#her new content can still be criticized obviously but i just. find the constant going back to old stuff especially when someone has

[amatres]

not ppl bringing up the stephanie soo mukbang stuff after she stopped doing those and is making a consistent effort to be more respectful about heavier topics as well as getting rid of the said mukbang videos

[norisbeinghuman]

Creativity in the age of AI

“I Dig a Pygmy” by Charles Hawtrey and the Deaf Aids. Phase one, in which Doris gets her oats. - John Lennon on “Two of Us”

My husband and I have been watching The Beatles: Get Back documentary and it made me think a lot about creativity, art and authenticity.

I love The Beatles. Every time I hear the opening chord of the Hard Day’s Night, I am transported back in time, 6 years old, sitting in the back of the car on our way to visit grandma on a Saturday. Beatles have shaped my taste in music more than probably any other band. Despite all the difficulties and the drama that accompanied the making of what turned out to be their last album – Let It Be – it is such a treat to watch them at work. Or maybe I should rather say to watch them at play.

Once they get into a flow, the four of them seem to be having so much fun. They break out into random songs, add silly lyrics, banter and laugh. While they are undoubtedly working and creating gems such as Let It Be, the process is so very clearly play. And not only in the sense that they are playing music, which they obviously are, but they are also playing with the music, with each other and with their ideas.

I was surprised to realise how many of these spontaneous little moments made it onto the finished album, just like the quote that introduced this blog post. It’s something John Lennon says out of nowhere, making everyone laugh. It has nothing to do with any of the songs. But it is there, the first thing on the album. Ir’s far from the only example. There are many bits and pieces that were clearly improvised, created from a moment of sudden inspiration, a moment of play. Most of them are just funny, silly, little things. But as a listener, I find them to be oh, so delightful.

The times of “perfect”

Watching The Beatles at play made me confront expectations I have about my own process of creation. Art and creative expression have been becoming more and more important for me over the last several years. I am getting more and more convinced that creative flow is one of the biggest joys in life and something we humans need to be happy. It doesn’t have to be big art, there are infinitely many ways to be creative. In my case it’s mostly writing, fibre crafts (like knitting and crochet) and an occasional drawing. My talent and ambitions are modest, and my goal is almost entirely just my own fun and satisfaction.

If the stakes of my creation are so low, why then do I seem to be more afraid of being silly and making mistakes than The Beatles were, while they were producing an album they knew millions were waiting for?

I think a part of it is the times we are living in. All of us have constant access to tools that allow us to make anything look just that little bit more polished. Just that little bit more “perfect”. Filters, photo editors, auto-tune, and now most of it powered by AI in addition. Heck, just the ability to take 50 selfies so we can pick the best one is a way of polishing reality that is very new in the history of humankind.

I know there are people who are trying to fight against this on social media, posting content and images that are more authentic, but I would say these are in the minority. There are many more who will say they are posting a candid photo, but still make sure to get themselves from the good side, or make sure the lighting is just right, or whatever else.. And most will just go with it and do their best to make their creation as polished and professional-looking as possible.

The result is that we are exposed to a stream of what pretends to be the normal life of others, but in reality is highly-polished highlights of their lives. In return, we feel like that is the level we should aim for when we are sharing something of our own. Anything less feels just plain not-good-enough. And sadly, these aren’t completely empty fears, because in the day and age of social media, the criticism we might receive online can be absolutely cruel and ruthless. I just think about the women who show their normal faces and their age in an attempt to normalise the way an average 30 or 40 year old looks like without any procedures and makeup, and they get shredded to pieces in the comment sections. We are all so used to unattainable standards that we don’t even know that that is what they are anymore.

If this is happening with “normal” people, it’s no wonder that the vast majority of big-name actors and pop stars (if not all) have a number of plastic surgeries, veneers on their teeth, flawless makeup, contouring, and an aura of effortless perfection about them. I find it so refreshing to look at music videos and concerts from a few decades ago. People look so much less polished, less perfect, and (I am probably projecting here) more at peace with that lack of perfection. Skin texture, less-than-perfect teeth, body hair, nipples showing through the tops, normal faces, normal bodies, and clothes and makeup that were meant more as a form of expression, rather than a way to hide the flaws of their wearer.

Looking at The Beatles jamming in their studio in 1969, I couldn’t help but wonder what we might be losing in our hunt for perfection. Because while it might feel like it makes sense to pursue perfection, it seemed to me that we are, indeed, losing something. I think creativity might be one of the first victims of perfectionism.

Creativity requires play.

Creativity is impossible to control. It is not something we can force. We can facilitate creativity by crafting the right conditions and hoping for it to appear, but we can’t make it happen.

Creativity is something that emerges spontaneously from play. Play is one of those things that are difficult to define, although we all experience it and intuitively know it when we see it. Play means engaging with our internal and external world in the moment, exploring, having fun. It’s a state of focus and flow, that we access so easily when we are young, but it gets more difficult as we get older. While play might look a little different in adults, it is still play, and it is the state in which we can reach into the well of our creativity.

What do we need to be able to play? One of the main requirements is a sense of safety. Not feeling safe makes it difficult to focus deeply, and to try new things that might lead to mistakes. Without feeling safe to fail, we can’t play. The other thing is the right kind of challenge: something interesting and stimulating, something that stretches us, but is still within our abilities. Ultimately, play is built on trust. Trust that our environment is safe and that we are allowed to explore, try and fail; and trust in our own ability to overcome the challenge.

Perfectionism killed the cat… I mean, play

Perfectionism is at the opposite end of the spectrum from play. There is nothing easy or playful about it, and I think one of the main reasons is that it is born out of fear.

I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. - Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird

Perfectionism is the fear that keeps us from trusting the safety of our playground. We don’t think we can afford mistakes. And perfectionism is the the fear that erodes our trust in ourselves. When perfection is the goal, we can never ever be good enough, and it’s only a matter of time before the fear paralyses us into procrastination and avoidance.

Imperfection is so very, very necessary, and being OK with it opens the doors to creativity, connection and authenticity.

It is our mistakes and the acceptance of mistakes that allow us to play, to practice, to be truly creative, to develop ourselves. It is how we learn and how we become better.

It is in our mistakes and in our lows that we best connect with others; they are what makes us human, what makes us relatable, what makes us real. I feel like we live in times where we would prefer “perfect” over “real”. Maybe it’s not so strange that the use of AI tools is becoming so common for tasks that are at their core creative ones. It feels safer not to show ourselves, not to risk failure. And definitely easier to avoid having to be creative when we are paralysed by perfectionism.

Most of us know all that, but that doesn’t remove the fear, nor the pressure we feel from the society.

Perfection seems like such a noble goal from the outside, for who wouldn’t want to be “perfect”. But its pursuit is a prison. It keeps us from freely exploring the world and ourselves. Perfectionism steals our play away, and with it our creativity, authenticity and connection to others. Truth is, we will make mistakes anyway, no matter how hard we try. We might as well stop trying so hard, and we will have more fun leaning into our mistakes, rather than fearing them.

To be honest, I am not sure where I am heading with this. I am winging it as I go, because I am trying to do as I preach. I am trying to play. To be real. To stop being afraid of imperfection. And I know that I will make mistakes and be cringey and that not everyone will like me, and I am doing my best to be OK with it.

I think the tide of our times will turn. Just like the 50s were followed by the 60s, which seemed much less concerned with perfection, I think people will eventually get tired of stepping so carefully through their lives. And until then, we can swim against the tide and have fun with it.

https://noriparelius.com/post/creativity/

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is. 

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative. 

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency. 

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him. 

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine. 

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

No Judgement | peter parker x chubby!fem!reader

@juliebean247​ asked: Hii! I’m pretty new to tumblr but I’ve read most of your work and I’m in love with it all!! I dunno if you do peter x reader (if you don’t that’s ok, just ignore lmao) but maybe where we have chubby!reader who jokingly puts herself down all the time and peter just kinda snaps at her for doing it because he can’t stand the comments she makes- because he’s crushing on her...? Again- you don’t have to do this one or you can change it up!

requests are now closed

Summary: You are you, and damn you love it. Everyone knows it too, and they love you. Joking about yourself is common. But as soon as you feel down, you can’t stop but put yourself down. Sometimes harshly. And Peter can’t take it anymore.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Warnings: angsty (mention of fat shaming, insecurities), a tiny bit of language (nothing too bad) but fluff at then end 

Word Count: 1945

A/N: first time (really) writing about our Spidey boy! 🎉🕷 also I kinda take my time with writing so sorry it took me a bit 😅 but I only feel accomplished when Like what I write sooooo bare with me please? 🙄🙊 anyway! thank you for your request sweetheart, I hope you will all like this little angsty fluffy as much as I do~ 💞 AND LOVE YOURSELF BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL BEAUTIFUL!!! 💖💜💖💜

masterlist

To hell with all beauty standards and perfection stereotypes!

You love your body as it is, from the smallest imperfection on your face to your curves and extra skin. And needless to say you are proud to show it. But sometimes other people’s look can be harsh on you, full of judgements as they don’t even know you but any opportunity is an open door to criticism.

So you got use to it like you didn’t care, and even made fun of it. More like made fun of yourself, actually.

“Man, her legs put together are the size of one thigh of mine!” you chuckle as you eat in the cafeteria next to MJ, Peter and Ned. All the table look at who you are talking about.

MJ playfully elbows you in the waist as she drinks her glass of water. “Shush (Y/N), everyone compares Bethany as a walking chopstick anyway.”

“I knoooow” you reply with a playful tone, munching on your pasta.

“You also look like chopsticks MJ, like from head to toes. Damn girl, you could just fly away with the wind!” you giggle while trying to steal in MJ’s plate. “And I will just stick to the ground like a pole!”

Even if you are laughing at yourself, you are actually the only one. You don’t catch MJ rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh, Ned being kind of confused and Peter... well, clearly being annoyed.

“Alriiiiiight you little brat, stop talking crap ‘cause you still have to explain the last lesson to me before next class starts” grumbles MJ as she stands, her now empty tray in hand before taking it away.

“Yup girl, coming!” you announce, wiping your mouth with a paper napkin.

Peter follows each of your moves. All done eating you too stand, put your bag on your back and take your tray ready to follow MJ, who is already waiting for you near the exit of the cafeteria.

“Alright guys, see you in chemistry!” you happily sing while showing your biggest smile to the boys before leaving the table to join MJ.

The constant chattering of the students in the background hides the silent at the table. Ned finishes his yogurt before talking to Peter, but he stops himself when he notices his friend’s face. Tensed. Annoyed. And sad maybe? Ned has actually an idea of what is bothering his friend so much but knowing Peter’s personality, it would be a waste of time. Better to skirt the issue.

“(Y/N) is acting a bit weird recently, don’t you think?”

Peter only hums, more focus on mixing what is left of his yogurt than anything else right now. Head low and furrowed eyebrows, he keeps staring at actually nothing, just being lost in his thought and thinking. 

Thinking a lot, yes. About you. About how much you put yourself down way too much recently.

He can’t laugh at your cheeky comments anymore. He just can’t.

* * * *

Chemistry is your last class of the day, thanks the lords. You are finally reunited with all your three best friends so, hopefully the hours will pass by faster.

MJ writes (more like scribbles) lazily the answers for the report your duo has to give back at the end of the lesson, while you are the one having fun mixing whatever there is in the test tubes. Then you take an empty one and look through it.

“MJ, look” you whisper to your friend, trying to catch her attention. At first she doesn’t even care to turn her head towards you, until you insist by calling-whispering her name until she finally deigns to glance at you. Not really understanding what you want to show her, MJ brings her lab stool closer to you and frowns as she looks through your test tube. You brings the tube closer to both your faces.

“Look, Lara’s ass is as big as mine now” you kind of try to whisper, as well as not laughing out loud to not get reprimanded by the teacher.

In fact the glass tube deforms everything you look at when watching through it. And in that case, it is changing the shapes of your comrade’s bottom. MJ seems unimpressed and with her well-known bitch resting face, the girl simply goes back to her writings but not without sending you “are you serious?” glances.

Little did you know Peter could hear all your conversation, even three desks behind. The displeased look on his face is immediately showing and he almost breaks the pen he is using to write on the due paper. The slight crack of the plastic draws Ned’s attention.

“Dude, that’s my favourite pen!”

“Sorry, mate” grumbles Peter, putting the pen down and he sighs, leaning his elbows on the lab desk. He exhales loudly while ruffling at his hair. 

“You should talk to (Y/N), don’t you think so?” declares Ned as he takes two test tubes in his hands to deal with their contents. “You know, just to tell her how you feel and stuff like that.”

“I don’t know, man” retorts Peter with a low voice, his head now hidden in his arms. “I just- I can’t just say “hey (Y/N), stop running yourself down all the time because you are gorgeous in every way and I had a crush on you since high school and-”

“Peter stop, you’re mumbling like a freak” exclaims Ned, hoping to end his friend’s suffering. “Seriously, I noticed the face you do when she jokes about herself. I mean, maybe she’s not feeling great so you talking to her might sort things out somehow?”

Peter processes Ned’s words as his eyes follows you when you go ask something to the teacher. There is something about the kindness that emanates from your pretty eyes, the pink outline of your lips, the unique way your hair curves perfectly around your round face, but mostly your hourglass figure. Sometimes the boy finds hard to keep his eyes up. But you look so beautiful to him. That is mainly the reason why Peter can’t accept hearing you badmouthing about your appearance anymore.  

* * * *

The ringing bell announces the end of today’s lessons. Students are now filling every corridors, some going to their locker and other already leaving the building.

“I need to take some books in my locker, you coming with me MJ?” you ask your friend.

“Sorry, my mum’s picking me up ‘cause we’re going to my grandma this evening so I have to hurry” explains MJ, not too excited about the thought of it.

“I need to go to my locker too” Peter jumps into the conversation. He directly stares at you, a determined look on his face.

“Oh, uhm- alright then!” you cheer blushing a bit, still taken aback by Peter’s serious tone.

You wave goodbye at MJ and Ned as you start walking to your locker, Peter following close to you and receiving two discrete thumbs up from Ned. 

The main school corridor is now more empty, the steps of the last students resonating and almost fading little by little. You and Peter stop in front of your lockers, them being next to each other and just do your own things by taking and putting down what you need or not. Peter is more like fiddling with stuff, pretending to do something while his goal was obviously talking to you.

When he ears you zipper your backpack shut and close your locker, he violently - but not intentionally - slams his close a bit too harsh, making the loud metallic slap resonate in the empty corridor. You jump at that too and Peter just wants to facepalm himself at his own stupidity. 

“Err (Y/N), can- can we talk?” the boy mutters, now shy because of his sudden loose of confidence.

“Sure Pete, about what?”

Peter gulps as you stare at him, waiting for what he has to say. He is nervous now. How will you react? Good or bad? Will you ignore him after that talk because he offended you or misunderstood the situation? Will you-

“Peter? You’re alright?”

Your soft and worried voice suddenly takes him out of his mixed up thoughts.

“You’re gorgeous (Y/N).”

That is indeed straight to the point. Totally. First you blink a few times, not sure if you heard it right but seeing Peter’s serious face says it all. Your whole face is now blushing at his sudden compliment.

“P-PETER WHY DO YOU-”

“(Y/N), you are the most beautiful girl I know. Like in every way possible. You’re kind, smart, funny, a bit nerdy, outgoing, sometimes eccentric too but it’s part of your personality. But you’re also gorgeous in the way you dress because it shows your beautiful shapes off. You have nothing to be ashamed of in comparison to any other girl. You’re unique and I love everything about you, starting with your cheeks because they’re so round and full, but also your waist because its highlights your defined hips and I could go on and on for hours. It’s everything a boring, shy, awful and introvert guy like me loves. So please, stop putting yourself down all the time. You don’t deserve it and never you will. I don’t like that and I just want you to know that I loved you since high school and that I-”

You cut Peter off in his mumbling by putting both your hands on his mouth. When he finally stops - also remembering to breath again -, he finally notices how much your face and ears are red. You avoid looking at him, still not fully processing all the compliments and obvious declaration of love. Your heartbeats could almost break through your ribcage and your mind is a mess.

Seeing you conflicting with yourself, Peter takes your hands off his mouth and gently keep them in his. His look tries to search for yours.

“(Y/N), I’m serious about what I said. You know I’m awful with words but... Trust me when I say I love everything about you, a lot, so please love yourself as much as I do.”

After calming down a bit, you dare to look at Peter again, his eyes soft and reassuring. You are still at a loose of words because nobody said any of the beautiful things Peter just did to you. Nobody. And it warms your heart knowing that someone loves you how you are. You love it even more because you know it is Peter.

Peter squeezes your hands and with a impulse out of nowhere, he lightly pecks the corner of your mouth. He then moves his face back, smiling warmly at you.

“When you’re with me, there is no judgement (Y/N).”

“J-Jeez, Peter...” you stutter, you face still red of shyness.

“I’m walking you back home, come on” Peter mans himself up, noticing the school is completely empty with not a sound around. Detaching his hands from you, he picks your backpack up to give it to you. You take it with wobbling  hands, muttering a shy “thanks” before putting it on your back. Now ready to go, Peter extends one hand for you to take and this time, you don't have to be told twice. 

Hand in hands, fingers intertwine, you both walk through the long corridor, only you two remaining here. Peter’s warm hand reassures you in a strange way. But you like it. 

And you can’t stop the content smile growing on your face as you sneak a look at the boy who just proved you are worth it. Inside out. From head to toes.

And boy do you love this feeling.

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[miswaken]

excerpts from House of Leaves that I just think are neat + inform my portrayal of Alice

---------------------------------

      Of course, [Will] Navidson’s pastoral take on his family’s move hardly reflects the far more complicated and significant impetus behind the project -- namely his foundering relationship with longtime companion Karen Green. While both have been perfectly content not to marry, Navidson’s constant assignments abroad have lead to increased alienation and untold personal difficulties. After nearly eleven years of constant departures and brief returns, Karen has made it clear that Navidson must either give up his professional habits or lose his family. Ultimately unable to make this choice, he compromises by turning reconciliation into a subject for documentation.

      None of this, however, is immediately apparent. In fact it requires some willful amnesia of the more compelling sequences ahead, if we are to detect the subtle valences operating between Will and Karen; or as Donna York phrased it, “the way they talk to each other, they way they look after each other, and of course the way they don’t.”

-------------------------------

      In the living room, Navidson discovers the echoes emanating from a dark doorless hallway whish has appeared out of nowhere in the west wall. Without hesitating, Navidson plunges in after them. Unfortunately the living room Hi 8 cannot follow him nor for that matter can Karen. She freezes on the threshold, unable to push herself into the darkness towards the faint flicker of light within...

      This is the first sign of Karen’s chronic disability. Up until now there has never been even the slightest indication that she suffers from crippling claustrophobia. By the time Navidson and the two children are safe and sound in the living room, Karen is drenched in sweat.

--------------------------------

      Navidson was no longer around, except of course Karen still saw him every day and in a way she had never seen him before -- not as a projection of her own insecurities and demons but just as Will Navidson, in flickering light, flung up by a 16mm projector on a paint-white wall.

-----------------------------------

      Leslie Stern, M.D.: More importantly Karen, what does it mean to you?

      Funny how out of this impressive array of modern day theorists, scientists, writers, and others, it is Karen’s therapist who asks, or rather forces, the most significant question. Thanks to her, Karen goes on to fashion another short piece in which she, surprisingly enough, never mentions the house, let alone any of the comments made by the glitterati.

      It is an extraordinary twist. Not once are those multiplying hallways ever addressed. Not once does Karen dwell on their darkness and cold. She produces six minutes of film that has absolutely nothing to do with that place. Instead her eye (and her heart) turn to what matters most to her about Ash Tree Lane; what in her own words... “that wicked place stole from me.”

      ...Karen gives her piece the somewhat faltering title A Brief History Of Who I Love...

-------------------------------

      There are only 8,160 frames in Karen’s film and yet they serve as a perfect counterpoint to that infinite stretch of hallways, rooms and stairs. The house is empty, her piece is full. The house is dark, her film glows. A growl haunts that place, her place is blessed by Charlie Parker. On Ash Tree Lane stands a house of darkness, cold, and emptiness. In 16mm stands a house of light, love, and colour.

      By following her heart, Karen made sense of what that place was not. She also discovered what she needed more than anything else. She stopped seeing Fowler, cut off questionable liaisons with other suitors, and while her mother talked of breaking up, selling the house, and settlements, Karen began to prepare herself for reconciliations.

      Of course she had no idea what that would entail.

      Or how far she would have to go.

-----------------------------

      “He’s still alive,” she tells Reston over the phone. “I heard him last night. I couldn’t understand what he said. But I know I heard his voice.”

      Reston arrives the next day and stays until midnight, never hearing a thing. He seems more than a little concerned about Karen’s mental health.

      “If he is still in there Karen,” Reston says quietly. “He’s been there for over a month. I can’t see how there’s any way he could survive.”

      But a few hours after Reston leaves, Karen smiles again, apparently catching somewhere inside her the faint voice of Navidson. This happens over and over again, whether late at night or in the middle of the day. Sometimes Karen calls out to him, sometimes she just wanders from room to room, pushing her ear against walls or floors. Then on the afternoon of May 10th, she finds in the children’s bedroom, born out of nowhere, Navidson’s clothes, remnants of his pack and sleeping bag, and scattered across the floor, from corner to corner, cartridges of film, boxes of 16mm, and easily a dozen video tapes.

      She immediately calls Reston and tells him what has happened, asking him to drive over as soon as he can. Then she locates an AC adapter, plugs in a Hi 8 and begins rewinding one of the newly discovered tapes.

      The angle from the room mounted camcorder does not provide a view of her Hi 8 screen. Only Karen’s face is visible. Unfortunately, for some reason, she is also slightly out of focus. In fact the only thing in focus is the wall behind her where some of Daisy and Chad’s drawings still hang. The shot lasts an uncomfortable fifteen seconds, until abruptly that immutable surface disappears. In less than a blink, the white wall along with the drawings secured with yellowing scotch tape vanishes into an inky black.

      Since Karen faces the opposite direction, she fails to notice the change. Instead her attention remains fixed on the Hi 8 which has just finished rewinding the tape. But even as she pushes play, the yawn of dark does not waver. In fact it almost seems to be waiting for her, for the moment when she will finally divert her attention from the tiny screen and catch sight of the horror looming up behind her, which is of course exactly what she does when she finds out that the video tape shows...

-----------------------------

      nothing more now than the mere dark. The tape is blank.

      Finally when Karen does turn around to discover the real emptiness waiting behind her, she does not scream. Instead her chest heaves, powerless for a moment to take anything in or expel anything out. Oddly enough as she starts to retreat from the children’s bedroom, it almost looks as if something catchers her attention. A few minutes later, she returns with a halogen flashlight and steps towards the edge.

      Hanan Jabara suggests Karen heard something, though there is nothing even remotely like a sound on the Hi 8. Carlos Ellsberg agrees with Jabara: “Karen stops because of something she hears.” Only he qualifies this statement by adding, “the sound is obviously imagined. Another example of how the mind, any mind, consistently seeks to impose itself upon the abyss.”

      As everyone knows, Karen stands there on the brink for several minutes, pointing her flashlight into the darkness and calling out for Navidson. When she finally does step inside, she takes no deep breath and makes no announcement. She just steps forward and disappears behind the black curtain. A second later that cold hollow disappears too, replaced by the wall, exactly as it was before, except for one thing: all the children’s drawings are gone.

      Karen’s action inspired Paul Auster to conjure up a short internal monologue tracing the directions of her thoughts. Donna Tartt also wrote an inventive portrayal of Karen’s dilemma. Except in Tartt’s version, instead of stepping into darkness, Karen returns to New York and marries a wealthy magazine publisher. Purportedly there even exists an opera based on The Navidson Record, written from Karen’s perspective, with this last step into the void serving as the subject for the final aria. 

      Whatever ultimately allows Karen to overcome her fears, there is little doubt her love for Navidson is the primary catalyst. Her desire to embrace him as she has never done before defeats the memories of that dark well... In this moment, she displays the restorative power of what Erich Fromm terms the development of “symbiotic relationships” through personal courage.

      Critic Guyon Keller argues that the role of vision is integral to Karen’s success:

I believe Karen could never have crossed that line had she not first made those two remarkable cinematic moment: What Some Have Thought and A Brief History Of Who I Love. By relearning to see Navidson, she saw what he wasn’t and consequently began to see herself much more clearly.

      Esteemed Italian translator Sophia Blynn takes Keller’s comments a little further:

The most important light Karen carried into that place was the memory of Navidson. And Navidson was no different. Though it’s commonly assumed his last [recorded] word was “care” or the start of “careful,” I would argue differently. I believe this utterance is really just the first syllable of the very name on which his mind and his heart had finally come to rest. His only hope, his only meaning: “Karen.”

      Regardless of what finally enabled her to walk across that threshold, forty-nine minutes later a neighbor saw Karen crying on the front lawn, a pink ribbon in her hair, Navidson cradled in her lap.

------------------------------------------

      As to what happened after Karen disappeared from view, the only existing account comes from a short interview conducted by a college journalist from William & Mary:

Karen: As soon as I walked in there, I started shivering. It was so cold and dark. I turned around to see where I was but where I’d come from was gone. I started hyperventilating. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die. But somehow I managed to keep moving. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I found him.

Q: You knew he was there?

Karen: No, but that’s what I was thinking. And then he was there, right at my feet, no clothes on and all curled up. His hand was white as ice. [She holds back the tears.] When I saw him like that it didn’t matter anymore where I was. I’d never felt that, well, free before.

[Long pause]

Q: What happened then?

Karen: I held him. He was alive. He made a sound when I cradled his head in my arms. I couldn’t understand what he was saying at first but then I realized the flashlight was hurting his eyes. So I turned it off and held him in the darkness.

[Another long pause]

Q: How did you get him out of the house?

Karen: It just dissolved.

Q: Dissolved? What do you mean?

Karen: Like a ad dream. We were in pitch blackness and then I saw, no... actually my eyes were closed. I felt this warm, sweet air on my face, and then I opened my eyes and I could see trees and grass. I thought to myself, “We’ve died. We’ve died and this is where you go after you die.” But it turned out to be just our front yard.

Q: You’re saying the house dissolved?

Karen: [No response]

Q: How’s that possible? It’s still there, isn’t it?

END OF INTERVIEW

--------------

      In Passion for Pity and Other Recipes For Disaster (London: Greenhill Books, 1996) Helmut Muir cried: “They both live. They even get married. It’s a happy ending.”

      Which is true. Both Karen and Will Navidson survive their ordeal and they do exchange conjugal vows in Vermont. Of course, is it really possible to look at Navidson’s ravaged face, the patch covering his left eye, the absence of a hand, the crutch wedged under his armpit, and call it a “happy” ending? Even putting aside the physical cost, what about the unseen emotional trauma which Muir so casually dismisses?

      The Navidsons may have left the house, they may have even left Virginia, but they will never be able to leave the memory of that place.

[vowled]

Unpopular Opinion: Johnlock edition

So, I am, as invariably suggested by my blog and username, a major Sherlock fan. I absolutely love it. The first time I watched it, I immediately related to it, and my peabag brain instantly saw a friend in John Watson. Sherlock’s character, on the other hand, was quite unconventional to me. I couldn’t bring myself to quite like him for the first 2 episodes. He was.....different. I knew I wanted to watch the series just for the dynamic duo and their and sweet friendship. The cases I couldn’t at first care for much, but eventually that changed too. I always was completely amazed by how well they had managed to adapt the series to the 21st century and their subtle winks to the original canon too was quite impressive. Eventually, I fell in love with it, and proceeded to watch the entire series thrice. in a row. I was, and still am, completely obsessed. 

Then came the thought, which was also somehow initially suggested subtly by the show itself, ” What if Sherlock and John are in Love?” I must agree, I had read too many conspiracy theories about certain celebs being closeted to not come up with that question. 

At first it was just a thought. But then, critical analyses on tumblr came up. I couldn’t stop reading them?! and so many of them were thought-provoking and persuasive and honestly, I was living for it. The phone = heart theory is still one of the best Theories I’ve read among all the fandoms I’ve ever been in. And that is just one among many. JohnLock was everywhere. Other ships were persistent, but none could reach the amount of fervor as JohnLock. And I was living for it too. I still really enjoy all the adorable fanfics and the ever-interesting theories, and honestly, at this point, my motto is “I’ll find homoerotic subtext even if it kills me”.

Shipping is ok, shipping is good. But here’s the deal we need to talk about:  we shouldn’t justify our ships to the point of interpreting every action as romantic. This propagates unrealistic expectations and results in harmful stereotypes.

Yes, I’m talking about the unending debate on Johnlock. 

From season one itself, Johnlock was phenomenal. It is widely argued that  the show-runners themselves inserted subtle hints, and hence, birthed this beast on their own. The Sherlock fandom remains one of the oldest fandoms in the world, with its beginnings rooted in the Nineteenth Century when ASiS was published, and since then many have argued about the latent homosexual subtext embedded into the writing, my point here being people have been shipping Johnlock for well over a hundred years. Hence, It’s not really a surprise that people are still drawn to this ship. But to be shipped by this magnitude of people? This invariably suggests that there’s material provided to us by the creators themselves that is very blatantly obvious about the relationship. And while in most cases shipping two characters is completely okay in itself, according to me, shipping Johnlock has further validation in the fact that there is proof of intent of it becoming canon eventually (at least in the first two seasons).

Like I said before, shipping is OK, shipping is good. 

But is shipping okay if we take it to the point of over-analysing every move?

Sherlock is a comfort character for me. God knows half of my maladaptive daydreams are about him being a father figure towards me. My entire twitter tl and Tumblr dashboard is stuffed with cutesy or angsty things about him, and that’s great! But being in the fandom for about eight months, I’ve realised how this sort of feed eventually resulted in me completely forgetting the original storyline, and more importantly, in me forgetting how flawed a character Sherlock is!

Everyone(including me, the first time) freaks out in HLV because of how Sherlock isn’t listed as John’s pressure point. I, however, think we should question ourselves: Why should John still consider Sherlock that tantalizingly close to himself as he was in the beginning? John learnt his best friend had died, and he decided to do the bravest thing he could: make peace with it and move on. BUT NO! The Ghost of the man who loved him returned from the grave to haunt him! Here I talk about the other possible reasons why Sherlock wasn’t a pressure point for John in HLV. 

I am tired of this constant sugarcoating of Sherlock’s character. I am tired of seeing constant posts about how Sweet and caring Sherlock is and how much he loves John and how he loved her more than Mary. I am done with over analysis of every single shot where Sherlock looks at John, completely done. This shot below? It’s been overused for so many fanfics and cheesy romantic lines that I forgot that it’s supposed to be a look of GUILT.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love sherlock so dearly because he’s a very unlikeable character. That is precisely what sets him so far apart from the other characters. Sherlock started off with a hateful and dismissive character, but through the course of the events he undergoes a lot of emotional development. And that is truly noteworthy. In TFP he said for Mycroft, “ He did the best he could (for Eurus)...” and that is truly sentimental. This sort of development is always heartwarming.

What I want people to understand is that Analysis is, obviously, important. And CRITICAL ANALYSIS more so. And it’s saddening to see so many people glossing over the critical part of the analysis. Why is it so wrong to point out HOW HURTFUL SHERLOCK’S ACTIONS TOWARDS JOHN HAVE BEEN?  Why is it wrong to to point out Johnlockers borderline bully other shippers? 

Can we finally talk about the problematic aspects of Johnlock, or rather Johnlockers?

Even though I’m relatively new to the fandom, I’ve noticed how dismissive people are of anything negative said about Sherlock. In the beginning, it was endearing, really; but now I see this pattern of constantly singing praises of Sherlock’s character, and it has lead me to realize how detrimental it can be to the relatively younger audiences. Sherlock is Rude, period. There’s no question about it. And this constant glorifying of his rudeness and arrogance and dismissing it as  a quirk could very well possibly give the impression that arrogance and vanity are in fact not so bad, and hell, it might make one seem a little cooler even ! Oh, don’t be mad if I act like my comfort character ! I’m quirky like that !

Constant bashing of the creators. And when I say constant, I mean it. This sort of bashing about is never-ending. And when I say this, I don’t mean that the creators were perfect; some of their mistakes were, quite frankly, blatantly ignorant ( like Irene the Canon Lesbian falling for Sherlock), but I don’t see enough people praising it for what it is. Even now there is so much slander against the creators ( and personally I feel bad for Mark Gatiss because he’s actually on twitter and is constantly spammed). Is it really a surprise that the creators hate the fans and especially the Johnlockers? Was it supposed to be so shocking when Martin said that being in the show wasn’t very fun anymore because of the fans?

We just don’t actually analyze anymore! I get that we haven’t got any new content for FOUR muheffing years but please I literally don’t see anything that’s actually interesting or analytical anymore and that kills me because that was the reason I joined this fandom- to read and comprehend the subtext, and the AMAZING META!  All I see are cute couple-ish pics of ben and Martin and tbh we can do so much better than that?!

Johnlockers have so much actual stuff to talk about? There is literally so much going on Subtextually, and yet all I see is people losing their mind over any interaction between Sherlock and John. This is so unfair! AND it’s detrimental too! With people painting every interaction as romantic in nature, the younger teenagers in this fandom who might not have experienced Love or Attraction may glean unrealistic ideas about them! It is difficult as it is to navigate oneself through romantic entanglements, let alone being fed such rose-colored ideas! And I say this because although I don’t know much about the audience on Tumblr, but Stan Twitter is like, (at least) 50 percent teenager-fuelled. It actually isn’t healthy for them at all.

Stop with the Benedict-worshipping for God’s sakes. Are you only in here because of him? We all get it, he’s absolutely stunning but come on, we’re here for the stories too right?

Romantic love is important, no doubt. But you know what’s completely overlooked? The platonic sort of love. And it’s tiring. Sherlock and Molly/Janine/Irene/John are all amazing duos and each pair has it’s own uniqueness and tang to it! Let’s not constantly dissect everything in the name of shipping, shall we?

lol looking back at it, I feel like it’s a vent rant for the prevailing circumstances on Stan Twitter. I apologize if anything I said hurt anyone, it wasn’t meant to. I completely understand that shipping people is for...recreation (?) but this was just my opinion. Let me know what you think about it!

[sunnygang]

analysing the sep 24 wigfrid animated short (don’t starve)

I am rewatching some Don’t Starve animations and catching up on some i hadn’t seen yet. I am watching the Wigfrid animation tonight for the first time (the sep 24 one). I am a few months late, whoops!

I will be putting this analysis under a cut, since I will be pairing a lot of screen caps from the short itself! Also this turned out WAY longer than I originally intended it to. There’s a tw for incest mention in one paragraph (about a stage play that is relevant, NOT about Wigfrid) and I put the warning surrounded in asterisks and bolded before the paragraph referenced!

The short opens with a shot from what is safe to assume is her front hallway. Wigfrid is an actress and she appears to live alone in a nice home.

The walls are of course covered in her various photographs and stage play memoriam. Over the mantle on the left the framed poster reads  Die Walküre (The Valkyrie). Keep this in mind as this is Wigfrid’s best role. Also peep that nice chaise lounge she’s sitting on!

Some national culture, we get to see the newspaper she is reading. This paper is The Kronicle. The real life Chronicle newspaper, upon searching it, returned a good number of results. I am going to say that this particular article is the Ohio Chronicle (founded by the Lorain Printing and Publishing Co which was founded in 1829, the paper itself may or may not have been founded that same year), and I will get into why later.

The front page features the Tragedy in San Francisco. The tragedy of Maxwell and Charlie! The article header specifically reading “Tragedy in San Francisco! Many Still Missing After Devastating Earthquake!” This is around the same date, it has to be within a matter of days for this short to take place from the date of the Charlie and Maxwell disappearance in San Francisco. We don’t get to see Wigfrid reading this article, however. This is merely set there for the viewer’s sake. This is helping form our timeline of when these events all occurred. Many still missing. That means the search continues. This article could have been published a few days after the mentioned earthquake or a week even. Still, it gives us somewhat of a timeline to reference. The earthquake and the events of this Wigfrid short happened in relatively short time from one another.

This newspaper article header reads “Is It Curtains for This Prima Donna? Former Rising Star Seems Unable to Recapture The Magic of Her Precious Role”

Wigfrid isn’t shown reading the front article because she is focused on the news centered around herself. She’s called a prima donna here in this headline. Being called a Prima Donna can mean a number of things. It can mean a principle female singer in an opera or concert organization OR someone who is vain/undisciplined and finds it difficult to work as a team. She doesn’t have any quotes in DST that would indicate Wigfrid doesn’t work well with others. She mostly greets the other players warmly and hopes for good blessings from Yggdrasil, etc.

I think the journalists who wrote the article were looking to have this kind of double idea happening. The term Prima Donna comes directly from Italian for the types of female leads to the definitive aspect of the term. However around the same time (19th cent) it came to mean the second definition as well. Those writing the article likely wrote it with both aspects in mind. This gives Wigfrid her personal reason for wanting to ask Maxwell for help in some way. This is her drive. She is obviously a talented lead opera lady given the decorations and extravagant nature of her home. But this article says she is unable to recapture the magic of her previous role. The role in question looks to be very different from the Wigfrid Valkyrie we know. Her best role may be her Valkyrie role and maybe when she’s trying to branch into something else it isn’t working. And the critics and journalists think it isn’t good for her. She was a powerful Valkyrie, but not whatever this role happened to be.

We get to see her finishing reading the article (or maybe this short interrupts her just barely skimming it) and angrily crumple and toss the paper to the floor. She turns her nose up at it and dramatically walks to a bookshelf in the room and pulls out this record:

Die Walküre. This is the recorded orchestral arrangement for the stage play Die Walküre. In the bottom right of the record sleeve is the names of who I believe to be the composers for the recorded version of the orchestral arrangement. Vincenzo De Vera and Emmental Halle. Wigfrid’’s. Best. Role. The role with such “magic” that she has been since “unable to recapture.”

**incest mention in this next paragraph in the contexts of norse mythology and the real life stage play of The Valkyrie, not Wigfrid herself**

Interestingly enough, Die Walküre is a very real stage play. It is based on Norse Mythology about two twins who are separated in childhood and then eventually meet and fall in love (yikes!). This union angers the gods and they demand Siegmund die. Sieglinde and their unborn child are saved by the defiant actions of Wotan’s daughter, The Valkyrie. Valkyrie Brunnehilde faces the god’s retribution as a result of her actions.

More Valkyrie content hidden away in her shelves. She adored her role as The Valkyrie. Her house is, as we have seen, filled with memoriam from that stage play.

She plays the record and walks over to her wall and looks at her poster of herself as the Valkyrie. The newspaper clipping on the left reads “Audiences Left Spellbound by Soprano’s Powerful Performance.” Wigfrid is a GREAT performer and she is a soprano! She even has a little statue/sculpture of herself as The Valkyrie.

Here’s where I am going to go a little more into the Prima Donna bit. Wigfrid was the lead female for Die Walküre so she is a Prima Donna in that sense. however, she is also vain. She has surrounded herself with HERSELF. All over the walls in her home. Posters and pictures and photographs and SCULPTURES? You Prima Donna girl you, Wigfrid!

Her ceiling is even intricately decorated with scenes from Die Walküre.

And then we get here. We enter Wigfrid’s fantasy about performing as The Valkyrie who has to face a challenge. This challenge being a dragon that forms from this stack of newspaper pages. More entertainment pages that discuss Wigfrid’s stardom reaching an end.

Wigfrid’s real name is scratched out. So we know for certain that Wigfrid is NOT her real name. We can still call her real name whatever we please until we get more solid evidence surrounding her name. Wigfrid is probably Die Valküre’s name in the stage play that Wigfrid acted in. In The Constant it’s safe to assume that the character she takes on in the world happens to be this character, Wigfrid. At this point it raises some question as to whether or not Wigfrid is treating The Constant like a stage. Where she gets to really perform the role of The Valkyrie.

Back to the newspaper taking the form of a dragon, though. The papers are her enemy. The journalists writing about her in such awful ways literally conjure up as her enemy, a dragon, to vanquish. This reveals how she feels about the way others speak about her. Especially when they are critiquing her so harshly with claiming she is a fading star unable to capture her magic.

Wigfrid is thrust into the air by the dragon and she seems lost for a moment before she regains her composure and strikes down the dragon. These are the feelings she is expressing through her singing accompaniment with the arrangement playing on her record player. And Maxwell notices this.

Maxwell appears before Wigfrid through the newspaper. This intrigues me because we know that Them (the Shadow Creatures of the Constant) are capable of reaching into the real world from pages. Thinking back to Maxwell’s Codex Umbra where he first discovered Them and became Maxwell instead of William. Maxwell (or probably rather, They) reaches through these pages to communicate with Wigfrid and have her make a deal. The deal to regain her former glory.

Whisked away with this Shadow Maxwell form by the Shadows from the pages. And with that Wigfrid joins the missing group, taken to The Constant.

And then theres these shots in succession:

All that mail piled up. How long has it been since Wigfrid has disappeared. I think we can assume that some of the mail in her box might be fan mail. SHe has packages on her front step (in front of double doors for her entrance wowie!). I spy at least three packages there piled up with all the assorted mail she otherwise has accumulated while missing. I also spy at least four newspapers. It’s hard to say whether these newspapers are Morning Dailies, Afternoon Dailies, or Weeklies. And then we get the final, fifth newspaper copy tossed on top of the stack that labels Wigfrid as someone who is also now missing. This is an important newspaper because this paper is a DAILY newspaper.

The Kourier paper is likely a mirror to the IRL newspaper in Findlay, Ohio. This paper puts out a copy DAILY. I am going to assume that the first newspaper we see Wigfrid read is a weekly newspaper. It covers more national events such as the San Francisco tragedy. This final newspaper is a daily newspaper. This helps the timeline. Wigfrid has likely been missing for only five days at this point. At most it could have been a week, pushing it to of course seven days. Maybe one of the other papers in the could be another Kronicle copy, which I am deeming the weekly style paper. In my hunt for information about the IRL version of this paper in our real Ohio, I struggled to find specifics online whether this paper published weekly or daily. I do know for certain that tthe IRL Courier is put into circulation daily.

OKAY! Next I want to discuss the colors used in this short. Ignoring the fully colored bit in the center while Wigfrid fantasizes about performing for a moment.

In the beginning of the short we have warm colors. These colors can both reflect Wigfrid’s mood and also the time of day. Wigfrid is angry about the way she is being talked about in the newspaper articles. She is silhouetted by orange-red. It could also be the evening. Adding a little to what I stated just a bove about the newspapers, I think The Kronicle is a paper that is delivered in the afternoon. I personally deem this accurate because in this scene Wigfrid of course is just now reading this article (or rather just barely skimming it over for the first time). Judging by her reaction which I’ve detailed above. She isn’t reading it over again and having an already bummed reaction, One of her eyebrows is raised while she looks over the article before throwing it down. Thus, it was her first moment seeing the article along with us.

We see her anger melting into a kind of sadness, or forlorn feelings even when she first puts on her record. She is still angry of course, but she’s feeling a lot of emotions, as we do, at this point in time.

At the end of the short we have cold colors. At this point, Wigfrid has gone through her fantasy of performing The Valkyrie. She is feeling solemn about it all now though. What if the papers are true? What if I am losing my magic for my roles? I think it’s also into the night or even possibly into the morning. It’s either the shine of the moon coming in from the windows, or early morning blue hours peeking in. I don’t want to say that she spent the whole night fantasizing and performing for herself (The Valkyrie is not an 8 hour performance). BUT. When we get to see the scene where the last newspaper is delivered to her doorstep, it is again in the blue lighting. The Kourier newspaper delivered onto her stack of mail. The Kourier is a morning delivery vs The Kronicle being an afternoon delivery.

ALSO. Remember my post about Winona? WELL she was ALSO located in Ohio pre being dragged into The Constant. So far we have two characters safely concretely placed IN Ohio at the time of their disappearance. Obviously, The Shadow Creatures do not discriminate since Wes was likely trapped way back during the train derailment with William, and of course Charlie and Maxwell/William himself were taken from San Francisco.

Okay. That’s all I have time for this time around of over analyzing don’t starve content. I am glad I got into the imagery and symbolism this time around. I also went WAY in depth in this one. I plan on going in way depth on the other animated character shorts, so stay tuned!

[iinfortunii]

rules: code of conduct.

BEGIN.

Before we start, I would like you to have certain things in mind when approaching me ooc. I am very shy and quite awkward, which results in me not being much of a talker; however, I will always try my best to be friendly to whoever wants to approach. I dislike pet names so please do not use them with me unless we are very close. There will be times when I'm just exhausted, so my wording could sound rude/aggressive, to which I apologize in advance -I never mean to hurt people’s feelings. I also reserve the right to interact with WHOEVER I want, and pestering me about it will only get you blocked.

Updates will be made as required.

I. BASIC.

A. This blog is: Selective / Independent / Canon Divergent / NSFW / Mutuals only / Singleship / Mostly iconless / Multiverse / AU, Crossover, OC, and Multimuse friendly / Vaguely affiliated with the OP RP fandom.

B. I am a very slow rper for many reasons —school, family, my ever-fluctuating mood —and I would appreciate it if you refrained from pestering me for replies. In return I offer as much patience as necessary. Think of this blog as low activity please.

C. English is not my mother language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes made.

D. I track the tag #iinfortunii, although mentioning me works just as fine.

E. Constructive criticism is always welcome but anon hate will be immediately deleted. I have no problems if you disagree with my portrayal, but it doesn't give you the right to harass me.

F. Mun and muse are both over 18, so there are chances that heavy content will be present; however I won't be writing smut. I can roleplay anything before or after the act if requested, but the moment things get far too explicit, I'll do a fade-to-black. I ask of you to not lie about your age or else you’ll be blocked indefinitely.

G. This is a heavily headcanon-based blog, and changes are likely to be made as more information is revealed about him, though I reserve the right to adjust the new information according to my interpretation of Deuce or simply ignore it, which is why I’m canon divergent.

H. If you'd like to turn an ask into a thread, you can turn it into a new post, or reblog from me, as I won't be using the Tumblr asks anymore due to the problems that come with formatting and such.

I. Ask box is open for everyone ic or ooc, but you aren't allowed to turn it into a thread and nor I will reply to it if we’re not mutuals. Please don't push me, because I won't hesitate to block.

J. No godmoding —only a minor is allowed if it moves a thread forward —or metagaming, please. Don't kill Deuce either, unless plotted beforehand, and most importantly, don't hold your muse back.

K. Discord is available for mutuals upon request.

L. Just because I write something it does not mean I condone it. Please have this in mind and again, do not pester me about it. Any and all nsfw matters will be tagged accordingly. There will be triggering topics present, and you can know more about this on the section below.

M. DO NOT involve me in drama or call-out posts. I’m heavily against both things. On this note, you’ll never see me rebloging a call-out post. This culture is so damaging and toxic, and I firmly believe no one should play the role of the judge for the good of the community just because you had issues with someone or don’t agree with the things they roleplay. Talk things privately, be mature about it, hard-block the person and move on. I am also very aware that a lot of people have done things that can’t be excused, but I like to believe that people can change for the better. If you try to drag me into it, I'll hard block any and all people involved indefinitely.

II. TRIGGERS.

A. They will be tagged as trigger tw, trigger / and trigger cw.

B. I do my best to stay up to date with my mutuals triggers. Your comfort is way more important to me than you might think, so never be hesitant to approach me via IM, (anonymous) ask or stop following me.

C. Triggers that are likely to appear, although some more than others: violence || blood || death || drugs || abuse || knives || body image || medical equipment || suggestive content || etc

D. I have no triggers, so you are free to go wild with your content. I only ask you remember to tag your nsfw (both written and visual), please.

III. INTERACTIONS.

A. Deuce won't like everyone. He might/will make wrong assumptions about your character. He will insult and bite back. He won't always be nice to those he likes. He does many things that serve his interests. You, as the mun, have no reason to take it personal, because I'm won't follow someone I don't like; if you DO take it personal however, and decide to rouse drama, then I'll be hard-blocking you. Goes for me as well —I have no reason to get angry for any of the things noted above.

B. My bonds page displays the relationships that have been built over time, not necessarily through interaction alone but over plotting as well. Refer to it for more information.

C. Interactions with OCs related to canon characters will only take place as long as said OCs have a detailed about page. Personally, I'm not interested in the idea of an OC being blood-related to my portrayal, so I apologize in advance.

D. Formatting isn’t a big thing across my blogs, save for the small text. Please don’t mix either sup/sub with small text when writing with me, as I have eyesight problems. Don’t use colored text either.

E. Non-romantic pre-established relationships are allowed! Just make sure to talk it out with me first, yeah?

01. Spade / Whitebeard pirates (canon and original characters alike that i am MUTUALS with) will have a pre-established relationship as long as the other mun is comfortable with such idea, though that relationship will be limited to merely crewmates, unless discussed otherwise.

F. You don’t need to match my writing length as long as I’m given enough to work with. If something about my reply bothers or doesn’t work with you, let me know and I’ll re-work it.

G. I really enjoy plotting scenarios or talking out about the relationships my muse could have with other muses, so hit me up if you’ve got any ideas! I’ll try to do the same!

H. Mun does not equal muse, so don’t go assuming I’m a jerk simply because Deuce is an asshole from time to time. I’m set on the idea that I’ll give people the same treatment they give me —which is always nice and kind. Kudos to everyone for this ♡

I. I don’t use a threadtracker because I rely on my memory (terrible mistake, I know), but I try to draft people’s replies as soon as I see them. If by any reason it seems like I lost it, then please let me know / send me a link with it and I’ll be deeply grateful.

J. I don’t do nor reply to greetings starters for matters of my own comfort, so I ask of you to never expect a starter or a reply from them.

IV. SHIPPING.

A. Singleship, with the spot taken by daadzi, which means Deuce is no longer open for romantic relationships.

01. Under no circumstances, I will accept more romantic relationships once the spot is taken. That being said, I won’t discourage your muse from falling for / hitting on him, although I ask you to understand he will never respond with the same interest or will never react gently if he’s pushed too far.

02. If my shipping partner is comfortable enough, I'll interact with duplicates with the condition that the relationship is strictly platonic.

B. Constant interaction, mutual interest, and chemistry are a must for the sake of better communication (both ic and ooc, preferably).

C. Please do not approach me if you wish our characters to have either a: one night stand or friends with benefits type of relationships. It won’t work out due to the nature of Deuce’s personality, and for that I apologize.

E. My ship has its own tag so you're free to block it if you don't want to see it on your dashboard. In addition, I'll also tag those posts with only the ship name for this very purpose.

F. Please do not force ships on me.

V. CELEBRATIONS.

A. First off, I am absolutely terrible at keeping up with dates, and to be frank, I am not the biggest fan of celebrating, which is why I think it’s necessary to say I won’t be partaking in any holidays, not even Deuce’s birthday (not that he has one, to begin with). Obviously I will still reply to any gifts received, and will send out things in return —you know, common courtesy.

B. I won't be sending out birthday gifts every year, and I might write drabbles for people once in a blue moon; it doesn’t mean they will be done for the specific date though, so please be patient.

VI. REASONS TO NOT FOLLOW BACK / UNFOLLOW.

A. Too much drama / call-outs / vague posts / sexual content.

B. Content makes me uncomfortable.

C. You are a personal blog without a visible rp sideblog. Please make sure it's easy to find.

D. You do not have a proper tag system.

E. Your blog doesn’t have a rules and about pages.

F. You lack the manners to deal with people respectfully.

G. I have no interest / lost interest.

H. I'm constantly / only used as a meme archive.

I. Other reasons may apply. I will soft block so we can both cease following each other and avoid any potential awkward situations. I won’t make a fuss if you decide to unfollow so I expect the same courtesy.

VII. ABOUT BEATRICE.

She is not a real person. Her concept as Deuce’s (toxic) pseudolover is my creation and was somewhat inspired from the real life Beatrice Portinari. Do have in mind that Deuce doesn’t talk about her so your muse can’t simply approach him and ask about her unless they can go through his memories / read his mind / any capability alike or he speaks about her, though it won't take a genius to figure out that she's a product of his imagination.

You can read about her by clicking here -link to be added.

She serves as a lie to shield himself from the internalized homophobia he deals with up until meeting Ace.

NOTE: As stated previously, Mun =/= muse, but I too have been dealing with compulsory heterosexuality for far too long, so I'd like to apologize in advance for projecting a bit of that into my portrayal. I'll work so that this part makes sense with what we've been given from Ace's novel.

VIII. MISCELLANEOUS.

A. I will never force people to follow me, so if by any reason you have to unfollow/block me, please go ahead. Your comfort matters and have every right to do what you must to ensure your wellbeing. With that said, I will not tolerate and will immediately hard block if you try to police my content.

B. I do not follow back immediately, and it can take me from a few hours to several days to follow back. Do not take it personally if I choose not to.

C. If I follow it’s because I am interested in interacting. I only ask you to be patient because it might take me a while to gather the courage to send something to your inbox or talk to you.

D. I have. ZERO knowledge about medicine. Don’t expect me to go full force and try to be 100% accurate, because I won’t.

E. I practice reblog karma (send a meme to someone if I’m rebloging it from them). If you see something you’d like to reblog but have no intention in sending something yourself, then please reblog from the source.

IX. FINISH.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! As you might have noticed, there’s no password to send. Make sure to check the psa tag for any updates, or don’t hesitate to send an ask if there’s anything unclear! I do my best so as not to post too much OOC posts, but sometimes it just happens. If it's nothing important, then I'll erase it whenever I have the chance/remember.

Keanu Reeves vc: You’re all breathtaking!

[dansnaturepictures]

Photos of mine on my 2021 landscape & other outdoor calendar: Cover and January to August with my thoughts on each picture 

Further to my posts last week revealing on my Tumblr the 13 of my pictures taken between May 2019 and April 2020 that had made it onto my wildlife pictures calendar for 2021, here’s the first of two posts tonight with the pictures I took over a slightly greater period from May 2019 to May 2020 (I write this post this May just after tweeting and doing my Facebook reveal of the lineup) that I have decided to put on my 2021 landscape and other outdoor subjects pictures calendar. The next post with September-December and my reserves shall be in half an hour. As last week and previous years, please find below captions of and my thoughts on the pictures in order they appear in this photoset. 

Cover: Ruby at Cape Cornwall taken August 2019

Generally for these calendars as I always have its my strongest photos over the selection period (as I’ve said a lot over the years I have evolved into this pattern that I like of deciding the final lineup for the calendars in May/June and every subsequent picture I take in that year then going into contention for the calendar for two years later) that make the lineup. In terms of the final 13 pictures though some have to prove to me as such they are strong to make it and others get an easier ride onto the calendar for emotional reasons. 

I used to make a calendar for my bedroom wall from my wildlife and landscape pictures merged and one for pictures of our dogs for me. From 2018 onwards I obviously have done a wildlife and landscape calendar each for myself as my Christmas present each year to put on my bedroom wall and I do make an additional one with dog pictures for my Mum usually a less critically evaluated thing. Since 2018 I did though say dog pictures, as they are mostly taken outdoors on our walks and are animals yes but clearly not a wildlife subject, could compete to be on my landscape and outdoor calendars you could say. 

Ever since it always seemed a distant possibility that my best photos of Missy or Ruby could actually outshine one of my landscapes or other minority subjects to be on one of these calendars they don’t tend to prove as strong as those others of my pictures for quality when really looked into. There is no doubt that what made me say right this picture is on my calendar for definite was Ruby, the most photogenic dog I have ever known with respect to her mother Missy, passing away in April. It felt like one last thing I could do for her, have her on a calendar of mine for the last time and on the front cover so what I will see when I store the calendar in 2022 after its use on my wall. It felt like a way to honour her as she had provided so many of my most entertaining and memorable photos over the years even if they weren’t my very best quality and adorned many of my calendars. She was a star in front of the camera. 

That being said, it was more an idea when Ruby left us of “I’m gonna put a Ruby picture on my landscape and outdoors calendar”. I was well into my selection of the final calendar lineup by that point and there was only one dog picture taken over that near 12 month period left in my calendar shortlist, this one. But in all honesty even before we lost Ruby I had wondered if this picture might against the odds be my first dog picture to get on one of my landscape and other outdoors calendars as right from when I took this one of her watching us eat a meal at a cafe on holiday late last summer I knew it was a strong dog one for me and I just always loved this picture for quality and beauty. So in the end, it was the perfect choice to lead this calendar. 

January: Sunset at Fort Cumberland taken in January 2020 

You’ll get to learn that this is one of my most sky dominated calendars, I always say I must have at least one sky picture making this calendar for me its a big part of my landscape photography after all and for this calendar I’d say six are ones I could consider to have strong sky elements and four in particular are what I’d clasify as sky pictures and further still all of those four are results of lowering suns in the evenings so are what I am really loving taking right now sunsets as such. This winter one back in the days when the sun set on our walks quite often is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen from one of my most memorable bird and wildlife watching days and weekends of 2020 as we saw Sanderlings and Stock Doves for the first time this year here and had seen Barn Owl, Fox, Roe Deer and more at the Titchfield Canal path earlier in the day with a memorable garden bird picture from home that morning and a personally historic day of birds and photos at Whitefield Moor in the New Forest the day after. Certainly a memorable photo with the quality to match of this lovely scene I felt. 

February: Pig Bush in the New Forest, taken February 2020 

This is a worthy image to be February being taken on this year’s Leap Day. Its another success story if you like in my journey with Pig Bush photo wise as it makes it my second landscape calendar running a picture from this my favourite part of the New Forest has appeared. This dark sky one was a dark horse as I produced around 20 photos on that showery but sunny afternoon and there were many strong ones at the time that could have made the calendar I didn’t think straight away this was my pick of the bunch but it really grew on me leading up to the calendar final decisions and I realised how much it summed up that memorable afternoon for photos and birds seen weather wise and how much I like it. 

March: Snake’s head fritillary flower at Lakeside Country Park taken March 2020 

Alongside Ruby this represents my minority subjects another category I say I have to have one of on a calendar at least and over the last year and especially now my flower pictures which I’m taking more and more have have become perhaps alongside fungi the premier variant of my minority subjects. Just like last year it felt smashing to include one, even better that it was a truly sought after and special wild flower. This is a flower that I noticed last year and photographed that we are so lucky to have growing a rich area in Lakeside so very near to us. Even luckier this year as this was taken during the early days of the coronavirus lockdown during a daily exercise walk and I remember that day when not a lot was going on you could say when my Mum said she’d seen these flowers springing up here days earlier itching to get out and see this species. Even more excited as I didn’t know what it was last year but had learned it is this well named species. I enjoyed the purple ones there too but also wanted to photograph this splendid looking white one and I didn’t know just how satisfied the result would make me I think this picture shows the delicate markings of a natural work of colour and art well. Its a testament to my new macro lens which I only got in January 2020 that two of the pictures produced with it made my 2021 calendars perhaps the biggest compliment I can give one of my own photos, this one and the Green Hairstreak butterfly on my wildlife one and more so could have easily to be honest so its a good start and this one sums up that detail this brilliant lens is giving me. I feel so good about this photo. 

April: Sky seen from my bedroom window from April 2020 

Its a testament also to the pictures I took during lockdown, and how well I feel I’ve started 2020 for photos, that after my first ever garden bird photo making a calendar of mine in the form of the Collared Dove for my 2021 wildlife one this is my first ever sky/sunset from the bedroom window photo to make one of my calendars. This pre-sunset sky probably was a pleasure to take and in a what felt like constant run of taking these photos from my bedroom window stuck well and truly in the mind and with me well into to the picking when I took this it just looked stronger and stronger every time I saw it which was crucial to it getting here. 

May: Milkham in the New Forest, taken March 2020 

Taken a couple of weeks after the Pig Bush one it was a similar day, sunshine and showers, amazing birds seen and so many photos taken which this one sums up well. I picked this and the Pig Bush one by pitting some of my favourite heathland landscapes in my precious New Forest taken before lockdown in 2020 against each other to find winners as such as I felt I needed and wanted to represent this group on my calendar. I ended up with two I was proud of but what both showed, especially this one I thought also, was that rich woodland habitat the New Forest is equally as strong for. Celebrating trees the very precious life form for our planet and nature is something I have been trying to do for the last couple of years more in my landscapes. Whilst there were other photos that celebrated trees in my landscapes more taken that day I feel this one does it well and it feels like a pivotal moment on this journey me putting it here. I just love the way this one looks, the positive energy it gives me as a photo and how much of a wilderness is conveyed I would say in this very precious habitat. 

June: View at St. Abb’s Head, Scotland taken June 2019 

For once the current year outnumbers the pictures form the latter half of the previous one it always seems to be the other way round on these calendars lately but here is one of my strongest 2019 landscapes that just had to be on the calendar. I love the coast especially sheer cliffed areas where cliff nesting seabirds come into its my favourite habitat for really my favourite wildlife and that Northumberland holiday with a quick day trip into Scotland was all about that. This view brought me a chance to see one of the most striking and distinctive rock formations I’d ever seen this sight greets you as soon as you get there and looks so lovely. It looked stunning on a sunny day with that blue water and I just felt there was something so strong about this one from the off. Without doubt one of my favourite ever landscape photos to take on a day that had a few candidates for that. 

July: The River Itchen, taken April 2020 

For this summery month its an April picture that ended up looking quite summery. This was another of my favourite daily exercise pictures during lockdown from a typical spring day. I’d wanted to take a down river photo good enough for a calendar for years in honesty and this one did that. I’ve always said photos on sunny days in April and October can often look much better quality wise than high summer with angles of light and how it makes the photo look so I was possibly in the right place at the right time to make this a bright blue and tranquil photo with everything looking at a nice quality in the photo and that’s what I like most about this one. It shows off rich woodland as well and possibly even better delicious woodland beside water a habitat I love at a local place I have always loved. 

August: Pendeen lighthouse, Cornwall from September 2019 

Part of my timing for deciding the calendars is so photos from weeks on holiday etc don’t completely take over the lineup, but in truth they still dominate the relevant calendar as weeks away as I said before doing once in blue moon things with iconic creatures and different also too sometimes iconic places and just so many photos I get time to take often lead to my very best photos. If as predicted my Northumberland 2019 (Farnes etc) seabirds/marine wildlife photos dominated my 2021 wildlife calendar, my coastal (my favourite type really) landscapes of our 2019 Cornwall holiday dominated the 2021 landscape one with four making this calendar (albeit one was Ruby so not a landscape). This is one of the ones I picked out as one of my best at the time of the Cornwall holiday from the trip, but it got overlooked by others from the trip for my 2019 end of year posts on here and Twitter involving my best quality photos as I saw it from certain categories. But it forced its way onto my calendar and maybe the calendar was what it was meant to be used for. I like how it shows a classic summer’s day by the sea at an amazing location in Cornwall, in 2019 what was a strong year for landmark photos for me too especially by the coast it ticks that box as well with that nice lighthouse involved. One of my best ever such photos. 

[dwellordream]

Hello I've got 2 questions: The first one was if you could do a directors cut of toms chapter from grass crown? The second one was if you have any tips for writers, specifically dealing with criticism? I'm not great with constructive criticism and have a hard time putting my work out there and I was wondering how you deal with it?

I like how chapter 10 of Grass Crown is now just known as ‘Tom’s chapter’ haha it sounds so foreboding. I was both very nervous and very excited to write Chapter 10 because I’d never attempted to write from Tom’s POV before, despite being tempted a few times during Barbed Wire. I know I discussed that chapter pretty heavily in the comment section so I’ll try to avoid repeating anything I said there. the chapter begins with Tom waking from a dream because I think it speaks to his nature- he has a lot of dreams for his future (most of them good for him, bad for others) and it could be correctly said that he is, in many ways, delusional. but he’a also got a pretty good track record with making his dreams (thus far) into reality, through a combination of smarts, cunning, blackmail/intimidation/threats, and networking.  Amy has mentioned before, because nothing is really ‘off limits’ to Tom, he very rarely doubts that he can achieve something; he’s like that meme of ‘everyone should have the confidence of a mediocre white guy walking into an interview he’s unqualified for’ haha. He’s used to getting his way, either sooner or later. the only ‘thing’ he’s ever dreamed of that he failed to materialize was a life with Amy in it. It was also important to me that everything in his house be described as modern and new and top of the line and carefully selected by him or Lydia. it’s really his version of a ‘fuck you!’ to his childhood at Wool’s, where he had very little control over his surroundings. now he has all the control.  we then go into the intro of the pensieve, which I knew pretty much from the start I wanted/needed to include, given the constant flashbacks and references to the past in this fic. Tom using a pensieve was a smoother transition to the memory than him just brooding on it for an hour straight.

what’s also interesting is the memory he’s chosen to ‘replay’ over and over again; yes, it is his and Amy’s ‘first time’ but his interest in watching this doesn’t really seem to be pornographic- he acknowledges that he’s not even interested in watching the act of sex itself over and over again- but what precedes and follows it. that level of vulnerability and intimacy which he had once and has never had again. I think it both intrigues and repulses him, the idea of ever opening himself up like that to anyone again. he mocks Amy’s appearance and his younger self’s devotion to her because that’s easier than confronting the pain of losing all that. he pretends to focus on the fact that sex just isn’t super exciting or even interesting to him anymore to avoid dwelling too much on the fact that being with Amy made him feel appreciated, not just in the physical sense for his looks, but appreciated and accepted as a flawed person, not for any other reason. we then get the creepy segue that A. Tom hasn’t been celibate since then, unsurprisingly or not and B. the one sex worker he frequents bears a passing resemblance to Amy. that sort of speaks for itself. Tom looks for her in the people around him, especially the women, and is both infuriated and pleased when they either live up to the standard she set... or miss it entirely. we then jump back into the memory and see Tom and Amy joking with each other after the fact and having a playful argument. this is obviously very painful for Tom, but he masks that by acting shocked and appalled that he ever let someone speak to him like that or mock him to his face like that. the lack of agenda or manipulation in his younger self at that point disturbs him, for all that the relationship between the two was already damaged at the time. we then see Tom head into work, which is pretty straightforward until the infamous interrogation with Jaime. Jaime is pretty much Tom’s opposite; referred to as a ‘conman’ and a ‘common thug’ and known for moving in the same circles as a lot of organized crime, he’s essentially the blue collar outlaw to Tom’s white collar, just-under-the-surface corruption and deceit. Jaime might not be trustworthy, but he doesn’t pretend to be, either.  Tom is so dismissive and derisive of him that he is enraged when his usual tactics don’t work, and Jaime fails to immediately turn on Amy, as Tom had expected him to do so. the idea of a ‘common criminal’ having some kind of code or honor or even loyalty to anyone but themselves both perplexes and angers Tom. he pivots to assaulting Jaime’s mind in an attempt to get the info on her by force, and is further incensed when Jaime’s memories of Amy conjure up feelings of warmth and affection. the idea of her even having a friendly relationship with Jaime Isola clearly does not sit well with him. unfortunately for Tom, his attempts to then imperius Jaime our cut short... and we see the transition to home again and the anxious wait for the election results. his conversation with Lydia is always interesting for me to write because they are both very calculated but trying to play it off as casual and innocent, and both always think they’ve got the upper hand at the moment. Tom suspects Lydia is not nearly as pure of mind and heart as she pretends to be, but is ambivalent about this, content to wait until they’re married to pry much deeper, and acknowledges her intelligence and charisma in the sense that it will be an asset to his career. he ‘scolds’ her a little by bringing up the fact that he knows about her visit to MESP, but is surprisingly unfazed by her lack of cowering or subservience when she gives a clearly overacted apology. she still, of course, demonstrates plenty of deferral to him in other ways, fixing him a drink and getting his mail.  also, of course, the note that Tom seems to like her best when she acts in a more ‘Amy-esque’ manner; he’s thrilled by her verbal approval of him and not nearly as put off as he usually might be by her open display of affection when she hugs him.  re: dealing with criticism: this is something I continue to struggle with, although I do my best not to get into sparring matches in the comment sections and I try to ‘see the best’ in every comment and not get derailed into a pointless argument over semantics or fixate on someone’s wording. I’m a sensitive person (I think a lot of writers are) and I think it’s okay to feel upset or hurt by someone’s criticism without feeling like you are being arrogant or selfish. sometimes constructive criticism can be delivered unkindly or in a convoluted manner, especially when it’s mixed in with more minor critiques or compliments, and sometimes criticism isn’t really criticism and is just someone expressing their frustration in the comment section. I know a lot of writers choose to moderate comments or disable non-ao3-user comments for this reason. I don’t do this because I want people to be able to read my comments and get an accurate sense of how readers felt right when the chapter was posted. even when the comments are embarrassing to me or make me feel bad about my writing. this is a personal choice and I’m not saying you should or must do this.  mostly I deal with it by trying to wait a little to respond; it’s easy to get upset and type out a snarky reply but sometimes if you wait a little you can get a better perspective on how the reader might have felt or what confused or annoyed or felt incongruous to them about your writing. when I do respond I try to just address things very point by point and straightforward, and I also generally do thank people for commenting unless they’re being a blatant troll and just looking for a rise from me.  overall I feel like it’s just something you have to get exposed to over and over again. I’m much better now about not taking comments too seriously or letting them direct my writing than I used to be. when you gain confidence as a writer you can sort of develop a better filter for what critique is useful to you and what isn’t. just because someone has raised a valid point in the comment doesn’t mean they necessarily have the best solution for said problem.  sometimes it is really just a matter of interpretation of a character. it also heavily depends on the fandom (if you are writing fic). in my experience the ASOIAF fandom, as much as I love it, tends to come in swinging a lot harder than the HP fandom, which I think is a little more chill and mellow and more ‘you do you’. if I mess up a worldbuilding detail or don’t explain myself properly in an ASOIAF fic, especially if it involves popular characters or plot points, I know I’m going to get heat for it in the comment section from someone. overall, I would say try to come at it from the commenter’s perspective, but also don’t let yourself obsess over it. it’s hard to remember but most fics do have a silent majority, and there are so many people who are just going to read it and enjoy it and who just don’t leave a comment because that’s not how they roll. if moderating comments and being able to approve them before they go up will make you feel more in-control and secure, then you should do that. I do find that if you reply to comments, a lot of times people might seem less abrasive or intimidating on comment #2 than #1, mostly because they’re not expecting to get a reply from the writer. you shouldn’t be afraid to go ‘actually, I agree with you regarding *insert*’ or ‘well, in my view, *character* is acting this way because...’ it’s good practice to be able to calmly state your opinion or defend your work without it turning into an online brawl, and it’s not a mark of weakness to agree with someone’s critique or acknowledge that you could have done something better. plus, you have to write a lot of crappy fics before you can write a good fic. I try to remember that when I look at my old works. nothing’s set in stone and you can absolutely continue to improve and adapt your writing as you go along.

[13eyond13]

The Rest of the “What If?“ Questions:

I’ve had a huge influx of “what if” alternate scenario type asks the last 2 days, and I’m not sure if they’re all from the same person or several people. I really do appreciate the interest in getting my take on this stuff! But to avoid spamming the dashboard more with all these answers I’m just going to put the rest of them into one ask here:

FEM!LIGHT’S STANCE ON WOMEN:

I think she would both resent being a woman and also still look down on other women, but still be extremely confident and sure of herself on the inside. She’d probably have some internalized misogyny and still view men as superior and wish to compete with them more than with women, but she’d also resent men for being valued more highly within the patriarchal culture she was raised within, so it would be a bit of a complicated mix. She’d probably still grow up idolizing Soichiro instead of her mother, because even though Sachiko is no doubt also smart and talented she is submissive and seemingly content with carrying out her supportive, servile domestic role as a mother and a housewife. Light would probably dream of far more ambitious things for her own future with the idealistic and egotistical personality she has and all the accolades she’s gotten in her academic and athletic and social pursuits. I also think she’d be a lesbian, but that it would only really awaken in her once she met L, who would also be female in this AU, and the first woman she found genuinely fascinating and truly “worthy” of respect.

HOW L WOULD CONVICT A MEMORYLESS LIGHT:

I’m not really sure. I guess L would have to get irrefutable physical evidence that proved Light had been Kira originally. Even if Light denied it the entire time he obviously could still be condemned as Kira if the evidence against him was strong enough. I think proving some of the rules fake would’ve brought L a lot closer to proving Light was guilty, but I’m a bit too lazy right now to try to think this AU scenario out the whole way through from beginning to end. It takes a lot of mental energy and revisiting of the source material to do so entirely accurately, so I definitely very much admire Ohba for keeping the canon plot so free of holes. There are always so many technical little things and different characters’ points of view to keep in mind!

IF THE DEATH NOTE WAS A “LIFE NOTE” INSTEAD:

Lol, I mean I guess a Life Note would probably revive people who had already died, or something like that? That could also cause a lot of worldwide havoc, though I’m not sure it would technically be a crime to bring people back from the dead! I wonder how Light would use something like that to achieve his New World… revive all the innocent victims who had been unjustly murdered by evil criminals or something? Lol I don’t really know, my brainpower is pretty zapped for thinking these things out right now…

However, this does remind me a bit of the “Death Eraser” that was included in the original Death Note pilot chapter! Ohba initially toyed with the idea of having an eraser that went along with the notebook which would bring the Death Note victims back to life. You can find that pilot chapter online with a little Googling if you’re curious about it. I’m so glad they decided to scrap that silly idea for the actual official series, haha.

HOW INNOCENT!LIGHT WOULD REACT TO MISA TELLING HIM HE IS KIRA:

@whiteroes1977 I think he would be both horrified and also know that it made sense, since he was already thinking that Kira’s ideals and methods lined up pretty closely with his own. He also thought that he would probably try to catch himself if he’d lost his Kira memories. It would definitely be a big internal struggle between Light’s desire to see himself as a good/innocent person who operates within the Law and his ego/ideals/belief that he was the only person who could truly bring about the new world he envisioned from the start. I’d love to see him have to make a big moral choice about becoming Kira again like that when he was still amnesia!Light, since he really didn’t know he was going to regain his Kira memories when he touched the Death Note in the helicopter at all.

IF SACHIKO PICKED UP THE DEATH NOTE:

Hahaha hmmm… I like to think that Sachiko is where Light gets most of his brains and also his more mysterious and sneaky side! There isn’t much to go by in canon about Sachiko’s character other than her role as a supportive and hardworking mom and housewife, but it would be very interesting if she decided to do something with a Death Note that would go totally against what everyone expects from her somehow. Maybe she’d also have a strong vigilante streak based on the frustrations she felt about Soichiro’s career; or maybe she would do something totally for herself with it and way outside of the box, and end up carrying on with this secret life that was both a guilty thrill and an escape from her humdrum duties in the home. It’s a bit hard to say without fleshing out her character a lot more than Ohba did in canon though, and I’m not really feeling up to doing that right now, sorry.

WHAT IF RYUK HAD KILLED EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WAREHOUSE INSTEAD?:

I think that Light would have been very happy if Ryuk did that, and he’d have continued right on with his plans to become the God of the New World. The SPK and task force was pretty much the only thing standing in the way of him achieving this goal at this point, so he’d just see it as serving them right for defying him like that. I don’t know the exact specifics of how he would achieve actual godhood, like if he would choose to make himself a public figure as Kira or just continue to work behind the scenes forevermore? I’ve always wanted to read a really detailed and realistic AU about Light actually winning and the crazy ways the world would change, but I haven’t managed to think it out myself to any satisfying degree yet. I definitely don’t imagine it would be the idealized world he imagined though, as even if crime was completely eliminated it would be a totalitarian dictatorship under which everyone was living in constant fear and feeling very oppressed.

HOW LIGHT WOULD REACT TO MALE!MISA:

Male!Misa could be pretty interesting too, with both canon Light and fem!Light. I imagine it would still be very off-putting to Light for a guy to show up at their house and come onto them that strongly, no matter how you headcanon Light’s gender or sexuality. I guess Light wouldn’t automatically look down on male!Misa for his gender, so that might be a small advantage that male!Misa would have over female Misa. But it could also potentially work against male!Misa since Light would probably expect more from guys and find that kind of behaviour from a man extra unsettling. What i find the most interesting to think about with male!Misa is how the fandom’s reaction to the character might differ, honestly. I think male!Misa would both have way more stans and also way harsher criticism piled upon him, maybe? I think he’d be shipped a ton with the male characters as well. Certain flaws and behaviours would be treated with way more lenience and forgiveness, and then other ones would be pointed out much more harshly, as well. It’s always pretty interesting to contemplate this stuff, but unfortunately I’m a bit too tired to add a whole lot of detailed insight on the topic at this point.

[heatherwitch]

Sorry if you would rather not talk about it, but I was curious about your story of Lyme disease? If you would rather not talk about just ignore me please.

Hi! I don’t mind at all! It’s hard to share just a bit, andI’m hoping that sharing it all I may help others, so here’s a massive worddump (adding a read-more):

This spans from when I was a young teen (12 or 13) to now (I’m in my 20’s):

It started with migraines when I was a young teen. They wereawful, but I didn’t think much of it since many teen aged girls are prone to migraines.They were pretty consistent though and built up to the amount where they couldbe considered chronic. I told myself to suck it up, and tried to move on withmy life.

About 6 months I started gettingintense stomach pains. They made it hard to eat, but I still forced myself to.Even with eating a healthy amount, I was losing a lot of weight - which wasconcerning. Stomach pain became a constant in my life, and I started to loseenergy.

I went to probably 5 or 6 General Practitioners. They gaveme questionnaires obviously meant to see if I had anxiety, depression, or aneating disorder. I saw a nutritionist who told me I ate healthier than mostadults and I needed to find someone who could tell me what was wrong – because itwasn’t my eating habits. I saw a GI specialist who did an endoscopy and said “yepthere’s some irritation, I have no clue what’s causing it, goodbye!”.

I was tested for food allergens and restricted my diet evenmore, ensuring I was doing everything possible to help my stomach be happy.

On of the GPs slapped the diagnosis of abdominal migraineson me and told me that “a lot of teenagers hold anxiety in their tummies”. Iwas a content, homeschooled teen who spent my days running around the woods (orat least I had, before I started to feel awful). We didn’t see that doctor again.

Every doctor I went to, my mom requested they test for Lymedisease, just to rule it out. They all refused, because I never presented an EMrash. 

I was starting to present other symptoms. I was getting amaximum of 4 hours of sleep per night. My joints hurt a lot, and I had backpain. I often had unpleasant sensations on my skin (crawling, burning, etc.). Iwas exhausted, to the point that most people in my life were saying “please findsomeone who will help you, I know you and you are not okay”.

Finally found a doctor who ran the right tests andwent “oh FUCK you have a lot of infections and some of them will kill youif we don’t get you on antibiotics”. So began my 3 years of being on 1-3antibiotics at a time and an antiviral. Sadly, this doctor didn’t tell me abouthow long-term antibiotics can mess up my system and I had no clue I should’vebeen taking probiotics. Again, I was a younger teen who had always been tolddoctors know best.

Nothing seemed to be working. Doctors had tried multiplediagnoses and given me medications for them, but they did nothing. The antibioticsseemed to be helping, but whenever I went off them I felt way worse. And theside effects from them were making me feel terrible (for THREE YEARS).

I went to a naturopath who tested me for a lot of things,including Lyme (test came back negative) and she found a lot of imbalances and deficiencies.I was put on supplements, hormones and probiotics. She started to help me feel better,and she was convinced everything was from some tick-borne illness. She disappearedsuddenly. I have no clue what happened to her, but I had to find a new doc(AGAIN).

This turned out to be a blessing, because I found an amazingLyme literate naturopath in Seattle (who I have now been seeing for a couple ofyears). He’s helped my body recover from those many years of antibiotics,helped me get many of my co-infections to manageable levels and most of all, hetrusts me. He realized early on that I know my shit. I’ve done my research. I’mcritical and want to know the reason behind his choices and treatment plans -and he respects that. He treats me like an equal and understand that I know mybody and its illnesses better than anyone else ever could.

I finally tested positive for Lyme disease almost exactly ayear ago, although I knew I had it for a couple years before then. It’s onehell of a process to get a diagnosis. I feel VERY lucky to have finallyfound some doctors that believed me and ran the right tests. A lot of peoplehave to travel (perhaps even fly) to find a doctor who will believe them, butthe Seattle area has quite a few Lyme literate doctors – if you’re able to payout of pocket, cause many are at private practices and insurance doesn’t coverchronic Lyme treatment.

I never found a tick on me before the age of 14 (again, I started presenting symptoms around two years before then). I never got a rash, and probably chalked up the initial symptoms as the flu or a weird bug. I had absolutely no clue what was going on. It started with two, main symptoms and over the years my body began failing me. I was terrified and very few people believed me. I was accused of being a mentally ill, attention-seeking teenager. 

[imagine-loki]

Unofferable

TITLE: Unofferable

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 16, Dread AUTHOR: unofferable-fic ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Frigga bringing you to Asgard as a child after finding you abandoned and injured on Midgard. Uncertain as to what happened to you, Odin allows the healers save your life, and the Allmother makes it her duty to ensure your safety. 

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Jealousy, language, mild sexual content. Playlist: “Nerve” — Half Moon Run, “Separate” — Pvris, “Let Me In, Heathcliff” — Ruth Barrett

Loki was determined. He was also confident.

He usually managed to get his way when he used his silver tongue. He thought it would seem like a fair request if he expressed his points without error. With Odin in meetings with the Einherjar generals in relation to the palace’s new security, the youngest Odinson asked to breakfast with his mother. She was obviously more than happy to have him and embraced his company. Unfortunately, she also made the suggestion that they invite Thor, who rarely dined with them both. Frigga knew that Loki enjoyed spending time with just her, but she sometimes insisted that his brother was included. Although these occasions were infrequent, this one in particular slightly vexed Loki. If he was to execute his plan, he wished that imbecile wasn’t there to throw him off. Alas, he did enjoy a challenge, and Thor’s presence would certainly make the encounter more interesting.

“Mother?” Loki addressed her, pausing mid-meal when there was a lull in conversation.

Frigga gave him a pleasant smile. “Yes, my son?”

“I wish to request a new handmaiden.”

“You do?” she replied, unsurprisingly inquisitive about his statement. “What is wrong with Dagny?”

He sighed slightly and set down his cutlery. “I tire of her. She is not a hard worker and she has left me constantly dissatisfied with her laziness and petulant attitude.”

“Attitude?”

“Who are you talking about?” Thor asked, looking perplexed. 

“Dagny?” Loki’s reply merely received a pout. “My handmaiden? Thor, she has been working here for centuries…”

“Maybe I know her to see,” he mumbled and went back to eating. “Is she bad at her job?”

“Yes, I find her to be lazy and insolent. I was willing to give her time after she replaced Radburn, but her skills are simply not up to par. She is frequently late, resulting in my own tardiness, and is incapable of taking care of my armour. Not only that, when I reprimand her about these things, she is disrespectful and, evidently, not listening to my criticisms.”

“She sounds terrible,” Thor snorted. “I am surprised you have not turned her into a fruit fly, brother.”

“I have certainly been tempted…”

“I have never had a problem with her before,” Frigga pondered aloud. “And approved her in the position because of that.”

Loki shrugged. “I am sure she was suitable at first, Mother, but now I find her work to be completely unsatisfactory.”

“So you wish to request a new personal maid?”

“Of course,” he answered with confidence. “If I am to be a prince and possibly a king someday, then I wish to surround myself with workers expressing standards as high as my own. Is that not reasonable?”

“Of course it is,” she replied with a nod of agreement. “One should surround themselves with people they can rely on.”

“Exactly. I do not mean to be so harsh with Dagny but…she is rather awful.”

“You really do not want to spare the maid’s feelings,” Thor laughed and downed the rest of his water. “I am sure her ears are burning in your chambers right now as she struggles to change your sheets!”

Frigga rolled her eyes at that. “Loki, if you are insistent on having a harder working handmaiden, then Dagny will be removed from her post and replaced with another. I could place her with my own women to see how she fairs.”

“Then would I receive one of your handmaidens as a replacement?”

His mother watched him curiously, considering his statement for a moment. Thor continued to eat, uninterested in their chat and more concerned with his emptying plate. He called the attention of Fen, who stood nearby, requesting another fresh loaf of bread and bowl fruit. She left to go fetch the food from the kitchens, leaving the trio alone in the privacy of the Allmother’s chambers.

“I suppose you might as well,” Frigga said. “If I will be taking her back on.”

“I require someone who I know is a hard worker and will do as I ask when I ask, and to my desired standards. Your handmaidens are exceptional at what they do, so I would imagine they could assist me better than my current one.”

“I agree. As you wish, Loki.”

“Thank you, Mother.” He grinned, taking a bite of his apple. “If it is alright with you, may I select my new handmaiden myself?”

“By Odin,” Thor cut in. “You are so very fussy, brother.”

“I prefer the term ‘particular’.”

“You have someone in mind?” Frigga asked.

Loki knew how this conversation would play out. He had an idea as to how his mother would respond to his information and requests, so steering the conversation in his desired direction was proving to be doable. “Well, there are a few that I know quite well from their years of service, and they are familiar with me and my expectations. It would be logical to pick one who already has some idea of the job requirements.”

“A reasonable statement.”

“I thought so too, Mother.” He grinned as he took a sip of his water. “What of young Ellie, then?”

He was prepared for Frigga to question his choice, but he wasn’t prepared for Thor to start choking on his last piece of bread. “You wish to employ the little one?”

Loki shrugged and answered dryly. “Obviously, as I have stated.”

“But…why?”

“That I have also stated already.”

“Do you think Ellie will be okay with your choice?” Frigga asked, concern evident in her tight lips. “Given recent events with rumours and such?”

“I would never let anything happen to her,” Loki answered confidently. “Not to mention she is well looked after in Kirkjabyr’s company. The change may be a positive one for her.”

“If she agrees, I will allow it. But if she wishes to stay in her current position, then there she will remain.”

He nodded his head firmly. “Of course. Her wishes should be taken into consideration.”

“I am sure she would rather take on an angry bilgesnipe than deal with your mood swings,” Thor chortled. “Gods preserve her; she may not survive.”

“Oh, dear brother, I am firm in the belief that I am easier to deal with than your constant feasting, revelling, and whoring. She would have to scrape the courtesans off your chamber floors.”

Thor’s goblet was smashed back down on the table with a clatter. “Another word, Loki, and I will throw you from the balcony—”

Frigga shook her head and cut across before they could begin arguing. “Both of you, hush! All I ask for is a civil breakfast this morning. Surely you can both manage that without fighting?”

“He is the one who is always stabbing me—!”

“It is not my fault that you are an easily fooled imbecile—”

“You know how much I love snakes—!”

“You would have no idea that you are brothers,” she sighed, giving them a stern look to stop the arguing. “No idea at all. I will pass on your offer to Ellie, Loki, and inform you of her decision.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

At that moment, Fen returned with fresh food and set it down on the table. Thor was distracted by the arrival, so he let the Trickster’s comments go with a grumpy expression. Thankfully, there were no more arguments for the duration of the meal, and Loki was pleased with how he voiced his concerns. 

Although, a part of him feared that Ellie would reject his offer. It was something that, up until this point, he had not even considered. He forgot that she had friends within Frigga’s handmaidens and had settled in her position over her short life. What if she was comfortable? What if Thor’s comments rang true and she did not wish to deal with his finicky nature? Another part of him considered using his silver tongue to convince her to take the position if she refused. He could do it — he knew he could — but that was risky. He definitely enjoyed getting his own way through honeyed words, but convincing Ellie to work for him if she did not wish to left a horrible taste in his mouth. While he feared — dare he say her decision genuinely worried him? — her rejection, he could only hope that it would go his way without a need to intervene.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to voice his convincing opinion. Frigga informed him of Ellie’s decision — she accepted without hesitation.

With Dagny’s departure, Loki was the one to introduce Ellie to her new duties as his personal maid. She remained impeccably formal as he explained what he would require of her each day. While he used to feel indifferent as to whether she addressed him formally or informally throughout their friendship, now he found his mind drifting elsewhere when she called him ‘My Prince’. Although this had been the point, had it not? To get closer to her and to have her near him whenever he required it? Now that she was his own employee, she had moved to a new single room next to his chambers. Would having but a wall between him and his desire work for or against him?  Surely time would tell, but right now, he was just happy to show her what she would do each and every morning after sunrise. The thoughts of Ellie being the first person to greet him as he woke filled him with nervous excitement. 

He was still not sure if this would work in his favour.

In fact, the first time she came into his room, he had still been asleep with his head buried in the pillow. He raised himself up on his elbows and turned to squint at her. Even in his bedridden state, she remained politely formal.

“Good mornin’, Prince Loki.”

“Good morning, little one,” he said, his gravely voice all the more present at this hour. 

“How’d you sleep?”

He cleared his throat and held a pillow against his bare chest. “I have had better nights.”

“Sorry t’hear that,” she replied with a frown as she moved to open his curtains. “There’s nothin’ worse than a restless night. I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but the Allfather has requested your presence in the next hour. I thought you’d require time to breakfast on your own.”

“You thought correctly.” Slowly, he sat up in the bed, watching her as she moved about the room. Opening his wardrobe, she selected an outfit and draped it over the back of a chair. “Could you also draw me bath?”

“Of course, My Prince. I’ll do it for you now.”

He sent his thanks as she walked briskly into his washroom and did as he asked. He remained seated as the water began to run and steam seeped from the doorway. When she came back into his bedroom, she placed a towel down next to him, which he wrapped around his naked waist when she had her back turned. Having her form so close while he wore nothing was probably not the best idea, considering he suddenly felt far to warm, and not due to the heat emitting from nearby steam. He swiftly moved to the washroom before she could notice what his body wanted quite desperately. 

Yes, he was still unsure as to whether this was a bad idea or not.

* * *

“You are getting quite sloppy, Ellie!” Fandral called from his seat, wiping a cloth along his sword.

Loki turned to glare at the warrior’s statement. He stood at his apprentice’s side, Lady Sif flanking opposite him, as Ellie followed his instructions and threw her daggers at a nearby target in the training yard. Considering his diversion from seiðr lessons to conjuring daggers, he thought it reasonable to focus her combat training on daggers too, having recently spent a lot of time on archery. Her aim had improved, and he was more than happy with her progress, but it seemed that not everyone was so keen.

“Sloppy, am I, Fandral?” Ellie called, keeping her composure as she threw another knife. “I had not thought so.”

“Well you thought wrong. You can do better than that.”

“Ignore him, Ellie,” Sif said with confidence. “Fandral just thinks that he knows all. Stay focused on your training.”

“Hold your tongue, warrior,” Loki added as he handed Ellie a few more knives. “Or she will cut it out herself.”

Due to a relatively quiet break within the Nine Realms, Loki and Ellie found themselves with an audience during their latest training sessions. With Lady Sif on hand, it meant Loki could leave to attend to his own duties knowing the young woman was in good hands. While he appreciated Sif’s presence, the audience of Thor and the Warriors Three could get irritating. While most of their jests were directed at both of them, the ones Fandral aimed at her alone left Loki far more enraged than usual. Probably due to the fact he had noticed the way Fandral looked at Ellie of late. It was as if he had suddenly realised she was of age and, much like how he pursued and interacted with women on Asgard, he openly ogled her without shame. Not only that, but he had the gall to actually flirt with her at the most inappropriate times. While Thor and Volstagg usually just laughed with a ‘that is Fandral for you!’ attitude, Sif was constantly rolling her eyes, and Hogun was indifferent as always. Loki, however, was cool and calm on the outside and fuming on the inside. The notion that he was not the only one watching the ways her body moved with rapt attention made him remarkably resentful. Ellie never treated Fandral any differently, choosing to pretend as though he was not doing anything, or perhaps not noticing it at all. Or…

As the God of Mischief watched how Fandral leered at her from his seat, his stomach dropped.

What if she says nothing to send Fandral on his way because she is revelling in the attention? he thought to himself. He is called ‘the Dashing’ for good reason — perhaps Ellie finds him attractive like the rest of Asgard.  

As was made evident from their conversation in London, Ellie knew when men were seemingly pursuing her. She was no fool, that was for certain, but Loki had never considered the idea that she may be infatuated with another, or willingly bed a man who she found attractive. All this time, he was so focused on keeping her close that he forgot she could very well fall for another. Ensuring she became his handmaiden guaranteed nothing in terms of her becoming attracted to him. Perhaps she would prefer someone more attractive by Asgard’s standards. But Gods knew she could do better than Fandral.

“You are in a fowl mood today, Trickster,” Fandral prattled on. “More so than usual.”

“That is probably due to your presence here, my friend,” Thor interjected, shouting over at them from where he stood sparring with Volstagg. “You are the annoying one, after all.”

“And you do insist on critiquing our student as if you were the teacher,” Sif added dryly.

“I am helping!”

“Hardly.”

“If you think my form is so awful, why not come and be my target?” Ellie announced, then threw a knife near the centre of her training target. “I bet I can hit the mark around you without hurtin’ a blonde hair on your big head.”

Thor let out a roaring laugh while Fandral smirked at her. “I think I will remain in my seat for fear of you permanently marring my beautiful face and bringing the women of this realm to their knees in dismay.”

“I think you mean they would celebrate bein’ free of your constant advances.”

At that, he actually gaped in shock. “Now that is uncalled for.”

“Then do not unjustly criticise her form if you do not wish for retaliation,” Loki said with a grin. “What do you expect?”

“I suppose I should expect nothing less,” Fandral muttered and turned his attention back to cleaning his blade. “She has spent so much time in your company, it is only fair that she would start to mimic your harsh jesting.”

“Then maybe keep your lips sealed and your eyes fixed on your blade.”

Fandral narrowed his eyes at the comment, wisely choosing to keep his mouth shut. The rest of Ellie’s training session continued without incident, as did their private conjuration lesson that night in the library. Although still unable to summon the dagger, her ability was ever improving. At present, she could just about conjure the flickering image of the weapon in its familiar ruby red light before she ran out of energy and it disappeared. Progress was slow on that end, but still positive. Now that she was residing in chambers next to his own, they walked back to bed together under his own cloaking spell, easily moving around the clueless on duty Einherjar. 

When they arrived at her door, she turned to him and said. “Do you require anythin’ else before bed, Your Highness?”

His eyes bore into her’s as he contemplated answering with complete honestly.

You, in my bed, beneath me, would be preferable…

“Not at present, little one. Get yourself to sleep and I will see you in the morning.”

“As you wish,” she replied and timidly opened her arms to him. “Considerin’ you’re in such good form, maybe I could get an informal hug off you?”

While he rolled his eyes dramatically, he answered. “Only because you asked so nicely, considering I find your sentimental gestures to be overtly pointless.”

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around him. “Even if you’re a sassy bitch, I do enjoy annoyin’ you with these ‘overtly pointless’ gestures.”

He hugged her back, despite his aversion for such contact. This embrace, however, was surprisingly pleasant, more so than he had experienced before. Ellie had hugged him on few occasions, but this time it affected him differently. If he was contemplating the feeling of her body pressed against his before, he was vividly imaging it now. He concentrated on how her shape fit nicely in his, noting every supple curve beneath his hands and the arch in her back. He dared not think about her ample chest pressing against his lest he actually die on the spot. He had to hold back the temptation to bury his nose in her hair and kiss her head. When she sighed happily, he had to forcibly clear the lump in his throat and suppress the urge to drag her into his chambers and throw her on to the bed.

By the Norns, I am a mess.

He said his goodnight quickly, hoping that she didn’t notice his pursed lips or his tented breeches. Once alone and away from prying eyes, Loki was quick to shed his garments with impressive speed before lying down on his bed and staring up at his engraved ceiling. He was wide awake and had no intention of sleeping yet. He had no idea as to whether he would be able to look Ellie in the eye tomorrow, but his hand wandered down his bare abdomen to grip himself without much hesitance. Try as he might to think of someone else, his thoughts remained fixed on his friend as he managed to bring himself pleasure and finish on his own hand for the first time in months. While his erratic breathing slowly calmed, he lay there with an arm thrown over his shut eyes. It was a while before he looked at the mess he left on his chest with mild confusion. Even though he was never one for feeling sheepish in relation to sating himself, this was foreign, embarrassing territory, given the object of his desire was now but a few yards away.

This may prove to be an issue…

[unofferable-fic]

UNOFFERABLE: 16 - DREAD

Summary: The unexpected arrival of an injured Midgardian child clinging to life causes a ruckus on Asgard. The princes, Thor and Loki, are somewhat intrigued by this unusual guest, unsure as to how and why she ended up in such a state. What they did not expect, however, was the turn of events her appearance would inevitably cause.

Originally posted by nikibella

————

Set Pre-Thor 1

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Inspired by this imagine

Warnings: Jealous Loki, language, mild sexual content.

Word Count: 3,328

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

Playlist: “Nerve” — Half Moon Run, “Separate” — Pvris, “Let Me In, Heathcliff” — Ruth Barrett

————

A/N: Also available on AO3  and FanFiction.net.

Loki was determined. He was also confident.

He usually managed to get his way when he used his silver tongue. He thought it would seem like a fair request if he expressed his points without error. With Odin in meetings with the Einherjar generals in relation to the palace’s new security, the youngest Odinson asked to breakfast with his mother. She was obviously more than happy to have him and embraced his company. Unfortunately, she also made the suggestion that they invite Thor, who rarely dined with them both. Frigga knew that Loki enjoyed spending time with just her, but she sometimes insisted that his brother was included. Although these occasions were infrequent, this one in particular slightly vexed Loki. If he was to execute his plan, he wished that imbecile wasn’t there to throw him off. Alas, he did enjoy a challenge, and Thor’s presence would certainly make the encounter more interesting.

“Mother?” Loki addressed her, pausing mid-meal when there was a lull in conversation.

Frigga gave him a pleasant smile. “Yes, my son?”

“I wish to request a new handmaiden.”

“You do?” she replied, unsurprisingly inquisitive about his statement. “What is wrong with Dagny?”

He sighed slightly and set down his cutlery. “I tire of her. She is not a hard worker and she has left me constantly dissatisfied with her laziness and petulant attitude.”

“Attitude?”

“Who are you talking about?” Thor asked, looking perplexed.

“Dagny?” Loki’s reply merely received a pout. “My handmaiden? Thor, she has been working here for centuries…”

“Maybe I know her to see,” he mumbled and went back to eating. “Is she bad at her job?”

“Yes, I find her to be lazy and insolent. I was willing to give her time after she replaced Radburn, but her skills are simply not up to par. She is frequently late, resulting in my own tardiness, and is incapable of taking care of my armour. Not only that, when I reprimand her about these things, she is disrespectful and, evidently, not listening to my criticisms.”

“She sounds terrible,” Thor snorted. “I am surprised you have not turned her into a fruit fly, brother.”

“I have certainly been tempted…”

“I have never had a problem with her before,” Frigga pondered aloud. “And approved her in the position because of that.”

Loki shrugged. “I am sure she was suitable at first, Mother, but now I find her work to be completely unsatisfactory.”

“So you wish to request a new personal maid?”

“Of course,” he answered with confidence. “If I am to be a prince and possibly a king someday, then I wish to surround myself with workers expressing standards as high as my own. Is that not reasonable?”

“Of course it is,” she replied with a nod of agreement. “One should surround themselves with people they can rely on.”

“Exactly. I do not mean to be so harsh with Dagny but…she is rather awful.”

“You really do not want to spare the maid’s feelings,” Thor laughed and downed the rest of his water. “I am sure her ears are burning in your chambers right now as she struggles to change your sheets!”

Frigga rolled her eyes at that. “Loki, if you are insistent on having a harder working handmaiden, then Dagny will be removed from her post and replaced with another. I could place her with my own women to see how she fairs.”

“Then would I receive one of your handmaidens as a replacement?”

His mother watched him curiously, considering his statement for a moment. Thor continued to eat, uninterested in their chat and more concerned with his emptying plate. He called the attention of Fen, who stood nearby, requesting another fresh loaf of bread and bowl fruit. She left to go fetch the food from the kitchens, leaving the trio alone in the privacy of the Allmother’s chambers.

“I suppose you might as well,” Frigga said. “If I will be taking her back on.”

“I require someone who I know is a hard worker and will do as I ask when I ask, and to my desired standards. Your handmaidens are exceptional at what they do, so I would imagine they could assist me better than my current one.”

“I agree. As you wish, Loki.”

“Thank you, Mother.” He grinned, taking a bite of his apple. “If it is alright with you, may I select my new handmaiden myself?”

“By Odin,” Thor cut in. “You are so very fussy, brother.”

“I prefer the term ‘particular’.”

“You have someone in mind?” Frigga asked.

Loki knew how this conversation would play out. He had an idea as to how his mother would respond to his information and requests, so steering the conversation in his desired direction was proving to be doable. “Well, there are a few that I know quite well from their years of service, and they are familiar with me and my expectations. It would be logical to pick one who already has some idea of the job requirements.”

“A reasonable statement.”

“I thought so too, Mother.” He grinned as he took a sip of his water. “What of young Ellie, then?”

He was prepared for Frigga to question his choice, but he wasn’t prepared for Thor to start choking on his last piece of bread. “You wish to employ the little one?”

Loki shrugged and answered dryly. “Obviously, as I have stated.”

“But…why?”

“That I have also stated already.”

“Do you think Ellie will be okay with your choice?” Frigga asked, concern evident in her tight lips. “Given recent events with rumours and such?”

“I would never let anything happen to her,” Loki answered confidently. “Not to mention she is well looked after in Kirkjabyr’s company. The change may be a positive one for her.”

“If she agrees, I will allow it. But if she wishes to stay in her current position, then there she will remain.”

He nodded his head firmly. “Of course. Her wishes should be taken into consideration.”

“I am sure she would rather take on an angry bilgesnipe than deal with your mood swings,” Thor chortled. “Gods preserve her; she may not survive.”

“Oh, dear brother, I am firm in the belief that I am easier to deal with than your constant feasting, revelling, and whoring. She would have to scrape the courtesans off your chamber floors.”

Thor’s goblet was smashed back down on the table with a clatter. “Another word, Loki, and I will throw you from the balcony—”

Frigga shook her head and cut across before they could begin arguing. “Both of you, hush! All I ask for is a civil breakfast this morning. Surely you can both manage that without fighting?”

“He is the one who is always stabbing me—!”

“It is not my fault that you are an easily fooled imbecile—”

“You know how much I love snakes—!”

“You would have no idea that you are brothers,” she sighed, giving them a stern look to stop the arguing. “No idea at all. I will pass on your offer to Ellie, Loki, and inform you of her decision.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

At that moment, Fen returned with fresh food and set it down on the table. Thor was distracted by the arrival, so he let the Trickster’s comments go with a grumpy expression. Thankfully, there were no more arguments for the duration of the meal, and Loki was pleased with how he voiced his concerns.

Although, a part of him feared that Ellie would reject his offer. It was something that, up until this point, he had not even considered. He forgot that she had friends within Frigga’s handmaidens and had settled in her position over her short life. What if she was comfortable? What if Thor’s comments rang true and she did not wish to deal with his finicky nature? Another part of him considered using his silver tongue to convince her to take the position if she refused. He could do it — he knew he could — but that was risky. He definitely enjoyed getting his own way through honeyed words, but convincing Ellie to work for him if she did not wish to left a horrible taste in his mouth. While he feared — dare he say her decision genuinely worried him? — her rejection, he could only hope that it would go his way without a need to intervene.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to voice his convincing opinion. Frigga informed him of Ellie’s decision — she accepted without hesitation.

With Dagny’s departure, Loki was the one to introduce Ellie to her new duties as his personal maid. She remained impeccably formal as he explained what he would require of her each day. While he used to feel indifferent as to whether she addressed him formally or informally throughout their friendship, now he found his mind drifting elsewhere when she called him ‘My Prince’. Although this had been the point, had it not? To get closer to her and to have her near him whenever he required it? Now that she was his own employee, she had moved to a new single room next to his chambers. Would having but a wall between him and his desire work for or against him?  Surely time would tell, but right now, he was just happy to show her what she would do each and every morning after sunrise. The thoughts of Ellie being the first person to greet him as he woke filled him with nervous excitement.

He was still not sure if this would work in his favour.

In fact, the first time she came into his room, he had still been asleep with his head buried in the pillow. He raised himself up on his elbows and turned to squint at her. Even in his bedridden state, she remained politely formal.

“Good mornin’, Prince Loki.”

“Good morning, little one,” he said, his gravely voice all the more present at this hour.

“How'd you sleep?”

He cleared his throat and held a pillow against his bare chest. “I have had better nights.”

“Sorry t’hear that,” she replied with a frown as she moved to open his curtains. “There’s nothin’ worse than a restless night. I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but the Allfather has requested your presence in the next hour. I thought you’d require time to breakfast on your own.”

“You thought correctly.” Slowly, he sat up in the bed, watching her as she moved about the room. Opening his wardrobe, she selected an outfit and draped it over the back of a chair. “Could you also draw me bath?”

“Of course, My Prince. I’ll do it for you now.”

He sent his thanks as she walked briskly into his washroom and did as he asked. He remained seated as the water began to run and steam seeped from the doorway. When she came back into his bedroom, she placed a towel down next to him, which he wrapped around his naked waist when she had her back turned. Having her form so close while he wore nothing was probably not the best idea, considering he suddenly felt far to warm, and not due to the heat emitting from nearby steam. He swiftly moved to the washroom before she could notice what his body wanted quite desperately.

Yes, he was still unsure as to whether this was a bad idea or not.

* * *

“You are getting quite sloppy, Ellie!” Fandral called from his seat, wiping a cloth along his sword.

Loki turned to glare at the warrior’s statement. He stood at his apprentice’s side, Lady Sif flanking opposite him, as Ellie followed his instructions and threw her daggers at a nearby target in the training yard. Considering his diversion from seiðr lessons to conjuring daggers, he thought it reasonable to focus her combat training on daggers too, having recently spent a lot of time on archery. Her aim had improved, and he was more than happy with her progress, but it seemed that not everyone was so keen.

“Sloppy, am I, Fandral?” Ellie called, keeping her composure as she threw another knife. “I had not thought so.”

“Well you thought wrong. You can do better than that.”

“Ignore him, Ellie,” Sif said with confidence. “Fandral just thinks that he knows all. Stay focused on your training.”

“Hold your tongue, warrior,” Loki added as he handed Ellie a few more knives. “Or she will cut it out herself.”

Due to a relatively quiet break within the Nine Realms, Loki and Ellie found themselves with an audience during their latest training sessions. With Lady Sif on hand, it meant Loki could leave to attend to his own duties knowing the young woman was in good hands. While he appreciated Sif’s presence, the audience of Thor and the Warriors Three could get irritating. While most of their jests were directed at both of them, the ones Fandral aimed at her alone left Loki far more enraged than usual. Probably due to the fact he had noticed the way Fandral looked at Ellie of late. It was as if he had suddenly realised she was of age and, much like how he pursued and interacted with women on Asgard, he openly ogled her without shame. Not only that, but he had the gall to actually flirt with her at the most inappropriate times. While Thor and Volstagg usually just laughed with a ‘that is Fandral for you!’ attitude, Sif was constantly rolling her eyes, and Hogun was indifferent as always. Loki, however, was cool and calm on the outside and fuming on the inside. The notion that he was not the only one watching the ways her body moved with rapt attention made him remarkably resentful. Ellie never treated Fandral any differently, choosing to pretend as though he was not doing anything, or perhaps not noticing it at all. Or…

As the God of Mischief watched how Fandral leered at her from his seat, his stomach dropped.

What if she says nothing to send Fandral on his way because she is revelling in the attention? he thought to himself. He is called ‘the Dashing’ for good reason — perhaps Ellie finds him attractive like the rest of Asgard.  

As was made evident from their conversation in London, Ellie knew when men were seemingly pursuing her. She was no fool, that was for certain, but Loki had never considered the idea that she may be infatuated with another, or willingly bed a man who she found attractive. All this time, he was so focused on keeping her close that he forgot she could very well fall for another. Ensuring she became his handmaiden guaranteed nothing in terms of her becoming attracted to him. Perhaps she would prefer someone more attractive by Asgard’s standards. But Gods knew she could do better than Fandral.

“You are in a fowl mood today, Trickster,” Fandral prattled on. “More so than usual.”

“That is probably due to your presence here, my friend,” Thor interjected, shouting over at them from where he stood sparring with Volstagg. “You are the annoying one, after all.”

“And you do insist on critiquing our student as if you were the teacher,” Sif added dryly.

“I am helping!”

“Hardly.”

“If you think my form is so awful, why not come and be my target?” Ellie announced, then threw a knife near the centre of her training target. “I bet I can hit the mark around you without hurtin’ a blonde hair on your big head.”

Thor let out a roaring laugh while Fandral smirked at her. “I think I will remain in my seat for fear of you permanently marring my beautiful face and bringing the women of this realm to their knees in dismay.”

“I think you mean they would celebrate bein’ free of your constant advances.”

At that, he actually gaped in shock. “Now that is uncalled for.”

“Then do not unjustly criticise her form if you do not wish for retaliation,” Loki said with a grin. “What do you expect?”

“I suppose I should expect nothing less,” Fandral muttered and turned his attention back to cleaning his blade. “She has spent so much time in your company, it is only fair that she would start to mimic your harsh jesting.”

“Then maybe keep your lips sealed and your eyes fixed on your blade.”

Fandral narrowed his eyes at the comment, wisely choosing to keep his mouth shut. The rest of Ellie’s training session continued without incident, as did their private conjuration lesson that night in the library. Although still unable to summon the dagger, her ability was ever improving. At present, she could just about conjure the flickering image of the weapon in its familiar ruby red light before she ran out of energy and it disappeared. Progress was slow on that end, but still positive. Now that she was residing in chambers next to his own, they walked back to bed together under his own cloaking spell, easily moving around the clueless on duty Einherjar.

When they arrived at her door, she turned to him and said. “Do you require anythin’ else before bed, Your Highness?”

His eyes bore into hers as he contemplated answering with complete honestly.

You, in my bed, beneath me, would be preferable…

“Not at present, little one. Get yourself to sleep and I will see you in the morning.”

“As you wish,” she replied and timidly opened her arms to him. “Considerin’ you’re in such good form, maybe I could get an informal hug off you?”

While he rolled his eyes dramatically, he answered. “Only because you asked so nicely, considering I find your sentimental gestures to be overtly pointless.”

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around him. “Even if you’re a sassy bitch, I do enjoy annoyin’ you with these ‘overtly pointless’ gestures.”

He hugged her back, despite his aversion for such contact. This embrace, however, was surprisingly pleasant, more so than he had experienced before. Ellie had hugged him on few occasions, but this time it affected him differently. If he was contemplating the feeling of her body pressed against his before, he was vividly imaging it now. He concentrated on how her shape fit nicely in his, noting every supple curve beneath his hands and the arch in her back. He dared not think about her ample chest pressing against his lest he actually die on the spot. He had to hold back the temptation to bury his nose in her hair and kiss her head. When she sighed happily, he had to forcibly clear the lump in his throat and suppress the urge to drag her into his chambers and throw her on to the bed.

By the Norns, I am a mess.

He said his goodnight quickly, hoping that she didn’t notice his pursed lips or his tented breeches. Once alone and away from prying eyes, Loki was quick to shed his garments with impressive speed before lying down on his bed and staring up at his engraved ceiling. He was wide awake and had no intention of sleeping yet. He had no idea as to whether he would be able to look Ellie in the eye tomorrow, but his hand wandered down his bare abdomen to grip himself without much hesitance. Try as he might to think of someone else, his thoughts remained fixed on his friend as he managed to bring himself pleasure and finish on his own hand for the first time in months. While his erratic breathing slowly calmed, he lay there with an arm thrown over his shut eyes. It was a while before he looked at the mess he left on his chest with mild confusion. Even though he was never one for feeling sheepish in relation to sating himself, this was foreign, embarrassing territory, given the object of his desire was now but a few yards away.

This may prove to be an issue…

[azems-familiar]

follow me (and i will bring you home) chapter 4

The turbolift ride down to the bridge is surprisingly calm and quiet, for all that there’s a tangible tension hanging thick and heavy in the air between them. Ben--no, Kylo, he reminds himself, he has to be Kylo outside of his room (it’s surprisingly hard to be anything but Ben around Rey)--doesn’t look over at Rey, but he’s almost hyperaware of her presence beside him. Their bond ebbs and flows, a constant undercurrent of emotion humming in the back of his mind; if he reaches at all, he can sort out each individual feeling, identify it, maybe even pick up stray thoughts attached. As tempting as that sounds, however, right now is not the time for experimentation.

Right now, he needs to assert his control over the First Order, and also figure out exactly where the Supremacy is heading.

Rey keeps pace with him easily as he strides down the corridor, despite not knowing where they’re going. It inspires a strange feeling in him, one he’s pretty sure he’s never felt before, one he can’t assign a name to but that’s there nonetheless.

He turns a corner, passing into the bridge, Rey just beside and behind him, and goes still. There’s a holographic projection of General Hux standing up at the front, in the middle of making some kind of speech.

“... has allowed the Resistance to survive, ordering a prolonged siege despite the fact that our numbers and weapons are much greater. And, worse, he has aided the Resistance agent he was supposed to kill, going as far as killing Supreme Leader Snoke with her. Clearly, he is a traitor, and unfit to lead. As the highest remaining authority figure in the First Order, I must take up the office of Supreme Leader. My orders are simple: kill the traitorous Kylo Ren and the Resistance agent, Rey. Anyone who aids them will be considered to be in accord with them and will thus face the same swift punishment.”

And then the holo flickers and vanishes.

There’s a long, drawn-out moment of silence, and then everyone starts shouting at once, scrambling for the comms, no doubt to bring an army of stormtroopers down on their heads; Kylo (Ben) exchanges a look with Rey, considers trying to mindtrick the entire bridge into not following the new orders (immediately he discards that idea, though, the bridge is too noisy), and then turns on his heel and takes off.

To her credit, Rey is right behind him; he reaches for their bond and pushes a quick image of the throne room and [snoke’s personal ship] at her, and then he focuses on getting to the turbolift.

Hux is clever, Kylo has to give him credit; revealing his part in Snoke’s death (even if it’s just a guess) and branding him a Resistance sympathizer practically ensures he’ll not be able to take control back and that he’ll be hunted across the galaxy, assuming he manages to escape the Supremacy. Hux hadn’t wasted any time, either, in making the announcement.

… Putting distance between Hux and him was probably not the wisest choice he’s ever made, come to think of it. 

He skids around a corner, the turbolift in sight--

And then a squadron of stormtroopers marches into his path, blasters at the ready.

He doesn’t slow down, just jerks out his lightsaber, the blade lighting up in his palm, and crashes into the stormtroopers. Blasterfire turns the corridor an eerie shade of crimson, and he doesn’t know where Rey is, can’t look back to check, has to stay entirely focused on dodging and deflecting blaster bolts and killing stormtroopers. She can take care of herself, she’s more than capable (he’s still worried about her anyway).

And then, just as he makes it to the turbolift, presses the button to open the doors, there’s a shout from behind him. “Ben!”

He spins around just in time to see Rey fling her hand out, using the Force to shove away the blaster bolt coming straight at his chest. The movement leaves her exposed, though, and as he watches in horror (too slow to do anything to stop it, too far away to kill her assailant), a stormtrooper fires and catches her on her right side at close range. She staggers, mouth opening--the stormtroopers close in--

“No!” He throws out his hand and concentrates, grabbing at the Force and pulling Rey to him, lightsaber and all. He catches her in his left arm and backs into the open turbolift, hitting the right keys and closing the door, zooming away from the stormtroopers.

“Ben,” Rey says, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, deactivating his lightsaber and returning the hilt to his belt before focusing on her face. “I should’ve moved faster--”

“It’s not your fault,” she interrupts, wincing as he brushes against the burn on her side (he can feel the pain flare up in his right side, in response, and he sucks in a sharp breath). “Are you okay?”

He stares in shock. “You’re asking me?” he finally manages to get out. “I’m not the one who just got shot.”

“Yes would work, too.” The small smile she gives him is pained, but there’s mischief in it, too, for which he’s silently grateful.

“I didn’t expect Hux to move this fast.” He shakes his head. “I offered you the galaxy, not life as a fugitive…”

“Ben,” she says, looking up at him, “I didn’t stay for the galaxy.”

He blinks.

“You can’t go by Kylo Ren, or the First Order will find us right away,” she continues after a moment, as though nothing has happened.

He nods, trying to focus on the logistics. “I know. Fortunately, I’m already used to you calling me Ben.”

The turbolift door hisses open into the throne room, still bare of all its crimson decoration, and Ben steps out, Rey following behind him. She slips out of his arm (he lets her go, albeit reluctantly) but keeps a hold of his hand as he leads her across the room.

Snoke’s personal ship, for use in an emergency, is docked at the back of the throne room. The stormtroopers shouldn’t guess that as their destination before it’s too late; however, they’ll have to abandon the ship somewhere--it’s too easily traced. And that brings up the question: where are they even going?

He shakes his head (hopefully Rey will have a better idea) and ducks around behind the throne, approaching the small craft, designed for two passengers (the pilot and Snoke himself, obviously). “Answering to Ben Solo doesn’t mean I’m going to turn,” he says abruptly, shooting her a glance as he palms open the door to the ship. “Neither does running from the First Order.”

“I know,” she says simply. “But it is a start.”

There has to be some way of getting the First Order back from Hux. He can’t just give up everything he’s worked for, these last few years (everything he’s suffered for), like it never mattered at all (did it?). (Is it more important than Rey?)

He sighs, climbing inside the ship. “There should be a medkit under the seat,” he says shortly, focused on the problem at hand: getting away from the First Order. “Treat that wound--it could cause a problem in the future if you don’t.”

“You think we’re going to run into more trouble?”

“Possibly.” He slips into the cockpit, flipping switches and bringing the instrument panel to glowing life. He buckles into the pilot’s seat, running pre-flight checks with the smooth fluidity of long familiarity, and then brings the ship’s engines roaring to life. “Don’t you?” he asks idly, only half his attention on the conversation (really, if he wanted, he could probe their bond for the information, but it’s still not the time for experimentation, as much as he would rather it otherwise).

There’s a pause, accompanied by the sound of Rey rummaging around in the ship’s medkit. “You’re the expert,” she says finally.

Ben probes at the bond a moment, taking his attention off the ship’s controls; she’s not exactly upset at him, but she’s… dissatisfied? He’s not entirely sure what to make of the emotions.

“I can feel that,” she says, and he freezes for a second, almost guiltily, and he starts to pull away before he feels the shiver of amusement cross their bond.

The ship is ready to go. The piloting provides a welcome distraction from the complexities of emotions (they really are frustrating things, feelings), and he gladly focuses on it, slowly guiding the ship out into space and inputting the coordinates of a star system he thinks is nearby (the shuttle isn’t meant for overly long-distance hyperspace travel) and not too closely affiliated with the First Order (and he hadn’t ever really expected to be hiding from the First Order, that’s for sure) before flipping the lever and accelerating into hyperspace. He engages the autopilot, programming it to alert him when it’s almost time to drop back into normal space, and then unstraps himself and turns to the back of the ship.

“Where are we going?” Rey asks, looking up at his entrance.

“Krydn, in the Foiston system,” he answers, eyeing her critically, frowning at the medkit spread across the cushioned bench. “Not controlled by the First Order. I think.”

“That’s reassuring.” She makes a face, looking back down at the medkit’s contents. “I’m still trying to figure out what to do with all this.”

Ben frowns. “Your vest is ruined.”

She shrugs. “Not completely.” And then, grimacing, “I don’t have anything to change into.”

He sighs, considering. “We don’t blend in. A burned vest doesn’t change that.”

Then he reaches over and grabs the medkit, sorting through it with easy efficiency. “Hold still. Let me see it.”

Rey looks at him, for a long moment, and then she wordlessly shrugs off the vest, leaving her only in her undershirt, through which the blaster burn is clearly visible. It’s a nasty wound, but not impossible to treat. It looks painful though (and doesn’t just look painful; he can feel the pain radiating from his own side, a ghostly mirage, if he concentrates at all), and he’s cautious with the medical supplies, trying to avoid causing her extra pain. Finally, though, he’s done everything he can, and he takes a bandage and wraps the burn carefully (and he most definitely does not let his fingers linger any longer on her bare skin than necessary, not at all).

“Thank you,” she says quietly, slipping her vest back on.

He just nods.

[=|=]

“General Organa! Leia!”

Leia looks up as Poe approaches, a furrow in her brow. She and her brother stand together a little ways off from the rest of the Resistance forces (a familiar sight, these days), talking together in low voices. “What is it?” she asks.

“They’re moving,” he gasps out, skidding to a stop in front of her. “The First Order.”

“They’ve got a battering ram cannon,” Finn calls from across the room, his voice heavy with significance. “It’s Death Star technology. Can crack that door open like an eggshell.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“If we just had a ship,” Poe says, “we could get away before they noticed.”

And suddenly, Leia goes still. “Oh,” she says, and looks down at the beacon on her wrist, flashing. And then she looks over at her brother. “How did you get in here?”

Luke grins.

The Millennium Falcon is an old piece of junk, Poe decides upon first impression, as the ship lands next to Luke Skywalker’s X-wing. But she’s a very welcome piece of junk, a sentiment shared by the rest of the Resistance. He starts towards the lowered ramp, only to be called away by a voice saying his name.

“Poe.” It’s Leia, holding the beacon and standing a little apart from the others.

He hurries over to her, BB-8 rolling at his heels. “Yes, General?”

“Take this,” she says, offering him the beacon. “I need you to take the X-wing. Find Rey and bring her back to us.” A pause, and then she smiles. “May the Force be with you, Commander.”

“And with you,” he says, taking the beacon and securing it around his wrist. He locks eyes with her for a long moment, and then with a deep breath he walks past her. “C’mon, BB-8!”

The droid burbles and beeps as it rolls over to the X-wing and hoists itself up with one of its retractable arms. Happy beeps, and it makes Poe smile as he climbs up the side of the older fighter and into the cockpit. The majority of the Resistance (such a small number) has already boarded the Falcon, and only Luke, Leia, and the Wookiee are left standing outside, watching. He lifts one hand, salutes the three, and then presses the button to lower the glass of the cockpit.

The X-wing is older, yes, but still in immaculate condition; it comes to life with ease underneath his hands. Poe takes a deep breath, eyeing the destroyers in the sky over Crait, and then he closes his hands around the controls and takes off.

“BB-8, see if you can find Rey,” he shouts at the droid, and then he gets free from the small mineral planet’s atmosphere and punches it. The stars streak into the distance as the X-wing makes the jump to hyperspace, easily.

On his wrist, the beacon glows a soft, steady blue.

[flickityfics]

Chapter: Job Hunting

"Hi, I heard you guys needed builders for an architect job? I can promise you I'm a tough worker and I'm actually pretty good with designs and planning as well. " Sokka put on a hopeful smile, this was the sixth job he was trying to get with no results.

"Miss, look you don't look like you can do much and I also doubt you would know the complexities of architecture so shoo, go cook somewhere." The man mocked sarcastically.

Sokka had to grit his teeth in anger and keep from shouting his frustrations to this man. "I don't know how to cook." He said through clenched teeth.

"Not my problem, I'm not having a girl slow our progress down." The man turned from him swiftly ignoring his presence.

All the water tribe boy could do was huff and walk away. He was frustrated when all the people he went looking for a job only saw him as a weak and dumb girl. He really started feeling shitty about the ways he treated his sister more often now, 'I hope katara and the gaang are doing better than me'  he was missing them and feeling dejected about not finding a job as fast as he could. When he was a boy it was so easy before. Sokka kept walking along the path til he heard something promising up ahead and started walking faster.

"Uh, hi, I heard you were looking for a young girl to be a washer?" He stopped in front of the elder lady.

"Ah, yes I am indeed. you offering?" She asked kindly.

"Yes I am." 'finally this was great news, now I'll have money just before running out!' Sokka couldn't help but sag in relief internally.

"Have you had prior experience with washing?"

"Only a bit." He hardly ever washed clothes, he always fought over that with Katara and somehow managed to get out of that duty more often than not.

"That's fine, you can learn. There's not much to it really. You can come back here tomorrow afternoon." The lady informed him.

"Thank you so much." He smiled and waved her off with a new bounce to his step. He headed back to the inn wanting to get his clothes ready for tomorrow and to grab his journals to head for the Jasmine Dragon, 'got some exciting news for you Zuko'  

Back in his room Sokka had laid his clothes for tomorrow and started to clean up a bit. Once he was done looking around his room seeing if there was anything out of place did he catch his reflection in the mirror, he's been pretty good in avoiding it and just needing it for quick glimpses of his clothes being properly on and hair presentable nothing else. 'Guess its time for a proper look'  he takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes tightly removing the clothes from his new body. He shudders as he opens his eyes and scans himself, he wants to cry knowing this isn't his body, he's not comfortable in it, he doesn't understand it, he's gotta face new obstacles with this body and he hates it. Sokka roughly wipes the tears from his eyes not wanting to cry about it anymore, he gets past the anger, hurt and fear to take it all in. The stretch marks on the breasts of this body captures his attention, he always thought those kinda marks got there if you were older, he traces the marks to cupping the soft, warm breasts, it does nothing to arouse him when he knows he would have gotten aroused at seeing a women's chest up close like this in his own male body, 'maybe girls don't actually like getting their chest groped or fondled'  he certainly didn't feel anything as he played with his new chest. Sokka then looked further down tilting his side not really getting a reaction to this new bit either. The vagina had curls just like his own pubic hairs but instead of his penis jutting out, it was just flat and dipped, He played with the curls and started twirling the curls and 'oh that felt nice'  twisting the curls felt like a nice tease he couldn't help thinking. Feeling embarrassed going anything further did he abruptly stop and go for a shower wanting to visit the tea shop and Zuko to distract himself from his current predicament.

Being back in the tea shop felt surprisingly relaxing considering it should feel more terrifying what with Zuko and his uncle always hunting them down. He spotted Zuko immediately in the kitchen working on some dish, he waved wildly until he got the other teens attention and laughing at the blush that worked up Zuko's pale skin, he looked around and noticed the other patrons laughing no doubt at his and Zuko's strange duo. He turned back to Zuko signaling with his pointer finger where he'd be sitting at, he got a nod of confirmation in return then headed to a table to wait.

"Hey Miyuki, is there anything you'd like to order?" The young prince asked.

Sokka drummed his fingers on the table thinking, "I'd like those cute flower shaped cookies, I'm craving something sweet." He watched as Zuko nodded his head and walked back to his uncle saying he'll be back quickly.

Zuko was back with a steaming cup and sliding it towards him as he sat across him.

"What's this?"He grabbed for the cup cautiously not wanting to burn himself, the contents of the beverage was milk with a sweet smell to it.

"Cinnamon milk tea, its good with the cookies and bread." Zuko offered shyly.

Sokka quirked up his lips, "Thanks. So you have a bit of time to chat then? I really need to get your schedule so I don't always interrupt your work."

"I pretty much work as soon as the shop opens and til it closes. If I want a day off my uncle lets me take it." Zuko knows how depressing that sounds but he honestly prefers it to the way he lived before, with all the hate bubbling inside him and never truly following his own path, he preferred this quiet peaceful life, he did miss his old life every once in awhile, he missed his home but not with the high expectations, demands or constant belittling and criticism. He knows how cowardice it is to not face his family and one day him and uncle will have to stop running but not today, today he'll spend this with Miyuki before he loses it all, at least with this he'll have some good memories to cling to once he's ripped away from this little fantasy of his.

"You're so lucky, I would love to get that at my new job which brings me to why I'm here. I just wanted to let you know and that I start first thing tomorrow." Sokka felt excited to tell someone the news even if it was to Zuko.

"What job did you get?"

"I'll be working as a washer, I tried other places but they all shot me down just because I was a girl, didn't matter if I had previous experience either. " Sokka pouted in annoyance remembering all the frustrations from hours earlier.

"Sorry to hear that, maybe it'll get better with the people getting to know you and trusting your hard work." He couldn't help thinking Miyuki was cute with her pout but he also didn't want her having a sour mood.

Sokka perked up at that, "yeah, you're right maybe they just need to see my hard work before trusting me." He felt better already with that mind set. A quiet calmness settled over the two as Sokka reached for his drink sipping it lightly and enjoying the warmth and sweetness it brought to his tongue. The cookies had cooled down awhile ago but still had a nice sugary taste to it. He looked to Zuko scanning him trying to look for anything that might be bring that fearsome and hateful person in front of him instead he got a blushing dork of a teen who couldn't even handle an appraisal from a girl. 'what happened to Zuko? and what was he laying low for?' he'll have to write these down in his notes later with his other theories.

Zuko wasn't quite sure how to take the look Miyuki was giving him, it didn't seem like a rude look more of a deep searching one but still nerve wracking nonetheless almost as though she was trying to unravel him.

"The cookies and milk tea were delicious." Sokka complimented breaking the silence.

Zuko twitched nervously, "Glad you liked them." this southern water tribe girl was going to kill him, he just knew it.

"So tell me about your day, I'm always doing all the talking? It's my turn to listen to your deep soothing voice." Sokka purred the words out leaning forward with his attention on the fire prince.

Zuko could see his soul leaving his body. He was not accustomed to girls saying these types of things. She obviously enjoyed doing this, he huffed in annoyance and looked away glaring towards the kitchens before speaking.

"My day was uneventful, I woke up early for my usual meditation routine, helped uncle with opening the shop and serving customers and now I'm here being pestered by you." He couldn't help the last remark, he wasn't bothered by her at all just embarrassed at the ways she makes him feel and not knowing what to do about it or how to get her back for it. These were uncharted territories, Mai never played these games, she always told him when she was upset and hiding the rest of her emotions, she never flirted like this and Miyuki's flirting was quite different if he could even call it that maybe just teasing really. Either way it left him twitchy and flustered too much.

"I forgot you meditated. You also train don't you? With the dual broadswords you mentioned, when do you find time for that?" Sokka forgot that Zuko trained with his broadswords maybe he could convince him to train him.

"I train after work mostly and on my days off, I do them here on nights up top the roof of the shop." Zuko realized a second to late that he probably shouldn't have mentioned that since most nights he's been going out as the Blue Spirit.

"Would you mind training me at all?"

Zuko saw the eagerness in Miyuki, and he didn't want to say no, looks like he'll just have to take a step back from his nightly activities.  "We can do that. I don't mind at all."

"Thanks so much. I'll let you get back to work, I've gotta get going before it gets too dark. I'll come by after work tomorrow to visit and we can talk more." He put change on the table before waving goodbye to Zuko and doing the same to his uncle when he spotted him before leaving out the tea shop. Sokka wondered what tomorrow will bring.