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#How many tangents did I manage to go on this time?
luvwestwood · 2 months
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"AFK" - Choso Kamo (with twt links)
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"..like fortnite, i’ma need your skin.."
3,012 words.
warnings. nsfw(18+), bf/gamer! choso, oral sex (m rec.), humiliation, desk sex, exhibitionism, trying not to get caught, feral choso, p in v, throat fucking, oral sex (m receiving), overstimulation, degradation, choso whimper links included lol,
notes. my previous drabble abt choso had a lil kick to it, definitely had to make it into a full one-shot! hope u guys enjoy, and thank u for 450 followers hehe, so I included twt links! ^^
credits to @/plutism for dividers, @/adrienwithane for banner.
russian translation by @juliabelll ❤️
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Not too long ago, it was Choso's birthday. Being an amazing girlfriend you are, of course you built him a brand new PC. It cost you an arm and a leg, but that didn't matter at all when it came to Choso. Seeing him happy itched a part of your brain, especially when he was the one who would pay for everything: dates, your online shopping carts, you name it.
He never really bought anything for himself. You were getting tired of the countless times that he went on a tangent about how slow his previous machine was. It was doing your head in, so you saved up. For what you now call a 'not-blessing-in-disguise'.
Choso was obsessed with his new PC, and it wasn’t an exaggeration. Part of you was starting to regret it all. The man barely paid attention to you.
Am I the asshole for being mad that my boyfriend likes his gift a bit too much? No, I wouldn't think so. I should be delighted, but it's pretty much getting outrageous.
The fact that he has almost every single game out there on that PC in just a span of one week since he got it - means there's more for him to do. Every day, he'd wake up, do a bit of house stuff then sit his ass down to play with his friends. For as long as he can. Never leaving that room. Hell, he wouldn't even bother answering your messages until an hour later. 'Mb, was on the game' is something that was engraved in your brain by now.
Every time you'd come over, he'd ignore you simply by just gluing his eyes on the screen. If you try to nap, just go home. You've lost track of how many times he's managed to wake you up with his blood-curdling screams. There were times when Choso didn't even notice you leaving, which upset you quite a bit.
Of course, you had moments when you needed him the most. Like, badly. Freshly shaved, he's not even mentally there to take a peek. You could be naked and oiled up in his bed, Choso wouldn't even bat an eye.
…Advice to self, don't get him a PS5 this Christmas.
"Choso," You called out, sat on the edge of the bed behind him. No answer. Per usual, you wanted to rip that headset off his head.
Dark circles were forming around his eyes, endless cans of monster were scattered all over his desk. "Nah let's just fight Oscar, we've got a minute until the circle closes."
Rolling your eyes, a scoff escapes your mouth. Aaand he didn't hear you. Crossing your arms, you furrow your brows. He was honestly testing your patience. "Choso?!"
Choso flinches a bit, pulling one side of his headset away from his ear. His gaming chair spins around to face you. "Baby?"
He knew you were mad. You looked more than pissed. It was really because this recurring behavior of his was getting too much. "Your eyes are always on that screen! Did you even know that I was here!?”
“I-I’m sorry. Look, I'll get off after this game!” From his headset you could hear Choso’s friends teasing and picking on him. They probably heard you scolding your poor boyfriend. You couldn’t care less.
As soon as you were about to speak, he immediately spun his chair back around to face that stupid monitor again. He was too engrossed in the game. It was his squad of four against the only opposing team.
Groaning, you flop back onto his mattress. "..You always say that, and you never do." Muttering under your breath, you stare at the ceiling blankly. What felt like a hammer to your head, Choso's war cries could only get louder each second.
The past few days, you had no choice but to use your own fingers to toy with yourself. You were needy, and you missed your boyfriend's touch. Too bad he was too occupied. How come his keyboard and mouse get to be touched by him more than your....
Using all of your strength, you sat yourself up again on the edge of his mattress. Realizing there's no use in scolding him, you quietly walked up behind Choso, combing your fingers through his hair. You loved when it was down, and he loved it when you played with his hair. He found it relaxing. You could tell by the way his body was no longer tensed up, the back of his head falling heavy onto your hand.
Your hands left his hair, travelling down to his nape. With your freshly manicured nails (which he paid for), you gently scratched his skin on his neck. You could see goosebumps forming, but said nothing about it. Choso who was ticklish, tilted his head to the side - "Mmm," He hummed, telling you off as you were starting to distract him.
Letting out a laboured sigh, you stared at the back of his head. Wondering what to do with him, you pouted. Maybe I should just leave like every other day? No, I can't back down.
He seems really busy. Would he even notice if I crawled under his desk? Grinning, you got on your knees, crawling like a kitty underneath his desk but making minimal noise. You glanced behind your shoulder to see his reaction, but his eyes were still gawking at the flashing screen in front of him.
Coming face to face with his sweats, you kneeled, just in level with his lap. Peeking your head out from the shadows under his desk, Choso had only noticed you then. His eyes widened, the sight of you looking up at him like a puppy had started to cloud up his thoughts.
Grabbing onto his wrist, he slowly let go of his mouse. Bringing his hand to your cheek, he took it in the palm of his hand, eventually giving in and using his thumb to softly caress your lips. "..I missed you, Choso.." You whispered, softly sucking on his thumb. "..I need you,"
His breath hitched, your words were doing something to him. What a fool he was for ignoring you all this time? Just then, a cacophony of voices screaming through his headset broke him out of his trance. Choso's warm hand left your face, causing you to frown. Your fun was cut short. Way too short.
You had enough, deciding it was time you finally got what you wanted. Snaking your two hands up the soft cotton of his sweats, they stopped right at his crotch. His eyes anxiously shot down to you underneath him, telling you off and pointing to his headset.
Placing a finger onto your lips, you told him to just be quiet. His eyes frantically flickered from you, then to his monitor. Slowly, you slid down his pants. Smiling at the way he rose himself up from his seat slightly, so it would be easier to take them off. Of course, he wasn't wearing anything underneath.
Taking his long, thick cock into your hands, you jerked it ever so slightly. Choso cleared his throat, keeping his mouth shut all of a sudden in case he accidentally makes unwanted noise. He was practically melting under your touch, into the chair. Gliding your tongue over his pink tip, he didn't dare look at you. Not long after, your warm mouth wrapped over him, Choso letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling.
You knew how to push his buttons, bringing yourself to fully deepthroat his cock for a few seconds. His lips purse shut, Choso slightly biting down onto his bottom lip. His fingers started to press on the wrong keys, unable to focus on the game.
Pulling away, a string of saliva connected your tongue and his aching tip. You brought your lips back onto his cock, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks as you used your two hands to jerk him off at the same time.
The man above was folding at the pornographic sight underneath him. Hearing Choso moan by accident, he quickly covered it up with a cough. “…Yeah, no, I’m good- Just don’t- feel well..”Friends concerned, Choso had come up with a convincing lie in just seconds. His hand reached down to rake through your hair until his fist was full of it. [link]
He lightly pushed your head up and down his length, your mouth making sloppy noises all over, buckets of spit dripping down your chin and his balls.
Ripping his headset off, Choso didn't care about the game anymore. Or his friends. He groaned as you fondled with his balls, giving them a suck afterwards. His light grey pants were turning a darker shade than before. His two hands clawed into your hair on both sides of your face, Choso started to fuck his cock into the back your throat.
Moaning, his eyes shut tightly as his head fell back onto the cushion of his chair. His balls tightening as he heard how you constantly gagged over his thick cock. "Fuck.. Just like that.."
His moans were a mixture of curses and long groans, tears started to well up in your eyes. Choso opened his eyes again, looking down at you as he drew your mouth away from his cock. He smiled, seeing your makeup all ruined, your face covered with spit and so did his lap.
Rolling his chair away from the desk, he grabbed you from underneath. Only to pull it back again, placing it in front of his PC. Guiding his hand on your back, he bent you over on the chair, making your two legs kneel on the soft cushion so you wouldn't tire out. [link]
Holding tightly onto your hair, your head fell back towards him. Choso had ripped the fabric of your leggings that was unfortunately covering your cunt. Grabbing his cock, he lined himself up with your hole, his hands shaking from how eager he was.
Easily sliding in from the slick that covered your hole, you grabbed onto the arm rest in front of you; Choso stretching you out completely. Wasting no time, he began to move his hips back and forth, fucking his hard cock into you.
His monitor started to gently shake from how hard his cock was bullying into you, skin slapping as his balls that were full of weeks load cum made contact with your clit.
"C-Choso.." You cried out, your hand reaching back to his pelvis. Staring at yourself getting fucked like a slut through the reflection of his PC monitor, your ass rippled with each and every one of his thrusts.
Maintaining his brutal pace, his fingers were no longer woven into your hair, reaching out to the headset on his desk. Confused, you kept your eyes open to watch Choso place them over your head. "W-What..?"
His hands gripped onto the flesh of your hips, Choso leaned into your ear. "Keep moaning you slut, let them hear you." All of a sudden he groaned, feeling you clench around him at what he just said. "You like that, don't you?"
Spinning you slightly to one side, his leg went up onto the chair with you, allowing him more leverage to fuck you deeper. "Eyes up at that camera too, show them how pretty you look taking my cock," Tears started to stream down the sides of your cheeks, your face had flushed red.
Choso's hands took a hold of your hair again, his tip kissing your cervix repeatedly. "I.." Speechless, you lost your ability to form a basic sentence. His fat cock left you braindead, at this point you were seeing nothing but stars.
"..Use your words baby," A creamy white ring started to form at his base as his cock pistoned in and out of you. Choso's hand kept stamping down on your back from time to time to make sure you kept that arch. "..Isn't this what you've been wanting all week?"
"Y-you're so deep.. I can't.." Your hand reached back to his abs, twisting the white fabric of his tank top until it was all wrinkly. He took a hold of your wrist, twisting your arm behind you. Choso slightly bent over, his warm body resting against your back.
He quietly groaned into your ear, chanting your name like a prayer. You were fucked out of your mind. "You feel so good.. like this pussy was made for me." The pace of his thrusts slowed down, but his hips still rut into you hard each time. His strokes hard and deep, you swear could feel him all up in your guts. Your jaw had dropped, your head falling back onto his shoulder.
Choso's hands reached under your loose shirt, letting your tits spill out of your bra. Gently twisting your nipple between his finger tips, fondling with your whole breast afterwards, he forgot how much he loved wrapping his mouth around those.
"Your cock.. It feels so good.." You babbled, Choso sneaking his fingers underneath to rub lazy circles on your clit. Your legs began to tremble, fortunately your throat managed to choke out a whine.
Also seeing him in the reflection of his monitor, strands of his hair started to stick to his face. Multiple beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. Choso didn't want to leave your pussy. Not even Thor could pull him out. He enjoyed using you like a cock whore.
You felt so dizzy, mind full of his cock. Choso let out multiple whimpers as he felt his orgasm nearing, his index finger hooking onto the side of your mouth. The very last few seconds, his cock bottomed into you, trying to chase your orgasm. The desk hitting against he wall non-stop, his headset that was on you started to fall off your head.
Leaving a trail of wet kisses down your back, his hand grabbed onto the plush flesh of your ass, continuously giving it a spank every now and then.
The wet, slapping noises of your skin continued to follow, until you felt his thrusts come to a sudden halt. His hot cum shooting inside of you rope after rope, just before he pulled out to let the rest out onto your ass. "..Fuck.. look at that."
Using his thumb to spread your hole wide open, his load spilt onto the black leather of his gaming chair. You panted, tired and hole throbbing. You got what you wanted, that’s for sure. Forcing his headset off you, you couldn't do anything but lean against his desk, trying to regulate your breathing pattern back to normal.
"..We're not done here," Choso laughed behind you, your cunt still dripping of his thick load. His hands roughly turned your body around, placing you on top the desk to face him. Using his foot to push the chair away, he lined his cock with your hole again, using his cum that was already inside of you as lube.
"Oh m-my- Choso!" You yelped, one hand taking grip onto his shoulder for support, the other holding knocking his keyboard out of the way, trying to find something to hold onto other than his shoulder.
His forehead rested against yours, the staggering movement of his hips causing the desk itself to shake under the two of you. Choso watched as his cock disappeared in and out of your hole, grunts coming out through his clench teeth as he wrapped his large hands around your thighs. He wanted more, and wasn't going to stop anytime soon.
"..Good girl," He gritted through his teeth, "..I love t-this pussy, and you." Choso's hands pressed flat against the desk, his lips locking onto yours. His cock was coated in a mixture of his and your own cum, your sweaty bodies intimately hugging against each other.
Choso wanted to feel all you, he just craved more and more each minute. His hands shakily held onto the sides of your waist, his lips moving to your jaw to plant more kisses.
"You're so beautiful, look at me baby." Choso lightly tapped the side of your face, telling you to maintain eye contact.
Obeying, you kept your eyes open; looking into his but not a thought behind your own eyes. You only continued to whine under his touch, overstimulated from how much he's used you like a cock whore. You were so close to losing your mind, drunk off his cock.
Choso too, was lost in your pussy. God, was he whipped— If only he could stay inside you forever, he definitely would. This whole time he was busy cursing at himself, how much of an idiot he is to not appreciate what he has - you. Your cheeks were stained with your hot tears, Choso hushing you and wiping them away every now and then.
“S-Shit, I’m gonna cum again.” He pants, feeling his balls tighten for the second time, the tightness of your pussy heightening his stimulation.
Your hands cupped both of his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. His thrusts turning sloppy, you cooed. “..Cum for me, I want it all inside..”
This caused the coil inside of Choso to snap, him desperately whimpering into your ear as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. “F-fu-ck..” Tightly holding onto the flesh of your hips, he made sure his second load stayed inside of you.
Sliding his cock out, Choso rested his heavy cock just above your pussy. Making sure he planted a peck on your forehead, trying to catch his breath. The two of you laugh, your bodies aching and sweaty, his entire desk and chair a mess.
Reaching for something, you blinked as Choso grabbed his headset that ended up on the other side of the desk. Placing one side against his ear, he spoke into the mic. "..GG."
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24 all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts! it means the world to me 🎀🩷
[luvwestwood masterlist]
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veryinnovative · 3 months
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@jegulus-microfic | january 3, prompt: ruthless | word count: 1.422 featuring pornstars jegulus! NSFW
“They’re going off-script, why are they going off-script?” Barty grits out, confined to the sidelines since he’s part of the camera crew and not the main act, one hand firmly gripping the tripod’s handle as the other waves the booklet in front of Evan’s face.
Because Regulus is sprawled out on the bed on his back, his harness and strap-on discarded on the floor, purple rubber still glistening from where it had been seven inches deep inside James moments prior. His thighs are spread wide by the broad palms and pinned to the mattress as his set partner crawls between them, face still flush from exertion and hair in total disarray as a result of Regulus’ constant pulling and shoving.
The position is not a total mystery, no. Regulus had been in the industry for over a year now, a short span of time during which he had climbed the rank listings and breached the top ten, now striving after the top five together with James Potter, arrogantly self-proclaimed oral king by the looks of it, always needing something in his mouth to satisfy him or shut him up, take your pick. The entire set had been arranged by both their managers, going off on tangents about how they have impeccable chemistry on-screen (combined with Regulus’ superb acting abilities). It’s their second time shooting a video together, considering how their first had broken the record just three weeks ago, and neither Pandora nor Lily had wasted a second to get them together in a room again.
“What are you doing?” Regulus hisses as James’ mouth works a burning trail down his chest, tongue laving over the latticework of bruises and the lovebites blooming. He tries very hard not to lean into it, wards off the urge to chase after the hot cavern the ventures dangerously low.
“Going down on you,” James whispers into his stomach, quiet enough for the microphones not to pick up. Even if they did, it could be edited out afterward. 
“I was supposed to go down on you, remember?” Regulus retorts, mentally convincing himself he’s only keeping his legs open for the camera. It’s not like he’s been wondering if James’ mouth is the real deal as many others have made it out to be. Not at all.
“I already came and you didn’t, so I’m just returning the favor before we move on,” James mumbles into his thighs, masking the speaking movements of his mouth by kissing the skin.
“You’re wasting your energy.” Then, the little light of Dorcas’ camera across them flickers, indicating it’s Regulus they’re focusing on. He makes a show of letting out a pleased sigh, craning his neck, and throwing back his head so his face can’t be recorded. It allows him to talk. “I don’t feel like cumming, so just let me do my job. Besides, I doubt you could get me off like this anyway.”
Blatant fucking lie. James undoubtedly notices because he stifles a snort into his leg.
“Sure thing, love.”
Regulus’ jaw ticks and he winds his fingers into James’ hair, reprimand ready on the tip of his tongue, dying off into a choked gasp when the flat of a thick, broad tongue runs a long stripe through his folds.
And the thing is, it’s not just his mouth. Because James’ hands wander, alternating between gripping his hips and roaming upwards to flick his nipples, taking them between his forefinger and thumb to stimulate—rub, pull, gently squeeze all the while his tongue dips in and out of him, gathering the wetness there, swallowing it, moaning at the taste, stopping and only letting the hotness of his breath ghost over Regulus’ dripping core. Building anticipation. Teasing. Lips slick and just as swollen as he is, spreading him open wider just so the camera can get a clear-cut image of how James leans in again, thumb pulling up the hood, mouth this time aimed at Regulus’ cock.
James’ tongue is ruthless.
Licking, sucking, humming around Regulus and sending the vibrations roiling through his spine, static shooting into his skull, paralyzing the rest of him. Using his nose for friction if it’s his tongue that’s too occupied fucking in and out of him, thumbs eagerly pressed into the divots of his hips.
“Jesus fucking Chr—” The words pathetically drop in pitch, bleeding into a low whine as Regulus’ hips buck, James’ mouth only following the undulations. He swirls his tongue, pulls him into his mouth, and sucks until the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth no longer rise above the ringing flooding Regulus’ ears. He moans, fingers pulling onto the thick curls until it leaves James whining between his legs as well. “Oh, fuck.”
“Oh, fuck, indeed,” Barty whispers from to the side. “Holy shit, he’s making it look so real.”
“Am I about to tell you something,” Evan mutters, adjusting the sound settings.
Regulus arches off the bed, writhing in place against the steel hold on his hips, the balls of his feet digging painfully deep into James’ back when he feels the pressure building low in his stomach, pleasure pooling low below his spine. 
“I’m not going to cum,” Regulus gasps out, not giving a fuck how loud it comes out. Between his clenched thighs, James chuckles, its rumbling reverberating through each and every one of his nerves as he pulls off his cock with a wet pop.
“Yes, you will,” James answers, kissing his cock before biting into his thigh. “Because I’m going to make you.”
The mouth leaving him punches a little, pitiful sound of protest out of Regulus, one he will most certainly deny and demand be edited out. Though, right now, he’s too strung out to care. Regulus’ eyes droop down, watching how James leaves the little space between his legs, strings of spit and wetness breaking off into the air as he crawls up onto his knees.  
Everything moves rather swiftly afterward. The excited noise filling the room might have either been his or Barty’s, but none of it matters when James grabs Regulus by the back of his knees and pins them down, nearly folding him in half before he continues his mouth’s assault, urging the tightening knot low in his abdomen to unravel.
There’s the tongue inside of him, on him, in him, around him—circling, pulling, teasing, drawing out the most guttural of moans when he feels the graze of teeth. The entirety of Regulus swallowed by James’ mouth, consumed with the sort of deprivation only the taste of him can alleviate if the desperate sucking is anything to go by. Regulus’ legs shake, body twitching in place, fingers curled so tightly around handfuls of curls when he chokes out a weak, “I’m not—I’m not going to—”
James groans a muffled command, fingers digging deep into his thighs, the splay of stray strands across his stomach, muscles pulled taut, the fluorescent lightning above, that stupid fucking tongue, the sole bane of his existence—
Regulus cries out a soundless rasp, like his voice has left him together with his soul, entire body convulsing, head thrown back on the arrangement of pillows as his eyes roll back into their sockets. 
Worst of all, James doesn’t stop, only grunts in response as Regulus gushes over his tongue, making a dangerous sound stuck low in his throat when the hand on his head tries to push him away.
“Stop,” Regulus squeaks out. Squeaks, because that’s how terribly low he’s fallen. The overstimulation is a lot, pleasure overwhelming like his brain is threatening to come oozing out of his ears, and next thing you know the video will be titled ‘James Potter managed to make exalted Regulus Black cry with his orgasm’. 
“Please, please s’too much—” Regulus tries again, almost sobbing out a breath of relief when James does finally lift his head with a gasp, his entire fucking face slick from where it had been buried inside Regulus.
“Fucking hell,” Barty hisses in the back, vocalizing Regulus’ internal monologue. “Cut! Fucking, cut the cameras! Pause! Water! Bring this fucker some water before he passes out—”
A flurry of movement in the background, the noises fading into white noise as Regulus’ legs are lowered back onto the bed. James hovers above him, the spit-slick grin almost blinding, or that’s just the stars blinking in Regulus’ vision.
“You were saying?” James asks, teasingly touching Regulus’ puffy cock, laughing when it rewards him with a full-body shudder.
Regulus weakly wacks him in the chest. “Go fuck… Yourself.”
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mewtwo24 · 7 months
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MAWS - An Allegory for Autism, too?
God like…there have been so many amazing posts about maws right now, and I don’t want to detract from any of them because I absolutely agree with how powerful an allegory the show is in regards to being an immigrant/alien.
But at the same time I just. I have been literally losing my mind at how autistic Clark feels. And at this point I can’t tell if I’m seeing things that aren’t there or he really is just so god damn ‘tism it makes his experiences of being othered two- and triplefold.
Like. Okay. He keeps acting on what he thinks is just or morally right in the moment, but sometimes struggles to see the social signals (or bigger picture) that might indicate somebody is deceiving him. If he does realize he’s being deceived, he does the right thing anyway even if it’s to his detriment--because he can’t accept looking away from a problem he might have resolved. Helping someone, no matter how difficult or unreasonable.
Okay.
When he’s trying to protect himself from Lois. He tells the truth in the most evasive way humanly possible, and because he thinks she’ll find him dashing from saving people he comes off as dissembling. He is convinced that he has charmed her to no end with his alter ego since he’s Such A Super Cool Strong Normal Guy as Superman, and that she couldn’t possibly be suspicious any longer because he told the truth. Lois wants to throttle him for lying. He has no idea as to why that is--and is openly surprised that she’s upset.
This is not even touching the fact that he lived for YEARS with Jimmy and literally destroyed stuff in front of him by accident, and never once thought Jimmy knew some shit was going on with him. Jimmy, being subtle and considerate, didn’t snitch because he was a homie. Clark does not notice in the slightest. ‘IT COULD HAVE BEEN THE SCREWS’ ASS.
This also not touching on the “How did you know you were bulletproof?” “I didn’t. I just knew you weren’t.” Despite pervasive signs that his powers weren’t operating as they should in that area. Despite knowing Lois was still upset with him and may not forgive him, could hurt him with what she knew.
Okay.
I'm going to put the rest under a cut because I never go on short tangents:
In a lot of New Age illegitimate medicine and psychological constructs, autistics are often conceptualized as people with ‘special powers’ or religious enlightenment in accordance with some manifestations of their disability. Clark’s superspeed and strength and heat vision can EASILY be seen as an extension of that. However, what I really want to talk about is the latest episode’s super hearing. 
Most autistics have sensory issues, both with textures but also with hearing. A very common surprise for undiagnosed individuals, for example, is that they use music and headphones to stim in a more socially acceptable way. Particularly loud noises or constant loud chatter can cause distress otherwise, and having constant meltdowns/catatonia reactions isn’t feasible for survival. 
Of all his powers that might be a weakness I think it is a fascinating--and honestly, deliberate--choice that speaks volumes (please pardon the pun). Because that’s the horrible thing about having sensory overload with your hearing; you don’t always have a choice as to what you’re subjected to. Ear-piercing alarms can flare at any moment, people can play what they consider harmless pranks, or day to day fighting to focus can make every sound feel like nails on a chalkboard from the overstimulation. 
While Clark is able to distinguish voices if he knows what to look for, lack of sleep and rest tremendously weaken his ability to focus. I noticed that as the episode wore on, there was a distinct and exponential progression. At first, when he overdid it and didn’t sleep for a day or so, he still managed to operate without hurting himself or risking others. But as he kept pushing himself without rest to answer every cry for help, he grew progressively and sharply overwhelmed. He quickly became overstimulated by the mounting flurry of oncoming stimuli (e.g. the truck about to hit someone, dodging people around him, the relentless super hearing flooding in) and began to react in ways that were careless and random. 
Though his powers appear supernatural and inexhaustible, we are forced to face the fact that he still possesses hard limits. Even if autistics seem more capable than NTs at points, there is a reason “high-functioning” became an obsolete terminology with which to differentiate people on the spectrum ‘who seemed to be above average’. Because just as we see Clark forcing himself to exert his superpowers until his body collapses to prove he is good, autistics also push themselves to be useful/helpful/amenable/inobtrusive in order to be accepted as something not other/monstrous.
(Please note, by the way, towards the end of the newest episode--his power comes out in a flash of blue, overpowering light as the last of his strength begins to wane. A surefire sign that he was truly at the end of his endurance before he’s knocked unconscious.)
The fact that Clark starts to learn how to listen in for people so fast, but also doesn’t think to tune them out (if he can) adds even more to the first point too. Because he can’t turn it off in full, it means he has no way to ignore people who are hurting no matter how small--and for him that places the cognitive burden of making a choice. And he can’t choose not to help people.
Okay.
Clark’s incipient refusal to discover more about himself, the sheer overwhelmed look he had as a child--but also as an adult--at the prospect of having to rewrite and re-evaluate everything he thought he knew about himself. There is no excitement, no positive anticipation. When he chooses to face it, it’s because he perceives a kind of responsibility to better understand/control his powers to help more people. And it’s because his friends support him that he ever finds the will to do it. He has no desire to acknowledge or define his otherness head-on. (Once again, he can only act with courage on behalf of others and/or to ultimately win their acceptance.) 
GOD. AND. AND how he tells Lois how much she made him “come out of his shell” and forced him to face the world, to stop living in his formerly simple bubble. How autistics instinctively hate breaks in routine and the unknown and the horrible ordeal of change, especially if they have trauma linked to it. But he was trying because yeah, as people we need new and varying stimuli to be happy and healthy. To be alive is to change, whether one likes it or not. 
How part of the reason Lois is so dear to him is because she makes him feel capable and safe when he has to face the truth of his difference and change. (THIS IN THE CONTEXT OF THE LATEST EPISODE. “CLARK, JUST TRY TO BE NORMAL”. I’M EATING MY SHIRT. THE ENDLESS OSCILLATION BETWEEN HIS DESPERATION TO BE NORMAL BUT ALSO STRIVE FOR MORE, AND HOW LOIS ANSWERS BOTH THOSE WARRING CALLS WITHIN HIM JUST BY BEING HERSELF.)
SCREAMS.
Okay.
The most recent episode being a direct result of Lois and Jimmy’s acceptance of his alter ego Superman. Because of course Superman is the preferred variation of himself. Everyone loves Superman. Everyone finds him cool and heroic and dazzling. Jimmy gets social media acclaim that he enjoys from it. Lois has a Cool Guy Boyfriend, and she told him outright she thinks he’s amazing in the last episode when he complained about being weird.
Why go back to being Clark? Under the unending burden of his new super hearing, he seems to be so drowned in voices that he forgets a very important one: Lois. She loved him as Clark long before Superman existed, the lumbering gentle giant who always treated people with dignity and respect was more than enough for her to fall in love. And that’s why it’s so poignant, but also so unbelievably devastating when she asks him to be normal in the newest episode.
Because what she was trying to say was “Please stop overexerting yourself, you’re hurting yourself. This is only going to end badly if you don’t rest and think about how you want to move forward. You’re enough as you are. You’re enough as Clark Kent.” She was trying to tell him that Superman isn’t all that matters, that Superman is a person with feelings and needs and vulnerabilities, just like anyone else. 
What makes this miscommunication so powerful to me is that it’s clear Clark’s ability to differentiate has become confused ever since Lois and Jimmy accepted him. How much of him is Clark, how much of him is Superman? Before, when he had decided Superman was too much for him to handle and something that needed to stay hidden, he knew how to behave day to day. But now that the aforementioned operating precept has been dismantled by their acceptance, what is his blueprint now? To be freed of his chains, but to be too afraid to leave the cage--he becomes so openly and rapidly lost. It was easier when he didn’t have to choose or think about it.
Okay.
Like. I can see how it could be construed as a result of his inexperience, right? He’s never met intergalactic beings, so how would he know? He only just unlocked his powers as Superman, so of course he’s clumsy about it. He wasn’t a born fighter or a trained one, so of course he’s going to be a little green when he’s in combat.
But that’s the thing for me. It’s not that he doesn’t always have the time to re-evaluate, or strategize, or notice he’s being deceived. He just has such an unwavering sensibility, this one-track sense of “I am strong. So I must protect. And to do that I need to act.” And a lot of times this is as far as his thinking goes. And if that isn’t the most autistic shit imaginable, I’m really not sure what is. 
The overshot clumsiness of his movements and occasional awkwardness, how he’s learned to smooth that over by being helpful to people or meek to be accepted. Like. I swear to god this show is going to kill me. 
So much of the reason he tanked so badly in this episode was because he was using a broken coping mechanism to its absolute extreme. And instead of listening to his bodily and mental signals that he could no longer sustain helping every single person in the world, he just forces himself to push through. He’s so desperate to prove he’s a good person and belong, he doesn’t notice that it’s literally destroying him from the inside. 
The mask that is Superman, and the unmasking that is the mindful and imperfect Clark Kent. That everyone adores Superman and wants him to fulfill their every need, no matter what it costs him to be that person. The fact that the moment they learn he’s an alien or see the raw extent of his power (pushed to unsustainable limits in desperation) he becomes a horrible, inhuman threat and a monster. The fact that it’s his friends and his family who see him unmasked as Clark and love him just as he is, that they care little for what Superman can give them because Clark is already enough. That they love Clark precisely BECAUSE he is somebody with weaknesses and flaws and imperfections, that adore his quirks and endearing fumbling.
The horrific reality that the more he leans into his masking out of desperation to be accepted, the more he estranges and incites violent rejection in the people around him. Even if he wants to do the right thing, he is so staunchly and too openly opposed to the malice of others that they hold grudges from the stark, exposing contrast. How choosing to be Superman can endanger and estrange the people who love Clark, isolating him even further. And yet when he is unmasked and acts like himself, he is hardly ever taken seriously or people take advantage of his meekness/willingness to help. 
The first episode. When he just keeps chanting ‘be normal be normal be normal’ and the more pressure he puts on himself, the more he hyperfixates and the less his actions align with his intentions. The way he can never do both and can only manage to sustain one at a time. The core conflict that’s ever present; the desire to be ordinary under the reality that you are extraordinary, with the agonizing knowledge that you never had the choice to live under so much difference and scrutiny.
The never-ending autistic battle of being socially acceptable to the detriment of your greatest virtues: your passion and your honesty. To be left feeling empty and drained despite your success, no closer to self-satisfaction or feelings of human camaraderie. The reality of being always forced to choose between one bad option and a worse one, that the only choice you have is what you’re willing to sacrifice. That people will toy with your vulnerabilities no matter how desperately you try to conceal them, how your weaknesses will be a game or a spectacle to the rest of the world.
How one has to wonder to what degree the Superman witnessed in Lois’ memory capsule was pushed to the very brink. Or the pointed lack of context: what brought him to such extremes, what could inspire so much indifference to the pain of others? How, while it is frightening, he is a person just like anyone else--who possesses the potential for raw good and raw bad. Why is it that everyone so easily believes that his potential will be negative? Why is it so difficult to have faith in someone who is trying so hard to be good?
The irony of Clark’s predicament, that the sincere fulfillment he feels upon helping others is precisely what inspires fear in those who insist on their comparative self-serving normality.
“What’s your angle!? What’s in it for you?” “Trust me, kids. Nobody puts on that big a show of being good. Unless they’re hiding something…All he wants is to pull cats out of trees? Yeah, I’m not buying it.” “He’s not normal like you and me….If he really wanted to hurt us, what could we do about it?...Just him having a bad day could spell the end for us…Well, not all of us share your faith.” “You want to be number one? You don’t get there by writing fluff. You go for blood. That’s something Perry never understood. Do you?”
The unbearable but inevitable fact that being autistic is a perpetual experience of loss. If you are not selfish or egocentric like the rest of the world, you are naive and weak. If you exhibit an ounce of self-centered desire or emotion, you are something that must be eradicated for the greater good. No amount of good that you accomplish can ever balance the scales of what has been lost or spent to sustain you, because at the end of the day your life is considered one without value. It is irrelevant that entire military regimes have collectively decimated and endangered thousands for their so-called “results”, because you as a sole actor are so much easier to blame and trample. 
The enduring fact, especially in a culture so absorbed in easy answers and harsh binaries, that the human mind does not care for the struggle of truth. 
Anyway if you need me I’ll be clawing at the walls thanks
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klineinie · 3 months
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𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲 (𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭)
ଳ⋆。˚ | george karim x (gn + l&co agent) reader
ଳ⋆。˚ | contents; 2.9k wc, light banter (beginning), tear-jerking descriptions of existential crisis, non-suicidal contemplation of death (please note that mc hints of wanting an escape in form of a metaphor), wildest imagery that i pulled straight out of my ass, george helping mc through the grieving process
ଳ⋆。˚ | a/n; title is from sunlight by hozier, i love the bridge sm + i lied, 'the song of a sea's tide' is not my last fic of 2023, this is an anon request that i got in august (yikes) that i took a really long time doing only for it to be ~3k words... ngl i think this made better sense in my head haha. btw, @neewtmas asked to also be tagged here, i hope i don't break your heart too much :)
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You have perhaps three gripes about this case.
One: broken down into the most basic of definitions, the existence of a hospice home can be classified as an oxymoron. Where people meant to die go to live. In the same sense, ghosts can also be considered walking-- er, floating-- contradictions. The ‘living’ dead. This one is a constant. Dead people should stay dead, after all.
Two: the hospice home’s property is extensive, dilapidated, and abandoned. ‘Desiccated’, if it had to be described in a singular word, and ‘severely difficult to investigate’, if you had been allowed four more. This one is more common than not. Lockwood only really took interest in cases that concerned hard to search properties and possible front pagers.
Three: neighbors are really too nosy for their own good. Now, this was going to go off on a tangent, but you let yourself be humored for a moment or two because laughter is the best medicine and you really need something to put off your mind.
You suppose that this whole predicament had started when a neighbor had called the agency complaining about loud shrieks in the night coming from down the street. Lockwood, who had picked up the phone, simply suggested that the mysterious noise could perhaps have come from a couple who had gotten a little too excited in their bedtime activities. The neighbor insisted, and proclaimed that no, this is not a joking matter, and that the screams were most definitely sourced from the abandoned nursing home that had been built in eighteen-sixty-six and survived the Blitz, a rather old date and one far back enough to warrant enough interest in Lockwood.
How unfortunate that Holly had scheduled him for a Type One with Lucy down in Bloomsbury, leaving you and George with the hospice ghost.
Now, here’s where things get interesting. See, George, being the avid studier he was, managed to dig up a number of resident files and found… absolutely nothing, which was completely frustrating and left the two of you going in blind.
If, being figuratively blind before was bad, you also could not see a thing in the most literal sense. It turns out that building of the home had originally been intended to be an asylum, and therefore, obviously, did not have many windows; the few panes of glass available are either boarded up, barred, or completely obscured with ivy.
“Leave some of the light for me, George,” you grumble, thumbing the pommel of your rapier-- a rather bad habit because the faux silver coloring has been completely rubbed away, revealing the dusty dark-grey of the iron under it. You don’t really need the light, as your Sight allows you to see death glows (the whole place was drenched in it), but you aren’t using your psychic abilities at the moment, and it’s nice to feel George’s body heat as the chill creeps up your spine.
George sighs in exasperation, tilting his hand over to waver between your bodies, letting the near-dead torch shine its light on the path before you. “You do know that I need to light to keep track of where we’re going, right?”
“Well, we’ll figure out the way back after we vanquish the Visitor, won’t we? By the way, you’re absolutely sure that it is a singular apparition, not a Changer, Poltergeist, or Ghoul and any of its nasty variants, possibly a Type Two, and not a cluster, because that whole deal with Combe Carey still gives me nightmares.”
“First of all, the average person does not use the word ‘vanquish’ in small talk. Moving on to your next point, I am about ninety-percent sure that this is a single Type Two, a Screaming Spirit from what I gathered with our limited information. And if you don’t recall, this was a hospice home so you should also be wearing your sunglasses,” George responds in a straight, matter-of-fact tone.
“Ah, thank you for the kind observation, sunshine,” you say, reaching back to unzip the duffel hanging off your shoulder and rummaging for your lenses. “It’s too bad that I really can’t see your adorable face in these.”
“Neither of us can really see anything right now. Do try to refrain from wooing me during the case until we get back home.”
You huff lightheartedly. “Sir, yes, sir…. You see that?”
The end of the hallway you’re in is starting to choke with ghost-fog. The luminescent tendrils of mist billow out threateningly, rushing towards the two of you at a great speed.
“Throw a line of filings,” George says, already shrugging off his duffel of chains and kneeling beside it, “I’ll get the perimeter set up while you ward it off.”
You nod and dig a handful of iron filings out of a pouch hanging from your rapier belt, bending down to quickly sprinkle a thick, solid line of defense before retreating back into the half-circle of chains that George is assembling.
“You want ear defenders for this?”
George’s curls rustle as he nods. He grabs two pairs of mufflers, handing one off and putting the other over his head (they really didn’t do much-- the voice of a Screaming Spirit is always heard psychically and never physically, but George likes the feeling of defenders over his ears anyway).
You ready your stance to an en garde, right foot forward and left foot back, about what would be a kitchen’s tile of space between the two. The iron rapier settles in your lax but firm grip-- George had told you that in fencing, a relaxed posture was key to being faster than your opponent. Being tense wouldn’t help because you’d react slow with your muscles wound up, and you’d make mistakes in your defense.
So you take a deep breath, assuage the thundering thrum of your heart, balance your weight between your knees, and wait. You don’t need to wait long-- a whip of plasm darts out and fizzles against the iron barrier. You nearly move to parry, but your partner’s comfortable warmth behind you helps keep your head level.
A woman emerges from the fog, ghostly skeleton of plasm visible under a superimposed image of her human features. Human features that match some of your own.
You’d have dropped your sword if it weren’t for George pressing a salt bomb into your left hand.
“I must’ve been wrong about it not being a Changer,” he shouts, words obscured by the defenders and the ringing in your own skull.
“No, you were right,” you say over the submerged feeling in your eardrums. “It’s not a Changer. It’s my mother.”
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You remember the world ending when you were six years old. The years previous were filled to the brim with eternal sunshine and new sensations, learning the lull of the sea and the pleasant ache of spice on your tongue.
You remember being six years old and staring at the dark, dark ceiling of your childhood bedroom, the pasted glow-in-the-dark stars having long since lost their shine, and realizing that one day, you were going to die.
It only got worse from there.
You’d lose everything you knew before you’d depart, the grey street cat, your childhood, your grandparents, your parents.
At some point between yesterday and the next midnight, you’d gained the awareness to see that everything from the moment you were born was going to amount to nothing in the end.
That one day, the street cat would stop appearing, you’d grow up and forget about that, too. How, slowly, you’ll become distant and it’ll be too late to gather all the lost time in your arms; losing the taste of your grandmother’s lemon chiffon, the gentle brush of your grandfather’s hands and the way your father made stupid jokes and how your mother’s dress would flow in the wind.
Forgetting their voices, scents, embraces in bony or plush arms and the way they laughed and cried and how they folded their laundry a certain way.
You asked your mother about what would happen after, if you’d be able to see her again, if the white light at the end was a memory of the summer sun on the day she took you to try frozen yogurt for the very first time.
She said that she didn’t know. You asked her again, this time about whether heaven was a real thing and if she’d stay to wait for you, or if she’d leave and be born into a new life, so you’d know where to go when it was your time. You didn’t remember much of her answer, it having already seeped through your small fingers, sand in an hourglass slipping away.
You fell asleep with a fresh bout of cotton-nosed sniffles and tear-stricken headaches in her bed, trying to burn the memory of her warmth into your mind, engraving the syrupy feeling of sleep and love and fabric-softened sheets into the miniscule swirls on your fingertips.
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The realization that you’re so infinitely small in the scope of the universe is maddening. A dark ceiling with lightless pasty stars are what you’ll see when life flashes before your eyes because death is a circumstance never experienced before; the brain must compare it to memories stored in its neurons in order to comprehend its last moments.
“Do you want to talk about it?” George asks when you arrive back at Portland Row, defenders hung around his neck, plasma singed into the fibers of your clothes. You stop momentarily before resuming your path of motion, an unstoppable force with an unchanged, constant trajectory. He steps around you, poised as an immovable object, rigid in posture and indestructible.
The interaction between two objects applies a force to the one and the other of equal and opposing vectors. George calls this Newton’s third law of motion. You’d say that the sword and shield paradox overrides Newton’s postulates, and he’d reply that a paradox is less than a hypothesis and that theorems were tried and tested to be true.
“I’m alright.” It’s quiet, pin-drops in a silent room. The sound is like an executioner’s sword.
George stares, skeptical. The foyer lighting bathes him in white gold, sunlight in a field of reeds, heaven at its core. It drags a wet, strangled sound out of your throat, a decade of longing for a childhood crashing down in waves of tears.
Hypothesis: if two indestructible objects were to collide, it only be natural that they be imprisoned forever in a locked state where neither yields. Your first trial fails miserably; you’d been wrong to assume that you were unable to be broken.
“No,” you wail, “I’m not. I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I--”
He catches you, pieces back together the ceramic puzzle of your body in his arms; kintsugi, some would say, bleeding gold from the veins of a star into the cracks of a pot to bear something new. Healing in a spiderweb of scars.
“Oh, sunshine,” he whispers, words echoing in your hollowed clay body. “I’m so sorry.”
You sob again. “I didn’t-- I thought we had--”
“More time. I know, love, I know.” He shushes, rocking you back and forth in his arms, the hull of a funerary boat cradling you in the lull of the sea. “I’m sorry.”
“I miss her.”
“I know.”
Your words fall from your mouth in a shudder. “I wish we never went on this case.”
“Oh sunshine, I know,” George says, low as the sun on a horizon. He dips down below the waterline to kiss your temple, hard and steadfast and grounding, an imprint on your skin that reminds you of the material reality.
You wail once more over the cotton-nosed and tear-stricken headache, smearing your tears and sniffles into the shoulder of George’s flannel, hoping that it would leave a mark of your grief to show the world that you’ve mourned.
Portland Row is cold at this season. Too cold. It reminds you of the aircon that ran in the frozen yogurt shop that one midsummer day.
George, sensing your shivering, pulls his head back from where it’s nestled over yours. His thumb runs along the eroded face of damp cheeks, wiping away the moisture so that your tears would not overflow the basin of your spiderweb pot.
“Let’s get you into some fresh clothes, I’ll run a bath, how does that sound?”
You shake your head, moving to shed your outer layer. “No,” you croak, “we’re not that dirty.”
“Are you sure? You’ll feel better,” George asks in concern. You stay in place, his hands holding you loosely upright, supports to an unstable sculpture in a kiln.
“I… think I just want to hold you right now.”
He peers at you sadly, brown irises refracting white-gold like sunlight. He’s beautiful; some say that people with blue irises hold the sky in their eyes, but George could carry the sun in his and gaze at the person he hated the most and even they would not be scorned with burns; if he’d been around during the time of Icarus, well, there’d be no tragedy about the boy who flew too close to the heavens.
“Okay,” he agrees, words clicking damp in his mouth as the silence rages on. “I’ll put down a sheet and we can stay there as long as you want.”
(George is particular about his space. He greatly dislikes the feeling of the ‘outside’ against what he considers the ‘inside’. Exhibit one: if George were to come home after a case, he would strip, shower, and change into new clothes before allowing himself a seat on his bed.)
“Okay.”
You cling to him even as you both ascend the stairway like a barnacle on the skin of a whale as to not get swept away by the tide. An anchor of gravity in free-floating space that prevents you from winking out in the vacuum swallowing you whole.
“Come on,” he says quietly, shoes off and still in outside clothes, propped up on an elbow against the white sheet that lays atop his duvet. The cloth reminds you of one that would blanket a body after death, a burial shroud that hid faces from the waking world.
You don’t want to go back, however, to take a bath and get into lounge clothes because George had already set this up for you. Don’t be more of a burden, you really don’t deserve this, he’s too good for you and--
“Sunshine?”
“Hmm?” You hate how small your voice sounds.
George is already folding up the shrou-- sheet. “Bathe first?”
“No, it’s fine, you already--”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“George, don’t say that.”
A black hole is formed when an infinite amount of mass is condensed into a infinitely small space. You wonder about the stone lodged in your throat, about how far it could draw down the net of spacetime, and if being pulled away quark by quark on the event horizon would offer a quick enough escape. (Spaghettification is a small price to pay, and it’s probably better for the environment compared to cremation.)
“You said once that you don’t plan on leaving anything behind,” he whispers, sheet folded over his elbow. “But people always leave footprints in graffiti and photos and stories. It’s human to want to be remembered; we’re not made to bear the weight alone.”
George steps close, hovers his palm over the swell of your cheek. You nod, a minuscule action, unnoticeable to everyone but him. His hand and your face fit together seamlessly, puzzle pieces cut for each other, neutralizing ionic charges, equilibrium point.
You’d read once, in a romance book you’d found stuffed behind Lockwood’s shelf in the library, that after the Big Bang, molecules were torn apart and flung on opposite sides of the universe, that they’d eventually reunite as humans whose bodies were forged with the remnants of dying stars. Sarah A. Bailey called them soulmates. It’s just a theory, calculation based and behaviorally observed, not tried and tested. Still, you know it to be true.
Halogens and other gaseous elements cannot exist in an open system as single atoms. They must be in pairs, diatomic molecules. You suppose that this rule applies to yourself and George.
“You deserve to be happy,” he continues. “If I could take all your weight completely, I would, but that’s near impossible, so we’ll share. We can go slowly, alright?
“A little each time. I’ll start the water.”
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ଳ⋆。˚ | final words; i apologize for any typos or grammar issues or missing words but i literally could not go back and edit this for mistakes because i'd bawl my eyes out as this is somewhat of a sensitive (??) topic for me, like literally the entire middle interlude is just me projecting what's been going on in my head since i was like. six yrs old 😭😭 as always, i give you permission to yell at me good-naturedly in the comments/reblogs (please do this, i thrive off interaction)
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Do you ever think about the fact that when Harrow tried to balance Steven's scales and saw the 'chaos' inside, how he had to have seen Jake, too?
He knew all about Marc's pain and what Marc considered his own sins. (Side tangent: Scales balance based off of your own judgment, not the judgment of anything else. If you see yourself as worthless then your scales will not balance. Even Harrow knew he was tainted and that is why they did not balance. Marc could only feel guilt and self hatred. Perhaps even Steven felt his life was not properly lived as he was so alone and unhappy with the mediocrity he was handed. Ones scales can only balance when one truly does see themselves as fulfilled and good.)
Every time he addressed the fact that there was more than one person inside, he said "Who knows how many other aliases" or "And who ever else might be inside". He KNEW there was someone else.
I think Harrow caught sight of Jake and Jake somehow managed to hide himself. He was not going to let Harrow judge him.
So when Jake popped up to kick Harrow's ass, he knew this was the 'someone else' he had caught glimpses of like smoke. I think in that moment Harrow understood just how badly he had fucked up.
So when he met Jake again in the limo, that was absolutely pure terror. There was recognition there. You could see it in his face. He knew exactly who he was facing.
Cause I think about it a lot.
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insertyourselfhere · 10 months
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Anomaly Part 4
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Pairing: Gwen Stacy (Ghost Spider) x Reader HUGE SPOILERS FOR ATSV
Characters: Y/N, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr & Miles, with some Miguel and Jessica Mentions
Description: Everything you said to Miguel was wrong, Gwen did indeed drop the ball a tiny bit because of her relationship with Miles causing you to get an earful from both Miguel and Jessica. The spot was on the run and was going to different universes trying to gather as much power as he could. You get assigned to assisting them with taking down the spot and finally get to meet Miles.
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“I told you if this happened you would be held responsible” Miguel looked furious at Y/N Who was once again on his platform with his superiority complex.
“I have no regrets about letting her go she needed to see him and I’m glad she got too, I just wished it was under different circumstances”
“Give her a break yah!” Hobie said beside Y/N with his hands in his signature jean jacket and his guitar slung over his arm. His big bushy hair bouncing around.
“No, they convinced me to let this happen, the most IMPORTANT anomaly we should of captured and stopped is now running amok in the multiverse” Miguel punched his desk again, it’s a wonder how that thing stay intact it’s probably made out of vibranium or something.
“Look it happened, leave us to go fix it and handle it from here” Hobie grabbed Y/N’s arm and dragged them off towards the portal he opened to earth 50101 dragging them through the portal. As soon as they arrived they could hear them bickering over who would open the barrier. Hobie sent Y/N a smirk and put his mask on running forward and kicking the barrier down.
“HOBIE!” Both Pavitr and Gwen yelled out in unison. Y/N watched him jam out on his guitar rolling his eyes as he did, he knew how to make an entrance. Y/N followed closely behind with their mask down.
“Y/N!” Gwen said, they could hear the smile radiating from her mask.
“Hobie? Y/N” Mile said mildly confused in the back. Both you and Hobie looked up facing down the spot.
“Look at that another two, I love how many variations of you there are” The spot said directing to all of the Spiders in front of him.
While the other Spiders were bickering in the background Y/N leapt into action. Although they could catch every couple words coming from Miles and Hobie.
“Is this thing the one from 1610?” Hobie said giving Pavitr a noogie and pointing at Miles.
“You understand this guy?” Miles said gesturing to Hobie.
“And who’s the other one? Y/N did you say? Is this the one you haven’t stopped talking about since…” Gwen cut him off promptly swinging away.
“Hey Hobie thanks for breaking the shield!” Pavitr said dodging all of The Spot’s attacks “Ahhh I loosened it” Said Miles also rushing in to battle.
“Main advice, use the palms not the hands” Hobie said gesturing to his own hands.
“Ahhh yeah Miles this is Hobie and Y/N they’re my friends”
“Well I’ve never heard of either of you because Gwen hardly mentioned you” Hobie then started going off a tangent about who he was, where he came from and what he believed in. Y/N laughed at the blatant introduction he had about how unpolitical he was.
“Okay well since we’re doing this for the last time, Hello my names Y/N and for the last 2 years I’ve been the one and only Spider. Same as everyone else I was bit by a spider, got these cool powers, I live with my Aunt who has raised me since birth and is a borderline mad genius with the amount of science she does out of her house. I lost my parents, my uncle and now I’m here. I am also apart of this so called band that Hobie is/isn’t in” Y/N finished their introduction managing to get a small hit on The Spot who just teleported away.
“Gwendy you left your jumper around my place” Hobie said crouched on the ground next to her and then swinging off to go after spot
“What’s a Jumper?” Miles asked standing in the middle of the room following Gwen around
“It’s like a sweater” Pavitr said disappearing after Hobie
“That’s Y/N’s jumper actually” Gwen said landing next to Miles and then pulling herself towards Spot who put a portal in front of her only to smash into Pavitr
“Yes I can also see your wearing my chucks too” Y/N said ducking underneath one the Spots portals only to get hit by another one and land on Gwen. Furiously blushing Y/N stood up super quick dusting off their clothes and trying so hard not to make eye contact.
“Are you okay?” Gwen asked, concern laced in her voice as she walked towards Y/N, she put her hand against their cheek and pulled away quickly. “You’re very hot at the moment this isn’t normal are you sick?” Trying everything they could do to get away from Gwen they shot a web in any direction causing Miles to hit it and fall face first on the ground.
“This isn’t fair” Miles said flat on the ground. Y/N was trying so hard not to think about the conversation they had with A/N about their feelings for Gwen but was trying so hard to shake it off.
Pavitr let out a loud gasp and Y/N turned towards him with the most evil glint behind their mask as they could. “Don’t you dare!” Y/N yelled towards Pavitr who was giggling like a school girl. “I know” He said before swinging away just before Y/N could grab him.
“You shut up Pavitr you know nothing” Y/N yelled once again and Gwen just grew more and more confused. “We don’t have time for this we need to take down the spot” Just as both Y/N and Gwen went to swing off The Spot managed to get Miles in a corner and used his port to get the other Spiders away.
“This is going to be good for us Spider-Man” The Spot said to miles. While the Spot was going through his evil monologue Gwen gave Y/N another look.
“What was that with Pavitr?” She asked, Y/N glanced away and shook their head. “Nothing Important” Y/N could hear giggling coming from the pile again.
The collider started going off, all the Spiders got up and chased after the spot trying to stop him from entering the collider, before he did they managed to web him holding him back before he entered the collider.
“You’re not a joke, right gang?”
“Absolute not”
“Completely Unamusing!”
“I don’t believe in comedy….just kidding”
“I don’t think its that funny that you managed to turn into this just because of the bagel”
All the spiders turned to look at Y/N who yelled out that last thing, before they could respond the spot had snipped the web and floated into the collider. They all flew backwards and began dusting themselves off. Just as they stood up Pavitr started speaking.
“Well that was another easy adventure for Spider-Man”
“No no no no no no” Said the other 4 Spiders in unison. The collider exploded causing the spot to gain the abilities he wanted to take down Miles. He emerged from the collider pure black and spoke to miles briefly.
Once they were all able to they ran out of the collapsing Alchemex building towards the exit avoiding all the rubble. Once they made it outside they could hear the foundation of the entire building itself start to collapse and fall.
“Y/N, Hobie and Gwen slow down the building, Pavitr and I will clear a path!” Miles jumped off rushing down to save the people below with Pavitr, Hobie, Gwen and Y/N leapt after them webbing up the building as best as they could.
Y/N managed to get to the very tip of the building and stood on a roof top of another building. They rubbed their hands together and held them out waiting for the impact. As soon as it hit them they stumbled backwards about 10 feet just on the edge of the building underneath them but began to push back. Y/N had an outstanding amount of strength ever since they took that serum their Aunt had given to them, they managed to get a hold of building stopping most of the damage. However there was still a lot of rubble getting away from the building.
“Don’t worry about this part you guys go help those below!” Hobie and Gwen nodded letting go of their webbing and rushing below to help/ Y/N with the whole building on their back managed to web up the main building and stop it from going any further. Once they had done that and it was safe to leave the area the swung down to the rest of the commotion. Y/N could see they managed to save everyone, Hobie was congratulating Miles and Gwen was staring down at her watch. Y/N could clearly see the words “CANON EVENT DISRUPTED” Flashing across the screen. Y/N scoffed as they didn’t believe in all that nonsense and knew they could control their own destiny so was happy that Miles was here and managed to save Captain Singh.
The whole crowd was cheering for them briefly and was replaced with horrified screams as a giant black hole opened up. Y/N watched a giant spider robot come down from the sky and out came Miss Jessica Drew herself, they watched Gwen try to explain the situation about Miles but she brushed them off saying Miguel wanted to see all of them at HQ.
A big sigh left their lips as they trailed behind the other spiders entering the portal and heading back to the Spider Society.
Y/N was too lost in thought about what was happening with themselves and wasn’t 100% focused on the mission. Don’t get them wrong they understood what was at stake here but A/N’s words kept playing on in their head.
“You won’t admit it but you feel something for her, I just want you to be absolutely sure that this is something you want, because if it isn’t and things start to spiral down I am worried that she may never open up to another person again. Because I know you wouldn’t” Sometimes Y/N hated how right she was about all of it, how she could read them like a book. It was an unfair advantage she had on them sometimes but Y/N knew that their A/N was right, it was just hard because she wasn’t as focused as she should be.
When they got to Spider Society Gwen was so distracted with Miguel’s demand of him wanting to see them that she turned into a robot who followed orders obediently. Y/N knew why, she didn’t want to lose access to any of this, her favourite people were all here and this was the only way she could see them. Plus she was still very much running away from her past and her dimension.
Y/N shoved their hands in their pockets and followed like a lost puppy, stuck in their head going over every scenario, every situation that had led them to this point. They already knew what was going to happen, they knew Miguel was not going to be okay with Miles changing the canon events and they knew that Miles was not going to like that, not when he found out about his own dad and also that he was never meant to be Spider-Man.
Hobie noticed the glum look on Y/N’s face and walked in pace with them.
“Whats wrong with my singer?” He asked facing towards Y/N. “I’m just distracted at the moment Hobie is all” They said quietly while trying to not draw attention to themselves and also continue walking at pace. Miles was too busy making comments on everything they saw while Gwen was trying to get them to hurry up.
“Yes bruv but whats going on in that big brain of yours” Y/N let down their guard for a split second, if anyone was going to agree on the events that were about to happen it would be Hobie.
“You already know what’s about to go down right?” Y/N asked quickly, Hobie smirked and nodded already holding a couple of pieces of electronics he had taken from different pieces of equipment. Y/N had to give it to Hobie he was always prepared no matter what was going to happen, its like he had been waiting for Miles to show up and cause a disruption.
“No matter what happens we will have to pick sides and I know who’s side we’re going to be on, its just her I’m worried about” Hobie said gesturing to Gwen. Even now she looked terrified, looking down at her watch waiting for it to disappear in a second.
“When it come’s down to it I bet you Gwendy will be the one leading the charge I reckon, especially for him” Hobie pointed at Miles, Y/N wasn’t an idiot they knew with the way Gwen went on about Miles she held a special spot for him in her heart, they just didn’t know how deep it went and to be honest they didn’t want to know.
“I don’t know what this is, I don’t know where its going, I don’t know if she even likes me the same, All I know is that pain and suffering she has gone through I want to fix that” The conversation Y/N had with A/N echoing in the back of their head. That’s all they cared about right now was to take care of Gwen, was to take care of that pain and suffering she has been feeling her entire life and get rid of it. Y/N would fight every single spider if it meant that they could take on that pain for her.
“Don’t you worry Hobie, I’ll always have Gwen’s back, regardless of what happens”
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ynscrazylife · 7 months
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if you still do avengers reqs, what would the avengers and y/n talk about in the avengers resident groupchat? y/n!stark x peter 🙏🙏
The Avengers Groupchat Would Include . . . 
Let’s start off with who’s in this groupchat: you (obviously), Peter, Tony, Natasha, Bruce, Steve, Clint, Wanda, Sam, Thor, Scott, Vision & Carol (Rocket was in the chat but he got kicked out, Ayo’s in there but she doesn’t chat much, Nebula would be there but she doesn’t get how to use a phone, Rhodey has better things to do than be in there)
Let’s be honest, Carol did not see the sense in her being there because there’s not gonna be WiFi throughout the galaxy.
“LTE, Carol!” — You, probably
Thor also didn’t really get it because there’s not WiFi on Asgard, but he’s too kind to say no
Naming the groupchat was hell. Every second, someone would change it (usually either you, Peter, or Sam) until Tony put his foot down and programmed FRIDAY to make it so no one could change it from “Avengers”
Natasha’s usually the one who sends reminders about training
Steve will send reminders about meetings 
Lots of pictures of each other are sent, mostly when they don’t know photos are being taken of them
The conversations range from someone asking what people want from the grocery store (Scott goes on grocery runs) to fierce debates over who’s the better fighter (It’s Nat, no one can beat her in sparring)
Tony will ask you and Peter if your homework is done (which you both annoyed, then Natasha yells at you)
It’s best to silence the notifications because they’re too, too much
Regular FaceTimes are a thing even though you’re usually all in the same tower
“Thor, your video cuts out when you go over Heimdall’s bridge.”
Wanda and Vision usually ask if they can double date with anyone (ends up being Scott and Hope or you and Peter)
Peter will send cute pictures of you that the Avengers ADORE. He’s tickling you? He’s recording a video. You fell asleep? He’s taking a picture.
“Peter, you’re not tickling her right. You have to get her knees.” — Tony
“DAD, STOP!”
Clint’s kids love to take his phone to chat with the Avengers
And they LOVE chatting with them
“Auntie Nat, when are you visiting!” “Soon!!”
Sam and Peter both send lots of memes
“I don’t get it.” — Steve
Bruce doesn’t talk much but you know who’s a great texter? THE HULK
Hulk is the king of keyboard smashes
“RERRRHDHDHSJSJS”
“Someone get Nat to do the lullaby.”
Hulk has smashed Bruce’s phone on multiple occasions tho
“Should I invent armor for Bruce’s phone?” — Tony
Yelena will steal Nat’s phone to troll the chat
Clint sends updates on his farm
Pepper will confiscate Tony’s phone when he needs to work so she’ll end up chatting
Everyone loves chatting to Pepper
Tony managed to get wifi on Carol’s ship so she’ll send updates from space
Thor tries to text, it doesn’t go great
When badgered by Natasha, Ayo will text
Nebula has occasionally hopped onto the group chat when Peter Q helps her
The group chat was SO ACTIVE when you and Peter went to prom
They were spamming the entire time, asking for pictures and updates and telling ya’ll not to drink
If anyone’s sitting out of a mission (usually you and Peter), they’ll text in the group chat to annoy those who are on the mission
“WE ARE DEEP UNDERCOVER SHUT THE FUCK UP” - Natasha
Getting Nat to swear in the group chat isn’t rare but it is dangerous
ALSO TEXTING STYLES
Vision, Ayo, and Steve text with perfect grammar, short and to the point (Steve has a tendency to go on tangents, though).
Tony’s style switches constantly depending on his mood
Natasha, Sam, Wanda, you, and Peter text with abbreviations and lowercase sometimes
Carol usually sends photos, not many texts. She’ll occasionally send an lol or lmao.
Scott is always cheerful. He uses lots of smiley faces.
Tony will put an ironic amount of obnoxious emojis.
Clint’s tired and his texting reflects that. As short as possible usually.
There’s always something chaotic going on
But there’s also some of the funniest moments
Typos? SAM WILL HARP ON YOU
So will Natasha
The Avengers are a family and they love each other so much, it’s definitely represented in the groupchat
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nanowrimo · 1 year
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10 Ways to Turn Revision Into an Adventure
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For some of us, revision may be your next big challenge during Camp. Sounds a little intimidating, doesn’t it? Well, have no fear! NaNo participant Madison Vaughn-Parra is here to make revision fun! So… you’ve got yourself a first draft. Perhaps it’s years worth of work, or perhaps it was the product of the frenzied rush that is National Novel Writing Month. Either way, you’ve deemed it a complete work, which means only one thing: it’s ready for revision.
Did you picture lightning striking on a dark and stormy night when reading the big “R” word? If so, you’re not alone! For many, revision is even more intimidating than dreaming up a novel from scratch. If writing a first draft was an adventure of epic proportions, then revising that same draft is a slog through already-explored terrain, right?
Wrong! I’ve found that revision can be just as grand of an adventure as writing 50K in 30 days! To prove it, I’d like to share ten ways you can turn your revision journey from a dreaded duty into an exciting adventure:
1. First things first: make a copy of your first draft, and then don’t touch the original! You don’t want your adventure bogged down by regrets, after all, and having an untouched first draft will ensure that if you’re unhappy with any changes, you’ll always have the original to fall back on.
2. Be prepared! Just as you wouldn’t want to forget your socks and undies, you’re going to want to pack everything you need to help you on your revision adventure. NaNoWriMo’s “Now What?” revision guide should come in handy, for starters!
3. Take a trip off the beaten path and explore all of the “What If’s”, no matter how wild they might seem. What if you added to the chemistry of your main characters and turned your action-adventure novel into a full-blown romance? What if the murder mystery mastermind was the other guy? The possibilities are endless!
4. Go on a hunt to find the most hilarious typos born from the fever-induced ramblings of the NaNo mind, and share them with your writing group for laughs!
5. Make it a game! For example, does your novel have a character who keeps disappearing from scenes they’re supposed to be in? (Mine was a tiny dragon named Mouse…) Every time you write that character back into a scene, reward yourself with a treat for “finding” them!
6. Gleefully chop away at tangents, plot twists, and descriptions you included in your first draft simply for word count. No one can stop you from backspacing now!
7. Try new tools! Is there any better feeling than using a brand new travel accessory for the first time? That’s how I felt when I first tried Scrivener’s split-screen feature and discovered just how fun it made revision. Why not check out NaNoWriMo’s offers page to see if any new tools spark your excitement?
8. Delight in discovering passages that you have absolutely no memory of writing! If you’re anything like me, there will be quite a few of them, and you’ll find you can improve them with the ease of editing someone else’s writing.
9. Capture your favorites! Create a “Snapshots” document or folder and fill it with all the first draft passages that you got right the first time. If you start feeling discouraged during revising, simply pull up these snapshots and remind yourself of your own genius!
10. If you really want to capture the NaNo spirit, try rewriting your novel from start to finish without even glancing at your first draft. This trick terrifies me, personally, but I know folks who swear by it! Congratulations! You’re now ready for your revision adventure! Pack up your bags, be kind to yourself, and have fun exploring your novel again. I’ll be right there with you!
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Madison Vaughn-Parra is a lifelong writer and passionate geek, who technically works a corporate job in program management but prefers to spend her time in fantasy and science-fiction worlds of her own creation. She’s happily lost in the woods of her own revision adventure at the moment and hoping to dive into the publishing process next. She rarely posts on Twitter, but you can still follow her @vaughn__boyage if you’d like! Header Photo by Leah Kelley from Pexels
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doubledyke · 3 months
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How do you think would be Edd and Ed's lives in a world where Eddy was never born or they never meet him? Would they indeed be accepted by the other kids, or would they be lonely hermits stuck on their houses (Edd with his experiments and Ed with his sci-fi movies as their only friends respectively)? I bet more on the second option.
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oh boy, the question of all time. i guess i'll have to go with the second option to some extent.
ed is unlikely to be truly and wholly accepted by most of the other kids with or without eddy imo. he's smelly and weird, and sarah, who's part of the in-crowd, can't stand him. she's not going to let him join in the reindeer games, and i doubt he'd want to spend more time with her than he already has to, let's be real.
he could very well be perfectly happy with the life of a hermit. like you mentioned, he's got his movies and comics, his models, and a limitless imagination. he doesn't strike me as the type to require much or really any social interaction or validation. he does love being around his friends! edd and eddy that is. he's an extremely sweet person, and very affectionate towards people he cares about. but he could fare just as well being a loner. also, dude can evidently conjure up a tulpa any time he wants (e.g. jib).
he isn't one to hold grudges at all, so if the kids did occasionally need him to effortlessly lift a house or car, he'd happily oblige. that's about the extent of their "acceptance" of ed though. jonny and rolf are the exceptions - i think they'd be buddies with the lump.
it might be a little harder to say for certain with edd, since he puts up so many fronts. i think he may be somewhat accepted - he's clean, smart, and the girls think he's cute. he's good to have around when you need help with homework, or your bike chain slips... or you've got a growth of some sort... but much like big ed, he's pretty strange, on top of being finicky, pretentious, etc.. and he's a buzzkill a lot of the time, which gets old real fast. that being said i think he could easily build a superficial rapport with the kids, though they probably won't be inviting him to any soirees. if i had to choose a kid who might connect most with edd, it'd be jimmy..... so literally exactly what happens in the show.
as far as edd ending up a shut in, i imagine without eddy he probably would spend most of his time on his own, but does venture outdoors. he loves being in nature and looking at bugs, that typa stuff. he'd still do that, just alone i guess. not a farfetched assumption at all. but edd does crave SOME level of social approval and validation. and since he doesn't get it at home, he has to look elsewhere. so without eddy, he would have to manage with a few fair-weather friendships in the neighborhood until he inevitably leaves peach creek and meets people that are more his speed.
there's an argument to be made that despite his need for socialization, he, like ed, would have little to no desire to hang out with the cul-de-sac kids. cuz like, what would they do? it's nearly impossible for me to imagine edd 'playing' with the other kids, since he's 12 going on 45. edd doesn't play, at least not uncritically lmao. he likes to read and do his tinkering and experiments, etc.. at least with ed and eddy he can put those things to some kind of use.
which brings me to my semi-related tangent, and i'll try not to go too far off the rails here, but don't hold your breath.
i feel like this kind of question is prevalent because some people want to imagine that the cul-de-sac would be all sunshine and rainbows if only eddy wasn't around. as if ed and edd are clamoring to hang out with kevin (lol) and the only thing preventing them from being the toasts of the town is eddy? it's really weird seeing as he's basically the main character and there's not a show without their antics. idk what to tell those people except that maybe they need to find another long defunct cartoon to over analyze 😬
not that you're doing this at all anon, but it drives me crazy when people try to absolve edd of wrongdoing and paint him as a trembling victim. i mean, people can do whatever they want, but shitting on eddy is a bit much. plus it strips away a lot of what makes edd interesting.
edd makes a conscious and informed choice every day to hang out with ed and eddy.
i don't personally think it's because he was or necessarily would be outright shunned by the other kids. dare i say, he just likes them lmao.
eddy and edd have a major similarity in their desire to appear more mature than they are:
eddy is shameless in his attempts, whereas edd tries to play it off.
and that's it. that's the show.
kidding, but only a little. essentially, they're both precocious and have probably been exposed to shit that kids shouldn't be exposed to. i think that's the foundation of their friendship, aside from having the same name.
in some ways, eddy IS more "mature" than his peers, in his own greasy way. he's mostly a typical idiot pre-teen, but let's give him some credit here: he knows it's a dog eat dog world and you don't get anywhere in life by whistlin' dixie. he's just trying to get a head start.
edd is complicit and just as culpable as eddy is in their grift. he compulsively voices his disapproval and still not only goes along, but contributes greatly. it appears that a lot of the time his biggest qualm is even that the scams are immoral, but that they're unconvincing.
there could be a few different explanations for that, but "edd is a victim of eddy" simply isn't one of them.
a) edd also wants money, and if that means fleecing people he believes are below him, so be it.
b) edd views these rackets as the preferable, more adult-esque alternative to playing tiddlywinks with his peers.
c) he likes spending time with ed and eddy and that entails running two-bit scams
these aren't mutually exclusive by any means. to me, all three apply at various times in the series.
all that to say, i don't think edd is forced to hang out with ed and eddy because he's just SO outwardly off-putting that the kids wouldn't give him the time of day. that assumes that he even wants their time, y'know. unlike eddy, edd is not "cool-conscious". he doesn't care where he belongs, he's just wants to belong. and he found his sense of belonging with dumb and dumber. it says a lot about him, i think 😂
much like any kid if he really wanted to mesh with the in-crowd, he'd find a way. to act like edd has no other option just comes off as a slight toward the other two eds.
okay anyway, the eds are a package deal. without eddy... there's literally no ed edd n eddy. none of them would develop the way they did if one of them was missing. that's why it's weird to try and guess what would happen if eddy wasn't around. but...
i don't see edd giving ed much of a chance if it weren't for eddy's forcing them to be around each other. he'd get one whiff of the guy and disintegrate into a pile of wood dust. and ed barely understands what edd says, so why would he have ever initiated a conversation if not for eddy standing by to interpret??
of course, edd did a pretty good job at predicting what life would look like for ed and eddy if he ended up as the pretzel legged boy in the sideshow - the sucker quotient does go way down when the signs are misspelled. and as for if it were just edd and eddy, they would've killed each other by the end of season 2.
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gendervapor14 · 1 year
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treating myself to some old OP episodes to alleviate the horrors and i can’t resist the urge to ramble about bell-mère’s death a little bit.
so, i will start here, with this iconic moment:
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manga readers may notice something right off the bat. “hey, arlong’s not aiming for her head!” yes, in the anime, seems they switched his aim for the heart. i actually prefer this. first of all, that flintlock is huge compared to her, so head or heart, it’s gonna kill her. not a fatality issue. i’m just a huge sap, and i think there’s something more symbolic about him shooting her in the heart for defending her love - her kids. (even tho all of this could have been avoided if she just lied, and then she’d actually be able to keep loving and supporting her kids, but, uh, i digress)
this moment really captured me when i was first watching, because for the first time, one piece truly felt dark. this wasn’t just an upsetting backstory. it had some element of gore here, which i’m not sure would be as effective if he went through with a headshot. they might have censored it a bit more.
more (slightly gruesome) photos and analysis beneath the cut 👀
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look at what they got away with here!! this was early one piece mind you, so i feel like things were generally a little cushier? (or maybe that’s just my nostalgia talking XD) but the harsh black and white contrast, the utter silence during this scene, the speed in which this happened! (it was a pain to pause and scrub and get good screenshots, let me add). i will say i’m not up to date with current OP shenanigans, but to me, this seems like one of the most abrupt and brutal deaths in the series. (and this doesn’t even put into account the horrid beating she got beforehand)
there are some nice parallels here between her death and rosinante’s, (most notably her last words being “i love you” to nami and nojiko, and a flintlock as the weapon of choice), but even then, i think this is a bit nastier. seven little bullets in a 10ft tall man is painful, yes, but it wasn’t gruesome, and he managed to cling onto life for a little while afterwards. this was just. bang. done. heart – gone. leaves the viewer totally reeling.
in a way i feel like it’s almost an honor for bell-mère to get such a violent death? okay hear me out i know that sounds crazy. she sacrificed herself for her kids and went out kicking and screaming (or standing solemnly, towards the end). she brought forth such a refreshing take on women in one piece. i mean, let’s not forget this scene:
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she was gonna blow his brains out!! zero hesitation!! how many characters in this series, let alone women, would go through something like this? i get that different characters have different honor codes and such, but it was sooo incredibly invigorating to see a woman get her hands dirty like this.
so by that logic, it’s kind of weirdly nice to see her not be treated like a little doll? this is highly speculative though, because i’ve noticed there’s this rather annoying trend where women are used as a moral compass for villains. “oh, look how deplorable arlong is, he did that to a young pretty woman!” we see the same thing with doflamingo, for instance, in his “fight” with viola. “oh how heinous, he threw her to the ground! how disrespectful! she’s just an innocent princess!” yeah, ugh. getting off tangent here
this whole scene set a standard for me, (and hopefully other viewers), who kind of saw the series as a fun lighthearted pirate adventure. yes, there was tragedy and sadness before this arc, before this backstory, but something about this moment in particular made my perception tremble. the bar was raised! a compelling character and backstory can have a truly harrowing ending!! a delightful revelation for me, for whatever reason XD
feel free to chime in if ya got any additional comments or takes on the matter. i don’t think bell-mère gets enough love. if you do wanna chime in, just um. be nice. i’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, okay. and multiple interpretations of these scenes are valid! i’d love to hear ‘em! <3
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Text
Spam Call - A Transformers Short
In which Optimus learns about spam callers and decides to try and enter into the chaos ring the humans and Wheeljack have going to answer them. (The characterization may not be completely accurate, but I wanted Chaos Prime himself to activate for everyone to see.)
Jack groaned as his phone started ringing, hoping it wasn't his mother. He took it out, only to see the unknown caller ID on his screen. He snorted, smirking down at it for a moment.
"Miko, you called dibs on this one. Here." Jack tossed his phone to her and they cackled before answering on speaker phone.
"Helllooooo you have reached alien tech support, how can I assist you in deciphering human technology? Is it a language problem? Is the screen too small? Do you need to order a new keyboard?" Miko chirped into the phone.
Optimus watched with veiled curiosity as Miko paused, listening to the phone. The telemarketer sputtered for a bit before managing to speak.
"I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number."
"Oh, that's alright. You will have an agent with you soon to erase your memories of this number since you don't need it! Remain stationary, if at all possible. Thank you, human!" Miko giggled before hanging up. They tossed Jack's phone back.
"What was that?" Optimus found himself asking.
"We have this annoying thing that happens...uh...spam callers or telemarketers. Their thing is either staying silent, being AI, or wanting to sell things. Miko got one that wasn't a dud just now, on Jack's phone. Our challenge is usually to just spout the most unhinged crap at them to get them to leave us alone." Raf explained, a slight smile quirking into place.
"We usually call dibs when we're together." Miko added, her grin holding so much mischief. "Wheeljack has answered one of my spam calls once to mess with them."
"Can confirm. I did a spiel in Kalius at them and then waited. They hung up pretty quickly." Wheeljack chuckled. "Might try Vossian next if I get the chance. Maybe Prax."
"Oh my Primus, Wheeljack! Why did you do that? We're trying to stay secret from as many humans as possible!" Ratchet scolded.
"What? Sometimes Miko answers in Japanese! I had to see how fun it would be with some of our languages." Wheeljack defended himself. "Plus, Tolkien was crazy enough to invent a new language so there."
---
The first spam call that Optimus was allowed to answer was on Agent Fowler's phone. It was a late night, Fowler was napping on the couch as Optimus was working on the last bits of paperwork and grumbled as he opened and held the phone up.
Optimus calmly spoke in the language only Primus' chosen could easily speak. It sounded a bit like music to the ear, except too mechanical. He calmly asked if the spam caller was looking for religious freedom through the Highest.
The telemarketer tried to ask a few questions, but Optimus only spoke in that Primacian language in reply.
Then the caller hung up.
Optimus grinned a little to himself and straightened up as Fowler resumed his nap on the couch, going back to doing paperwork.
Ratchet looked as though he'd gotten whiplash from that and Optimus shrugged a bit at him. Ratchet decided to go lay down for a while after.
---
The next time Optimus took a spam call was when everyone was present.
The children watched with interest as Optimus delicately pressed the button with a thin stylus as he balanced the phone in his massive hand before clearing his throat and going on a wild tangent in the Kaos language.
The language of Kaon was one that he wasn't quite as fluent in, but he got the point across that he was very "irritated" and very "willing to hunt people down". When in reality he was just angrily reciting a recipe for chocolate chip cookies.
Arcee's eyes widened and she started to laugh a little. Bee looked almost bewildered as Optimus shouted.
The caller had hung up midway through and Optimus started to laugh a bit as he realized.
"What was that?" Raf asked with awe.
"The recipe for chocolate chip cookies that Optimus had translated over to use for this. He planned this, kids. I need you to know that." Arcee cackled. "He used the language of Kaon just to yell the recipe for chocolate chip cookies at a spam caller."
Miko started to laugh in disbelief.
"The Prime has a sense of humor, wowww." Wheeljack commented.
"Welllll...let's say I didn't quite grow out of mischief completely." Optimus—or was that Orion just now saying hello?—hummed with ease, passing the phone back to Raf.
Miko giggled a bit and started to think about what pranks they could talk Optimus into. Jack and Raf looked as though they were concerned about her plotting.
"So I wasn't hallucinating from lack of recharge." Ratchet commented grumpily. "Good to know."
Arcee seemed to sober up for a moment, if only to ask the question that everyone had now.
"What do you mean?"
Ratchet sighed heavily, glaring over his shoulder at Optimus, who gestured innocently for Ratchet to speak. The medic shook his head with slight annoyance.
"Optimus answered a spam call last night from Fowler's phone. He used the Prima language—which I don't even understand—to spook a caller into hanging up." Ratchet explained. Optimus grinned.
"I did." Optimus agreed before intentionally starting to speak it again. "It's a fun language to use so that no one can understand what I mean by anything."
Ratchet looked more annoyed. "Shut the actual pit up."
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prince-kallisto · 2 months
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Hi, love your twst theories! And while I adore the idea that Meleanor's trapped inside the Magic Mirror (as she could still be alive) do you think it's possible that it's actually Levan who is trapped there - as well as being Crowley simultaneously?
When I read that OB!Malleus's voice sounds like Levan I thought that of the ones we've heard so far he sounds most like the Magic Mirror but higher or Crowley when he speaks seriously but lower. What we have seen so far is that when a person Overblots, their voice becames this multilayered cagophony (expect for Malleus). Could it be that Crowley and the entity inside the Magic Mirror are both parts of Levan and his soul has been fractured into two through Overblot, and his real voice is somewhere in the middle of the frequency of these spectrums?
It could work as a way to reference how Diablo was turned to stone (but didn't die, as in the book "Maleficent's revenge" he is able to break from his petrification) in the Sleeping Beauty. If Levan was able to trap his Shadow in the Mirror (or himself and allowing his Shadow to stay on the outside) it could be that this is why he is associated with STYX.
It would also give this sort of duality that could bridge Diablo from the og animated movie and Diaval from the live action film (both starting with "Dia", as in "ディア・クロウリーDia Kurourī"), Miyamoto-san's role as adult Simba in the Japanese dub of the Lion King, as both the Noble King of the Pride Rock and the weirdo hobo living in selfimposed exile (probably not relevant but I thought it's funny that he did not reprise the role in the sequel film in which Simba is seen in the role of the overprotective father of the Main Character Kiara, but does return for the animated show the Lion Guard, in which Simba is portrayed as a much more hands off parent) and both the upright and reversed meanings of the Magician in the Tarot deck.
It could be that Crowley doesn't even know/remember who he is, if we take in to account that in Jungian psychology Shadow represents the parts of your psyche that you wish to repress, and only by accepting it can you start to heal and solve the crisis in your identity (as has been the case for the Overblots so far) and by keeping these parts of himself separate and Levan is unable recognize and reconcile his past.
Hello!! Ahh, thank you so much, I’m happy you like my theories! \(//∇//)\ This is such an interesting ask- and a bit of a tangent haha, but I enjoy the theorist side of TWST so much because of how theories are always growing and fluctuating. One core theory can branch off and create so many different ideas, so there’s always inspiration to go around and new ideas to explore.
The idea of Levan’s Overblot breaking his soul into two is such an fascinating idea ahhh!!! \(//∇//)\ This would be an amazing way to explain all these differing aspects of him. For a long time now, I’ve been a believer of the theory that Crowley is in a very unique state of Overblot, just barely teetering over the edge while also managing to survive this long. I wouldn’t be surprised if it meant that being in a catastrophic Overblot state for centuries on end has indeed meddled with his soul in this manner.
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Levan being trapped in the Dark Mirror is also such a good reference to the live action Maleficent, when Maleficent’s wings are stolen. Meleanor considers Levan to be her eyes and limbs, which could also mean her wings. Maleficent’s wings are seen in this glass cage, but are still very well alive on their own. Levan being Meleanor’s wings means he could be the one trapped behind the glass of the Dark Mirror 👀 If this part of Levan is trapped, I think it could also explain how Crowley keeps referring to his “wings” as if they were a physical part of his body, while also simultaneously not seeming to have them.
It reminds me of the line in Maleficent when she says to Aurora that “I had wings once. They were strong, but then they were stolen from me.” Levan was a top general and a diplomat. He was a strong and capable man, and is rumored to have even faced the Dawn Knight himself and survived, whereas Meleanor perished. It makes me wonder that when Levan left Meleanor, Eggleus (lol), and Lilia to battle at the fort, if something akin to an Overblot happened. Parts of him being fractured and “stolen.” 🤔
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I’d also like to point out that the manga specifically shows Crowley in the prologue speaking to the Dark Mirror…without his mask. His voice is the prologue is one of the very few times where his voice deepens, and has no hint of his typical flamboyant personality. Perhaps Crowley not having his mask is a representation of these fragments of his soul coming back together? :0 There’s also a very interesting TWST trailer that has Miyamoto speaking, presumably as Crowley, but his voice is deeper than we’ve ever heard Crowley’s character speak before. Perhaps this is his “true” voice as Levan, and thrus similar as Malleus? For anyone else who wants to know more about the upright/reversed tarot card for Crowley, I made a post explaining it all here! ^_^ that’s such a good point of how Crowley can be both the upright and reversed when you consider him being Levan as well!!!
Also AHHH the Jungian psychology!! 😭💖💖💖 this is such an amazing point, especially regarding the Overblots. I’d like to think that primary part of who Levan is the one trapped in the mirror, while his shadow, Crowley, is the one who exists on the outside. Overblots amplify the negative or surpressed traits of a person’s personality, to the point of nearly killing other characters from how caught up they get in their own negative emotions. Crowley is always criticized for his own ego regarding his “kindness,” of how he can be unreliable and a very fleeting presence.
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Levan has been referred to as “kind” (with the same word in Japanese that Crowley uses), and Lilia claims that Levan gets constantly praised for the simplest of things that don’t really deserve it, primarily by Meleanor. I wouldn’t be surprised that through Crowley, these traits of Levan were amplified, giving Crowley an ego for things he didn’t really earn, and praising himself for his kindness. Like a remnant of how Lilia and Meleanor excessively praised him.
You make such an amazing point about how if the shadow and the person is separated, that Levan/Crowley cannot recognize and reconcile with his past!! Absjxjs I was a bit of a persona 4 fan back in the day, but it essentially feels like that, of having to confront this shadow of yourself to reconcile your misgivings. It’s the same thing in TWST, where this harsh but necessary confrontation with this darker side of themselves is what saves them from succumbing to their Overblot.
Also andjxjsbdbs the point of Miyamoto’s role as Simba!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 It’s…quite fitting, actually! 🤣 we gotta love Levan’s self imposed exile through a weird birb man like Crowley 🫡💖
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This was an amazing ask, thank you so much for putting this into my brain! 🤣💖💖💖💖🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛ I adore this idea so much, and I feel like your points helped me explain some of my visions for the whole Crowley and Levan situation haha \(//∇//)\ I’d like to make fanart illustrating this idea, I just love it so much. Thank you so much for the wait in answering this ask, and for taking the time to write this! Have a good day! ^_^ 🫶🐦‍⬛
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teabutmakeitazure · 2 years
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Egocentric
>Yan! Pantalone x Fem! reader
a/n: okay so rich guy with fluffy looking hair is slowly getting me down bad.
This Regrator fic was suggested by @shumidehiro :3
Warnings: mentions of 'the deed' (if that counts as a warning), intimidating conversation in general, being dressed against one's will, suggestive words
Word count: 1.6k
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When you were called into his office, you didn’t think he would be in a sour mood. It was evident from the strained smile and tilted head that he had something pestering him. As you sat down on a chair across the table, you nervously grabbed your skirt at the menacing aura radiating from him. Unlike Pantalone, you didn’t have a smile on your face.
The harbinger sighs, crosses his arms and leans back. Disturbingly enough, the smile never left his face. You shudder.
He eyes you up and down, giving way to a widening smile. "It's nice to see you my dear. You look enchanting."
"T-thank you." You mentally scold yourself for the stutter, but he doesn't seem to pay it mind.
"Ah, I just cannot understand. How do you manage to always look so captivating?"
Flatter him, you tell yourself. "I'm your wife. It is only natural that I look the part."
"Yes, of course, my dearest and loveliest jewel. Before I go on a tangent, did you get anything unwanted in the mail? I hadn't gotten the chance to look over the letters we received in the past week. Being the lady of this household, you must have gotten through them."
"We did receive letters but nothing unnecessary."
He leans in, hands now on the table. The scene feels more like an interrogation than a talk between husband and wife. "Think harder, dear. I'm sure you're smart enough to understand my point."
With that, eye contact breaks and you feel like you can breathe again. Why he called you in during his time in the office is a mystery. Pantalone never lets you in here. Going through his belongings or documents is strictly prohibited and honestly, you don't want to either, too scared of what you might read in those papers.
Not wanting to look into his eyes again, your gaze goes to his shirt. It's unbuttoned enough to show his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up as well. The visible skin makes your cheeks heat up. Next, your eyes travel to the piles of documents scattered across the room. Being maybe your third time here, you look at how the wood shines for being used so much. The stack of papers on his right is a bit too high and-
"Are you still thinking or just lost in thought?"
His voice startles you and he chuckles at the reaction. You shake your head, not wanting to offend him. "I don't understand what you mean, my lord."
"Ah, I'll get straight to the point then. There have been too many letters addressed to you. I know who they're from, yes, but I would like you to stop writing back."
The fact that he just sugar coated a command to stop replying to the few friends you were able to keep in touch with is just surprising. He gave you the liberty to write back to them after taking the responsibility of writing to your family on your behalf. So why is suddenly taking it back?
"Did something offend you?"
"Not yet, but you will if you do not obey."
The memory of being locked in the attic for a week resurfaces and you shake your head. "I'll stop writing back."
"And you will forget about them. I understand that it might be hard for someone like you, but you can't think about them anymore."
Another link to society cut off.
"Yes, my lord."
-
The master bedroom has the best view in all the estate. It faces the west so you can see the sunset and also the flora and other vegetation that grows. There are flowers that glow in the dark, similar to the Monstadt lampgrass you read about. They make a mesmerising sight after dusk, one you look forward to everyday.
As you change threads to continue the embroidery, you glance up at the clock. One hour left till sunset. The Regrator is out on duty and from the message sent home, would not be coming back till at least late night. You have a peaceful evening up ahead, and you have every plan to enjoy it.
Sunset approaches as the cloth in your hand gets filled with colourful patterns of flora and such. As you carefully change threads again upon completing a small fraction of the pattern, there’s a frantic knock on the door. A maid whose name you never bothered to remember steps in, clearly out of breath. It makes you nervous because there can only be one reason behind that.
“My lady, the lord harbinger is on his way home. He sent instructions beforehand.”
Great. What a way to enjoy the evening.
With that, you’re dressed in something that would hardly classify as clothing because of how sheer it is. The belt on the sad excuse of a dress is just millimetres away from digging into your flesh and even your undergarments are lace. He wouldn’t even have to undress you. Everything is visible anyway. When the maids leave, you sulkingly go to the bed, covering yourself with the blanket and seating yourself.
You were told to stay there, which was your original plan for the evening, but being ordered to do it just makes you salty. Even worse is that Pantalone would never care about your feelings in the matter. He’s a businessman so he thinks that by giving you this life, he can have all of you as payment. You wonder just why he decided to pick you of all people.
The door suddenly opens painstakingly slowly with an eerie creak, and you realise that you forgot to draw the curtains over the window. Pantalone steps in, closing the door behind himself and shrugging off his coat. He sets his hair and you watch his elegant movements with intrigue, knowing that as soon as he opens his mouth, you’ll be bitter again. Might as well enjoy the quietness.
In fluid motions, he walks over to the window and draws the curtain, not sparing you a glance even once. You fiddle with your hands nervously under the covers, anticipating the inevitable scolding for not welcoming him and hiding yourself. Pantalone then walks over the edge of the bed, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. His smile knowingly widens, amused, as you bite your lower lip out of apprehension.
“I went through the trouble of sending a messenger and yet here you are hiding under the covers.” He sighs, crossing his arms, “Come now. I want to see how you look in that dress.”
You hug your knees, blanket slipping off your shoulder. “I’m cold.”
“The fireplace is lit. We can sit there.”
He’s insistent, but you don’t want to listen to him. Despite being used to it, you can’t bring yourself to obey his commands this time. This either ends in you under him on the bed (sometimes being spared on the expense of a collection of marks on your body) or with his hands all over you. It has always been one of the two outcomes for whenever you’re dressed up for him.
“I did not anticipate the possibility of my wife acting like a sulking child. You didn’t welcome me as well, but I will spare you for that. Now come, before I lose my patience, dearest.”
The way the pet name was seethed out led you to remove the covers and stand up. As expected, his eyes roamed your figure, stopping at your face when a hand beckons you over. You’re immediately taken into his arms, face in his chest feeling the bare skin. The fireplace dutifully crackles as Pantalone’s hands travel up and down your figure. With a teasing squeeze to your waist, he moves back, eyes falling onto the clearly inappropriate neckline of your dress.
“You must be wondering why there was no necklace this time.”
No, I wasn’t. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ah, ever the slow one. I got you a little gift, and I thought I should put it on you myself.”
You have an idea of what the gift might be. When he takes out a box from his coat pocket and walks over to you, you start counting the seconds. The box opens and you’ve never wanted to hit your head on the wall so bad.
It’s a choker necklace that oddly resembles a collar. A jewel matching his eye colour hangs from the middle and it tickles your skin when he clasps the hook. It’s on you now, and you feel absolutely humiliated.
“Do you like it?”
“It… matches your eyes.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Knowing better than to lie, you voice your concern. “It’s nice, but I don't understand. Why a necklace like this?”
“I’m free to dress you up as I like, am I not?”
“Y-yes, my lord.”
“I’m the only one capable enough of keeping you safe from this filthy, disgusting world. Ah, and your embroidery work, I saw your improvement. You’re my lovely wife with the loveliest talents, so it’s only natural that I would want everyone to know, right? This shall be a staple in your wardrobe for social events and gatherings.”
“Thank you for the gift, but erm… would it not be inappropriate to wear such a thing in front of others?” If I can’t spare all the embarrassment, I could at least try to spare a little. “I would like to wear it at home, in front of you.”
“As sly as you are, I’m afraid you’ll be wearing a different mark at home.”
He steps forward, wrapping an arm around your waist, lips tickling your neck. “I wonder how the necklace would look in the midst of purple and red. Why don't we give it a try?”
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infiniteeight8 · 7 months
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IronStrange: Strange encounters an alternate universe where Tony is homeless, penniless (maybe Demon in a Bottle-tangent?) But Strange can't stay, all he can do is give Tony a moment of his time.
Break my heart, why don’t you! The idea I got was honestly too long for a drabble prompt, but I liked it a lot, so here’s a whole ficlet.
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Since Tony’s energy signature started pinballing through dimensions, Stephen’s tracking spell has brought him to dozens of variations of Tony Stark. He’s seen him cavalier and thoughtless, never having become Iron Man. He’s seen him grievously wounded from battle, unable to walk or even bedbound. He’s seen him happily retired, beaming at Morgan’s graduation with Pepper by his side. He’s seen him broken: sometimes institutionalized, sometimes making the world suffer under his unbalanced mind.
He’s never seen this before.
If it hadn’t been for the tracking spell, Stephen never would have guess the crumpled pile of stained clothes wedged into a narrow service doorway was Tony Stark. As he approaches, the smell of alcohol gets stronger. When Stephen crouches down, he see the bottle, uncapped, cradled in one hand. Some of it has sloshed onto Tony’s clothes, but not much: the bottle isn’t full enough for that.
“Tony,” Stephen says quietly. 
It’s takes a few repetitions before Tony stirs, turning bleary eyes on Stephen. “I know you?” he asks with a vicious scowl. It makes Stephen wonder how many people had found him like this. Had they tried to help and he refused, or did they not even try?
Stephen shakes his head. “No, but I know you. I’m from an alternate universe. My Tony Stark has been unstuck from our dimension. I’m trying to find him.”
Tony blinks, slowly. “I’m not him.”
“No, you aren’t,” Stephen sighs.
Tony frowns at him for another long, aching moment. “Alternate universe?” he eventually managed.
Stephen tries not to show the sudden spark of hope. “Yes. There are infinite universes. I’m a Sorcerer; that’s how I travel between them.” He summons a mandala to demonstrate.
Tony’s eyes narrow. “There’s no such thing as magic,” he says, clearer than any other statement so far. Stephen swallows a laugh.
“Where I come from there is. I don’t know whether or not anyone practices it here.” He brings the mandala closer, and Tony moves to poke his finger through it, and then at Stephen’s hand, though he doesn’t let go of the bottle. 
Stephen lets him investigate for a minute, but he can’t stay long. His own Tony is still lost, and the energy for the tracking spell won’t last forever. “I have to go.”
Tony just nods unsurprised, and slumps back against the wall. 
Stephen casts the dimensional portal right there, where Tony can see him. When it comes to Tony Stark, curiosity has always been the best motivator, the most irresistible draw. Stephen doesn’t know if it’s enough of a line for this Tony to climb up, but it’s something. 
Before he goes, Stephen sends a magical message off to find this universe’s version of himself. Maybe it’ll find him in Kamar-Taj. Maybe it’ll find him in a surgical theatre. Maybe it’ll only find a grave. Regardless, Stephen has to try, because the idea of never knowing Tony Stark at all feels like a terrible fate.
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strangermarvelss · 2 years
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this is music!
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Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: you and eddie discover just how different your music choices are
Warnings: fluff, angst if you squint, eddie being a child
Request?: No
Word Count: 1.1k
A/N: here’s a quick little fic about eddie being a diva over his music. that pretty much sums it up. - sava
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“I mean, what are you even looking for?” Eddie asks Robin, carrying over a handful of his cassette tapes.
Nancy and Steve were still in the upside down, Nancy showing the signs that Max did when in the trace caused by Vecna. Robin, Eddie, and yourself managed to get out right before and seeing Steve on the other side shaking Nancy furiously was not how you were expecting the rest of the night to go. You were worried, along with everyone else. We couldn’t afford to lose anyone else in Hawkins, it was taking a toll on the town and you were scared what could happen to Vecna if he killed more and more kids.
“Madonna, Blondie, Bowie, Beatles. Music! We need music!” Robin exclaims, holding up his Iron Maiden cassette. Uh oh. You knew this wasn’t going to be taken well by Ed-
“THIS. IS. MUSIC!” He yells, snatching the cassette from her hands and waving it as he spoke. Eddie was passionate about music, whether it’s playing it himself or listening. He was in the minority with his love of metal in the town of Hawkins, one of many things they used to throw the word “freak” in his face, which was just cruel. The way his eyes would light up as he listened to the latest Metallica album was one of your favorite recent memories…before Hawkins had yet another threat on its hands. So when people bad mouthed one of the few things he loved most, it was like a stab through the heart for him.
“Eds, you know that’s not what she meant. Now here, maybe there’s something here she’d be interested in,” you say throwing a pile on the bed. Eddie looks over your shoulder as you and Robin look through the pile, his face scrunched. The day would come sooner or later where you’d reveal the secret stash of tapes you kept at Eddie’s trailer, and, considering the circumstances, now was as good a time as any.
“What about Queen, do you think she likes them? Oooh, wait, I found a Blondie tape!” You say, holding both tapes up in Robin’s view. She nods and you both jump from the bed and rush towards the opened gate that sat upon the ceiling of Eddie’s living room.
“Steve! We have some music that doesn’t suck!” Robin shouts at him.
“Robin! Be nice!” You scold her. She holds her hands up in a surrender pose, and you hear and fall coming from the ceiling. You both look up to see Nancy laying in Steve’s arms on the floor of Eddie’s trailer in the Upside Down. Steve looks at your guys and gives you a thumbs up, with you letting out a sigh of relief. She was okay.
For now.
You walk back into Eddie’s room and he’s sitting on his bed with his arms crossed. You nod at Dustin and the rest of his freshmen friends to head out, silently asking for time alone with your boyfriend. Slowly, you approach the bed and sit on the edge, looking at him with a guilt face.
“Are you okay Eddie?” You ask, placing your hand on his leg, which he shakes off. You let out a slightly annoyed sigh and turn your body more towards him so you can see him. You watch as he grabs at the tapes you had placed on his bed with a huff. Even in world-ending circumstances, Eddie could be as dramatic as ever and find a way to throw a fit. Most of the time you found it to be cute, watching his features contort as he passionately went on and on about whatever got him into a tangent. However, now was not that time.
“These tapes are not mine, Y/N,” he says, looking up to you again.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So…why are they here?” He asks you, putting them back down in the pile you had made. You give him an “are you serious” look, not being able to tell if he genuinely thinks they just appeared in his trailer. He only gives you a waiting expression in return, confused as to why you haven’t spoken yet.
“I brought them over here for when I’m hanging out at the trailer when you’re not around. No big deal,” you explain calmly. You practically lived with Eddie at the trailer he shared with his Uncle Wayne, not really wanting to spend much time away from the man you loved most, given your history and status throughout the town.
“No big deal? Y/N, what about my music? Do you not like it?” He asks, standing from the bed. You let out a small sigh and hang your head.
“Yes but sometimes I want to listen to the music I like most. Metal and rock are great and all, but I do like pop music too, Eddie,” you admit. You hear him scoff.
“And why didn’t you tell me this?” He turns suddenly, this eccentric dramatics coming out in full swing. You stand from his bed and get closer to him, softly cupping his face. He begins to look away from you, but you gently tilt him back to look at you.
“Eds, I promise it’s not the end of the world that I like a different music genre. We don’t have to be the exact same, because that’s what makes it nice to be with one another. Can you honestly tell me that you’d like being with me if I was exactly like you?” You ask him, your nose touching his. He lets out a quiet huff and meets your gaze. You watch the mess of curls slowly nod in understanding, feeling his soft lips press to your cheek. You bring your hand up to cup his cheek for a moment and brush his dirty face with the pad of your thumb. After being in the upside down for so low, both of you needed a shower and a change of clothes.
“C’mon, everyone’s probably in the living room waiting on us. Plus we should get this back there so Steve and Nancy can make it back into our normal dimension without breaking anything,” you tell him as you rise from his stain-filled mattress. He rises as well and the two of you are closer, him pressing another kiss to your cheek.
“Okay, let’s go sweetheart. Oh and please don’t make me listen to Rapture. Like ever. I hate that song.”
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astralartefact · 4 months
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NieR Reincarnation The People and the World Amber Spoiler Post & Theory Hour
Mama on Mama on Mama on Mama in this one. And I'm going to look a little bit too deep into that. Far too deep actually.
What can I say. They did a good job with the shitty gacha game. I'm so sorry, but I am once again validated in my opinion that this is the best NieR writing right behind YoRHa:Dark Apocalypse. It's just. Chef's Kiss.
And sure, I still prefer Sun/Moon over People/World as a story since that one just managed to weave the themes so well with the stories and everything whereas this one has certain moments where it doesn't really line up with stuff it has already established (some/many of the stories kind of seem to disregard parts of their hidden/ex stories which feels weird, also where are hina and yuzuki in all of this as rogue cage wanderers, i have a feeling they're not going to address them at all (which imo would be fine but kind of disappointing)), but we're finally getting the lore payoff we know to expect from Drakenier and it feels so good.
And you know, I did notice that all the seasons so far were in two distinct parts that lined up with their name - and as this was obviously the The People part I was wondering before playing this morning what the The World part would be about. But it didn't even occur to me that we could be going to the "Real World"... (Put a Pin in that)
But let's get into it.
Mama meets Accord (who I'm sure somebody has called mommy before)
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I mean at this point we know she's coming - we just don't know when and how. I do wonder if these more and more overt mentions of her might be setup for the next NieR/DoD4 because I feel like Accord as a character would be prime real estate for the new big game, but of course it would also make perfect sense for her to show up here, she already has an established presence in the Cage - and I mean she could just do both!
It's interesting to note btw that the coffer that Yudil's story explicitly points out has recently appeared in the most recent Bakuken stage play (the one that's called Finale even though it's not the final one) where a portuguese merchant (The Cathedral City is on the Iberian Peninsula) called Michael (you know, like the Dragon) had it. Of course, they might also just have reused the prop since they made one for the YoRHa stage play Accord appeared in...
Mama meets Mother
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She's giving Mother and she's back with a vengeance rhythm game. Amazing. Tens across the board. I love her fascinator head piece.
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As the Mother Expert that I call myself I have to point out some things here:
a) What exactly is Mother Mourning? The Watchers have up until now only been described as motivated by a fervent hate of Humanity and anger - the Gods want to claw themselves free of their humanity-imposed seals and devour the world - so why is this version explicitly shown as sad? Her battle dialogue also kind of sounds... betrayed in a way? "Why Protect People? Destroy" and "Our objective. Why?" seem to hint that maybe Mama (points right at the name) was in with Mother this whole time but has now turned against her. And it makes me wonder if the Cage is a way for humanity to enslave the gods they sealed for profit...
But also, given recent Developments in SinoAlice JP's Ending Arc, there's likely something else in the Cage that the Mourning Mother could be talking to. Maybe the thing we saw in that one cutscene is actually protecting humanity?
b) With some of that already in mind I was thinking about her pose and was trying to find some connection to the dance of her Intoner version in the DoD3 Final Boss when it occured to me in a one-two punch: She's shackled. The Cage is for Her. She's what is Caged. And doesn't that sound like a seal that keeps a certain Round Egg at bay that I have an exciting theory for-
Tangent: Mama meets my Round Egg Theory
okay so strap in because it's time to bring up the thing I bring up every chance I get!
We know there's a connection between the Memory Tree and the Moon Server Data through two things:
a) In the Replicant Remaster's new Ending Kainé goes into the Memory Tree's Data to bring Nier back - which of course means that the Memory Tree contains Nier's data. This is important because
b) In YoRHa:Dark Apocalypse (My Love <3) the Red Girls have a Seed (we'll get back to that in a second) - and out of that Seed grows a Tower that contains "Ego Collectives" of People, which is basically the collection of memories that makes up one person.
Now I know that everyone just handwaved that away as a way to have cheap Replicant references as the first two bosses with the Remaster coming up but lol wouldn't that be easy, did you forget who you're dealing with? Because the exact two bosses used (Knave of Hearts and Hänsel and Gretel) means there's only one person this Ego Collective could belong to: Nier, because only he fought Hänsel and Gretel. (let's ignore that Weiss was there too bc that would be a dumb!!! this is much more fun bc of the implications!!!)
And I'm positive that this was intentional because in the remaster ending - in a scene that's eerily similar to the fight in Tower at Paradigm's Breach - Kainé only fights her memory of Gretel without Hänsel, so they knew.
Why does that matter? It doesn't really, I just wanted to bring it up as a little fun fact, but what does matter is that Y:DA establishes that whatever that Seed the Red Girls have recreated is, it also contains all the memories from the Memory Tree, because that's where those memories were recorded. And they were recreating it, which implies there was a basis to recreate. And that was always the big future overarching NieR plot thread that Y:DA left me with - sure, we know this is where it all ends, the Watchers are over now and this time forever through collaboration and power of friendship - but how did we even get here? How did the Red Girls get a Seed to recreate?
And now it fits right in with what's happening, especially now that we know what exactly the Moon Server can do:
The Moon Server/The Cage can peer into different universes - we know that since at least Hina and Yuzuki (Yuzuki knows Reinkane exists as a game but also their EX stories) - but as far as we know the Seeds only exist in Drakengard's Universe. So why do the Red Girls/The Watchers/The Mourning Mother want to get into the Moon Server/Cage so Bad? (It was even sort of highlighted in the Automata Anime where Adam transformed into a giant Reincarnation Mob - implying really hard that the Red Girls/Logic Virus is indeed behind the attacks on the Cage) Well, maybe it's because they want the Round Egg, because they have been separated ever since DoD1's Final Boss and they need it to Dark Apocalypse.
Before this chapter I thought that the entire Memory Tree might have been built from Seeds in the first place and that's why the Red Girls want into the Moon Server to get a basis to copy - I thought it would make sense that humanity somehow got that dimension-crossing technology needed for it out of a Seed - but that would require the NieR world to have Seeds to use for that and we know next to nothing about them so I just kept it in the back of my mind until something else comes along to strengthen it. I also didn't want to base too much on the cross-over one, even if I personally really don't understand why people are so hesitant to call it canon, it's definitely canon, it's one of the few things Yoko Taro is directly credited to have written the past few years and he literally always writes stuff that right away retcons things, so even if it changes details with Automata he has done the exact same thing multiple times now. ("It's not DoD3's Ending A that leads to DoD1, it's the version of Ending A in this specific novella that's basically the same except for one small thing.")
But you know what other tangentially related thing I can bring up that you won't believe I will stuff into this theory? Why yes, It's Yuki Wada's Breakout Hit Voice of Cards: Forsaken Maiden. And fair warning, this is where it gets entirely unfounded. And also spoilers for that game's ending.
I have the long and well-documented theory that the Spirits from VoC:FM might be the Watchers. In that game Maidens need to sacrifice themselves to the Gods so they 'keep humanity save' in return - but it ends with Laty (the female MC) going into an eternal slumber to sort of 'trap' the gods in her everlasting dream so humanity is save without them. And because I always found that very reminiscent of Drakengard 1's Goddesses I theorized that VoC:FM might have been the folkloric 'inception story' of that system, humanity just reiterated on the mechanics of it so it's spread over multiple people instead of one so nobody has to go to sleep forever.
So with that as an foundational thought, what if humanity did that again? What if they extended it again on more people so fewer people have the sort of responsibility Laty or Furiae had? What if they didn't only extend it to a finite number of people - what if they extended it to every human in every dimension that ever experienced any form of prolonged misery (or whatever else the requirements are to end up in the cage lol)
So what if the Cage is the Seal? What if keeping the Seeds locked up is the purpose of the Cage? What if the Cage is a Cage?
And if the Cage is just NieR's Goddess Seals then the Watchers have a really good reason to get in there: The exact same reason as in Drakengard 1.
But I'm not done. Because what if Mama didn't know that. What if Mama just knew there's a server on the moon and basically every single person ever is trapped in it, eternally doomed to relive the most horrible pain and suffering imaginable for some reason - and some figure, a mother figure if you will, told her she could fix their suffering. That she could change the system for the better by giving them hope and respite by giving them an afterlife. But that was a lie. The figure just wanted her to weaken the system built on sin and suffering so she could break through it and reach the Seeds.
What if Mama (points at the name) realised she was tricked by Mother and is now trying to fix her mistakes? And that's why Mother is Mourning, because she betrayed her?
Don't think so. Mama didn't seem all that "remorseful". But maybe something along those lines though.
Depending on SinoAlice JP's ending whatever other being the Library turns out to be might also be involved - maybe the Library is a god that turned away from the Watchers to help humanity and the Cage is instead a way to protect the being that is the Library which in turn protects humanity... That would be a full circle moment to VoC:FM too...
Either way I'm so stoked to find out what's really happening!!!
Mama meets Mama in the Real World
Already talked alot about Mama, but let's just all applaud ourselves for reading the room! We did it! We knew!
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Just as theorized she was 10H all along! Probably should go reread her story to see if it still lines up with what I theorized above... And she's pretty. And has almost the same haircut as Hina and Marie. Hmm. Maybe they should have chosen one of the other Marie designs.
(Small correction: I read that last scene wrong, seems like Mama isn't 10H but Pod 006 - but since the character we're getting is 10H I'll still say we were right :3 ...and yeah, we do control the pod in that scene, makes sense, don't know why I went straight to Mama has to be 10H)
What I'm actually more interested in though is where we're going with this. Like what can she even do in the "Real World", doesn't 10H die constantly in her story for disobedience? So she can't be allowed to do all of this, right? I do think a "We rebuild the Cage on Hopes and Dreams" is in order, but the way to get there... ah! Look, it's the Pin I made you keep in mind!
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What if they don't go to that Real World. What if they go to our Real World? Hina & Yuzuki - who came from our or at least another Real World - are notably absent from this arc. And that could just be because the true ending being optional makes things harder for the devs to write around and they want the spotlight off of them bc they were the main characters, but still: I would love a chapter or even just a scene of their perspective of what happens to the Cage. I mean what happens to them now that the Cage falls apart? Could Dark Mama and Papa save them just like Mama did with the others? Do we maybe even meet Dark Mama's and Papa's real forms?
But there's another character that immediately comes to my mind when we talk about "the Real World". And it's because of a throwaway line that I never see anybody bring up... mainly because nobody likes Y:DA.
In her final letter to Konogg, Anogg explains that at some point she visited another world (likely when she fell into the Pseudo-Seed) and in doing so she learned that both her and the world are constructs - which implies she knows that a Real World exists from which this world was created. And sure, that could have been a meta-joke about haha video game. But her constructed self also displays several similarities to moments in Noelle's Chapter - which came out vaguely around the same time - and now all of this lines up with what's happening in the Cage. So yeah. What if the ending scene is her emerging from the Cage to save Konogg just like these characters have done this entire arc? All I have to say is #AnoggForReincarnation. She would be perfect. Do it.
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