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hy6erion · 5 months ago

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Hii! I know I just send in an another request but this idea also popped into my mind and I feel like you could write it quite well so I didn't want to send it to someone else.

Viktor×reader, where readers way of expressing their love and care is by taking care of people and trying to help as much as possible to make life easier for everyone they care about (opening doors, making food, helping a friend study, all the small and big things). I think viktor would struggle to accept that reader cares for him and isn't just babying him. Him slowly realising that he can ask for help not only when it's absolutely necessary but also just when he wants help because it would be easier. But then also getting stuck with the feeling of the reader being so caring for everyone. Love confession or something? Idk

Sorry for sending two requests in a row, take your time please.

~🍒

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩- 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (╥╯^╰╥)

Viktor was used to doing things alone. It wasn’t a matter of pride—at least, not entirely. It was habit. Necessity. He had learned early on that asking for help often led to disappointment, so he learned to manage on his own. He had learned to be independent, to push forward no matter the difficulty, to adjust his grip on his cane and keep moving even when his leg ached and the weight of exhaustion pressed against his skull.

That was why he struggled with you. Because you—without hesitation, without expectation—made his life easier.

It started small, things he could brush off. You holding open doors when you walked ahead of him, waiting just long enough so he wouldn’t have to catch the handle himself. You adjusting his chair in the lab before he sat down, subtle, like you hadn’t even thought about it. You bringing him tea when you got your own, setting it down beside him without a word.

But it wasn’t just him.

You did it for everyone. Helping Jayce reorganize his disaster of a desk when you noticed him getting frustrated. Bringing Claggor coffee when he was pulling an all-nighter. Tutoring some first-years when you saw them struggling with equations you could solve in seconds.

You were thoughtful in a way that seemed effortless, as if your care for others was woven into your very being.

And it unsettled him. Because the more he noticed it, the harder it became to ignore.

He had spent years learning to work through pain, through difficulty, through exhaustion. He only ever asked for help when there was no other option. And yet, with you, help was simply given—before he could even think to ask.

And worse than that, you didn’t just do it because of his leg, or because you pitied him. You did it because you cared.

That realization was the most difficult thing of all.

The lab was quiet save for the occasional scratch of pen on paper and the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane against the floor as he moved back and forth between his desk and the chalkboard. He was immersed in his work, half-formed calculations filling the margins of his notebook.

Until—

“Viktor.” Your voice, warm and familiar, pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up just as you placed a plate of food beside him.

He frowned. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But you haven’t eaten all day, and I was making something for myself anyway. Figured you’d appreciate not starving.”

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you repeated easily. “But I wanted to.”

That should have been the end of it. You turned to leave, already heading back to your own work, but Viktor’s grip tightened around his pen.

“…You do this for everyone.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the plate, at the general atmosphere of you. “You help everyone. You—” He exhaled sharply, frustration edging his voice. “You don’t have to keep looking after me.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

Viktor shook his head. “You should not waste your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” you said, more firmly this time. You took a step closer, crossing your arms. “But just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you have to.”

Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. He had spent so long believing he was only allowed help when it was absolutely necessary. When he physically could not continue without it.

But you—you were offering it simply because you cared.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

It took time.

At first, he tried to resist. If he needed something from a high shelf, he would stretch for it. If his leg ached after hours of standing, he would grit his teeth and bear it. If his hands trembled from exhaustion, he would steady them himself.

But you were there.

Not pushing, not forcing—just there. And it became harder to ignore the fact that things were simply easier when he let you help.

The first time he asked for something—really asked, not because he had no other choice but because he wanted to—it was almost painful.

“Could you… hand me that book?”

You didn’t comment on the hesitation in his voice, didn’t make a big deal of it. You just passed him the book and went back to your work, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe, for you, it was.

So he tried.

He let you carry an extra cup of tea back to the table when he saw you holding two. He let you adjust the strap of his bag when it had slipped. He let you—just once—walk beside him at his pace without feeling the need to keep up.

And then one day, without thinking, he said, “Could you help me with this equation?”

And you did. No hesitation. No expectation. Just a simple, of course.

And he realized—he liked it.

He liked knowing that there was someone who cared enough to notice when he needed something. He liked the ease of it, the weight lifting from his shoulders.

But then— Then he caught himself watching you help others. Not just him. Everyone.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was simply who you were.

But the next time you reached out to help Jayce with something, something hot and tight twisted in his chest.

“Do you—” He hesitated, words feeling foreign in his mouth. “Do you care for everyone the way you care for me?”

You looked at him then, truly looked, as if you were searching for something beneath his carefully neutral expression.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, but certain.

His breath caught.

You took a step closer. “I care about a lot of people. But you—” A small, almost nervous smile played at your lips. “You are different.”

Viktor swallowed. He had spent so long avoiding the truth that it almost knocked the air from his lungs.

You cared for him. Not because you pitied him. Not because you saw him as weak.

But because you wanted to.

Because you loved him.

And suddenly, he was laughing—soft, breathless, incredulous.

Because maybe—just maybe—he loved you too.

#✰⍣ 𝐡𝐲𝟔𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #🍒-requests #x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane Viktor x reader #arcane viktor #fluff #gn! reader #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x female reader

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fieldofheathers-stuff · 1 month ago

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And yet, I burn.

————————————

Imma be honest, guys, I’m not exactly sure what I was aiming for with this one... except that it first turned way spicier than I intended, and then it just turned…weird. But like, in a good way. So imma keep it. Uploading it here before I start not liking it anymore (knowing me, that will likely happen in about 24 hours or less).

Anyway, enjoy some weird, surrealist Thranto for the soul. Idk man.

Black and white sketch below the cut + bonus nsfw-ish (?) headcanons because, at this point, why not.

Anyway, aside from the fact that I will die on the hill that these two ONLY hook up later in life for angsty reasons (why have them do the horizontal tango immediately when you can have 30 years of soulful pining, amrite?), I also think that, had they hooked up as younger men, it would have been BAD.

Like, BAD BAD. The inherent power imbalance of the dynamic, mixed with the emotional immaturity of both (outright emotional stuntedness in Thrawn's case, I would argue) would have just made it for an awful, terrible relationship, and through no fault of their own. I think it's true that they love each other from very the beginning... I just don't think that would be enough. There's just no way that 20-year-old Eli, with all his wide-eyedness and hero worship, would have been able to deal with Thrawn's baggage, and Thrawn would 100000% feel guilty about it (and wouldn't know how to fix it, which in turn would make him feel even more guilty). It's no bueno.

50-year-old Eli, however... now that would be a guy who gets it and, most importantly, knows how to deal with it.

And that's what Thrawn needs, really; he needs someone who can reality check him, because when you're so smart, so extraordinary all the time, you need someone who can bring you down to earth and keep you tehtered to some semblance of reality.

And it's also what Eli needs, because it's the final proof that they have moved beyond their old mentor-protegé dynamic and can finally engage with each other on equal ground, which is what he always wanted. Also, he finally finds the one field in which Thrawn is not, like, a literal savant and an untouchable genius; the one thing in which he can take the lead, and, in a way, return the favor of guiding him through something complicated and beautiful.

All this to say that, yeah, Thrawn is totally the bottom. (And he likes it that way, thank you very much).

XDDDDD

All jokes aside, I think it kind of has to be that way (Thrawn being the one who has to be gently led... in bed and otherwise). Think about it: Thrawn is selfless to the point of self-annihilation. Put that kind of attitude in a relationship and what you get is an absolute disaster. He needs an Eli who can remind him that this is about what he wants as well, and not only what he can give, or achieve, or sacrifice. And, to be honest, I think most of the time Thrawn himself barely knows what he wants - not just sexually, I think this applies to all the areas of his life that aren't about his "keeping the Ascendancy safe" agenda - so the fact that Eli knows him so well (and sometimes understands him better than he understands himself), and has the skill to navigate him through his feelings in ways he can actually process is absolutely key. I actually love the idea of this role-reversal: of Eli nurturing his emotional world in the same unorthodox ways Thrawn used to help him flourish as a leader.

They would probably be quetly passionate, and very sensual; I think Thrawn would enjoy that even more than outright sexuality (although he is not averse to it at all... he is, after all, Eli-sexual) as a slower, less overwhelming option of exploring intimacy - another thing that fiery young Eli would 100% not understand, and probably interpret negatively, knowing him. He does, after all, crash out from one, albiet severely mislplaced, "good day", so imagine what a "uhhh I'm not really into having sex with you" would do to him.

An experienced, older Eli tho? Possibly one who has had plenty of time to burn off his youthful exuberance with many, many partners? Now, that is a guy who can totally be into slow, leisurly, sensual lovemaking. And, to a guy like Thrawn, feeling seen and understood (in all his multiple imperfections, idiosincrasyes and human mistakes that he so endeavors to keep hidden in his regular life) would mean more than any type of earth-shattering, knee-bending, mind-melting sex that a 20-year-old Eli Vanto would probably be into. And the best part? With 50-year-old Eli Vanto, he can get both. A win-win situation, if you ask me. XDDD

#thranto #my art #thrawn #eli vanto #my headcanons

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rockspider556 · 4 months ago

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THE OFFICIAL TEMP & PROBIE SURVIVAL GUIDE FOR STATION 118

(Or: How to Survive the Most Dysfunctional Yet Effective Firehouse in the LAFD.)

Introduction

So, you’ve been assigned to Station 118. First off, we’re sorry. You must have angered someone in upper management.

If you’re reading this, you are either a temp firefighter, a probie, or you lost a bet. Regardless of how you got here, you’re in for an experience that will leave you questioning everything, including basic physics, firehouse professionalism, and whether two men can be so in love that an entire station just collectively decides to never say anything about it.

You will get attached. You will get confused. This guide is here to help you survive the madness.

Rule #1: Don’t Question it

Did you just see a firetruck jump a freeway divider? Did a firefighter just bench-press another firefighter for fun? Did the captain just predict an emergency call before it came in?

Yes. Yes. And absolutely yes.

It’s best if you just roll with it.

Rule #2: The 118 attracts weird calls- Accept this

You’ll see things. Terrible things. Confusing things. Things that should not be physically possible. Examples from past rotations include:

✅ Someone flushing a baby down the toilet

✅ A fighter jet in someone’s living room

✅ More natural disasters than statistically possible

✅ Situations so baffling even Bobby Nash, the most experienced firefighter here, will have to take a deep breath before dealing with them.

Just accept that this station is cursed and move on

(If you hear the words “raccoon” and “rescue” in the same sentence—walk away. We do not talk about the raccoon incident.)

Rule #3: If you cant find Buck, look for Eddie

If you can’t find Eddie, look for Buck.

If you can’t find either, follow the noise.

🔹 Loud crash? They’re there.

🔹 People shouting their names? They’re definitely involved.

🔹 Unnecessary heroics? Yep, that’s them.

Do not attempt to separate them. That is above your pay grade.

(Exception: If Bobby tells you to separate them, congratulations! You’re now part of the problem.)

Rule #4: If someone says “PROBIE, CATCH!” - DO NOT CATCH

Just duck- trust us

🔹 If Buck yells it, it’s already airborne.

🔹 If Chimney yells it, it’s a prank.

🔹 If Hen yells it, catch it and don’t ask questions.

🔹 If Bobby yells it… it’s probably too late.

Rule #5: Be nice to Christopher

Christopher is Eddie’s son. He is the unofficial mascot of the 118 and the only person who can tell Buck to shut up and have it actually work.

Christopher is amazing, and if you are even slightly rude to him, you will be immediately ejected from this station, either professionally or physically.

(Seriously. If Buck finds out you’ve upset Chris, you might just get yeeted out of the firehouse. You think we’re joking? We are not.)

Rule #6: Hen knows everything

You cannot hide anything from Hen.

If you did something embarrassing, Hen already knows.

If you have a dumb question, Hen will answer it—but with judgment.

If you think you can outsmart her, you are wrong.

Your best course of action? Accept your fate.

(Bonus Tip: If you ever need good advice—about firefighting, life, or avoiding Chimney’s latest scheme—ask Hen. She’s your best hope.)

Rule #7: Chimney is either your best friend or your worst nightmare

You will never know which until it’s too late.

If Chimney is laughing at you:

🔹 You fell for a prank.

🔹 You are about to fall for a prank.

🔹 Something ridiculous just happened, and Chimney has already made it his personal mission to bring it up forever.

Do not trust him if he says, “Hey, Probie, can you do me a favor?”

That’s how it starts.

(Exception: If Hen is also involved, run.)

Rule #8: The unofficial married couple energy is strong

They’re even co-parenting a child

At some point, you will witness the following:

🔹 Buck and Eddie bickering like they’ve been married for ten years.

🔹 Buck casually doing things for Eddie like an overenthusiastic husband.

🔹 Eddie rolling his eyes but secretly loving it.

🔹 A conversation that consists entirely of looks, and yet somehow they both understand exactly what’s being said.

Do not ask if they are together. Do not point out that they should be together. This has been an ongoing, slow-burn situation for years, and apparently, we’re all just waiting for them to figure it out.

(Side note: If Chimney is also in the room, he will absolutely narrate their moments like a nature documentary.)

Rule #9: Expect unnecessary displays of strength

Someone at 118 will, at some point, decide that carrying you, the ambulance, or possibly a full-grown cow is a totally normal thing to do. Don’t fight it. Just nod, say “Wow, that’s impressive,” and move on.

Rule #10: Never underestimate Bobby

Captain Nash is somehow aware of everything at all times. If you break a rule, he already knows. If you get involved in nonsense, he saw it coming. If you think you’re being sneaky, you’re not.

Just be honest. It’s easier for everyone.

(Exception: If Buck tells you to do something, assume it is not captain-approved and proceed with extreme caution.)

Rule #11: You will never be the “Alpha” here

It doesn’t matter how strong, fast, or experienced you are. The 118’s hierarchy is absolute and was forged in a trial-by-fire (literally). The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.

The pecking order usually goes like this:

🔹 Captain Nash – Sees all, knows all, somehow controls all.

🔹 Hen – The mom friend. Respected. Will roast you if necessary.

🔹 Chimney – The chaos gremlin. Somehow both responsible and unhinged.

🔹 Eddie & Buck – The human embodiment of “Do first, think later.”

🔹 Bobby’s Cooking – It has its own level of authority. Respect it.

🔹 You – The probie/temp.

(Note: If Bobby ever calls you by your full name instead of your nickname, start updating your résumé.)

Rule #12: You will not leave the same as you arrived

If you survive your rotation at the 118, congratulations! You will now find every other station shockingly boring.

Common side effects include:

✅ An instinctive sigh whenever you hear something crash, followed by, "What did Buck do?"

✅A strange desire to always check on Christopher, even though you are no longer responsible for him.

✅ Uncontrollable frustration that Buck and Eddie still haven’t figured it out.

✅ A deep, unshakable feeling that, despite the madness, you kind of miss it.

If you experience these symptoms, don’t fight it. You’ve been claimed by the 118.

🎉Welcome to the weirdest, most dysfunctional family in the LAFD. 🎉

And remember: If they ever actually kiss, you were here first.

May Bobby Nash have mercy on your soul.

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jjdoeswritings · 12 days ago

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Clipped Wings

Chapter 1; what am I?

Percy Jackson x Daughter of Eros Reader.

NOT BETA READ.

You know, as far as funerals go this wasn't a bad one. They had air conditioning, the people were avoiding talking to you, and it was a relative you didn't even know.

You honestly had no idea why your mother had dragged you to such a shindig, she was always blabbering on about how you need to ‘socialise more’. How were you supposed to do that here? You had no idea. Hardly worth talking to the corpse, you'd never get a reply.

The venue was a somewhat classy, but not at all upscale funeral home. It would’ve been totally run-of-the-mill if not for the random statues scattered around. Your mother had said it doubled as a museum. What a peculiar combination. But one old thing is as boring as another you supposed.

Looking around, you couldn’t help but wonder, wasn’t calling it a ‘museum’ a bit of a stretch for a place full of neighborhood junk? Who wants to stare at an old, cracked fireman’s helmet and read about how some guy jumped into flames to save a family cat? You certainly didn’t. It felt like a pitiful attempt to make you feel proud of the poor, polluted dive you were unfortunate enough to be born into.

The air inside the funeral home was dry and stuffy, like no moisture was allowed in lest your dead great-uncle start growing mold. The wallpaper was straight out of the 1950s, picked, maybe, by a housewife who’d spend her whole life staring at it. It wasn’t cheerful. Just faded and tired, like it had outlived its purpose but no one had the heart to tear it down. The place itself wasn’t a total disaster, but the little things—like the small tear in the wallpaper in the far corner—never escaped your eagle-eyed attention.

Sighing you decide to go check out some of the so-called artefacts. A seldom visited collection of the most random miserable stuff you'd ever laid your eyes on. Everything, even if it was under protective glass, was clearly aged. Chipped or dust covered.

A part of you wondered how much the museum attendants must have cared to let these objects get in this condition. But a part of you reminded yourself that this was still more a funeral home than a historical centre.

The collection itself was paradoxical, vast and yet strangely empty. The same and yet so different.

One item in particular caught your eye. A jar that used to belong to a grandma in world war 2? Apparently she had used the jar to hold spices and had never hesitated to share the food she made with the hungry neighbours, particularly when rations ran low.

It was the type of story to try and get you to feel for your fellow man. To feel pleased of where you came from or maybe just to react like anyone would expect to a touching story.

Wow. They'll really do anything to try to get you to be even a little proud of this place.

Glancing back, you notice your mother deep in conversation with another woman from the block, passionately debating the “proper” way to cook miniature ‘meat’ pies. Your mom thought they were the greatest thing in the world. You didn’t. Even if someone who actually knew how to cook had taken over the kitchen, you wouldn't buy into that cheap beef and instant pastry propaganda.

Boredom had crept so deep into your bones, you were so bored it ached like hunger.

Who knew silence could starve you?

Settling for something a little less putrid than the aforementioned mini ‘meat’ pies you just toss a few small things onto your paper plate. At least these things were somewhat palatable. The food was clearly thrown together at the last minute. You could tell that nobody had the heart, or the time, to take proper care of this man's last day above ground. Like the man's friends and family had given up before they'd even started. Absolutely no way to go out.

“Not good?” A woman seemingly appearing out of nowhere interrupts awkwardly. Her voice is enough to bring you out of the self pity you had buried yourself In.

The woman's gaze settled on you. The prickle of discomfort that followed was almost instant. The way her eyes had locked onto your face, even from the side you could feel her sharp piercing gaze following every small movement. There was no use in pretending otherwise, she was stunning. Dark red hair fell dramatically as if it was a waterfall of mulberry locks cascading down her back and spilling just slightly over her shoulders. Long black nails, looking freshly polished, curled around her wine glass, her index finger tapping impatiently as if she was waiting for something to happen. The dress she was wearing was certainly a fashion statement. She wore a midi dress that hugged her form tightly, and if the rest of her outfit wasn't already defying the occasion enough. The deep plunge of her neckline left no doubt. Everything about her screamed that she wasn't a guest at this funeral.

You shake your head, a twinge of unease settling in your chest. “No ma'am.”

She laughs, her laugh is full but something about it sets off alarm bells in your head.

“I'm not nearly old enough to be considered a ma'am yet.”

‘You look it.’ You thought as tension started to creep up your spine swiftly.

“What's someone so young and full of life doing here?” There's a weird edge to her voice. You didn't like it at all. It sounded as if she had stumbled, quite happily, onto a field full of sheep after being stranded at sea for 20 years. Like she'd found her next well-rounded meal.

“My mother made me come” You rasp, almost too focused on the different drink options.

“Oh, such a pity,” she laments, her gaze finally shifting from the side of your face. You swear you see her lick her lips as your eyes flicker to take in the strangely sultry-dressed woman who clearly doesn’t belong at a random funeral home on Cygnus Row, New York.

“I'm the funeral director,” she adds out of nowhere. “Your family paid big bucks for this funeral, kid.” She almost sounds impressed. “Not that it matters. We all end up in the same place, after all.”

Was there something wrong with her?

“I suppose-” you start, but the words catch awkwardly in your throat. “I should probably go, my mom is waving at me”

It was a blatant lie. You were positive she was aware. The dark look she shoots you made you think so anyway. A sharp edge to her gaze warned you to not push further.

“Liar. Little girls like you shouldn't lie.” Her tone had dropped what felt like a million octaves. Low and dangerous.

A cold sweat runs down your entire body - then you hear it. The clicking. The sharp deliberate clicking of a high heel against the tile.

Only? You were certain there was only one heel making the sound. Which couldn't possibly be right.

Click. Thud. Click. Thud.

With every step, a shiver runs down your arms, making the hairs stand on end.

You don't dare glance down, terrified of what you might see.

Your pulse hammers desperately in your ears as the sound draws nearer and nearer.

Click. Thud. Click. Thud.

Resisting every urge in your body to look down, you keep desperately scanning the black adorned mourners looking for your mother. Where was she?

“No one can save you little hero… child of Love.” The words leave the woman's lips in what sounded like a mix of a sneer and growl.

You freeze as you let the words wash over you. Settling in your very being like a whisper slowly turning into a scream begging to be silenced. Threading itself into your bones. That was the last thing you were.

Click. Thud. Click. Thud.

The sound stops. You can feel her presence - less than a centimetre away from you.

Ignoring what she said was easy, especially when you glanced down and almost let out a blood curdling shriek.

“Go on then” she whispers, your neck hairs standing on end, her voice, slithering up your spine, cold and honey slick “wave back to mommy.”

But you couldn't bring yourself to look away from her feet. Or foot.

Her foot had a slick black glossy heel with an almost too perfect shine, whilst her other leg… had a hoof?!

You suck in a breath. Louder than intended, harsher than needed.

Trying desperately to not look at this- this thing in the eye your gaze darted around the room. Landing on a mirror-esque picture frame.

Her reflection was no longer the woman who had been standing beside you a mere minute ago.

It was ugly, tainted.

Her glowing eyes and teeth, too long - too fang like to be human. Her once flawless skin melting away to reveal her true form like a candle would throughout a long ancient night when electricity didn't yet exist.

Her grins reflected in the glass, her lips stretched far too wide for her smile to be natural. It almost looked as if it was almost tearing her face apart. Her red lip shade became more and more overrun by the blood pouring from the wounds that had reopened on her ugly scarred face.

“What are you?” Your tone is surprisingly steady. The words are remarkably unshaken. You don't know how you managed to remain sounding so aloof.

“It's who am i, girl!” She snaps, irritation burning in her glowing ember like eyes. it seems to anger her, funny she doesn't seem the type to care too much about grammar.

She couldn't be real.

This was just another tantalising thing - like the winged horse you saw back in second grade, or the man with 1 massive eye you spotted sleeping in cardboard boxes in downtown New York after a field trip.

Your heart was pounding in your ears. This couldn't be real. This wasn't real. No it was just a figment of your wildly overactive imagination.

You try to calm yourself down but she reaches out and grabs your arm. “It's too bad I'm not after you little demigod.”

You tried to process what she said. What the fuck is she talking about?!

She slowly backs away. Her every move felt more and more snake-like.

“Do not mistake my mercy for kindness half-blood.” her tone holds a warning. “There will come a day where you will not have the honour of me sparring you. That day… I will eat well.”

Okay so she is mad? But then again… where the fuck did her hoof come from?

“I'll be back soon, puppet. Until then.” you feel the brush of something against your leg.

It was a tail?

It was a fucking tail!?

The tail looked to be almost entirely formed of shadow as it almost seemed to be petting you goodbye, like you were supposed to be a loyal dog. But that feeling, the tail petting your leg, that was real. You felt it. You saw it!

What. The. Fuck.?

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Within the next second she was gone, and you remained frozen, hairs still on end.

Finding your mom through all these people was your top priority now. You needed to get out of here.

Finding her was more difficult than you'd imagined. Your heart was pounding so bad it blurred your vision and brought tears to your eyes. The room was still bustling from the aftermath of the funeral service, only making it harder to make your way through the maze of mourners. Panic had started to take up the root of emotion in your chest, but you eventually found her talking to the widow of the man who had died.

You promised yourself you'd apologise later. Right now you just needed to get out.

“Mom?”

She puts her finger up as she continues her lengthy conversation with the widow which is something she'd always do no matter where you were or who you were with. If there was a chance to talk to someone, she would take it.

“Mom?” it came out more desperate this time but she shushes you

“MOM!” you hadn't wanted to yell, especially at an old man's funeral. But you needed to leave now.

“Young lady I am talking-”

“There was a woman with a tail!”

She goes quiet. Her eyes wandering over the room after my yelling had caused a small scene.

She laughs politely and coughs “if you'll excuse us” Then she practically drags you out of the room and onto the street.

“Get in the car” she says, her tone sharp, almost bitter.

“Mom?” You tried, but even to your ears it sounds small and uncertain.

“We don't have time! Get in the car ___!” Maeve sighs, sliding into the driver's seat before slamming the door shut.

“What's happening to me?”

“You're awakening.”

You tried desperately to ask what she means, but her lips stay sealed. She had that look again — the deep wrinkles stretching around her face, the kind that only appeared when she was really stressed. You should know. You’d been causing her stress since you could walk.

“Get your things from the apartment. Only the most important stuff. Go. I’ll be here. And hurry up!” she barks when you hesitate.

You don’t even know what you were supposed to be packing for. So you grabbed a bit of everything. Essentials, definitely. Sentimentals, probably not. With a stuffed bag slung over your shoulder, you slide back into the passenger seat.

“What’s happening?” you ask again as she puts the car in drive.

She takes off without a word, but stays like that for a few minutes. The car was silent. Your mother looks to be considering what to say to you.

“You're half God, ___.” Maeve grips her steering wheel as if braving for the biggest storm ever known to man. She was right to.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you can't help but roll your eyes but the death glare she sends you is enough to make you send you one back.

“I'm serious. You're a demigod, sometimes known as half-bloods.” Maeve pauses, taking a breath through her teeth.

“Half-blood…?” Your eyes widened inexplicably “that's what that woman called me! The funeral director?”

Your mother shakes her head incessantly

“Not a funeral director… A monster.”

Now you have to laugh.

“Mom, you're being a little crazy.” You just hoped she'd reveal just what a funny joke she had thought it all was.

“Am I?” Her tone is hard again, perhaps harder than you'd ever heard It. It was enough to make you at least listen to what she has to say.

“When I was 19 I fell in love with a man..” She gulps, eyes flickering to you as she tells her tail. “He was a God. You're a half-blood. Half God half mortal.” She seems desperate to have you believe her

“Okay mom, if I am a so-called half-blood who's my father?”

She freezes, clearly uncomfortable. “I'm not allowed to tell you.”

“Well then.” You rolled your eyes, still convinced she was taking the piss.

“I made a deal okay? A deal I regret everyday but I kept it.. And if I break it now, gods help us both!” Maeve grinds her teeth anxiously.

“Wait mom, why would the gods be hanging around New York? And what gods?” she interrupts you

Her voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

“They move with the west. And to answer question 2, Greek.”

You frown, crossing your arms “So I'm half Greek?”

Maeve sighs through her nose, trying her best to keep patient. “Not exactly.. you're half divine energy.”

You shake your head laughing under your breath. “Absolutely none of this is believable to me.”

Maeve slams the brakes a little too hard at the red lights, causing both if you to jolt forwards. Her hands are clenched so tightly on the steering wheel her knuckles have gone ghostly white.

“Oh yeah?” she hisses, turning to face you fully now. “Well I didn't believe it either.. not then at least. Everything you've experienced your entire life, The fidgeting, the ADHD, the dyslexia. It's all because of who you are. You are a half- blood. Your brain is hardwired for ancient Greek, not English. And every single time! Every time you said you saw a pretty flying horse I had to lie to your face! Tell you there was no such thing! I had to send you to a therapist under the special recommendation of your teachers. Do you know how bad it would look if I didn't follow through and look like I wanted to get you ‘help’? When there was nothing wrong with you?”

A beat of silence, a sniffle from the woman driving. “Gods help me, I shouldn't have said that.”

You couldn't help yourself but to fall silent.

All those things you saw? All those doctors telling your mother you had a serious problem?

“None of the things I saw were made up?” You didn't realise it at the time but later on you'd see indentations on your palms from how tightly you were trying to anchor yourself back into your reality in any way you knew how. None of this could be true. Maybe this was still just a very bad dream.

No it couldn't be real.

It was all a prank and your mother was just going to leave you in New Jersey to die. That had to be it.

She wasn’t that cruel to just not tell you, right? She couldn’t be…

You know it wasn’t fair. Not really. But right now, fair didn’t matter. Not to you.

“If you’d told me the truth, maybe I wouldn’t have sounded insane every time I opened my mouth. Maybe I’d have known what to do.” you couldn't help but hiss out the end of your sentence. A whole life of somewhat normalcy? You had the chance to have that.

Maeve scoffs “They would've locked you up and thrown away the key, and I would've had to watch.”

She laughs bitterly, tapping the steering wheel “Look, I know I didn't do everything right and I definitely could've done some things better than I did. But I really have tried my best your whole life for you to be able to live a somewhat normal life.” her voice wavers a little “I always told myself that if you were loved and had food on the table then I was successful. I just needed you to grow up without the pain. You understand me don't you?”

“Yes.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you supposed she did what she had to do. “Where are we going?” The question is considerably gentler now, even to your own ears.

“Camp.” Maeve breathes out a long sigh. “You'll be safe sweetie.” her eyes were sharp but also carrying a flicker of something deeper. Something sorrowful. Filled with trepidation.

“Safe?” You swallowed hard, the emotion thick in the back of your throat. “I don't even know who or what I am. How am I supposed to feel safe?”

Your mom lets out a cold chuckle “you'll figure it out, you have been since you were three.”

You hum absentmindedly, biting your lip “What If I can't this time?”

She shrugs, “Then you'll die.” The words hung heavy. Absolute. Something inside you wanted to ask more but you just couldn't. This was all too much.

The silence that falls, falls thick - stretching out between you and your mother so tightly it felt like it was wrapping around your throat. Heart pounding and head filled with new questions that demanded answers.

The silence that fell over your both was beyond deafening. With only the gentle hum of the engine running in the background your thoughts had begun to run amok.

You clench your jaw, emotion thick In your chest. “What if I - I don't know, what If I die? I can still die right?”

Your mom lets out a huff through her nose. Her eyes soften for a split second but then her voice drops low. “That's why you must fight. No one else will do it for you so don't even expect them to.” Her tone is final but softer than before.

The city blurs past the car window as the two leave the city. The tall skyscrapers, slowly morphing into trees the longer the two of you stayed in the car.

As the thoughts in your head started spiraling out violently you felt a cool wave wash over you. It wasn't pleasant. Almost as if you were sweating ice. The thoughts seemed to whirl faster, almost surrounding you entirely.

They accelerate, trapping you where you stood. The tight feeling in your chest that had been forming now without a doubt noticeable, pressing down so hard that it felt like you wouldn't ever be able to escape.

As you get further and further away from the city your mind gets engulfed deeper and deeper by your own thoughts.

The soft almost rhythmic sound of the indicator fills the cool air of your mother's car. Smooth and steady and almost maddening.

Click click click

The sound was mind numbingly incessant - the only thing keeping time as your world spun out.

You just didn't understand.

This was so confusing. The type of confusion that breeds frustration all too quickly. The type of confusion that's born of you wanting so badly to understand something so desperately that the effort only twists things further out of your reach.

Your fingers tingle as they start to fiddle with whatever they could find. In this case the fluffy lining of your mother's budget customisation of her leased car. Breath caught in your throat as raindrops hit the windshield. Your chest felt so tight. Your ribs felt like they were about to collapse around your heart.

You dug your nails into your palm, not too hard, just enough to feel something. Just to ground you. The world outside presses in, the leather of the seat against your back, the faint smell of your mom's perfume, the ceaseless clicking. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then let it go.

Then again.

Then nothing.

All those thoughts that had previously tormented your mind had vanished in a span of a few careful breaths.

Your thoughts no longer screamed at you. Instead, they recoiled, shrinking away - distant and unreachable.

Your mother coughs, trying to catch your attention “We're here.”

You look out past the car window, it was just a hill? What?

“Get your things, we don't have all day.” Your mother sighs before getting out and grabbing your bag from the back seat of the car.

You mumble a small thanks as you accept your bag. “There's nothing here?”

“You'll figure it out.” Your mother responds half heartedly as she climbs back into the car.

You watched as she gears up to leave. You yap gently on the window, suddenly desperate for an answer to a question you'd been wanting to ask for a while.

“Did I ruin your life mom?” you question. Tightening the strap of your backpack. You couldn't bear to look in her eyes.

She sighs, almost contentedly “Good luck sweetie.” before revving off back the way they had come.

You listened as your mother's car faded out of sight. The hum of the engine is no longer in earshot.

Looking up at the hill you take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

#percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #slight percabeth #percy is readers endgame tho #percy jackson x you #percy jackson and the lightning thief #angsty #demigods #percy jackson x y/n #x reader #reader insert #hazy crazies 🫂

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demigod-shenanigans · 9 months ago

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While I’m on the topic of Valgrace adopting a child, this is Sofía:

Some lore:

When Jason and Leo are in their late twenties/early thirties a demigod legacy leaves a baby at the entrance of the Waystation. The decision to adopt her is easy—they’d been thinking about adoption anyway. Besides, Jason has been the abandoned child before and Leo obviously isn’t fond of the foster system and knows exactly what it’s like to feel unwanted by a foster family. They’ve both felt so lost and alone and unloved in the past and they immediately vow that they’ll do everything in their power to make sure this little girl won’t ever feel like that.

They name her Sofía Esperanza Valdez. Sofía because it’s one of the names they both liked and Leo decides she just looks like a Sofía, and Esperanza obviously in honor of Leo’s mom. Jason is the one to gently suggest using it as a middle name, stating that if names have power, there’s nothing quite as powerful as hope, and Leo immediately starts crying. (He knew he wanted to honor his mom in some way. He just didn’t bring it up because he was terrified that the baby sharing a name with his mom after what happened to her might be bad luck. But Jason is right that hope was the thing that saw them through when nothing else would, making it a name that’s fundamentally very positive. Besides, Leo’s mom was so much more than her death. She was smart and brave and stubborn and loved with all her heart. She managed to find happiness, even in the difficult times. All of these are good things.)

Me and @queenjunothegreat have been waffling back and forth about this girl for weeks, there is so much lore I’ll probably need a lot of posts for all of it (or asks, if anyone wants to know anything specific please feel free to send asks)

For now, have some additional Sofía fun facts (under the cut so people who aren’t interested can scroll past more easily):

-She’s a legacy of Luna, the faded Titaness of the moon. Piper thinks it’s hilarious that wolf boy somehow ended up with a moon child and jokes about it a lot.

-When she wouldn’t sleep as a baby Jason would rock her while levitating up and down the hallway. They’re not sure why, exactly, but this almost always worked.

-Sofía’s first word is papa, which is not, in fact, the Spanish word for dad that Jason was going for but instead means either pope or potato (depending on how it’s gendered). The word for dad is papá, which is similar-ish but emphasizes the ending instead of the beginning. Adult Jason’s Spanish is decent but he got it mixed up which part needed to be emphasized and taught her wrong. Leo absolutely explodes into laughter when he hears it and it’s one of his favorite stories to tell for years. Every time someone asks about her first word he lights up like a Christmas tree. Jason is mortified but the whole thing brings Leo so much joy that maybe the embarrassment was worth it.

-Leo is always building her stuff to play with. Sofía is the kind of kid that brings some new toy to kindergarten/school at least once a week because Leo cannot tell her no for shit.

-Leo is usually the one who stays up at night with Sofía when she’s a toddler. Due to the whole moon child thing, she’s a terrible sleeper (good luck waking her in the morning) but Leo doesn’t really mind. He’s just tinkering away at some project that he’d probably be working on at that time anyway as his very awake kid toddles about and they’re both perfectly content with it. They fall asleep on the couch together watching TV the next morning, and Jason just smiles and gets a blanket to put over Leo’s knees.

-Her and Leo definitely bake together and it usually comes out well but the kitchen is always a huge mess after. One time she insisted her dad help her make a birthday cake for her papá’s birthday but Jason cannot cook or bake to save his life and it was a complete disaster.

-Sofía has no concept of fall damage. Absolutely none. Will climb up anywhere no matter how high and jump off with zero hesitation because there’s never been a time when her dad hasn’t caught her (either personally via flying up or with the winds). Leo is way more anxious about this than Jason, which seems strange until you consider that Jason is married to Leo and has had to catch him plenty of times in the past, but while Leo worries about Jason sometimes, he’s never really had to worry specifically about Jason falling from high places before. But obviously, unlike Jason, Sofía can’t fly.

-When she’s annoyed, she scowls in a way that’s almost comically similar to Jason.

#valgrace #jason grace #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #hoo #leo x jason #jason x leo #esperanza valdez #pjo next gen #ToA #trials of apollo

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woradat · 2 months ago

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LICK YOUR WOUNDS

SUMMARY - loser got patch up. That's all I can tell u

PARING - black shadow/reader

(reworked/edit version)

Actions have consequences. Blackshadow had always known that. Whether it was raiding random ships in deep space or casually committing mass murder on Autobot battlegrounds at Megatron's behest—he never really felt bad about it. That was the job

He knew exactly what he signed up for when he joined the Decepticons

Instead of caring about the noble ideals or grand vision of the faction, he mostly cared about one thing: himself. And the profits. That was it. Yes, he was that selfish—but who wasn’t, really? Blackshadow just wasn’t ashamed to show it off in the most brutal, over-the-top way possible. And that, conveniently, was also the excuse he used when the Autobots once bribed him with a frankly obscene amount of credits

And as I said, actions have consequences

Phase-sixer would surely regret his poor life choices eventually—and he did, the moment he saw DJD in his line of sight

You found it mildly—okay, maybe more than mildly—frustrating when you realized Phase-sixer wasn’t offline yet, despite very much needing to be. His condition was so bad that even the thought of reusing or recycling his body parts felt like trying to repurpose a toaster after it went through a supernova

Still, with a shred of pity you somehow hadn’t burned out yet, you decided to help. Not too much, of course—you weren’t about to throw resources at a bot that looked like he’d been chewed up by a black hole and spat out sideways

If he got better, great—miracle of the century. If not? Well, there were probably still some parts left you could make use of. Legs. Maybe an arm. A wire or two

Dragging his wreck of a body onto the ship without turning him into even more of a scrap heap was a challenge on its own. And the missing parts? That was a scavenger hunt from hell. Honestly, you might’ve felt a pang of sympathy for what he’d gone through—if he hadn’t been such a monumental jerk during the war. But hey, you tried to help. That’s got to count for something, right?

“Primus—he really refuses to die, huh…”

The first few repair attempts? A disaster. Phase-sixer wasn’t showing even a hint of recovery. His systems—thankfully still salvageable, or he’d be space dust—were an absolute nightmare: circuits fried, networks glitchier than a bootleg holovid, fuel lines shredded, wires doing interpretive dance, and metal that looked like it lost a fight with a sun. Disgusting. But all you could do was complain while servos kept working away on this pathetic excuse for a bot

Pain. That was the first thing Blackshadow noticed. Everything hurt. His systems were slowly rebooting, and it honestly felt like his circuits had been deep-fried and then stabbed for good measure. Electric jolts shot through him like sparks with a grudge. His limbs were numb, paralyzed, and honestly? He didn’t want to find out how much it’d hurt if he could move. His processor crawled to catch up, dragging in fragmented memories of the catastrophe that had landed him in this mess, trying to assess his surroundings. Where the frag was he?

His optics still worked, barely. The right one was cracked to hell, giving him a distorted view that made everything look like a nightmare through a funhouse mirror. He shut them instead, focusing on the persistent, burning ache from his last encounter with—ugh—those DJD bastards. Loyal lapdogs of Megatron, bringing justice with a chainsaw. He should have been angry, but he was too exhausted to feel anything that complicated

...Shouldn’t he be dead by now?

He forced his remaining good optic open, just to get a read on where the universe had dumped him this time

Some kind of lab or medbay, maybe. White. Sterile. Looked like the inside of a stasis pod got into a fight with a hospital and lost. A wave of brief relief hit him—until he realized he wasn’t dead, which meant someone had saved him. Whoever it was either had serious medical talent… or the universe had pulled off a miracle and was now just showing off. Either way, he kind of wished they hadn’t bothered. This was the kind of pain that made death sound like a spa day

“You’re awake. I see. How you feeling?”

“Hurts like hell, right? Of course it does. You were a wreck when I found you. Like—half a bot, literally! You were missing a leg! But I found it. Took some doing. Honestly, would’ve been easier to just bolt a new one on, but hey”

Blackshadow gave you a skeptical glance, equal parts confused and annoyed. You talked too much. Sounded a little too proud of yourself. It reminded him uncomfortably of himself—back when he wasn’t a pile of pain with attitude. His brow furrowed instinctively, and you noticed

“Oh, so you can hear me! Can you talk, big guy?”

You sounded amused, not serious at all. But really—who takes a dying bot seriously?

Phase-sixer's silence said enough. He was pretty sure his voicebox still worked, but just thinking about speaking sent a shock of pain through every fried wire and scorched servo. Even twitching his neck felt like asking the universe to kick him in the spark again

Pathetic

And you seemed to realize that—your tone softened a little, your expression shifting into something almost sympathetic

“Worse than I thought, huh? But don’t worry. You’re in good hands”

Oh great, sympathy. Just what every Decepticon war veteran wants to hear while he’s flat on his back, being pitied by someone who clearly thinks “bedside manner” is a personality trait. Part of him wanted to scoff. Maybe even crack a joke. If he were feeling better, he probably would have. But he wasn’t. And he couldn’t deny… something about it—your tone, your words—actually made him feel slightly better. Warmer, somehow. Safer

Which was ridiculous

Phase-sixer, feared enforcer of the Decepticons, taking comfort from some nobody bot who'd dragged him back from the brink? If someone had told him that back in the day, he would’ve laughed in their face

Now? All he could do was lie there, lick his wounds, and hope to either recover… or die properly this time

Strange, though—he didn’t mind so much when your hand gently touched his frame, steady and reassuring, just for a moment

#blackshadow x reader #transformers x reader #cybertronian reader #transformers idw publishing #reader insert #loser got patch up #transformers

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bookishcarmela · 3 months ago

Text

Shadows of Affection

warnings: despriction of death

slow burn Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 15: Sejanus

Fuck

Pepper spray and a flashlight. That was all Dr. Gaul had given you before you left. You had asked for a gun, or at least a knife, but Dr. Gaul had shut you down. "Since you're not trained, this is safer. Remember, you're not there to do damage—you’re there to bring your friend out as quickly and as quietly as possible."

But you didn’t have time to complain.

"You idiot," you muttered under your breath. "You absolute fool."

Of course, Sejanus would rope you into something like this. And of course—of course—you would drag Coryo into it too. You were surprised he had agreed. Well, you hadn’t exactly given him much of a chance to refuse. If anyone else had asked him, he would have fought against it, refused to put his life on the line. He barely even considered Sejanus a friend. But deep down, in that black heart of his, you hoped he still cared—at least enough not to let you die.

Maybe another student, or even yourself a few years ago, would have protested, insisted on calling your mother or your stepfather, pleaded for help. But after the snake attack on Clemensia, the aftermath of the bombing, and Marcus’s torture, you knew it was pointless. If Dr. Gaul decided you were going into the Capitol arena, then that’s where you were going. Even if Sejanus’s life wasn’t at stake, you were just another one of Gaul’s experiments. Students and tributes alike were of no more consequence than the Avoxes in the cages—powerless to object. But you had known what you were getting into on your first day at the Academy. You had known the moment Dr. Gaul first shook your hand and made you an apprentice. You had signed your soul away.

You didn’t know if it had been hours or minutes by the time you reached the arena. You had run the entire way—it wasn’t far, only about a mile—but you were panting, your breath coming in sharp gasps. Your mind was a chaotic mess, thoughts scattered and incoherent. But one thing remained clear: Sejanus. You needed to get him out.

You scanned the area. Peacekeepers were stationed by the entrance, but they didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t stop you. You assumed they had already been informed of the situation. Still, Coryo wasn’t here yet.

Your pulse pounded. Should you go in alone? You only had an hour, and the countdown had already begun the moment you left the lab. Every second wasted was a second closer to disaster.

"Fuck it," you murmured, steeling yourself to move forward.

Before you could take a step, a voice cut through the night. "What the fuck is going on?"

You turned sharply. Coryo had finally arrived, his expression twisted in anger and concern. His breath was ragged, and there was a wildness in his eyes that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. "Why the hell did you call me here?"

"I don’t have time to explain," you said quickly. "Sejanus is in the arena."

Coryo blinked. Then scoffed. "Are you kidding me?"

"I wish I was. He bribed a Peacekeeper and got in somehow. Dr. Gaul is giving us an hour to get him out before she turns the feed back on."

His face twisted in frustration. "No. I’m not putting my life on the line for him. And I’m sure as hell not letting you do it either."

"Coryo, we don’t have time for this," you snapped. "If you’re not going in, I am. I don’t give a damn if you follow me or not, but through hell or high water, I’m getting Sejanus out of that fucking arena."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Goddamn it. Fine. Let’s go."

As you approached the entrance, the damage from the bombing was stark. The main doors had taken a direct hit—one was entirely gone, leaving a jagged, gaping hole framed by twisted metal. The only security in place was a set of concrete barriers, haphazardly arranged. If Sejanus had planned this, he wouldn’t have had much trouble getting in.

An old Peacekeeper standing behind the barriers caught your movement and approached. "You have a token?"

Coryo scowled. "A token?"

The Peacekeeper dug into his pocket and produced two small discs. "These are for you."

Coryo hesitated, turning the disc over in his fingers. "How did he think he was getting out?"

"I don’t think he did," you muttered.

"And how the hell am I supposed to get out?"

You almost laughed. Of course, that was his concern. Selfish bastard. But you weren’t surprised.

The Peacekeeper gestured toward the barricade. "We’ll pull back the barbed wire and tilt the bars forward when you return. You’ll have to crawl under, but it’ll be quick."

"And if we can’t convince him to come out?" Coryo asked.

The Peacekeeper shrugged. "Then you stay until the mission is accomplished."

A cold sweat broke over your skin. No way out without Sejanus.

You clenched your jaw and looked past the barricade toward the field. The tributes were supposed to be asleep, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was waiting for you.

"We’ve got you covered up to the barricade," the Peacekeeper assured you.

"So you’ll kill any tributes who try to attack us?" Coryo asked sharply.

"Scare them off, anyway."

"Excellent," you muttered, not at all reassured.

Coryo exhaled, then shoved the token into the slot. The turnstile groaned loudly, the sound far too sharp in the stillness of the night. One of the Peacekeepers chuckled as you stepped through.

You moved in silence, your only light the dim red glow of the emergency bulbs. The air was thick with dust, the ground littered with debris. Your footsteps crunched softly against the gravel.

Without thinking, your hands found each other. His grip was tight, firm—but not painful. Just enough.

"Don’t let go," he whispered. There was an edge of desperation in his voice.

You pressed your lips together, breathing steadily through your nose. Right foot, left foot. Forward. Keep moving. No one stirred. Maybe you were lucky. Maybe Lucky Flickerman had been right—the tributes had all gone to sleep.

You reached the barricade. Just as the Peacekeeper had said, it was flimsy—clumsy layers of barbed wire and wooden frames meant more for obscuring the view than keeping anything in or out. A stage prop. Not a real barrier.

You took a slow breath, gripping the edge of the wire. Beyond the barricade, the field stretched out before you, bathed in silver light.

And at its center, a single figure knelt in the dirt.

You hear Coriolanus take a deep breath, and he lets go of your hand as he steps onto the field.

Please don’t.

You aren’t going to admit it, but you think it’s reasonable to be afraid. And you are very afraid.

Please don’t let me go.

You want to say it, but you keep your mouth shut and follow him slowly. You tread carefully across the dirt, knowing not to spook Sejanus but needing to get close enough to talk. When you and Coriolanus are about ten feet behind him, you stop. In a hushed voice, you call out:

"Sejanus, It’s me."

Sejanus’ shoulders begin to shake. At first, you mistake it for sobbing, but it’s quite the opposite.

"You two really can’t stop rescuing me, can you?" he says, laughter slipping through his voice.

Coriolanus exhales a quiet chuckle. "Can’t do it"

"so they sent you two to fish me out. What madness."

Sejanus’ laughter trails off, and he rises to his feet. "Did you ever see a dead body?"

"A lot. During the war," Coriolanus replies.

You stay silent. "A lot" is an understatement. You’ve seen bodies being dragged, seen people put down in the streets, seen them waste away. You’ve seen what people become when you take away their food, their luxuries. Animals. much like the one who are in this cage with you

You both move in closer. It doesn’t matter now, you tell yourself. No more dead bodies. No more.

"I haven’t. Not this close," Sejanus says. "At funerals, I guess. And at the zoo the other night. Only those girls hadn’t been dead long enough to stiffen up."

A hollow feeling creeps into your chest as he continues.

"I don’t know if I’d rather be burned or buried. Not that it matters, really."

"Well, you don’t have to decide now," you say.

Your eyes sweep the field. In the shadows beyond the wall—was that movement?

"Oh, it won’t be up to me." Sejanus’ voice is distant. "I don’t know what’s taking the tributes so long to find me. I must have been in here a while."

He finally looks at you, brows furrowing in concern.

"You two should go."

"I’d like to," Coriolanus says carefully. "I really would. Only there’s a matter of your ma. She’s waiting out front, pretty upset. I promised I’d bring you to her."

Your eyebrows knit together. What is he talking about? When did he speak to his mother? Maybe it’s a lie to coax Sejanus out, but you doubt it will be enough.

Sejanus’ expression turns indescribably sad. "Poor Ma. She never wanted any of this, you know. Not the money, not the move, not the fancy clothes or the driver. She just wanted to stay in Two. With my father."

He pauses.

"But he isn’t here, is he? No, he’ll keep his distance until this is settled. Then let the buying begin."

"Buying what?" you ask.

A breeze ruffles your hair, the sound of it hollow in the vast arena.

"He bought our way here. Bought my schooling. Bought my mentorship. And he goes nuts because he can’t buy me," Sejanus murmurs. "He’ll buy you, if you let him. Or at least compensate you for trying to help me."

You understand both sides. Sejanus doesn’t want to be here. His mother doesn’t want to be here. But you also understand his father’s perspective: you do what you must. Buy as many people as needed. Sacrifices have to be made.

Leaving Two behind was one of them.

"You’re our friend. He doesn’t need to pay us to help you," you say.

Sejanus places a hand on your shoulder, the other on Coriolanus. "You’re the only reason I’ve lasted this long. I need to stop causing you two trouble. I didn’t realize how bad this was for yall."

"I should’ve traded tributes when you asked," Coriolanus mutters.

Sejanus sighs. "It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does, really."

"Of course it matters," you snap.

They’re coming. You can feel it—a pack closing in.

"Come out with me."

"No. There’s no point," Sejanus says. "There’s nothing left to do but die."

Coriolanus presses him. "That’s it? That’s your only choice?"

"It’s the only way I might possibly make a statement. Let the world see me die in protest."

You roll your eyes. "Do you really think they’ll show this? They’ll quietly remove your body and say you died from the flu."

Sejanus falters.

"If you really want to make a difference, you have to be alive. With us."

His face clouds over. "They won’t show it, will they?"

"No," you say, your voice sharp. "You’ll be dead for nothing. And you’ll have wasted your chance to make things better."

You almost scoff at the question. Why would they show it? Only an idiot would think that. You know as well as anyone that the Capitol won’t give anyone a public fuck you by showing a capitol citizen mourn a tribute's death like that. Not in a million years. They'd bury it, pretend it never happened, and move on like it was just another day in the arena. It was always about control, never about making a statement.

Coriolanus squeezes your arm. A cough—soft and muffled but unmistakable—echoes from the stands.

"What chance?" Sejanus asks.

"You have money. Maybe not now, but one day. Money has a lot of uses. Look how it changed your world. Maybe you can change the world too. The right way," you urge. "If you don’t, more kids will die. Every year."

"What makes you think I could do that?" he asks.

"You’re the only one who had the guts to stand up to Dr. Gaul," Coriolanus says.

Sejanus hesitates. He looks tired, but something shifts in him.

"Thank you for that, Coriolanus."

Coriolanus places a hand on Sejanus’ arm—half comfort, half restraint. "Come with us."

Sejanus stares at Marcus’ body for a long moment, then finally nods. "You’re right. If I believe what I say, it’s my responsibility to take her down. To end this whole atrocity."

Then, realization dawns in his eyes. He looks toward the stands.

"But I won’t leave Marcus."

You want to strangle him. You open your mouth to protest, but Coriolanus acts first.

"I’ll get his feet."

He grips Marcus’ stiff, heavy legs. You circle his chest, heaving him up. The stench of blood and filth clings to the body as you start moving.

Ten yards. Five yards. Almost there.

Coriolanus stumbles on a rock, knee slamming into something sharp. He hisses but pushes forward. Almost—

Footsteps. Quick and light, rushing toward you from behind.

Coriolanus drops Marcus and whirls around just as Bobbin lunges, knife flashing in the moonlight.

The blade slices into Coriolanus’s left upper arm. He leaps backward. He swings at Bobbin, but only encounters air. He lands on a pile of debris, old boards, and plaster as his hand searches for some kind of defense. Bobbin springs at him again, knife aimed at his face, seemingly focused only on Coriolanus and not you or Sejanus.

Coriolanus’s fingers close around a 2x4, and he brings it up, catching Bobbin in the temple hard, sending him to his knees. Then, he’s on his feet again, using the board like a club, bringing it down again and again. Blood splatters on you and Coriolanus.

“We have to go!” Sejanus shouts, and you can hear the catcalls now, the pounding of feet down the bleachers.

Confused, Coriolanus moves away from Marcus’s body, but you grab him and yank him away.

“No, leave him! Run!” you shout.

He doesn’t seem to need any persuasion and starts running. The three of you sprint toward the barricade. When you reach it, barbed wire bites into your shirt, and you yank it free. You see them—two tributes from District 4: Coral and Mission, and Tanner, the slaughterhouse kid—making a beeline for you, armed to the teeth. Reamed draws his arm back to throw a trident. The fabric on your sleeve rips wide as you yank yourself from the barbed wire and dive out of the line of fire with Sejanus right behind you.

Only a few weak rays of moonlight penetrate the layers of the barricade. You crash into wood and fencing, like a wild animal in a cage, surely alerting any tribute who somehow missed your presence. You run, face-first, and watch as Coriolanus runs into a concrete slab, then Sejanus plows into him from behind, smacking his forehead into the unrelenting surface a second time.

Thankfully, you stop just before the tributes start making a whooping sound, rattling their weapons against the barricade as they track the three of you through the labyrinth.

“Which direction?” Sejanus gasps, but the tributes seem to be all around you.

Coriolanus starts lagging, and you grab his arm, urging him to keep moving. He stumbles blindly behind, wounded and terrified. Something must have surged through him because he crashes into Sejanus, knocking him onto his hands and knees in front of a cloud of soft red light.

The passageway up ahead starts to take shape, and you can make out the turn, still with the peacekeepers clustered at the temporary bars. You run for your life, but the passageway isn’t long—it seems interminable. Your legs rise and fall as if you're wading through waist-high glue. Black specs dot your vision, and Sejanus stays steady at Coriolanus’s elbow, but you can hear the tributes gaining. Something heavy and unyielding—maybe a brick—clips the side of your neck. Another object punctures what’s left of your shirt, and you duck behind Sejanus until it falls with a clank.

Where is the cover? Where’s the protective gunfire from the peacekeepers? There’s nothing—nothing at all, and the bars still stand flush with the floor. You want to scream at them to kill the tributes, to shoot them dead in their tracks, but your breath is too short.

Someone heavy-footed shrinks the distance to a few yards. You don’t dare look back, too terrified to waste a second.

The peacekeepers finally manage to open the unit of bars inward, achieving a gap of about 12 inches at the ground. Coriolanus dives, skinning several layers of his chin on the rough floor, but getting his hands beneath the bars where the peacekeepers latch onto him and yank him through.

You’re next, scraping your face against the filthy surface, but you reach safety. You crumble into Coriolanus as the guards go to retrieve Sejanus, who gives a sharp cry as Tanner’s knife cuts open the back of his calf before he slides out of range. The bars are slammed into place, locked down tight, but the tributes are undeterred. Tanner and Coral jab their weapons through the bars at you, Coriolanus, and Sejanus, who are peeling back, desperate to get away.

The peacekeepers are doing nothing, banging their batons against the bars. Not a shot. Not even pepper spray. You realize they must have been under orders to leave the tributes untouched.

The peacekeepers help you and Coriolanus to your feet. You’re angry, but you can’t even muster words as Coriolanus grits his teeth, shaking with fury.

“Thanks for having our backs,” he spits bitterly. The peacekeeper shrugs, indifferent.

“Just following orders. Don’t blame us if Goal thinks you’re expandable,” says one of them.

Before you can respond, Coriolanus starts muttering a long string of profanities, his anger making no impression. He hangs like dead weight, barely able to stand until they drop him unceremoniously outside of the arena. You, with only a few scratches and a mild concussion, walk the entire way.

A minute later, Sejanus is dropped behind the two of you. Both Coriolanus and Sejanus lay panting on the tiles, glancing toward the front of the arena. You’re barely standing, your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. You sit beside them, exhausted.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to you,” Sejanus keeps saying. “I’m sorry, Coryo. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

Coriolanus glances at him, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to strangle him. But instead, they just sit in silence. The peacekeepers watch, silent, unmoving. Sejanus just keeps crying, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You want to scream at him to please just shut up, but you keep your mouth shut, feeling the weight of the situation.

Then you hear the screech of tires, and you look up to see Sejanus’s mother getting out of the car, crying, frantic. She rushes over to him, tears in her eyes.

You see Sejanus’s father sitting still in the car, not bothering to get out. It makes you wonder if they called your parents. But you doubt it, and even if they did, you doubt they’d show up.

An ambulance pulls up not long after, checking on Coriolanus, you, and Sejanus. You’re not in bad shape—just a few scratches and a mild concussion. Nothing you haven’t been through before. Sejanus is sitting with his mom, and then it’s just you and Coriolanus. You both sit in silence outside the arena, neither knowing what to say, not even looking at each other.

Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul eventually show up. Dr. Gual looks as excited as ever, while Dean Highbottom doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for anything. He stands off to the side, randomly taking a shot of something.

Dr. Gaul is talking to Sejanus’s parents. You and Coriolanus exchange a look, and it’s like you both haven’t looked at each other in a while. Almost like when you were kids again, scared during the war. Maybe even before that. It’s been a while since you’ve looked at each other—not in a way of hate, or anger, or even less—but in a quiet moment of recognition.

Just as Coriolanus opens his mouth to speak, you hear car doors slam. You turn your head a little too fast, and your vision goes blurry again, but not so much that you can’t tell who it is. It’s Felix Ravensdale, in all his glory.

He walks toward you first, examining you like a mother would examine a child after they’ve gotten hurt. “What happened?” he demands, his tone pissed but also deeply concerned.

“I don’t know,” you reply quickly, trying to keep the situation under control.

Felix isn’t having it. “What happened? Are you okay? You’re not okay, are you?” His voice shakes with worry, but underneath it, there’s a simmering anger. “What the hell is going on here?”

Before you can explain, Felix turns to Dr. Gaul, his anger rising. “What the hell are you doing here, Felix?” Dean Highbottom says, cutting through the tension.

Felix snaps. “You don’t think I know what’s going on? How dare you? How dare you put her out there like that? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Dr. Gaul is standing back, watching the interaction with almost sadistic amusement.

“I’m going to tell my father about this,” Felix says, his voice cold with fury. “He’ll take care of this. He won’t let this go.”

Dean Highbottom stumbles over his words. “Felix, calm down.”

You try to calm him down too, but it’s not working. “Felix, please—it’s fine,” you say, but Felix shakes his head, his anger still boiling.

“No, it’s not fine! What if something happened to you?” he yells. His face softens for a second, but it’s fleeting.

Felix drags you back toward the car. You glance back at Coriolanus, who’s looking at you with tired eyes. For a moment, there was something—some bond—but it’s gone now. You’re not sure it’ll come back.

The ride back is painfully quiet, except for Felix’s persistent questions.

“Y/n , are you sure you're okay? You don’t look okay. You sure you're alright?”

You can barely summon the energy to answer, your body aching from head to toe. The exhaustion weighs on you like a heavy blanket, and your bones are screaming for rest. You don’t even want to talk, but Felix keeps pressing.

“I mean, I can’t believe Dr. Gaul sent you in there like that. It was ridiculous! You could’ve gotten hurt. You could’ve died, Y/n.” His voice rises with every word, but all you can do is let him talk, feeling more and more like you’re fading into the seat.

You close your eyes, wishing the world would just stop spinning.

“I’m just so tired,” you mutter, barely a whisper.

Felix doesn’t hear you, or maybe he does, but he doesn’t know how to stop. He goes on, venting about how dangerous it was, how you shouldn’t have been put in that situation, how it was a huge mistake. You nod every now and then, not even sure what you're agreeing to.

"I just don’t understand why they do this to you..." he continues, his frustration palpable. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been through enough already. And they put you through more for what? To save Sejanus?”

The name makes your stomach turn. You're so done with everything right now. You're done with the arena, done with being a pawn in all this. You're just so tired.

“You know,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, “I'm just so tired. My bones hurt. I just want to sleep.”

Felix quiets down, noticing the strain in your voice. You lean against the window, closing your eyes, and for the first time in what feels like hours, you let the quiet settle over you. But then, as you start to drift, something feels off.

You sit up, blinking, confused.

“Felix...” you say, your voice slurring with exhaustion. “Where are we going?”

Felix glances at you, his expression unreadable for a second before it shifts to something more serious. “To my house.”

You blink again, more awake now, a sense of urgency creeping into your tone. “Felix, you can just bring me home, it's late. My parents are going to freak. They’ll be worried.”

Felix doesn’t waver. “No, it’s fine. My parents won’t care. What matters is that you’re safe. You’re going to stay with me tonight. I can’t trust anyone else to look after you. You need to get proper medical attention.”

His words send a cold shiver through you, but you're so tired, so utterly drained, that you don’t protest. If you weren’t so exhausted, you might’ve said something. The way he says it, like you’re his responsibility, like he owns you—like you’re something to be taken care of, a possession—hits a little too close to home.

But you don’t have the energy to argue. “Fine,” you mutter, sinking back into your seat. “I won’t fight you.”

You let out a sigh, your mind too foggy to process it all. Whatever. It’s been a hell of a day.

When you finally pull up to the Presidents mansion, you can’t help but feel a bit of apprehension. You’ve been here a handful of times, but it’s always been for brief visits, never for a stay. The house is grand, sprawling, the kind of place where everything gleams with wealth, but right now, it all feels so distant, so unimportant compared to how heavy your limbs feel.

Felix doesn’t ask; he just opens your door and helps you out, his hands gentle but insistent. You don’t even argue when he lifts you into his arms, carrying you up the stairs and into his room.

His room is grand, but not in the way you expected. It's a bit more personal—soft, warm lighting, and a massive bed that looks almost too big for just one person. The walls are lined with books, and there’s a touch of his personality in every corner. You can tell it’s his space, and even though it's beautiful, you feel out of place here.

He sets you down on the bed, his touch lingering just a bit too long before he speaks again. “I’ll have the maids run you a bath,” he says quietly, his usual flirty charm replaced by something softer. “You need it.”

You don’t protest. You just nod, your eyes barely open. The bath is exactly what you need. As soon as you slip into the warm water, you feel your body relax in a way it hasn’t all day. It’s like you could fall asleep right there.

You’re tempted to.

When you step out, the clothes they bring you make you stifle a laugh. A pair of Felix’s pajama pants and a loose shirt. It’s so typical, you can’t help but find it funny in the only way you can right now. You know they have spare clothes, but you end up with his clothes, the ones you know he picked out for you.

You slip into them, feeling the soft fabric settle over your tired body, and when you emerge, you see Felix waiting for you, his expression unreadable.

“You’re sleeping here tonight,” he says, a slight edge to his voice that you can’t quite place.

You blink. “Felix, what are you talking about? There’s like a million rooms here. Why would I sleep in here?”

His gaze softens, but his stance is firm. “I want you here with me. It’s safer. And I don’t want you alone.” He’s standing so close now, and something shifts in the air between you two, but you’re too tired to fight it.

“Fine,” you murmur. “Whatever.”

You lie down, and Felix pulls the covers up around you both. He holds you close, his arms around you like you're the only thing that matters. Normally, you’d push him away, but tonight? Tonight, you don’t have the strength to.

You settle into his warmth, resting your head on his chest, letting the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat lull you into a strange kind of comfort.

Felix strokes your hair lightly, his voice breaking the silence. “You okay?”

You want to say no—you want to say everything’s falling apart—but all you can muster is a tired, “Yeah.”

Then, you speak again, your tone softer than before. “How did you get in there? To the arena I mean... no one was supposed to know.”

You can feel him tense, but you stay quiet, not wanting to talk. The question lingers in the air for a long moment before Felix laughs softly. It’s not a happy laugh, not a joyful one. More like one of disbelief.

“I’m the President’s son,” he says, his voice quiet. “I make sure I know everything that’s happening around here. Besides, you told me you’d be home safely. You didn’t call, so I assumed something went wrong.”

You don’t answer. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the day hits you all over again, and the exhaustion sets in deeper.

Felix’s voice interrupts your thoughts again, his words playful despite the situation. “You know, you look kind of cute in my pajamas. But I think I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

You barely hear him, too lost in your own tiredness. You think about how you ended up here, in his bed, at the mansion. How Felix is always looking out for you, even when you didn’t ask for it.

Your mind drifts, though, and for a moment, you think back to a time not too long ago—another bed, another room. You remember the feel of the sheets, the quiet tension in the air, and that blonde figure who made everything so... complicated. You try to push the thought away. It was a different time, a different situation, and you don’t want to deal with it now.

But as you close your eyes, you can’t help it. In the dark of your mind, Coriolanus’s eyes flash before you, his gaze cold, intense, and knowing. The memory lingers like an unwanted ghost, and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter, trying to push it out of your head.

You don’t want to think about him. Not now.

But as sleep begins to take you, his eyes are still there, haunting the back of your mind.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray x coriolanus #the hunger games #my fic #fanfic #lucy grey baird #young coriolanus snow

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harbo-urr-chou · 2 months ago

Text

I can explain.

/the tier list is based on how much *I* like them, not on how good I think the character writing is/

Disclaimer: subjective opinion of a (probably) not neurodivergent person with a very high level of anxiety, agarophobia and depression, who also peaked in high school. Additionally, I'm partially thinking about the characters in a context of how I would feel about them in real life.

- S-tier: Ken reminds me of my awesome life partner but with an addition of some of my mental health problems, so I naturally feel close to him. He's cool. His self esteem is all over the place and I connect to it A LOT. I also like that he's a tough cookie and knows many smart things. He also has money and good relationships with his parents. Like, what else do you need in a person?

- A-tier: Kazutoshi is just a very well written character. I wouldn't say I usually like personalities like him, but he's story just makes it impossible not to root for him. Also the disability representation in him was super insightful for me since I never had any life experiences with it in any form, so it was a fun learning moment. I genuinely forgot he was not immune to dying and I'm still grieving a weird amount about it. Idk I don't want to think too deeply about him, it'll make me feel things.

Tamba reminds me of myself but if my mother didn't put time into developing my brain, so I love her dearly. She's like my inner terrible fucker up child. Her voice lines are very entertaining too.

- B-tier: all those are just characters with awesome arcs and personalities, they all are equally great. I just wish Tsuno was with us a bit longer. Funnily enough, all of them would be a C-tier if they died earlier than they did (aka if I knew them worse)

- C-tier: Kinda so-so territory. I have no negative and no positive thoughts about Wada, I just want him to get help; Sasaki is a similar case to Tamba for me, we're definitely extremely similar, but she dies too early for me to get to know her properly; similarly, Isono and Harada are potentially close to home character for me, but alas, I don't feel like I know them enough; Ojima is just boring, but he at least doesn't annoy me.

- D- and E- tier: .......well. how do I put it.

Let's start with Hama. This boy has some of the absolute best moments in the series. He's surprisingly wise, caring and kind. By all means, he should be the B-tier.

He also claims he has a demon arm and uses "badass" every other sentence.

Is it a crime??? No. Did my eye twitch? Yes.

Objectively, he doesn't deserve to be this low, but he had a lot of unjust things happen to him already, so what is another one.

And speaking of that...

Watari.

If she tried pulling her "principal watari" thing in front of me I would walk out of the room in a second. I cannot. Like. No.

Any play pretend freaks me out, like, how do I know she didn't go crazy, how do I know she doesn't actually believe she's a "principal" and most importantly, how can I feel safe around a person who thinks it's okay to go into a kindergarten mode in a killing game situation? Yanagi is weird with his prince act, but it's the kind of delusional that is easily understandable looking at human culture, but Watari's behaviours? No. Permission to be silly has been denied.

And I did feel bad for being so annoyed at her every word during the first two chapters and the first half of the third chapter, but all my uneasiness proved to be absolutely correct once she started to feel conflicted about the whole Okazaki situation (even bringing it up to Ken, like, are you serious girl?). And then the whole chapter 4 disaster.

It proved to me that, first and foremost, Watari is just unapologetically herself. She would act and do and think things that are impossible to control predict and justify in my head. Things that I wouldn't hope to influence in a million years because her inner world is so fucking strong. And I hate that.

So yeah.

Not a fan.

That's been my extremely subjective tetro pre-chapter 5 tier list. Maybe it'll change when the story's over, and maybe I'll let Hama out of his D-jail and move some guys from C higher, but Watari is staying just above the hellfire line and I'm not moving her anywhere even if I end up studying her character under a microscope to figure out why she triggers me so much.

#tetro danganronpa pink #literally everyone idk #yeah i don't have many friends how did you guess

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gwenyn28 · 1 month ago

Text

Just a few thoughts. I don‘t want to excuse any development or sound condescending. I don’t want to excuse the writing because I still stand by it being shitty and it could have been better in so many ways for a lot of storylines and characters. But I just had a few thoughts that I wanted to share. So… here they are. About season 7 and season 8. And probably the Buddie of it all.

If you are still too emotional and mad about the whole development? That is absolutely valid and I would never try to invalidate it. Be disappointed. Crash out. Curse everyone and their mom. Be angry and mad and sad and frustrated.

If you are open to read about a different approach, a different opinion and some thoughts and the last two seasons and some Buddie stuff… be my guest to read the following.

Just please be respectful if you disagree with things.

Imagine the following scenario:

Fox had the show for six season but then noticed that they can‘t do it anymore. Because it is too expensive. They also shut down Buddie permanently because… omg, no way. It was visible especially in season 6 when Buddie had barely any scenes together (though there were still some great Buddie moments with the „Do more!“/lightning and the poker date). Then, all of a sudden, abc appears, wanting to buy the show. Because they have the money and they see potential there. Especially with Buddie.

And so they try to set their plan in motion, to use the potential they saw, with starting the Buddie route after the opening disaster in 7x04. And it works in their favor. The response for bi!Buck as the first one of them coming out (excluding the few homophobic idiots) is mainly positive and euphoric. For them it is confirmed that the plan is a good one and will work out for them, bringing in fans, viewers and mainly money.

But then something unexpected happens. We remember some of the interviews from back in season 7 after the opening disaster. Especially Peter. He is talking about him being „too old“ for this kind of work. That is is tiring. That it is demanding. To carry around that heavy gear, the long hours (that led to a tragic death in real life), the stress… all of that.

Suddenly they have a „problem“ here. Peter is an executive producer and one of the main faces of the show. They can‘t ignore his complaints. (Maybe there was also a fallout with some higher ups about this or other things concerning the show like work schedules in general and/or character development but since this is just speculation I will keep it out of this text. I just wanted to mention it once that there could be other reasons for this whole „problem“ as well.)

Therefore they need to find a way to help, to solve that problem. And by doing so, they put all their focus on him and his character‘s development/storyline while unfortunately forgetting about the others and sidelining them.

This is a huge problem and there is nothing in this world to sugarcoat it. Tim has a whole team of writers working on this show. If he is not able to take care of the others and their characters he could have given this task to someone else to solely focus on Peter/Bobby. So everyone would have gotten the story they deserved.

Instead of handling it that way, we get 7x09 though that was a Bobby episode (with not even a mention of anyone else). That episode calls back to the house fire with how his story began. And the suicidal tendencies which come into play in the finale of season 7. The viewer is reminded that Bobby has had these thoughts in the past. That him dying is not a foreign concept to him and his character. That it has been an issue in the past. With bringing that up again they try to plant the idea into the viewer’s mind that they could see it and understand this being an optional and logical next step. Because they might see it not as a surprise then when he dies in the season‘s finale.

But the reactions were negative. Killing him off like that? Addressing his suicidal tendencies? With one main point for that planned death being his old guilt that has actually been resolved, kind of, since season 2? They notice their mistake that this is not the right way. The right solution. Therefore, they bring him back to life even though he should have stayed dead after being gone for 14 minutes. (Because who would and could survive that?)

So, that is their first try to solve that problem. Unfortunately, it doesn‘t work out. The problem‘s still there. And not only this. With focusing on that story, they have a whole other new problem - they neglected the other characters for that. They gave them shitty storylines that led to nothing much and didn’t get resolved because they felt like Tim had an idea but got sidetracked with other stuff. It was not cohesive at all.

Therefore, the season ends with two problems instead of just one - Bobby is still alive and the rest has crappy or barely existing storylines.

Then, season 8 is on its way. They get back on track and focus on „how to make it easier for Peter“? Again. The stupid thing is though… That is their sole focus. They forget about the others. Again. There is no development for any character in season 8. They get something small here and there but that‘s it. Nothing big, nothing connected, nothing cohesive and consistent. They bring in outsiders to create conflict instead of working with what they have and what has been the essence of 911 - their family as the core story. But yeah, it tracks. Because their main story is Bobby right now. The others are just an afterthought. Their stories fall flat and are stagnant. That sucks. But they either ignore it or they just don‘t notice. Fair? No. But that is the current situation.

And if we really think about it… a lot of people were noticing that and complaining about „why does Bobby get so much attention this season?“ That is the reason why. He has been the focus because there was an issue to solve. People might have not been able to see that back then, coming up with other explanations about „he is the male lead and it‘s Peter!“. While it might not have been about him being high on the callsheet though. It might have been just because they needed to find a solution.

In then end, they are still on the „Bobby/Peter problem“ for season 8a. That is when the idea comes up with the Hotshots plot. That is their test run for the idea of „what if we make Bobby retire? What if he is not part of the 118 anymore but still on the show?“ So, they use that story to test the waters here. How the people would react to them having (and finding) a new captain, to have a new dynamic at the 118, to still be connected to Bobby though but pulling him out of the focus. That follows Peter‘s wishes and complaints about not wanting to do all the stunts and hard work anymore that is demanding for his body and health but would keep the character. Could have killed two birds with one stone, right?

So, Hotshots was never meant to be a 911 meta, to poke fun at the show or to give us callbacks. It was simply there to test changing the position and role for Bobby. Theoretically a good idea. But it didn’t work out.

People are not okay with it. They don‘t like it and want Bobby back. The result? They know now that having Bobby retire, to write him off and/or out of the 118 (while still being on the show though) won‘t work out. People would not like it and they would want him back, no matter what.

So, season 8a ends. And the problem is still there. How to make it work for Peter? A lot of conversations have to be held and things are discussed. While they still have to continue with the show because it is still on and a work in progress. They are under pressure somehow.

And then the decision is made. There is only one solution. Retirement doesn‘t work. „Demoting“ him to guest or recurring? Not working either. The people want to see Bobby.

That is the moment they just have one solution - Kill him permanently.

Is it a good decision? Debatable.

Is it a good execution? Definitely not.

Could it have been done differently? Probably.

But the point stands. Their only way out at that point is the permanent death. Everything else hasn‘t or wouldn‘t work out.

Also, somehow Ryan, Aisha and Kenny cancelling the plans for the „Saving Lives“ convention could be seen in a different light now. The original story, if the retirement idea would have worked out? They would have been done by then and could have attended. But since they had to rearrange everything and write a new story? They were needed on set. Therefore, cancelling the convention.

Don‘t get me wrong. I don‘t want to excuse that decision or say that it was amazing or great or well-done. Because it wasn‘t. It was rushed and badly executed and they lacked a lot in the writing department here to make it a cohesive story to have people get the plot. There was so much missing which tracks back to my earlier statement of Tim getting sidetracked so many times and losing the bigger picture.

If it had been done differently I think a lot of people would have accepted killing off Bobby a bit more. Easier. But we already were unsatisfied and mad at all the shitty storylines and plots happening before to all the characters so… the foundation was just not there. To have a good and solid story and then deciding to kill off a character. That would have worked. Not what we got though.

For most fans the MCD was just another shitty thing that happened in a row of shitty things. Therefore there was no acceptance. If they had handled it differently, maybe it would have been a better result. But we will never know because the damage is done.

But back to the main point. The decision is made. Kill Bobby. But now they have to do that, to commit, one way or another. I assume this decision happened around February or so.

The Texas stuff was already filmed in January, 8x11 was planned and had started. Hen‘s bus storyline was on its way as well. So, they have to rearrange the whole schedule and everything from budget to permits to departments involved - the Contagion arc is born.

A lot of us felt and still feel that this was so off and random, it made no sense in the overall story. It felt weird and forced into the main story. And it actually was. We were confused about the stuff we found out through bts about them pushing around episodes (15 being 13 all of a sudden) and other things not adding up. But the root of this chaos was the „we need to put an end to the Bobby problem asap“, not a „I have no clue at all what I am doing“.

It was said in one interview that Bobby‘s death was derailing everyone‘s personal storylines and putting them on hold. And that was actually a bad thing in that moment because they had to stop everything they were doing. So, that couldn‘t be more true. Because exactly this happened. They had a plan (not that it was a good one, don‘t get me wrong) how to get through the season. But since they had to get through with killing Bobby as well they had to change the plan and shake everything up.

You might ask „why kill him then and why not doing it differently and doing it in 8x15?“. Like I said before. The problem still stands. Peter is maybe not able to do all the heavy stuff anymore (not that I would blame him, but it might be just a fact due to his age). So, they are ripping off the band-aid and are like „Okay, let‘s get through with it and accept the shitstorm for now. We have no other way out.“

And that is exactly what happened. The backlash was and still is huge. And they got and get a lot of negative feedback. They just take it. Because they knew that this would happen. But they saw no other or better way out of this situation.

Again, I don‘t want to excuse it or defend anything. It was still poorly executed and could have been better. Because let‘s be honest, Tim got even sidetracked there again with his „action“ and „I want a four minute long helicopter chase“. Two episodes could have been enough to give Peter/Bobby a proper goodbye and death to his character if done differently. But they did it in a bad way and have to live with it now, accepting the reactions while trying to see the positive side here as well with „okay, that death shakes up things for every character and we can finally develop them further. Our problem is solved.“

Let‘s have a look at the Buddie of it all then because that is the thing that probably interests us the most. They are our babies.

Like I said in the beginning, abc saw the potential and greenlit Buddie.

They take the first step in 7x04. Then the Bobby problem appears and they loose focus, being not the main plot anymore. The Buddie development gets sidelined for now, maybe with the thought of „One thing after another, let‘s solve Bobby first, then get back to Buddie“. Unfortunately, that doesn‘t work out and the problems is still there.

They admit defeat then and are okay with with sidelining Buddie for season 7 even though both Oliver and Ryan are on board (and if anyone says they, especially Ryan, are against it… this is not a safe space for you!). Let‘s push it to season 8.

And then season 8 happens and the Bobby problem is still unsolved. Because killing him in season 7? Not happening and Buddie is still sidelined in 8a. Because there are more important matters to take care of. But again, this doesn‘t work out. Hotshots as a test run for retiring Bobby is a failure. And 8a ends with still two problems at hand - Bobby alive and characters (in this case Buddie) being sidelined.

For 8b they decide to change their approach. To finally shift the focus. The Bobby problem can’t be solved quickly. They learnt that after 7b and 8a. So, the plan is to concentrate on Buddie for now. The potential is still there and that has been their original idea anyway. Maybe they can work that out first and then take care of the Bobby problem?

That is why the beginning of 8a feels like a Buddie dream coming true. The whole fight about Eddie moving, him leaving Buck behind who can barely handle this situation, 8x11 and the two Texas episodes. Great. That is exactly what they wanted. The Buddie train is back on track and thriving. The fans are ecstatic and the GA picks up on that plan.

But then… shit. Bobby. Almost forgot about him. He is still alive and the Captain of the 118. Peter still has to work and do the heavy stuff and… damn. Ignoring the problem or pushing it back didn‘t solve it. So, the focus had to be shifted again. Abandon Buddie, put it on the back burner.

I am sure that the decision to „rip off the MCD band-aid“ wasn‘t made easily. And that they had a lot of conversations and debates about it. But once the decision was made they had to stop the Buddie train again. They were not okay with it and they probably hated it, especially Oliver and Ryan who were happy that there was finally the development that both (!) anticipated. But everyone accepted it for now. Bobby was the more pressing matter at hand in that moment.

So, the Contagion arc happened. And finally they solved the Bobby problem but had to accept the backlash on that AND the sudden Buddie stagnating.

The final three episodes after this arc were used to close this storyline and I am convinced that Bobby‘s death won‘t be a topic anymore in season 9. They let them grieve (even though poorly, still acknowledging the bad writing in some parts on my end here), trying to pull the characters out of being sidelined, getting back on track with giving them development.

Season 9 can be now used again to get to tell the stories they either wanted to tell in season 8 or had no time to even think about for this season.

But what about the press tour before the finale? Let‘s say it was… bad timing? Disney‘s upfront is a fixed date and the finale aired after it. Unfortunately. The press we saw that heavily featured Buddie… was not press for the finale. It was press for season 9. If the finale had aired before that all the Buddie hype would have been seen for its actual intention. To „hype“ season 9. To promote it. To sell their show. To finally go through with what they wanted to do for two seasons now but couldn’t do because they had to take care of something else (Bobby) first.

Was it calculating and kinda rude what the outlets did, to air and publish the stuff before the finale? Yes. Because it was misleading and a lot of people thought it was about the finale. Imagine that stuff being said next week or the week after? Completely different outcome. But them airing it before the finale gave people a wrong impression.

The problem is that a lot of people, me sometimes included I give you that, have an idea and theory because we see something or get hyped by other‘s theories… and then we focus so much on that and expect something to happen. While it just doesn‘t because it has never been the plan. And that is why people get disappointed and angry so often.

I don‘t want to blame anyone for doing that. It is just an explanation for why this happens, you know? And why people react to it the way they do.

If you put the hype aside and think about it being for season 9 and not the finale? It can be seen in a different light, especially with what I explained earlier. Buddie got sidelined and partially forgotten because of the Bobby issue. But now that they are free, they can get their focus back on that. And everything in the interviews and articles and videos is pointing towards it.

Abc still sees the potential and is still on board with it. Otherwise they would have shut it down for real, the interviews and everything that happened during that press would have been different for sure. They would have given more professional answers, more open worded. They would not have been that happy and giddy about the whole think. So, we can assume that it is still the plan for the upcoming season(s). We also know that they plan to keep 911 as long as possible, like the new Grey‘s Anatomy with a shit ton of seasons to come. Abc hasn’t given up on the show.

They just had to solve a problem first. And even if they did it in the worst way possible concerning the writing, the sidelining of other characters etc.? The problem is solved. The detour they had to take? Done. They can go through with their original plan. And that is Buddie.

Also one or maybe two important things. With Bobby gone it actually plays into the Buddie canon of it all. Why? One of the main faces of the show is gone. The male lead so to speak. That is why Oliver got so much promo work this week. Because they want to build him to be the new „male lead“ (I know it is an ensemble show but I have no better way to explain it.) He will take Peter‘s place. Not as the captain (that will be Chimney). But as the male face of the show. And Buddie? Even though it sounds weird but… Buddie is planned as the new Bathena. I don‘t want to make Bathena fans mad with this but…

Let’s be realistic for a second. Bathena was a main pull for the show. People tuning in for them. But now? Bobby is gone. And Athena? She has no house anymore so where does she live? I can see Angela stepping back as well. Not leaving the show completely but being more of a guest. To be their police connection until… she can raise the next one. A rookie. This is how these long term shows work. If an actor has to or wants to leave you find a replacement, have them interact and get them some build up. Then you can slowly pull back the old character and replace them with a new one.

The same can happen for the 118. There is an open position now. So… Ravi anyone? Anirudh could become a permanent member of the team and they would have an open position for a recurring firefighter/probie. The next generation for the 118. This could also lead to new relationships because the mains are all coupled up - HenRen, Madney, Buddie. So Ravi and the new rookie and firefighter? Next generation also for personal storylines. Win-win for the show.

Also, 911: Nashville plays a role in this. Because people, mostly GA, were complaining about OG being too woke (and with Bobby dead they killed the only straight white cis male of the show). They are unhappy but like the franchise as such, the emergencies and some of the personal stories (that is their main reason to watch the show). They can simply switch to Nashville. A mostly white cast (for now), nothing „woke“ we know of yet. They can latch onto a new straight white cis male as captain with his wife and team. And OG? That will draw in more queer viewers because it is „woke enough“ with queer rep, PoCs and mainly women on their show.

In the end abc won‘t loose that many viewers. The ones that leave OG becaues of „woke“ will move on to Nashville and OG draws in more of the queers. Win-win. Again. In the ends, the numbers and the money is what counts.

Buddie brings in more queers for OG and Nashville is for the straights. To simplify it.

To come to an end (and thanks if you read until here!):

Bobby‘s death was not a creative decision, it was a problem they had to solve to cater to Peter‘s wishes and needs. They took their time and sidelined characters for it. They tried a different approach with Hotshots but it didn‘t work out. So they took the MCD out and accepted their fate. After that is done now they can go back to their original plan with Buddie and start in season 9 with a clean story. Buddie will be their flagship relationship they focus on in 9a. Buddie was always meant to happen but got pushed back because of the more urgent matter. Bobby/Peter. Now they have the time to do it.

And one last thing before you are finally getting rid of me…

I said it more than once. I don‘t want to excuse anything. I am still on board with the „they wrote shitty storylines and executed a lot of things badly“. Characters were sidelined because of too many ideas with poor decisions being made. They could have done things better. And we know they can because we got better writing in the past. So, I will still criticize the show and how they did things. I am not blindly following and praising everything they do. I still have trust issues with them really being able to handle storylines for the characters accordingly to how they deserve to be handled in the future. I am hopeful but not delusional.

How they ended things with Bobby was… underwhelming and feels undeserved after so many years. He should have gotten something better and if Tim had not been focused on the action he could have given a two-episode goodbye that would have honored Peter‘s role and character.

I simply tried to approach both seasons with taking a step back and looking at the bigger picture after they are both over now. I am not giving Tim too much credit with saying that yes, I think he had a plan. I mean he has 30+ years under his belt. He is no newbie who has no clue what he is doing. But, and that is a big but, he got lost in all his side quests that he lost sight of his main quest. He lost the red string that should have been there throughout the season, connecting episodes and characters, because there were so many other shiny objects he wanted to explore.

I am not on the „trust the process“ train because like I said. I have trust issues. I just tried to understand why the stuff that happened happened the way it did. And to me that makes sense (not only me because a lot of that stuff was discussed in a little group of wonderful people who always try to stay sane and rational). But just because it makes sense doesn‘t automatically mean that I like it. I don‘t.

I can see their plan being pushed back because of some unfortunate and unforeseen problem and I can just hope that they will get back on track with their plan concerning Buddie since that problem is solved now. That after two season they can finally do what they wanted from the beginning after they changed to abc.

#911 abc #911 on abc #911 show #buddie #season 8 analysis #season 7 analysis #911 season 8 #911 season 7 #bobby nash #speculation #911 speculation #911 spoilers #just my thoughts #could be wrong #but to me it makes sense somehow #Therfore I will never close on Buddie

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thephoenixandthecrocodile · 7 months ago

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I’m rewatching Dark for like the millionth time and Ulrich is such a fascinating character to me. By all accounts he’s such a shit father, husband, cop, and over all human being and then Mikkel disappears and we get glimpses of who he could have been if he had ever given a shit to try. He becomes the devoted dad who stops at nothing to find his son. He figures out Helge has a role to play in everything going on. He figures out the time traveling aspect on his own mostly because he accepts it’s the only thing that makes sense (i mean finding his missing brother helps)

But at the same time he can’t overcome his flaws. He can’t overcome his impulsiveness, his anger at the world for fucking him and his family over, and even though he catches a glimpse of what is going on, he’ll never be able to see the full picture because he can’t see beyond Helge and Mikkel. He’s a walking disaster that could be so much better than he is, but he can’t because his instincts and his desires will always work against him.

It’s like he spent his entire life giving up and remained trapped in his own hell while lashing out at everyone else for being trapped in the first place and the minute he has something to fight for, he dooms himself because all he knows is how to lash out at everyone and anyone near him. It’s like he was created from immense violence and hatred so all he knows is violence. And there are hints that that comes out in his relationship with Katarina but not so much with his children. For the most part, he doesn’t seem to have really been there for his children at all except for Mikkel, who he seems really close to. I’m also really curious why they had THREE children when Katarina was very clear she didn’t want ANY.

WARNING: VIOLENCE AGAINST CHILDREN

I still remember my absolute shock and horror when he tried to kill child Helge by bashing his head with a rock. In a show with a lot of dark and dismal moments, that might be one of its darkest. Oliver Masucci, who is PHENOMENAL, does such an amazing job allowing us to see Ulrich’s mind as he makes that decision. You can literally see his mind break as he realizes what he *has* to do and you can feel the desperation that takes him over as he grabs the rock. He is a hundred percent broken man when he attacks child Helge. A father willing to kill someone else’s child to save his own. That’s one of the core tensions in Dark. What would you do to save your child(ren)? Often times, it’s let someone else die (or kill them yourself). In a world where you can’t save everyone, who do you save and what is the cost?

I also like that the show doesn’t give Ulrich a redemption arc. Even though he’s devoted to finding Mikkel, he’s still a shit husband and father to the rest of his family, he blames Hannah for the fact that he cheated on his wife (even though it takes two people to cheat), he’s still lashing out at the people who “fucked” him over in the past. He’s still a shit person and he still has to pay for nearly killing a kid. Trying to save his son doesn’t become this great altruistic act that teaches him how to be a good father. If anything, it allows him to become an even worse human being even if he’s doing it for the “right” reasons.

I will admit the moment he meets up with Mikkel and fails once again to bring him home breaks my heart. I think it’s because we desperately want Mikkel to go home and we’d love it if Mikkel could have a proper family again. We’d love it if Ulrich could be better. That all that suffering meant something, but it doesn’t. Ulrich and the whole Nielsen family is just one more casualty in Adam’s and Eve’s game and ultimately Tannhaus’ efforts to save his own son.

#dark netflix #netflix dark #Ulrich Nielsen #katarina Nielsen #helge doppler #mikkel nielsen #I’m completely obsessed with dark

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morgan-va · 5 months ago

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im so sorry to busy u with more reqs but i js. Need to get the idea worms out of my head. They’ve been infesting since i haven’t seen any CONTENT of my MAN…

anyways, rocky rickaby x reader who has ALOT of experience in like, bootlegging/crime?? I can imagine reader being more of the levelheaded one, similar to mordecai with seraphine and nico. Hc or oneshot is fine for me!!! Again, thank you sm for taking my reqs !!!

I need more requests so its okay!

Rocky Rickaby x Experienced Bootlegger GN!Reader Headcanons

Masterlist

From the moment Rocky meets you, he’s utterly awestruck. You’re the picture of composure and competence, handling every situation with ease and precision. To him, you’re like something out of the pulpy crime flick he’s seen on the silver screen.

Your calm demeanor is a stark contrast to Rocky’s chaos, and he finds it both intimidating and incredibly attractive.

“So cool under pressure,” he’d marvel after watching you talk your way out of a sticky situation with police. “If I tried that, I’d probably end up accidentally confessing to five other crimes I didn’t commit!” (He absolutely committed them)

Rocky quickly becomes your biggest admirer, constantly bragging about your skills to anyone who will listen.

“You should’ve seen them, took down three armed guards without so much as a wrinkle in their coat! Incredible, I tell ya!”

Despite his tendency to be a bit of a disaster, you recognize Rocky’s value in a crew. His quick thinking and ability to improvise have saved your neck more than once, even if his plans make you roll your eyes half the time.

Rocky sees you as a mentor of sorts and often peppers you with questions about how you stay so calm under pressure.

“What’s the secret? Is it a breathing technique? A special kind of whiskey? Oh, don’t tell me, it’s meditation, isn’t it?”

“It’s experience, Rocky. And not thinking about how everything could go wrong every second of the job. Maybe try that.”

“…So not whiskey?”

You’re often the one cleaning up after his messes, whether it’s smoothing things over with angry clients or making sure his wild plans don’t leave too much collateral damage. While it can be frustrating, you also secretly admire his audacity.

Rocky loves testing your composure, purposely throwing absurd ideas into the mix just to see if he can make you react. He’s secretly thrilled whenever he manages to make you smirk or raise an eyebrow.

The rest of the Lackadaisy crew respects you immensely and often turns to you to keep Rocky in check. It’s an unspoken rule that you’re the “unofficial babysitter” for the violinist.

“If anyone can keep Rocky alive during a job, it’s you.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an admission of how much of a liability he is.”

Rocky is constantly trying to impress you, whether it’s through his (questionable) driving skills, dramatic storytelling, or attempts at being stealthy. Even when he fails spectacularly, you can’t help but find his enthusiasm endearing.

On jobs, you make an excellent team. Your levelheadedness balances out Rocky’s reckless creativity, and you’ve developed a mutual understanding of how to play to each other’s strengths. It’s like a dance, with you as the steady lead and Rocky providing the unexpected flourishes (in the form of nearly blowing you up for the tenth time (today)).

While you’re used to operating alone, Rocky’s presence has grown on you over time. His humor and unshakeable optimism bring a lightness to the work that you didn’t realize you were missing.

Rocky is endlessly fascinated by your past and loves hearing stories about your earlier exploits, even if they’re told in your usual no-nonsense manner.

“And then what happened? Don’t leave me hanging!”

“We made the delivery and got paid, Rocky. Not every story ends in explosions.”

“But wouldn’t it be better if it did?”

He’s surprisingly sweet when it comes to you, often going out of his way to make your life easier in small ways—like carrying the heavier crates (Read: making someone else carry them) or fixing something you didn’t have time to deal with. It’s his way of showing how much he respects and appreciates you.

He’s not above making dramatic declarations about your partnership, often comparing the two of you to legendary duos like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (to which you usually roll your eyes).

Over time, you find yourself softening toward Rocky, realizing that his chaos isn’t just entertaining but also oddly comforting. He brings a sense of unpredictability and joy to your life that you never expected to appreciate. And let’s face it, his laughter is a bit infectious.

While you may outwardly seem like the steady anchor to his whirlwind, the truth is, Rocky’s boundless energy and determination keep you grounded in their own way. Together, you’re an unstoppable—and unconventional—team.

#rocky rickaby x reader #lackadaisy #lackadaisy hcs #lackadaisy fanfic #lackadaisy fanfiction

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weirdmarioenemies · 1 year ago

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Name: Fujitsumon

Debut: Digimon Pendulum 2.0 Deep Savers (kind of. It's a little complicated. But don't worry about that)

Fujitsumon is a darling little eyes-in-a-void barnacle! With their brown exteriors, they really do bring to mind Jawas, world-renowned eyes-in-a-void creature. This is a rare design choice for a barnacle, and a barnacle is a rare creature inspiration choice! Too rare! They are such incredible and fascinating animals, and should absolutely be represented as such, and not just background decorations!

Fujitsumon is essentially a Digimon by technicality, an accessory of a creature, and I'm fine with that. They're acknowledged as creatures, and that's enough for me! They're almost always seen attached to the surface of another creature, and that sure is barnacle of them!

This is their host, Octomon! Or Octmon, if you don't like the dub name, but I think Octomon sounds better. Octomon wears a clay pot on its head, and Fujitsumon live on top of that! This is a smart setup. If I lived underwater I would love to wear a hat that some barnacle friends of mine could live on! Fujitsumon and Octomon have a mutualistic relationship going on, where the barnacles will sense danger, and warn the octopus of it, getting the whole group out of danger!

The reason I wasn't so sure about Fujitsumon's debut is that in Deep Savers, Octomon's sprite looks like this, not nearly detailed enough to even depict some barnacles! However, it does seem like the official art was made around this time, so I might as well consider this Fujitsumon's debut too.

There isn't much to Fujitsumon, but I love it! It's cute, it's a barnacle, and it's almost a "secret" creature, and that makes it, dare I say, even more fun than if it was a standalone obtainable Digimon! A charming little oddity in the digital world.

That's what I thought until I found out this little barnacle has a whole dedicated ANIME EPISODE! YEEHAW! This is the best barnacle-related cartoon episode I've ever seen! Better than SpongeBob SquarePants episode 164a Barnacle Face! Why, even better than Benny the Barnacle (2022)! Can you believe it? Better than Benny the Barnacle? I can.

In this episode of Digimon Ghost Game, the human protagonist is tormented by premonitions of disasters occurring to everyone around him, revealed to be caused by a Fujitsumon settled on his head. A land mammal is no place for a barnacle! Wouldn't it be crazy if you could go to the beach and leave with a barnacle settled on your fingernail? What would you even do? I would probably feel obligated to dip my finger into the ocean regularly to let it filter-feed. If only we had air plankton!

This Fujitsumon, as well as others that are affecting other humans, come from one particular Octomon, who got so angry at his barnacles that they Left. These are no real-life, cemented-in-place-for-the-rest-of-their-lives barnacles! They can just get up and leave if they're bothered. I bet real barnacles wish they could do that! It would be so embarrassing to end up settled right next to a turtle's... hehe... I shan't say...!

Octomon's petty outburst was over his magic brain barnacles not using their clairvoyance to help him win at a mobile game. Now, because of his Gamer Moment, there are Fujitsumon stuck directly to peoples' heads, which can cause these heads to explode. Maybe he should have just played a good mobile game, like Pico Pets Puzzle! *high fives someone offscreen*

Don't worry! Everything's ok in the end, like it always is with invertebrate friends! Octomon apologizes, the lead Fujitsumon gathers the whole crusty crew, and everything is fine except for the physical damage that has already been done, but don't worry! The virtual invertebrates are all friends again! Squishy or chitinous, none of us have spines, and that's what matters!

If you know of any obscure barnacles in media, please let me know in the notes! And until the next high tide, remember to close your armored plates to prevent dessication!

#fujitsumon #octomon #digimon #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

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mercy-burning · 8 months ago

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(1) the landlord. || THE DOCTOR.

in which the landlord sets off to bring the doctor out of his shell and acquaint him with the town. content: strong language, inebriation

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist || main masterlist

———

Four snowfalls have graced Sardinia in the past month, and Y/N is starting to wonder if the poor doctor had gotten stuck in his house, or even frozen to death outside. With limbs thinner than the pine needles scattered all through town, he's probably snapped in several places. She jokingly wonders if she'll see dismembered fingers and legs in his yard, but finds that in actuality, Winter has seemed to treat the doctor well.

At least, well enough to where he can handle the yard.

There's a clear, albeit jagged, pathway from the gravel road to the front door, and even the narrow driveway and the pale vintage Wagoneer parked in the middle of it aren't completely caked in white. It's not perfect by any means, but good enough to get you on the move in a hurry. Kind of important for an on-call doctor.

That being said, no one has seen him in almost a month.

News doesn't take long to travel, especially regarding new and important residents since they only come around once in a blue moon, and still, not a single visit. No stories, no "I heard"s, no calls... Whether it's a testament to the population's good health or unwillingness to let in the new remains to be seen. And as a lifelong resident of Sardinia and landlord to the new doctor, Mayor Stanton has tasked Y/N to get him out and about to get things back to a sort-of-normal.

Either he'll get settled in and fit in nicely, or everyone is going to ask for a trade-in. She hopes it's the former, because a repeat of The Revolving Arsenal of Dentists sounds like an absolute nightmare, but even if it ends up being a disaster, anything would be better than this limbo of not knowing. It's like a tarp of tension has settled over the top of Sardinia and trapped everyone underneath. It's a weird feeling that Y/N hopes will go away after today. If not to bring the doctor out of his shell and into public, then to relay information about him or his credentials to get everyone more comfortable with his presence.

She's also decided he isn't horrible to look at.

Not that that's relevant...

She knocks on the door three times, loud and staccato. Her knuckles sting at the contact and she holds back a hiss, hearing her late grandmother's trill warning, "You've lived here all your life, Moonface, you know better than to do anything outside without gloves!" It's true, but this is the only stop she has to make today, and then she's determined to go back to the safety of her own home and live out the rest of her 'day off' in peace.

"Doctor Reid, are you home?"

The door swings open in only a few seconds, and the doctor appears before her, a soft smile adorning his perfectly sculpted city-boy face. They don't have faces like those in Sardinia... "Oh, Y/N, hi... Is everything alright?"

"No. Uh... I mean, yes. No one's sick or injured or anything. But no. Everyone in town is just reasonably hesitant about a stranger being their primary care provider, so we thought it would be best to... Help you get acquainted with Sardinia. We wanted to—"

"We?" he prompts with an arched brow, looking over her shoulder.

"Everyone," Y/N answers dumbfounded, and suddenly a little irritated that he interrupted her.

He blinks for a few seconds, seemingly unsure whether or not she's being serious, and then breathes out a laugh, a small cloud forming in front of her eyes. It annoys her for some reason, and she swats in front of her face, trying to get his essence away from her.

"Why don't you come inside? It's cold out today," the doctor says, stepping aside to make room.

Y/N shifts and places her hands on her hips. "The thing about this town is that we know almost everything about everyone. I'm not saying you should read us your diary, Doctor, but Mayor Stanton and everyone else who came to the town meeting last night agree that you should come out and introduce yourself to some of our residents. It might help them warm up to you. So—"

"Here, you should really come inside."

"Why do you keep interrupting me?"

"You're bleeding."

Doctor Reid nods down towards Y/N's feet, where drops of crimson stick out against the snow like a murder scene, and she frantically looks down at her knuckles, which had, in fact, cracked open against the door.

"Shit," she hisses, shoving her hand in her pocket. "I should go take care of this. Sorry to bleed all over your porch."

"Y/N, it's what I'm here for. Let me clean you up. Please, come inside?"

Despite the deep embarrassment she's feeling, she agrees and steps into the small cabin home, instantly twitching her nose at how different the space smells after only a month. Not in a bad way, of course. It went from a near-abandoned basement-smelling fixer-upper to a homely winter vacation residency in such a short time, it's almost impressive.

You sure do take your time settling in...

The doctor laughs, and Y/N realizes she'd said it out loud, feeling embarrassed again as she removes her coat and drapes it over the coat rack.

"Forgive me. I'm used to train stations and apartment buildings, this is all very new."

She turns and can't quite meet his eye. "I'm sorry. I want to say I can understand, but I've lived here all my life, so... Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. Have a seat, I'll get you fixed up here in just a second." It sounds like he's smiling, but she wouldn't know. She refuses to look at him.

"Well, you've made the place look very nice," she says, trying for some recovery. "To be honest I wasn't really sure if it'd be livable. I've been working on it for almost a year, but Stanton deemed it 'good enough' and I just hoped he was right." Especially since I scrubbed the fuck out of these floors for days... If there had to be one perfect thing about this place, it was going to be a shiny foundation to walk upon...

"Well, then I'm glad you like what you see."

She can't tell if the words hold playful suggestion or if she's just really gone that long without a fling. Suddenly the room is hot, and she wishes she'd just turned around and left the doctor alone.

When he touches her hand, she jumps, and he pulls back. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says with a laugh, reaching for her hand again and getting to work cleaning the wound.

The floor is suddenly very eye-catching despite how it hasn't changed at all. The hardwood is swept nearly to perfection without so much as a speck of dust, and in a way she's relieved to know he keeps the house as clean as she keeps her own. If nothing else, the Landlord/Tenant relationship should be a solid one.

"Can I ask where you studied medicine?"

Another laugh from him. She's starting to really dislike those...

"Gathering information to relay to Everyone, are you?"

"No," she exaggerates. Her eyes flick upwards to see him and almost retreat immediately. He's looking straight at her with amusement dancing over his features. "I just... I'd like to know my doctor's credentials, that's all."

"Hmmm. Understandable." He finishes cleaning her cracked knuckles, starting to apply gauze.

He doesn't answer, though, and Y/N sighs. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"There's nothing wrong with being curious, Y/N... And... I understand, there's probably some... uncertainty about inviting a total stranger to be the town doctor. I apologize to you, and to Everyone, for being elusive. But I haven't been this far away from home in a long time, and it's taking me a little longer than I'd like to... make myself at home, so to speak."

His vulnerability is a shock, and suddenly Y/N feels terrible about bombarding him, so she softly squeezes his hand, since he hadn't let go of it after taping up the gauze like a metaphorical bow on top. She even manages to hold his gaze for longer than a millisecond, feeling herself warm involuntarily at the tenderness he's exuding.

"You don't have to apologize," she tells him earnestly. "Sardinia is lucky to have you."

Doctor Reid smiles and squeezes her hand back before letting go and turning to put away his first-aid kit.

The moment had passed just as quickly as it came. No Thank You? Not even a nod of thanks?

Y/N huffs and stands, walking to her coat. "Sorry again for bleeding all over your porch. And thank you for the help. Everyone is eagerly awaiting to meet you, so don't be a stranger. Stanton sent me here to invite you to BAR for dinner and a tour of the town. I told him that might be a little lame, but he insisted, so... Show up if you want to. I'll be there at 6, but I'm sure Stanton will be there all day in the event that you decide you just can't wait for a town tour."

All enthusiasm has left her voice in favor of sarcasm as she dresses and reaches for the front door. She's ready to put the doctor and his first-aid kit in the past, and then he calls out her name, stopping her in her tracks.

"Tell Everyone the answer is Johns Hopkins."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, confused for a split second before her question echoes in the back of her mind. Can I ask where you studied medicine?

She finds herself throwing one of his laughs right back at him. "Tell them yourself, Doctor."

And then she opens the door and meets the bright white Alaskan winter, unaware of the shit-eating grin he wears on his face behind her.

———

Dear Mom,

My landlord, Y/N, came to visit me today. My first patient in Sardinia. I'm not sure what type of omen that is, considering I'm pretty sure she's the most easily irritable person I've ever met, but... She is also my landlord, so maybe I shouldn't push her buttons. The last thing I need is an eviction in a town that may as well be the living equivalent of an eviction itself.

I digress.

She and Mayor Stanton want me to come into town tonight for dinner and a tour of Sardinia, which I can't imagine will last very long unless we go underground somewhere or I end up being interrogated—I mean interviewed—by every single person who lives here.

I'm really trying to settle in and make myself comfortable, but... I miss home. I miss my family. I miss you.

Starting over always sounds like the perfect plan, but in all honesty, it's exhausting. Clean slates are too clean. There's room for all sorts of lies, like telling your landlord you studied medicine at Johns Hopkins when you haven't academically studied medicine at all. Soon everyone in town will know, and the giant lie I've been living in will only grow deeper until I can't reach the bottom and I drown.

I don't know what to do, Mom. I wish you were here to give me some advice, or even just some comfort.

For now though, I suppose I'll get ready, for dinner at a place called "BAR". I hope it's an acronym for something.

———

"Very creative, Sardinia..."

Spencer sighs and shakes his head amusedly as he pulls up to the town's supposed "only restaurant". He won't know until he walks inside, but there's a sarcastic feeling he can't shake, that BAR isn't actually a restaurant.

Plowed snow crunches gently under his feet as he shuts the door to his hand-me-down Wagoneer, and the sun has set to the point of near-dark. Against the snow, it casts Downtown Sardinia in a purple tint that feels desolate and liminal. The bright neon BAR sign blinks green, giving the street a little bit of life, but not much. He imagines it's probably more lively during the day.

Spencer focuses on breathing in the sharp cool air before bracing himself for the inside of his dinner destination.

He's surprised (and admittedly relieved) to discover that BAR is truly a healthy half-and-half concession of bar and restaurant. Booths and tables stretch over the entire floor, each one practically full, with families and singles and groups of friends. Despite the snow outside and the multi-colored Christmas lights wrapped around the high ceiling beams and on every pillar one could possibly spot, he's grateful for the lack of Christmas music in November.

The bell above the door rings as he steps inside, and a few heads turn. The man behind the bar looks out to Spencer, and then to two individuals seated in front of him with a nod. Y/N and Stanton turn around, the former with a quirked eyebrow and the latter with an energetic wave and a bellowing "Doctor! Welcome in!"

It wasn't enough to silence the establishment, but there's enough of a shift in volume that Spencer feels on the spot, warming under everyone's scrutiny. He decides to ignore it, smiling as brightly as he can to the mayor and weaving through tables to approach him.

"Lovely to see you again, my boy!" Stanton greets with a firm hand to the shoulder. He has to stand up on the edge of the bottom of the bar chair to reach, and Y/N nearly falls to the ground trying to steady him.

"Stan, sit down!" the barman scolds. "If you fall and bust your head on the bar again, I'm putting it on your tab."

Spencer swears he almost sees Y/N loosen her grip on the mayor, a hint of consideration flashing behind her eyes. The thought makes him laugh.

"Don't worry, I've got a steady hand," Spencer offers, taking the burden from his landlord and helping Stanton down into his chair. He's obviously pretty inebriated, though it wouldn't be a surprise to learn that he always is in some capacity.

"Right. Sardinia's new doctor, in the flesh."

Stanton chugs the last of his bottle and smiles at the barman. "Sonny, this is Spencer Reid. Doctor Reid, this is Sonny, the best bartender Sardinia has to offer."

"I'm the only bartender Sardinia has to offer," Sonny counters, but he smiles anyway. "But I have the best team ready to cook up whatever you're hungry for. What'll it be, Doctor? You want a menu?"

"Umm... Sure, a menu sounds great."

Stanton scoots over to another stool, slapping his palm down on the one he was just in. "Sit, Doctor! Make yourself at home!"

Home, he thinks somberly as he sits down, only slightly uncomfortable by how warm the seat is. I suppose this really is my home for the next... He doesn't even know how long he'll be in Sardinia. There's no predicted timeline for any of it. No way to know how soon he can go back to his regular life.

"Y/N came to visit you, I see," Stanton says, drunken suggestion dripping from every word. "I sure hope she didn't injure herself on purpose just to scope out the new help..."

"Stan," she sighs, sliding her menu over to Spencer. Red-faced at the mayor's insinuation, he glances down at her hand, which is still wrapped. "If I were going to injure myself on purpose for the sake of a man, it wouldn't be in Sardinia."

His gaze lingers on her a little too long, like a challenge, until she notices and scoots off the chair. "I'm gonna use the restroom. Excuse me, boys."

Stanton waves her off, and Spencer watches her path to the far corner of the room until she disappears, and he's forced to look down at the menu.

He settles on a cheeseburger and fries, and gets an odd look from Sonny when he orders an iced sweet tea instead of beer.

"Not a drinker?" the mayor asks.

"Not really... Plus, I am an on-call doctor now, so being under the influence probably doesn't give a good first impression."

"How true that is! I knew I liked you, Doctor," Stanton bellows, breaking apart a peanut from the dish in front of him.

"Please, call me Spencer."

"Nonsense! First names are for strangers. You're part of the Sardinia family now, and an important one at that. Doctor is a fine title, so keep it you shall!"

He doesn't see the point in arguing with him, but he also wishes he'd stop speaking like a character from a 40s movie. It's taking him out of an already foreign atmosphere he's trying to adjust to.

Part of him wishes Y/N would come back quickly to tether him to normalcy. Despite the obvious distaste she has for him and his innate inability to keep down his nervous laughter when she's around, his morning with her had him craving good, quick conversation since she left. She's witty and snappy, and his years of profiling have led him to believe there's something beautiful hiding under that cold exterior she has.

He kind of wants to keep digging until he finds what it is.

But, as it stands, she is his landlord, and he gets the feeling that one wrong move could have him sleeping outside. Perhaps on a frozen body of water where no one will ever find him.

She returns just after Sonny serves up Spencer's plate, and before he can do anything with it, she reaches over and steals a fry before taking the coat draped over the back of her chair.

"And where do you think you're going?" Stanton questions. "There's still a tour to be had!"

Y/N smiles. "Stan, if Sonny's the best bartender Sardinia has to offer, then you're the best tour guide. You don't need me for anything. Doctor Reid is in good hands." She looks at him and he almost crumbles under the weight of mischief in her eyes, like she's read his mind and became determined to pawn him off to the drunken mayor as some sort of game. A part of him wishes he could play along and convince her to stay, but all he can do is watch as she throws her jacket on over her arms and turns to the barman. "Thanks for dinner, Sonny," she says brightly. "It was a ten out of ten, as always."

"A pleasure, Moonface, as always," Sonny throws back with a smirk, and Y/N groans.

"When are you all gonna let that go?"

"Never," Sonny and Stanton, and another woman at the bar seated next to her, offer in unison.

Spencer can't help but smile at the inside joke he knows nothing of. It's like he's back home, roped into watching a sit-com with Penelope half-way through the season where he doesn't quite yet understand everyone's backstories and dynamics. Only, this time he actually finds himself eager to figure it out.

Y/N zips up her jacket and steals another fry before she bounds off, the bell chiming after her.

Even with a plate full of food gone in about twenty minutes, Spencer still feels a lingering hunger.

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