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capseycartwright · 3 years

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your love takes me there, this I swear

buck loves just about everything about eddie - but he especially loves his hands.

or, musings on how buck fell in love with eddie because of his hands. inspired by this gifset of eddies hands and my utter lack of self-control!

ao3 link

Buck loves just about everything about Eddie. Really - the list of things he loves about Eddie is long, and possibly embarrassing, and ranges from the perfectly mundane like Eddie’s smile, to the downright cringey, like how much he likes the tiny, adorable snuffling noises Eddie makes when he’s sleeping on his side.

Buck loves everything about Eddie -

But he especially loves his hands.

Buck’s not entirely sure when he first noticed Eddie’s hands, but he thinks it was probably fairly early on in their friendship. It sort of came with the territory, noticing hands - hands that worked to save someone's life on a medical call, hands that fought fires. Buck probably noticed fairly early on, because he had to watch Eddie work, and how could he not notice that Eddie had quick, clever hands - hands that had clearly seen plenty of medical emergencies before and knew how to work quickly and effectively? He admired it - even underneath all his initial assholerely, Buck admired it. Eddie was a clever guy, and good at his job, and he’d been a threat, in the beginning, and then he’d quickly become Buck’s best friend in the entire world.

Eddie’s hands were focused, and clever, at work - they had been from day one. Buck, to this day, liked to sit back and admire Eddie’s hands when he could. Eddie’s hands were clever, and they were strong. Every day of his life, when Buck put his uniform on and started work, he put his life in Eddie’s hands, and Eddie had never given him a reason to question the unwavering faith Buck had felt from the moment they’d worked to save that man’s life in the ambulance. Eddie’s hands were the hands that Buck trusted to double-check his harness, when he was going to do a rope rescue - it was a job Buck had never really even trusted Bobby to do, always doing a third check when someone else had checked him over, just to be sure - but Buck trusted Eddie to do it. The routine was familiar, now - Buck would harness up, and Eddie would double-check every clip, every knot, tugging and tightening with a practiced ease and familiarity.

Eddie’s hands were the ones who would operate the winch, when Buck was doing a rope rescue. Buck always felt safe, knowing Eddie’s hands were the ones that were holding onto his rope, that Eddie’s hands were the ones his life was in. Eddie’s hands were the safest place Buck had ever known. Eddie’s hands were the ones he felt on his shoulder, during a fire, reassuring him that Buck wasn’t alone. Eddie’s hands worked alongside his, to wrangle hoses and pull victims out of fires. They were hands Buck knew as well as his own - hands that felt like an extension of his own, while they worked.

He noticed the way Eddie’s hands worked, first - and then he noticed how Eddie handled Christopher. Buck was probably biased, yes, but he firmly believed Eddie was the best father in the entire world. Eddie - he never babied Christopher, never made his son feel less than, he was never cold with Chris, never denied his son anything. The first time Buck met Christopher, he’d driven Eddie to Christopher’s school, and he’d watched as the hands that had saved lives in the aftermath of the earthquake had lifted his son into a relieved hug with a gentleness Buck hadn’t seen from the older man, until then.

Eddie’s hands were always gentle, and loving, with Christopher. Over the years, Buck had watched as Eddie’s hands had ruffled Christopher’s hair, hands that had helped Christopher with his crutches, hands that had supported and loved the little boy in all the ways Buck had never experienced in his life. He thinks - in hindsight - watching Eddie with Christopher only ever helped Buck fall completely in love with Eddie. Eddie was soft, and kind, and gentle, and patient with his son - even when Christopher was throwing the kind of epic tantrum Buck wasn’t sure he’d know how to handle, Eddie would simply give his son a firm look, and with gentle hands, direct him to the couch and explain that they needed to talk about their feelings - not shout about them.

How could Buck not fall in love with the hands that tucked Christopher into bed every night, hands that put Christopher’s glasses aside when Christopher fell asleep while they were reading - hands that easily lifted Chris from the couch and into bed, after movie night, hands that were raising the best kid Buck knew. Eddie didn’t give himself enough credit, if you asked Buck - because he was the greatest example of fatherhood Buck had ever seen, and he got to see it every single day. Buck felt like he learned from it - learned how to be a role model, putting Eddie’s parenting into practice as Jee-Yun got older and Buck’s role in her life felt infinitely more important than ever.

Buck noticed the way Eddie’s hands worked, first - and the way they loved Christopher, second.

The way Eddie’s hands loved him was the greatest revelation of Buck’s life. Looking back - Eddie’s hands had been telling Eddie’s secrets for years, long before Eddie himself had ever confessed his feelings for Buck. Buck remembered the first time they hugged - really hugged, and not the slap on the back, bro-style hugs that had dominated the first few months of their friendship.

No, their first real hug had been after the bombing - Buck didn’t like to think about those few months, all that much, and he liked to think about the time he spent in the hospital even less, but there was a moment that he liked to think about. Buck had been alone - which was rare, given the shifts the 118 and his family took to keep him company as he recovered - and Eddie had come, late, after a shift, and he’d found Buck crying. Buck had been too tired and emotionally wrung out to be embarrassed, and Eddie had simply wiped away his tears with those magnificent, healing hands, and he’d hugged Buck close, as though he could squeeze him hard enough and put all the broken pieces of Evan Buckley back together and from that moment Buck was sure the only place he could truly be happy was when he was being held in Eddie’s hands.

Eddie’s hands had told the story of his feelings long before Eddie had said the words out loud - hands that offered Buck coffee, on his bad mornings. Hands that took Buck’s keys from him, on the days he was too tired to drive, hands that bundled Buck into the passenger seat of Eddie’s car. Hands that lingered and hands that held Buck close and hands that loved and said so much long before either of them had found the words for what had started burning between them so many years previously.

Buck remembered the moment it had all been set alight - and you’d have to forgive the ironic metaphor, for a firefighter, but he wasn’t sure there was any other way to describe how it felt to finally love Eddie loudly and freely - it was as though his body had been set alight with it all and Buck had been so fucking happy to burn because it was Eddie, and maybe that wasn’t all that eloquent but Buck would walk through fire every day of his life if it meant he got to have five minutes at the end of every day with Eddie - he was just lucky that he got Eddie for so much more than 5 minutes, he got to have Eddie all the time.

Eddie had kissed him first. Buck would always remember the moment - the way their argument seemed to stop, right in the middle, because suddenly, you could cut the tension between them with a knife and something shifted and changed and Eddie was cupping Buck’s face in those beautiful hands of his and he was kissing Buck like he was worth something and pleading with Buck to understand that regardless of anyone else - Eddie couldn’t live without him.

Buck loved being loved by Eddie’s hands. Over the years, it felt like Eddie’s hands had mapped every single inch of Buck’s body - Eddie’s magical, magnificent hands knew exactly where to touch, where to tickle, where to hold. God - Buck would never get over how it felt to be held by Eddie. Eddie had big hands - and the multitude of entirely not PG fun that brought about aside - Eddie’s hands were big enough to make Buck feel held. Eddie’s hands felt like they spanned the entire expanse of Buck’s ribcage, familiar and grounding when it felt like Buck’s lungs were being crushed with the weight of the anxiety that felt like it was never going to let him be, even after years of therapy and talking and recovery. Even then, Eddie’s hands were steadying, keeping Buck above water.

Buck loved to hold Eddie’s hand. Eddie’s hands - just like the rest of Eddie - were warm, warm and calming and familiar and Buck took every opportunity he could to link his fingers with Eddie’s - across the centre console of the car, in the grocery store, sitting on the couch watching TV after Christopher had gone to bed.

Buck could write a novel, about the way Eddie’s hands felt - calloused, and a little rough, the result of a life spent working manual jobs that required those helpful, healing hands of Eddie’s. They were still soft, though - soft, and warm, and familiar, and the greatest comfort Buck had ever known, whether that comfort was in a ridiculous haunted house Chimney had forced them to go to (it was, in Buck’s defence, actually terrifying, and he’d been justified in holding onto Eddie’s hand with a death grip), or whether that comfort was the steadying presence of Eddie by his side as his doctor had quietly admitted Buck’s yearly scan of his leg had shown a strange abnormality. Hands that had held Buck close as he panicked, and cried, hands that had shared in Buck’s joy as everything had turned out to be just fine.

Hands that had shaken, as he’d proposed to Buck. They’d talked about marriage, in that vague, far off, maybe one day sense - and if Buck was being honest, he wouldn’t have minded if they had never gotten married. What they had, the love he and Eddie shared, was too big to be described only by marriage and a ring - but Buck couldn’t deny the thrill that had gone down his spine as Eddie had gotten down on one knee and produced a ring with shaking hands and asked Buck to make it official.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Buck hummed happily, leaning back against Eddie as his husband slotted himself behind Buck on the couch on their hotel balcony, bracketing Buck’s hips with his knees. “Just thinking,” he said, marking his place in his book, twisting a little so he could look at Eddie. The four days of glorious, uninterrupted sunshine had done wonders for Eddie, a healthy glow to his skin that could only be the result of a slow, lazy, ‘we’re not doing a single adventurous or touristy thing’ kind of honeymoon.

“About good things?” Eddie asked, those glorious hands of his threading through Buck’s hair, familiar as they tugged at his salt-water matted curls.

“About you,” Buck admitted, twisting his fingers with Eddie’s, taking a second to admire the bright platinum wedding band that sat there - a wedding band Buck had put there only a few short days ago. It was simple, plain and thin to anyone who might give it a passing glance - and engraved on the inside, decorated with words that would only ever go a fraction of the way of explaining the love that Buck felt for Eddie - love that consumed him in the best and brightest and most welcome ways.

“I’m right here,” Eddie reminded, as though Buck could forget that he was on a blissful, week-long honeymoon with his husband in a very fancy, very quiet, five-star hotel. It had taken them a long time to get to where they were - and so they had decided they were going to savour every single second of their first week of marriage.

“I know,” Buck reassured, pressing a kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. “I was just reminding myself of how much I love you.”

Eddie’s smile was the most glorious thing Buck had ever seen - forget art, and music, and ancient cities full of history. No, Eddie Diaz’s smile was one of the greatest wonders of Buck’s world. “I love you too,” Eddie reassured, his other hand coming to rest on Buck’s chest, right where his heart was, and a part of Buck wanted to scream it in time with the thrum of his own heartbeat, to try and make Eddie understand what Buck still felt like he didn’t have the words for - it’s yours, it’s yours, it belongs to you.

Buck loved Eddie’s hands - hands that healed, and helped, hands that had given Buck hope, hands that loved.

Hands he was going to get to hold onto forever.

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #its just 2k about eddies hands don't @ me i know i have a problem

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curiousconch · 3 years

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Chase You / Chase Me (Pt. 2)

Part 2: Before I dive right into you

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: In the aftermath of their pretend wedding in Las Vegas, Gabe begins to unravel his growing feelings for Alex. But as he attempts to bring his past to light, someone from Alex's previous life casts a shadow on the future.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 2.4k+ (sorry 🙈)

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, some swears

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

A little after 1 AM, Las Vegas

Gabe can't help but smirk at the look of mischief in Alex's eyes as they stood by a quiet spot in the middle of Las Vegas. With her in that glittery dress, he somehow can't bring himself to part from her yet.

He knew it wasn't only him who felt that tingling in his fingertips when he brushed her cheeks, her breath smelling strongly of martini. He was very aware that Alex felt the same when she stared back at him, standing at that cramped cheap chapel while an Elvis impersonator stood nearby. The moment she stepped away when he said that it's just all pretend made Gabe's heart ache with regret.

So here they were, standing awkwardly after he shot down her advances again.

But he was sure he didn't want the night to end here.

After calling for a car, he shoved his phone inside the pocket of his slacks and turned to Alex.

"I was serious when I said I wanted a celebratory drink," he glanced apologetically to his side where she stood. "Our hotel bar offers my favorite scotch."

Alex raised her head, smiling. "Knew you had it in you, Gabe."

A car ride and a couple of glasses of Lagavulin later, there they were, lounging on stools at their opulent hotel bar, warm lights and jazz music providing a backdrop on the casual atmosphere.

"And I could not believe the rat thing worked! Who would've known they kept a rat in there as a pet? Like really?" Alex raised her glass to her lips, as Gabe sat on the barstool beside her, cradling his own drink.

"Beginner's luck, I would believe," he chuckled in reply, leaning forward, tie loosened and his coat hanging at the back of his chair.

"I am so offended," Alex gasped as she shoved her hands flat on her chest in mock disbelief. "I'm not only the boring nerd when I was in high school, Gabe. I was that nerd who sang and dance at the drama club!"

Gabe shook his head, his lips pursing. "That makes so much damn sense, Alex." He took another swig of his third shot, fighting for dear life from laughing his heart out. Not wanting to give her that satisfaction, he threw a sarcastic dig at her remark. "That's so believable, seeing you could snatch an Oscar from Meryl Streep herself and the no one wouldn't even bat an eye."

"Ah, law was plan A, sir." she saluted, placing her empty glass on the bar counter. "Acting was a fallback in case it didn't pan out." she giggled.

Gabe grinned as he rolled up his sleeves, beckoning the bartender for another round. "You should have made it your plan A, seeing how you turned out," he teased, bringing up the fun bit they did to retrieve a copy of Lydia Rothswell's marriage certificate. The very same act that almost made Gabe kiss Alex in the middle of The Strip.

"Aww, Gabe, finally found a better lawyer than you? Feeling threatened yet?" Alex leaned in, snickering as their glasses were refilled. "Don't worry, I' ll settle for being a Junior Partner for now," she said as she reclined, before throwing in a playful wink.

"Well someone's head just became bigger," he gave her a smug look.

"Just trying to keep up with all the cockiness in the room," she smiled coyly, watching Gabe's stupefied expression. It was clear then that she scored a slam dunk at the championship of comebacks, laughing at his astonishment.

Gabe finally gave up, joining Alex in her laughter. As their joy receded, he let himself take in the sight of Alex without any inhibitions. What he was beginning to see was the extent of her wit, her ability to keep her cool, and the sharp humor that matched only his.

Under the warm light of the lounge, she brilliantly shone. He couldn't focus at what she was now saying as he danced at the appeal of them becoming more than colleagues. Perhaps he resisted his own feelings long enough that he was past the point of denial. Or simply because he was starting to get drunk.

Though before he can even begin to consider that, he was still sober enough to know that he first needed to tell her the truth.

The truth that sometime long ago, their paths have already crossed. And that he did something very horrible.

Call him cynical, but he wasn't kidding when he admitted he was an all-or-nothing kind of guy. And that meant laying down all his cards on the table. Because for him, Alex was more than the occasional one-night stand. And he can't be certain of how long he could keep himself from his budding feelings, all stakes be damned.

What better time to be honest when there was enough alcohol in his system to prevent all rational thinking? It's now or never, he figured.

"Alex, I -"

"Alessandra? Alessandra Keating?" a deep voice came from behind him, interrupting Gabe. He cocked his head to get a clearer view, as a man with slicked back blonde hair approached from a private booth nearby.

Without hesitation, the tall stranger in the dark suit stepped forward, his striking features Gabe would have easily recognized anywhere. That face was almost in every blockbuster movie in the last five years.

"Julian? What are you doing here?" Alex asked, as abashed as he was. Gabe saw how she clammed up the very second she recognized the man.

"Oh my, it really is you!" the man stopped beside Alex's bar stool, welcoming himself to their company. The way he was looking up and down at her made Gabe's jaw clench so hard, his teeth gritted. But the man's next movement stunned him all the more. In front of him, the man embraced Alex, making Gabe suddenly want to combust. His tumbler could've shattered if he tightened his grip on it a little more.

"Uhm, Julian, hi," Gabe surveyed Alex as she writhed within the man's arms, waiting for any signal from her so he could do something, anything, to make this man go away. But she assured him with one look, shifting a little, making the man who wedged himself between them release her.

"It's been so long! When was the last time I saw you, like, 12, 13 years ago?" the man exclaimed, his annoying smile making Gabe want to slam his fist somewhere. And it wasn't on the bar counter.

Gabe heard Alex scoff, fighting hard to regain her composure. "Yeah, high school," Her icy demeanor took over, one that Gabe only saw in the courtroom. She brushed her dress as she tilted her head to Gabe's direction.

The man turned to Gabe, the surprise evident as he acknowledged Gabe's presence behind him. The two men sized each other up sending an undercurrent of tension between them. Before Gabe could even consider acting out of impulse, Alex cleared her throat to diffuse his temper.

"Julian, this is Gabe. Gabe, this is Julian, my -"

"Ex," Julian interjected, before turning his attention to the lawyer. Apparently, this guy had a habit, Gabe observed. "We were together senior year. Alessandra, my angel, we had the best time together, didn't we? We looked good together, at least after Alex thought to improve her image here. Sadly, we had to break up. Teenage romances, you know?"

The picture couldn't be any clearer; this was the person Alex was speaking about during their dinner back in New York. And hearing the way he talked, no wonder Julian got under her skin. He was a damned manipulative pretentious liar. Gabe could hear the dishonesty between the words, not an ounce of authenticity in sight while the blonde hotshot rambled on.

Alex wasn't showing any sympathy either, her brown eyes staring daggers at him, as he went on about his monologue, emphasizing on how she was his back then. She was clearly infuriated by his attempt to own her, as well as his lack of shame. As Gabe quietly considered her reaction, he deliberated on a strategy to put her out her misery. The moment an idea came to mind, he gave Alex a subtle look asking her to back his play.

Alex nodded, sitting a little straighter. Finding the instant shift in her, Gabe made his move.

"Sweetheart," he slowly raised his voice as he said the endearment, enjoying the contempt from the other guy when he was interrupted. "You never told me Julian Wintour was your ex."

Alex smiled smugly, appearing pleased with the nickname Gabe chose, a clear pun on the whole high school sweetheart trope. "Never crossed my mind, babe. It's such an unimportant detail in my past," she waved her hand dismissively.

"Ah, nonsense," he finished his drink and gestured for the bartender to clean up. "Mr. Wintour's history would have made a good conversation starter." Gabe straightened his vest and stood, collecting his coat. He sauntered towards Alex, circling around the now speechless Julian. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, clearly making a statement before he reached for her hand, wrapping it in his.

"Why? Isn't the shiny nameplate of Senior Partner not good enough?" Alex expertly rode along, locking eyes with her former flame before gazing back at Gabe enticingly. "Forgive him, Julian. My lovely boyfriend here has a bad hobby of underselling himself," she smiled warmly, the irony of her statement eluding her ex. Gabe was about to smirk with her ingenuity, stopping when he felt her arm slowly wrapping around his waist. He barely stifled a groan at the intimacy of her touch.

The other man went beet red at the gesture. For embarrassment or infuriation or both, Gabe didn't fucking care. All he cared about was for Alex to slap this douche's face, metaphorically speaking.

"Anyway, Julian, it's been a pleasure. It's been a long night, and we're about ready to retire at our penthouse suite," steadily, she got up from her seat. The command in her was undeniable, forcing anyone to feel nothing but regret the day they decided Alessandra Keating wasn't good enough for them. Then with a flourish, she turned around as she let Gabe take her away from her past lover's scrutinizing gaze.

Inside the elevator, Gabe caught Alex's exhale of relief, probably thankful that Julian was out of her sight. Gabe still held onto her hand, though Alex didn't seem to notice. As they began their ascent, he waited for her to break the silence, deciding that the questions running in his mind can wait.

"I would have traded my rankings for the look of disbelief in Julian's face," Alex said turning to him, to which Gabe arched his brow.

He smirked devilishly, knowing Alex could take the hint. "I believe I could offer a sight better than that."

She grinned at the innuendo, further lightening up the mood between them. "One day, Gabe, I'll take you up on that," she said, crossing her legs as she leaned on the polished wall behind her. "Though I'm sure you're dying to know... How did I end up dating the Julian Wintour?"

Gabe pondered before answering. "Hmm, actually not the first one that comes to mind, no." He tapped against his temple. "I doubted you would ever bat an eyelash to his direction."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah, you think so highly of me." She chuckled, shaking her head at his reply. "But yes, he was my ex. And yes, he was the red on my ledger. He was my first love," she admitted. "That ideal, once in a lifetime, true love everyone's talking about? Julian was it, or at least I thought he was." she sighed, glancing at her reflection on the polished metal panel beside her. "But when things started to go downhill for me, he was the first one to walk out," she paused, taking a deep breath. "By cheating on me."

Gabe's body went rigid, clenching his fists so hard until his nails dug unto his palms. What the fucking hell? I know I should have punched that guy's perfect teeth! He decided against airing his vengeful thoughts, staying quiet as he glimpsed at her image on the walls.

"Joey reminded me how Julian made me doubt myself. If I'm really over what he's done to me, if he's still in my head," she continued, rubbing at her nape. Gabe felt her gaze fall on him, which he reciprocated. "But after walking out from him tonight, I am much more certain that I made it out, after all."

Gabe felt her squeeze his hand as she said those words, and his heart somersaulted inside his chest. "So thanks. I needed that little nudge," she said in finality.

He turned to beam at her as he relished the triumph in her words, hoping that it was enough to convey that he was proud of her. And to be part of that discovery about herself, about who she always was in his eyes - someone who was his equal.

When they arrived at her floor, she gently freed her hand from his grasp invoking a sharp exhale from him. She stepped out of the elevator, her gait as undeterred as ever. But then she turned, her soft expression dimmed by the lack of light. "And while we're on the subject of appreciation," she uttered, before dropping one last revelation.

"Thanks for that save you also gave me ten years ago," Alex glanced up at him with half-lidded eyes, her words laced with meaning.

It took him a few moments before he could even comprehend what she was trying to convey. He searched her eyes for some explanation but found none. "What do you mean, Alex?" he said, managing to find his voice.

"I know exactly who you are, Gabriel Ricci."

With that, the doors slowly closed in front of him, her sly smile fading from his sight until he can only see his own reflection. He examined her last sentence, repeating the words over and over in his head. There was only one plausible explanation: she only knew half of the truth. His body sagged against the wall as he shut his eyes, angry at himself.

No Alex, I think you really don't.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your continued reading! As some of you may have already noticed, this part was written purely in Gabe's POV because I wanted to expose his conflicted feelings for Alex. It's probably my own version of revenge, with PB stretching that slow burn as much as they could 🤭 Share your thoughts in the comments, I'd really appreciate it! 💖

Taglist: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @fucking-random1 @sarcastic01lily @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer

@choicesficwriterscreations

It's my first time tagging a couple of folks, so please inform me if I missed including you. Also, want to be added or removed from the tag list? No problem - just let me know 😊.

#choices laws of attraction #laws of attraction #choices laws of attraction fanfiction #laws of attraction fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #gabe ricci x mc #gabe ricci

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

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Dee Little Snake

Series Summary: Janus uses age regression as a way to destress but has little control over it whenever he grows upset. Trying to keep a secret like that can be hard when you’re only four years old, and thus family bonding ensues in a way nobody expected, least of all Deceit.

Chapter 4: Deserving of Comfort

Chapter summary: Janus has been avoiding the others for a couple of days. When he finally emerges for a simple lunch and gets caught by Patton the results are better than he was expecting.

Warnings: mild angst, if there’s more please let me know.

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @a-different-s1de @emo–nightmare

General taglist (ask to be added or removed): @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @im-an-anxious-wreck

WC: 1,708

For Janus, a simple cheese sandwich with yellow mustard would always be the superior lunch. It was easy and quick to make, it was all yellow- which definitely wasn’t a bias on his part- and it was a thing that made very little noise when putting it together or eating it. It was definitely something he liked more when the need to be stealthy arose but he still wanted to eat. Not to say he wanted to avoid anyone, he just would rather not see and/or speak to a certain side at the moment so that certain topics could remain unspoken about for the time being. Certainly the opposite of avoidance if one was desperate to put a label to it.

Still, the reptilian side couldn’t help but sneak glances over his shoulder now and then as he spread the mustard quickly but carefully over the bread and reached in the thin plastic bag for the cheese. Two slices slapped in the middle in the bread would do; then close it, close the bag, put everything back in the fridge and he was home- or rather room free. Just as he was opening the fridge he heard the whooshing of someone sinking in nearby, causing him to panic and slam the door shut accidentally. Cursing he turned just as Patton walked into the room, making him groan internally as one of the last sides he wished to see at the moment blinked at him in surprise before grinning wide and giving a small wave.

“Hey kiddo, I was wondering when I’d see you! It’s been a couple of days, I was starting to worry.”

Pressing his lips together, Janus took the time to properly close the drawer before he thought better of it and turned back around. “Sandwich Patton?”

“Oh sure! Thank you.” Patton settled down at the table with his hands tucked underneath his thighs looking like he wanted to talk but not really knowing how to start. Ignoring this Janus took the ingredients out again with the addition of ham since he knew the other liked it, bringing down another plate as the silence stretched between them.

“I’m not a kiddo Patton, I’m older than you.” As harsh as he meant it to sound there was no bite in his words as he finished the second sandwich, putting all the ingredients back into the fridge.

Patton chuckled. “I know. Just habit I guess. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

From his expression Janus could tell he actually hadn’t but he was still weary. There was a reason he kept his stress relief to himself- even Virgil was never meant to know about it. Yet here he was, two other people knowing without him saying anything and so far he really had no clue where he stood with either of them about it- and he certainly wasn’t about to suggest they all sit down to talk about it, hypocrite as it was. He could push Thomas to talk until he was hoarse, make sure the other sides knew the importance of communication until he was blue in the face, but when it came to himself and especially when it came to something like this he was the last one to want to open up about anything. It was the simple fact that the outcome of someone knowing was unknown and saying his name had been bad enough. Certain things were with keeping close to one’s chest- and something that made him- the embodiment of self preservation itself- feel vulnerable and small both literally and metaphorically was definitely something worth keeping to himself

Taking a deep breath he decided to cut the awkward air preemptively and bring it up himself, since he was sure that was why Patton was trying and failing to remain still as he ate his lunch.

“I wanted to thank you for not...for not saying anything to anyone else. Logan knowing was unexpected but I appreciate you- both of you- keeping my private affairs...private.”

Patton scrunched his face. “You’re talking about it like it’s a bad thing.”

“I am fully aware that it isn’t and I’m not saying that how either of you reacted to it would have influenced me in any way. I was just-” Janus swallowed his last bite thoughtfully as he considered how honest he wanted to be with the fatherly side. “...nervous, I suppose. For me, this kind of thing is akin to saying my true name and well, we both know how that turned out.”

Wincing, Patton nodded as he finished his own sandwich, getting up and taking Janus’ plate to the sink. “I know you told us your name as a last ditch effort for us to listen, and I know it was by complete accident that I saw you small at all, so for what it’s worth I’m sorry you’re being forced to put trust somewhere it isn’t really owed.”

Janus opened his mouth to disagree with Patton, to say that it was fine and that he had wanted to tell them his name, that it had been his choice. He wanted to say that Patton seeing him as a four year old crying because he didn’t want to eat carrots was okay actually, that he didn’t mind and it wasn't a big deal but for once he hesitated before lying. This wasn’t something to lie about- to brush aside as if it didn’t matter because it did. Two of his most closely guarded secrets were out because of circumstances he could only partly control and it hurt more than he would ever care to say. It wasn’t okay, it really truly wasn’t, and to have Patton acknowledge that was making him feel things he didn’t have the energy to process just yet. He knew he should have just asked Virgil to bring him something., but then he would’ve asked why and Janus would have had to tell him that Logan knew now and that he was up way past the time he should have been just to play with his dolls.

Shuddering at the thought his head snapped up as Patton turned around, offering a small hesitant smile as he leaned against the counter. “You have no reason to, but you can trust me. I might be loud and obnoxious at times, but I know my morals- at least more universal ones. Your secret will always be safe with me for as long as you want it to be.”

“Thank you Patton, truly.”

Janus hesitated. A hug would be nice but he didn’t want Patton giving him one out of pity or obligation; the other was notorious for putting others first at his own expense and for Thomas’ sake he didn’t want to enforce the behavior. Plus, even though he knew it was silly and untrue, he couldn’t let go of the notion that adults didn’t need hugs. Everybody needed physical reassurance at some point but it was just- weird to ask for it he supposed.

“I don’t- as much as I would love one I don’t think that’s necessary Patton thank you.”

“My offer still stands.” Patton squinted at him. “Big or little, everybody deserves hugs.”

“A little what?”

Both of them stiffened and turned to see Roman in the doorway looking between the two of them with suspicion. Janus' heart hammered in his chest even as he calmly folded his hands in front of him. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? Could he get away with a lie or would Patton open his mouth? Full offense to him but Janus figured he would forgive him for not fully trusting him to actually keep his mouth shut while under stress. Deciding to speak first in case the other did crack under pressure he lifted his chin and smirked.

“My tone had come across wrong and he simply told me to lighten up a little.” Raising his eyebrows at the Prince he decided to jab just a little- he had nearly given him a heart attack after all. “Very astute advice for all of us.”

Roman scowled at him and moved towards the fridge as Janus shot Patton a pointed look that made the other quickly snap his mouth shut, thankfully foregoing whatever it was that he felt he needed to add. Now was not the time and Janus was not in the mood for a half-hearted scolding to be nicer; he doubted Roman would appreciate it either. The kitchen was quiet as Roman grabbed out a plate of leftover pizza and let the fridge slam shut after him as he sunk out, making Janus roll his eyes at his antics. He had honestly thought Virgil was the most dramatic when it came to pouting over fights that had long since ended, and even if it was both parties that were in the wrong it didn’t make the others temper tantrums any less infuriating.

“You shouldn’t antagonize him.” Paton’s voice was a bit small, his shoulders drooped in a way that almost made Janus feel guilty before he brushed it aside. Everything would sort itself out eventually it would just take time. Even so-

“I know, but by god if he doesn’t make it hard not to.”

Snorting, Patton only shook his head. “I’m serious though. If you need comfort, regressed or not, you can come to me or Logan and I’m sure you know Virgil would be there for you if you needed it.”

Janus looked away quickly at that, biting his lip before he could say anything. In lieu of answering he simply opened his arms and hoped it would get him out of whatever conversation Patton was hinting at having. Huffing out a breath as he was embraced and squeezed he wrapped his arms around the other and sank gratefully into the warmth. Sitting in the embrace he allowed himself to think that maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as he thought they would be- barring Roman- the “light” side of the mindscape was a pleasant place to be. He could see why Virgil had moved over.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Janus gripped Patton’s shoulders a little bit tighter. “Thank you.”

“No problem kiddo.”

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#false writes #dee little snake #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders saides #sanders sides agre #age regression #mild angst

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ask-prime-starscream · 3 years

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She-Ra Review (Better late than never)

Okay, I just watched the first episode of the original She-Ra and... PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF! I think we evolved quite from that. Even though Bow used to have more male empowerment by showing off even more skin, lol.

But here it is. Review of the new She-Ra:

So, for me the show overall used to be quite in need of getting used to. I guess because the stakes are rather low and I preferred more adult-orientated shows. Falling from a high point and not getting hurt or getting hit by a laserbeam and just stumbling backwards wasn't doing it for me.

But after giving AtLA a chance, I was able to go back to more child-like shows and to just roll with it. The plot never really interested me. We need to do this or that in order to accomplish this- fine by me. Just do what you do.

I never cared much about the kingdoms or the people living there. It was just decoration. Some interesting character designs in the background. No culture. When the evil-doers took the decoration away, I didn't care. I was missing some "war leaves scars, in people and the landscapes". Sometimes wounds can't be healed. Sometimes we can't return things the way they were. Make the loss of something count so you see its worth.

There was also never a moment where I wanted to know more about the lore or the past. How it all functions. What carried the series were the characters. But a lot of them are more like a walking gimmick and aside from that nothing.

I think Bow is one of the best characters. He has some nice, positive masculinity going, he is a mediator, he tries to find solutions and tries to keep the team together. When he later just snaps and says "I can't be the happy one all the time!", I felt that. He has a right to be mad at someone too (Glimmer) and he doesn't have to instantly forgive. Lol, I had people say you are immature if you don't forgive and stuff. And dozens of characters who constantly have to be the bigger person, no, more like they have to be Jesus in order to keep the rest happy and zero damage is shown. Their psyche doesn't matter.

So. Big <3 for Bow and his only weakness: A covered belly! x'D

---

Scorpia is probably the heart and soul of the series. And after seeing how her original was... that's fucking evolution times ten! xD She is just so genuinely likable and clueless while also being insecure. When she wears the princess-prom dress for the first time and blushes... what a cutie! I was going AWWW! And when she finally realizes that Catra is no friend material and Catra realizes who she chased away with her behavior: That was true loss! I felt that. I didn't do wrong to Scorpia, but I felt the pain anyway. So, like Bow, Scorpia didn't stay the punching bag forever and reacted. I like that!

10 out of 10 scorpions for Scorpia!!

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Entrapta has a really cool design, especially with her moving hair. All the budget to the hair! For some reason I also like her name a lot! It's rather extraordinary, heh! Unlike "Glimmer" or "Bow" which are rather on the nose. Normally I dislike the "limitless young genius" trope, but Entrapta at least had some limitations (mostly when they were plot-relevant, though) and she is a princess after all, so a special affinity to something (and if it is machines) beyond a normal person's grasp is believable. Unlike others... (Raph from TFP. "Hacking into the FBI? No problem!" H-How?!) And while she is in regards to anything else rather airheaded (uhm, robots kill people. Well, not on screen, but... I'm sure they killed someone), she at least realizes that later and it got her a connection to Hordak which no usual good guy could have done.

An army of robots for Entrapta!

---

Hordak the missed opportunity. Not enough screentime at all. They gave this cliché evil guy a soul and they did next to nothing with it. All his good scenes are with Entrapta and there are only a few. Later he sheds TEARS when he realizes she never betrayed him! Why can't we get more scenes like that? Him being a failed clone is a good backstory and a scene with the creation of Imp would have complimented that a lot. Imagine the half-dead baby lying there and it's about to be flushed away, but Hordak hesitates. He picks Imp up, looking at him. Discarding him because he is not perfect? Because he will never be what he was supposed to? But who says that he can't accomplish something? Hordak sees himself in the baby and shows fate the metaphorical middle finger. He presses the baby tightly against his chest and murmurs: "We will show them...", accepting the baby and ultimately himself...

In the last season we get Wrong Hordak and while having someone around who is completely pure and naive to a world beyond the hivemind (just like a person escaping a cult) is important to show so we get the clones's perspective, we kinda lose on the real Hordak there. All he does is stare at that one crystal sometimes... until the end when he does the "throw the emperor in the pit Darth Vader style!" thing. Lame. He should have been with the good guys sooner and shown some recovery there.

A baby bottle for Hordak so he can feed his future robot children with Entrapta.

---

Glimmer. For some reason I always saw her as a side character who somehow got cast as a main character. She just constantly slipped out of my mind. Oh yeah, she has mother issues and a whole family and kingdom, but... she just seems so flat! You could put Adora in her position and nothing of value would have been lost. Still the main hero who fights evil. Maybe without fancy glitter magic. When she becomes queen and later almost a tyrant, that's when she gets more interesting, but still... I was just "where is Adora?" whenever she hogged the screentime. Not interested in this character in the slightest. No glitter for Glimmer.

---

Adora. Does the main character things. Even doesn’t hesitate sacrificing herself for the greater good. Is the typical main character. Doesn’t think things through, runs towards the enemy, is immature, gobbles down food. Main character. I don’t like this kind of main character, but I don’t hate her either. Neutrality for Adora.

---

Catra got too much screentime. Yeah. We get it. She has issues. She makes bad decisions. Very bad. She regrets it. Is hurt. But can't be the bigger cat. When she later visits Glimmer constantly in her prison, I was just groaning. Give someone else the screentime! We get it! We get Catra's problems! Sometimes less is more!

I don't know how people viewed her coming together with Adora in the end, but I was glad they were allowed to kiss and say I love you and so on. Not that I shipped it, but hey, be happy. They were all over each other throughout the series. Just let them be happy. Yeah, Catra did horrible things (but what I said about lasting damage in this series. It ain't there.), but if Catra was Starscream, I wouldn't object either and I have to stay fair here. If Starscream is a war criminal and I still simp for him, then I have to give other villains the same treatment without finger pointing and screaming "Abusive! Toxic!". Except I want it to be, but that is another story to tell...

Aside from that, Catra showed regrets and emotional pain. Starscream is entirely different there. I love him the way he is, but... sometimes it's hard to stay on his side. But that's the writers's fault. I also like about Catra that she just laughs into villains's faces. I didn't expect that character to be able to carry a whole army on her shoulders and lead them. With nothing but cat powers, lol. That thing with electrocuting Entrapta and pushing the "planet gets blown apart" button... juuuuust stop. It ain't worth it. That's some serious own grave digging there.

A cat for Catra.

---

The lesser princesses. Why are the elements so weirdly spread? We got magic, plants, water, ice, lightning bolts. And some others who don't have crystals. But the main elements are really weird decisions. From the traditional elements we got only water and it hogs two crystals! Then we got the element of magic which is okay in the context of this world. Then plants and red electricity which is also okay on a greater Pokémon-esque scale. It feels like something is missing there. Especially when they talk about their weaknesses "Fire, fire, fire..." Where is the fire princess? The earth princess? These are two main elements and if you don't want to go the traditional route then make all elements something out of the ordinary. Not water AND ice if you only have five crystals around.

---

Frosta could have been entirely cut. She says nothing of worth and adds nothing of worth. Her gimmick is "Toph" but with heart and soul cut out. When she was introduced I expected her to be the most mature, raised from a young age to act more adult than she actually is, because she needed to grow up fast in these times. Her country is the largest and with great power comes great responsibility. We could have gotten quite political here, how complicated it can be. The hard decisions you have to make and the compromises you have to take. All for the sake of keeping your people safe. Her character arc could have been about that and about finding her childish side again which was denied from her. There. Also her big country is meaningless aside from her introduction episode. Since she always fights with the princesses alone with ZERO bodyguards and all... Where is the power of that country??

A snow-less winter for Frosta.

---

Mermista's gimmick is "snarky". When she shows new parts of her personality like reading novels, it's a one-episode thing. It takes quite a while for her to get actually likable. Not that I disliked her, she just had no presence. When she later leads a mission we get to see more of her, but those are the moments where I feel like we are missing a couple of episodes that should be dedicated to the other princesses alone or with them as the focus. They are just shoved into the background so much by Adora, Bow and Glimmer, that shouldn't be. They are in the opening after all as if they are part of a group that is always together.

Sea Hawk is constantly dancing on the thin line between okay and annoying. Though I like that it is a fabulous guy having a relationship with a girl and not the "boring guy". But the men of She-Ra are mostly beyond the usual men tropes of angry, stoic, boring, stupid dude. So it doesn't even stand out as much as it should, lol. Like I hate this trope that the most beautiful girl/sexy woman of a show comes together with "the average Joe" or "comedic relief who is also often times small in stature". I guess... I know why that is... Anyway, the main girl/more chaste woman gets together with the main hero. Mr McBoredom but strong! While the fabulous guy... is either evil, has a bad character, is not traditionally manly, is just shallow. No pretty men for the girls. Well. Not anymore!

A dolphin for Sea-Ra and what she could have been if she had more screentime.

---

Perfuma is the hippie princess and I guess my favorite from the lesser princesses (though, there is no real competition.). The way she handles things are in line with her beliefs and sometimes she says some actual intelligent remarks, but isn't listened to because she isn't the brash one, but the harmonious one. Which is sad. Everybody rather calm down and meditate instead of getting in each other's faces. That could work wonders sometimes. So, she actually is the first to see that Scorpia doesn't want to attack them when she left Catra while the others just keep attacking. Her shtick really is taking into consideration when she is written in a situation. However, sometimes it is a bit too much. Power of friendship isn't going to break the mind-control chip and they all saw time and time again that IF the controlled person can get a grasp on themselves again, it's only for mere seconds. So cut the crap, it's not against your beliefs when you stop thoughts-and-prayers-ing for something that won't change without actually doing something against it. Fun fact: Because she was so insisting of poweroffriendshipping Scorpia out of control, I was almost expecting a digivolut- uhm, a transformation there, lol! Especially because they mentioned before, she could be one of the strongest princesses. Well, of course she wouldn't become more forceful. Except she might get the power to swipe negative thoughts away and disperse fighting will. Now... that didn't happen, but still... (Also a nice episode with her having to admit she doesn’t get cacti. There is actually some character development here!)

A beautiful flower for Perfuma!

---

Spinnerella and Netossa. “The biracial gay couple” hanging around in the background until they became characters in the later seasons. Finally! I found the “biracial gay couple” trope so often in shows, it’s like they want to stuff as much diversity as they can into two characters and then keep everything else conservative. Thankfully She-Ra shows a lot of diversity everywhere.

A net carried by wind for Spinnerella and Netossa.

---

Swift Wind. Back to the sketch block. Nothing of worth was done or said. He is supposed to have this super important magical connection to She-Ra, but she hardly uses him. He is just another fighter... somewhere else. If he is there. And he stands out like a sore thumb as the only talking animal. Maybe you could make it a gimmick for a toyline that every princess can summon a pet to ride. That would have been cool. Or if he stayed mute and acted just like a horse. Then you could have had the cuteness factor. And the animal behavior factor which is also cute... and funny. Think of Pegasus from Disney's Hercules. That's a good horse companion! But Swift Wind? Annoying. Unimportant. Waste of time.

No unicorn for Swift Wind.

---

Shadow Weaver. Didn't like her. Wanted power, got what she wanted, but too much. Ugly now. Her powers are rather weak. I didn't even pay attention to the episode where she haunts Adora. As if that's gonna do something in the long run. Then Catra stole her job. Rightfully so. She got imprisoned, then fled, then became an ally. When she later sacrificed herself and said to Catra that she is proud of her, well, did she say it so Catra would do what she wanted or did taking off the mask symbolize that she finally said the truth? We might never know and we might never care.

No dark magic for Shadow Weaver.

---

Emperor I have two many eyes. (Badumm-Tss!) "I want to destroy the universe!" What a lame motivation. What can I even say to that? Of course only mind-controlled people would follow this goal and I remember a series where someone carried their own clone and said "It's sad when oneself is the only one you can rely on/trust". Yeah.

Why did Hordak even build an empire when everything was supposed to be destroyed? Why open a portal to the asshole who didn't want you in the first place? So many toxic parental figures in this series. And the children won't stop wanting their approval. When Prime shows Glimmer the last pieces of destroyed worlds or gives her food that is made of things that could only be found in these worlds, one gets a glimpse of the horror he represents. He could be the most horrible gourmet of all time "I only eat things made out of extinct lifeforms". Petty. But oh so scary. When you are so powerful that you can destroy worlds, what do you care about the ants living on them? But nah, he has some pseudo-religious thing going, assimilating people into his hivemind like the borg in Star Trek do. Actually, just assimilating people and growing his army and enriching the collected wisdom of galaxies could be a motivation, too. Then the good guys could make a stand for individualism. But eh, too complicated.

No green juice for Horde Prime.

---

Prepare for Trouble and make it Double. Double Trouble. I learned something about the incompatibility of neutral pronouns and my native language. Their gimmick is "actor" and it's pretty over the top, it gets annoying fast. Not even the gayest nurse I'm working with talks like that and they would make any gaydar explode in a second. Maybe they could have gone a little deeper with that and give them some meta jokes about how scenes are gonna unfold and give us some surprises there. I don't like the opportunist crap they pull off, why even bother working together with Catra in the first place? Always join the winning team? What a Knock Out. Get out of here, before I make you swallow your own tail! Yes, I’m still salty about that. Fuck you, Predacons Rising! Fuck you!

A mirror for DT because after all they still have a sexy body.

#she-ra #princess of power #I guess you won't mind this more than an answered ask bomb

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quicksilversquared · 5 years

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The Lucky Charm

Normally, when an akuma pops up, it's Ladybug (and Chat Noir) who save the day. This time, though, it's the Everyday Ladybug who came to the rescue.

There are...some side effects.

links in the reblog

The akuma showed up ten minutes after Adrien returned to school, all towering body and glowing eyes and snarling mouth. Most of his classmates shrieked and ran, scrambling for the door, but Adrien hadn't had a chance, trapped at the back of the classroom where he had been getting a book and with the akuma's eyes focused right on him.

This Was Not Good.

"I don't understand why you're after me," Adrien said, glancing around as subtly as he could manage, hoping to find an escape route or a distraction or- anything, really. He couldn't leave Ladybug hanging again, not after there had been several akuma lately who had prevented him from transforming and helping her, but he didn't see any obvious escapes. The akuma was blocking his path, and a table had been flipped onto its side in front of the door, meaning that even if he did manage to sneak around the akuma, he still wouldn't be anywhere close to home free. "I didn't think that I had upset anyone today-"

"I was fired!" the Model Model shrieked, making him cringe back. Hopefully Ladybug's Lucky Charm covered hearing damage. "I was fired for being late once, but you- Mr. Boss's Son, Mr. Gets-Everything-Handed-to-You- you're late all the time, and does anyone care? No! Do you get told off? No! Do you get fired? No!"

Adrien very nearly opened his mouth to dispute that- he wasn't late all the time, maybe once or at most twice a month when an akuma attack ended up overlapping with his photoshoot time, and while the photographer never said anything, Adrien's father most definitely found out and told Adrien off afterwards. There were groundings, there were scoldings, there were privileges taken away and extra assignments given to him- but it was pointless to argue with an akuma. It didn't help anything, they didn't remember it, and besides, if there were any of his classmates still around...

Well. There were some things that Adrien didn't tell them.

"So while maybe you weren't the one to fire me, you're hardly Mr. Innocent," the Model Model finished. She glowered at him. "And if Vincent weren't so fed up with your tardiness, then he would have been more forgiving! It's not like it was my fault that I got stuck in traffic!"

"I could speak to him for you," Adrien offered, thinking fast. Surely Ladybug would know about the akuma by now- Alya would have made a post on the Ladyblog, or at the very least triggered the official akuma alert system- and he just had to buy himself some time until she arrived. "Remind him that there's a three-strike over six months policy."

"And how many strikes have you accumulated over the past six months, hmm?"

Adrien winced, trying to come up with another idea. Clearly the akuma wasn't going to stop focusing on Adrien's tardies any time soon, so he had to change tactics. The offers to smooth things over could come later, after Ladybug purified the akuma and set everything to rights. "I, uh..."

Movement at the front of the classroom caught Adrien's eye, and he stuttered to a stop mid-thought, blinking at the spot where he could have sworn he had seen someone ducking behind Madam Mendeleev's desk. Moments later, Marinette's head popped up over the desk, caught his eye, and then vanished again a second later.

What- what was she still doing here? She wasn't trying to pull an Alya and get close to akumas just to get video, was she? Marinette had more sense than that. Maybe there was a table in front of the door, but the akuma wasn't paying attention to Marinette. She should be able to clamber up and over, no problem.

"You don't even have a defense," the Model Model scoffed, drawing Adrien's attention back to her. "Not even a hint! I'll get my revenge on you, and then that damn photographer, and then- oh, I know what the root problem is here, why you're allowed to get away with everything. And I'll get my revenge on Daddy Dearest, too."

Adrien gulped. He hated it when akumas went after his father, even if he was sometimes surprised that there weren't more akumas targeting Mr. Agreste. Still, if an akuma was going to go after either him or his father...

Well, only one of them had the power to stop the akuma and help Ladybug put everything back to right in the city, so if Adrien had to throw his father under the bus to get away, he would.

"I can't always control if I'm tardy or not," Adrien protested, keeping one eye on the akuma and one eye on Marinette, who had snuck out from behind the desk carrying- was she insane? An extension cord, or maybe cords, he couldn't tell- and was creeping up on the Model Model. "Sometimes other activities run over. And I'm not the one who decides if I get to keep modeling or not."

She snarled at him. "I know that. Didn't I just say that I was going to go after your father, too? I know what you're trying to do- escape seeing any actual consequences, just like you always do!"

The Model Model lunged. Adrien threw himself out of the way. Marinette ducked down under desk level, apparently finally aware that the akuma was dangerous and she should make herself scarce. Adrien rolled across the floor, then pushed himself to his feet and tried to make a dash for the door. The akuma blocked him, still trying to hit him with the purse she carried.

The purse, which no doubt held either the akuma or the akumatized item, and which doubled as the Model Model's weapon, if the excessively-destroyed desks were any indication. He would have to point it out to Ladybug, whenever she arrived.

"You can't run and hide this time!" the Model Model snarled, swinging for him again. Adrien ducked and made another short dash, making sure to step over the cord that Marinette had dropped on the floor so that he wouldn't trip over it. "I'll get you! You might as well stop tryi-EEEE!"

Adrien glanced back, just in time to see the Model Model tripping over the cord that he had just avoided, and his mind short-circuited.

Marinette hadn't dropped the cord. She had tied one end to a table leg, left it slack for him to pass over, and then had pulled it tight to trip the akuma before flinging the heavy end just so, sending it wrapping around the akuma's ankle. The Model Model hadn't noticed yet, still thrown off balance and stumbling in her heels.

Marinette was a genius, and- oh. Oh, she wasn't done yet, was she insane? Adrien watched in equal parts disbelief, awe, and terror as Marinette reappeared behind the Model Model- now the akuma was behind her and the door, which would be bad if the akuma spotted her and switched targets- spinning a second cord in her hand like a lasso. Marinette's eyes were narrowed in focus, tracking the Model Model as she stumbled back and forth. Her entire body was tensed and ready to strike, and all Adrien could do was watch.

Well, watch and keep moving himself, now focusing on moving back and forth just out of reach of the Model Model, playing up the distraction as much as he could since he still wasn't in a good spot to get out of the classroom himself. If Marinette was going to try to play Ladybug, then he would help her as much as he could.

Even if he thought that she was totally nuts. Even if she had somehow pulled off the tripping, trying to lasso a supervillain was just complete, utter madness. Ladybug could probably do it, sure, but Ladybug also had a magic yo-yo, and practice, and superpowers, and-

The spinning cord-lasso reached whistling pitch, and the Model Model paused in confusion, just long enough for Marinette to toss her lasso and tighten it snugly around the Model Model's middle, typing the akuma's arms to her side. Before the akuma could react, Marinette dashed around her several times, wrapping the cord around as she did, then tying a fast knot- her hands practically blurred- and grabbing a chair-

Wait. Wait wait wait. A chair?

Adrien only had half a second to wonder at what Marinette was planning now when she flipped the chair, taking hold of the chair's legs, and slammed it at full strength into the wavering Model Model's back, sending the akuma crashing face-first into the floor. Marinette didn't even wait for the (metaphorical) dust to settle before she was dashing up the akuma, ducking down to grab the purse and ripping it away from the Model Model. Adrien's breath caught in his throat as he stared, disbelieving.

Had- had Marinette seriously just defeated an akuma all on her own, without any superpowers? And gotten away with it unscathed?

Before Marinette could jump off of the Model Model and make her escape with the possessed purse, the Model Model thrashed, sending Marinette tumbling off of the akumas back before she meant to. As she landed on the floor, Adrien spotted her stumble and let out a sharp gasp, clearly landing on her foot wrong. Marinette winced, but amazingly enough, she didn't stop. Instead, she kept moving, pulling herself over the upended table and out the door.

He definitely hadn't imagined the misstep. Marinette's teeth had been gritted and while she hadn't let it slow her down much, she was definitely favoring one foot.

Adrien spared a glance to the shouting, thrashing akuma on the floor, then dashed after Marinette. If the Model Model got loose from the cord, she would go after Marinette right away. Combine a towering, long-limbed akuma and the much shorter, injured Marinette and, well, Adrien could guess how that would end.

Besides, he didn't know what Marinette's plan was. She had a possessed item, and if he and Ladybug couldn't find her, that could become an issue.

Over the table, then down the hall. Around a corner, and then Adrien practically tripped over Marinette, who had fallen on the floor. She was struggling to her feet, using the wall for support, and Adrien winced. Her injury had to be pretty serious if it had made her fall, and that she was still struggling on at all was impressive.

Impressive, but Adrien could help. With only a half-formed plan in mind, he dashed forward and scooped Marinette up like he might as Chat Noir, one arm around her back and the other under her thighs, and almost automatically, her legs wrapped around his waist so that some of her weight was supported on his hips instead of fully in his arms. Adrien gave her one quick adjustment so that they were more comfortable, then took off down the hallway, trying to think of a plan.

If they went for a back staircase, then that might be a good hiding spot. Adrien could claim that he was going up to the rooftops to see if he could find the superheroes, then leave Marinette in a hidden corner and come back as Chat Noir. He would be able to reach Ladybug more easily that way- if she was transformed, at least, he had to hope that she was- and then they could take care of the akuma before it pulled itself out of the purse and infected someone else.

Veering to the side, Adrien ducked into one of the lesser-used staircases in the school, adjusting Marinette again so she was a little higher. They should probably head up to at least the next landing, in case the Model Model got free and glanced in the staircase, but even though Marinette was small and light, it probably wouldn't be particularly easy to carry her up the stairs, at least not in his civilian form.

He could do it, though. Marinette had been so brave and done all the hard work of defeating an akuma, so he could get her up some stairs and to safety.

Adrien's breath came in heavy pants as he dashed up the first section of stairs, doing his best to avoid overbalancing in either direction. He didn't hear any banging or shouts, so presumably the Model Model was still trussed up in Marinette's fabulous handiwork.

Adrien reached the landing, and paused to catch his breath. Before he could start up again, though, a blur of red coming towards them caught his attention, and he stumbled to an abrupt halt, eyes wide.

That was Ladybug's kwami. What was Ladybug's kwami doing here?

"Hello!" Tikki chirped, flying to a stop in front of them. In his arms, Marinette tensed up before twisting to try to see where the voice was coming from. "I'm Ladybug's kwami. She can't get away to transform at the moment, so I'll be taking care of purifying the akuma! All you need to do is tear the purse!"

"Oh, thank goodness," Adrien breathed, turning so that Marinette could see Tikki without craning her neck quite so much and adjusting his grip to compensate for her letting go of his shoulders to rip the possessed purse in two. There was a jerk as Marinette tore the fabric, and then Tikki swooped in to grab the akuma and shove it in her mouth, bright light shining out from between her lips.

...okay, that was a bit weird. But seconds later, the purified butterfly fluttered free, and Tikki beamed as she tossed her paws up in the air and let loose a cloud of sparkles, her Cure rushing around the school. Adrien let out a sigh of relief- and almost immediately, it turned into a gasp of surprise and worry.

Marinette had slumped in his arms, suddenly seemingly drained of all energy. Adrien tightened his grip, frantically glancing between her and Tikki.

"What happened to her?"

Tikki had clapped her paws to her mouth in clear surprise. "Oh! Whoops!"

"Whoops?"

"It's been so long since I cast the Cure without a transformation that I forgot that it, well...it has some side effects," Tikki told him, clearly sheepish as she eyed the slumped Marinette. "It's not nearly as strong without being channeled, and, uh, it drains Ladybug of energy- I don't know why, really-"

"Wait, if it drains Ladybug of energy, why did it get Marinette, too?" Adrien asked, frowning. That didn't make sense. "I mean-"

"Oh!" Tikki exclaimed with a titter, eyes going even wider for a second before she rushed on. "Well, that- that's a combination of factors, really. I mean, if I'm remembering correctly. She was heavily involved in the fight, and the Cure had to do the most work on her, and, uh... and she was close by when I cast the Cure, and I hadn't had enough cookies this morning so I had to borrow more energy than I might otherwise-"

Adrien blinked. "O...kay?"

"So that's why it took her energy, too!" Tikki finished with a chirp. "There might be some lingering effects like some soreness in her ankle, but it'll be all healed and right as rain by tomorrow morning! And I should get back to Ladybug now before she wonders where I went, so good-bye!"

"Bye," Adrien managed before Tikki zipped off. He frowned after her for a moment, still worried. He- he had more questions, really, but he couldn't ask all of them with Marinette still in earshot. He was worried about Ladybug- was she still with friends who could catch her before she collapsed to the floor? What would they think? Should he go and help somehow?- and about how quickly the two girls would recover. Marinette was still pretty limp but stirring enough that he knew that she hadn't been completely knocked out. Hopefully a nap would get her her energy back, but what if Ladybug had been hit just as hard and there was another akuma attack this afternoon?

Hopefully that wouldn't happen. Still, her friends had to be super confused right now, and if Ladybug had collapsed to the same extent that Marinette had, she wouldn't be in any condition to come up with a believable excuse for her sudden weakness.

Maybe her friends would just think that she was sick or something.

After another couple seconds had passed, Adrien gave himself a shake and turned, heading back down the stairs. Tikki had gone up, which suggested that Ladybug and her friends had retreated to the roof. If that was true, they would be coming back down soon, and it wouldn't do for him to still be hanging around.

Besides, with the akuma gone, he had to get back to class. Madam Mendeleev had a track record of not being very lenient with people who stayed missing longer than the rest of the class after an akuma attack had ended, and while he would probably get a pass because he would be returning with an unconscious classmate, it was better not to tempt fate too much.

As it turned out, he hadn't needed to worry. When Adrien returned to the classroom, Marinette clinging to him like a sleepy sloth, his classmates and teacher were all gathered around the deakumatized model on the floor. Rose was working at the knots in the computer cords, doing her best to loosen them and free the model.

Another thing that hadn't gone quite right with the Cure. Normally, the cords would have all been returned to their original spot. Maybe it was because Marinette had been the one to use them instead of the superheroes or the akuma, because the formerly-broken window had been put right.

"Adrien! You got away- bro, what happened to Marinette? Did the akuma hurt her or something?"

Chloe sniffed from here spot on top of her desk, where she had been surveying her nails and the trussed model on the floor. "She's just faking it for attention, Adrikins, just drop her on the floor or something."

Adrien frowned at her, hugging Marinette closer. "She's not, and I'm not going to do that, Chloe."

"Something happened, though, didn't it?" Alya had abandoned Rose's side in favor of hurrying over to Adrien, either for a scoop or to collect her best friend, Adrien couldn't tell. He wasn't going to give her much of either. "Ladybug's Cure was weird, and I didn't see her or Chat Noir arrive like usual, and now Marinette's practically asleep and the akuma victim is still tied up and the superheroes weren't here when she came to and-"

"Alya, slow down," Nino said with a laugh, cutting his girlfriend off. "Let him talk. Adrien was in the room a lot longer than we were, maybe he saw something."

Adrien nodded, his mind racing to come up with a cover story. There were some things that he didn't want to mention with either Alya or Lila in earshot, and the fact that Ladybug had apparently been caught unable to transform on the school property, close enough for her kwami to come looking for them, was definitely one of those things. Ladybug had managed to throw Alya off when she claimed to be 5000, so the last thing they wanted was for Alya to get back on her trail. Still, the best bet was to get as close to the truth as he could.

"Marinette defeated the akuma even before Ladybug could get here," Adrien told his classmates, and all eyes turned to him. On the floor, the model gave him a disgruntled glare as Rose finally freed her from the tangled lasso wire, but he ignored her. He could deal with that later. "She made a tripwire, then made another cord into a lasso to trap the akuma so that we could take the possessed purse and escape. She landed funny, though, so her ankle got injured, and then we ran into Ladybug up on the roof." It wasn't a common place for people to go, usually, so hopefully no one would be able to dispute his story. "The Cure went a little funny because there was no Lucky Charm, though. I, uh, don't think that Ladybug expected that, or she probably would have called for one anyway."

There was an impressed murmur at that, (almost) all of their classmates regarding Marinette with a bit of awe. While it was hardly the first time that a member of their class had fought back against an akumatized villain, no one had ever defeated one before. Most of the time, all their fighting accomplished was buying Ladybug and Chat Noir or escaping classmates a bit of time.

Unsurprisingly, a sour look flashed across Lila's face at the attention that Marinette was getting.

"Oh, that makes sense!" Max exclaimed, and everyone turned to look at him. He looked a little flustered by the attention, but adjusted his glasses and continued on regardless. "Ladybug's Lucky Charm always helps Ladybug defeat the akuma, and it no doubt contains a lot of magical energy. This time, Marinette helped Ladybug by defeating the akuma, which would make her the replacement for the Lucky Charm. When Ladybug casts the Cure, it releases the energy stored in the Lucky Charm to fix the city. Likewise, the Cure took Marinette's energy."

His classmates lit up in understanding, nodding along.

"That makes so much sense!"

"I can't imagine defeating an akuma by myself- that must have been so scary!"

"I bet she outsmarted the akuma, Marinette is fantastic like that!"

Alya waved her phone, the most excited out of all of them. "I gotta get an interview for my blog! My bestie, taking on an akuma by herself, no superpowers needed!"

Adrien frowned at that. A civilian going after an akuma would no doubt become a target for Hawkmoth, either to try to attack as revenge or as a potential akuma victim, since she was crafty enough to defeat an akuma and might be able to defeat the superheroes. If Hawkmoth hadn't seen who Marinette was through his akuma, then they shouldn't just hand over the information. "Alya, I don't know if that's a good idea-"

"It's too bad you didn't get a video, Alya, I bet people would have loved that!"

Adrien tried not to sigh. He would try to get to Alya later, before she could try to harass Marinette into giving an interview.

Rose was clasping her hands together, forever eager. "Marinette is our Everyday Ladybug and a Lucky Charm! That's so amazing!"

Mylène nodded, sending an awed glance over at Marinette, who was doing her best to burrow into Adrien's shoulder. Clearly she was exhausted and just wanted a nap, but she couldn't do that with all of the noise. "It is! Marinette has to be the only person to ever be a Charm, I haven't ever heard of anyone else doing that!"

There were murmurs of agreement all around at that, people nodding in agreement.

And then Lila opened her mouth.

"Actually, it's been done before," Lila spoke up, just loud enough to be heard but not so loud that she would obviously look like she was trying to take attention away from Marinette. Still, she drew more than a few eyes as she laid a careful, modest hand on her chest. "I mean, I don't want to minimize what Marinette has done or anything, but..."

"Have you been a Lucky Charm before, Lila?" Rose asked eagerly, and Adrien's blood started heating up, headed for a slow boil. What Marinette had done was a first, and it had been super brave of her. She had earned the respect and praise that her classmates had been giving her.

Lila had not.

"Just the once," Lila told them, ducking her head as though embarrassed by the attention. "I happened to be in the area, and, well, I saw an opportunity and I took it. And I wanted to help Ladybug, of course, since we're besties. It was harder than I anticipated, but I didn't want to give up, even after I broke my arm."

There were murmurs at that, and the impressed looks were directed at Lila now, not Marinette. Adrien's blood boiled even more. Marinette had twisted her ankle- maybe even broken it, considering that she had collapsed after only getting a short distance away- and hadn't just sat down and given up on the spot, or thrown the akumatized item to Adrien and told him to run. Instead, she had been in the middle of pushing herself up to continue running, pushing on regardless of the injury.

"What akuma was it?" Sabrina asked eagerly, leaning forward. "I don't remember seeing anything on the news!"

"Yes, well, it was one of those akumas that vanished out of public view and was defeated out of sight. They're common enough, of course." Lila shrugged, the picture of modesty. "I don't know what he was upset about, of course, but he kept, uh, making cell phones explode like- like he had a grudge against them or something."

"Ooh, Cellphobia?" Alya exclaimed, already reaching for her phone. Adrien could see questions for another interview dancing above her head, even though there clearly wouldn't be time- after all, Madam Mendeleev had just entered the classroom, and looked none too thrilled about the scene greeting her. "That one was so dangerous, and there was so much damage! And you were the Lucky Charm for that fight?"

Lila nodded, a small smile dancing across her lips. "Yes, Cellphobia was the one! It was so scary, of course, but Ladybug was down and Chat Noir hadn't caught up yet, so of course I had to step in-"

"Cellphobia was a month and a half ago, when you said that you were traveling around Africa to deal with an emergency at your charity there," Adrien interrupted, anger making his words tumble out before he could rethink them. "So you couldn't have possibly-"

Lila sniffled at once, loudly enough to make everyone's attention snap back to her before they could really think about what Adrien had said. "Are you calling me a liar? That's so mean! Cellphobia happened right before I left!"

There were more murmurs at that, and the entire class's eyes swung back to Adrien. He froze for a second, not at all comfortable with the attention. Was now really the best time to get into this argument? Marinette clearly needed sleep to recover, and if Ladybug was in a similar condition, now was not the time to get Lila upset and in an akumatizeable mood. On top of that, Adrien wouldn't be able to get away very fast, because he was carrying Marinette and she would no doubt be a target for Lila.

As much as it pained Adrien- because right now, Lila was trying to steal an amazing accomplishment from his friend and that on top of everything else she had done had pretty much used up all of his patience and then some- he didn't want to get into any sort of showdown right now. Before he could try to diffuse the situation, though, Alya spoke up.

"Maybe you're misremembering when Cellphobia was," Alya suggested from where she had edged closer to Lila, one hand on the other girl's shoulder. "Because Lila wouldn't lie about that!"

There was a snort at that from Adrien's shoulder, and then Marinette lifted her head up slightly, just enough so that she could speak, though her words were still a bit sleep-slurred, as though she weren't completely awake. "Yeah, right. Google is free, Alya. Feel free to use it for once."

There was a shocked silence at that, everyone staring at Marinette. For her part, Marinette had gone back to curling into Adrien's shoulder, clearly done with the conversation. Lila's mouth was open as though to protest, but she clearly couldn't think of anything to say.

At the back of the group, Max looked up from his tablet. "Adrien is correct. Cellphobia's appearance was on the tenth of last month. I sent my notes from class to Lila due to her travels from the fourth to the twelfth, and she told me that she would return to Paris late on the day on the fourteenth, then return to school that Monday. That means that she either lied about being a Lucky Charm during the Cellphobia attack, or she lied about being out of the country for that period of time."

Out of the corner of his eye, Adrien saw Madam Mendeleev perk up at that comment, eyes narrowing in focus. Lila followed his gaze, the barest hint of panic entering her expression.

Well, it was out of Adrien's hands now. Also, Marinette's lack of filter when tired was pretty funny.

"That- that wasn't Cellphobia's first appearance," Lila insisted, her eyes darting around the group. "I wasn't aware that he had been akumatized again when I was away, and the first occurrence was very contained-"

Even Alya was looking doubtful now as she backed away from Lila, letting the hand that had formerly rested on Lila's shoulder fall back to her side, her fingers flexing. "Why would the battle have been bigger the second time around?

"All right, class, stop dithering around and find your seats!" Madam Mendeleev called, cutting off whatever Lila was going to say next. "Adrien, does Marinette need to go to the nurse?"

"I think she just needs sleep," Adrien told her, maneuvering himself into his seat while jostling Marinette as little as possible. He kept one arm around her, just in case she started tipping off balance.

"She can sleep back here next to me, Adrien," Alya said eagerly, leaning forward to catch his attention. "She's fallen asleep at her desk before, it'll be fine."

Adrien could see through that in a second. As much as it pained him to admit it- after all, Alya was his friend and he wanted to think the best of his friends- he could tell that Alya wanted Marinette near her so that she could get the scoop about the akuma fight as soon as possible, either by pestering Marinette during class or pouncing on her straight afterwards, even if Marinette needed more sleep. Still, he wasn't going to call Alya out on that right now. "I'm good, Alya. Marinette can use me as a pillow, I don't mind."

Alya opened her mouth, then hesitated, clearly torn. Adrien didn't give her another chance to argue, though, turning back to the front in time to see Madam Mendeleev escorting the former Model Model out. It was someone who Adrien vaguely recognized- they had maybe had a couple scattered shared photoshoots- and they shot him a dark look as they headed out, clearly not having forgiven him for- well, for not getting fired from the family business, apparently.

Ah, well. Maybe Adrien could have a word with the photography people later and try to make sure that they were being fair with dealing with lateness.

Turning his attention to the front and making sure that he didn't disturb Marinette- who, from the sounds of her quiet, even breathing in his ear, had fallen asleep- Adrien resolved to stay focused throughout class, even with all of the other things there were to consider.

Lila's clearly impending downfall and the fallout from that. Trying to keep Alya from posting anything about Marinette's involvement in defeating an akuma, and from accidentally harassing her friend in her eagerness to get an interview. In general trying to convince his classmates to keep Marinette's amazing work on the down-low for her safety- perhaps he would pay the class a visit as Chat Noir or something so that people would actually listen. But then there was the entire issue of Lila and the fact that- well, Lila was totally the type to use information like that as a weapon. If it occurred to her that she might be able to get Hawkmoth to target Marinette's family, she would make sure to get the information out.

That could be an issue. Maybe Chat Noir should just go to Alya after school and maybe a couple other classmates, ones who might be likely to spread the news. That way, he wouldn't be giving Lila any ideas.

Two classes back-to-back in Madam Mendeleev's room, and then they moved back to Ms. Bustier's classroom to finish the school day. Adrien got dismissed early so that he could carry Marinette to the next classroom without getting jostled around too much by other students, and he caught Alya snapping pictures of the two of them on the way out of the classroom.

Hopefully after school would be early enough and she wasn't drafting a Ladyblog article in class right now. If she was...well, maybe Adrien would have to do some damage control before their next class.

Marinette stirred in his arms as Adrien headed down the hall, doing his best smooth model walk to keep from jostling her. "Wha...?"

"We're just heading to the final class of the day," Adrien explained, keeping his voice low. He didn't know how awake Marinette was, and he didn't want to startle her. "The teachers know that your energy got sapped after the akuma battle, and so they're fine with you sleeping. I can bring you home after school. Just keep napping."

Regardless, Marinette jolted and lifted her head, clearly more awake. "They...know?"

"They know that you took down the akuma," Adrien specified, wondering if maybe Marinette's short-term memory was perhaps a little fuzzy at the moment. "And that you took her akumatized item to Ladybug to purify. Max theorized that you were Ladybug's Lucky Charm for this fight and- well, he said something about transfer of energy and it was a little hard to follow, but that's what everybody thinks now."

Marinette sounded puzzled. "But- we didn't see Ladybug?"

"I know, but the fact that her kwami was here suggests that she was in the school while detransformed and I didn't want Alya to know that." Marinette would understand why, he was sure. Adrien had overheard her arguing with Alya before about the Ladyblog's goal to find out who the superheroes were behind the mask. "And, uh, I don't know how much of it you were really fully awake for, but Madam Mendeleev is on Lila's trail now, I think."

He could feel Marinette's smile against his shoulder as she settled back down. "That's good."

"Mm. It'll be nice to not have to hear her lies all the time, I'll admit." Adrien adjusted his grip on Marinette, letting his cheek rest against Marinette's head as he waited outside of Ms. Bustier's door. He hadn't expected it, but it was such a relief to know that he wouldn't have to listen to Lila reaping the rewards for things that she hadn't done. "I can't believe she tried to claim that she had done the same thing that you did, defeating an akuma on your own."

Marinette didn't respond. It sounded like she had fallen asleep again. Adrien smiled, making sure his grip on her was secure before letting his attention wander, eyes automatically scanning over the school for any signs of trouble. Everything seemed calm for now, though, and hopefully it would stay that way.

If something did happen- if Lila got angry enough about the class discovering her lies and got akumatized- then, well, Adrien would do his very best to protect Marinette and keep her out of harm's way, even if that meant going toe-to-toe with an akuma before he could get away and transform.

After all, she had done so much for him and the rest of the class. Now, it was his turn to help her.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #Everyday Ladybug

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mirrerover · 4 years

Text

Shipyard Stars

Spock’s bedroom on Earth would be called spacious by almost everyone’s standards. His parents allocated him almost the entire third level in the building -adequate room to meditate, study, and exercise- upon their arrival one year ago. His father out of practical reasons, his mother for reasons Spock believes might be partially grounded in emotions. Perhaps guilt for uprooting his life on Vulcan. Or out of an impulse to cosset him as human mothers are prone to. Both unnecessary.

The space is minimal and open, per Vulcan tradition, but never seems as small as it does with James Tiberius Kirk at the centre of it. With Jim comes a presence that seems to large to be contained by his adolescent body. Jim is a bright blaze of fire and gold, feelings boldly crackling in the air around him in a way that would be considered shameful on Spock’s home planet. But there’s never shame in the kaleidoscope of Jim’ many human emotions. Only anger.

Spock observes Jim from his mat on the floor. He had been meditating when interrupted by Jim climbing in through the window to unapologetically rummage through his drawers. Jim has taken to keeping many of his things at Spock’s place where they cannot be confiscated by his mother or teachers. A safe place as Spock’s parents haven’t entered his room or gone through his possessions without his explicit permission since he was four.

“May I enquire to the reason for your presence?”

Jim turns over one of his data pads in his hand before depositing it back where he found it.

“They’re sending her up soon.”

After a year on Earth, Spock has become very familiar with how humans will eschew clear and concise language in favour of a mixture of verbal and nonverbal cues. Jim in particular will start every conversation somewhere in the middle, brain ten steps ahead of his words, confident Spock will catch up to him. This time it’s easy. The newest addition to the fleet has been nearly all that Jim has spoken of these last few months.

“The final stages of assembly will require the ship to be in orbit.”

Jim’s bright blue eyes lock with Spock’s briefly before he returns to his task of depositing and retrieving his belongings in Spock’s space at will.

“It’ll be impossible to get to her up there.”

Spock knows this to be the truth. But he has also learned that for however loud and brash Vulcans and humans alike might consider Jim to be, the things Jim does not say or do can be just as telling.

“You do not possess access clearance to it on Earth either.”

Jim sighs and rolls his eyes towards the heavens, indicating that he finds Spock particularly obtuse at this moment. The gesture used to irk Spock. Maybe it still would if he wasn’t trained from a young age in controlling such a feeling because –despite Jim possessing a remarkable mind compared to his human peers— Spock has been at the top of his classes for his entire life, even back on Vulcan where his genetic heritage was thought to put him at a disadvantage. And these days he’s more aware of Jim’s tendency to manipulate others into action by appealing to their baser instincts. Like pride.

“Y’know, I’ve found that a lot of the times it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

There’s a tremor in Spock’s eyebrow that has started to plague him ever since his family moved to Iowa.

“You are choosing short term gratification over long-term gains. Your freedom gets reduced every time you break the rules people set for you.” Jim seems completely preoccupied with packing his bag while Spock considers this a notion worth his attention. “Some might call that short-sightedness.”

The tool Spock gifted Jim for his birthday, a scanner of Vulcan technology that had made Jim come alight upon receiving it, is shoved into the bottom of his bag.

“She would never let me.”

Spock has little doubt that Admiral Winona Kirk would not grant access to two members of the public to roam around on what was going to be Starfleet’s most technological advanced ship in the fleet. Regardless of one of them being her youngest son. Or the other the son of one of their most important foreign diplomats.

Still.

“You should address your query through the proper channels.”

“What’s the point of proper channels if they’re not gonna listen anyway? All that’ll accomplish is tipping them off.” Jim zips the bag closed with unnecessary force and smiles a smile that Spock isn’t sure could be qualified as a smile at all. A sharp and cutting thing showing teeth but no happiness. “Wouldn’t be the same anyway. There’s a difference with having to make do with what people give you and just going out there and capturing it.”

Spock has noticed a growing fascination on Jim’s part with stealing, both in the literal and metaphorical sense, that he firmly resolves to curb in the future.

“I agree,” Spock says, eyes firmly locked with Jim’s. “Things freely given and things taken by force cannot be considered the same.”

Silence can be even louder than words when wielded by James Tiberius Kirk. He lets his gaze wander pointedly across Spock’s room and the sophisticated educational tools provided within it. Material possessions that Spock doesn’t share with anyone but Jim.

“Some are given more than others.”

Jealousy. An emotion even humans strive to repress. But Spock knows that it doesn’t drive Jim as much as it controls many other humans he has encountered. Fairness. Injustice. Those are the primary motivators of Jim’s anger even at his relatively young age.

“Yes,” Spock acknowledges. “We are not born equal.”

There’s a pause to Jim, as if he’s deciding whether he will allow Spock's acknowledgement of his world view to kill the momentum of his growing anger. Within their time together, Spock has become apt at sensing and steering Jim’s moods in a way no one else in Jim’s life has. And Jim, possessing great skill at picking people’s motivations apart himself, seems to constantly swing between joy at being known by Spock and fearful rebellion at being so completely seen by another person.

Vulnerability. Jim hardly ever shows it like he does now, body still and voice soft: “What if this is my only chance? To be on a ship like her?”

Fear. Spock has discovered that in Jim fear and anger run close at times. Sometimes Jim chooses anger because he prefers it over the cold touch of fear. Fear at not living up to his parents, fear of never leaving Iowa, fear of never exploring the stars. His dreams slowly suffocating between the endless oppressive stretches of corn until they die.

“You’ll serve aboard many star ships when you join Starfleet,” Spock says decisively. Like there is no doubt Jim will join the ranks of Earth’s primary space branch. And Spock doesn’t have any doubts. Jim has many qualities that humans admire in one another. Qualities that would even garner respect from non-humans. From Vulcans.

Spock speaks the words as he speaks all his words. Because he thinks they deserve to be heard. And even though Jim is heading towards the exit, shoulders squared like he’s already willing his soft-spoken question into a soon forgotten memory, Spock has little doubt his answer is being heard. Spock finds his own words throw back into his face by Jim in the most inopportune of moments.

“So,” Jim says, caught in the doorway like a frozen storm, “you comin’?”

Within hours of first meeting him Spock had discovered that in Jim’s world there were clear sides. His mother, verbally abusive stepfather, and other figures of authority on one side. And Jim, fierce and alone, abandoned by his older brother, on the other. But since the start Spock had recognized the falsehood of this lone wolf narrative Jim had spun for himself. Their peers are drawn to Jim; they rally behind him in his school rebellions, captivated by his charisma, and cheer him on in his revolts. The day Jim realises the full scope of his magnetism would surely prove to be… interesting.

Also, there is Spock. Where Jim goes, Spock follows, despite his human mother’s reservation and his Vulcan father’s disapproval. Spock’s presence to curtail some of Jim’s most reckless impulses could only prove to be beneficial. It is the logical choice.

So Spock rises from the bed and smooths down the creases in his robes. “I shall accompany you.”

A siren starts to blare in the distance.

“You think that’s for us?”

They’d ventured deeper into the belly of Starfleet’s future flagship than Spock had anticipated beforehand. Jim had been prepared, as Spock had known he would be, circumventing the security with his mother’s cloned Starfleet credentials. The Vulcan technology Spock had gifted Jim in the past played a key role in this deception and had immediately forced Spock to re-examine the tools deemed save to bestow upon Jim’s moral creativity and technical aptitude.

Spock tilts his head to the left in consideration. “Our breaking and entering would seem the most likely explanation for setting off the alarms to a secured facility.”

“Yeah,” Jim agrees, seemingly in awe of the flashing red lights and ear-piercing shrill of the alarm bouncing off the walls in increasing urgency.

Then Jim does something so illogical it stuns. He laughs, deep and boisterous, shaking his frame with tremors as if his body can’t contain the wealth of mirth he’s feeling. A display of emotion so blatant it would be considered indecent back home. Unseen. Spock can feel heat rising to his cheeks.

“We should run,” Jim says when he catches his breath, pupils blown wide in excitement.

“It would be futile. The activated security measures would take too long for us to circumvent. The chance of achieving a successful escape is negligible.”

Another pearl of laughter rips from Jim’s throat. The sound tugging at a counterpart hidden somewhere deep inside that Spock keeps carefully locked behind years of rigid mental training.

“They’ll never take us alive.”

A nonsensical statement as Starfleet would never use deadly force on two adolescent children but Spock knows Jim is alluding to something else he can’t grasp the meaning of yet. Jim’s mother tongue is full of allegories and again Spock curses the language’s lack of precision and layered meanings. But Spock is yet to find a puzzle he can’t solve if he fully applies himself and he doesn’t see how a single teenage human boy could be any different.

Then Jim runs, a flash of gold down a corridor.

And Spock runs after.

@anarchisticandy @blueberrymafia, I finished a 1500 word Spirk drabble I started for you guys 2 years ago. XD

Inspired by one of our fav fics Magpie by @waldorph

#mirre writes #spirk #star trek fanfic #spirk fanfic

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chaptersinprogress · 4 years

Text

demolition lovers | 3

The person who had called out approached the group, stepping into the light.

King's jaw dropped.

"You!"

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing, alcohol

Pairings: Ram/King; Bohn/Duen

"Oi, Nong, what are you doing here too?" asked Bohn, glaring. "Actually, you know what, don't answer that. Of-fucking-course you followed Duen."

King, however, was stuck on a crucial detail.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, whipping around to stare at Bohn. "Nong?!"

"You know each other?" asked Prae.

Bohn groaned and waved his hand tiredly. "Nevermind, I'll explain later. We need to go," he spoke as he began to step forward.

"Oh? And where are you going?"

The children's heads snapped up at the unfamiliar voice. Hadn't there been enough surprises that night already?

The man they had seen on the ground floor earlier stepped into the corridor, King's and Bohn's fathers following him. The severe man eyed them coldly. King's father shook his head minutely at them from behind him.

The three heirs rapidly disentangled themselves, Bohn and King flanking Prae. It was clear that they had spectacularly failed to make it out unnoticed. And from King's father's reaction, they had no longer had any option but to smile and hope for the best.

"Pa!" exclaimed Duen.

King's eyes widened. From the sharp inhale beside him, it was clear Bohn had not been expecting that either.

"Duen, are these the friends you were hoping to find?"

"Ah, yes," said Duen embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bohn's father spoke, trying to diffuse the situation. "If I might suggest, why don't you kids catch up in the reception hall? There is plenty of food and drink, and you need not stand here in the dark."

Duen's father jerked his head at the door. "Go," he ordered the children, before turning and striding back into the hall. The CEOs followed him, but not before giving their children warning glances.

The university students found themselves alone in the corridor once more.

"Bohn," Duen called out, stepping forward.

His companion's arm shot out, pulling him to a halt. With a sharp glance towards the three heirs, he proceeded to drag a protesting Duen out of the corridor and back into the reception hall. The heirs exchanged bewildered glances, struggling to process the sudden turn of events.

"So... are we following them?" asked Prae.

Bohn turned to King, who shrugged. "Guess so," he sighed as they began walking to the door. "We play by their rules for now."

The three found Duen and his friend waiting for them beside the balcony.

"Bohn!" Duen exclaimed, approaching them. He faltered at the sight of Bohn's stony expression but pushed on to stand in front of the three. "I'm sor-"

"Nong, don't you think you should at least introduce yourself and your friend first?" cut in King, wearing an expression of polite indifference. He seethed internally. How dare this kid repeatedly throw his best friend's care back into his face, then still have the guts to come crawling back uninvited. "And address us properly. We're your seniors, show us some respect."

Duen turned white as if he'd been slapped. Eyes flashing, Hot Damn started forward. Duen hastily threw an arm across his friend's chest, stopping him. Bohn's fingers twitched. King watched as Hot Damn's expression smoothed over into a blank mask.

"Ah, I apologise for my lack of manners, Phi," said Duen as he wai-ed. "I'm Duen, 1st year medical student. This is Ram, 1st year engineering student. We both attend the same college as P'Bohn." Duen shoved his elbow pointedly into Ram's side. Getting the hint, Ram wai-ed stiffly.

Meanwhile, King was freaking out on the inside. Shit, he'd finally got Hot Damn's name! Ram. Beautiful. King fought down the smile that threatened to form as he subtly admired the man he'd never thought he'd see again. The name suited him.

Prae smiled courteously, wrapping a hand around King's arm. "It's nice to meet you both. I'm Prae, 1st year engineering." She stepped forward, pulling King along with her, forming a wall between the two juniors and Bohn. "This is P'King, 3rd year engineering. P'King attends the same college as P'Bohn, but I'm from a different university."

"It's nice to meet you, Prae, P'King," came a voice from behind Duen and Ram. A girl in a sleek, figure-hugging gown approached and wrapped her arm around Ram's waist - leaning into him and tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "I'm Ting, 1st year medical student with Duen."

King's stomach dropped.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the damning way Ting interacted with Ram. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He'd forgotten. Of-fucking-course he'd happened to pick a guy with a girlfriend. No wonder he'd been left like that in the street. He swallowed harshly and steeled himself. This wasn't about him; it was about Bohn. He could throw his pity-party some other time.

Prae had felt King stiffen slightly as Ting made herself comfortable in Ram's personal space. Huh? Oh. Was it possible...? She smirked and very intentionally dragged her hand slowly down King's arm, briefly entangling their fingers and squeezing.

King turned to look down at her, the question clear in his eyes. She tipped her head up at him and merely smiled wider. Stepping closer, Prae slid her arm around his middle and placed her other palm over his chest possessively. Automatically, King's arm fell across her waist.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Ram's jaw tightened and his hands clenched briefly. Aha. Hook, line, sinker. She turned back, only to find Ting smiling dangerously at them. Prae felt her metaphorical hackles rise. She let her upper lip curl higher, revealing a hint of teeth. I see you.

Bohn and Duen however, seemed oblivious to the power play occurring in front of them.

"Bohn...P'Bohn," Duen hastily corrected when he caught King's eye. "I'm really sorry. I know I hurt you and took you for granted. Please let me make it up to you!"

Bohn sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Duen, I'm tired. Please drop it." He looked at King, "Can we go?"

"But I-" started Duen.

Prae interrupted him. "Duen, please. It's quite late, and we're all a little tired. If you want, we can discuss this some other time."

King stared at Prae, betrayed. 'Some other time???' his expression screamed.

Prae returned his stare evenly. 'Well, he certainly doesn't seem like the kind to give up...'

King dropped the issue. There was nothing he could do about it now. Running a hand through his hair, he offered the juniors a stiff smile. "Well, it's time we took our leave then."

Bohn huffed. "Yeah. Bye," he said, abruptly spinning and striding away. King and Prae exchanged awkward goodbyes with the juniors before promptly going after their friend.

Bohn threw himself onto his bed with a groan. Prae and King followed him into the room - Prae joining Bohn on the bed while King leaned against the vanity.

Prae poked Bohn. "So...your boy's from an important family."

"He's not my anything," replied Bohn, half-heartedly swatting at her hand. "Besides, I have no clue who that person was. Dad seemed worried about him, though." He lifted his head to look at King. "Did Dad or Uncle send anything?"

King glanced at his phone and shook his head. "Nothing. But the text about us reaching your place has been read." Walking over to the bed, he settled beside Prae and began taking the pins out of her hair.

Prae frowned at Bohn. "Oh? But isn't he the one you forced to buy you flowers every morning? I'd assumed he was the one you were courting."

"Yeah. But that was until he threw my gifts right in my face and made it explicitly clear how much my presence had been inconveniencing him."

"He said what?!" sputtered King. "And he still had the nerve to crash the fundraiser and try to ask for forgiveness?!" His hands tightened into fists. "I'm going to deck that son of a -"

"Ow! Yes, yes, you're pissed, we get it! But for heaven's sake don't take it out on my hair!" yelped Prae, tugging at King's hands which were pulling painfully at the strands.

King hastily let go. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. He finished pulling out the last of the pins and ran his fingers through the hair to straighten it out.

Bohn rolled onto his side and watched his best friends with narrowed eyes. "By the way, don't think I didn't notice the little show you both put on earlier."

"Show? What show? I don't know what you mean," replied Prae innocently.

"I'm heartbroken. Not blind."

"At least he's self-aware," King whispered to Prae with a laugh.

Bohn remained undeterred. "You made sure to stake your claim on our King very explicitly, N'Prae." Propping himself up on his elbow, he smirked at them. "Hell, you might as well as thrown him to the floor and had your way with him right there!"

Prae's mouth fell open. "BOHN!" King shrieked, thoroughly scandalised.

Said person began howling with laughter at their reactions, half-crying into the mattress. After a few seconds, Prae joined in, giggling into her palm at the thought of the preposterous suggestion.

King buried his face into his hands and groaned. "I hate you two. You both are impossible." He glared at them half-heartedly. "See if I do anything nice for either of you ever again."

"Awww, don't be like that, husband." Prae cooed.

"Do I hear wedding bells ringing?" mocked Bohn, sniggering.

"Oh shut up!" King grabbed a pillow and began whacking Bohn.

Bohn rolled away. "Mercy! I yield, I yield!" he choked out through his laughter.

King huffed, stopping. Bohn took the opportunity to question Prae.

"But really, what was that for?"

Prae lifted a shoulder, smiling mysteriously. "Oh, just testing a theory."

"What theory?" asked King exasperatedly, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. "I hope it was worth it. Because, no offence, but I really don't want to end up marrying you."

"Well I don't want to marry you either," Prae replied coolly. "Besides, your nongs were blocking us from the front and Bohn was directly behind us. No one would have seen anything too out of the ordinary."

She stared pointedly at King. "As for what theory... you're the one who has to explain. You know that guy Ram, don't you?"

"Wait, what?" said Bohn, looking at King for confirmation. "You know him?"

King flushed. "Well not exactly..." he said, squirming slightly. "We're... vaguely acquainted."

"Uh-huh," said Bohn, clearly unconvinced.

Under the weight of his friends' combined stares, King caved. "Ok, fine, I'll tell you," he said, getting up and grabbing the opened bottle of Baileys from the mini-fridge. "But I'm going to need a drink first," he groused, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

Sitting on the couch, he studied the bottle in his hands as if it held the secrets of the universe. "So, you remember the tutoring session 2 weeks ago?"

"You mean the time you went to school on a Saturday evening to help the Year 2s study? How could I forget? I still think you're crazy," said Bohn, shaking his head.

"Oh shush!" Prae smacked his arm. "Just because you don't do nice things doesn't mean that others don't." She turned back to King. "You were saying?"

King rubbed his neck. "So, erm, we kind of almost got mugged on the way back."

"WHAT?!"

"I said almost!" said King hastily. "I basically tried to distract them and let the others escape the opposite way. I thought I could ditch them somehow."

"Why? You could've just taken them," said Bohn, scoffing.

King sent him an unimpressed glare. "What, in front of the nongs? And then have them spread the story throughout the university? That's the exact opposite of what we need."

"So...?" pressed Prae.

King sighed and shrugged. "So I ran into this random club hoping that I could lose them there. Turns out they were more persistent than I thought and they caught me. But Ram got rid of them. That's it. End of story."

"I'm relatively certain that you skipped a few steps in there somewhere," said Prae.

King ducked his head and toed the floor. "SoImighthavekissedhimandaskedhimoutforcoffee..." he mumbled.

"What?"

He raised his voice, vibrant red staining his cheeks. "I said, I might have kissed him and asked him out!"

"What?! Why would you DO that?!" said Bohn aghast.

"I thought that those gangsters would be busy looking for someone running away and not think twice about two people making out, ok?" replied King defensively. "It made sense at the time!"

"But why would you ask him out?!" Bohn half-shrieked.

"I don't know!" King shouted, throwing his hands up. "I thought he kissed me back, and he was hot, and also looked so fucking cool taking those guys out like it was nothing, and it seemed like a good idea, and... I don't know, ok?!"

Prae and Bohn glanced at each other, then back at King.

"Shit..." Bohn stared blankly at him. "You have it bad."

King let his head fall onto the back of the couch with a groan. "I know..." He sighed bitterly. "It doesn't matter. He's straight. And has a faen. No wonder he just walked away without even giving me his name when I asked."

The three sat in silence as they mulled over the events of the night.

"Wait," said Bohn, jerking upright. "Does that mean we'll have to see all three of them around campus? Cause N'Ram's in Engineering, and Duen's not going to let this go, and the girl N'Ting hangs around them both... shit!"

King moaned and started chugging the contents of the bottle in despair.

Prae rolled her eyes as she watched the overdramatic idiots she called best friends have their meltdown.

Urgh. Boys.

#chaptersinprogress #my engineer the series #my engineer #ramking #bohnduen #ram x king #bohn x duen #king x ram #duen x bohn #prae #ting #fanfic #fanfiction #demolition lovers #long update

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yaboylevi · 4 years

Note

What do you think about "escaping from the forest" topic? Nicolo said they will try to get out of it but how? What do you think Isayama's point of it?

It is one of the deepest messages of the series for me. And alongside Eren’s “we are born free”, I feel like it’s something Isayama agrees with.

Eren’s motto is empowering and deep, and that’s exactly why I would feel disappointed if Eren had taken this mantra and made it all about killing others on an absolutely horrifying scale just so that a minority could benefit from it, basically denying other people’s right to be free. It would cheapen this beautiful message.

As for the forest theme, I feel it is both a critique of society and of the individuals that participate in its cruelest aspects. Both the way their (and ours?) society is structured, and the lack of morality from adults, have caused children to be used, and abused for centuries, dragged into an endless war they weren’t and shouldn’t be part of. After all, society is created by humans so only they can change it, and only they are responsible for society’s cruelty (as well as its beauty). It is something Isayama started to explore since the early stages of the story:

(But for the system to change, someone has to make it change. That's why Nicolo's words sound a bit naive. A small number of people trying to get out of the forest won't make the forest less threatening or dangerous. It's either a big number of people who make it change or someone with great influence/power. Looking at where the story is going, it could be either achieved by Eren, being the bringer of change. Or by great numbers of people realizing that they need to change their society. Or maybe both, because the way a large number of people can understand this, is if they are forced to, and what's better than a global crisis brought about by someone who wants to change the system?)

In this sense, the forest is the dark nature of life, of people. You can lose yourself in there, especially if you are pushed inside by others. Gabi is the clearest example, but it’s a concept that can be applied to all the other characters we have seen grow up. Mr. Braus talks about it in relation to Sasha (and Gabi, and Nicolo), but we can apply it to Eren, Bertolt, Zeke, Connie, Mikasa, etc.

What Sasha’s dad says is that humanity needs to stop the senseless cycle of hate and revenge and violence. The individual has to make a conscious choice, because it’s easier to go along with society and its cruelty than refuse it. This was exactly Annie’s dilemma, and as Annie said, paraphrasing, for the normal person it is easier to follow the current, rather than going against it. It takes effort, and courage, and a certain type of discipline.

Mr. Braus could have lost to his pain and taken revenge on Gabi, like Nicolo wanted to do. But he is a responsible adult. He is a parent. He was strong in his refusal to repeat the cycle, a cycle that took away from him his daughter.

I have said in the past that Mr. Braus would’ve spared Sasha’s killer even if Gabi was an adult. I feel it would’ve been more difficult to spare them if they were an adult - though it would've been heartwrenching if Gabi was a young adult because she possibly would've reminded Mr. Braus of Sasha and that's one of the reasons why I think he would've spared her anyway even if she wasn't a kid. But the main point is that punishing children for having a messed up mentality created by a cruel system built by adults (who are probably lost in the forest as well!) is always, undeniably wrong. Kids have to be protected. Adults need to take responsibility. Adults also need to fight their way out of the forest and guide the children lost in there. That is why Mr. Braus ultimately also saved Nicolo, by sparing Gabi. He saved Sasha, in a way, and spared her memory from being dirtied by blood, for being an excuse for the cycle to be repeated.

The forest is war, and cruelty, and lack of empathy, and losing to your demons, to violence, to revenge. In Mr. Braus's words, it's "kill or be killed". The forest is outside oneself, but also inside. Everyone has the ability to do "evil", and everyone should try their hardest to stay clear from that path, to listen to one’s conscience and do the best they can, always. Especially in the most trying times. What Isayama is saying, imo, is that it is also something natural within everyone. Especially when in pain, people commit wrongdoings because they are weak, because they are tired, because it's part of them, of everyone. They "lose" because they have been beaten up and conditioned by life - that's the reason why I feel like Isayama is not judging negatively the characters, while a "right choice" still exists.

Annie, in this sense, has lost. She’s tired. She can’t get out of the forest because she was in there for too long, since too young. Nicolo also has been wandering in the forest. He admits that even he has a demon inside, just like everyone else, and it’s his duty to stop himself from listening to that demon, which is his dark thoughts, the worst sides of his psyche.

If Nicolo’s and Gabi’s story has taught us anything so far is that both adults and kids can successfully “get out of the forest”, and find themselves again. But they need help, they need kindness and forgiveness. They don’t need to be punished (because life has already been beaten on them hard enough, and the moment they “realize” that what they’ve been doing was wrong, the guilt is enough to be considered a punishment). This is applicable to these special cases under these special circumstances and in a fictional story where we know for sure what the characters feel and think and have gone through, but of course I believe that war criminals or murderers, etc. in general should receive a punishment.

What Isayama is trying to say with this, I think, is that all humans have the capability of being mean, horrible, to surrender to their instincts, to let society and their environment win over them. But, at the same time, they have also the capability of stopping themselves from following those instincts, they have the ability to fight back and become better people: adults - like Nicolo, like Levi, like Zeke - aren’t excluded. They can’t be, because otherwise, the new generation will again fall trap to the same cycle if adults won’t stop it in the first place. The characters we have been following since day one are in the middle of two generations: they have been kids forcefully thrown into this fight and now they are starting to have to take responsibility for their future and for other kids.

This being said, let me go on to a final, different tangent. What the “forest” metaphor means…is clear. But it is not clear what Isayama is trying to say if he lets the protagonist go too deep into the forest, a place that poisoned Eren, it seems, to the point that he’s repeating the same cycle (involving kids in a war that’s not theirs). There is (almost) nothing wrong until this point from a thematical point of view, but…there is something really off-putting if this is it, when it comes to the themes particular to Eren, and even this main forest theme. If this is the case with Eren and there is no redemption, no other plan, no other reason, even if all the other characters manage to “get out” by the end of the story, it won’t feel satisfying to me.

Because Eren was a kid forced into the forest, forced to go deeper and deeper. For me, it makes no sense for him to be irredeemable. To be punished with no redemption, with no recognition of his struggles. He is one of the kids victim of this system. If he is lost, he needs to be guided out by peers or adults or even his own conscience. If that doesn't happen, there is nothing "cruel and yet beautiful" in this. It would be just cruel.

#snk spoilers #snk meta #I had fun with this!#shingeki asks #shingeki no kyojin #Anonymous

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phoenixrisesoncemore · 4 years

Note

It’s true, I personally think the universe is really amazing yet also really stupid, but maybe it’s because I think of it as another rough in-process draft of an indefinite number, to use your metaphor. But anyway if going by the premise + logic of what you say at the end of your post, how would one theoretically know that this universe isn’t the result of someone else remaking a former, even shittier/less amazing universe into something less shitty/even more amazing.

Hi, Anon. Sorry this took me a bit. I think that’s a great question (like, I can’t quite express how great because it gets too close to some other writing I am doing for me to talk about it too much right now, but it’s a *really* great question)!

[Note this is in response to this post.]

In the real world, I’m not sure there’s anyway we *could* know if we are living in one of a series of universes and most especially whether the cause of the “Genesis” of any of said universes was the result of the action of a conscious being working to “improve” on its predecessor, but it’s fascinating to consider! It’s really a *series* of great questions:

Are we in one of a linear series of universes?

Can we know if and how the previous universe in the series differed from ours?

Can we know if our current universe was engineered by a consciousness in the previous universe in response to fundamental conditions in the previous universe?

Is the current universe in some way ethically superior to the previous one and how would we measure that?

According to Cosmology

If we take out the metaphysical/theological/moral aspect as well as the “intention of a conscious instigator” aspect (that is, stick to question 1) it’s basically cosmology’s “Big Bounce” hypothesis (Einstein’s cyclic model, for example) where the universe doesn’t begin or end, but simply collapses and then re-expands in a cycle forever—Crunch, Bang, Crunch, Bang, etc. Something I’ve wondered for a while: if this is true, could there be any evidence available to us that past cycles existed and, if so, what they were like? I don’t know what such evidence would be (not that I’m, like, an expert :D), but that’s just a small part of the question you’re asking.

I don’t remember if the underlying “laws” of the universe were conceived as capable of changing between cycles in this conception—is gravity still the same, is there still electromagnetism, is there still entropy?(1) If we want to do more than limit this question to the material/mechanical “is it possible?” by looking at the moral implications(2) then we’d need for some of the underlying laws to be able to change.

There is an alternative to the Big Bounce: each universe (a) may create new universes (b, c, d, ...) through some action(s) either within the universe (a) or outside of all universes. White holes are an example of the former: new, separate universes beginning from singularities inside white holes in our universe. Brane Theory postulates that this happens when meta structures outside the universe called “branes” bump into each other; this would be an example of the latter. And I’ve seen versions of hypotheses for both that suggest the fundamental laws of nature need not be the same among the universe (a) and the universes (b, c, d, ... ). But as far as I know (and that’s not necessarily saying a lot :) ), no one has found a way to make these hypotheses falsifiable.

Still none of that addresses the conscious intent question, to say nothing of the last question; the last is, of course, quite subjective.

According to Religion

I’m not very familiar with religious/philosophical(3) conceptions of Creation as cyclical, though I know they exist in Buddhist and Hindu models as well as in the ancient Mayan religion. I’m afraid I don’t know which, if any, view this process as one with a goal or direction. Is growth and improvement of the universe and its mechanisms from cycle to cycle important in the same way as it can be said to be important for living creatures within it in these models? Furthermore, do any suggest that any such improvement is, was, should be, or will be the result of conscious, intentional actions? Can anyone help me out on this one?

It’s a fascinating prospect though. I’d even say it’s a hopeful prospect (and maybe, just maybe, not entirely out of line within the context of Tolkien—see below)!

[Forgive me if I get a bit over-explicatory and didactic here—it helps me to write all this out, even if it might be common knowledge to readers, particularly in the Silm fandom.]

For the purpose of my previous post, I’m speaking (somewhat obtusely) about Tolkien’s cosmological/metaphysical belief system which, at least by the time of the writing of the contents of the published Silmarillion, is somewhat in line with his underlying Catholic faith. The issue at hand, of course—and the issue that Tolkien was trying to “solve” (or at least consider)—was The Problem of Evil.

How does someone working from a Christian perspective square the fact that the world is filled with horrific pain and suffering with belief in the existence of an omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent God? David Hume in his Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion expressed the problem thusly: "Is he [God] willing to prevent evil, but not able? then is he impotent. Is he able, but not willing? then is he malevolent. Is he both able and willing? whence then is evil?"(4)

One such answer to this question includes an appeal to Free Will—after all, if people are to be allowed Free Will, then they must be allowed to use that will to commit evil, even if an omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent God would prefer they did not, since that is the definition of Free Will. And this may be convincing for some—or even for me on good days so far as it goes—but it does not address the fact that the natural world, up to and including processes that are several steps removed from consciousness/will (or even life!), generates the conditions for suffering. Free Will may explain why God tolerates things as unconscionable as genocide, but it does not explain why most of Nature consists of suffering as an integral part of its mechanism: we can see the fear in the prey animal’s eyes when it hears the twig snap, but the predator has to eat, too. Suffering is required for the system to run. The story of The Fall as told in Genesis may explain why such suffering happens to human beings, but it does not explain why it happens to everything else, why The Whole Damn Thing Is Fallen.

Enter Melkor stage left.

Tolkien’s Felix Culpa

There’s a quote in one of Tolkien’s letters where he addresses The Problem of Evil almost directly. Tolkien is writing to his son, Christopher, during his RAF training during WWII. Christopher was the child closest in mind to Tolkien, himself, and I am sure his proximity to danger at this time was especially hard for Tolkien on a number of levels. In Letter #66 Tolkien writes the following:

“I think also that you are suffering from suppressed ‘writing’. That may be my fault. You have had rather too much of me and my peculiar mode of thought and reaction. And as we are so akin it has proved rather powerful. Possibly inhibited you. I think if you could begin to write, and find your own mode, or even (for a start) imitate mine, you would find it a great relief. I sense amongst all your pains (some merely physical) the desire to express your feeling about good, evil, fair, foul in some way: to rationalize it, and prevent it just festering. In my case it generated Morgoth and the History of the Gnomes(5).” —Letter #66, to Christopher Tolkien, 6 May, 1944

The cosmology and theodicy of Tolkien’s Secondary World (Middle-earth, Arda, Ea) is laid out in the first chapter of The Silmarillion (Ainulindale, aka “The Music of the Ainur”) and represents an attempt to “make sense” of a world that could generate the kind of evil he had experienced in his life. If I may postulate: the death, during his childhood, of first his father and then mother; what he perceived as his mother’s martyrdom for her Catholic faith; and the endless mechanized, brutal, and senseless horror of WWI.

The answer to this for Tolkien was Melkor/Morgoth, his own resident Satan. But unlike Christianity’s Satan, Morgoth/Melkor had both sub-creative capabilities(6) and was responsible for some aspect of the “Design” of the universe through his Marring of the Music.

In my post the “drafts” are the Two Themes that were sung before the Third Theme (most importantly The First Theme—the Perfect World). The Third Theme is the Theme that finalized the means by which Melkor’s Marring would be integrated into Eru’s greater purpose in such a way as to generate Good that is far greater than what could exist in The Perfect World. It is the Theme that describes our Fallen World.

As The Fall of Man is envisioned as a “Happy Fault” (Felix Culpa), a sinful act that nevertheless allowed the far better redemption of Man through Christ to happen, so too is Melkor’s Marring of the Music envisioned as the means by which greater things than could have been otherwise will arise in the world.

The Problem of Evil as it extends to suffering “baked in” to the system is thus “solved” by placing a conscious agent, allowed Free Will, between God and material reality, with sufficient privileges to affect the design of the universe (Laws of Nature) and sufficient power to enact those designs, however evil, in matter, itself. While that latter part is not unique to Tolkien (hello demonology), the former is not something I have really encountered in quite that form anywhere else.

Now, getting back to your question and tying it to Tolkien :).

At first glance it might appear that any kind of cyclic model of the universe, with the actions of finite, fallen, non-divine beings working to “improve” on the designs of their divine predecessors, would be antithetical to Tolkien’s increasingly Catholic metaphysic. And yet...

Pair up some statements he made regarding both the Primary and Secondary Worlds with the events of the short story Leaf by Niggle and things look rather different. Tolkien said in a few places that he hoped that the ultimate fate of humans, as fundamentally sub-creative beings, would be to have God grant reality to their ideas, in the same way Eru grants material being (reality) to the vision created by the Music of the Ainur. This is essentially what Niggle receives when he reaches the upper layers of “purgatory”: his Tree made REAL (“Ea! Let these things Be!”). Not only that, his experience of it and its reality is intimately tied to his neighbor, Parish, the man who in life was always getting in the way of Niggle finishing his Tree painting. And this is a supremely important point for Tolkien and its the point that Melkor rebels against: sharing in the work of creation. Melkor cannot abide it, to the point that he would rather make all of creation not exist if it can’t consist only of his own mind.

Indeed, even in the context of his Secondary World there are hints that after the end of the Universe, Men will Sing a new Music, supplying their own ideas for the Design of new Eas. What would these human ideas be, and might they include universes even better than Ea, Men having lived in it and having not originated outside it and having been granted a capacity for working outside The Music unlike any other beings in Ea?

Well...one does wonder....

Notes

I seem to remember that the Second Law of Thermodynamics is one of the reasons this hypothesis fell out of favor back in the late 20th century

And unless I can lay my ethical issues with Nature purely at the feet of the happenstance of evolution on our particular planet (maybe on other planets life evolves in such a way that suffering does not exist but all the good stuff does?).

There’s also Nietzsche’s question of Eternal Return (among other philosophical equivalents). However, I don’t think that required distinct universes, but rather merely infinite time in which matter might, by sheer probability, return to a copy of its previous arrangement.

I posted a quote from Candide not long ago. In Candide, Voltaire was directly mocking Gottfried Leibniz’s take on this issue—that our reality must represent The Best of all Possible Worlds because it is the reality that God chose to create. OK, sure, Gottfried.

“History of the Gnomes” refers to the tales of the Noldor (then called “Gnomes”) and the Silmarils that make up the bulk of The Silmarillion.

It wouldn’t, I think, be out of the question to view much of Tolkien’s divine cosmology as rather Gnostic in flavor: a supreme One delegates creative powers to subordinate divinities who enter into the world, much as some Gnostic thought perceived the demiurgic Yahweh as doing, against the will of the higher God. The (very important) differences being that the Ainur’s powers (at least by the time of the writing of the contents of the published Silmarillion) were only *sub-creative* (they could not create matter or material existence ex nihilo), that material existence is conceived of as fundamentally good (divine sparks/souls are not “trapped” in matter), and that the demiurgic entities are not themselves responsible for creating humans (who are positioned as their peers).

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aboldclaim · 5 years

Note

3! 26! They can be put together also ❤

Soft™ fic prompts - 3. forehead kisses + 26. bed hair (read on ao3)

He wakes up alone.

The bed has a mismatched quilt neatly spread along the end of it, which he sort of hates, and there’s a space on the other side of the mattress that he throws a leg towards as he tries to shake the sleep from his bones, sheets cold on his bed-warm skin. He wakes up alone. He supposes he’ll have to get used to it.

He wishes he could have woken later, early early morning light peering through the curtains, and he’s tired from the late night, last minute, lost twice drive into town. He was greeted with endless cups of tea at the end of it, and Ray’s mile a minute conversation as they worked their way around the house at a quarter to midnight. He’d contemplated bailing, briefly, escaping to the motel he’d seen on the way in, then getting the hell out. He’d chalk it up to some sort of preemptive mid-life crisis, and things could go back to the way things were, in his town, his job. Rachel.

But he’s made up his mind.

This town seems nice enough anyway, from what he saw on the way in, pretty to spite its name maybe, and small. The main strip couldn’t have been more than an intersection, collected around a cafe, and there’s a garage, and an empty general store, for lease taped across the windows. A collection of houses on streets with odd names balloon from the middle, a few fields, old silos, a brown baseball pitch, and he’s run away to places like this before. He’ll stay until he figures out what it his that he wants, who he wants, where he wants. He’s tried the stiff-collared, stuffed elevator life, and he’s tried, and tried, and tried with Rachel, and he’s tried to want both of those things, but he doesn’t. For now, he’s made a decision and he’ll see it through, like he does, most of the time, and he’ll sort himself out. It’s a temporary sea change, so to speak, a chance to breathe country air.

Rachel would have teased him about it, his jumble of mixed metaphors, his mess of bed hair. She would have told him he could do better, that he’s wildly overqualified for shuffling paperwork around the dinky office downstairs. He would have said he likes paperwork, she would have called him a nerd. She would tease him about this too, about the quilt at the end of his bed, and the room in Ray’s pokey house, and the town with the funny name, and up and leaving her like that, for this.

He thinks it’s only fair that she’s his frame of reference, for things, for everything. He doesn’t think he should begrudge himself that, doesn’t think there’s any sense in burying the last twenty years and every part of his life she had a part in. He can’t obfuscate, won’t erase that she kissed him in the stands of a baseball match when he was sixteen, that he took her home to meet his parents, that she was his best friend, that he broke her heart, and broke her heart, and broke her heart, and broke off the engagement, and said they needed a break. He wants to forget the tattoo of the rain on his balcony, and his skin bristling from the cold, and her voice crackling like she was at the other end of a shoddy phone line and not in amongst boxes, in his apartment, in his head. He can’t forget how he felt, how she looked, her face crumpling, frown collecting beneath his mouth when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and that he felt sad, but he didn’t feel the way she felt, even though he thought he did, even though he’d wanted to.

It’s not as hard as he thought it would be, waking up without her.

He wakes up alone.

He wakes up late, with flannel sheets tangled around his bare legs and David attempting to be quiet as he picks his way across Stevie’s apartment through the mess of their clothes on the floor. He has their forgotten whisky glasses in one hand, his shoes in the other, and his dark brow furrows when he sees Patrick propping himself up on an elbow.

‘Were you gonna leave a note?’

‘Yeah, look, I’ll call you,’ David says, his tone somewhere on the way to teasing, and Patrick watches as he attempts a more casual stance, crossing one bare foot in front of the other and leaning a little to the side, as if loitering against some imaginary wall. He’s half-dressed, has quoiffed his hair back into its usual shape, but his arms are bare, unsweatered, and he can see the hair rising on his skin. His eyes are a little inflated, like a deer in the headlights, somewhere between freeze and flight.

The blind panic bubbles somewhere right below the surface. Patrick can tell, because he feels it too, and he knows David’s afraid he’s making a mistake by staying, that he’d make a mistake by going, that he’s used to being walked out on, left without a note, used to walking out when he’s asked to, or before he is, to save himself more hurt. Patrick knows he’s fighting every conditioned instinct standing there, teasing him, not walking out the door, and he wants to tell him he won’t walk out either. He wants to say he won’t do that, that he’s here, that he’ll be here, but he doesn’t want to scare him off. Instead he clears the sleep from his voice, replaces it with all the warmth within him, and affection, and ginger teasing, and a small wave.

‘See you around.’

‘Definitely,’ David says, and he takes a few cautious steps toward the bed, leaning over to kiss him. It’s soft and short and tender, less desperate, less breathless than last night. His stomach still swoops as David presses a kiss to his forehead, to his left-side temple, to the mark he made on his neck that’s blossomed into a mottled bruise, before he stands again, moves back toward the kitchen. He places the glasses near the sink before he opens the fridge, bends down to peer inside. ‘I was going to make you coffee -

‘Come back to bed.’

‘ - but she doesn’t have any milk.’

He’s avoiding Patrick’s gaze, he thinks, avoiding his request, staring into Stevie’s empty fridge for answers instead. His expression is wound tight, and his posture pulled apart, voice straining still. It’s making Patrick panic a little that David is panicking so much. It’s making him worry that he’s come on too strong, or not strong enough, or that he made a fool of himself last night.

He’d liked that they had the time, had the space to spend the time figuring out each other’s bodies, figuring out what the other one likes. He’d had an idea, had a sense from their halfway there attempts at the store, because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but it wasn’t the same. It’s nothing compared to sitting on a bed with him, kissing lazily because they have the time, letting laughter bubble between their lips. It’s not the same as feeling David’s hands slip beneath his sweater, or whisper against his belt. It’s not the same as his body atop his, or beneath his, around and intertwined and inside his. It’s not the same as chasing each other’s lips, all tongues and teeth and bodies against each other, thighs and hands and the small of his back, and David’s stubble against his cheek.

Thinking that he knew what it might be like, from a few attempts in the backroom of the store, or from what he’s seen, what he’s watched trying to figure out what he wants, is different, is so different from reality. It’s messy and sweaty and very personal, and David has so much experience. He can’t help but feel he’s made a shambles of it, or said the wrong things this morning, or not said enough.

But David had fallen asleep tangled around him, hand hooked around his bicep and feet knocking his feet, and David had peppered kisses along his shoulder before he’d fallen asleep, and David had told him that it was good, so good, don’t stop, so good. They’d taken each other in their stride, and figured things out as they went along, it needn’t have been perfect because it was nice. Patrick feels good, feels right, things feel easy and he likes David, he really likes him. He doesn’t want to overthink it, doesn’t want to re-litigate, doesn’t wants to deconstruct. He doesn’t want to go into work.

‘David,’ he says softly, pressing his palm against the mattress to push himself upward, gesturing to it when David finally meets his eyes. ‘Come back to bed.’

‘We’re late,’ David mumbles, even as he moves towards the empty side of the bed, mouth threatening a smile and the mattress dipping a little as he crawls atop it. Patrick leans forward then, catching David’s shy, joyful expression between his hands, fingers splayed out against his jawline.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Patrick says, and it takes him by surprise a little, its other meaning, and that he means it, that he wants David to know. It seems to take David by surprise too, his expression morphing into something unspeakably tender as he moves forward, as Patrick tugs him toward the pillows.

‘What will the bosses say?’ David surges against him, and the question sounds around laughter, is muffled between their mouths. He lets Patrick run his fingers through his hair, lets him mess it up, so little dark tufts stick upwards and there’s no mistaking what he’s been up to. He lets Patrick’s hands find purchase at the nape of his neck, and at his waist, as he rolls his hips against him.

‘They seem like the forgiving sort.’

He wakes up alone.

He wakes up without David.

He’s woken up without David before, has woken up without him most of his life, and on and off in the last four months, when it suited them, or he needed a change of clothes, or they couldn’t get Ray to shut up. This is different, this sucks - waking up without the possibility of waking up with him, every day since the barbeque, every morning for the last week.

It’s been a week of torture, of emotional self-flagallation, caught in between the lines of text messages, wrapped around link bracelets, and he’s not like this. He tries not to overthink, tries not to spiral into worst case scenarios or get caught in emotional quagmires from which he can’t see a way out, but he can’t seem to help himself.

Maybe it’s because he’s in love with him.

(It’s because he’s in love with him.)

Maybe it’s because he’s got nothing else to preoccupy his thoughts, nothing else to fill the silence, waking up alone this morning, and going to bed alone last night, and the night before, and the night before that. He’s at the store alone too, and on the walk home, and on the coffee run at the cafe, clocking odd glances from familiar faces. He’s sure what happened has made its way around the town already, gossip jumps between people here like wildfire between wooden houses. He’s been told that it’s made the rounds and he thinks they might have taken David’s side in the break up. He wants to tell him, wants to let him tease him about it, and he would if they were still talking, if they were still together.

He had thought they might have been together still. He’d told Rachel he was his boyfriend, is his boyfriend, hands plunged deep into his pockets and mouth dry, an overdue conversation, but tricky all the same to change decades of their history like that.

And they had texted. David had texted him. He had asked him to mind the store, told him about getting away for a couple of days, stilted conversations abutting an affectionate back-and-forth and Patrick had run headlong into over-worrying every response. He thought if he’d kept the conversation going David wouldn’t forget about him, he wouldn’t move on. He thought if he was gentle, and light, and funny enough, David wouldn’t be so angry, wouldn’t end things, would let them stay in this awkward space between dating and not, until he won him over.

After a day or two of radio silence he’d sent flowers to the motel. He’d dropped off chocolates with a bemused, protective Stevie, who’d told him he was a moron and said she’d pass them on. He’d sent a note, sent a bracelet, settled right into old gestures, tried and true to get someone to talk to you. He tailspins into something akin to desperation, a blind panic of texts and gifts until he goes to bed last night, alone, and realises he’s been an idiot.

David hasn’t told him much about his life, about the others. He should have asked, should have let David ask him about his, but they’d fortified the edges of the corner of their town instead, let their fledgling relationship run wild within its artificial boundaries until it could stumble safely into love.

David hasn’t wanted to tell him about his past, but heard enough from throwaway self-deprecation, off-hand jokes to know that it hadn’t been good, that the others, the ones before him, hadn’t been kind, hadn’t treated him well. He’d pieced together enough of the puzzle of him to realise, last night, mismatched quilt at the end of his bed, and a pair of David’s socks in the corner of the room, and his heart in the pit of his stomach, that he’s treated him the same way. He hadn’t told him, he hadn’t asked, and then he’d smothered him. He’d thrown thing after thing at him without so much as a text in response, because it had made him feel better, and he hadn’t thought any further than that.

He feels the same in the morning, sleep failing to assuage the tightness in his chest, the waves of embarrassment that lap against his skin and make him blush, make him feel a little sick. His head is so full of things he wants to tell David that they spill into his mouth, and he tests them out as he wakes up, to see how they fit around his tongue, between his teeth. He wants to tell him he’s sorry. He wants to tell him about Rachel. He wants to tell him everything about before, everything he’d left out, the boys he thinks he might have liked, the men he thinks he might have wanted. He wants to tell him he loves him. He wants to tell him he loves him, and his world feels like its shifted left of centre, but that’s not for David to resolve, that’s not for him to figure out. He’ll figure it out by himself. That’s what he’ll tell him.

They can still run the store though. He cares about it too much to leave it behind, and there’s nothing to stop them being colleagues. There’s nothing to stop them being friendly.

There’s nothing wrong with maybe telling him he missed him, as a colleague. It’s not weird to fix his hair in the reflection of the register before David gets there, rectify the mess that sleep made of it. He doesn’t need to analyse the way his heart leaps into his throat when David comes through the door, even half an hour late, even in a leather sweater, even in this weather.

After, he pretends to be cross.

After he couldn’t be more thrilled, David’s hands on his thighs and music filling the store. After he leans forward, tells him he’s an idiot, tells him he’s sorry he was an idiot. After he takes him home, takes him to bed, presses a line of kisses along the line of his hair.

He wakes up married.

There’s a pile of their suits, shirts, ties, shoes, draped and folded neatly across the chair. There’s a pile of oddly wrapped presents by the door, and a pile of half-eaten strawberries from the hotel staff on the coffee table, and a pile of David’s hair tickling his neck.

His head rests at an odd angle against Patrick’s collarbone, he thinks he’ll complain when he’s awake, and it rises and falls with Patrick’s slow waking sighs. He’s a little trapped by David on his shoulder, and by his arm flung across his middle and tangled in the sheets at his waist, but he doesn’t mind. He still feels like he did yesterday, a little overwhelmed, a little full to the brim, and to the ends of his nerves. It’s like there’s only so much happiness one body can handle in a day, like it had to hold some in so he could deal with the residue today, let it jump between his synapses, run wild around his body, let it bubble on his lips, and against the lines on David’s forehead.

‘Morning’, David mumbles, and he’s woken him up. He shifts away a little, tries to keep still.

‘Morning. Sorry.’

‘I don’t think - ’ David clears the sleep from his throat, and he feels him shift closer, feels his fingers trace the linen at Patrick’s waist, before they slip beneath it to make light, messy circles around his left hip bone. David’s brow is serious, but his voice is laced with humour, and he starts to drum a gentle tattoo against his skin. ‘I don’t think I caught your name last night.’

‘Oh, let’s not do names.’

David peers up at him then, eyes bright, mouth in a tight-lipped smile, pulled to one side of his face, so he can hold in the happiness the best way he knows. David looks at him like he always does, like he did at the start, relieved Patrick’s in on the joke, thrilled when he brings David in on his.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hooked up with a stranger at a wedding,’ he shrugs, and Patrick places a hand atop David’s to pause his fidgeting. David turns his hand over then so their palms meet briefly, before he lets his thumb slide across Patrick’s knuckles, like mountains and valleys to crest before he reaches the thin gold band on his fourth finger. It’s a new addition, a yesterday addition to his fairly jewelry minimal collection. It makes him feel entirely far too happy to deal with atop his current portions, a separate happiness that he’ll process later, so he just lets David traces his thumb against it, lets himself feel David’s own rings bump against it. ‘Probably the last time though.’

‘Probably?’

‘Probably,’ David brings Patrick’s hand up to his mouth, presses a grin to the ring there.

‘Funny,’ Patrick deadpans, shuffles down a little on the pillow. He brings his free hand under Davids chin to shift his gaze upward and leans forward, presses his nose against David’s cheek. ‘Remind me to tell my next husband that one.’

David doesn’t bother to hide his grin this time, wide and warm, and caught against Patrick’s mouth, the kiss messy and familiar and dissolved into laughter.

#david x patrick #schitt's creek #schitts creek #my fic #soft fic prompt meme #Im SO SORRY it took me so long to get to this! i really got carried away with it!#hope its okayyy #david rose #patrick brewer

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negasonicimagines · 5 years

Text

The House that Blows Up Every Few Years

request: Hey! Love your writing! Would you mind writing a Yukisonic x reader where the reader saves one of them from being terribly injured and the other two don’t know what to do cuz they don’t know if reader will make it and they reminisce a bit about when reader made them happy during hard times?

notes: Reader doesn’t save either, but tries to… Everyone lives, but you’ll understand what I mean. This one’s a doozy, at around 2.9k words.

warnings: domestic terrorism, housefire, near-death, hospital, wounds/scars.

The first thing you do after waking up to the smell of smoke is wake up your girlfriend. Ellie may be fireproof, but she’s not immune to smoke inhalation. The two of you grab your go bags and make a swift escape, following the rest of the people in your hallway to your station outside.

As you hear whispers of a bombing, you realize your other girlfriend, Yukio, isn’t at her station.

“She’s not there,” you say to your girlfriend, stomach dropping. “She’s not there.” Without another thought, you super-speed into the school before you can be stopped. Ellie goes after you, but is held back by teachers and staff. She fights them, yelling about Yukio, about you.

Hours that could be minutes pass by and though students are supposed to face away from the school, she and everyone else are staring. She watches as you flit past the windows, but then your form disappears. She watches the door, hoping you’ve gone downstairs, where there are less windows.

Eventually, Logan, Wade, and other assorted mutants who can withstand the fire filter out of the building. Ellie thinks you’re not with them until she notices that Wade’s got someone slung over his shoulder. You.

“Oh god!” she wails, but runs to the first aid station already set up by the authorities. Wade carries you over to the cot she’s closest to, and someone qualified begins working on you, doing CPR on you. “W-Where’s Yukio? She was looking fo Yukio?” Ellie shakes as she asks her question, one she realizes is dumb, while they are actively trying to resuscitate you.

“Why was she looking for Yukio? Yukio was out back, she had an impromptu sleepover with Jubilee,” Wade asks, confused.

“Yukio- She- She wasn’t at her station up front,” Ellie trembles. “Y/N just went in there, without a thought, to get to her… I- I…” She’s too stunned to cry, at least right now. Too stunned to be angry at Yukio, at least right now.

“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why sleepovers are technically against the rules here. We have too many disasters between the old house, everyone’s old enemies, and anti-mutant organizations like the one that bombed us tonight for anyone to be unaccounted for,” Logan interjects.

“Even I know it’s not the time, dude,” Wade remarks, and Ellie doesn’t reject his comfort when he gives her a hug, letting her turn her head to keep an eye on you.

“As you can see by the soot near her nostrils and the bluish tint to her skin, your friend here is suffering from smoke inhalation. She’s breathing now, but we’ll have to take her to the hospital. What all can you tell us about her? Any allergies or other medical history we should know about? Conditions that may run in the family?” the EMT asks.

“Um, uh, she’s a mutant, uh, s-so she used her super-speed to get in and around there. She would’ve breathed a lot faster, so there m-might be- Y’know, with the inhalation, uh… I- I don’t know anything.” At this realization, the realization that you might die and she won’t know something as simple as if you have any allergies, she sobs into Wade’s chest. Your cot is lifted into the ambulance, and Wade releases Ellie, hopping in there before anyone can stop him.

The fire is finally put out, and the ambulance drives away. Ellie and Yukio sit together in one of the buses to the hotel.

“What happened? I heard Y/N got hurt, is she gonna be okay?” Yukio’s blissfully unaware, and this makes Ellie resent her even more.

“If she dies, I will never forgive you,” Ellie informs her with a cold glare. Yukio didn’t think Ellie was capable of cold like that before now, only burning intensity with every single emotion.

“I don’t understand, what happened?”

“She was looking for you, you idiot!” Ellie shrieks, drawing the attention of everyone on the bus. “Because you weren’t at your station, and you failed to tell either of us where you were. Smoke inhalation kills way faster than the actual fire will. She’s barely alive.”

“What? She was- I- No, no, I- I- No…”

Ellie just continues to glare, silent tears running down her cheeks as Yukio sobs into the empty seat in front of her where you should be. Ellie can almost see you, cracking jokes about how anti-mutant freaks are so stupid they can’t even bomb a building right, or how you’d wished they’d gotten someone you hated this time.

She realizes that she’s not honoring you very well by taking her frustration and fear out on the person who you tried to save.

“I’m- I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. She and I should’ve checked around before trying to go in. You- You’re not an idiot, you just wanted to hang out with your friend.”

“It’s my fault whether it was an accident or not,” Yukio admits, still crying, but she clings to Ellie now, who clings back as the ride continues.

When they get to the hotel, they share a bed, and Sally, Yukio’s roommate, gets one to herself. Normally, you’d be in the bed with them and Sally would jokingly beg you guys not to “do anything freaky.”

Ellie bitterly chuckles at the thought.

“What?” Yukio wonders. The two lay side by side, not even touching. Looking at the ceiling.

“Thinking about Sally asking us not to do anything freaky,” Ellie explains. “Remember when Y/N licked her own elbow in response and nearly dislocated her shoulder?”

Yukio giggles at the reminder, before remembering she’s not supposed to giggle while you’re fighting for your life.

“No, no, Y/N would want us to cheer up. Remember what she’d say, that dumbass meme? Keep your chin up, gamer, your headset is falling.”

“Our heads are on pillows,” Yukio retorts, being pouty and difficult in her near-grief.

“It’s a metaphor and you know it,” Ellie scoffs, knowing she has to step up and be the middle ground between herself and Yukio that you usually were. “Remember that time when she raced Pietro? And all the crazy stuff they did as tie-breakers?”

“She ended up losing because he proposed who could kiss their girlfriend faster as a challenge. He agreed she could choose just one of us, but she refused.”

“She chose you tonight,” Ellie chokes out.

“Baby, no…” Yukio reassures. “You know she thought she would get me out of there in no time, that we’d all be safe together… But I was so- So irresponsible. I’m so sorry,” Yukio breaks down again, overwhelmed by guilt.

Ellie’s phone rings, that stupid ringtone Wade programmed into it for himself when he got ahold of her phone while she was in gym.

Hey, it’s Wade, you need to pick up your fucking phone! Alexander Graham Bell didn’t invent this shit for texting, answer the call!

Ellie almost ignores it, but then remembers that Wade went with you and lunges toward the nightstand, ripping the charger out of her phone and answering, putting it on speaker.

“What’s going on, is she okay? Is she- Is she…?”

“She’s fine, Eleven. They’re gonna take some chest x-rays and whatnot tomorrow to make sure, but she’s alive, just sleeping.”

Ellie sighs in relief, ignoring Wade’s dumb nickname.

“Thank god,” Yukio weeps.

“No, thank Wade for getting her out,” Ellie corrects. “I- I owe you big time, dude.”

“Did you just… Say something nice about me? Wow, maybe- Nope. Not worth it,” Wade jokes, managing to get a chuckle out of Yukio and a smile from Ellie that he can’t see.

“We’ll be there tomorrow,” Ellie confirms, with a relieved sigh following.

“Great. See you then. Try to get some sleep, you don’t wanna be exhausted when you see her again.”

“Alright. Thanks again, man.”

“No problem.” Wade hangs up, and Ellie and Yukio lay back, unsure of how to sleep in the same bed without you. The two of them, between their electricity and fire abilities, produced too much heat to cuddle each other. You typically acted as a buffer between them, allowing them to be close to each other (and you) with no discomfort.

“Do you wanna hold hands?” Yukio offers.

“Mine are all sweaty,” Ellie admits.

“Mine too.”

They hold hands.

“Remember when Y/N went on that roller coaster with us? I think she was the most scared, she held our hands so tight.”

“Yeah. ‘It’s different when it’s me!’” Ellie playfully imitates you.

Yukio giggles. “She really is the best, isn’t she?”

“You’re both the best.”

“No, you’re both the best.”

“Maybe we’re all the best. That’s why we’re all together. No one else is worthy,” Ellie jokes.

“Something like that,” Yukio replies. “I like remembering her. We should do it a lot more. Maybe tell her this stuff instead of assuming she knows it, ‘cause what if she had died and she didn’t know? What if she died because of me and she didn’t know that I love her, I love her so much…?” Her voice breaks a little bit.

“I love her too. And I love you.”

“I love you too. I miss her.”

“Me too,” Ellie agrees. “Remember when you two did that play together? What was it, uh…?”

“Little Shop of Horrors… She was adorable as Seymara. It was awesome that they let us gender-swap Seymour so we could play him and Audrey.”

“Well, your duet during auditions was amazing. I wish I would’ve tried out, I could’ve played a hobo, or Audrey 2. But I was too scared. Should’ve listened to Y/N.”

“We could all stand to listen to Y/N more,” Yukio reminds her girlfriend. “Oh, oh, remember when we saw The Nun and she got so scared at that one part that she ran out of the theater and back in at super-speed? We didn’t even know it happened until she told us after.”

Ellie finally laughs, at this. It was one of her favorite memories of you. You’d insisted on seeing the movie, but at the first jump-scare, you fled. However, you returned. Outside of the humor, that was Ellie’s favorite part: You came back and faced it.

“We should get to sleep, like Wade said,” Ellie suggests.

“Agreed. I love you. Goodnight. Sweet dreams, honey.”

“Goodnight. I love you, too. Sweet dreams, babe.”

Ellie doesn’t have sweet dreams. She dreams of the events of the night, but this time, you die. Wade holds a charred, smoldering body in his hands.

She lurches forward when she wakes up, still crying like she was in her dream.

“Baby, baby, sweetheart, what happened?” Yukio, already awake, rushes from the attached bathroom to Ellie’s side.

“It- It was last night, b-but Y/N died, and she was all burnt up, crumbling,” Ellie pants, sobs breaking up her breaths.

“Shh, shh… She’s okay, Y/N’s okay… We’re gonna see her today… Shhh…” Yukio repeats the sentiment, holding Ellie, who is sitting on the bed, to her and rocking back and forth steadily.

“What happened?” Sally asks sleepily, awoken by the commotion. “Did her, uh… Did her condition get worse?”

“She’s gonna be alright, Skids. Ellie just had a nightmare about what happened, that’s all.”

“Damn, that sucks. Tell Y/N I said to get well soon.” Sally goes back to sleep after saying this, and both Ellie and Yukio get ready to leave.

After this, they check in with Piotr and leave for the hospital, taking a cab there. They wait in the waiting room for visiting hours to begin, and Wade confirms at the desk that they’re allowed to see you.

Ellie and Yukio follow Wade down the halls to your room. You’re awake, sort of.

“Hey guys…” You give them the sleepiest, sweetest grin that makes it more than worth the wait.

“I’m gonna go steal some jello, B-R-B!” Wade announces, exiting swiftly after.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Ellie says, close to crying again.

“Hey, hey, none of that. Look, look… They tell me I’m gonna match Wade.” You hold up your leg, which is heavily bandaged, before letting it flop down on the bed, as if it’s too heavy to lift. Ellie realizes you must be under general anesthesia of some sort. It’d explain your grogginess.

“I’m sorry,” Yukio says. “I should’ve told you or Ellie about the sleepover, I-”

“Sleepover? Right, right, with Jubilee. Don’t blame yourself for me not sending you a text before running into a burning building. Damn, those anti-mutant freaks can’t even bomb a building right. There’s hundreds of people in there and the only person they managed to even injure is me. Damn it, why couldn’t they have gotten that shithead Quentin or something? I’m kidding, I’m kidding…”

Ellie laughs too hard, so glad to hear you make your twisted jokes that she’d usually scoff at, that Yukio would usually playfully scold you for.

“You- If I’d been in there, you would’ve saved my life. You thought I was in danger, and you just… Ran in, without even thinking. I’m- I’m so grateful,” Yukio says.

“Babe, of course. What else would I do?” You ask.

“I don’t know, stay safe and not be stupid?” Ellie mumbles. Now that she knows you’re okay, she can be angry at you for being so reckless.

“You ran after her too, jackass. I’m just faster,” you defend yourself with a scoff.

“Yeah, and you passed out due to smoke inhalation faster, too,” Ellie argues. You sigh.

“I’m not gonna apologize, Ellie,” you make it known. “I don’t regret going in there. What if she’d really been in there? What if someone else was? If I died in there, I wouldn’t have regretted it, because it was the right thing to do.”

“Forgive me if that sounds more suicidal than heroic,” Ellie says with a roll of her eyes, not even hinting at what a hurtful thing that was to say, considering her nightmare last night.

“Y/N,” Yukio scolds, though there’s no malice in her tone, just frustration. “You shouldn’t say things like that! Ellie just had a bad dream about you dying in the fire last night! She cried in her sleep and even after she woke up!”

“Yukio,” Ellie hisses. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone.” So much for hiding it.

“Babe,” you fret, reaching out to stroke her cheek with your bandaged hand. She turns away at the sight of it, not letting you touch her. If she’d just been faster, maybe she could’ve helped you get out sooner, made you realize you couldn’t stay, that Yukio was somewhere else.

You can’t hide your expression of disappointment at her withdrawal.

“I’m happy you’re both okay, and I am sorry for worrying you and scaring you, just not for what I did,” you admit.

“Fine. I guess I can deal with that,” Ellie decides. She hates herself for being so selfish and afraid, and even hates you a little for not being those things as well. You could’ve stayed safe with her. You didn’t. You sacrificed your life for the potential of saving someone else’s, and you didn’t even regret it, despite only hurting yourself. “I just- You could’ve died.”

“Yeah, I could’ve, but I didn’t, so… Get over it,” you say. You’d tried to be patient, light-hearted, but between Ellie’s pushiness, your nausea from the anesthesia, and your overall exhaustion, it’s not easy to keep up. “It’s not like you almost died.”

“But didn’t I?” Ellie responds, the words almost silently slipping out of her mouth before she can stop them.

You sigh, reaching out to her again. She takes your hand this time, Yukio already holding your other and just watching, grateful to see you again after being so worried.

“I’m sorry we haven’t really chatted much other than arguing, but can I sleep some more?” you request. “You guys can stay in here if you don’t mind the increased potential for drooling and the fact that I might wake up and vomit, but I’m very drowsy.”

“Of course you can sleep, honey bunny. You need more rest so you can heal up faster,” Yukio agrees, while Ellie nods. You yawn before closing your eyes and trying to fall asleep.

You fail at this task, trying for minutes that felt like hours. You open your eyes, looking around. Ellie’s fallen asleep, still clutching your hand, but Yukio is awake, just watching both of you. Careful not to wake up your other girlfriend, you scoot away from Yukio, attempting to make a space for her. She squeezes in, your bodies eventually overlapping as you cuddle.

“I love you,” Yukio quietly says. “Last night, Ellie and I stayed up pretty late, just talking about you. Our worries about you, our favorite memories of you, what we love about you… It really helped us calm down, but I realized that we should be telling you these things that we appreciate about you, not just remembering them when you almost die.”

“Babe, you guys make me feel plenty appreciated.” It’s true. They give you lots of praise, and you them. Despite any other flaws in the relationship, that was a strong attribute of it.

“But- But still. What if you had died, not knowing exactly how much we love you? How much I love you?”

“Love, I promise I know. I love you two, too. Let’s just cuddle and try to relax. I’ve got an x-ray later.”

“Okay…” Yukio agrees, and once you’re in the safety of her arms, you both fall asleep.

Everything is gonna be okay.

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laissezferre · 5 years

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the terror (2018), last 3 eps

this is primarily for @corinthes, whom i’ve been yelling at for the past few days bc of this show. it got a bit lengthy and and i doubt you’d enjoy reading this from the chat box. spoilers beware for anyone curious enough.

i feel like episode 8 is the calm before the shitstorm that is ep 9-10 and it certainly has the feel of a filler episode, but i love it nonetheless. people talk! people have lines and are given the time to deliver them! francis and james have this important conversation even before the credits roll and that makes it all the more important. i love this scene; i see what you mean about how it belongs to a stage. it's just two guys having a heartfelt convo, beautifully acted. when the camera goes further and shows them standing apart, right in the middle of the frame, in this vast wasteland, looking at each other and having an understanding--gaawwd.

tobias's delivery of "i would like that very much" was so good! so vulnerable and open and hopeful. even now, he needs validation and it's important that he gets it from francis. and francis--having labeled the ship as a confessor--fills the ships' gap and becomes the confessor for everyone apparently. and at this point, he's reached god-like zen bc seriously he looks so put together after everyone's spilled their guts out to him. til the end, he dispenses "i forgive you" and "you did your best" and "you're a good lad" like pancakes. and he starts calling people by their first name too. and this, coming from a francis crozier who has known to be miserable and disagreeable, is called d e v e l o p m e n t. further on, when tells his lieutenants that if they got sick, he wouldn't leave them either, i thought "yes, i would die for you, i would follow you to hell and back". thank you, jared, for this performance.

i loved the almost-hanging scene too. it's a very looong scene and it's sad how so few shows actually take the time to have their characters talk! i can easily imagine this on a stage, complete with atmospheric smoke and sepia lighting. i knew that letter was gonna bite francis in the ass. i was waiting for it and hickey put down that card in the best time possible. hickey, you are a murdering, mutinous son of a bitch, but i also can't help but admire you.

ep 9 is like one sucker punch after another. god wants you to live, can we sleep, bridal carry, what can i do for you sir--this is... too much. special props tho to goodsir bc he has been through some shit. this show has added so many actors to my watch-for-next-projects list and that includes paul ready. he goes through such a transformation, so filled with hope and optimism and empathy and by the time they ask him to butcher gibson, he just looks so fucking done. we know he's going to die and it won't be by anyone else's hand. i love the part where hickey stabs gibson and they get into a struggle, but it’s less a physical struggle and more a battle of wills. can't believe they brought out the bits of glass from episode xX. his death was so beautifully shot. first, from where he sits still and looks in the direction of the camera while the tent canvass behind him thrashes wildly. that was hauntingly beautiful. then when he cuts his wrists but we can't see his face, only his spasms. and then when he pictures the flowers and shells. that broke me. he was a science man to the death.

i have words for jopson but i will reserve them for ep 10.

francis gave a service for james but they did it alone. ok then! fuck me up some more! this, plus blankly's revelation that he's gonna die soon, chips at francis' state of zen and we see him break a bit. i love how his voice breaks in "why didnt you say aything?!" and then they're laughing and crying at the same time and yeah, there is no toxic masculity in this murderland, just a whole lot of love.

this show like oprah giving out prizes. "you get a monologue! and you get a monologue! and you get a monologue!" and i love it! hodgson and tover are relatively minor characters but they are given time to speak up, and despite their shitty actions, you can't help but empathize. and their breakdowns aren't the same either. goodsir breathes heavily, hodgson is still and haunted, tover hugs himself and shudders, and they all do it so well! how is everyone in this show so good?? jared did mention that most of the cast was theater-trained so i guess that played a part.

i have to tell you that before bingeing the last 3 eps i watched almost all the terror crack videos on youtube, so these last eps were, though still heartbreaking, were also a bit funny for me, in an absurd kind of way. when james fires the rocket, i can hear "rocketman" in the background. when goodsir mixes the poison, i almost yelled "chemistry time!". it's just... i needed to make fun of it or i wouldn't surive the heartbreak. which leads me to:

jopsoooooonnn! the best boi! the goodest boi! the most loyal boi who did no wrong! apart from his death, what's more heartbreaking is that he thought crozier left him. he didn't know that the captain was abducted so he thought he's been deliberately abandoned. his hallucination reduced me to tears. he was probably starving to death and here was all this food but no, he! just! wanted! his! captain! he sees the captain in his best form--well kempt, alert, emphatic--and at the end of it, his captain is turned away from him. fuck me up seven ways to sunday. i desperately want bts pics from this scene bc the eeriness of having a full dining table in the wastes must be jarring.

little doesn't get enough credit, because while he did mess up, his loyalty is also something to be admired. they were hungry and sick and dying--they could very well have just kept on south but he was still insistent to save francis. "you would leave our captain with that devil of a man?" yes, little, you did your best. you deserved to die last.

if tunbaaq is meant to be a metaphor for nature and balance, it's absolutely fitting how it's defeated by lead and chemical poison. ultimately, how we've used technology and industrialization kills the environment--or at least that's how i read it.

i really have to applaud adam nagaitis for his performance here and i do think he deserves top billing as much as the lead cast. by the end of it, he draws as much screen time as crozier and you can even say that he holds the last 2-3 eps together. and you genuinely fucking hate his character. were those really james' boots he was wearing? does that mean they dug him up and looted him? that unforgiveable swine, may he rot in hell, but gawwd adam pulled it off well.

i've been debating with myself if it was kinder and more poetic to have crozier die at the end so that he wouldn't have to grieve or go through survivor's guilt, but for my own mental health, i'm glad he survived. it's a small mercy but i'm glad he got to live. i'm glad he got to see what happened to his men, that he saw jopson one final time, and little too. his survival also sends the message that the one most willing to adapt (and respect the culture) will survive. he tries to follow silna but stops when the chief says "it's just how we do things". he understands and he lets it go. he learns the language and the way of life--and he lives.

i've watched featurettes and interviews for this series and from there you can really see that this show was a labor of love. it was a product of collaboration, research, open-mindedness, and a solid cast and crew. you can have all the special effects, all the expensive costumes, but at the core of it, what makes a good story is Dialogue. i can honestly say that it's one of the best scripts this decade has ever produced. the showrunners set out to tell a story and they did it to the best of their ability. i'll be coming back to this series for the next few months and rewatching it many times over.

thank u, thank u, thank u for introducing this to me. now come yell at me back

#the terror #the terror amc #thoughts #i have feeling--a lot of them

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hildorien · 5 years

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Fate, Free Will, and what that means.

I wrote this as my high school senior thesis. I am still very proud of it and I’m I hope people take a look at it because my post about of the race of men deserve better got some notes and I defiantly go into topics I ranted about there in this with better wording and more citations.

This is a better rebloggable version.

The Silmarillion is J.R.R. Tolkien’s most ambitious but least known work. He was never satisfied with it, to the point that it was only published after his death by his son, Christopher Tolkien, who acted as the editor. It tells the story of Middle-earth from it’s contraception until the Third Age, or rather when Lord of the Rings starts thus it acts as a complex prequel for those books. For most of the story, it tells the tales of Elves and their struggles in the harsh world of Middle-earth, though some stories focus on the Race of Men, the name for humans in Middle-earth. Throughout the book, it weaves grand tales of both loss and triumph, murder and heroism, and history and myth closely together.

The Silmarillion has all of these things, but out of all themes, the one most commonly touched upon is that of Fate. What does it mean to be tied to fate? Can you defy Fate? And with a Fate, what does it actually mean to have free will? Can the two exist in the same space? Characters interact with Fate in different ways. Some try to defy it either by running away from it or trying to change it, while others allow fate to have their way with them, flowing with it instead of against it. This being said, unlike many book series, The Silmarillion is doesn’t have a clear definitive answer of which of these is wrong or right, and it is wholly reliant on who you are talking about, as well as who is writing the story.

Fate and Free will are two very different things in the legends of Tolkien. You either have one or the other. A fact is wholly reliant on who you are within Tolkien’s works, meaning what race (Elf, Dwarf, Men, etc) you are. Inspired by Germanic, Anglo-Saxon, and Norse myths and folktales, as well his own Christianity, Tolkien weaved a very clear picture of Fate and Freewill in The Silmarillion, as well his other works. These three things that very little in common, but Tolkien somehow worked it so that these very different concepts weave together to make a perfect, and frankly, sad picture. In many Norse and Germanic myths, every person is dictated by a great destiny (Fate) and no one no matter, how much they try can be free of that destiny (Fate). This differs from Christian mythos, where people have Free will and not a unavoidable destiny. Free will, for good or ill, is a gift from God, and being a devout Catholic, Tolkien felt that he needed to reconcile this in his works. He determined that some creatures in his world have the more Germanic-Nordic Fate while some have Christian-inspired Free will.

We see the later described most clearly in the chapter, Ainulindalë. In the Ainulindalë, which acts as a kind of creation myth for Middle-earth, it explains what forces willed the world into existence, as well as explains where Fate, as it relates to the creatures of this world, comes from. We see that there is a supreme God, Eru Ilúvatar, and his Ainur, who act as both minor Gods and Angels. Readers are told that in this myth Eru Ilúvatar instructed his Ainur to sing a great theme together and that theme will become the world, meaning that Middle-earth is basically sung into existence, or rather they try too. If Eru Ilúvatar and the Ainur are God and the angels, there has to be a Devil, and his name is Melkor, the greatest of all the Ainur. And it is he who starts messing up the theme from the perfection that Eru Ilúvatar first envisioned for his world with his own “loud, and vain” music (The Silmarillion, pg.18), but Eru Ilúvatar just starts over, only for it to be ruined again.

The last and final time, Ilúvatar rises sternly and raises his right hand to begin a third. Melkor tries to corrupt this theme with the volume of his music, but it is powerful enough to prevent him from succeeding. Eventually he shows the Ainur what they have created with their theme, which includes the lush world of Middle-earth, in which dwells Ilúvatar’s own personal creations the Elves and Men. He shows them thousands of years of history up until the domination of Men, and then instructs them if they want to be part of that they must leave his halls and join the world with the condition that they can not return to him until the end of the world, which many do (The Silmarillion, pg.15-22).

This story is significant because it blatantly shows us what Fate is to Tolkien, which is known in the text as the Music of the Ainur. A pre-oridanted plan that the powers of this world sung, according to Ilúvatar’s instruction, thus was his plan, all before any creature walked in Middle-earth. But it does not end here. In the chapter Beginning of Days, Tolkien throws a metaphorical curveball. As alluded to above, he explains that while some creatures are ruled completely and totally by Fate (or the Music of Ainur), in this cause, the Ainur, themselves, who came down into the world, now known as the Valar and Maiar, themselves and the Elves, who The Silmarillion describes as “them in the nature of Ainur” (The Silmarillion, pg. 41) some are completely free of it, like Men. This is also the reason why the later are immortal, while the latter is mortal. As long as the world exists, so will those creatures be bound to to the music that brought it to life; where if you die, you are not bound to the world, thus not bound to the music (Fate).

A common theme in The Silmarillion and other materials, is the fight between immortality and mortality, which in itself is a branch of the Fate debate in Tolkien works. As it is an Elf’s fate to stay tied to the world forever and never die (but instead to be reincarnated over and over again if they are slain). While Men are Fated, in a way, to die and leave the bounds of the world forever, this actually allows the Race of Men to have the truest Free will; not being bound to the music. In the The Silmarillion, it states Men “seek beyond the world and Fate no rest therein; but they should have virtue to shape their life…beyond the music of Ainur (pg.42), meaning their actions are free from the theme of the Ainur, but not meaningless. Contrast this to the Elves have purpose within the world but they had no freedom within this purpose; they are players in a grand play and can’t deviate from their script. However yet, there are many that still try and improvise to mix results.

Two great examples of fudging with Fate would be the love story of Beren and Lúthien, which is a tale of fighting against fate, versus the tragedy of Andreth and Aegnor, which is a tale of surrendering oneself to their fate.

Both are stories of romances between a immortal Elf and a mortal Human, both of whom share a great and deep love, but can never truly be together because of their clashing Fates, one being deathless and the other being fated to die, will tear them apart in the end, for that is the fate of Men and Elves.

The only thing is Beren and Lúthien overcome this fate and are united in death, while Aegnor and Andreth are forever sundered until the breaking of the world. Lúthien defies Fate by fighting it when her lover dies. She leaves to plead with the closest thing Tolkien has devised to a god of the dead, not unlike Orpheus from Greek mythology, to plead with him (Mandos) to plead with Ilúvatar himself to give her back her mortal Eurydice, her now dead Beren. And she gets her wish, her and Beren’s happy end, her only condition being that she too must becomes mortal, letting go of her Elvish life (her father, mother, and Elvish friends) for a mortal one to be with her true love in death, wherever Men go when they die (The Tale of Beren and Lúthien, J. R. R. Tolkien).

In contrast, Aegnor, a Elvish prince falls in love with a mortal wise women, Andreth, but instead of defying the stars and moving mountains to be with his one true love, as Elves are mentioned to love only once in their immortals life for the most part (Laws and Customs of the Eldar, pg.17), he leaves, he runs rather than fight for them. This is something that leaves both of them bitter, especially Andreth. Who saw this action as himself saying that she was not good enough for him, as sees himself as a supernaturally beautiful Elf and her a average mortal women (Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, Ring of Morgoth, J.R.R. Tolkien).

The narrative shows Lúthien’s choice to defy Fate and fight as positive and rewards for it, while being more split on Aegnor. The narrative seems to show him pity, in a way portraying him (and Andreth) as sad victims, who had to make rough choices (but in their situation, the right ones) but at the same time putting his actions in a glaringly negative light. The two sides are shown by being represented in the take by Finrod, Aegnor’s brother, who is trying to get Andreth, who represents the negative, to understand why he did what he did, though even he never tries to forgive him (thus pitying him but not absolving him). Here the two are sundered by fate, separated by powers beyond their control. And to make matters worse, Aegnor, the immortal, dies before Andreth, the mortal, in battle as if life was burying one last knife into the back of these two tragic lovers. It is easy for one to read this as a narrative punishment for him as well, in the same vein of how Lúthien was rewarded.

This may make it seem that the narrative, thus Tolkien himself, is advocating for a person to defy their Fate though, it is not that simple. Don’t think that all one needs to do is have faith to give it a good try; just because Beren and Lúthien were lucky, their happy story is a rare one in The Silmarillion. More often things end badly for those who defy Fate, and are struck down without mercy by the act itself.

Those often struck down by fate are often described to be Doomed in Tolkien, as one reads deeper into The Silmarillion, Fate and Doom become one and the same for many of Tolkien’s characters, particularly the Elvish ones. The Noldor Elves, for example, are described as Doomed (Fated) to have both great glory and great tragedy when they travel to Middle-earth for their crimes during a time called the darkening which includes the genocide of the Teleri Elves (Of the Flight of the Noldor, The Silmarillion, pg.73-91). Particularly, the sons of Fëanor, who end up being characters who are both evil, though sympathetic to many readers. It is here we see Tolkien’s most Germanic-Nordic influences, because in typical Germanic-Nordic tradition Fate and Doom are the same. Life is a harsh mistress, and we, or at least the characters in these tales, as beings of this Earth, are merely playthings, and trying to deny one’s Fate is to only bring more Doom on yourself. To try and fight the powers that be is utterly fruitless because you will not win.

It is telling that the Elves of the First Age, where most of The Silmarillion take place, are shown throughout to be fiery, stubborn, and un-perfect characters who defy Fate and the powers of the world, and bring Doom onto them, this is far different from the wise, calm, borderline perfect creatures we see when we read The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings. One of the major themes, or lessons the Elves, as a group in universe, learn throughout all of the legendarium of Tolkien’s work is to accept their Fate, that all they love, fought, and bleed for in Middle-earth will fade and the Men will replace them. The Elves in later works no longer fight this Fate anymore, opting to just go where the music of Ainur take them. This is why we see them departing at the end of Lord of the Rings, happily in many cases like that of the Elf lady, Galadriel. But even then, it’s not entirely sweet. This might be their Fate to leave for a land as forever youthful as the Elves themselves, as the Undying lands (Valinor, in The Silmarillion) are, they still love Middle-earth and those within it and do not desire to leave it forever like they must. And it is this that many consider their Doom, no matter how much they love Middle-earth, they can never have it. Even those like the Green Elves, the Sindar, who have lived in Middle-earth for generations, it is their home, and have never known the Undying lands, but they must still leave it for fear of becoming like wraiths in constant pain, faded in a way.

In a lot of ways this echoes the story of Aegnor and Andreth, with Aegnor representing the Elves and Andreth representing Middle-earth, but also mortals, who many Elves see as brothers and sisters in-arms, as well as in some cases sons and daughters, like in the case of the Elf lord Elrond, and have centuries of great kinship with, both of which the Elves after the Third Age will be forever be parted from it.

But this is focusing on Elves, what about Men? Men have a very interesting place in both the context of Fate. As mentioned above, with the only creatures with Free will, Men don’t have a a unified destiny like the Elves do, with the exception of dying or vague general statements of facts like the Race of Men taking over control of Middle-earth as the dominant race after the Elves leave, but what they do in that time they control it is not Fated and up to the whims of future Men. Something much different than Elves. This leads into a big theme when it comes to Men and Fate, what constitutes as one man’s Fate and what is their own Free will?

And more importantly, how do those things come into conflict? Luckily, two of the most composed and polished stories focus on these Fate-linked themes, the first being the tales of Túrin Turambar and the fall of the great Mannish kingdom of Númenor.

The story of Túrin Turambar, one of the tragic characters that Tolkien has ever written, a was a mannish hero, who if Beren and Lúthien were a Eurydice and Orpheus with happy ending, they would be a walking Greek tragedy. He is cursed at a young age by Morgoth (the later name of Melkor, the living embodiment of evil), because of the deeds of his father who fought against Morgoth in the War of Wrath, and this leads Túrin to have a twisted life, which includes killing his best friend, and lover, the Elf, Beleg, then marrying his own sister, Niënor, and finally his own death after what should have been his biggest moment of triumph, slaying the dragon, Glaurung.

But as mentioned above, the Race of Men doesn’t usually have destinies like this, so how is Morgoth able to control Túrin’s Fate in this way to the point where eventually Túrin is so broken mentally and spent emotionally he commits suicide? Well, to put it simply it was both a mix of Morgoth’s curse, which in itself was just Morgoth putting the cards in the right way as it were so that Túrin always had the worst choices put in front of him, and Túrin’s own often prideful and blundering acts, that usually lead him into picking the worst choices over the better ones. This is a common theme with Fate and Men, where some outside force, here Morgoth, does something to affect the happens of a Man, or group of Men, does lead them on the path of ruin but it is by their own hand that leads to the end of that distatorius path. This can be seen in Túrin’s story where there were many times where he could have turned his life around. As the Music of the Ainur, Fate, gave Túrin some good opportunities, which he squandered. He could have asked for and received Thingol’s forgiveness rather than running off into the wilderness out of pride and adolescent angst; he could have listened to Beleg and returned to serve both men and elves, instead of running with the outlaws; he could have listened to Finduilas and Gwindor and reined in his pride, and not make Nargothrond such an obvious target. But he doesn’t, instead he takes the opinions that Morgoth has thrown at him and doesn’t realize it until it is too late (Of Túrin Turambar, The Silmarillion, pg 198-227).

It is said in The Silmarillion many times, as well as other works in the legendarium, that the Race of Men is weak, foolish, and quick to forsake reason, goodness, and light for illogical passions, cruelty, and evil, but I don’t think Tolkien ever saw it that way. Especially in the way he wrote about Men and Fate. In The Silmarillion, Ilúvatar himself, mentions that “Men will stray often from [himself],” (pg. 42) thus away from light and ‘goodness,’ and make some pretty dumb and bad choices but it is easy to wait and decide you’re options when you have forever to do so. Unlike his many Elven companions, who have ages to figure things out, to wait and plan, Túrin does not have that time, he is dying, as all Men are from the moment they are born. He only has one lifetime to make his mark on the world now. He wants to see his broken people restored, his kingdom returned to his people and out of the hands of the Easterling invaders. He is prideful and arrogant but he is hardly a bad person and almost all of his choices come from a want to do good. This is a common theme in a lot of Men driven stories.

By nature of their mortality, Men lack the foresight of their Elvish contemporaries, focusing on the here and now, because by nature, Men are present creatures while Elves live seemingly in the past but also the future. This kind of thinking gets Túrin, as well as other Men, to make a lot of bad choices, but how was he (Men), supposed to know the ending to his (their) own story before it’s even been written down? Túrin didn’t know he was cursed until he was thirty and killed himself only five years later. This is true for a lot of Men when they interact with fate, they bluster and many times their endings are their own fault, but it is often grown from a place of either a great want or great need, and the narrative often doesn’t condemn them for this, it pities them, in the same way that the narration in the tragedy of Aegnor and Andreth pitied them.

There is a reason in the final pages of Túrin’s story, his wife and sister laments before leaping to their own death, that he gave himself the name Turambar meaning ‘master of Fate’ only to be conquered by the very Doom (Fate) he hoped to master. This showing the ultimate pity of the narration.

But not all Men get this pity for the narrative, Númenor sure doesn’t.

Númenor is a lot of things in the context of The Silmarillion.

In The Silmarillion, it is the first great city of Men, meaning made by Men for Men, it had the best navy in all Middle-earth that surpassed even the Elves, the beauty of the island kingdom was so great that no Elf could recreate it in Middle-earth. It was a shining a example of everything mankind had to offer the world and was a beacon of hope after centuries of hardship, that was until it fell into ruin and evil. The story pulls from multiple inspirations including Atlantis and the Garden of Eden, but at its core, it is about a people fighting against their Fate, or in this case Men fighting their own mortality. While it is continuously mentioned that Men don’t have a destiny like in the way Elves do, they do however have a end point to their personal stories that no one, not even the gods, can take away: their death, which in many ways is the only thing that is Fated to men.

Many times throughout both The Silmarillion and other material, it is mentioned that Men have little faith in any gods, the Valar, having never had a chance to form a positive connection with them, and for many Men there is only one true god in their world and his name is Death. In the same way that it is natural for the Elves to go along with the music of Ainur, it is natural for Men to die, and as hinted at above, death is a gift from Ilúvatar. Going peacefully into death, whither through battle or old age, is narratively looked at as a positive by many stories, some even going as far as to have Men willing just stop living because they want too, or feel like they have passed their prime. In Tolkien it is only when Men try to avoid their gift, thinking as their death as a Doom, that the narrative openingly damns them. And this is the case for Númenor, whose people grew jealous of the long lives of the Elves, and wished to be immortal like them. The people started refusing to die, kicked all Elves out of their lands, then started to purge their influence from them as well, and then openingly wage war on the Undying lands (Valinor) to try and gain the land thinking it will make them immortal, even though many Elves and even messengers from the Valar told them otherwise (Akallabêth, The Silmarillion, pg. 257-283).

Though it is to be noted that much like Morgoth role in Túrin’s story, Sauron, who had been captured by the Númenoreans, had been corrupting the minds of the Númenoreans for sometime, capitalizing on their envy and resentment to urge them to more awful and awful deeds. Once again showing that that it is both a combination of beings of evil and also bad choices that lead Men to their ruin. Ruin, that in this case happens when they finally push too far trying to attack the Undying lands (Valinor) and the Elves within it and the Valar destroy the fleet that was coming as well as sink the island of Númenor back into the sea, effectively killing all but a few people who managed to escape and these refugees go on to create the kingdom of Gondor. It is to be noted here that unlike Túrin who fights Fate but is ultimately destroyed by it, and the narrative has pity on him, the narrative does not share the same pity for the people of Númenor. Instead it shows them apathy for their fighting of Fate, that their unwillingness to affect the most blessed gift their supreme god gave them as well as their greed was their downfall and it was necessary for it to happen. In a lot of ways is true, like Icarus, flying too close to the sun, a bunch of mortals challenge the gods and the gods strike them down, the Númenoreans affectively bite off more than they can chew. But in defense of them, death is a scary concept.

They are effectively the only race in Middle-earth that does not know what happens to them after death, no one does not even the Valar. Only Ilúvatar, and he keeps his lips sealed on the subject. And while, yes, many Elves, Valar, and Men alike think that there is something better on the other side for Men, they don’t know if its true and that can lead to a lot of anxiety, as well as envy for other races who seemingly do not suffer the pain of death and as the fear of the uncertainty of what happens to them afterward. But yet the narrative still deems it as damnation for the Númenoreans as well as unnatural.

This is extremely interesting, because unlike the Elves who universally received mostly pity from the narration over their lack of control in their own lives and being playthings to destiny, Men are a move messy case. Depending on what text you are reading, some Men get more sympathy from others. This is because Tolkien’s use of in universe writers for his stories.

While the stories of Elves are mostly written by an Elf, obviously, who would have a lot of melancholic sympathy for the Elves, themselves basically, who are Doomed, because Elves in Tolkien tend to be very self centered and think of only their pain, while ironically getting angry when others do not. They might easily have less sympathy for men, ironically this may because the Elves, in the same way Men envy immortality, they envy Men’s ability to die.

The Men writing the story of Túrin was most likely someone who lived years after him, and was writing about him as one would write about a famous mythological hero. While the fall of Númenor, was written by a bitter traditionalist who hated the Men in charge for leading his people of the kingdom to ruin because they wanted immortality.This was touched on briefly above where one was contrasting Beren and Lúthien’s story to Aegnor and Andreth and how the narration seemed to differ on how they portrayed their fights, or lack thereof, of Fate. Those who are looked at with pity or scorn by the narrative are wholly reliant on whither the person writing the piece liked them or not, and thus the why and how they’re fighting of Fate is justified, demonized, or something to be pitied is flexible from text to text.

Fate inside the world of Tolkien is a complex beast. To understand it, one needs more than just a passing understanding of just the concept. You need to understand that Fate is applied differently considering which race you are talking about, and even then the feelings that the text shows towards that Fate, Doom, and the person’s actions is wholly relied upon the person who is ‘writing the text’ inside the context of Tolkien’s universe and the different inspirations that Tolkien pulls from to form his universe concepts of Fate. In the works of Tolkien, Fate, Doom, and Free will all work together to form the actions of his characters, which in part form the story of the world he created. Tolkien’s works are messy and makes one think about what their own preconceptions. After reading one text and picking up another, this is what makes Tolkien so brilliant. Every story he creates has something different for everyone else writing fantasy, and inside his work there are no easy answers and to imply that his fiction is too ‘black and white’ is missing the forest for the trees.

#silmarillion #silm #my writing #turin turambar #beren and luthien #numenor #aegnor and andreth #tea with milk

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