provides extra security and crowd control for the 20th Annual Heroic Sukiwari Charity Drive.

Shouta has seen hell and it is both Ms. Joke's open mic night and this exact moment right here.

Because, again, he's absolutely 100% cursed.

And the avatar of said curse is, obviously, his soon-to-be ex-best friend who somehow roped him into this entire thing.

Because some people say divine retribution when talking about cosmic revenge plots but Shouta tends to just says Yamada Hizashi. The two are, in many ways, interchangeable.

Shouta's going to put purify salts in all of Hizashi's hair products and also his sugar jar and possibly his energy drinks the next chance he gets.

Because if he never sees another shirtless pro-hero or another watermelon again in his life it'll be too soon.

He's pretty sure he has permanent hearing damage from all of the screaming and screeching the crowd's been doing since this thing started.

And if, after all these years of friendship with the personification of a megaphone, watching a bunch of pro's crush watermelons with nothing but their personal strength on a beach to raise money for various charities is what finally destroys his hearing Shouta is going to shave Hizashi bald before he finally embraces sweet death.

Or enacts Nezu's birthday plans and becomes a supervillain.

The jury's honestly still out at this point.

Shouta does his best to shut out the screaming behind him as one of the cameramen slides up beside him, getting a better angle on the stage as Hizashi, who's currently screeching about Miruko's performance, practically dances across the sand in front of where Shouta's standing.

"Wow, wow, wow," Present Mic chants as he dramatically fans himself, "that was one on heart-stopping, hare-raising show. Let's give it up for everyone's favorite bad, bad, bunny, Miruko!"

For her part, Miruko just struts off the small stage with a nonchalant wave to the crowd, her tiny white bikini in place and the pulverized remains of the half dozen watermelons she'd dropped kicked into soup left behind her.

"But don't lose that rhythm yet listeners," Mic announces gleefully. "Because we've got one more hero set to take the stage! So, without further ado, it's the moment I know a lot of you have been waiting for, myself included if we're being honest. The pièce de résistance of our little shindig, the showstopper himself, the one, the only, the #1 Can Do Hero Dekiru."

The crowd is absolutely deafening.

And, for once, Shouta has to grudgingly admit that he can't actually blame them.

Shirtless, sculpted shoulders and tight abs on display thanks to his low sitting and almost criminally short green swim shorts, and with his trademark bashful smile in place, Dekiru trots out from behind the curtained-off area with a crate of watermelons resting on his shoulder like it's no big deal.

Shouta's pretty sure someone to his immediate right faints but considering they're not currently a trample risk he ignores it.

But the casual show of strength with no quirk use in sight is more than a bit impressive.

For all that people, romance specifically, and attraction in general, have all been things to be considered on a firm case-by-case basis for Shouta, even he has to admit that Dekiru is ... captivating.

Rather drastically so for Shouta considering he's never actually met the man before in person.

Though Shouta does feel like he almost knows him on some level considering the fact that it really would take an act of the actual gods to get Yagi to shut up about his erstwhile protege during staff meetings.

Dekiru waves his free hand at the crowd as he sets his crate of watermelons down on the stage.

"Show us what you've got!" Mic demands from a few feet to Shouta's left. "And let's give him some encouragement listeners!"

The crowd starts up a loud and steady chant of "De~ki~ru!" as the hero pulls his first watermelon out and begins his set.

With an effortless flex of muscles, Dekiru digs his fingers into the watermelon and wrenches it completely in two.

Shouta reaches up to tug at the top of his uniform, relishing the small sip of cool air it grants him.

Shoulders and biceps flexing, another watermelon meets its end between Dekiru's palms.

Shouta really needs to add a water bottle to his utility belt because hydration is important. Or so he's been repeatedly told.

"Those hands, those muscles," Mic groans dramatically. "He really is the Can Do Hero!"

Cheeks noticeably flushed, Dekiru sits down on the stage and fits a watermelon between thick, toned thighs.

His hips twist, those thighs flex, and the watermelon cracks, spilling juice and sweet pink flesh all over Dekiru's lap.

"Oh god," Shouta can't help but say, "I wish that was me right now."

On stage Dekiru's eyes go wide as his attention somehow abruptly zero's in on Shouta.

It's at that moment that Shouta becomes aware of the deafening silence that's fallen over the beach.

Head-turning agonizingly slowly to the left, Shouta's confronted with the sight of Mic, microphone in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

His sunglasses are askew and he's staring at Shouta with a look on his face that's one part horror and one part unholy glee.

As a matter of fact, the entire beach is staring at him in much the same way.

For a moment Shouta just freezes, body going still at having so much attention turned in his direction.

This ... was not the turn he was expecting the day to take by far.

His first instinct is to, honestly, use his scarf to slingshot himself directly into the sun so his soul can be cleansed with cosmic fire.

But then ...

"Ah," Dekiru speaks up from on the stage, one hand ruffling the back of his hair and cheeks darker than before, "maybe we could go on a date first though? If you'd like?"

There's suddenly a part of Shouta that doesn't actually want to delete himself from existence via self-immolation.

And there's an even large part that doesn't want to outright reject Dekiru's seemingly sincere offer.

Because, when it all comes down to it, Dekiru seems to be, by all accounts, what passes for exactly Shouta's type.

Whip-smart if his very public arrest record and tendency to argue online and on the air with people he disagrees with is anything to go by.

Cute, with that dark green hair and sharp undercut, matching wide eyes, and a face sprinkled liberally with freckles.

Leanly built and small enough that Shouta's sure he could move him around easily but obviously muscular enough to be able to put up just the right amount of resistance in the right situation.

And, above all else, if the stories are to be believed, obviously some degree of batshit insane.

More than one story Yagi had told during breaks had Shouta questioning if the man had imported special American demons back to Japan and then stuffed them all into the deceptively charming and approachable-looking hero that is Dekiru.

So there's really only one logical way to proceed forward in this situation.

Shouta grins.

Several people in the crowd around him step back.

He's pretty sure he hears someone start reciting a prayer.

But Dekiru just blushes, eyes locked on Shouta's and teeth tugging at his lower lip.

"Hope you like coffee," Shouta finally says into the breathless silence that's fallen over them, "and cats."

Dekiru lights up, a smile brighter than the sun and twice as deadly blossoming across his face.

Just off of Shouta's side, Hizashi's busy having some kind of hysterical seizure.

Around them the crowd is going absolutely feral.

Yagi's going to birth actual kittens in the middle of the staff room when he finds out about this.

Shouta can't wait.

#RayRambles #BnHA #Suikawari My Heart AU #AiDeku #EraserDeku

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

Walk Me Home

Summary: Jared is hosting a small dinner party and introduces his new co-star to his old one where they seem to hit it off...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Square: Quote B “Tell me what I can do to help”

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, small accident, mention of smut

A/N: Enjoy! Written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

“Hey, sorry I was late,” said a guy ducking in through the front door. You turned your head from where you sat at the counter with Jared, the two of you talking with Gen while they cooked dinner. He smiled when he saw you and you watched the slightly curious look spread across his face. “Hi, I’m Jensen.”

“Y/N,” you said, shaking his hand as he stepped over.

“Oh wow,” he said, looking past you to Jared. You raised an eyebrow and he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m...frazzled right now. You’re gonna be in Walker, right? Jared’s told me a little about you.”

“Yeah. I’ll be playing Kit, Walker’s kid sister,” you said. “Have some bourbon, relax a little.”

“Bourbon? I like her. She can hang out with us,” said Jensen as he walked around the island, getting a glass from the cabinet like he knew where everything was. “Kid sister huh? How many siblings Walker got anyways?”

“Well, I can’t spoil anything but just the two. Not that I’m getting sister of the year award,” you laughed. Gen was smiling as she worked over a pot and Jared excused himself to help her with something. Jensen used some of the orange peel you’d cut up and put it in his drink and took a long sip. “You like it? I can’t cook so I figured I’d bring some booze and dessert.”

“This is good,” he said. “Really good. I want some for myself. Also, did I hear dessert?”

“I made pull apart pumpkin cinnamon bread. It’s like a cinnamon roll but bigger,” you said.

“You and me are gonna get along great,” he chuckled. He moved around the island and stood on the end just to your right, looking you over quickly. “What have you been in? I’ve not heard of you before.”

“Not much. I did one commercial when I was twenty and I was an extra in a TV show about two years after that. I haven’t had my break through yet. Well, until now. This is...this is huge. I’m kind of terrified to be honest.”

“I worked with him for a very long time,” said Jensen, nodding to the far end of the kitchen. “It’s gonna be a good set, good environment. A few people from our old crew are gonna be working on Walker. You’re gonna fit right in no problem.”

“I hope so,” you said. “Jared’s really been great. He even answered all these questions I had about moving down here and areas and stuff when he didn’t have to. He and Gen have been really amazing. I think I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be fine. He must like you,” he said.

“Oh I’m just...single and know zero people here,” you said. “I might get a dog? I think my apartment allows them.”

“Well now you know me too,” he smirked, taking a sip. “Or getting to know at the very least.”

“So what were you doing?” you asked. He cocked his head and you smiled. “Being late and all.”

“Who says I was late?” he said, smiling back. “Just frazzled. Also late but mostly frazzled.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Not your fault. My ex was claiming she left something at my house. I was oh so thrilled to see her and her husband there to pick it up,” he said.

“Oh. She moved on fast, huh?”

“She started to see him before we were quite done. He’s an idiot that thinks she’s amazing and he’s richer than me so she’s happy. That’s all she wanted. Wish I’d figured that out in the first place. Glad we never married though,” he said. He shrugged but he didn’t seem too upset by it. He finished off his drink and poured another. “Where are you staying?”

“I’m renting a house just north of the city in some suburb. Jared said there’s nothing to the east and the south ain’t great and I can’t afford west so, north it was,” you said.

“North’s not bad. Your commute shouldn’t be too bad. You got a driver or you taking yourself?”

“Myself. I’m not the star or anything.”

“It doesn’t have to do with that. You work a late night, call an uber. Hell call me. Better than getting in an accident,” he said. “By second season, you’ll be making enough to afford one.”

“Assuming I get on in the second season,” you said. You quickly shut your lips, Jared chuckling to himself.

“Jensen worked for the same company for a long time. Don’t worry about your non-disclosure agreement with him,” said Jared. “Y/N might get killed off at the end of the season. We’re not sure yet.”

“This may or may not have an impact on our friendship,” you said with a laugh.

“Oh, come on, Jare. Look at that face. You really gonna kill her off?” said Jensen, turning you towards Jared. You saw Jensen pout and put on one of your own.

“I told you getting those two together would be a good thing,” said Gen. Jared rolled his eyes but bit his bottom lip.

“The powers at be haven’t made up their minds yet. I’d personally love it but storyline might get changed which I’m okay with. If fans love you, I’ll get my way,” said Jared. “You guys want to head out to the patio? We’re almost done cooking.”

“We can help,” you said, Jared shaking his head.

“We got it,” he said. You shrugged and followed Jensen out a back door to a covered patio area and took a seat at the table.

“He’s up to something,” chuckled Jensen. “Not sure what yet.”

“They’re just playing good host,” you said.

“Nah, those two are scheming. I can tell,” he teased. He took the seat beside you and leaned back in his chair.

“You check me out a lot,” you said. He quickly looked at his glass and made a small shrugging motion. “You like me?”

“I don’t know. I barely know you,” he said, still averting your gaze.

“I didn’t mean to make you shy. I’m not opposed to you checking me out. I just wasn’t expecting it. I heard you were dating someone,” you said.

“Rumor. Put it out there so people would leave me alone,” he said. “I’m not shy around you either, you know.”

“Alright.”

“At first I am with most people. I mean, I can act like the life of the party and like the coolest guy in the room.”

“Act would be the key word there,” you said, taking a sip from your glass.

“Yeah well, most people put up some kind of front with strangers or people they don’t know that well.”

“Very true. I do it myself,” you said.

“So like I said, I ain’t shy.”

“Like I said, shy boy is attracted to me. When the confident boy that is really a shy boy is interested, laid back girl will become confident flirty girl very quickly if you understand,” you said.

“Are you saying you’re attracted to me?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Considering you’re attracted to me, I don’t see how this is a problem.”

“You are something else,” he said, some of his confidence returning.

“Yes I-” you said, Jared walking out with his phone to his ear. He looked worried and you both put your full attention on him.

“Shep just fell. He and Tom were jumping off the bunk bed and…” said Jared. “Looks like he might have broken his arm.”

“Is he okay?” you asked, Jensen echoing the sentiment.

“Yeah. We just…”

“Tell me what I can do to help,” you said.

“Everybody relax,” said Jensen as he stood up. “You guys take Shep to get taken care of. Y/N and I will watch the other munchkins.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Dinner’s in the pot on the stove. Eat it up. No need to waste it.”

“Text us to let us know how it goes,” you said.

“Sure thing. I owe you guys one,” he said.

“No, you don’t. Go,” said Jensen. You both ducked back inside and five minutes later they were gone. Tom was feeling pretty bad about what happened but Jensen gave him a talk and put him to bed while you packed away some leftovers for Jared and Gen.

“How’s he doing?” you asked, sticking the tupperware in the fridge.

“He’ll be alright. Wasn’t his fault. They were just being kids,” he said. He helped you find the plates and you dished yourself up the rest of the food, eating at the kitchen counter quietly. “That was nice of you, to be so concerned.”

“They’ve been nothing but kind to me. Besides, it’s a kid,” you said. “I don’t mind staying.”

“You don’t have to. They’re both fast asleep. I can stay until they get back.”

“I said I’d stay. I’m gonna stay,” you said. He licked his lips and hummed, cleaning up his plate before you.

“Say you had a point earlier. I’m not saying you did but hypothetically speaking,” he said.

“Go on.”

“Say my frazzledness was because when I saw you, my head sort of short-circuited, hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” you said, finishing with your food.

“Say that happened and say you were good with that, happy about that...where exactly would this go seeing as I hypothetically have never been the hook up guy. Never actually done it but I’m now questioning it for the first time. Hypothetically, what’d your response to that be?”

“Well, if that were the case,” you said as you took your plate and put it in the dishwasher, “I would tell you not to hookup with me simply for the fact that sex for you is very likely part of being in a relationship and something you do when you feel comfortable with a person which I completely respect and understand. I wouldn’t want you to change how you treat sex just for me. Hypothetically.”

“But what if I said I’d never felt that kind of attraction to anyone before, at any stage in a relationship, not to that level. Not that floor you kind of overwhelming sensation.”

“I would tell you the attraction is reciprocated and while I would very much like to see what you are capable of and what we’re capable of doing together, I would tell you that you’re not the hookup guy and you’re not about to start being one. You should continue to have sex with your romantic partners and that’s all. It means more to you. A hookup will leave a sour taste in your mouth and I’d rather we don’t think of each other like that seeing as we’ll likely be spending more time together.”

“It’s not just physical you know. It’s that, it’s that logic and that kindness and compassion.”

“I get it. I would. I really, really would. But I’m breaking your record. I don’t want to be the girl that breaks that record, Jensen.”

“If we dated though, that’s different.”

“I don’t date to get sex.”

“Neither do I.”

“So you want to date?” you asked. He leaned back against the counter and smiled to himself. “It’s an easy question.”

“I wanted to date you the second I saw you but that comes off as a little strong,” he said.

“I personally believe it’s important that people click when it comes to dating and relationships,” you said.

“So is there a click?” he asked. You walked in front of him and smiled, bringing your lips just an inch away from his.

“There’s a click but there’s got to be something else,” you said, Jensen’s lips parting. “After my last failed relationship and it sounds like yours too, it’s important.”

“What’s that?” he asked quietly, not moving an inch.

“I want to be friends with my next boyfriend, someday when I find whoever I’m gonna be with. It’s always miserable when you’re not friends,” you said.

“Who says you didn’t just meet your best friend for the rest of your life tonight,” he said.

“Now that’s a strong statement,” you said.

“It is. I don’t like the sentiment though that there’s gonna be a somebody else after me. I’m not filling time with this,” he said.

“Neither am I,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He leaned in a hair closer and his lips tugged up into a grin. “I’m going to heat up that pumpkin roll you brought and then play video games while not kissing you. I’d be very happy if you joined in.”

“Tease,” you said. You took a step back and went to the container you brought. “Can you preheat the oven for me?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “It looks amazing.”

“It’s not the only thing,” you said, flashing him a wink.

“I see how it’s gonna go.”

“You started it,” you said.

“Yes, yes I did. Now how high do you need it?”

Four Hours Later

“Thanks again guys,” said Jared as you and Jensen stepped outside.

“It was no problem. We saved dinner and dessert for you guys in the fridge,” said Jensen.

“I’ll make something for Shep and drop it by. He like chocolate?” you asked.

“Yeah, he loves it. You really don’t have-”

“Jared, like Jensen said, it’s all good. We’ll see you,” you said.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Tell me when you two get together.”

“Already late on that one,” said Jensen with a smirk. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“You better. Night guys. And take her home like a gentleman,” said Jared.

“Yeah, yeah. Night,” said Jensen. Jared locked up and you wandered over to your car, Jensen smiling as he stood by his truck. “So I guess this is good night.”

“It could be a good night,” you said as you started to yawn. “Maybe tomorrow though.”

“Tomorrow maybe,” he smirked. “Text me when you get home.”

“Why?”

“Cause I worry about my friends,” he said. “Please?”

“Alright. So...tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Maybe I can cook you dinner. Bring a bathing suit, we could go for a dip in the pool maybe.”

“Maybe,” you smirked back. “I’ll see you tomorrow Jensen.”

“You too. Oh and Y/N? Might want to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I got a feeling you’re gonna be up late tomorrow night,” he said, winking at you.

“Oh really? We’ll have to see how a good a cook you are first.”

“I guess we will. Drive safe, Y/N,” he said, voice soft and sweet.

“You too, Jensen. You too.”

_______

#spn #tell me a story bingo #supernatural #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #rpf #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #au #jensen ackles x reader #one shot

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shihalyfie · 3 years

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A guide to the 02 kids’ personalities and overall demeanors

I’ve already covered the deeper details of each 02 kid’s character arc and development throughout the series, but I figured I might dedicate a more specific post about the complexities of their outer personalities, and their behavior patterns on a day-to-day basis. 02 is the kind of series that doesn’t really spell out what the characters tend to do or don’t tend to do, or what boundaries they will and won’t cross, which means it can be a bit of a challenging task to track their behavior over fifty episodes and figure out the patterns. Fortunately, these characters are written remarkably consistently over said episodes, so we have a lot to work with!

Disclaimer before we continue: In general, all of my 02-based meta is specifically written for the Japanese version in mind, but this especially applies to this one, because the majority of the nuances of the demeanor and personality traits described below were not retained in the American English dub at all (please see this post for more detail). As a result, please understand that if you’re working from the perspective of having only seen that dub, and the contents of the below post sound completely different, that would be why.

Daisuke and V-mon

Believe it or not, I would say that Daisuke is actually the most difficult to nail the nuances of out of this entire cast. This is probably a really weird thing to hear when the usual fandom mantra is that he’s “flat” or “lacking in development”, but I think the deceptive part is that while he’s simple-minded and himself doesn’t think in complex terms, analyzing his behavior as a whole and how he approaches things actually involves a lot of very delicate balances, and getting that exactly right can be very easy to mess up. Daisuke’s not a rude jerk who looks down on anyone, not in the slightest -- but he’s also not a saint who can do no wrong, either!

I think the easiest analogy (which I’ve brought up several times on this blog already) is that Daisuke is like a puppy, but not just any puppy -- a tiny puppy that barks very loudly at anything it perceives as threatening (regardless of whether it’s actually threatening), makes its feelings very clear with obvious likes and dislikes, and can do some phenomenally stupid things in a bid to please others, but in the end means no malice and only wants you to be happy.

This is to the point where I’m just going to have to bullet-point this, because there’s so much going on at once:

Excessively emotional: One of Daisuke’s earliest profiles refers to him as having “an excessively large range of human emotions”, and really, a lot of the humor surrounding him has to do with the fact he has incredibly dramatic, overblown reactions to nearly everything around him. So if he gets a little annoyed or suspicious of people making fun of him, he tends to get really dramatic about being upset, and when he experiences only a minor setback, he acts like it’s the end of the world, and when he’s emotionally hurt, he sometimes even gets set on the verge of crying (you can especially hear this in Kiuchi Reiko’s delivery). Even Daisuke himself doesn’t tend to get caught up in it for too long and gets over things surprisingly quickly, so you can take it as him just constantly being too wrapped up in the mood -- but when it really is a serious situation, he gets truly emotionally invested in it, too.

Too easy to read: Because Daisuke wears his heart on his sleeve and is dramatic about everything, he’s awful at hiding anything. Any attempt at trickery or trying to disguise his intentions quickly blows up in his face because he’s too simple-minded and too transparent.

Not malicious: Daisuke only ever lashes out or gets angry at others when he thinks others are doing something he disapproves of, or when he thinks he’s being attacked; he’s very warm and kind to everyone otherwise (even in the earliest parts of the series, when he’s at his roughest, you might notice he’s very soft around Chibimon, as if understanding that his partner is now in a very small and delicate form and needs to be treated accordingly). In other words, Daisuke is very quick to get defensive, but he has no malice or reason to be condescending towards anyone otherwise, and he’s perfectly friendly with people even when they’d provoked him earlier (because he doesn’t really hold grudges). He doesn’t attack people without reason; even when he voices dissent against what someone is doing, he very rarely, if ever, insults a person or their character directly. Even when he’s trying to state his opinions (such as when he bids for the others to accept Ken), he never forces them down others’ throats and accepts that they disagree with him, even if he’s clearly not happy with their disagreement.

Easily critical and suspicious: Daisuke is a very bluntly straightforward and honest person, and he seems to get most set off by people who act suspicious; note how his early-series outbursts towards Takeru tend to be when Takeru’s acting evasive, and in Hurricane Touchdown, he catches onto Wallace’s shady behavior even before he starts flirting with Miyako (Daisuke’s own method of trying to seem attractive to others involves just “doing something cool and hoping it’ll impress others”, so he seems to dislike the concept of flirting as a whole). Because of that, he catches easily onto “things looking off”, so he tends to call it out (even if sometimes he’s overdoing it and there isn’t actually anything significant to be upset about).

Supportive and adoring of others: Other than the moments when he gets set off, fundamentally speaking, Daisuke likes other people, is perfectly willing to acknowledge them or heap praise on them when they do something awesome, and generally cares for their well-being. He’s easily defers to others when he understands they’re better than him at something, and he even has a decently realistic scope of his limits (see how he’s perfectly aware he’s likely to lose the soccer game in 02 episode 8, and figures he might as well enjoy the experience). This is even taken to its logical conclusion in the Kizuna drama CD when he “credits” his friends for giving him amazing and insightful advice when all of it was actually pretty ordinary stuff they’d done offhandedly. It also means that, given his penchant for getting emotionally invested in everything, he has a huge emotional stake in making sure his friends are doing okay, and supports them accordingly.

Deferential to seniors/elders: Tying into the above, you may notice that Daisuke takes a properly respectful and soft tone towards his elders and seniors in nearly all occasions, even to the point of occasionally using proper polite-form language around them. All things considered, Daisuke is a pretty well-behaved kid.

Constantly getting strung around: As much as Daisuke looks like he’s aggressive, in actuality, it’s very easy to get him to back down if you argue against him strongly enough, and since he has such a “the heck is that?!” attitude all of the time, you can see him constantly getting strung around and at the mercy of things happening around him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have enough will to put his foot down when it becomes a really important subject (especially in the second half of the series), but it’s very often when he’ll be talked down by others around him and shrink with an “oh...okay...” In fact, this is why a lot of his actions aren’t nearly as reckless as they might be otherwise; as much as he’s a bit hot-headed and likes to lead the attack, he also has a sense of self-preservation and intimidation when things look a bit too dangerous, and will only push forward in such a case when there’s something he really believes in at the other side of it.

Lacking in self-awareness and insecure as a result: While Daisuke doesn’t have any signs of persistent self-hatred (on the contrary, there are times he arguably comes off as overconfident), it also seems that he has practically zero awareness of how he himself is doing -- which means that he ends up rolling over like an idiot trying to get others’ approval and trying to impress them, even when it’d be clear to anyone else that he already has that approval. This also likely ties into the fact that he’s perfectly capable of acknowledging others’ accomplishments and skills (see above), so you might even think that the problem isn’t so much that he thinks he’s bad as much as he keeps comparing himself to people he perceives as being that much more awesome. (Perhaps symbolic of this, he apparently has a complex over being shorter than Takeru and Ken, despite the fact that he seems to be of perfectly average height for a kid his age.) It seems that his only bar for how he’s doing is dependent on everyone’s reactions around him, hence why his ridiculous antics are significantly less pronounced when he has proper emotional support and friends to keep him in check. It’s also important to consider that this applies to his apparent crush on Hikari as well; his crush mainly manifests in wanting her approval very badly, and it’s mostly visible in terms of him losing a ton of brain cells in her presence and bending over backwards to please her or impress her. He never actually says in words that he’s interested in her, nor does he ever show signs of intending to seriously ask her out, so it’s something that’s only apparent because of this behavior, and it’s very likely he hasn’t even seriously thought through what would happen if she actually accepted him in return. You can basically see this as an extreme version of the way Daisuke tries to get approval from everyone else, and this trait of his noticeably dies down whenever there’s more important things at hand, or when he seems to be in the midst of getting proper validation from those around him.

Simple-minded and pragmatic: What’s usually referred to as Daisuke being an “idiot” comes from the fact he doesn’t play well with complex thinking, tends to settle for very simple explanations or answers, and more thoughtful types like Ken or Iori will often have to fill that part in for him. However, because Daisuke is so simple-minded, he’s sometimes the most pragmatic person in the group, because he doesn’t overthink things or get principles of theory caught up into everything. So if Ken is clearly not showing any indication of doing bad things anymore and is actively working to help, Daisuke believes he should be allowed to help regardless of what he’d done in the past, and if they’re dealing with the situation of potentially having to kill a living enemy, Daisuke points out that hesitation would have resulted in even more casualties. In essence, in a situation where everyone’s running mental loop-de-loops, Daisuke will usually be the first one to snap them all out of it and go “uh? Guys?” Moreover, this trait of his makes him very good at spotting glaring threads or asking questions about the elephant in the room, because since he works best with things that are right in front of him, he can’t not notice it.

Enjoys the little things: Because Daisuke is so simple-minded, it’s very easy to please him (this is why his chosen career path is something as simple as ramen making). Daisuke likes his friends, and appreciates even simple things around him, so he’s happy with even simple pieces of happiness -- hence, why he’s fine with potentially losing the soccer game in 02 episode 8, because he’s ready to simply just savor the experience of getting to play against a respectable and formidable opponent.

Note that the main reason Daisuke never seems to bring up any of these issues with himself within the series proper is simply that he doesn’t seem to be aware of them -- he’s too simple-minded to understand what’s going on with his own behavior in depth, and hence, this is how he can say he’s not worried about too much by the time of 02′s finale, especially since by that point he has a proper support group that’s already helping him deal with most of his issues anyway.

Daisuke also has the roughest speech pattern out of any of the 02 group (similar to Taichi and Yamato in Adventure); he has a tendency to shorten words a lot and use “rough” variants of words (for example “-nee” instead of “-nai”).

Mischievous, friendly, and playful, V-mon is pointed out even by official sources to be much like his partner (far more so than usual), and it’s likely a byproduct of the fact that Daisuke himself is very honest and straightforward about his emotions and thoughts, and so since he has nothing to hide, V-mon is pretty much exactly like him -- with the major difference being that he’s a little more outwardly friendly and less likely to lash out angrily. So he’s effectively Daisuke without that very thin abrasive exterior, and because both of them are so like-minded and friendly, they get along extremely well (albeit with quite a bit of comfortable bantering on the way there).

Ken and Wormmon

Ken is the more intellectual type that Daisuke isn’t, and even after his stint as the Kaiser, it’s clear that he’s still quite studious and naturally interested in studying things. Looking closely at his style of dress and way of carrying himself (note how he lays down his chopsticks in 02 episode 36) indicates he’s also a rather tidy person in general. Being someone who’s capable of thinking things thoroughly, this makes him able to have a lot of deep insight into both intellectual and emotional issues, but because he takes things too seriously sometimes, he can sometimes come off as a bit overly stickler or insistent (note Daisuke and Ken’s Shopping Carol, where he subjects Daisuke to a long-winded lecture about the history of Christmas, because, really, he’s a nerd), or lead himself down the wrong direction when he’s having a hard time being straightforward (such as when he comes up with some very flimsy theories about why Jogress might be dangerous in 02 episode 28).

In fact, Ken’s disposition could be considered to be the opposite of Daisuke’s in many ways; while Ken is much softer and more conciliatory on the surface, he’s actually much more assertive and strong-willed by default, and it’s made clear that, even after his reformation from the Kaiser persona, he could still be vicious if he wanted to, he just doesn’t enjoy it because he doesn’t like it and it goes against his belief system (note that he even offered to "dirty his own hands" in lieu of the other kids if push came to shove and Archnemon had to be killed in 02 episode 29, even though he clearly wasn't enthusiastic about the idea). In fact, he has a very strong sense of responsibility and believes heavily in making up for what he’s done -- recall that 02 episodes 26 and 49 involved snapping him out of it by reminding him that there were things that needed to be done, and that he himself still had many things he wanted to do that wouldn’t be addressed if he’d stayed fixated on his past. Thus, Ken doesn’t deny nor avoid anything he’d done, and he isn’t even all that prone to self-pity -- it’s just that his tendency to put too much responsibility on himself means that he also takes a while to accept everyone’s support, too, because he doesn’t like the idea of putting burdens on others.

Because Ken is actually one of the more straightforward people in this group and a fairly honest person (at least, as long as he’s not lying to himself), he might hold himself back a little bit in order to not be rude, but he doesn’t do it nearly to the same degree Takeru or Hikari would and is much more willing to speak his mind when he has an opinion he wants to voice or needs to sort out his thoughts on something. Conversely, he’s not nearly as cold as Iori can get when criticizing things (he’ll certainly be firm, but not as incisive). Most post-02 materials also indicate that he’s not above being a tease or even a little mischievous (see Armor Evolution to the Unknown, Diablomon Strikes Back, Daisuke and Ken’s Shopping Carol).

Ken uses a speech pattern that’s slightly more casual than Takeru’s, but not nearly as rough as Daisuke’s. While anime will often have speech patterns substantially change between different personas of a character, other than Park Romi’s delivery of a more condescending tone for the Kaiser and a significantly softer one for Ken, nothing about his speech pattern is substantially different between the two personas (not even the first-person pronoun), indicating that, in the end, they’re really the same person after all, just manifesting the same personality traits in different ways.

Wormmon is affectionate and clingy, unfailingly loyal to Ken, and his biggest advocate during a time when Ken is trying to relearn how to love and accept himself -- meaning that he ends up very important to providing Ken the initial support he needed before Ken allowed other friends into his life. Wormmon isn’t all nothing but clinginess, though -- he has some insight about the weight of his experiences when prompted (02 episode 46), and in fact is more than capable of calling out Ken’s behavior when he’s being unreasonable or throwing himself into denial (see 02 episodes 27, 30, and 49).

Miyako and Hawkmon

Miyako approaches everything she likes with an attitude that makes her come off as constantly having bubbles and hearts around her. When she likes something, she says so. When she doesn’t like something, she says so (and she will go off when she’s on a roll; see 02 episode 14). In fact, part of the reason she so infamously voices her opinion on people being cute is, quite simply, that it’s her honest opinion. (Note that she never actually tries to ask them out or anything -- she just wants to make it very clear that they’re attractive.)

For the most part, she adores the people around her, and, like the others in the 02 group, she’s perfectly respectful towards elders. She also loves poking her nose in others’ business and trying to be as helpful as possible, which is good in that she ends up being a huge help to others, but also not good in that sometimes she overdoes it a bit (when Hikari calls her out for being a “handful” in 02 episode 31, the word she uses is one that literally means "a little too overly involved in others' business").

Miyako is the one who gets everyone up in high spirits by being cheerful, and whose cheer rubs off on everyone else around her (see her cheerfully leading the charge into the Digital World with her “Digital Gate, open! Chosen Children, let’s roll!” catchphrase). This is something the rest of the group catches onto very quickly, asking her to supply the “usual cheer”, and the later episodes of the series especially drive home the fact that her presence and antics bring happiness to those around her.

Miyako has a similar “chaotic, sloppy, and straightforward” demeanor to Daisuke, but there are some key differences. Unlike Daisuke, who’s bluntly honest about his opinions mainly because he doesn’t really hide things in general, Miyako’s opinions will be out of her mouth before she can control it. In other words, she has a nasty case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. In addition, while Daisuke tends to have a very thin skin and lashes out defensively out of instinct, Miyako takes things much more at face value and doesn’t blow a fuse nearly as easily, but because she’s significantly more assertive and aggressive, she’s much more prone to doing what she wants on her own whims instead of backing down to anyone. In fact, Miyako is significantly more emotionally sensitive in the long run, so while Daisuke tends to blow a fuse more easily, he’s also able to shrug it off and move on more quickly, whereas Miyako has a thicker skin, but when she does take emotional pain, she takes it much more deeply and harshly. She also tends to get overwhelmed easily by stress and panic, which makes her one of the more prone to running around in circles and doing frantic things in the midst of it.

One thing you might notice about Miyako is that she’s actually more critical of herself than anyone else in the group is; most of the time they act with mild exasperation at her antics but don’t tend to criticize her directly, whereas Miyako is very aware of her own shortcomings and is constantly either criticizing herself or comparing herself negatively to others (see: 02 episodes 10, 14, 18, and 31 especially). If she slips up and does something that stepped on someone else’s toes, it doesn’t take her long to realize that she’s messed up and want to do better. So while she generally tends to act the most in-your-face and aggressive, she also doesn’t necessarily want to be this way, and suffers from self-confidence issues and a poor opinion of herself.

Miyako uses a feminine speech pattern that’s a bit more casual than Hikari’s (she noticeably is willing to use the word anta for “you”, which has a bit of a connotation of being abrupt and in-your-face, especially with Daisuke). She’s also the most likely to physically manhandle things, both in the affectionate (hugging people) and aggressive (grabbing things and jumping on them in order to attack) senses.

Hawkmon is repeatedly referred to as being like Miyako’s “knight”, since he has absolute loyalty to her (in spite of her ridiculous antics often meaning he gets strung around by her) and is effectively in charge of minding her so she doesn’t get too out of control. While his overly polite and gentlemanly demeanor initially seems like a sharp contrast to Miyako’s aggressive and messy personality, you might also notice that, at their cores, the two aren’t all that different -- both are unfailingly loyal to others, and both also have a penchant for dramatic theatrics and being a bit overly proud of themselves.

Iori and Armadimon

The key thing to know about Iori is that he’s not stoic because he’s not feeling fervent emotions, but rather because he’s constantly holding them back (this is especially apparent if you look carefully at his facial expressions and Urawa Megumi’s delivery, where you can tell his facade is often “slipping” even when his words would indicate otherwise). Since Iori is trying to live by the ideal of being a model citizen, especially under the very formal environment he was raised in, he comes off as mature for his age, but it’s very important to not forget that, underneath all that, he’s still an impressionable nine-year-old child with the wide range of emotions and immaturity of one, and when he does emotionally fall apart, everything tends to burst out (see 02 episodes 16, 44, 47, 50). In addition, Iori is never condescending about the fact he usually acts more mature than the others; the impression is that he’s much more strict with himself than he is with others, and in fact still does look up to his elders in the 02 group even when they’re obviously a lot messier than he is.

The “need to be a model citizen” is something looming over Iori’s head at almost every moment, and it’s the easiest way to understand the way he acts in a nutshell. Iori is focused on the idea of “becoming a proper adult”, which means that he’s adhering to all of these principles because he feels they’re necessary to live a proper and honest life as per the formal manners that his family background trained him into. But like a young child who insists “you have to do this because those are the rules!” all of the time, Iori is over-applying all of this, and even his own grandfather advises him that he really needs to chill (02 episodes 5, 24). In short, he struggles with thinking flexibly and understanding that life isn’t all that clear-cut, because he’s a young child. Since he also tends to bring out these things in relation to “what my father would do/say”, it’s implied that he’s basing all of this off of having only hearsay to work off of in regards to what his father was actually like, to the point of aspiring to an impossible, saintlike version of him he’d created in his head.

Note that Iori’s “rules” have less to do with institutional rules (that would be more of a Jou thing) and more to do with self-imposed personal rules; for instance, he doesn’t mind sneaking into school during a holiday when it’s obviously not hurting anyone (02 episode 6), but he struggles with things like wasting food (02 episode 3) or not formally introducing himself to an elder (02 episode 5). So in other words, his adherence to principles has heavily to do with “the right and proper way to live” more than anything, and what he believes is the right thing to do in a given situation.

Iori’s journey in 02 is largely fueled by the fact that, as an inheritor of sorts of the Crest of Knowledge, he has a sense of “I want to know and understand more” whenever he sees something that makes him curious, but unlike Koushirou’s desire to learn more about the world around him in terms of its technical workings, Iori mainly wants to know more about people. The reason he begins to let go of his inflexible mindset is that he has the humility to understand that he still has a lot more to learn and understand, and when he sees behavior from others that doesn’t make sense, he does his best to learn more about it -- hence how his aggressive probing into learning more about Takeru allows them to reach an understanding and eventual Jogress, and how he’s able to eventually reassess his own view of human morality and emotions.

Iori sticks out in that he almost always uses the formal variant of Japanese in most situations (nobody else in the 02 group does this). However, formal in this situation doesn’t necessarily mean polite; Iori doesn’t believe in flattery and will bluntly state his opinion in said formal tone, and will be very cold towards something he sufficiently disapproves of or doesn’t have any respect for, which can make him even come off as passive-aggressive at times. (Noticeably, while he still asserts his own opinion, he does refrain from criticizing the others in the 02 group too much, presumably because he respects and looks up to them a lot as his elders, regardless of how chaotic they can sometimes get.) In addition, because a lot of his demeanor comes from him restraining himself, when his emotions are sufficiently pushed over the edge, he loses grip on the polite form and starts “lapsing” back into the casual one.

Because Iori was so young during 02, and because the events of its story ended up really upending his view of the world, the huge eight-year gap between 02 and Kizuna makes it difficult to predict certain things about his demeanor at the time of Kizuna (especially since his own voice actor commented on the difficulty of conveying the nuances of Iori’s character, thanks to only being able to work with the limited time frame of a movie that doesn’t put him in the kinds of emotionally drastic situations that push him to his limit). That said, everything we’ve seen of him in the movie itself and the drama CD makes reasonable sense; now that he’s much older, he comes off as having much better restraint on his emotions and coming off as genuinely calm, but he’s still not one for flattery, and you can still see very minor slips in his facade every so often.

Armadimon also initially seems like a sharp contrast to Iori in terms of demeanor, in that he’s much more casual and laid-back, and he’s indeed a huge factor in reminding Iori to chill once in a while -- but, much like Iori, he prods and asks questions about anything he’s curious about. This initially seems to be out of simple-mindedness because, being a Digimon, he doesn’t understand human society that well, but his very basic questions often end up snapping Iori back to reality in realizing that he’s getting hung up on things that don’t actually make practical sense. Urawa also felt that Armadimon fills in some of the void that Iori’s late father left behind, in that he provides Iori with unconditional love and helps guide him.

Takeru and Patamon

Takeru is the kind of person who seems to dislike major disruptions to the status quo, so he doesn’t say anything inflammatory that’ll rock the boat. It’s very difficult to get him to talk about serious topics related to his deeper personal feelings (02 episode 17, 35, Spring 2003), and even when it’s clear he might have more misgivings on the situation, unless it’s an urgent situation where it needs to be brought up, he won’t voice his misgivings too clearly for the sake of not causing trouble (hence why Daisuke is so unsure what to make of him in the early episodes of the series, because Takeru constantly fails to clarify his own position in favor of a “good for you” or “sure, you keep believing that if you want” attitude). This also makes him the most likely to awkwardly change the subject or try to distract with small talk, and it means that, even when he’s saying cheerful, pleasant things, it’s very likely there’s pain or uncertainty under that initial facade. (Note that while his suspicions of Ken during 02 episodes 25 and 27 aren't nearly as vicious as Iori's turn out to be, we learn that he's still willing to quietly accuse Ken of working for his own self-satisfaction in the latter episode, but he never brings this up to anyone but himself.)

Because Takeru isn’t necessarily doing this to be consciously dishonest, it does mean that he also has positive applications of this tendency to take everything in stride and keep the peace, because he ends up keeping the more extreme personalities in the rest of the group in line and acts as an effective mediator. You could say that he has a pretty high amount of tolerance and a capacity for taking everyone’s points of view in mind. However, since it’s also very difficult to tell what he himself is thinking, his use of this as a poor coping mechanism for his personal trauma leads to a tendency for him to suddenly explode in a mess of emotions whenever something gets too personal, leading to sudden conflict, and with others at a loss in terms of how to deal with him (the most extreme example being 02 episode 19, but also present in 13, 11, and 34). This “two-sidedness” is why it ends up having to be the more consciously methodical Iori who steps up to try and understand him better as his Jogress partner.

Fortunately, Takeru shows signs of becoming more straightforward in the aftermath, although you can see that he still has a penchant for mild flattery and “trying to hold back for the sake of not being rude” all the way up to Kizuna (but, again, this can’t be said to necessarily be a bad thing when it means he has a valuable skill as a mediator).

Takeru has a fairly neutral speech pattern that comes off as casual but not too aggressive or assertive (not as absurdly polite as Iori’s, but slightly less assertive than Ken’s).

Patamon initially still seems to be “immature” in the same way he was in Adventure, which initially seems to widen the gap in personality between him and Takeru, but looking closer reveals that the differences aren’t as big as they seem; Patamon seems to have gained a capability for slyness and active trolling behind his playfulness (see 02 episode 7), not entirely like Takeru starting to use his evasiveness in a teasing-like manner. Moreover, Patamon does actually seem to have gained a bit of proper maturity in the meantime; see how he instructs the Baby Digimon on convenience store food in 02 episode 3, and in general seems much more willing to take independent action in ways he didn’t always in Adventure. Noticeably, Takeru’s difficulty with his own convoluted feelings means that he can’t even have a proper heart-to-heart with him about it on the situation (most glaring in 02 episode 34, where it’s implied that Takeru would rather leave Patamon to be happy right now instead of bothering him about it), especially because he’s clearly having difficulty even working it out with himself. However, despite their ostensible differences in mentality, Takeru and Patamon have no difficulty getting along at all in 02, and, other than Takeru pampering Patamon a bit, there isn’t all that strong of an impression of them being so mismatched -- perhaps because, in the end, they really aren’t all that different.

Hikari and Tailmon

Taichi stated in Adventure episode 48 that Hikari has a problem where she's so selfless and thinking of others that she'll never speak up about her own problems. Hikari states in 02 episode 31 that she compulsively cannot speak out about her own feelings even if she wanted to, to the point she’s jealous of Miyako for being able to be more open (even if it means being overkill at times). As a result: if Hikari’s talking about “the right thing to do”, or something for everyone’s sake, or something that’s relevant to other people and what’s best for them, she will be extremely vocal and quick to act, and she’s not above even chipping in with criticisms (see: 02 episodes 19, 32, 44). In fact, she’s fully capable of being playful or toying with others if she really wants to (see how she casually manipulates Daisuke into calling a lunch break for everyone in 02 episode 6).

The moment the issue at hand is about herself, though -- her own feelings or pain, or something that might hurt others’ feelings (hence the presumable reason she dodges Daisuke’s affections rather than proactively doing anything about it), or something that would put a burden on others for her own sake -- she completely clams up and refuses to do or say anything, and when bad things start happening to her, she resigns herself to her own fate and concludes she can’t do anything about it. Hence, why she takes such a defeatist attitude towards the Dark Ocean swallowing her up in 02 episodes 13 and 31, and why it’s such a big deal if she even so much as asks for help. 02 episode 31 indicates that Miyako reaching out to her is an important step in breaking her out of her shell, and the Kizuna drama CD -- which has Hikari assertively declare something she personally wants -- heavily implies further that Miyako was instrumental to this becoming possible.

Hikari is compassionate for others to the very end, expresses pity for BlackWarGreymon as early as 02 episode 31, and catches on quickly to Ken’s feelings on himself in 02 episode 37 (and even back when she’d been more skeptical about him in 02 episode 25, she never seemed to have real personal distaste against him as much as she still wanted to make sure he was trustworthy first). But although she’s one of the most compassionate in the group, she’s also one of the most assertive in the group. This leads to something that initially seems like a paradox: she’s actually more fervent about the need to fight than the more aggressive Miyako is. Miyako is, ultimately, emotionally caught up in everything and briefly falls apart at having killed LadyDevimon in 02 episode 44 (even despite knowing how horrible of a person she’d been), but Hikari is the one who points out that there would have been more victims if they hadn’t. 02 episodes 25 and 43 had made it abundantly clear that Hikari didn’t like it at all, but she states in 02 episode 37 repeatedly that they need to prevent there from being victims -- meaning that she values the importance of protecting all lives, including those who would be hurt in the process, and thus has some of the more resilient guts when it comes to the prospect of fighting to save others. Again, her hesitation only comes into play at its worst when it has to do with herself; working to save others is a no-brainer.

Hikari uses a casual feminine speech pattern that’s less in-your-face than Miyako’s, but she’s still a bit more casual than she was in Adventure, when she used the more polite watashi instead of atashi. Interestingly, Tailmon herself seems to have mirrored this as well, presumably because now that she’s had more time to recover from her miserable life under Vamdemon, she’s able to enjoy her life a bit more freely. This means that, while Tailmon is still the most mature and put-together of the Digimon partners in the 02 group, she sometimes acts a little more casual and playful in a similar way to Hikari, and while she has a certain degree of stuffy personal pride (see how she wasn’t very amused at how frivolously the other Digimon were playing around in 02 episode 3), she’s still open to enjoying herself a little more freely. Hikari, for her part, becomes surprisingly like-minded with her during those times -- see them in 02 episode 12 -- and, as stated earlier, it’s not like Hikari isn’t up for making tough decisions when they’re needed, either.

#digimon #digimon adventure 02 #digimon adventure last evolution kizuna #shihameta

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jediken0bi · 3 years

Text

Embrace

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary:

Ever since Spencer came back from Prison there's been a certain distance between him and Reader. It seems that this is going to be make or break for them. Are they willing to work through their issues or will their insecurities get the best of them?

word count: 2203

You would be lying if you said that everything stayed the same after Spencer got back from Prison. Actually, it's more than fair to say that there are times where you're scared there's not much left of the Spencer you once knew.

You didn't love him any less because of it but it is hard on you from time to time.

You guys would come back from a case and instead of cuddling up to you, he'd opt to either go to sleep immediately or shut you out completely to the point where you couldn't help but wonder if maybe Spencer was the one who was starting to lose feelings for you.

The thought alone scares you like nothing on the job ever could. These last couple of months have brought a lot of uncertainty with them but the one thing you never had to question was your commitment to Spencer. You are confident he's the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.

And before he went to Prison, you were confident he had felt the same.

Spencer can get a bit weird about people touching him. He didn't necessarily engage in a lot of activities that require touching one another before Mexico either but at least back then he had made an exception for you.

Contrary to what his friends and coworkers may think, Spencer was always incredibly affectionate with you whenever he had the chance.

He used to hug you tight every time you guys had come back from a case in order to assure himself you're both home and safe.

He always left little butterfly kisses on your nose, neck and forehead whenever he got close enough.

He would even hold your hand.

And you loved it. God, you loved it so much. The fact that Spencer reserved these soft touches for you only made you feel so incredibly special.

Which is why you felt so hurt once the touches stopped.

You understand that he went through a lot but you thought that this would bring you guys closer than ever. Instead you've never felt further apart from one another.

It's been almost a month and apart from the short hug when we got out and the occasional kiss goodnight Spencer hasn't touched you at all.

Enough is enough. If he wanted to break up with you then he would have to do it tonight. You love him more than he knows but you miss your boyfriend.

Right now, you're living with the shell of a man who once loved you.

You let out a big sigh as you got up from your spot on the couch and made your way to your shared bedroom.

You're wearing one of Spencers old CalTech hoodies. It hangs off your shoulders loosely as you try to open the bedroom door with your sweater paw. It might've looked ridiculous but it made you feel closer to Spencer. Almost like a hug from him. You missed those.

With wobbling knees you open the door and make your way to your boyfriend who's currently in the process of undressing.

It's been a long day and you can tell he's planning on going to sleep in order to avoid you again.

The realization breaks your heart.

"Spencer?" you ask in a small voice. You put one of your hands on his bare back and he almost flinches. You gulp lightly and tears are starting to form in your eyes.

He turns around to look at you and right as he opens his mouth to make up some excuse why right now isn't a good time, he notices your body language.

You look so tiny in his oversized hoodie and he almost smiles at the sight. But then he notices your tired eyes that are filled with unshed tears and the slouching in your posture which indicates you don't want to do whatever you're going to do next.

That look scares him. He's never seen that look before but he's got an unsettling feeling about it.

"Y/N, what's wrong baby?" He almost whispers. He cups your face in his hands and carefully turns it to either side to inspect if you got injured on this case after all. Had he missed it? He couldn't have. He kept such a close eye on you.

You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. This is the most affection he's shown you all month and it almost makes you want to skip out on the following conversation. Part of you wants to be convinced that things will get better on their own account but that's naive thinking and you know better than to 'trust the process' in this case.

You put your hands over his and shut your eyes in order to avoid tears spilling over. You can't help but lean into his touch further.

You had it all planned out. You knew exactly what you were going to say. All that flew out of the window when you opened your mouth.

"Spencer if you don't love me anymore then please say so, so i can start imagining my life without you. Because right now that seems impossible and i can't be left behind by you out of the blue once you decide it's time"

Shit. Well that's not how you wanted to word it originally but the message behind it is the same.

It seems like it takes Spencer a total of maybe 10 full seconds to shake himself out of the shock of what just happened.

What, did he think you were just going to wait until he's made up his mind?

A small voice inside your head is yelling at you to stop making assumptions but you're so scared and so afraid of what he's going to say next that focusing on anger seems like the better option.

Your boyfriend withdrawals his hands from your face and you clench your eyes shut. This was it. He is going to leave you and you're going to have to figure out how to deal with it.

Tears are starting to involuntarily roll down your face and before you can even make the attempt to wipe them away Spencer is already crushing you in big hug.

You're too overwhelmed to understand what's happening anymore. All you know is that you love Spencer and that you want to spend every second he'll give you in his arms. If this was the last time, might as well make it count.

He tries to pull you impossibly closer to him and you finally return the embrace by wrapping your arms around his neck.

You can't really hold it in anymore and start sobbing into his neck. You tighten your grip even more.

"Come back to me please"

It's your desperate attempt to keep the love of your life around but you can't be bothered to be embarrassed about it. If he was going to leave you, you'll have zero regrets.

It's only when you feel Spencers body shaking that you realize he is crying into your shoulder as well.

Every logical thought of yours went out of the window then. All you could think about was making it better. You never want to see him cry like this again. Not after everything he's been through. He deserves laughter and fun. And love. So that's what you're doing right now.

Loving him.

He starts violently sobbing and you run your fingers through his hair. Your other hand is caressing the nape of his neck. You press soft kisses into his skin and mumble sweet nothings in his ear.

He needs this right now. Maybe this is what he needed all along.

"Shh it's okay baby. You're okay. You're safe and you're with me. I'm not leaving okay? I love you. Let it all out"

He tightens his grip even more and buries his face deeper into your shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I love you so much please don't leave. I'm sorry"

It breaks your heart to hear him so broken. It brings new tears to your eyes and you nod.

You realize you guys should've had this conversation a month ago. He loves you. He's just so scared.

You press more kisses to his neck before leaning back to bring his face to yours. Your hands find their place on his cheeks and he's forced to look you.

Both of you are hurting at the look of the red puffy eyes of the other and both of you make the quick decision to do whatever it takes to keep that look from your faces.

You press soft kisses to his forehead, nose, cheek and eventually his lips.

He's still sniffling but he's mostly stopped crying. After another minute of careful touches from you, he sighs. He sounds tired, defeated and yet somehow relieved.

He takes one of your hands off his face and presses a small kiss to your palm.

"Thank you. For everything. I didn't know how much i needed that"

You both let out a sad laugh and you close your eyes.

"Why didn't you want to talk to me?"

You're not trying to make him feel guilty but his actions have hurt you and you know that he would want you to be honest about that.

He keeps a tight grip on your hand and intertwines your fingers.

"I thought- baby i didn't know if you could love the man i had to become in there. I still don't. I have done horrible, horrible things. The things i did made me undeserving of your love. I knew that, but i couldn't let you go. I know it's selfish but- Y/N i am so so sorry i ever made you feel like i don't love you anymore"

His voice breaks on the last part and another tear rolls down his cheek. You take your hand that's currently not held by Spencer and wipe it away.

"You did what you had to do to survive. To come back to me. How can you think i'd hold that against you? You deserve love, Spencer. We deserve to love each other. Unconditionally. Just- don't shut me out like that again, love. I miss you"

You push him slightly back so he sits down on the bed. Before you could take the seat next to him he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His head is resting on your chest and he clings to you like he's scared you're going to disappear if he lets go.

You both let out a content sigh at the contact. You've truly missed his touch more than you can say. You run your hands through his hair once more.

"I missed you too. I'm sorry. I don't think i can handle this on my own anymore"

He buries his face in your chest in an attempt to get closer.

You let out a relieved huff.

"I never wanted you to do this alone, my love. I'm here for every step. I know it's hard but i'll help you as much as i can. You just have to let me okay? We can start looking into finding a therapist for you first thing in the morning if you want. If not, that's okay too. We'll find a way through this together. I'm not leaving"

He sniffles again and pulls you into his lap. You quickly wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you. I love you. We'll get through this together. Thank you for loving me"

You smile into his skin and plant a soft kiss on top of his shoulder. He leans back to look at you. You see him smile for the first time in weeks and for a moment everything feels alright.

He slowly leans in to kiss you. This one isn't rushed like the others. It's slow and full of love. He pecks your lips once or twice before fully pressing his to yours in an attempt to get you to see how much he loves and missed you.

Not wanting to waste another minute you pull him closer by the neck and kiss him back like you're starved for his touch. Which was not that hard considering you were.

After a minute of slow kisses his tongue asks for entrance and you don't have to think twice before granting it to him.

You try to pull each other closer with every kiss until there's not an ounce of space between the two of you.

Between kisses you hear him whisper. It takes you a while to understand what he's saying but when you do you can't help but smile into the kiss.

"Love you so much"

"Can't wait to marry you"

"Thank you"

It seems like he's made it his mission to make up for all those weeks you spend questioning whether or not he still loved you.

You're not complaining. You're just happy to have the love of your life back. Sure, things aren't perfect but right in that moment you're sure you wouldn't trade it for the world.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #reader insert #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds imagine

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 3 years

Text

We Met Within This Screen [chapt. 7]

[Donnie x reader]

chapter 6 here

"Nothing gets past me, especially not you and your nervous habits, Donatello," Splinter's voice bounced around Donnie's head.

The brothers all looked at each other incredulously, Donnie's anxiousness replaced by complete bafflement. Everyone was wondering the same thing: How did he know?

"You wonder how I knew," Splinter said pointedly, "as if you four are any good at keeping a secret."

They waited for him to go on, but instead there was another uncomfortable pause, Splinter assumedly expecting them to say something. It was Mikey who finally broke the silence. "Are you gonna, like...tell us what we did wrong? How you knew? So next you can't—"

Splinter scoffed and brought his staff down on the youngest's foot. Mikey yelped, bouncing away on one leg. "Teach you how to lie? I have taught you many skills, but one that will always elude you is how to keep something from me. Parents have a sixth sense, you know." He turned to Donnie, regarding the rest of them with a dismissive wave of his hand, "You three, to your rooms. Come to the dojo with me, Donatello."

The three were quick to scatter, Mikey whining into Raph's ear about being sent to their rooms so early, and Raph huffing that he'd been dragged in too.

Swallowing, Donnie followed behind him a few paces, not sure what to expect but nervous all the same. He was lead in and instructed to sit down on the floor, Splinter settling down in front of him. Donnie's fingers brushed along the ridges of the knuckles of his other hand again and again as he tried to find something to occupy them with.

Resting his palms in his hands, Splinter began to talk, voice less harsh than Donnie had anticipated. "I know that we lead a very isolated life, my son. But you must keep your priorities in perspective. You four need each other, and betraying one another's trust does not help that case."

"I'm sorry, Master Splinter," Donnie apologized and hung his head.

"Perhaps you should apologize to your brothers, just as they should to you."

I did put them on the spot, especially Leo, thought Donnie, considering now that he had put him and Raph in a weird position. They had to choose between ratting on him to Splinter and keeping it under wraps for the sake of not stirring up the pot needlessly. As much as Leo was a stickler for the rules, he didn't want to create dissension between him and Donnie. So, they chose the latter option, and now all four were in trouble with their father.

"Okay. I guess...but, Master Splinter, how did you know?"

"About your secret antics?"

Donnie let out a humorless chortle, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that he had actually thought at some point, he was getting away with anything. "Yeah, it...it wasn't very much of a secret."

Stroking his chin, Splinter plainly said, "It was only a suspicion, until you confirmed it."

That night a few weeks ago when Splinter came to him in his lab. The way he squeaked when he was confronted just prior to them going to talk alone. Why didn't I think of that? It was a classic trick, one their father had deployed quite a few times on them. He'd been baited into giving himself away. None of them could tell when he was bluffing or if he actually knew. Save for Leo, who managed only twice in their time to make heads or tails of it.

"I really walked right into that one," Donnie whimpered under his breath, palms pressing down on his knees.

"You did. But," his tone turned more serious, looking him dead in the eye, "you must fix your mistakes, son."

"How?" asked Donnie softly, searching for his father's guidance, but it would find no purchase. He was hard pressed to find a solution immediately.

Splinter shut his eyes and thought. It was a tricky situation, indeed. He gathered that if anything, this was an excellent lesson for Donnie, as well as the others. Under his own supervision, of course; there wasn't room for any more blundering.

Standing up, he placed his staff under his hand. "I trust that you will find a way. You have a brilliant mind, Donatello. Use it well," he told him, and went to leave the training room.

Donnie was still sat on the floor contemplating Splinter's words, honored yet uneasy at the same time that he was being entrusted to fix things. How, he didn't know. Truly. He was at war with himself trying to balance his logic with his emotions, trying to make the two meet gracefully, but it felt impossible. Whichever road he chose, it was a betrayal to the other. One left behind while the other took the wheel. And thoughtlessly, he blurted out, "What if your heart is telling you something completely different, Sensei? What if everything feels contradictory, and—and like there's no right answer, even though you do have this mind, you just can't seem to…"

Donnie's voice tapered. Slightly surprised, Splinter stopped in his tracks, brows high as he looked back at him, who was so clearly riddled with a deeper kind of conflict. Critically discouraged, but still the sliver of will in those eyes of his. His heart went out to him.

Splinter had known that Donnie was interacting with a human. What he hadn't known was that he was in love with the human.

There was a moment of understanding, and Splinter realized that Donnie could not do this on his own. It reminded him of the times the turtles had all been children, the way Donnie looked to him for wisdom as he grappled with himself. Sighing, Splinter sat back down, this time close to him. Donnie was despondent, reverting to staring at the edge of the mat he sat on. "I know your struggles, my son. It seems like there's a sacrifice no matter what you choose, does it not?"

"I don't want to let you guys down. But, I...you know, I'm sorry, Master Splinter, but you don't understand."

He didn't want to say bluntly that he wanted to think of himself and his needs, unlike usual. He knew Splinter would probably not approve of that. None of them had much of a chance to make a selfish decision, aside from everyday things such tucking into the pizza before it even made it back to the Lair. So far, the number of times he could recall making a consequential choice for the sole purpose of indulging himself, was an astounding zero.

"What makes you think I would not understand?" questioned Splinter, and Donnie regretted that he'd said it. He didn't miss how Donnie looked to be becoming mildly sour (among other things), though not at him specifically.

It was then Donnie clammed up, shut down the conversation, he was not going to say it. "It" being what he assumed Splinter wasn't privy to, that he had undoubtedly fallen hard for his friend. But knowing his father, he could totally have had a clue. Splinter didn't always need the details to make an assessment when it came to his sons, whom he knew all too well.

Letting out a crestfallen huff, Donnie rested his chin on his knee, arm obstructing the better half of his face. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled.

Splinter stayed quiet. He didn't want to drive Donnie off—not when he was in such a turmoil. The atmosphere changed to a cold one. Donnie didn't acknowledge him until he put his hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze and saying, "I will tell you again: I trust that you will figure it out."

What if I make the wrong decision?

"For all of our sakes, I hope you're right, Sensei," Donnie responded. Splinter smiled and got up, prepared to leave the matter at that until any further updates. Until the phone in Donnie's back pocket began to vibrate out of the blue. He wanted to answer, but what, at that point? What should he say?

A minute went by of more persistent vibrating, and Splinter's ear twitched, certain he knew who it was. He was disappointed with the carelessness that had brought them to that moment, but what was done was done. None knew if the girl had any suspicions. "Are you going to answer it?" he asked, sort of prompting him to pick the phone up.

"May I?" Donnie thought he might have sounded a little eager.

Splinter let out a calm hum and motioned for him to do it. Donnie lifted his finger to press accept, but Splinter interrupted firmly, "Speaker, Donatello."

Eyes flitting to Splinter, he accepted the call and reluctantly turned on the speaker.

"Bo, what was all of that earlier, dude? You had me worried sick!" spoke [y/n], more concerned than angry (which Donnie was somewhat relieved about), but he sunk down sheepishly upon seeing the look on his father's face. He gave Donnie a questionable glance at the word "Bo", as he wasn't aware of the details. Donnie wasn't about to correct her right now.

"I–...hey, [y/n]," he said, forcing himself to turn to the side so he wouldn't have to look at Splinter. The eyes on him made him feel put off to the point he couldn't focus on her voice, but the fact that Splinter was right there, listening in, and both were fixing to find out just what kind of mess they had on their hands. "Believe me when I tell you, you don't want to get caught up in this," he told her, "I can't—"

"Listen," she started, exasperated, "I've heard it before. 'I can't tell you this', and 'I can't tell you that'," she went on, "Be honest with me, Bo; is it that you can't or you just won't?"

Splinter's thoughts were undetermined. Donnie couldn't read anything from his stoic expression.

"It's not that I won't," he rebutted, pitch going up involuntarily, "Why won't you listen to me when I say I can't?"

"Because there's something going on, with you, and I know my eyes weren't just playing tricks on me. I saw something crazy—I heard it, too, when I called you the other day!"

I am so dead. Donnie's stomach did a flip. He couldn't face his father, but behind him, Splinter placed his hand on his face, covering his eyes. He shot Donnie an intimidating glance, and Donnie waved his hands nervously, listening to her go on as he backed up. Pivoting around from the jabs sent to his side by Splinter's staff, he jumped away with his comically long stride, trying to avoid the onslaught while juggling the phone. He muffled a grunf of pain when the cane managed to whack his head.

"Hold on!" he said, and Splinter stopped and narrowed his eyes, the voice on the other end of the phone also going silent. Donnie couldn't regain his composure while being chased around the dojo, so he finally was able to sputter out, "W-what did you see?"

"I was on the balcony, 'Don'. I heard your voice on the phone and saying the same thing from the roof, and saw two giant...turtles! With weapons, fighting what looked like ninjas?! What even is this?" she yelled.

She'd put two and two together. There was no fixing.

Only acceptance.

Blinking, Donnie nearly dropped the phone. Splinter shut his eyes, slowly shook his head, and turned around. The sound of his cane tapping the floor as he walked was the only thing he could hear after he tuned out the speaker.

He was now alone in the dojo, under the light that streamed through the grate above him, standing in the hush.

He turned the speaker off. She, on the other end, was quiet, too, in disbelief. And probably rightfully feeling betrayed, in a way, Donnie thought. The friend she'd come to care for so much turned out to be someone she couldn't have even imagined.

Licking his lips, he put on the most level tone he could and said in a struggle, "You can't tell anyone. I-if you say something, I'll... we'll…"

I could never threaten you, [y/n].

"You'll what?" she asked, voice low.

Then, all the could hear was her breathing. The dojo was completely quiet, the room was large, and there he was, in the middle. Donnie liked smaller spaces. Darker spaces, like his lab. He felt exposed in that moment, even when no one could see him.

"Be in danger," he said in earnest.

There was some rustling, then the sound of wind on her end. He barely heard a sliding door shut.

"Come here," she told him firmly.

His eyes went wide. "What?" he questioned, stupefied.

She sighed, "No more lying, Bo—Don—I don't know. If what we have really matters to you…"

A mix of emotions swirled in him as he waited for her words. She hesitated.

"I'll come," he whispered, finishing her sentence.

"You'll come."

Blowing a breath out from between his lips, and nodded. Sorry, Master Splinter.

He snuck through the Lair to the exit of the sewers.

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cruelfeline · 4 years

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One of the aspects of Hordak that strikes me so significantly when compared to other characters is the unexpected, terrifying escalation of his situation.

We don’t really see this happen with anyone else: generally speaking, our other characters are very much a case of “what you see is what you get.” Adora is perhaps a bit of an exception, seeing as her status as “First Ones gun trigger” is used as a plot twist in season four, but her general background and the overall nature of her situation remain fairly consistent throughout the show.

Same with Catra. Same with Glimmer and Bow. Mermista, Perfuma, Scorpia, Frosta... everyone else receives a backstory and, barring minute elaborations, stays true to our first impressions of them. Our understanding of who they are and what they are about doesn’t really change.

Hordak is not this way.

Hordak starts off as a pretty standard, one-dimensional evil warlord character. Season one finds him very much delegated to the background, supposedly pulling the strings behind the scenes as other characters have their dramas play out center stage. He is well-designed and frightening, an imposing individual with a stoic personality and a sense of reason and logic that marks him as an effective commander.

We get no backstory at this point, and the initial impression of the character (at least for me) is “capable evil leader, little to no depth beyond what is absolutely necessary.” And that’s fine. At this point in the story, there’s no suggestion that Hordak will have any sort of role save for serving as an ultimate antagonist for our heroes, so a backstory is largely unnecessary. He appears properly built to provide powerful opposition, and that’s all we need.

This is Hordak’s starting point. It is a serviceable starting point. It is also stunningly different from his end point, and at this stage in the series, there is zero indication that there is going to be any alteration, let alone such a dramatic one.

Seasons two and three see Hordak gaining actual development. Significant development. Development that provides him with a painful, sympathetic reason for waging his war. Suddenly, Hordak is not an all-powerful, untouchable warlord. Suddenly, he is a vulnerable individual with significant physical ailments and resulting emotional trauma.

His situation has escalated.

We see now that his body is falling apart, that he is sickly and weak and dependent upon armor and bravado to maintain control over his subordinates. We see that he is not the stoic, omnipotent man presented to us in season one.

Instead, we learn that he is a manufactured clone with deep emotional wounds linked to past rejection and trauma, that he comes from a society where his illness is scorned enough to earn him rejection and what amounts to a death sentence. We come to understand that he views himself very poorly, and that a significant number of his negative character traits are rooted in shame and fear and a desperate need for validation.

we also learn that he has cute lil ears that can wiggle and droop when he’s sad

To these significant developments we add his budding friendship with Entrapta, and we find that Hordak is very much capable of desiring, forming, and maintaining a positive, affectionate relationship with someone. His character thus becomes even more complex.

Now, something to keep in mind at this point: thanks to revelations provided by his backstory, we can view Hordak as a more vulnerable individual with legitimate feelings and insecurities. That said, there is still a certain dangerous edge to him. At this point in the series, we have been told, by Hordak himself, that he was a top general in a much larger version of the Horde.

This supposed fact somewhat tempers his vulnerability. We get the sense that, while he is suffering from the shame and subsequent rejection brought on by his disability, his ultimate goal of rejoining his brother still involves a certain level of power. There is this idea that, though he wants validation and acceptance, he is also seeking to regain a position that, theoretically, grants him greater power and authority than the one he holds now. Hence why he doesn’t just settle for conquering and ruling Etheria: being lord of Etheria does not hold a candle to the power granted him by regaining his rank as Horde Prime’s top general.

One can look back at the fandom during late 2019 to fully appreciate this: fanfiction from this time period often features headcanons of particularly accomplished clones holding respected positions in Prime’s empire. High ranking clones have names and titles. They have ships. They have their own planets and their own armies. Even though they serve Prime and are, sadly, purpose-bred clones, they have power and status that provide them with a certain level of agency.

Essentially, there was the idea that a traditional Horde military structure exists, and Hordak held privilege within it.

So, while Hordak’s situation has escalated in emotional poignancy from “evil warlord wanting to rule the world” to “defective clone seeking validation,” there remains an unsympathetic aspect to it. There is still some degree of potential power-hunger that one can attribute to him.

This changes, very suddenly and traumatically, in seasons four and five. And this, friends and neighbors, is where I begin to become very emotional.

Our first indication that things are about to wildly change comes during the season four finale. We meet Horde Prime. We see how submissive and terrified Hordak is in his presence. We witness Prime’s distaste not only for the state of him and his failed conquest, but for Hordak daring to take a name.

It is Hordak’s name being a problem that plants the seeds for an upheaval of our preconceived notions regarding a clone’s function in the Galactic Horde. Those seeds germinate abruptly and violently in the next few moments as Prime lifts Hordak by the throat, declares him an abomination, and viciously violates and erases his mind.

And oh, friends and neighbors, now we know that something is wrong.

We don’t quite know the specifics yet, but we know that there is some sort of discrepancy between what Hordak told us and the truth he has lived. At no point in the narrative did Hordak say anything about names being inappropriate. At no point did he say anything that might have prepared us for the suspiciously religiously-coded language Prime is using. At no point did he say anything to suggest that there was anything wrong with what he was doing beyond trying to compensate for a physical disability.

And then, alongside all of these dark little surprises, there are the hauntingly blank stares of the clones standing besides Prime’s throne.

All of these factors instill a sense of dread that culminates in the chilling reveal of the Galactic Horde’s true nature come season five.

It is a cult. An honest-to-the-gods, played-absolutely-straight religious cult.

The Galactic Horde isn’t a traditional army, or an aggressive nation, or even a standard imperialist empire. It is a cult, with Horde Prime as its god and countless clone acolytes acting as its horrifically willing members.

We never see a top general, or any generals at all. We never see any sort of military hierarchy. We never see clones leading armies, or owning ships, or holding ranks, or commanding anyone or anything.

What we see instead is clones blindly worshiping their Brother. We see them doting on him, sacrificing their own life force to maintain his form. We see them forfeiting control of their bodies to him whenever he feels like using another’s form. We see them chanting the virtue of suffering to achieve purity. We see them blank and emotionless save for religious zealotry, a purpose-bred cohort of completely brainwashed followers. We see that there is no apparent escape from this life, for Prime sees their minds and controls every aspect of their existence, and we see that there is no desire for escape among them, so utterly indoctrinated are they.

We see Hordak reduced to one of these cowl-wearing acolytes: nameless, powerless, ready and willing to endure physical agony in order to forget his shame and relinquish his self to his Brother in the hopes of... well, certainly not of regaining some exalted military rank, or of reclaiming some previously-held status. These things do not exist. Not in this actual religious cult.

Hordak’s true situation is now fully apparent, and it is so far removed from our views of him back in previous seasons: rather than being a calculating warlord, or even a defective clone seeking to regain military glory, Hordak is a manufactured soldier-slave who was born into a religious cult, so indoctrinated and bound to his Brother that he risks his own life in order to win Prime’s love and approval.

Because that’s what this final realization confirms: Hordak was never after any sort of power or prestigious military status. They never existed. Hordak was, in the end, an abused slave trying desperately to win love from his loveless master. He truly was just after validation and affection and a feeling of secure belonging. All things that he was deprived of because he was born a slave-acolyte in a godsforsaken cult.

And that’s... that’s such a vastly different state of affairs than the one we accepted in season one. It completely rewrites our understanding of Hordak’s power, of his vulnerability, of his true wants and needs and desires. Said understanding shifts from a purely villainous one to one steeped in self-loathing and control and lifelong victimization. It is absolutely shocking to see a character’s circumstances completely transform the way Hordak’s do between the show’s beginning and its finale. It is utterly bewildering to witness this intensity of change.

As I stated at the start: this doesn’t happen to anyone else. Oh, other characters develop and grow and undergo their arcs, sure, but by and large, Catra remains a scrappy catgirl. Adora remains an orphaned heroine. Swift Wind remains a revolutionary winged steed.

Only Hordak undergoes a transformation as dramatic as shifting from “all-powerful conquering warlord” to “defective clone seeking validation... but maybe also galactic power” before finally settling, tearfully and painfully, on “shamed, love-starved cult victim.” Only his situation, his true identity and our understanding of it, escalate so shockingly and to such terrifying levels.

I’m still not over it. I still cry about it. I still feel light-headed sometimes, knowing that Hordak's circumstances revolve around being born into and abused and thrown away by an actual cult. Even though we're over two months out from SPoP's finale, it's still that emotionally powerful to me, and the shock of the difference between seasons one and five only make it more so.

#hordak #horde prime #she ra

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steve0discusses · 3 years

Text

S5 Ep11: Seto's Ultimate Lifelong Rival (He Knew Basically Nothing About)

This episode was mostly dueling--which I’m sure was deep and complicated (something to do with Seto losing his dragons and then getting back his dragons yada yada) but we’re gonna get to the good stuff, which includes the fact that Zigfried had this cute little Willy Wonka lavender suit combo since he was 11.

So I guess my theory that he’s dresses like this to be a cute Willy Wonka game developer only makes sense if you look at it from the perspective of him being a Willy Wonka Military developer, and, according to Youtube, they’ve already made that movie. Actually...Snowpiercer came out in 2013. I can’t believe Yugioh came up with the concept of Willy Wonka being an evil ass weapons manufacturer a decade before the Youtube literary conspiracy theorists got to it first.

Throughout the duel, Zigfried regales Seto with tales about their rivalry and like...we haven’t heard anything about this guy in the past several years so...way to invent a rivalry right out of your ass in S5, Yugioh.

It does actually kind of work with Seto’s whole vibe because there’s a lot of things his Father never told him about before he booked it to the middle of the ocean and plugged himself into the Orb. Seto has been dealing with the fallout from his late(?) Father this entire show, which include this rivalry that we have never heard anything about before today.

It’s low key kind of hilarious because you can imagine that Zigfried has been desperately trying to follow Seto and co for the past 4 seasons and kept running into coincidental roadblocks, shaking his fist at the sky and going “Herr Kaiba zwarted me, yet again!”

The implications of this photo. Did Zigfried photoshop it together? Was it a gift from Zigfried’s Dad that he photoshopped together? Did Gozaboro send it to them as a gift or something? Like...when was this photo taken???

I could be wrong but...Kaiba is wearing a different suit than what he had on at that party so...this must have been a different event where Zifried was dressed up like a nutcracker again, but...what event?

The implications that this exists...

(read more under the cut)

While Zigfried’s Father followed Gozaboro’s footsteps, and I assume ran headfirst into the ocean to plug himself into his dead son’s electronic brain, Zigfried found himself heir to a giant weapons company. Which he decided was not in the cards for him. Because he liked CARDS.

At this point, Zigfried could have counted his lucky stars, turned around and said “My trials have finally ended!” and just gone into weapons manufacturing, now that there was a huge, gaping vacuum in that market. Yet, he was so obsessed with beating Kaiba (who, again, has no idea this is happening) that he continues down the road of game development (which is more dangerous than the road of weapons development...strangely enough).

Logically, the next road of game development is to tackle the biggest game with the zaniest investor--which was Duel Monsters.

And considering that Pegasus sort of owned duel monsters, it kind of makes sense why they both of them came out with hologram tech to make his wife seem as real and alive as possible. They both came from the same military background--so it isn’t that wild that Seto and Zigfried came up with a similar thing.

I DO think it’s funny that this story kind of mirrors the plot to like...the Manhattan project, and maybe that’s all a huge coincidence--but it says a lot about how freakin lethal cards are.

And yet again, Seto deserves a peace prize for getting not only the largest weapons manufacturer off the gun-making racket--but also the 2nd largest weapons manufacturer off the gun-making racket--and he had no idea he did it.

I’m just baffled by how many times Seto has saved the world.

Back in the present day, everyone reacts to this with some surprise although...we are talking about a Season Zero Seto so stealing tech totally checks out. He probably went as far as to make Zigfried late to work by asking all his security team to stand in the hallway with their arms stretched really wide and sort of walk side to side in front of Zigfried like they’re football linebackers saying “woops, my bad, excuse me, pardon me.”

Like clearly, Zigfried sort of lost track of Seto Kaiba shortly after he started working with Pegasus. Clearly he missed the part 2 weeks ago where Kaiba Corp was being sued for making cards real, and then was bought out by Dartz who then proceeded to murder everyone on the planet.

Like clearly Zigfried has not picked up on the fact Seto is trying very hard to make cards not look like weapons of mass destruction and has very much failed to do so.

This is just a weird way to send someone to court, but we are talking about this universe so card games are actually a form of court and it is legally binding.

So after Seto lies about his credentials (well...is it lying if you honestly think you’re telling the truth?) he spends the rest of the episode getting his ass tossed by Zigfried. But, it’s the last ass tossing that dictates the duel, which is why Seto won. Normal duel stuff.

So, it’s not the end of the arc...Zigfried really was about to pull some shinanegans with his cards...but I guess we’ll wait for next round.

Which I think is just straight up Leon so...

...wow I have never been less interested in a character’s backstory, I’m gonna be completely honest with you. Maybe he will pull off the mask and reveal he’s been Marik this whole time? Maybe Leon will pull the eye out of his pocket and be like “Hey you dropped this!” Maybe Leon will do literally nothing as the park falls apart around him? I just feel like Leon is the type of character that has so little going for him that he’s probably going to die eventually but like...he hasn’t died yet. Literally no one has died yet.

Or maybe Zigfried will just do a warcrime and be done with it? It wouldn’t be the first time a Yugi villain has done that after getting frustrated one too many times.

And if you just got here, we got like...hundreds of these recaps now for you to read when you’re feeling the itch, so this is a link to read these in chrono order, because that’s just way more convenient:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

#ygo #yugioh #yu gi oh #recap #photo recap #episode recap #S5 #Ep11 #Seto Kaiba #zigfried von schroeder #mokuba kaiba #yugi muto #and everyone else just kinda hanging out in the audience #your real rival was the one you paid literally no attention to the entire time kaiba

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kanchelsis · 3 years

Note

If you wrote the Nikolai Duology, how would you change it? You have some good ideas!

aaaaaa thank you!! people have been so lovely about my salty post ghsfjks i'm kissing you all on the cheek 💕

to answer your question, i think it might be less about what i would do, and more about what i wouldn't do. i'll make some bullet points and say whatever comes to mind.

(to be honest, the idea of nikolai having his own duology has lost its appeal to me, which is sad because i adore him. i just believe he's a better side character than main, and there are more interesting grishaverse stories waiting to be told. but let's work on the assumption that i have to keep the basic pillars of the books and not just throw away the whole concept.)

ok so... zoya. i would take her in a completely different direction than lb did. i love a good morally ambiguous character, so i wouldn't just erase that - what drew me to her in tgt was her stubbornness, her shallowness, her capacity for petty cruelty, but also her determination and confidence. we can't just have her holding one of the most powerful positions in ravka and everyone just accepting that. not only does she need to have doubters, the doubters need to have a point.

we have a ruthless young woman, a soldier no less, suddenly needing to utilise diplomacy to protect an entire country. make her screw up. make her uncompromising and callous. make her human. don't expect her to step into this role seamlessly just so unlimited power can be handed to her on a silver platter.

if she has to be an ultrapowerful grisha, it's so much more logical to make her work for it. to hell with the saints on the fold stuff, what even was that?? lb tells us that everything we thought about grisha power is wrong, but 1) throws away the really cool magic system she made and 2) doesn't replace it with anything else. just let zoya be a squaller, not a dragon-saint-chosen-one or whatever.

writing this has kinda made me sad, since zoya could've been amazing, but anyway. onwards to nikolai.

this is the nikolai duology. if he's giving his name to the series i expect him to be the central character. i'd want his main struggle to surround identity and an uncertain future - who is nikolai, underneath the charm and flirtation? there could be an internal war between the demon, carefree sturmhond and the duty-bound king of ravka. both he and zoya are faced with a disarrayed court filled with people who don't think they have what it takes to lead.

there are so many nonsensical subplots in the duology that... fizzle into nothing. cut it down. pick a few things to focus on and give them the detail they deserve.

speaking of, the cult of the starless! lb took what could've been a source of endless interest and turned it into a bland caricature. we get it ma'am, you hate the darkling. but the problem is that the darkling's root motive gets conveniently glossed over in favour of character bashing. he wanted a safe world for grisha. that still doesn't exist. there's a tidbit about grisha no longer being forced to join the second army, but that was not the issue at hand at all? they're not going to know how to use their powers. they're still going to face discrimination.

so onto my point, what if the cult of the starless was predominantly grisha? those who feel let down by the world around them, who see the darkling as a martyr for a reason. now THAT would be something to contend with. a physical consequence for the events of tgt. put them next to people like genya and nikolai who intimately understand the harm the darkling has done, and you've got a badass subplot going there.

plus, imagine zoya spotting old friends and comrades amongst the starless. angst potential. also, yuri's treatment in the books pisses me off so much - lb wants us to see him as a foolish annoyance, but this kid literally marched the religious sect that he leads right up to the gates of os alta. now top that off with grisha powers (inferni would be cool) and you have a way more threatening character.

zoyalai. right, ok. what irks me about these two is that their so-called banter and pining go nowhere. we get some half-hearted justifications for them not being together, and the narrative completely overlooks zoya's comments about him in the trilogy. let's fix this.

maybe they could start off professional around each other, somewhat cold. until at some point, they begin an exclusively physical affair, just fwb and nothing more. i think this could work given the fact they're both flirty and materialistic. the stakes would be that if the court found out, their reputations would be significantly tarnished, yet neither are willing to stop. as they spend more time together, feelings blossom. they're no longer the demon king and squaller general to each other. they just want to be nikolai and zoya, yet both are too proud to make the first move. let the pining commence.

either that or give nikolai a new love interest. wasn't there a line in kos that joked that nikolai would be prone to falling in love with a palace maid? the potential spice of his love interest being someone with zero political standing, someone like dominik. a fellow pirate or even a starless member.

i don't even know what to say about nina. i was devastated over her treatment. there really do need to be more stories where a character who has lost a lover moves on and finds love again, but matthias is quite literally freshly buried when she meets her new boo. that's a major disservice to the potential of hanne's character as well. i'm kinda in favour of scrapping nina's whole plot. it would need a colossal amount of overhaul to work and even though i'm enjoying sharing my ideas, i don't have time to think about that.

same goes for isaac and mayu. either scrap it or give it the attention it needs.

i'm aware this is very kos-centric, but kos is the root of my issues and row is just an extension of that.

MOST IMPORTANTLY: no darkling return. no alina and mal. this story has been told and wrapped up. please don't cheapen it by going back and contradicting tgt. no gratuitous, shoehorned crow cameos either.

that's that about that, i guess!! i apologise for any spelling or grammatical errors, i wrote this rather quickly. i know this isn't gonna be for everyone. that's alright. i just ask people to civil about it and if discussion is going to be had, don't take things in bad faith. sorry anon this got long af.

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mopeytropey · 4 years

Photo

a beer buds series: chapter 10

author’s note: When I originally told my wife of the idea for this series, she immediately suggested an entire rewrite of 'a pleasant undoing' but told from Lexa's perspective. So I'm counting chapters 9 and 10 as honoring her wishes. The continuation of this series will reprise our almost strictly Lincoln + Lexa formula, but I'm not naive enough to think that at least 99% of you weren't going into this also hoping for some premium Clarke + Lexa content. (Forgive me for the deviation ... and the smut)

Timeline: essentially, we're just picking up where chapter 9 left off ...

Beer: Lil’ Heaven: Two Roads Brewing (Stratford, CT) SESSION IPA

Made with three exotic hops - Azacca, Mosaic and Equinox. Taste is of tropical fruits, specifically passion fruit, grapefruit and apricots. Finishes with just enough toasted malt character to balance.

ABV 4.8%

Posted on AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I saw you two days ago.” Lexa affectionately rolls her eyes, nevertheless smiling while accepting an exaggerated hug from Lincoln as if they are reuniting after a long separation.

“Work doesn’t count. You’ve been completely off the radar for a week, socially speaking.”

They’ve met for an impromptu breakfast at a local diner not far from Lexa’s apartment. She’s back in her neighborhood for practicality reasons, having left the idyllic bubble of Clarke’s bedroom in order to do some loads of laundry. But, it’s also a nice excuse to see her friend.

Lincoln has already procured them steaming cups of coffee and a pair of red vinyl stools at the breakfast counter that faces the busy griddle top. He is grinning at her as they sit, awaiting her response.

“I’ve just been … busy,” she says, not even able to curb the bashful smile that follows as she removes her coat and hat.

Lexa pretends not to blush, knowing full well her time spent with Clarke has superseded any other social obligations as they have begun a long overdue exploration of new and exciting facets of their relationship.

Namely sex. A good portion of her week has, in fact, been absorbed by unspeakably good sex.

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln laughs warmly. “I wasn’t even sure you two had remembered how to physically separate at this point. Thought maybe Clarke would be joining us as well based solely on the fact that you two haven’t surfaced for anything other than work responsibilities in a full week.”

Lexa sips her coffee through a growing grin to prolong any acknowledgement of Lincoln’s playful accusation.

“Morning, hon’.” A familiar waitress says in passing, leaving two menus beside Lincoln’s coffee cup. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

“Thanks, Helen,” Lexa smiles. It’s not often that she indulges in big breakfast meals, preferring her protein smoothies or avocado toast, but Lexa has nevertheless fallen into a routine of frequenting the diner as a way of establishing new roots.

In her old Brooklyn borough it had been the Chilo’s taco bar where she and Anya would meet every Friday to decompress from the work week over carnitas tacos and cheap beer. In her new portside life in Massachusetts, it’s Angie’s Diner. The coffee is palatable, at best, but the atmosphere is welcoming and Lexa has always enjoyed seeing familiar faces when forced to dine alone. Helen’s gruff, New England endearments in a seasoned, smoker’s voice, have consistently been a comforting presence.

When the woman shuffles off to tend to the other, early morning diners, Lexa turns to see Lincoln still watching her expectantly. “Clarke had some tasks at Dockside to attend to, and I really need clean clothes.”

“And, you’re functioning okay in her absence? Breathing okay and everything?”

Lexa laughs at his continued teasing, but easily concedes to an honest answer. So much uninterrupted time spent in Clarke’s company, sharing the myriad truths about their feelings, has apparently begun to bleed into her other relationships as well.

Lexa has almost always been able to leave herself unguarded in Lincoln’s presence anyway.

“I’m probably more dysfunctional when she’s around, actually.”

Lincoln stifles a laugh around a sip of his coffee. “That sounds like a fair assessment. Everything’s going as well as expected then?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Lexa tries, and instantly fails, not to picture Clarke lathered and laughing in the shower while Lexa fights to stand beneath the warm, steaming spray; Clarke pressing her against the kitchen countertops with hands roaming while the coffee steeps; Clarke cuddling into her on the sofa with the lights dim and the TV volume low “—it’s been really good.”

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lexa smiles unsurely, eyes widening at Lincoln’s grave expression.

“What’s with the hesitation?”

“What hesitation? I did not hesitate.”

“I know that hesitation.” Lincoln narrows his gaze at her, dark eyes assessing for signs of Lexa’s concession. “What are you in your head about now?”

She really needs to stop associating with people who can read her like a book.

“Okay, fine,” Lexa exhales. She flips open the worn menu, its once glossy, laminate pages now dulled from years of loyal patronage. “I’m just adjusting to the intensity of it all.”

“You’ve made a major life change. Totally normal to feel overwhelmed,” Lincoln shrugs.

“I know. You’re right. I haven’t even slept at my apartment in almost a week.”

“And, this is somehow a bad thing?” Lincoln laughs.

“No, I have absolutely zero complaints,” Lexa clarifies. “But, we’re spending literally all of our free time together—and portions of our work days, too.”

Lincoln chuckles after another sip of coffee. “Also totally normal. In the beginning, Octavia used to impose all of these ridiculous sleepover schedules—like, spending three nights a week together is the maximum, or whatever—only to completely abandon her own, dumb rule and would end up sleeping at mine for weeks at a time.” Lincoln thinks better of it a second later and warns, “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.”

The legitimate fear she can see in his eyes makes her laugh, and suddenly she doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed. “I’ve always considered it wise not to let on that I know just how obsessed Octavia is with you.”

“Smart woman,” Lincoln winks. “So, other than acclimating to new sleeping arrangements, what is it that’s stressing you out? You think you’re spending too much time together?”

“That’s the thing—I like being able to be with Clarke as much as possible. This past week, spending time with her, I’ve felt calmer and happier and more settled than I have in ages.”

Lincoln smiles so warmly, Lexa can feel it in her chest. “Don’t you think Clarke feels exactly the same way?”

“I’m pretty confident that Clarke enjoys having me around, yes. It’s not like she’s trying to kick me out of her house or anything yet.”

“But?”

“But, I keep wondering what the long-term implications are. Because the way that everything is changing between us: it feels … significant.”

“Yeah. That’s because you’re in l—”

Lexa looks away with a groan that drowns out the rest of Lincoln’s statement, rubbing a hand against her forehead. “Oh my god, please stop saying that.”

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln laughs. And then, after a moment while clearing his throat, he not-so-subtly reiterates: “But, you are.”

Lexa studiously ignores any truth in Lincoln’s playful accusation and further expounds, “I guess if anything is stressing me out, it’s not knowing if Clarke is experiencing something similar to what I am right now.”

“Knowing Clarke like I do, and having had the pleasure of a front row seat to all of this from day one, I can confidently assure you that she is right there with you. That being said, have you ever considered—I don’t know—asking her yourself instead of sitting here having a hypothetical conversation about it with me?”

“I do plan to speak with her about this,” Lexa assures an openly skeptical Lincoln. “I do.”

“I mean, you’re in the first week of a new relationship, Lex. I get it. That is usually not time that’s predominantly spent talking.”

Lexa is saved from her sudden flush of embarrassment by the return of their waitress, Helen, who kindly disregards the red tint on Lexa’s cheeks as she orders her scrambled eggs and rye toast.

“The point is,” Lincoln continues once their orders have been placed, “you guys have this really solid and established friendship going into this thing. In my experience, that can sort of push you ahead at a faster clip than you’re probably accustomed to in relationships.” He drains his coffee, placing it back onto the counter with a dull clink. “So, what would make you feel better about the rate at which you and Clarke are headed?”

Lincoln has a uniquely comforting way of simplifying Lexa’s life. He’s so genuine and forthcoming, and she could hug him again for all his supportive logic. Instead, she takes a deep breath to clear her head and pledges to hug him later.

“I want to be up front with her about where I see this going, to determine whether or not she and I are on the same page. I want her to know that I’m—”

“—in love with her?” Lincoln grins.

Lexa punches him, with unintentional force, and regrets it only when Helen—a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes—glances at them in mild concern as she refills their coffee. “I would ask if he’s bothering you, hon’, but I have a feeling you’re more than capable of handling yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I deserved that,” Lincoln assures their waitress, laughing at Lexa’s menacing scowl while rubbing his arm.

“I was going to say, I want Clarke to know that I’m not interested in dating anyone else.”

“Oh, right, right,” Lincoln nods, still smiling. “See, I just keep forgetting you two haven’t already been dating exclusively for, like, six months.”

“Why do I hang out with you again?”

For all her feigned exasperation, she is instantly wrapped up in an embrace, not unlike an older brother might lovingly harass his younger sibling. “Because you love me.” He pulls her in closely for a monstrous hug—right there at the diner counter—despite Lexa’s sharp elbow to his abdomen as she playfully fights against the forced affection.

:::

Clarke emerges from her silver Saab just as Lexa ambles across the snow-dusted gravel of the marina, icy rocks crunching beneath her boots. Cars are parked at odd, misfitted angles wherever they can find space between the boats set up on large blocks in their bright white winter wrappings. Clarke is wearing her plaid scarf and bulky winter parka, and Lexa’s chest tightens with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation at seeing her again after a short span apart.

“You should have let me pick you up,” Clarke says by way of a greeting.

“It’s not a bad walk from my apartment.”

Their breaths dissipate in the air between them after briefly appearing in frozen clouds. Lexa can feel her teeth about to chatter because the air on the water is properly freezing, but she attributes the chill along her spine to the nervous energy of being near Clarke.

Clarke’s gaze narrows in judgement. “Stubborn.”

“Those in glass houses,” Lexa counters, arching her brow in a way that brings that pleasant tint of blush to Clarke’s cheeks.

It could very well be the wind; except Lexa knows that it isn’t.

“Okay can we further reprimand each other once we’re inside where it’s warm?”

Clarke’s gloved hand wraps around her coat sleeve and tugs until they are both headed towards the blue front door of the coffee shop. A welcomed gush of warm air envelopes them instantly, and Lexa’s skin begins to tingle where the harsh winds had chilled her face. There isn’t much of a line, nor is the shop crowded with other people. The moderately-sized open room is sparse with patrons, enjoying their steaming drinks under natural lighting and softly playing music.

It’s been six days—not that Lexa has been meticulously keeping track, but it’s been six days—of near-constant kissing and unrestrained touch; of perpetual orgasms and an intentionally precise exploration of Clarke’s body; of general sensory overload when it comes to redefining her relationship with her best friend. Hardly a week has transpired since they began testing the waters of this mutual attraction, which has nevertheless consumed Lexa entirely.

Maybe it’s only been six days, an insignificant length of time under normal circumstances, but it feels much more weighted than that.

Between the kissing and the touching and the orgasms, nevermind the sudden influx of unveiled honesty, she can hardly keep her head above water. Her mind hasn’t stopped spinning since that first kiss on Clarke’s doorstep, and she’s only slightly concerned with contracting vertigo if they don’t stop and address what is happening between them sooner rather than later. Lexa needs to sit in a familiar, public space in the light of day with her best friend to discuss the implications on their relationship as it progresses at full tilt.

Lincoln’s advice rings in her ears as they enter the shop: just talk to Clarke.

“Hey, strangers!” A barista greets them happily as she and Clarke approach the cash register. Her name slips from Lexa’s memory, but Clarke returns her greeting for them both.

“Hey, Morgan.”

“Oh my god, I thought you two got lost at sea or something. We haven’t seen you in ages.” Morgan is young, perhaps just out of college, with bright pink hair and a septum piercing.

Clarke’s head shifts so that she can give Lexa a strange look, which Lexa promptly returns before offering a brief smile. “Oh, um, yeah. Just busy during the holidays,” Clarke answers.

Lexa gives her order and Clarke pays, brushing off Lexa’s insistence on paying her share. In seven months, if she’s learned anything, it is not to question Clarke’s generosity. They move to a deserted sofa beside an old wood stove fireplace to wait for their drinks and begin removing their coats and hats. Lexa’s toes begin to tingle and thaw within her leather boots as the heat from the fire permeates.

The harborside shop is the same as always: natural light streaming through the windows facing the water; a smattering of locally produced art hanging on brightly colored walls; and, a handful of other patrons sitting in mismatched furniture with computers or paperbacks. Everything is the same, except for her and Clarke.

They sit closely, quickly finding small, innocuous points of contact. Clarke tucks into one end of the sofa so that her knees rest gently against Lexa’s legs. Their hands seek touch as the barista delivers their drinks, separating only briefly to accept the steaming mugs and offer their gratitude. Once Morgan leaves them to attend other customers, Lexa falls into the comfort of their secluded, sun-drenched pocket of the shop.

“It’s so cold outside. I think my feet are still thawing.”

“It feels nice in here,” Lexa responds, smiling because Clarke inches closer to her anyway and she was only outside for under two minutes as it is.

Lexa senses a buzzing from her coat where it sits beside her and reaches into one of its deep pockets to check her phone. A text from Lincoln confirms their plans to meet up later for drinks. She types a quick, one-handed response before replacing her phone and returning her full attention to Clarke.

“Lincoln,” she explains, although Clarke doesn’t look poised to ask.

“Does he miss you already?”

Lexa laughs, shaking her head. “No, he’s not nearly as codependent as you.”

Clarke attempts to withdraw her fingers from where they are slotted between Lexa’s, but Lexa tightens her grasp with a widening grin at Clarke’s dropped jaw and feigned affront.

“Are you still hanging out later?”

“Yeah, he was just confirming the time.” Lexa’s thumb smooths across the back of Clarke’s hand in a slow, repetitive arch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke shakes her head firmly. “No, this is your sacred time together—I can’t encroach on that.”

“It’s beers and appetizers, Clarke. I wouldn’t call it sacred.”

Clarke’s eyes widen dramatically. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

The empty threat makes Lexa smile again. They’ve always had a particular talent for banter, and the added layer of their recent sexual experiences makes it all the more delightful to trade taunts and harmless barbs.

“How was your laundry adventure?” Clarke asks while reaching for her coffee, and Lexa smirks.

“Thrilling.”

Despite her instincts to stay within reach of Clarke at all times as much as physically possible, there is also the issue of personal hygiene. In this case, it was Lexa’s growing pile of clothes that needed attending.

“And breakfast with Lincoln?”

She can’t tell Clarke how she is actually reconsidering a lifelong friendship with Lincoln because he had spent a majority of the morning brutally teasing her. To reveal that would require Lexa to also elaborate on his specific proclamations about her feelings for Clarke.

And so, Lexa tells her, “It was good.”

“You can always do laundry at mine, you know.”

“Is this just another ploy to keep me tethered to your house for longer intervals?”

An exasperated look flashes across Clarke’s face while she swallows down a mouthful of steaming coffee. “Yes. Have you not been paying attention at all over the past week?”

Lexa swallows through a grin of her own. There’s really only one, notable thing they’ve been engaged in over the past week, and to think of it now has Lexa’s face warming as she becomes acutely aware of Clarke’s proximity in a public space.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.”

Light laughter escapes her as Lexa’s right hand fiddles the ribbing of Clarke’s sweater between her fingers. She is dressed in something off-white and oversized that cuts at a low vee below her neck so that Lexa’s eyes begin to wander to its shadowed opening. It’s a sweater she remembers from the time before—when all of Lexa’s cultivated interest in Clarke (including her wardrobe) was something unspoken and dutifully ignored.

Lexa remembers that Clarke had been dressed for a dinner at her mother’s house, and Lexa had been granted a chance encounter for quick minutes in which they danced around a thrumming attraction. She can feel it sparking in the air between them now, their pocket of relative privacy threatening to implode from the calculated looks Clarke is giving her.

“Busy week?” she further teases, eyeing Lexa’s blush over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes another sip.

Lexa purses her lips and narrows her gaze at Clarke’s self-satisfaction. “Exactly how much joy does it bring you to torture me?”

“So much,” Clarke laughs. She slips her fingers between Lexa’s so that they are loosely held together. “But only because you’re so adorable when you’re exasperated.”

“Flattery is supposed to absolve you?”

“Obviously.” Clarke rolls her eyes, bringing Lexa’s fingers to her mouth and brushing them quickly with a kiss.

With affections such as this, Lexa would forgive her of almost anything.

“So,” Clarke says through a sigh while bringing their joined hands to rest again on her knee. “What did you want to talk about?”

Now that Clarke has given her the floor, Lexa practically swallows her tongue in nervous vacillation. She had strategized a few, well-devised talking points during the process of cleaning her clothes, not to mention procuring some sound advice from Lincoln over breakfast, but sitting here in front of Clarke has made Lexa forget how to string together words and phrases to construct complete thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to find her resolve, she reaches for the cup of english black tea she’d ordered. Lexa takes her first sip, wishing she’d asked for a pinch more sugar but nevertheless hoping it will soothe her racing thoughts.

“I just wanted to … check in.”

Pathetically underwhelming start. Lincoln would be so disappointed. She takes another sip that is more like a gulp.

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay.”

“About us.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, her smile looking apprehensive at best.

“Our friendship has evolved significantly over the past week, and rapidly, at that. I just thought we should—” Lexa wavers and Clarke comes to her rescue.

“Check in?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nods.

“Okay. Are you—are you feeling okay about everything?”

Lexa begins to tangle her fingers around Clarke’s more fervently. “Things with you are almost too good.”

Clarke’s smile changes instantly, full and bright and genuinely pleased. “I feel the same. I’m actually feeling incredibly, fucking lucky, to put a finer point on it.”

“Good,” Lexa smiles, exhaling a modicum of relief. “I do too.”

“Oh my god, you had me scared.” Clarke leans back into the couch, dislodging their hands to run her fingers through her hair. “I thought you were going to say you want to date other people or something.”

“What? No.” Lexa’s breath has been lost to a vacuum of panic so that her ask is hardly audible. “Do you?”

“No! No. I’ve dated, Lexa. I’ve dated plenty,” Clarke laughs lightly, reaching for a surer hold on Lexa’s fingers. “But, you—I mean, you’re single for the first time in over three years. You must have thought about it.”

Not single, Lexa says to herself before thinking better of it and rephrasing aloud:

“Clarke, I could date a hundred women and none of them would be you.”

“Yes, I am fairly certain I’ve yet to be cloned.”

“Are you going to stop being a smartass so I can say this?” Lexa smiles in mock irritation.

“Sorry, sorry.” Clarke pinches her lips together, attentive. “Continue.”

“What I mean is, no one else would compare. I’ve never met anyone like you—this connection I feel with you, I’ve never experienced anything like it.” Lexa takes a breath, licking her lips before forging onward. “I can’t say where this is going, but I can say, unquestionably, that I have no interest in dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.”

The words leave her in a rush of honesty. It feels like she’s said too much too soon, but Clarke leans forward with a smile and Lexa interprets the gentle press of her lips as having said exactly the right thing.

“Do you think we can take these drinks to-go and finish this conversation elsewhere?” Clarke’s voice is pitched low and seductive, and Lexa senses a chill tingling at the back of her neck.

She resolves to stop doubting her honesty, if also to reconsider hanging out with Clarke in public spaces for a while until they can get their rampant sexual urges under control long enough to enjoy a cup of tea.

“Did you have a specific location in mind?” she grins in response as if the gleam in Clarke’s eyes isn’t a clear enough indication.

:::

Part 2

:::

The sex is consistently noteworthy, and Lexa had never really doubted that she and Clarke would be compatible in that way, but so is the intimacy alongside it. Lexa has never before distinguished between the two so markedly. But, with Clarke, the intimacy is so distinct. When she is coming around Clarke’s fingers, letting her watch the strains of pleasure in her face and shoulders, Lexa registers the vulnerability of being caught in Clarke’s gaze as an orgasm ricochets through her.

Ordinarily, a week into any new relationship and Lexa would still be clinging to well-practiced safeguards. She would be withholding some parts of herself for safekeeping and ultimate preservation should things go sideways.

But, not with Clarke.

She likes that Clarke watches her so carefully. The way that she feels when held by Clarke’s gaze is a kind of certain safety that Lexa hasn’t known before. She kisses Clarke fully, holding nothing back as the pulsating aftershocks of her orgasm begin to ebb. When Clarke slowly removes her fingers, Lexa bites Clarke’s lip, swallowing the soft moan that follows.

“Does this mean you want to be exclusive?” Lexa asks, still breathless, when their lips have parted.

She feels Clarke’s laughter against her face before she’s being kissed again. “Yes, you idiot.”

“Good. Because I want to take you out.”

“Tonight?”

“Not tonight. It’s going to require some planning. I’d like it to be a proper date.”

Clarke’s elation is instantly visible. “Okay. I’m going to be honest, I’m highly intrigued to find out what a proper Lexa date looks like.”

Lexa kisses her again and considers, not for the first time, if she’ll be able to stop now that she’s started. Clarke’s warm tongue and soft lips are now vital to Lexa’s existence. She craves the sensation of their mouths sliding together at random intervals throughout her days.

“Kissing you has not been a disappointment,” she says, bringing more of Clarke’s bright laughter as they shift their limbs to reposition against the mattress.

Clarke’s leg wraps around her waist as Lexa brushes stray hair from Clarke’s face where they now lay facing side-by-side. “Oh, my god, I’ll second that. I knew you would be a good kisser.”

“Did you?” Lexa smiles at the confession. She likes that Clarke had thought of her in similar ways. She had not been the only one lost in questionably scandalous daydreams over the course of their friendship.

“Yes. I may have thought about it, once or twice.”

“I had a pretty good feeling about your talents as well.”

It’s such a simple, shared admission that nevertheless makes Lexa’s heart trip in its rhythm. “And now, I think about it constantly.”

For that, she is rewarded with another press of Clarke’s lips. “Me too. I’m pretty sure I’m regressing into a terrible excuse for a restaurant manager as a result of constant distraction.”

“And the bar for your professionalism was already set so low as it is.”

“Hey!” For that she gets a finger plunged sharply between her ribs, and Lexa squirms away from Clarke’s violent tickling.

“I’m kidding. You are an elite and respected paragon of your field.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Clarke affirms with pride.

“Honestly, I was so lost in thought the other day, I dropped a six pack on my foot.”

“Lexa!” Clarke laughs, kissing Lexa again anyway. “Oh no.”

“No permanent damage,” Lexa smiles. “Can I tell you what else I really like?”

Clarke could not look more delighted. “Yes, please.”

“I really like your sweater.”

“Wait—which sweater?”

Lexa props up onto an elbow, separating their warm skin as she casts her eyes around the room before locating the sweater in question. It sits near the foot of the bed where it had been discarded moments before. “That one,” she says. “It looks really good on you.”

Clarke seems both surprised and amused by the compliment. “Come here.”

Lexa allows herself to be pulled closer when Clarke wraps both hands around the back of her neck and their limbs slot back into place. They kiss lazily as if time doesn’t exist while Lexa’s hands begin to drift along the pathways she has started to chart across Clarke’s skin.

“I like seeing you in such a good mood,” Clarke eventually tells her.

“The effect of midafternoon orgasms cannot be underrated.” The frank sentiment makes Clarke laugh again as she rests their foreheads together and begins smoothing over Lexa’s skin with the tips of her fingers. “Also, I like being able to tell you things—things I wouldn’t have been able to say before.”

“I like when you tell me things.” Clarke tucks a strand of loose curls around Lexa’s ear. “Anything else in that busy head of yours you feel like sharing?”

Three words ring prominently in Lexa’s ears, and she fully blames Lincoln’s stupid taunting for the sentiment being at the forefront of her mind. It has nothing to do with the soft, swirling blue of Clarke’s eyes, or the subtle tilt of her mouth, or the fact that Lexa has memorized the sound of Clarke’s laugh. She swallows roughly and presses her lips to Clarke’s, sealing the unspoken words between them for good measure.

She instead tells Clarke a different truth, “I’m feeling much better since we talked.”

“I’m glad,” Clarke smiles. “I feel better, too.” She runs a hand down Lexa’s arm, finding her fingers.

“I was sort of anxious to say anything,” Lexa admits, feeling brave while cocooned in Clarke’s bed despite her earlier insecurities. She had worried, yet again, about saying too much. There was always the risk of Clarke pulling away if Lexa revealed too much. “I spent at least two days debating with myself.”

Clarke’s exaggerated surprise results in Lexa’s quiet giggles. “No, you did? You tortured yourself for days with unnecessary internal debates? That is highly out-of-character, Lexa.”

“You really are a lot more like Lincoln than I ever realized.”

Clarke’s laughter somehow brings them closer together, and Lexa shifts her legs where they are staggered between Clarke’s. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, I’m glad you finally talked to me about this. I mean, I wasn’t totally expecting you to propose in the way that you did, but—”

“Clarke.” Lexa buries her face into the pillow and clenches her eyes to stave off her creeping mortification. So much for embracing her honesty.

Of course, Clarke is endlessly humored by watching Lexa suffer and only continues her assault on Lexa’s heartfelt admission. “I mean, correct me if I’m misquoting, but you said: ‘for the foreseeable future,’ which basically translates into asking me to date you, but like, forever.”

“Oh my god,” Lexa mumbles, her face still pressed into the soft cotton of Clarke’s pillowcase.

Clarke is not deterred by Lexa’s mounting humiliation, pressing kisses full of laughter into her neck and shoulder until Lexa finally turns to face her. Using the leverage of her leg wrapped around Lexa’s hips, Clarke has since wrestled her onto her back.

“See?” she says, running an index finger down the slope of Lexa’s nose and effectively smoothing the furrow of embarrassment between her eyebrows. “So adorable.”

It’s hard to keep hold of her ire when Clarke is naked above her and straddling her hips. Perhaps Clarke knows this as well because even as she shifts imperceptibly, Lexa feels it straight through her core. Her hands come to rest on the tops of Clarke’s thighs, and though she senses a residual scowl tugging at her lips, most of her regret for being too honest has faded.

“I’m sorry for making fun,” Clarke says while her thumbs rub circular patterns on Lexa’s ribs.

Lexa has never seen anyone look less apologetic in her life. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t actively trying not to laugh.”

“No, no, I’m serious,” Clarke reiterates, although she is fully laughing now. She clears her throat, aiming valiantly for composure. “What you said was so sweet, and, I mean, in case you couldn’t tell, I sort of plan on dating you for a really long time, too.”

Lexa fights her own smile rather poorly. “Well, that’s very convenient.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Clarke nods.

It’s the perfect segue into more unrestrained fondling, more languid kisses, and Clarke seems to be on the same wavelength as she leans her weight onto her hands and begins to roll her hips. It’s easier falling into this rhythm when for six days they have perpetually cycled the same routine: intimate talks bookended by multiple orgasms that are interspersed with brief intervals reserved for sleep and nourishment.

Lexa gasps into their first kiss from their well-timed movements—the feeling of them sliding together in that way has a heated sensation building quick and low. Just the pressure of Clarke on top of her and the way her slow, purposed movements are hitting Lexa in the all the right spots, has her close to a second orgasm in minutes.

She can hear Clarke’s breathing accelerate as well, the forced puffs of air through her nose that Lexa feels against her cheeks as their kisses grow more urgent. Clarke’s hand moves first, skating down Lexa’s abdomen as she lifts her hips to slide her fingers towards Lexa’s clit. It’s been no more than twenty minutes since her last orgasm, but Lexa’s body instantly responds to the circulating pressure of Clarke’s fingers moving against her.

They are still figuring things out, learning how the other responds to physical arousal, but this—Clarke on top of her, easily working her towards climax with deft fingers and filthy, open-mouth kisses—will do the trick every, single time. Lexa could probably come with much less stimulation at this point, when brushing touches while fully clothed are sometimes too much for her to function. Never mind the visual currently hovering over her—Clarke’s bouncing chest, grinding hips, and blown pupils. An image of her fingers sunk into Clarke in this position is enough to send Lexa over the edge. Her back arches off the mattress as the orgasm rolls up her spine, and Lexa catches her breath only after Clarke starts kissing her again.

A familiar dilemma has Lexa torn between using her hands or her mouth as the tingling sensations of her own orgasm have barely begun to fade. In the end, her urgency to feel Clarke’s arousal, and see it to completion, has Lexa moving a hand between their bodies to slide eager fingers into Clarke’s folds. There will always be time later to bury her face between Clarke’s legs.

Her breath always stutters at that first touch—it’s slick and warm and Clarke groans appreciatively when Lexa extends two fingers just as Clarke sinks onto Lexa’s hand. That she is open and intimate with Clarke in a way she never thought possible has not fully registered as her new reality, and for a brief second, Lexa’s mind goes blank.

In another breath, Lexa shifts, guiding Clarke to change her position just enough that she can take one of Clarke’s nipples into her mouth. The quick suction and slow laps of her tongue produce a groan from Clarke that Lexa will be thinking about days later.

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke pants, her hips now thrusting quicker against Lexa’s hand, pressing harder against her fingers as they slide in an out.

Clarke’s arms shift, palms flat against the mattress on either side of Lexa’s head where she is still holding her weight.

“Are your arms getting tired? Do you want to switch positions?” Lexa absently moves her hand that had been massaging one of Clarke’s breasts to lightly hold her bicep.

“No.” Clarke smiles and kisses her softly, in direct contrast to the way she is currently riding Lexa’s fingers. “You’re very sweet, but I’m good.”

“Okay, good. Because I’m really appreciating this view,” Lexa grins, moving her hand again to swipe a thumb across Clarke’s nipple.

“Do you think you can—”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish, relying instead on her still-developing intuitions, and takes the other nipple into her mouth.

“Yes, fuck.”

Lexa celebrates her victory of predicting Clarke’s needs by altering the position of her hand to reach Clarke’s clit with her thumb, the result of which has Clarke nearly collapsing onto her as her elbows buckle and her hips jerk forward. Lexa finds a well-practiced rhythm after that and works Clarke all the way to climax until the movement of her hips becomes erratic and she is no longer able to string together coherent profanity.

The comedown is soft and fun, quiet giggles and breathless kisses. Clarke collapses onto the mattress beside her, arms and legs finally relieved of their tension, and Lexa curls onto her side so that she can rest a hand onto Clarke’s stomach where she lies flat on her back.

Lexa is so content, she feels like her body might levitate in a boneless mass above the bed. Clarke’s breathing is still coming to rest, and Lexa watches her hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale.

Into the greying stillness of the bedroom, Clarke asks, “Hey, what time are you supposed to meet Lincoln?”

The serenity Lexa had felt shatters in an instant. “Oh shit!” She flails about for a moment in search of her phone, having completely forgotten about her plans. “What time is it?”

She locates her phone before Clarke can answer. It’s already half past three, and Lexa’s stomach plummets. The text from Lincoln says: where you at?

“Are you late?” Clarke has come to sit behind her where Lexa’s legs hang off the mattress near the bedside table where she’d found her phone. Lexa feels soft kisses against her shoulderblade. “What did he say?”

Below Lincoln’s text is a picture of two full pints of beer sitting on a bar counter. She holds her phone at an angle so that Clarke can see Lincoln’s texts.

Lexa runs a hand through her hair as her heart hammers from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. “Shit.”

More than the shame of accidentally standing up one of her closest friends, Lexa dreads the fallout of this enormous misstep because Lincoln is never going to let her live this down. Worse yet, there is a good chance that he’ll share the story with Anya, which will mean, essentially, Lexa can never again return home.

“Why don’t you get dressed and go? I can drop you off,” Clarke offers sweetly, still pressing reassuring kisses along her back.

“I’m going to ask him if we can reschedule,” Lexa decides.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answers, turning her head to smile at Clarke over her shoulder. “I don’t

really feel like putting on pants at the moment.”

Clarke kisses her shoulder cap and grins in return. “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

“Let me give him a call really quickly.” Lexa reaches for a shirt on the floor—something of Clarke’s she’d worn to bed the night before—and stands to slip it over her head. Something about calling a close friend while completely naked and still coming down from an orgasm makes her slightly uncomfortable.

“Take your time,” Clarke tells her, also rising from the unkept sheets and blankets to pull her hair back into its messy bun. “I’m going to go downstairs and reheat our drinks from earlier.” She tugs at the hem of Lexa’s tee shirt and places a kiss at the corner of her mouth on her way to the bathroom. “Do you want a snack, too?”

“Okay.”

Lexa grins, following after Clarke’s lips as she starts to move away. A soft hold on her wrist is enough encouragement for Clarke to lean up into another kiss, reminding Lexa just how shaky her legs still feel from their exertions in bed. Perhaps sustenance to replenish her blood sugar is necessary instead of relying solely on a steady drip of oxytocins.

Lexa appreciates the view of Clarke’s retreating backside even in the fading light of the bedroom as the sun has started to move towards the horizon. She runs a hand through her wild curls and exhales, preparing to make her phone call while perched on the edge of the mattress.

Lincoln answers on the first ring. “Hey, buddy. Did you get lost?”

“Something like that,” Lexa says. “Clarke and I went for coffee, and then I sort of … lost track of time.”

“Say no more,” Lincoln laughs. “It’s your turn to ditch me for a girl now, right? I hope the sex was worth it.”

The fact that she is wearing nothing more than a thin tee shirt has Lexa covering her face with her hand. “Lincoln, I didn’t—”

His laughter persists, and Lexa wonders how loud it must be within the confines of the bar. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s totally fine. Honestly, I’d be more upset if you weren’t standing me up for time with Clarke right now.”

“I’m really sorry, Linc. I can be down there in like fifteen minutes.”

“Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he’s answered the call, Lincoln’s voice takes on a serious tone. “I swear to god, if you show up here, I’m frogmarching your ass right back to Clarke’s house.”

“Okay, fine,” Lexa laughs. “Let’s hang out early next week though. Beers on me.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m serious. I actually ran into some people from the gym plus the rep from Two Roads is here doing a tasting—I’m good, I promise.”

“I’m going to make this up to you,” Lexa reiterates. Despite Lincoln’s assurances, her guilt does not fully dissipate.

Clarke chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, wearing just as much clothing as when she’d gone in, and Lexa’s brain lags at the sight. Her expression seems to be asking if everything is okay, and Lexa smiles in response.

“Lex, would you stop? Tell Clarke I said hi, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Oh, hey, ask her if she’s tried the new session IPA from Two Roads. It’s intensely enjoyable.”

“Okay. I will.” She smiles up at Clarke, who has stopped to stand in front of her after slipping into a tee shirt and sweatpants. Lexa’s hand settles on Clarke’s hip like a magnet snapping into place. “Clarke says hi, too.”

“Sorry, Lincoln!” Clarke says, projecting her voice towards the receiver while tucking strands of curls behind Lexa’s ear. “It’s all my fault.”

There is more laughter down the line before Lincoln reiterates that everything is fine and he could never actually be angry with either of them.

:::

“So, since when do you source your unhealthy caffeine intake from elsewhere?”

“Huh?” Clarke smiles.

They’ve taken up seats at Clarke’s kitchen island with their reheated drinks from the coffee shop and Clarke’s version of a snack: smoked turkey and cheddar sandwiches on toasted potato rolls with homemade aioli.

They’re both wearing slightly altered versions of the same outfit—soft tee shirts and loose sweatpants, Clarke’s cut off into shorts so that Lexa’s fingers are continuously tempted to trail across all of the exposed skin within reach.

She sips her tea and returns Clarke’s smile.

“The barista at the coffee shop seemed shocked to see you,” she clarifies. “Don’t you practically pay rent there by spending so much of your time buying their coffee?”

For a brief moment, Clarke can’t seem to find her voice. She practically chokes on her sandwich, taking longer than expected to swallow her first bite. Lexa raises an eyebrow expectantly as their drinks emit swirling strands of steam into the air between them.

“I—I could ask you the same,” Clarke volleys back, not unkindly, as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin and reaches for her coffee. “Morgan seemed just as surprised to see you there.”

Lexa bites her lip and looks away. She had asked out of genuine curiosity and confusion, and now it seems yet another bout of confessions is forthcoming.

She clears her throat. “Do you have any beer, actually?”

Clarke laughs lightly before shifting her expression into something like mild offense.

“Um, hi. My entire existence is practically centered around craft beer—do you even know me?”

“Right,” Lexa laughs. “Stupid question. Would you like one?”

“Again: do you even know me?”

Lexa starts to slide off her stool with a bright smile that belies the low buzz of nerves she is withstanding as an unspoken conversation simmers between them. Clarke is dislodging their legs from where they had sat in a close tangle at the island. “Stay,” she directs her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get them.”

Once Lexa has pulled open the fridge door, she turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder. “Do you have a preference? Lincoln was asking if you’d tried the new IPA from Two Roads.”

“Are you actively avoiding answering my question by distracting me with beer inquiries?”

Lexa pinches her lips together to ward off a sheepish admission, and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Look on the left hand side, bottom shelf.”

Lexa ducks down to retrieve two brightly colored cans of IPA before closing the fridge door and returning to the island. “Not to split hairs, but technically, you avoided my question first.”

“Okay, fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically. She takes one last dreg from her coffee before shoving it away in favor of the can of beer Lexa has just opened for her. “I was—” Clarke actually ducks her head so that Lexa can see her thick eyelashes fluttering “—I was afraid I would run into you during the, uh, when we—”

“Broke up?” Lexa supplies. She is still holding a small smile for Clarke when blue eyes finally snap up to meet hers.

It had felt like that. A relationship ending—a significant one at that. And, Lexa had been left broken in the aftermath.

“I was going to say when we stopped talking,” Clarke continues. “But, it was more than that. It did feel like a break up. And, we didn’t decide anything—I cut communications all on my own.”

“Clarke—”

“I’m really sorry, Lexa.”

Lexa is already shaking her head, part disbelief at what she’s hearing, part exasperation that Clarke has mistakenly absorbed all of the blame.

“Clarke, I know you have this bizarre obsession with always being right, but I can assure you—what happened in November was all on me.”

“I just vanished, Lexa. I didn’t even tell you why or allow you to explain anything.” Clarke’s eyes are downcast and her voice softens in unmistakable regret as she fiddles the silver tab on her beer. “I freaked out and hid away. And, it was really shitty.”

Lexa can’t help the way her mind creates distinctions between Clarke and Costia—the contrast of Costia’s distance from their relationship to Clarke’s sudden disappearance. With Costia, it had often felt like abandonment and disregard. The space between them had been a disappointment, a mild discomfort that Lexa sustained over time. Losing Clarke—and it had felt like that, as if she turned around one day and panicked to find Clarke had vanished—left her devastated and painfully bereft.

“Not seeing you was horrible. Not being able to talk to you was even worse. But, I’m glad you stepped back and took that space. It was shitty, but not because you did anything wrong.”

“I hated not seeing you, too,” Clarke admits, and they share another small smile across the kitchen island, tinged with a distant, remembered sadness.

“I couldn’t avoid Dockside, contractually, but I—I didn’t want to encroach upon your other spaces.”

“So, you stopped going to the coffee shop.”

Lexa confirms with a short nod and takes the first sip of her beer. She’s glad they’ve had this talk, but she’s also more than eager to segue out of November’s gloom that is better left in the past. She takes a cleansing breath and sets down her beer.

“In the end, I was glad you created that barrier between us, Clarke. I was miserable, and Lincoln will tell you that I was insufferable to be around, but it made me realize what a massive idiot I’d been.”

Her admission elicits an actual laugh, and Clarke shakes her head fondly. “So much for that Ivy League education.”

There’s a lot more that could be said, and it’s a much longer conversation that they will likely parse out at some point. But, today has been exceptionally good, and Lexa isn’t quite ready to lose the momentum of their good moods. Even for the sake of honesty.

“I’m a slow learner,” Lexa shrugs.

“Based on the activities that occurred in my bedroom this afternoon, I can attest to that being entirely untrue,” Clarke says, voice pitched low and taunting.

At the return of Clarke’s brazen flirting and sly smile, Lexa ducks her head as her cheeks warm. Because, despite the fact that they have spent a good portion of the afternoon swapping orgasms, she still sees Clarke as her best friend, in many ways, who she has only recently had the distinct pleasure of seeing naked.

“I’m sort of a quick study in that department,” Lexa smirks.

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke laughs. They sip their beers in weighted silence for a few beats, sharing glances as they drink, and then Clarke adds to the mounting tension by asking, “So, when do I get to hear more about this date?”

“The details of the date itself are highly classified,” Lexa explains in all seriousness, despite her stomach swooping.

“Classified, huh?” Clarke laughs into another sip of beer.

“Do I honestly strike you as someone who is going to halfass a first date?”

“You don’t strike me as a person who has halfassed anything in their entire life.”

“Correct,” Lexa smiles. She shifts smoothly along the island’s edge until she is again stood on the same side as Clarke, who accepts Lexa’s proximity with a slow-spreading smile. “You know, I could potentially be persuaded to provide a sneak peek of some post-date activities,” she offers, already moving to enter Clarke’s space more fully as their drinks are gingerly slid a good distance away.

She slowly spins Clarke’s stool just enough that she can slot between her legs, and Clarke is already leaning into the touch as Lexa’s hands curve around her jaw. The kiss is like regaining breath after being submerged under water. Their conversation on past events hadn’t been strenuous, by any means, but Lexa registers a sense of relief to have resumed their previous activities all the same.

She sinks into the warmth of Clarke’s lips and tongue, exhaling after several, languid moments. When her hands move to slide up the length of Clarke’s thighs, eliciting a distinctly strained exhale as Lexa teases her fingers beneath the cut-off edge of Clarke’s shorts, it’s abundantly clear where they’re both headed.

They make it as far as the sofa.

Lexa can’t be bothered to maneuver the stairs when there are so many other available surfaces on which to make Clarke slowly shake apart. She does so on her knees while making good on her earlier intents to spend a long stretch of time between Clarke’s legs. The last shards of sunlight are nearly gone, leaving them in golden shadows and dim light from the kitchen while Clarke moans soft encouragements and cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair. There is no rush, no urgency, hardly a sense of time moving at all. Lexa feels calm and confident, content to bring Clarke closer to release at a measured pace as she begins to gently rock against the pressure of Lexa’s tongue. Everything feels languid and slow, like running through water.

It’s not lost on her, as Clarke’s orgasm eventually echoes through the quiet house, heels pressing into her back and Clarke’s fingers threaded into her hair, that this very sofa had been the impetus for their time apart. The innocence of that encounter, as she and Clarke gave in to the comforts of shared sleep, had propelled them toward a shift in their relationship. Looking back, everything that has transpired between them since that singular event seems inevitable.

Falling asleep with Clarke that first time had been rife with implications that they would eventually end up right back here: a cozy, nondescript, weekend night spent on Clarke’s couch with nowhere to go.

The insignificance of an otherwise mundane Saturday is outweighed by the way Lexa’s mouth curves into an easy smile as she kisses the warm skin of Clarke’s inner thigh. Clarke is coming down from the aftershocks of a slow-rolling orgasm when Lexa registers a sharp uptick in her heart rate as they lock eyes while Clarke is still catching her breath.

And, this too holds weight—for all their recent honesty, there are still things Lexa has left unsaid.

“Get up here,” Clarke gently demands. Lexa complies without pause.

Clarke’s sated and satisfied groans melt into scratched laughter that dovetails with their kiss, and the magnitude of what Lexa feels is underscored as their mouths meet.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Clarke tells her some breath of time later, when Lexa has moved from the floor to the sofa at Clarke’s urging. “If this type of activity is in the cards for date night, I don’t really give a shit what the actual date itself looks like.”

They lay along the length of the sofa, limbs over lapping at certain intervals, and Lexa’s hand flat against Clarke’s stomach beneath her tee shirt.

“Good to know I can scale back my efforts,” Lexa smirks, feeling no less satisfied that she has reduced Clarke’s expectations with one, albeit exemplary, late-afternoon orgasm.

Clarke’s laughter echoes Lexa’s contentment, and her smile grows. She can feel the subtle shaking of Clarke’s diaphragm beneath her fingertips.

“This has been such a good day,” Clarke says, adding further reinforcement to Lexa’s equally satisfied mood. “I really like having your here. Have I mentioned that?”

Lexa grins into Clarke’s close gaze and presses her lips to the edges of Clarke’s smile. “Once or twice.”

“Lincoln is the kindest, most-deserving creature on the planet, but I’m really glad you stayed here instead. Just this once.”

Lexa’s contented smile slips and she nearly groans as her head falls onto the armrest. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke laughs.

“I pride myself in being reliable—no excuses. If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Especially when it comes to Lincoln or Anya.” Lexa exhales and glances up to find Clarke’s eyes. “The fact that I neglected our plans for—”

“The best sex of your life?” Clarke supplies with swagger. Lexa’s smile returns without her consent. “I mean, you looked like you were about to say: the best sex of your life.”

As laughter bubbles up from her chest, it vanquishes Lexa’s lingering criticisms about her snap decision to break plans with Lincoln. Clarke’s commentary is a reductive synopsis, at best, but also not entirely untrue. “Yes. Something like that.”

A beat of silence passes and then Clarke says, “If you’re worried he’s going to give you a hard time about breaking plans, wait until you tell him you proposed.”

She buries her face against Clarke’s shoulder to the delighted rasp of Clarke’s giggling laughter and concludes, yet again, that it is the absolute best sound in the world, even at her own expense.

:::

#a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#a beer bud series #clexa fic

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whitehotharlots · 3 years

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Associationism: A postmortem for liberal decency

In the last half decade, liberal political writing has undergone a profound seachange. This has infected all strata of media: from braindead outlets like Adbusters, to intentionally digestible pap such as USA Today, to our august papers of record (only two of which remain; one is owned by the world’s richest man), all the way up to self-styled intellectual journals and peer-reviewed scholarship. This change can even be found in literal children’s media and grade school curricula. It deserves to be examined.

For lack of a better term, I refer to this shift as an adoption of associationism. Cause and effect has been abandoned as an analytical frame. The devices that used to be relied upon to adjudicate cause and effect, such as scientific method, statistical analysis, balanced reporting, and even basic “X leads to Y” logic, have likewise been marked as problematic vectors of evil.

Now, you might say this has been a long time coming. Scientific method has been used to design and excuse a bevy of historical wrongs, and balanced reporting is often deployed to obscure morally unambiguous phenomena. Those are fair points, but an astute observer will notice that these adjudication mechanisms are still deployed within liberal discourse, just that they are now used only selectively. Rigor and attention to context are now considered problematic--white, male, cis-normative, whatever--and this allows for otherwise inherently evil mechanisms of truth adjudication to be deployed only when they are guaranteed to enforce the desired narrative, often by writers who are shamelessly fabricating evidence. I mean, why not? It’s fascism to be fact checked, after all.

Importantly, moral and factual correctness have become collapsed into one another. A statement or belief is True to the extent that it is Right, and vice versa. There exist no confounding variables or contradictory phenomena. The liberal writer’s job, therefore, is to center their own subjective perception (referred to as “lived experience”) or the subjective perception of someone in a supposedly more marginalized position, and then craft a narrative that puts this perception beyond all moral (and therefore factual) reproach.

The liberal writer’s process is, generally, as follows:

Zero in on a moral outrage of some kind, be it pressing and manifest or petty and completely subjective--everything has the same weight within this frame.

Narrate this outrage via the “lived experience” of a subject who shares the writer’s opinion.

Cherrypick a handful of statistics, studies, or expert opinions that appear to lend validity to the writer’s understanding of the outrage, being careful to ignore any context or ambiguities that might soften or even fully discredit the outrage.

Demonize anyone or anything that problematizes--through their opinions or their existence--the writer’s understanding of the outrage. This is achieved typically by associating the problematizer with supposedly empowered groups, who are evil.

Clarify in no uncertain terms: anyone who does not share this outrage is a member of the evil groups, even if they are very literally not a member of those groups.

This has all been framed as a form of radical moral clarity, providing space for marginalized voices to express their once-unutterable truths, which will in turn bring about the changes this country desperately needs. But, oh no, it turns out that every media organization in this country is stolidly against any actual reform. All of our major presses and news outlets are still owned by austere capitalist psychos, including the aforementioned richest human being in the history of the world. Universities are still MBA-run shitholes that would have students march into incinerators the moment that doing so became more profitable than providing them with resources for identity affirmation. And media aggregation--the manner through which words appear before people’s eyes, 90-odd percent of the time via a screen--is controlled by a small handful of the most megalomaniacal companies on earth.

So, while we have indeed radically changed our practices of communication and truth adjudication, doing so has not resulted in any radical social changes, or even really any structural changes whatsoever. We’ve just made it radically more difficult to come to an honest understanding of the causes of social malignancies, which in turn has made it radically more easy for the vampires who run this country to make everyone else’s lives radically worse. Radical, dude!

There is no idea so cruel or horrible that it cannot be made to appear progressive under this new frame. Come up with any hypothetical, no matter how evil, and within a few seconds a media-savvy reader should be able to fashion an adequately woke headline:

Hypothetical examples:

Abolishing school lunch programs: “Should We Really Be Nourishing White Bodies?”

Pro-female genital mutilation: “The Inherent Transphobia of Those Who Oppose ‘Female Circumcision.’”

Let’s start using napalm again: “Once Considered an Effective Tool of Precision Warfare, Napalm Was Demonized by Those Who Fear Non-Normative Bodies”

Indian Residential Schools: “Sheltered From Whiteness, These Communities Were a Place Where Native Excellence Could Thrive”

Here we see the Associative aspect of Associationism. Cause and effect no longer exist, and so malignancy is a contagion, the result of the presence of bad people who cause badness. Members of statistically majoritarian groups are presumed to be empowered, and therefore oppressive. And since majoritarian groups contain by definition a majority of people, you will be sure to find their members among the detractors of your position. And even if the members of that majority make up a minority of your detractors, that’s still okay, because context is a white supremacist construct used to obscure moral clarity, and you just so happen to be the arbiter of morality by virtue of being yourself.

Now, to be fair, not every piece written in this style is done in the pursuit of abject evil. Some are, but a solid plurality are instead written in an attempt to remediate a genuine social wrong. The trouble is, they’re being printed in venues controlled by people who do not desire reform; written in thrall to a political party that does not desire reform; and reliant upon the subjective perspectives of academics, politicians, and NGO bloodsuckers who do not desire reform. This leads, inevitably, to an understanding of social problems that occludes all possibility of reform, only now the discoursal boundaries are so droolingly retarded that you cannot mention the fact that these discussions do not contain even a hypothetical description of how reform might take place.

The point is, radically altering the manner in which social problems are understood, measured, and discussed does not lead--automatically or otherwise--to those social problems being positively addressed. Shifting rhetorical frames can be a precondition for change, yes, but it can just as easily be a means of calcifying the status quo. Unequivocally, our embrace of associationism has accomplished the latter.

We can easily discern the utility of associationism so far as our elite castes are concerned: it’s getting harder and harder to simply deny the existence of malignancies, so instead let’s just insist that everyone understand them in the dumbest possible way. Their popularity among the non-elites is due primarily to American Puritanism: the more upsetting and uncomfortable something makes us feel, the more we assume it must be working.

But Puritanism is a two-way street, and the true believers tend to be the ones at the base of the food chain. Regular folx will go through the motions in an earnest desire to do something, anything, to cleanse themselves of whatever horrible brutality video they found on their timeline this morning. They can be annoying, but you can’t blame them. The real malignancy of associationism is how it’s allowed a small group of conniving cocksuckers a means of enhancing their professional status by making their cruelest impulses appear progressive.

I started this essay with the intention of digging deep into Chris Lehmann’s abominable TNR piece in which he insists that the men driven mad and homeless after participating in our genocide in Vietnam were actually doing greviance politics. By the time I finished, he had been very thoroughly destroyed. I still think it’ll be worth the effort to do a deep dive to show the machinations of his horrific essay, but has already gone long so I’ll save that for later this week.

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westallenfun · 3 years

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Two's Company (1/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas).

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma, and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love. On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend, Barry Allen, but grapples with revealing her true feelings, for fear of completely ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, with romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may in fact force both Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths.

Rated: T (Warnings: Mild language)

Perhaps the most notable visual extravagance at wedding receptions is the abundance of balloons, flowers, and the chiffon backdrops, draped like curtains, framing the table whereon sat the wedding cake.

Iris is already trying to determine how she might steal away a few balloons, because really, nobody would miss them, and she had, after all, been the one sitting with the wedding planner for days on end, painstakingly selecting a theme for the reception and agonizing over every detail. Surely, after all her efforts, a few balloons going missing at the end of the party would be forgiven, if not unnoticeable. And she would be surreptitious about it too, seeing as how she would wait until the final guests, likely pleasantly drunk on champagne, rosé, and Prosecco, stumbled their way out of the Central City Gold Hotel.

“Nice work, West.” Iris looks up to see her heavily pregnant sister-in-law take a seat next to her, while cradling a rather magnificent sundae in her hands, spoon hanging precariously atop the hazelnut fudge.

“Thanks, but don’t you call my brother ‘West?’ Could get confusing,” Iris says, raising one eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I’m married to Wally. Have been for three years. And so, it doesn’t have the same effect with him anymore. That’s the troublesome thing about marriage.”

“Classic Linda Park logic,” Iris murmurs, before once again focusing on the balloons. They are all the same shade of ivory, which made them particularly functional. For gift-giving purposes, that is. Gift-giving, Iris knows, is all about the presentation.

“No, but seriously, Iris. I’m impressed. Joe and Cecile deserve the best, and this is, honestly, the best.”

“Thanks, Linda. Dad deserves a perfect wedding day. As does Cecile. To be honest, I didn’t expect it to come together as beautifully as it did, but I’m still praying we see this thing to the end without any hiccups. We’ve got…” Iris taps the screen of her phone to check the time, “About three hours, at least, left.”

“And it’s probably especially important to you. You know, because you played matchmaker for Joe and Cecile,” Linda says, while spooning a generous amount of ice cream, topped with fudge and sprinkles and coconut flakes, into her mouth. Iris’s brow furrows,

“I did not ‘match-make’ my dad and Cecile. We’ve been over this Linda…” Linda begins to interrupt, but Iris shakes her head, “I know you seem to think that because I introduced my dad to Cecile that somehow this is my doing, but that’s untrue. To be honest, I didn’t expect them to hit it off so well, let alone date and get married within a year of my introducing them.” Cecile owns an interior design shop, which Iris had visited when she was helping Barry decorate his new apartment— a memory which immediately brings a smile to Iris’s face, for she fondly recalls Barry frantically searching eBay for a bed and a couch, and the way she had persuaded him that that was a terrible idea and instead found her way to Cecile’s trendy furniture boutique, which was also quite affordable. Cecile was so friendly and sweet, and Iris remembered her father struggling to date again, as it had been nearly a decade and a half since her mother had passed away, and so when she had thrown Barry a housewarming party, Iris figured that there was no harm in inviting Cecile, who had become friends with both Barry and Iris after hours spent together at the boutique, and introducing her to her dad. That had been a year ago. Now, they are at Joe West and Cecile Horton’s wedding reception.

“Well, we can debate semantics, but you definitely match-maked Wally and me. You can’t deny that,” Linda says, matter-of-factly, before eating another scoop of her sundae.

“I wouldn’t call it match-making. More like I have a sense for people that I know well and then introduce them, thinking that they may potentially like each other.”

“You set Wally and I up on a blind date six years ago, and now we’re married and have twins on the way. I would say there’s a diabolical matchmaking side to you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel accomplished every time you successfully match-make a couple.”

“Linda, I’ve only successfully match-maked— to use your word, which I still find objectionable, by the way— two couples. One was my brother and you. And you’re my best friend. The other was my dad and Cecile. That’s hardly a track record of successful matchmaking.”

“But it could be. Think about it. This could be a lucrative side hustle.”

“As if I would have time for a match-making side hustle, even if that was something I was interested in doing. I finally got my news site up and running, and The Citizen needs all hands on deck and then some. Besides, a matchmaking business is an exploitative way to make money.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Linda seems to ponder this, momentarily, before changing topics, abruptly, “Speaking of which, I’m your best friend now? Thought that was a privilege exclusively afforded to Barry,” Iris has heard this before and rolls her eyes, exasperated,

“My friendship with Barry is different. You know that.”

“Actually I don’t know that. But I would love to be enlightened about that.” Linda’s response is far too smug for Iris’s liking, but before she can retort, she hears a familiar voice behind her, a voice that unquestionably wraps Iris in a cocoon of warmth, so that she feels instantly home,

“I heard my name.” And although she cannot see him yet, she knows he’s smiling.

“Was wondering where you were, Allen. It’s a rare sight that you and Iris would be separated at any point, when in the same vicinity.” Barry chuckles at Linda’s quip, settling into the chair on Iris’s right and brushing away a few plastic flowers that had come undone from the upholstery. Iris glances up at him, smiling widely, which he’s reciprocating in equal measure. He sets a plate, containing a chocolate fudge brownie topped with mint chocolate chip ice cream, in front of her. Iris’s eyes widen, as she glances from the plate to Barry; her face alight with unadulterated joy.

“My hero,” she gasps, squeezing his hand and then truly taking in the scrumptious display of gooey chocolate and ice cream goodness.

“Always,” he whispers, gazing at her, affectionately, before continuing, “I was wrangling the last brownie from old Mrs. Rogers, who apparently wanted to share it between herself and her cat. Although I don’t know,” Barry pauses for a moment, glancing around the reception hall, “if her cat is even here. Doubtful. Regardless, it took a great deal of speed, stealth, and possibly defying Newton’s first law of physics, because I could have sworn that I willed the brownie in my direction without even touching it, to retrieve this dessert.”

“Don’t lie, Bear,” Iris says, her eyes sparkling with laughter, as she eagerly grabs her dessert fork, “Mrs. Rogers would never argue with you, if you wanted that brownie. She loves you.”

“Yeah, it was just my regular, old charm. And by charm, I mean, because I tutor her grandson, Matt, in chemistry.” (Linda snorts at that.) “Still, I think defying Newton’s first law makes for a better story. But nobody was getting this brownie except for you, Iris. You know, we wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you. I mean, just look at this place. It looks fantastic,” he raves, gesturing towards the décor, “The work you put into this is amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you, Barry.” She’s touched, not just because Barry managed to negotiate the last brownie from poor, old Mrs. Rogers with his rather endearing, tripping-over-his-feet-type charm, but also because he is being, as usual, so disarmingly complimentary of her. Barry never expects her to be amazing; he just thinks she’s amazing always, even when she’s at her lowest or when she is mistaken, and when Iris reflects deeply on that, it overwhelms her. It forces her to dwell on feelings untold; on how, whenever she sees him, she can’t help but smile, almost as if by instinct.

But she can’t think about it. She won’t think about it.

“Before you got here, Barry. I was telling Iris how she should really get into a matchmaking side hustle,” Linda says, forcing Iris to focus on the conversation taking place and not on… well, a place where she refuses to go. A place which she cannot explore.

“Matchmaking?” Barry leans back, resting his arm on the back of Iris’s chair. “I don’t think that’s even remotely close to anything Iris-like.” Iris is acutely aware of how close his arm is to the bare skin of her upper back, but she ignores this. Or tries to.

“Exactly. And so I was telling Linda how that’s an awful idea, and how I am pretty sure a matchmaking business, where I have zero actual knowledge about strangers’ interpersonal relationships, could be fraudulent. I can’t possibly claim to be an expert. I mean, no guarantees, right? Seems like a colossal waste of people’s money,” Iris remarks, still trying not to think about Barry’s arm on her chair, right near her back. And how (she thinks she had just imagined it but, no, it was real) he had seemingly shifted his arm, so his fingers are now grazing her skin; his touch is feather-light, equally comforting as it is emboldening.

“That could be the genius of it, though. Enough people want to pay money for a matchmaker, even if it’s probably not going to be any more successful than a dating app. Throw in some good, old Cosmopolitan level astrology knowledge for marketing purposes. And there you have it. A potentially incredibly lucrative endeavor. Maybe I should start it myself,” Linda says, while still enjoying her sundae.

“Why waste money on a matchmaker? Sometimes something incredible is right in front of you, and you just have to tell yourself it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A matchmaker can’t tell you that, only you can know that,” Barry sounds wistful when he says this, and Iris turns to him, abruptly, studying his expression. He’s looking straight ahead, but his gaze is demonstrable of clear desire, and upon hearing such longing in his voice, her stomach drops. Because that’s the face of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone who’s found their someone. But who could her Barry have found? When did he find someone?

Iris is contemplating this, her stomach churning with her every thought, when the conversation shifts to pregnancy, as Linda comments how she’s always hungry and moody thanks to,

“…These two whom Wally impregnated me with.” To which Barry laughs, his fingers still softly grazing Iris’s back, while Iris forces herself to smile along and even joke that Linda had talked her ear off about how much she wanted babies and how maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so ahead of herself. But Iris’s mind is still on Barry potentially having found someone. She knows she should be happy, monumentally happy, because Barry is happy, so she cannot fathom why she feels like she’s about to vomit. Suddenly, she has no appetite for her brownie and ice cream, but she eats to evade suspicion, because Barry would surely know something is wrong if she fails to eat her dessert. But from the way he’s carefully watching her, maybe he does know something is wrong already, and Iris wishes, not for the first time, that they did not know each other’s every fidget and expression, signaling a mood shift, so well.

When the wedding reception is over and after Iris has said goodbye to every guest and promised her father and Cecile that she would be at their house the next day for their family dinner, she manages to take three ivory balloons with her to her car, without a single guest noticing. The decorator who had stayed to help her wrap up tells her that she can take any number of balloons that she would like. Or, perhaps more practically, however many would fit in her car.

More accurately, perhaps, Iris thinks she had not been noticed by anyone, when she’d successfully managed to fit all three balloons in her car two nights ago. She’s standing on line at CC Jitters, the local hub for Central City citizens to get their morning coffee and pastry fix, and holding a basket, which contains baked goods, a carefully wrapped red scarf, and a small, navy blue bag. Tied onto the handle of the basket are the three balloons, still inflated.

“For the boyfriend?”

Iris turns to meet the friendly disposition of a blonde woman she’s never met before. Startled for a moment, Iris realizes, that the stranger is referring to her basket, and she smiles, shaking her head,

“No, for a friend.” Although, given her thoughts lately, friend seems far too simple a word. She feels like she’s perjuring herself by saying friend, but best friend who I’ve known since childhood and with whom I think I might have feelings for, but who is possibly in love with someone else seems far too complicated, especially when Iris is not ready to admit this to herself, let alone to a stranger whom she meets for the first time on the queue for coffee.

“Well, they’re lucky. You clearly put so much work into that. No friend has ever given me a gift like that. Actually nobody’s given me a gift that thoughtful before,” the stranger continues, before visibly cringing, “I’m sorry, I’m oversharing. I’m Patty, by the way.”

“I’m…”

“Iris!” There it is again, that feeling of home settling upon her shoulders, like a velvet cloak, shielding her, protecting her. Barry is walking towards her, holding two mugs of coffee, and when he stops before her, he presses his lips to her forehead briefly, a typical form of greeting between the both of them. But if he could hear the way her heart hammers against her chest whenever she feels the soft brush of his lips on her skin, then surely the ruse would be up. He would know how she feels, and so Iris is grateful, not for the first time, that her heartbeat is inaudible to anyone but her.

“Hey Bear, that for me?” she asks, nodding at one of the two mugs.

“Yep. One Americano with an extra shot. Got here earlier and figured we could beat the line,” Barry grins, and he’s looking at her as if she’s the sun, and it’s almost too intense, perhaps because of all of those pesky feelings that she’s been feeling lately, so Iris breaks their gaze, remembering herself as well and turning back towards Patty.

“Patty, this is my friend, Barry. Barry… Patty. We just met on the line.” Barry nods politely, as Patty says,

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Barry responds. “New around here?”

“Is it that obvious? I’m just about to start at CCU as a grad student. And so I’m trying to get used to the city. I’m originally from Midway.”

“Yeah, understandable,” Iris smiles. “Takes awhile to get used to a new place, but CC Jitters is the best, so you’ll never be wanting for good coffee, that’s for sure.” Patty laughs, then,

“Well, I’m glad for that. Anyways, I won’t keep you two. Thank you, Iris, for just chatting with me.”

“Of course.” The three exchange polite goodbyes, and Barry and Iris make a beeline for their favorite booth in the farthest corner from the entrance to the coffee shop; a rather secluded, cozy spot that Iris had first started occupying, when she was a journalism student at Central City University. Barry had been a chemistry major, and they met up every morning for breakfast and would come to study nearly every weekend, armed with cookies, coffee, and blankets. Iris remembers long afternoons spent in this booth, her feet propped up on Barry’s lap, his hands massaging her calves, as they studied in companionable silence.

It was in this booth that Iris had written article after article for The Central Brief, CCU’s university-wide newspaper, including her famed paper on the state of land rights of women, globally, that had won her the Scholastic Student of Journalism Prize and had given her the chance to speak in The Hague at an international conference on human rights. As Iris agonized over her field research, including research accumulated from summers of backpacking, Barry, while studying for his Protein Crystallography final, had been effusive in his support for her. He was constantly breaking from his studies to be her sounding board, should she need one, despite her reminding him time and again that he ought to concentrate on his own finals and not on her. He never listened, though, not that it in any way affected his marks. And so sure was he that her work would be honored that he’d planned a party, months in advance, before she had heard back from the National Committee for Excellence in Student Journalism and before she had been invited to The Hague.

Indeed, it was Barry who had remarked then that Iris ought to consider starting her own news media site after university, stating that she already had the credentials to draw in a large audience and investors.

“How are you feeling? About the exposé, I mean. Today’s the big day and all,” Barry says, as they settle into the booth, referring to what Iris considers to potentially be the most groundbreaking piece of journalism of her career thus far, namely an article exposing the rot of the biotechnology company, McCulloch Technologies. Its CEO, Joseph Carver, has been using the corporation as a front for a highly dangerous and illegal weapons trafficking scheme. The exposé, which is due to be published later today, will be a highly contentious article, no doubt, but Iris had long since decided that she will not rest until she sees justice through and the thousands of innocent people, caught in the crosshairs of Carver’s inhumane crimes, are safe.

“Okay. I’m trying not to think about it, honestly,” Iris replies, and Barry takes her hand for a moment,

“Hey, I get it. It’s hard not to be anxious, especially given the magnitude of the article and the far-reaching consequences it’s going to have. But I am so proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself as well,” he says, running his thumb over her knuckles slowly, before releasing her hand. Iris smiles softly, deeply touched by Barry’s faith in her,

“Thanks, Bear.”

“Of course,” he says, before gesturing towards the gift basket, “So, are you going to tell me who the basket is for?” Iris adopts a playful expression, then.

“Hmmm, it’s for this friend of mine who just submitted his dissertation for his DSc.”

“How did you know I submitted today? I told you my deadline was next week, which it is,” Barry states, apparently incredulous that Iris could have known that he had submitted his paper this morning.

“I have my ways. And by that I mean you drooling on my couch last week and mumbling, half-asleep, that you are definitely submitting your dissertation on Tuesday. Well, today’s Tuesday, Bear,” Iris teases, chuckling at the memory of Barry entering her apartment last week in need of caffeine, which culminated with him staying the night, when he fell asleep on her sofa.

“I really can’t keep anything from you,” Barry sighs in mock frustration. “Although I really wouldn’t want to, anyways.”

“Good. And think about it, now you have this nice surprise.” Barry takes the basket from Iris’s hands, admiring her handiwork, before giving her a sly smile,

“Well, I guess I know why you took those balloons from the reception on Saturday.”

Okay, so apparently she had not gone completely unnoticed. One guest had noticed her attempt to fit three inflated balloons into her car. Unsurprising, she now reflected, given who that guest happened to be.

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Iris. I may not be able to keep anything from you, but you definitely cannot keep anything from me either.” Are you sure about, Iris thinks momentarily, before banishing the thought immediately. For she will not dwell on those feelings again, not when she stands to lose too much if they start consuming her. When Iris looks up again, Barry is looking through the basket, marveling at the baked cake lollipops and banana bread and brownies (Iris can only bake sweets, and she would never subject Barry to her cooking, although he claims it’s not as bad as she seems to think it is), before he takes the red scarf from the basket. “Iris…” he whispers, her name like a prayer on his lips, and there goes her heartbeat again, pounding against her chest. “You knitted this.” And she knows that he already knows that she did, but it’s the way he’s looking at her now, like there are not any words currently discovered to express to her how much this means to him. She gives him a comforting smile, hoping to diffuse some of the intensity of the emotions that are radiating off of Barry.

“Open the rest,” she encourages, and he’s now holding the small, navy blue bag, and removing a velvet box from it. Encased in the box is a watch, which she’d been saving up for, because all of his watches are for some reason broken, and she can hear his gasp, nearly inaudible, and then he’s looking at her, solemnly, gravely.

“Iris… I don’t know what to say. I don’t… thank you,” he says, his tone soft and tender.

“Of course, Bear. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t think this simple gift basket really can quantify how proud I am of you.”

“It’s not… it’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he says, and there it is again. How definitive it is to him that she’s amazing. And perhaps she forgives herself a little for her feelings then, for how can she not feel as she does when he says things like this to her every single day. He’s already wrapping the scarf on his neck and remarking how comfortable and warm it is. “I couldn’t get better knitted scarves at the store. I’m pretty sure you’re a superhero. You can literally do anything.” She listens to him wax on about her many, unbelievable talents, which she’s sure only he seems to think she possesses, before shaking her head, affectionately,

“The scarf looks good on you. Red is your color.”

“Always has been,” he jokes, although the emotion is still evident in his voice. “Come here,” he says then, reaching his arm towards her. She leaves her side of the booth to come over to his, and the moment she’s at his side, he wraps his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. She has one arm around his back, the other clutching his sweater, and her head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and Iris is sure that now he must be able to feel how rapidly her heart is beating. She’s cloaked in warmth and in comfort, and all she can think of is home. And all she can feel is love. The kind of tumbling, head over heels into a field of daisies type of love that Iris’s college friend, Cynthia Reynolds (now a hotshot litigator who works in BigLaw and who also is the Citizen’s unofficial legal counsel), claims is simply mushy, fairy-tale nonsense that couldn’t possibly exist outside of movies. Iris had laughed then, telling Cynthia that maybe she shouldn’t be so cynical. Cynthia had been unmoved, steadfast instead in her sentiment that people can fall in love, but that kind of ‘I want to go gallivanting in a forest somewhere and run towards you in a field, as if this is some damn terrible romantic drama’ love does not and cannot actually exist in real life.

Well, Iris is feeling that mushy, fairy-tale type of love now (a fact which shocks her, despite the fact that she’s very aware of her growing pesky feelings), while wrapped up in Barry’s arms, so clearly, Cynthia had gotten it wrong. Oh fuck.

There are approximately fifteen different photos, capturing different angles of the McCulloch Technologies building, sitting on Iris’s desk when she walks into The Citizen that morning, after saying goodbye to Barry at Jitters, and all Iris can think about is the fact that she’s in love with her best friend. And as if her life could not be more complicated in that very moment, Barry is potentially in love with someone else.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

She cannot think about her feelings nor Barry being in love with some mystery human being right now, though, for she’s on the verge of publishing the explosive piece on Joseph Carver, who has been using his internationally successful technology company to peddle a highly intricate and complex hub-and-spoke conspiracy involving arms trafficking. He had managed to slither under the radar of inquiring agencies by acquiring different sorts of obscure technology, including ballistic software and parts that are often used to construct robots for laser guidance, under the guise of developing cutting-edge bio-technology. When Iris’s source had informed her that Carver’s labs were combining methane and ammonia, she knew that there was an underbelly of weapons-related criminality within the globally recognizable technology company, and armed with her pen, pepper spray, and sheer gumption, she and her photojournalist, Kamilla Hwang, had obtained press passes to Carver’s unveiling of robotic limbs. While there, Iris had asked janitors, low-level software engineers, and other personnel about why Carver’s labs were having methane and ammonia react with oxygen and how this in any way ameliorates existing biomedical technology. Iris and Kamilla eventually obtained access to a private press tour of Carver’s labs, where they noticed how jittery the staff had been, and after Iris had slipped her card to some of the employees, she had found herself, three days later, with nearly fifteen whistleblowers willing to come forward about nefarious activities in the labs.

As it turned out, Carver’s labs had been trying to create and had indeed succeeded in creating a gun that releases hydrocyanic acid, which they are currently selling on the black market. This is the latest of extraordinarily dangerous weapons that Carver sells both domestically and internationally. Indeed, several politicians are in cahoots with Carver; Carver having made them rich men, in exchange for avoiding Congressional inquiries into McCulloch Tech.

Now, Iris stands poised to publish the most explosive exposé of her career thus far, and the thought is both exhilarating and terrifying.

She studies Kamilla’s photos of the McCulloch Tech building, now having to decide which one would accompany the headline that is due to go up right before noon. One photo stood apart among the rest: a shot of McCulloch Tech at night, illuminated by the lights of the city, but with only one floor of the building, the top floor, indicating any activity: the lights of the top floor were on, and the rest of the building was largely camouflaged by the night sky. That top floor contained the only working laboratory at headquarters and is where hydrocyanic acid is processed. This is the photo, Iris thinks, just as she hears a commotion at the door and sees her newest hire, Allegra Garcia, forcefully wrangle open the door, rather dramatically, before slamming it shut.

“Hey, boss,” Allegra says. “We have got to get that door fixed. I’m telling you; it’s trying to kill me every time I arrive.” Iris chuckles fondly at Allegra’s dramatics,

“You’re the only one who seems to be constantly battling the door, Allegra. There are four other people who work here who seem to have no trouble getting in and out of the office.”

“Well, I don’t know, but this door has had it out for me since I began working here. And so… oh! Are those the photos? How much time have we got until noon…?” Allegra pauses momentarily, as she taps her phone, which she was holding in one hand, “Forty minutes. Fantastic.” Iris smiles, watching Allegra race up to her desk, excitedly. Two of the reasons that she had hired Allegra was for her enthusiasm about reporting and for her passion for ethical journalistic integrity, both of which she demonstrated every day on the job.

“This is the one I want to use to accompany the article,” Iris explains, while pushing the photograph towards Allegra, whose eyes widen when she sees the photo.

“Yeah, this is incredible. I know Kamilla must have camped out awhile to get this shot,” she exclaims, before looking up at Iris, “We’re really gonna do this, boss. We’re gonna expose Carver and who knows? You might win a Pulitzer from this.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have to publish the exposé first, and our legal team has been sending me messages since this morning about how she is obligated to warn us about frivolous defamation suits that Carver might file in the immediate aftermath. But the truth is more important. Let Carver sue us; if he does, he’s going to lose anyways.” Although, to be completely accurate, the Citizen’s unofficial legal team, comprising of one Cynthia Reynolds, whose texts to Iris consisted of, “Carver is definitely going to sue you for defamation, so I’ve got to warn you of that, but screw that guy. Publish and destroy him once and for all,” were certainly more emboldening than averting. Iris is also quite certain that that is technically not sound legal advice, in the least.

The door opens again, and in walks Kamilla, joined by the two other reporters at The Central City Citizen, Kara Danvers and James Olsen. They’re all chatting animatedly about the exposé and the explosive ripple effects its publication might have.

“He’s an absolute monster,” Kara tells James, no doubt referring to Carver. “I mean, hydrocyanic acid? The sheer inhumaneness of his crimes just to fill his coffers…”

“Evil folks will do absolutely anything to satisfy their greed, including murdering people,” James observes, and Iris knows this is perhaps a fundamental truth of which every investigative journalist must be aware. Kamilla walks up to Iris’s desk and grins when she sees Iris scanning the chosen photo onto her computer,

“That’s the one, isn’t it? When I captured it, I knew I had gotten it. It took me, I think, nearly five hours of camping out, and it was 2:45 AM yesterday when I finally had managed to take that photo.”

“It’s incredible, Kamilla,” Iris praises. “All your photos are great, but this one is fantastic. It captures exactly what we need to accompany the article.” When Iris had taken this on by herself, she had been wary about putting any of her reporters in danger, but Kamilla had insisted that she accompany Iris in order to take photographs. In hindsight, Iris is incredibly grateful to have had Kamilla by her side through it all, for her calm, steady demeanor was vital amidst the insanity of taking on Joseph Carver. Kara and James, who have caught up to the others, both make approving noises, congratulating Kamilla on her photography, as Iris continues to work to format the article.

When she is satisfied with the formatting, she taps her phone, seeing that there is roughly twenty minutes remaining until the deadline, and while her reporters are chattering excitedly, the door opens once more, and Iris is greeted by the sight of Wally carrying two champagne bottles in one hand and precariously balancing a few glasses in his other hand. On his heels is Barry, who is carrying a large white box with the words ‘Zulma’s Pastries’ emblazoned on the top, and Iris is flooded with that fairy-tale, gallivanting in a field of daisies feeling again, to which she now finds she is already getting accustomed, which is a somewhat terrifying thought.

While Iris has some idea as to why both of them are in her office, she is also aware that Dr. Wally West is supposed to be at work at Central City Hospital, and Barry is supposed to be meeting the Dean of Graduate Studies at CCU about a potential professorship.

“What are you two doing here?” Iris asks, smiling nonetheless, for she is touched that they likely took time out of their busy days to celebrate the publication of the exposé. She had not mentioned the details of the publication to them, in an effort to protect her sources, but Linda had let it slip to Wally that Iris is publishing the article on Tuesday at the wedding on Saturday, and Barry… well, Barry knows everything about Iris, just the way she knows everything about him, so his appearance in her office twenty minutes before she is meant to publish the most important exposé of her professional career is even less surprising than Wally’s.

“I can’t believe you thought we weren’t going to come and crash this… pathetic party, quite frankly,” Wally says, frowning as he takes in the Citizen office, which while buzzing with the excitement of determined reporters, is not exactly set up for any sort of impending celebration. “You have nothing here to celebrate, Iris. No food, no drinks, nothing.”

“We haven’t even published, and we have no idea of the repercussions of a piece like this, Wally. I think our sheer grit as reporters is celebratory enough.”

“We knew you were going to say that,” Barry chuckles, placing the box on a desk adjacent to Iris’s, and then helping Wally with the champagne glasses. “But Linda and I wanted this to be a surprise. We managed to get Wally to help, which is good…”

“Linda’s not feeling well,” Wally cuts in. “She was having awful morning sickness, and I told her I didn’t want to go and that Barry could do the heavy-lifting, but she threatened me and sent me away with two of our best champagne bottles.” Iris begins to protest, but Wally continues on, “And honestly, Iris, before you say anything, I’d rather get an earful from you about leaving Linda at home for this— and by the way, she’s feeling much better, thanks to the fact that I’ve finally perfected the art of making a ginger and mint smoothie— than defy her orders.”

“Glad to see your theatrics are still in top form,” Iris deadpans, before turning to Barry, pointedly, “Thank you, Barry. You and Linda really didn’t have to do all of this. I haven’t even published it yet.”

“Excuse me, I helped!” Wally interjects, and Barry is laughing now as Iris reaches up to give him a quick hug, which he returns immediately. As they break apart, Barry’s hand lingers on her arm.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I wanted this to be a surprise and that’s why I didn’t mention earlier coming by later on. And I knew you could have used a distraction this morning from thinking about the exposé.”

“I did need a distraction,” Iris smiles, still keenly aware of his fingers slowly brushing against her arm, gently, tenderly.

“I imagine you did. But to reiterate what I said earlier this morning, I’m so proud of you. So, so proud of you.” He cups her face with one hand, gently caressing his thumb against her cheek, and he’s gazing at her with so much emotion in his eyes, and she knows that the same intensity that had radiated off of him when she’d gifted him the basket earlier this day is emanating from him now, and she cannot help but wonder if he feels what she feels, because in these moments, she’s sure he must be.

Wally clears his throat loudly, while pouring out the champagne, and both Barry and Iris break away from each other quickly. When Iris looks up at Wally, he’s giving her that same look Linda had given her at the wedding reception on Saturday, when she had clarified that her friendship with Barry was different. Unwilling to entertain the idea that Wally and Linda have discussed her feelings for Barry, she turns to her reporters, who were already opening Barry’s box of sweets.

“Brownies!” Kara yelps, eyeing the chocolate chip, fudge brownies and quickly grabbing paper plates from the Citizen’s supply cupboard.

“Thank you, Barry! We really needed this,” James agrees, while Kamilla and Allegra join their colleagues in helping themselves to the scrumptious sweets and expressing their gratitude.

“We’re not going to get any work done today, but it’s fine. Thanks, Bear,” Iris laughs, as Barry hands her a glass of champagne. They clink their glasses together, before sipping their respective drinks.

“The Citizen can use a break. Especially you,” Barry says after a few moments, giving Iris a pointed look. “You’ve had countless sleepless nights over the research for this, and now it’s ready for the public to read. You deserve a whole week long break, at least.”

“The news doesn’t stop for me to catch up on sleep, unfortunately. I have three upcoming potential stories, including the ways in which exam software companies have violated the privacy of examinees.”

“Sounds like you’re about to become the hero of every university student everywhere. I can’t believe the vagueness of some of those disclaimers that exam software companies put out, as if students have any choice but to use them, when they have examinations online.”

“Yeah, exactly. And if nobody holds their feet to the fire, they think that they can get away with anything. That’s why I’ve got to do it.”

“Iris West saves the world yet again. That should be a headline. Maybe I should pitch it to Central City Picture News. Think Scott Evans would run a headline on his biggest rival?”

“Scott would definitely do it, if it brings CCPN good business. Besides, our rivalry is more friendly than anything else. That said, ‘Iris West Saves the World Yet Again’ sounds more like I’m saving the world with superpowers, not the power of a pen and a public audience. I think you might be overselling me just a little bit.”

“Absolutely not,” Barry says, affronted. “Iris West is my hero, and she always has been, so I think you’re underestimating her. She’s a total superhero.”

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not a superhero, Iris. You’re definitely not going to win this argument.”

“Fine, I’ll level with you. Because you know what they say, right? Every superhero has her own hero? Well, if I am a superhero, then I have a confession to make: my hero happens to be this guy I know… superheroes need strength to be invincible, right? So yeah, this guy is my constant strength. Maybe you know him? Name’s Barry Allen?” Barry blushes furiously at that, ducking his head bashfully, and Iris thinks, Success! She knows she’s rendered him flustered, and he’s so adorably handsome, as he fidgets with his hands, as if searching for something to hold. But even despite his flustered state, he remembers the ongoing debate, and he manages a,

“Alright, alright. You win, Iris.” Iris smiles at him, radiantly and triumphantly, just as Wally makes his way over to them, holding a champagne glass of his own, and he’s got a rather sheepish look on his face, which immediately makes Iris suspicious.

“I know that face, Wall. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Not every expression of mine means something,” Wally says, immediately defensive. “Although, I do have to ask you a small favor. But really, it’s not a favor, because it’s actually going to be great for you. So it’s technically a favor, but a favor that you’ll enjoy.”

“Of course you think so. What is it?” Iris asks, tiredly, knowing immediately that she probably was not going to enjoy this favor as much as Wally seems to think.

“Okay, so you know Cecile’s godson, Eddie Thawne? He couldn’t come to the wedding, because he was away on an emergency business trip?”

“Yeah, I know Eddie,” Iris responds, confused as to what he had to do with whatever Wally was asking of her. Eddie Thawne was the son of Cecile’s best friend, a wealthy hotelier, and he’d been friendly enough in the few interactions that Iris had had with him, but she could not claim to know him all that well.

“Right, so he’s hosting this gala in Metropolis for dad and Cecile this Saturday. It’s very last minute, found out last night, actually… and well, I’d told dad I was going to go, because you know, one of us should go, right? Technically, both of us should, but dad didn’t want to trouble you, because you’ve been so busy with work, and it’s not a big deal. In fact, I think dad didn’t want you to know, because he thought you might get the wrong idea and think that this gala was going to upstage all the work you put in for the actual wedding and reception, which I kept insisting to him you wouldn’t think at all. And I don’t want to leave Linda, even for the weekend. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, and I know she’s not due for another two months, but I’m not comfortable going.”

“So, you want me to go,” Iris says, knowing exactly what her brother was asking of her. On the one hand, traveling to Metropolis for the weekend for a gala made Iris nervous, because she did not want to leave Central City for at least a week after the McCulloch Tech article was published, but on the other hand, Wally could not be expected to attend, and it would be wrong if both of them missed a gala that was being held for their dad and Cecile.

Wally is apparently under the impression that Iris might need some more coaxing, so he puts his champagne glass down and reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing four plane tickets.

“Here, the flight tickets are on me. Eddie is putting people up in rooms at his family’s hotel, and he apparently booked four rooms between the two of us, so we could each bring some guests. With Linda and I not going, you’ll have at least three rooms to fill.”

“It’s fine, Wally. I’ll go. You’re right; we should go for dad and Cecile, and you honestly cannot and should not go. I just have to find people who can take a trip with me, last minute…” Iris knows whom she would want to invite, and so she turns to Barry, immediately. “Look, Bear, I know it’s short notice, but…”

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Barry agrees quickly, before she can even finish posing the question, and Iris notices that he has a slightly agitated expression, which worries her. His hand clenches the edge of her desk, rather forcefully, and so she places her own hand over his, reassuringly, and this seems to relax him, at least momentarily, as she can feel some of the tension in his muscles evaporate slowly. He smiles, then, perhaps trying to mask his sudden agitation, “My weekend’s free, and we were just talking about how you could use a break, Iris. This’ll be good, as it’s a vacation of sorts.”

“Thanks, Barry. I’ll also ask Cynthia; she could always use a break, and Bear, why don’t you invite someone?”

“I’ll ask Cisco.” Iris glances up at Barry, and they both share a knowing look: they had been trying to get Cynthia and Barry’s old college roommate and engineering genius extraordinaire, Cisco Ramon, to meet for ages (So much for swearing off match-making, Iris thinks then), but they had not had the chance to introduce the two of them yet. This trip might just provide the long-awaited golden opportunity.

“Perfect,” Wally says, considerably relieved, but before Iris can respond, she finds herself surrounded by her fellow reporters who are telling her that it’s just before noon. She nods, waiting until everyone is gathered around her, and Barry’s arm comes around her shoulders, providing her with both comfort and strength. And while a sudden, rather dignified silence, perhaps to mark the solemnity of this publication, descends upon the Citizen, Iris can feel the soundless excitement of Kamilla and of Allegra and of Kara and of James, as she publishes the exposé on the Citizen’s website.

Thus, late that Friday afternoon, Iris finds herself boarding a plane with Barry, Cynthia, and Cisco, in tow, and she’s only half paying attention to Cisco’s exuberance in describing his latest inventive feat at S.T.A.R. Labs, the product technology company he works for, because Barry is acting… odd. He has been acting odd since he had accepted her invitation to come along to Metropolis, and she cannot fathom what it is about this trip that has him so on edge. He is fidgeting so much, and every time he notices that she notices, he gives her a forced smile, as if to divert her suspicions away from his agitation, but that only serves to increase her worries. Whatever is bothering him so much is something that he apparently is unwilling to share with her.

“…It’s insane. I mean, if we get this right, we will be revolutionizing tablet computers and robotic interpreters,” Cisco is saying, and Iris is sure that if Cisco is put to the task, he and his team certainly would get it done, for she had witnessed his genius first hand before, when, during a birthday party for his best friend, Caitlin Snow, a few years back, the power had blown and there had been no backup generator, and Cisco had managed to create a temporary power source seemingly out of thin air. Iris is sure that there were numerous devices at Cisco’s disposal, and he’d had the aid of Caitlin’s then boyfriend now husband, Ronnie, also an engineer, but it was the sheer ingenuity of Cisco’s engineering ability and the sheer determination to get this done and to ensure Caitlin had the party that she deserved that was so impressive.

“If anyone can get it done, though, it’s Cisco Ramon,” Iris voices her thoughts, and Cisco smiles proudly,

“Thanks, Iris. It’s definitely going to be a lot of work, but I definitely think we’re headed in the right direction. Hopefully.”

“Hmmm, it all sounds impressive, but what are the patenting ramifications that come with such a unique project. Surely, you’re worried about somebody trying to build upon your product once it’s out in the market. How stringent is your patent going to be?” Cynthia, ever the cynic, adds, eyeing Cisco.

“I don’t want to hog all the spotlight, honestly. We want other people and companies to be able to build on our findings and develop even better tech. There’ll be a patent, but it’s not going to be exclusive.”

“You’re way too nice.”

“I’m just here to improve tech. Being nice isn’t a crime, I hope,” Cisco laughs, and Cynthia shakes her head fondly, clearly believing Cisco to be naive, but apparently endeared to his naiveté nonetheless. Cisco and Cynthia, still playfully arguing about the stringency of a future patent, take their seats in the middle row, and Iris and Barry, the latter who is still distracted, sit by the window across the aisle.

“Bear, what’s going on?” Iris sighs, finally, turning to him, once they’ve taken their seats. Barry looks up at her, startled and guilty, and immediately starts deflecting,

“Nothing. I’m fine, Iris, really. I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit out of it. Just… I don’t know, I’m fine.” Iris can tell that he’s not going to be forthcoming with her, no matter how persistent she is, but she is not ready to drop the issue entirely.

“I’m not going to press you, but you know that if something is bothering you, I’m always here, if you want to talk. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. Of course I do,” Barry says, his voice tender. “And I’m the luckiest guy in the world for it. I’m sorry that I’ve been out of it the last couple of days, I just… I don’t want you to worry about me. That’s the last thing I want.” Iris can tell he’s struggling between telling her and being evasive, so she takes his hand in her own, their fingers interlocking almost instinctively. She squeezes his hand, as his thumb brushes against her knuckles.

“I’m going to worry, because it’s you, and so I can’t not worry, but I don’t want you to tell me anything when you’re not ready to.” Barry’s free hand comes to cup her chin, as he brings her closer to him, and she basks in the warmth of his hand against her skin. When his lips meet her forehead, she closes her eyes and relishes in his lingering kiss, and she knows… she knows that she’s unequivocally in love with him, and she’s sure that she has been for quite some time, and all she wants to do is lift her face and coax his lips to hers, but she can’t. She knows that she can’t. She can’t ruin their equilibrium, because if she were to admit her feelings and lose Barry’s friendship completely… that is a possibility that she cannot risk.

“I know how deeply you care. And I love you for it,” he whispers against her forehead. And I love you for it.

He’s told her he loves her so many times over the two decades that they’ve known one another, and she knows that he means it platonically, as he always has, but that doesn’t stop her from imagining that he loves her in the same way that she loves him.

And when Barry falls asleep, after the plane takes off, and drops his head, so it rests comfortably on her shoulder, his face turned into the crook of her neck, so that she can feel his steady breaths fanning against her skin, Iris leans her head against his, and she thinks that this is what true tranquility feels like.

And I love you for it.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

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