#i feel like an afterthought or a prop most of the time

[trashpawz]

Tumblr is basically my vent now

[giamee]

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🫀 )

there's a certain beauty and pain in being with someone carnally, and nothing more than that

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | friends with benefits, more angst than smut, like this is basically all angst no smut lol, kinda short too mb

header art (left to right) by pcrow ; artsquirre ; _sekidesu

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ being in a situationship is all fun and games until u catch feelings fr 😕. anyways. let's go thru that pain in this. lowkey i wanna make a part 2 to this with a happy ending cos im SOFT lmaooo

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 ALHAITHAM.

BEING IN... WHATEVER THIS RELATIONSHIP COULD BE CLASSIFIED AS was not good for your mental health. in the past weeks that you and alhaitham had started sleeping together, you had been plunged into one of the worst emotional rollercoasters that you had ever been on.

what didn't help was the way he treated you so differently depending on the setting. you understood not wanting people to know, but did he have to ignore you entirely in public?

he wouldn't even spare you a glance as you walk past each other in the halls, eyes stubbornly trained ahead, leaving you steamrolled in his icy trail. and if you dare to try and talk to him- he'd look at you like you've grown a second head, completely shunning you and walking away as quickly as possible.

but it's a different story behind closed doors- in private, he's the sweetest man alive.

he'll whisper such sweet nothings into your ear, wipe your tears so tenderly with his thumbs like a lover would. he'd prop himself up with an elbow just so that he can gaze into your eyes as he pushes into you, even smiling at you as he watches the way your expression changes.

and the way he kisses you is what really throws you- always with such desperation and urgency, like he needs you in order to breathe when it's quite the opposite. he kisses you like he loves you, and the sensation is dizzying, perplexing when those fantasies are ripped from you in favour of reality.

but you know that you won't ever be his. not properly.

if it was meant to be, he'd at least smile at you as he passed. the more rational parts of your brain screamed at you to call it quits before you're sucked in too deep, but some part of you still held onto the hope that one day he would see you then smile.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 THOMA.

IT TRULY HURT TO REMEMBER THAT you weren't actually dating thoma. it was easy to get fooled- he was a gentleman, making sure to treat you right even when you weren't fucking. he'd make sure that you were okay, and he never kicked you out as soon as it was over.

he'd ask about your day, take interest in you and what you're doing. and arguably, worst of all, he wasn't afraid to be seen with you. the details that blurred the lines defining your relationship seemed like an afterthought, if the way his arm wrapped around your shoulders indicated anything.

you were his, unofficially or not. it only took a glance to be able to tell.

you liked to think that he was yours, too. that you meant something to him- more than just a pastime and a stress reliever.

there were moments where it was easier to believe it- with the way his eyes remain transfixed on you as you writhe in pleasure, cries of his name leaving your lips- his little coos and reassurances buttering you up, having you right in his palm, so pliant and willing for him.

maybe he got off on knowing that he makes you feel good in every sense of the word. seeing you happy acting as some sort of foreplay, all so he can claim you as his in every way except the one that you wanted most.

the urge to tell him how you feel, those three little words that dangle on the tip of your tongue and fight to be freed, are a constant struggle. but something inside you, some sick gut instinct, stopped you from blurting it out every time.

the fear of his reaction- disgust? confusion? kept you uncertain. a part of you would die if he didn't reciprocate your feelings. it was better not to know, and keep living in the make-belief of being his without the label.

you could only hope that you would be proved wrong one day.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 WRIOTHESLEY.

DESPITE EVERYTHING, YOU COULDN'T HELP BUT crawl back to him every single time. a never-ending cycle- one that you couldn't escape even if you wanted to.

both of you knew how it goes. you unblock him, play coy for a few messages before he's telling you to come over. you fuck like it's the last time you ever will- it never is- and then you spend the night.

he'll hold you, play with your hair, even kiss you, and you pretend that it's enough. if you're lucky, he'll even lend you a shirt that smells of him to sleep in.

and this facade is fine- while it lasts. but then you remember why you blocked him in the first place- the forced indifference, his refusal to open up. the way it hurt your heart to be pushed aside.

and then you go and ask him what you mean to him. he'll smile at you without mirth, the both of you knowing how this conversation goes. he doesn't want anything serious. you want more.

and then it's tears, you ripping off his shirt and throwing it back at him, storming out of his place and blocking his number with shaking fingers.

you cry yourself to sleep in your cold and empty bed- already sorely missing the warmth of his body as he holds you close to him in his sleep, whether he's aware of that or not.

and you're fine, you tell yourself. you can live without him. and you do, for a little while. honestly, he's the last thing on your mind as you distract yourself with work or seeing your friends.

but then a lonely night gets the best of you, abd you find your finger hovering over the call button next to his name. and you press it, cursing yourself for doing it.

he picks up at the third ring, voice smug as if he knew you couldn't go much longer without him.

and he's right, unfortunately.

you're already out the door, on the way to his apartment.

𝜗𝜚 genshin impact masterlist

[sommerregenjuniluft]

For the prompt game……..

57. “Teach me to fight.”

Jarty??

nonny this is a lovely prompt, however i don't think either of them would ever ask the other for help this easily so instead you get something a little more heated

for @stagpdf and @sixlane and everyone that's as insane about them as i am

1114 words

The breeze outside is ruffling Barty’s short hair where he’s propped on one of the lunch tables alone, pocket knife in hand and finishing the apple he nicked from the cafeteria, James stupidly persistent cologne drifting over to him every now and then with the wind where he’s standing with his usual group, the older Black, Lupin and Pettigrew, throwing and catching a ball back and forth like the pretentious High School cliches that they are. 

Barty doesn’t let himself look up, all he’d see of James would be the expanse of his wide shoulder and strong back and frankly freakishly huge ass anyways, so.

James knows he’s there though. Barty knows James knows he’s there.

His friends are currently talking him up, metaphorically patting him on the back and praising him, as if that inflated ego of his needed any more stroking and when the fundraiser comes up for the millionth god damn time Barty can’t help himself anymore. It’s a miracle he’s held out this long honestly.

Barty snorts.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees James’ tense back finally turning, “Is there a problem here, Crouch?”

Barty pockets his knife, turning his attention away from the carving he did on the tabletop while eavesdropping. He puts on his most unsettling grin, all teeth, sharp edges and eyes wide, “Me? No, no.” He waits until they’ve all turned their attention away before he continues, like an afterthought, “Y’know, I just find it funny that James wasn’t able to secure a single award or accolade despite his obvious charm and ingeniousness as you’ve so well described it. Unlike the other house representatives that were attending.”

Barty’s tongue makes its way into the pocket of his cheek, giddy with the execution of his blow as he watches James’ fists curl at his sides, chest heaving unevenly and expression so hard it would send any lesser man to his knees. Barty knows he’s struck a nerve, as was his intention, and he keeps himself propped up lazily on his elbows as he watches the other boy closely, as he feels the pulsing waves of James’ resentment wash over him like the most relaxing bubble bath.

“Leave it, Prongs, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Sirius spits, putting a hand on James’ shoulder.

Which James shrugs off immediately, making a twisted sort of satisfaction pool deep in Barty’s gut, warming him from the inside. 

He doesn’t lie to himself, he knows he likes James’ attention on him like this with nobody but Barty getting to him, focused so intensely it’s almost sick. It’s the one time Barty feels evenly matched.

“No, someone ought to put him in his place and with the way he can’t seem to get off my dick right now I’m not averse to volunteering for the task myself,” James hisses, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Oh?” Barty can’t help the hysterical laugh that slips from his throat, “Oh, this is phenomenal. You think you can teach me how to fight? Show me how to throw a proper punch, huh, Potter?” He doesn’t miss the way James’ upper lip twitches with the urge to sneer at the use of his last name and Barty lifts from his slouch against the bench to stand, opening his arms invitingly, “C’mon then, golden boy, show me what you got.”

There’s a ticking in James’ jaw and Barty can see his eyes attempt to dart over his shoulder where his pack of idiotic friends are still standing before he zeros back in on him, “Walk away, Crouch.”

“Aww, what?” Barty coos, skin already buzzing, “You afraid you’re gonna get your shit rocked? Afraid you’re gonna lose?”

The words reverberate back in Barty’s head, his own voice, same sentence but tone decidedly more playful but mean all the same. Bent over a table of pool, cue in hand and blinking up at James standing in the doorway in his stupidly tight shirt and plaid pajama pants. 

“Afraid you’re gonna lose?”

James had tilted his head with a cocky smirk. “Not with the way you’re holding that cue I’m not,” he’d answered. His eyes had flitted to the uncapped bottle of vodka on the sideboard Barty had stolen from his father’s cabinet and brought onto the trip. “You’re aware of the fact we’re gonna be up pretty early tomorrow, yes?”

Their heads of houses had chosen them to represent their school on this stupid fundraiser Gala slash genius competition with a bunch of rich old guys and other schools. Slughorn has this weird obsession with Barty’s intelligence and with Lily getting sick last minute McGonagall was subjected to instead pick no other than Headboy himself, obviously.

Which was evidently trying to ruin Barty’s entire fun.

“Oh my god,” Barty had groaned, “Yes, mom. God, you’re worse than fucking Evans.”

James had bristled at the comment, “Watch your mouth.”

And Barty doesn’t really remember what he’d said after that, something lewd and inappropriate and agitating probably but he knows how it had ended. With James and him passed out on the plush sofa in the room, half a bottle of vodka divided between the two of them, knocking them right on their asses after they’d played round and round after pool, drinking every time they’d made a mistake, bickering over what counted as a mistake until their mouths were dry only to repeat and repeat again—it was a devil’s circle, evidently.

Waking up was hell. 

Barty had felt gross, sweaty and dizzy and too warm for his skin especially with the way Mister human furnace was plastered to his chest, an arm slung tightly around Barty’s midriff and messy hair tickling the side of his face, glasses digging uncomfortably into Barty’s collarbone. And, what with a christian father that doesn’t like you an inch more than he likes a speck of mud on his pristine shoes, Barty had always known he’d end up in these fiery pits. Obviously he could do without the pounding headache but Barty had to say he thinks he could get used to someone like James sticking to his side like that.

So Barty knows how it had started and he knows how it’d ended and just how it had worked the first time it works a second time as well. 

And like a fucking charm it does.

James huffs an irritated breath and pushes the ball into Pettigrew’s chest before walking closer to where Barty is standing. 

“You don’t know your limits,” he growls.

Barty makes sure to pitch his voice into something sultry when he answers, “How about you show me then, Bambi?”

James growls again and then he’s already swinging for Barty.

[missjoolee]

Always Come Take Me Down

The barest hint of a snore coming from where Julie's head is resting against his thigh is what alerts Luke that she's asleep and no longer working on lyrics. He'd been so in his own head, humming melodies and jotting them down, that it was more an afterthought sort of processing of the fact that she had been quiet for a bit now. He knows it happened, but couldn't say when. What is he supposed to do? Leave her be? Wake her up? If it were Alex or Reggie, he'd let them sleep if they had just come from home, but definitely would wake them up with a wet willy. That's not an option this time! Not when it's the girl you most definitely have feelings for. Feelings that are complicated by the fact you are dead and couldn't even touch until a few weeks ago. Oh god, he's starting to sweat. Can ghosts even sweat?

The pen in Julie's hand shifts as her grip relaxes and he realizes something he can do. Reaching over, trying his best not to jostle her, he grabs the notebook that is still propped up against the makeshift easel that is her legs. Gently prying it from under hand, he sets it on the arm of the couch on his other side. Julie shuffles for a second, her head moving into a more comfortable position. Suddenly, all of Luke's panic dissipates. How can he feel anything but lucky? He lightly brushes his fingers across her forehead, trailing along one of the many curls that currently frames her face. It reminds him of the phone cord from the kitchen phone back home. The 90s version of home. It was one of the many things not still there that he'd had to get used to when he'd started visiting his parents. How do people do it? Make phone calls without the cord to entangle their fingers in. Memories of calling all the clubs (both music and book) he could think of while winding the spiral cord around an index finger just barely too tight so that it started cutting of circulation. The realization that more loops fit around it now that he's had a growth spurt.

Shaking off the memories, his eyes focus back on the studio. Looking down, he finds that he's wrapped one of Julie's curls around his finger like the phone cord. It's softer than the weird plastic, but not as smooth. He slowly unwinds his finger, marveling that he can even do that. They still don't know what happened that night that allowed them to touch. But he was given a third chance. He'd told Julie that he'd only had one real regret in life. How he'd left things with his mom. And he hadn't lied that night, that he still had no regrets in this life. Afterlife. Whatever. It all feels the same at this point whenever he's with her. But he does know he wants to do better by her than he had at the beginning of their friendship. He wants her to know he'll always choose her. He won't bail on her and cause her to cry again. It's just not an option.

A melody drifts through his head with those thoughts and he can't help but quietly hum along as he fiddles with the ends of her hair. He was nine when the song originally came out. It wasn't exactly his scene, even at nine, but you couldn't just escape a top 40 hit in the 80s. It was everywhere. At the grocery store with his mom, on the radio, at the arcade, the bowling alley, and Reggie's house before his parents started fighting. But the more he hums, the more Luke realizes how apt the lyrics are. Everything he wants to tell Julie, promise her. It's all there in the lyrics of this song that feels only seven years old but is actually... crap. Thirty-three years old. Is this really their life?

The lyrics slip out of him in a soft lullaby as he continues gently brushing her hair away from her temples.

"We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I"

He pauses at the next lines. Asking for a full commitment in their current state is probably too much, even if he does think he could give her better than any other guy. Her friend Nick pops into his head. He's been coming by a lot since the Orpheum. No, that's not the point right now. The point is communicating how he feels about her. He skips those lines.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand"

Here he puts all his intent into the words, pledging them to her. Never again will he be the reason she feels alone and abandoned.

"Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you"

Slender fingers latch onto his and Julie lets out a deep, content, sigh. Her eyes peek open and look up at him and he can't help the smile that shines down on her.

Her own voice is low and quiet with sleep when she asks, "Did you just rickroll me?"

Luke's smile turns to confusion.

"What's a rickroll?"

[enginator2000]

worst popular infinite headcanon?

oh my. this one got long so im going to spare peoples dashes by putting this under a cut haha

anyways my answer is: making him out to be a little crybaby who is driven purely by revenge and sadness to make the world pay for shadow killing his squad mates, whom he loved in a normal way and saw them as family or whatever. it makes his character so goddamn flat and boring bc thats such a standard villain motivation, and it entirely strips away a lot of his personality even when theres already so little to work with LMAO

i know ive spoken about it at length in the dog&hog server but to me, infinites most notable trait is that hes selfish

in the prequel comic rise of infinite (yay, prequel comic talk. everyones favourite, i know) he deliberately ignores any protests from his gang against accepting eggmans deal of working with him, because eggy singles him out and offers him a place at his side to bring his fantasy of ruin into reality. not infinite and his crew, just infinite

(image has two comic panels. in the first one, eggman is reaching a hand out to infinite as he says "now you are an interesting guy. i like you. how about i hire you to lead my forces? together we'll take over the world!" in the second panel, one of the jackal squad members says "boss! dont be tempted by him. we'll be fine!")

and infinite says yes after briefly talking about how he personally feels bored and tired of how the world is right now

(image has two panels. in the first, infinite is mumbling to himself, first laughing and then saying "interesting. all this time ive been going through the motions. ive actually grown quite tired of the world as it is." in the second panel he stands and says "lets do it doctor! i'll help you change this world!")

again, its a decision based off an entirely personal and individualistic opinion that only takes his own feelings into account. you would think that if he valued his squad to the extent that they were "like family" to him, he would have listened when they said he shouldnt make a deal with eggman. if he actually cared about them as much as he cared about himself, he would have trusted them enough to say no. instead he only thinks about what he wants and what he can get, not about what will happen to the others

ive always been of the opinion that infinite used his squad and position of authority as their leader to prop himself up and viewed them more like underlings or subjects that he could order around and be superior to, rather than equals whose opinions and input he valued. maybe he started out having more camaraderie with the other jackals, but it certainly doesnt show by the time we get to the events of the prequel comic, and even less so when we get to episode shadow/the main game

the idea that he saw his squad more like tools to make himself look better than people also makes more sense because when in episode shadow, eggman calls infinites squad "useless" directly to him and all infinite says is "yeah, yeah" in a very uncaring fashion. even when he then spots shadow and says "you.. you destroyed my squad!" its entirely unconvincing to me that he said it out of sorrow or sadness; to me it was more like simple anger that it happened. because now without his little group of followers that looked up to him and did whatever he told them to, he had nobody to feel superior to. he couldnt go on any more power trips by being The Boss bc there was nobody left to indulge him, no one to stoke his ego, nobody to be the boss of. so thats why he felt slighted by shadow in the first place; how dare this hedgehog take away what made him feel special and important. and then of course the ensuing humiliation that came afterward was just the icing on the shit cake haha

it also explains why infinite never brings up his squad in any of his monologues (besides the prequel comics and episode shadow being obvious afterthoughts to the main game loool); he just doesnt care. if anything, their loss was his gain bc it pushed him towards acquiring the phantom ruby and getting to go on the ultimate power trip of world domination and near total subjugation of the population. i think that also ties into his mindset that friends make you weak and you cant rely on anyone but yourself; in his case, thats literally true. if he hadnt lost his squad, if he had initially listened to them, the chain of events we know well would not have come to pass and he would not have gotten to become the powerhouse he did. he would have still been leading his monotonous life and following the same old script. from his perspective they really did hold him back, and only once they were gone was he able to become stronger. he reiterates this by thanking shadow in the dlc for doing what he did in mystic jungle (killing the jackal squad and kicking infinites ass) bc otherwise he wouldnt have gotten the incentive he needed to take on the mantle of becoming a super powered weapon

and if you want some more evidence thats admittedly a lot more of a stretch, you could also interpret infinite creating a posse of past sonic foes as him filling the void of using the jackal squad that was created after shadow had taken them down. he gets to control people again (even if theyre clones that had no choice but to obey him but nyeh i told you it was a stretch), he gets to be a leader again

idk, i just think that having a sob story as a main motivation is (funny joke here) weak. i have never once thought that infinite needs to have some kind of sympathetic or tragic backstory. and maybe thats just my own personal bias coming through bc i prefer villains that are evil for reasons like their moral philosophies or have some kind of goal that makes the audience go "maybe they do have a point tbh" and villains that are just evil for the sake of it over villains that say "my mom died" as if that is any kind of justifiable explanation. imo it almost always comes off as them making an excuse, and its lame. just own it, yknow?

so yeah if i could block one thing from the minds of infinite fans it would be the hc that infinite was tightly knit with the jackals and wanted what was best for them. bc with all the evidence ive seen, its not supported at all, and hes actually the exact opposite; he does what he wants and uses who he wants for his own purposes and gain

also yes i do think shadow straight up killed the other jackals and i do think thats in character for him but thats a conversation for another day

[tunastime]

I’m always a little nervous sending a scarian request but I just love the way you write them<3 so can I get scarian 10 pls 🤲

10. transparent / tangled (x) (839 words)

Grian is trying to make a sweater better. No. He’s trying to fix the holes in his sweater with thread and needles from a compass. The thread is tangled in his hands. It’s dark red, like his sweater. His sweater is draped over his knee, and the patches sit in his lap. Grian threads the needle.

He’s in an undershirt far too thin for the rapidly cooling autumn weather. Scar’s cloak is draped over his shoulders. Scar is sitting by the fireplace, his back to the flame. He’s reading the book off Grian’s bookshelf, tracing the words under his fingertips. Grian feels goosebumps on his skin.

“Why do we keep playing that game even when it breaks us?"

Scar looks up toward him. Grian looks up from his hands holding the needle and thread, still trying to spool it around it's bobbin. His eyebrows knit together.

"What d'you mean?"

"The death game," Scar says slowly. "Why do we keep playing it? Why do you keep setting it up? When you know it's horrible?"

"Was never supposed to be horrible..." Grian settles, twisting his hands. He starts to sew again. He pulls the thread through a part of his sweater. He’s sewing in a patch of blue on the elbow. He’ll be sewing patches into the shoulders too, just for the sake of it. It’s threadbare, but he can’t replace it until he’s knit a new one. And he'll have to ask Gem for the spinning wheel to do that. He has too many sweaters in too many colors and not much else. "It was supposed to be fun."

"It is, most of the time,” Scar lays back. Grian watches him pull a pillow from the chair beside him, propping it behind his head. He stretches out, crossing his ankles. It can’t be good for his back, but Grian doesn’t stop him. “But then you kill your friends, and you betray them, and you hurt them."

Scar doesn’t sound upset when he says this. He states it as if it’s fact. Part of it is; it’s a token of the games. You're tangled in the awfulness of it all. You’re always expecting someone to do something. But it was never the original intention. The first one was a game, something to keep him occupied. Something to keep other people satiated, maybe. (Though he may not ever say that. Whether or not someone heard it and whether or not that was true was for only him to know.)

"Suppose you do," Grian trails. He drops his hands in his lap. "It's...I get bored here. I know you do too, not quite mortal." He gestures to Scar with his needle before he punches it back through the fabric. Scar snorts.

"It's kind of a sick sort of fun,” he finishes. “Knowing you'll die eventually.”

"I guess so...” Scar hums. “I guess life always goes back to normal."

Normal. What did that word even mean anymore? Was there a sense of normalcy anymore? How far did they push the envelope? How much irreparable damage did they do?

Scar was still lying there, and Grian was still sitting on the floor in his house and was still sleeping next to him if he wasn’t studying in the ground below them. He was still talking and laughing and enjoying the company of a man he spent time betraying. He was still cooking for them and carving out time to do nothing at all except sit and bask and. Oh. 

"Guess doesn't make it hurt any less, though, I suppose," he says, mostly as an afterthought. They’re still a game. A game can hurt the same. Scar sighs, folding his hands over his sternum.

"Never does."

Grian turns back to his sewing project. Punches the needle through. Back in. Back out.

"Death games do bring people closer, though,” he says, smiling. “Just so you know."

Scar scoffs. 

"You're twisted."

Grian shrugs.

"You've never turned it down,” he says. Scar hums.

"No,” he says, and sounds almost surprised. “I suppose not."

Part Grian wonders why that might be. He wonders if Scar has any say at all.

“Do you think there will ever be a next time?” Scar asks him. He turns his head to him, just to look him in the eyes. Grian snorts, setting down his needle.

“You want to go through that again? Every other second you were giving me a panic attack.”

Scar shrugs.

“Dunno. You said it yourself. It’s a twisted sort of fun.”

“I guess we’re all a little twisted to keep joining in on it. What’s death when there’s no consequence, hm?”

Scar smiles, and Grian smiles back at him. Something about that smile raises the hair on the back of his neck—something tells him Scar might be scheming for the next time. He’ll want to be on his good side then. They share an unspoken moment like this before Scar turns back to stare at the ceiling and Grian finally finishes his elbow patch.

A death without consequence. What was it, indeed.

[maschotch]

idk if this is controversial but speaking of Reid girls n all that, i hate how forgotten Morgan gets since everyone seems to favour Reid. writing a mlm fic? it’s centred around Reid and Morgan is just sorta there, or maybe comforts Reid. need just one queer character? it’s Reid. a trans masc hc? it’s Reid again. and most of all,,, people making any kind of hurt/comfort or angst or whatever to do with csa… and they choose Reid. they make a head canon that he experienced csa, when Morgan literally canonically did, and everyone ignores that he did. and it’s fine to have a favourite character and all that, but it’s… disproportionately skewed in favour of the skinny white boy, yk? it feels so off to me. and also how people seem to totally forget about Morgan’s experiences. idk

aldhskdh it’s definitely controversial but youre so so right for it?? i feel like a lotta people just… ignore morgan. it wouldnt feel as purposeful or malignant if they didnt give the exact things morgan deals with to reid?? the same thing kinda happens w hotch, where people obsess over reid so much that it overshadows the places where they’re similar (like hotch being a nerd or autistic hotch or transmasc hotch) but even then, at least he’s got the hotchgirls to balance it out. where are the morgangirls?? where are they??

it seems like such a waste that morgan gets sidelined as the himbo jock football guy when the writers went out of their way to let us know that’s not who he is?? it’s the one time i think the writers actually did good in comparison to the fandom: they made him one of the smartest, most emotionally open characters. he’s so so caring. and reid is smart, sure, but even morgan has his strengths. he’s a better chess player than reid (something i wish we couldve seen more of), which i think no one ever fucking mentions. morgan seems like an afterthought at most in cm fics, with moreid, hotchgan, and morcia. he’s just.. underappreciated in general in comparison to his white counterparts.

as far as the trans masc hc… ok.. this one might get me into trouble lol but it feels so… uninteresting? he’s “gnc” bc he has long hair ig. i dont wanna say too much more on that bc morgan/hotch seem very comfortable in their gender identity, and it’s probably easier for questioning people to identify with the generally-insecure reid. which is like.. fine ig but it feels? belittling almost? infantilizing/woobifying trans men? idk

this shit is always kinda hard to talk about bc yeah there’s nothing inherently wrong for csa reid hcs or trans reid hcs or autistic reid hcs or whatever, but it feels particularly disingenuous when you have morgan right there who can easily have as many if not more of those popular hcs applied to him. but sure yeah lets just ignore him as the dumb jock lol. lets make him a prop for other characters. lets cast aside his characterization to make reid more interesting. it’s definitely a trend in fandom to hype up the skinny white boy, so i cant reeally blame reidgirls for living up to the stereotype, but it feels like they actively ignore morgan. it just sucks bc morgan js such a fun character

[eriyu]

i beat xvi so here are my reactions from along the way

for posterity (my future self is posterity)

i did not do this in any kind of organized way like i think i skipped writing anything down for big portions of the game;;;

spoilers obviously. and also after this i'm going to start reblogging xvi things including spoilers tagged #ffxvi so. be warned.

i guess i'll link my demo impressions because this is basically a continuation of that.

a mite predictable so far....... though i did think cid was gonna crystallize instead of regular dying.

GODDDDDD i wish there were a chatlog. or at least that dialogue were progressed manually. i don't have the focus for this shit when i can't even rewind it.

i love the combat a lot. which is weird to think seeing as i'm very much a turn-based fan and really. don't play action games ever. but it feels very kingdom hearts to me? there's even shotlock.

THE BIG MOMENTS ARE SO SO GOOD. A+ ON THE MELODRAMA.

clive is prime whump material and i love it.

some of the worldbuilding is a little baffling... mostly ORCS? REALLY? WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY CLASSIC FF OPTIONS TO CHOOSE FROM.

personal preference i guess but i feel like they could chill with the "mature content" a bit....... how many sidequests do we need to drive home how shit Bearers are treated. how many random sex workers does one game need.

i was going to complain about linearity, but things opened up nicely soon after i thought it, so props there LOL

i know it's supposed to be "dark" but like.... i want to fall in love with a game world. i want to wish i lived there. i want unique local flavors and COLOR. most of this so far is just generic medieval squalor. even places like the treno slums had beautiful waterways and plucky npcs and... COLOR...

jill feels like......... an afterthought. sometimes she's there; sometimes she's not, and it doesn't seem to matter either way. she barely talks. we haven't seen shiva in game since we first met back up with her. there's a vague implication that jill's doing important things but that's kind of it???

jill update: okay Things Happening but like. now she's out of commission? i'm getting sacrificed-for-man-pain vibes. i don't know; it's too soon to say that, but it just doesn't feel great.

the state of the realm UI is SOOOOO good. it's a bit of an overload in the way xiii's datalog was, but it's fine if i remind myself i can read things Later.

oh my god i love shotlocking a zillion enemies in a tornado.

i really love mid but "midadol" sounds like a pharmaceutical.

CANON GAYS?????

ultima looks like a tumblr lumpy-faced reptilian oatmeal man.

the voice acting is so good. like clive's screaming and crying reminds me of dub gaara's "MY BLOOOOOOD" which is the highest compliment i can possibly give.

oh my godddddddd the fighting at twinside is giving alexandria. again, in the best possible way.

okay seriously where the fuck is leviathan though. i keep wondering when leviathan is going to show up and i'm starting to think he's... not.

jesus christ i couldn't stop thinking about clive and joshua and dion today. i want to eat them.

look i KNOW clive and josh had a really good reunion moment in twinside but consider this: i want another one. i think they should have had another one at the hideaway. i want more tenderness. i deserve more tenderness.

they pronounce "chocobo" AND "popoto" with a short o in the middle like "chock" and "pot" and i'm so uncomfortable.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME. WE LIKE JUST PROMISED JOTE WE'D KEEP JOSHUA SAFE AND NOW WE'RE SPLITTING UP. i'm so afraid everybody will die.

all the xiv references ;w; for some reason it's the quest names that keep getting me??? "through the maelstrom" this time.

i REALLY really wish jill's character didn't just revolve around clive.............. is my impression but i don't know if that's entirely fair of me. like if i made a list of bullet points i don't know that she's any worse than say, tifa with cloud. but it Feels worse. i WANT to love her, but i'm just not feelin' it.

god i want to be able to switch between two eikon/ability sets. i want a single-target setup and a trash mob setup. not even to switch mid-battle; i know that could be OP, just switchable in the menu.

i legit panic every time joshua leaves the party. like NO we're supposed to be WATCHING HIM??????? EVERYBODY IS GOING TO DIE IF I LET MY GUARD DOWN. also i love him. i can't stop thinking about him. continuing the proud tradition of square enix joshuas (being loved by me).

"EVEN LEVIATHAN THE LOST IS HERE" OH THANK FUCK.

uhhhhhhhhhh active time lore is absolutely giving me spoilers? MAJOR spoilers??? what the hell????????

reverie givin' me legend of dragoon vibes. like wingly stuff. i love it.

daaAAAAAMN zantetsuken OP????? but as it should be tbh. i love it.

hey

hey

HEY

i'm sad.

for real i. i feel like i'm not as upset as i COULD be because i was really emotionally preparing for Everyone to Die through the whole game. but wow. this still hurts.

i actually got maliciously spoiled with "clive dies" before i even got the game in my hands and partly succeeded at not letting that ruin the experience for me, but. damn i had a little bit of hope that it was a fake spoiler until i saw his hand.....

jesus christ though. ow.

i mean it was a largely satisfying ending. the fights were good. the Moral of the Story felt a lil heavyhanded but i do love the Power of Friendship. it could have been a lot sadder. but i'm such a sucker for a real happy ending o|--<

i think trying to brute force myself into liking jill more has made me like her less;;;;;;;;; i will try a different approach. her getting left behind for the end didn't help though. for the record i'm talking about liking her as a character. she's a perfectly lovely person.

holy fuck i'm emotional about joshua though.

oh no the post-credit scene made me sadder. it feels like a character flaw of mine but anything about losing magic, ever, makes me SO SO SAD. even when i KNOW it's supposed to make for a happy ending. like in kiki's delivery service when she can't hear jiji anymore??? fucking destroys me and not in the good way.

and joshua........... o|--<

i've really been looking forward to finishing so i could go look up shippy things but i just feel like. oof. now. i need to marinate for a while first. this isn't the time for shipping.

[mayhemandtrouble]

Not Giving Up: Chapter 10

Full Chapter and Story on Ao3 with detailed tags “Rey, have you been to the med bay recently?” Ben asked gently, crouched behind Rey as she braced herself over a barrack’s toilet. Or his private one, depending on whose perspective you were looking at it from. It all meshed together bizarrely anyway.

“I went after I got burned because you were all riding my butt.” She answered once the woman could catch her breath. Whimpering and propping her head up with her hands, unable to care about the various unpleasantries lurking on the shared seat at the micro level. Rey was currently on the floor and had been vomiting off and on for five minutes, while Ben gently stroked her back and held her hair back. Her shattered dignity was more pressing than any germs.

“It was appreciated. That was months ago.” Ben quickly hit the button for the waste to move through the system, the first and likely only time he was grateful to not be there in person. This was the second time in the last few days she’d frantically stumbled to the vacc tube that he knew of. Knowing her it was entirely possible that there were more occasions and she wasn’t sharing them.

“And?”

“And you’ve been nauseous for days. Does Leia know about this?” He doubted it. Rey hadn’t explicitly said that his Mother was her Master but he’d observed enough over the past few months to put the pieces together. And his mother was less patient than he was when it came to things like this.

“She’s busy.” Rey groaned, spitting the taste out of her mouth and finally pushing herself up. “I’ve got a bug, that’s all. I’m used-”

“To surviving with less, you’ve said.” He sighed, bracing her arm to ease her standing. One arm around her waist as she made her way to the sink. She’d just finished breakfast and had been about to start training but she hadn’t been feeling well from the start. He could tell by her appearance. She hadn’t bothered to cross her wraps into place, instead pulling on snug cream pants, matching shirt and a muted blue vest with a hood tugged over her head. Her belt was nestled correctly at her hips but her hair was pulled back into an uncharacteristically sloppy ponytail, clearly an afterthought on her way out. Not that he was much more put together - he’d been in the midst of dressing when they began talking, and he’d abandoned his efforts once she began being sick. Ben was half in his armor and his cape only partly fastened - dragging most ridiculously. “You hardly need to any longer.”

“Ben, I’m not in the mood to argue with you.” She braced herself on the counter. A long row of metal sinks that had probably been stainless at one time. Whatever had gotten into the metal left it discolored and a little warped in places. A wide strip of reflective material along the wall served as a mirror that was more for checking armor fittings than primping. Polished to a high reflection in the middle but with a thin strip of grime and gross around the edges and corners. She looked greener than a damn Rodian.

“Excellent. Go to the med bay.” Ben’s eyes watched her in the mirror, taking stock of her condition. He couldn’t gauge her temperature well through the connections but she didn’t seem to be running or a fever, nor did she complain of pains. Only severe but intermittent nausea. She assured him she hadn’t eaten anything strange and, even if she had, it should have run its course by now or at least be showing signs of abating. Or getting much worse. The most obvious was impossible - surely.

“You’re overreacting.” Grumbling as she turned on the cold water full force and splashed her face. His concern was touching but unreasonable. Rey had made it through all number of conditions through her childhood and the rest of her life on her own, with little access to medical help. Trading rations or parts occasionally for a medi-patch but admitting illness on planets like Jakku simply wasn’t done - there was little help for anyone to give and there was always a risk of being preyed on. Between him, Finn and Chewie, Rey felt like a smothered baby bird. Rinsing her mouth out and spitting foul water into the sink several times.

“Rub my face in it afterwards.”

“Ben-”

“Rey. Go. Please.” He stepped up behind her. Resting his left hand at her hip. Right arm wrapping around her middle, lips brushing her neck. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you before I can even get to you.”

“Fine!” Rey groaned, her head leaning back against his shoulder. He knew she couldn’t resist him when he was actually sweet and Ben was being decidedly unfair. Muttering crossly. “You really are a Monster.”

“Being the object of my affections is a dangerous fate.” Ben teased, his features ruffling her hair. Content that she would seek a doctor and that Rey was likely right. And a simple visit to a medical droid would confirm that, at the very least, his most dire concern was utterly impossible.

Illness is a fact of life even in war. One fought through it as best they could but Leia was hardly concerned when she’d learned that Rey had gone to visit the med bay. If anything, she was pleased - the apprentice visited less frequently than Leia would prefer but still enough for sanity so she kept her council on the matter.

More notable was that Rey did not report back that day, instead spending the rest of the day alone in the forest in meditation. Not odd enough to warrant a change in the General’s plans to her busy day but enough that the older woman noticed. Though she was the only one who did.

It was, after all, rather common for Rey to take her meals alone when Poe and Finn were not at base. Sitting apart from the others in the hanger, tucked away where she poured over the ancient texts. Alone, lying beneath the patchy shade of tree tops, Rey stared mindlessly into the sea of green leaves and sunshine above her. 

Congratulations. The synthesized voice had chirped with unexpected pleasure. You are expecting.

Expecting what, exactly? There had been an incredulous laugh to her voice. Not understanding. It hadn’t occurred to her then. Why would it? Rey would never forget that moment in time, as though she were an outsider to her own life. Her hair pulled back into a rough ponytail, low and just above her neck. Sucking on a hard medi drop the droid had handed her to ease her nausea. She’d tucked it between her cheek and teeth to converse better, not exactly thrilled with the taste anyway. It had an artificial berry flavor that did very little to mask the bitter heat of the medicine. 

Twins. If it was possible for a droid to cock its head, Rey would have sworn it did. Her hands covering her face as her world reeled around her. The droid had begun talking again. First giving her estimated conception date, five weeks earlier. Her expected delivery date. Going into prenatal care. Checkups. Did she want diet information?

How is this possible! Her head had lowered, fingers curled into her brown hair tightly. Pregnant. Twins. How. The droid began to explain the basics of human reproduction and Rey groaned.

I have to go. Don’t tell anyone.

Of course. Your health information is off limits to anyone but those with the highest levels of clearance and even they have to-

Not a word. No matter who asks! Why would anyone ask. She didn’t know. Putting her hands between her thighs and pushing up off the exam chair. The room was sterile and uncomforting. One of the few areas on the base that was. Her face was getting hot. Privacy was hard to come by here. She was lucky there weren’t other patients about. But who might be in earshot? She wanted to lay waste to everything around her, the Darkness calling as an easy solution. I have to go!

Her steps had been rapid, leaving the droid still talking about her next exam and the importance of regular check-ins. So much information and Rey was still barely processing the first bit. How was it even possible? She hadn’t physically been in the same room with Ben in so long. Was it six months or closer to a year? What was the date? None of it was the real problem.

“Ben… I need you.”

Rey whispered, rolling onto her side and curling up. Legs tucked and hugging them to her chest, head buried into her knees as tears began to slip from her eyes. What was he even going to say?

Flying was soothing. Perhaps it was his grandfather in him. Perhaps his father. But being at the helm of a small ship eased him, taking charge of every last thing. No delegations, no chain of command. It was easy. And he was even feeling triumphant in the success of his private mission. Ben wasn’t at the end but he’d begun a process by which he hoped to give Rey the greatest gift he could. Watching the atmosphere fade to starlight, pinpoints of light that were refracted at the top and bottom of his view screen. It was another form of mediation really, where he could feel the Force moving through him.

Ben.

His name cut through all thoughts, Ben’s hand jerking on the throttle for a moment. Small ship veering haphazardly and he had to take a deep breath to regain control. He knew that voice anywhere. Rey was calling for him, her emotions reaching out for her mate. Something was wrong. By now she would have seen the med droid. Was it… His family did have a history of unusual circumstances.

I need you.

Ben exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Running both of his hands slowly through his dark hair, over the crown of his head. Curls twisting within his fingers. White knuckling to keep himself from piloting his ship towards the nearest Resistance ship and turning himself over, simply to have the chance of finding her. It wouldn’t work well anyway. He’d likely end up having to destroy the ship.

He tented his fingers before his face, lips brushing his gloved hands for a moment. Mind turning over the different possibilities as his ship floated listless through starlight. Right hand darted out, fingers hovering over a series of buttons. His digits almost twitching. Then pulling back. He would wait. Wait until the Force connected them again or at least a while longer. Some things, once put into play, could not be stopped.

With a heavy sigh, he began again towards the large bay of his transport ship where his quarters were located, for now. Going through the motions of being Supreme Leader. The dark pleasure in being the master of all had long started to diminish. Now it had become actively irksome.

That night, he reached out with the Force. Sitting cross-legged on his bed and trying to find the strings of her consciousness, to trace their path through the future. Each hand resting atop a knee, attempting the ease of body that Luke and Mother had encouraged. Mother was so much better at deciphering the future than any of them. 

There were screams. An infant’s face. Han’s touch on Ben’s shoulder, comforting after some childhood fear. Ben jerked out of meditation at that, the reminder of his Father produced complicated emotions. The bond they’d once had, when he was a child. Before Han failed. Shifting position, he placed his feet flat on the bed, clad in the soft, silky pajamas Rey liked on him. Letting his arms rest on his knees and his forehead against his arms.

“She’s pregnant.” Ben spoke the words quietly. Trying to predict how she would handle the news. Rey was stronger than anyone he’d ever known but she had told him how alone she felt, in growing isolation from the others once her training began. She deserved to not be alone now.

“Figure that out all by yourself did you?” The words were louder than his own, spoken at a conversational level and with dark amusement. In reply, Ben leapt to his feet, standing on the bed and pulling saber into hand. Red blade hissing to life, which only made the intruder laugh. A few feet away, leaning against the wall with arms crossed was a tall, thin man. Perhaps an inch or two shorter than Ben. Perhaps. His entire being was blue, with Jedi vestments that had been black in life, now simply a dark blue compared to the cerulean of his face. The same sharp chin, the same cheekbones, which had been passed down to Luke. Same eyes that Ben had seen in his mother’s face so often.

“You are Darth-”

“I’m your grandfather.” Anakin shifted from leaning against the wall to approach the bed. “Turn off that saber, if you fall off the bed and get hurt your mother will kill me.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for years.” Hitting the button to disengage, Ben let the weapon’s hilt fall lightly onto the bed. Stepping down to sit at the edge. Watching the Ghost of his grandfather was nearly enough to make him forget the real matter at hand.

“You’ve been praying at a dead shrine.” There was contempt in the Jedi’s voice, gesturing towards the crushed and burned helmet of Vader that Ben kept on display. “That man died when I saved your Uncle and the galaxy is better for it.”

“I want to complete your work!” He protested, one arm gesturing to the array of Sith relics and prizes of his conquests.

“What needs to be completed is our family!” Stepping forward, not bothering to give Ben’s treasures a second glance. The blue hands resting lightly on Ben’s shoulders, his tones kindly but firm. “You. Your mother. My great-grandchildren. Don’t make the mistakes I did, Ben.”

Ben wanted to ask so many things. What had it been like, feeling the call of the Darkness. He’d expected Anakin to look different. As a child, he’d pictured the man with a kind, wrinkled face. As an adult, knowing far more, he’d expected hard lines, broad shoulders and lips set tight with fury. What stood before him was a slender man who wore a face similar to his own. Young, perhaps this was his appearance at Ben’s own age. With mischief in his eyes and a reassuring smile.

“I…” But before he could speak, Ben’s grandfather was gone. Leaving him with more questions than answers. How could he sway Rey to his cause. What was his grandmother, Padme Amidala like. Could one truly be redeemed, was it even possible. Were his grandparents proud of him?

Ben fell backwards onto the bed. With his hands interlaced behind his head and so many perhaps and what ifs swirling through his mind. He kept expecting to hear Rey’s breathing beside him. But the sound never came. Though he eventually laid down fully, he never slept so poorly in his memory, his mind turning over every aspect - both the encounter and how he could protect Rey, her and the unborn child.

It was early morning when they were connected at last, before the rise of the sun. Ben woke easily, to the sound of quiet tears and a sensation of damp cold along his exposed chest and arms. Rolling fast onto his side and towards her, her body curled up and smaller than he’d ever seen her. His own large frame drawing around her, his features tucking just behind her ear and his left arm wrapping around her to draw her up tight against his chest. 

“Ben?” Rey’s head lifted, turning towards him and he could see the red in her eyes. Feel the fear and uncertainty pouring out of her. Kissing her forehead lightly and he slid his right arm underneath her head so that his bicep was her pillow.

“I’m here. I know.”

“Know what?” Her left hand rose, brushing tears from her eyes. How was she going to tell him about this. How was he going to react - it was impossible to tell if he would be angry or pleased or perhaps depressingly indifferent.

“This.” His hand pressed oh-so-lightly against her belly, thumb caressing through her clothing.

“How?” Rey’s voice was quiet, slowly shifting onto her back so that she could see Ben’s eyes. The comforting, heavy warmth of his hand stayed just above her womb.

“The Force.” A little shrug of his shoulders and she couldn’t help a dark chuckle. Of course it was the Force. Why wouldn’t it be? The Force had gotten them into this mess. “Rey… I’ve been researching our connections.”

“What does that have to do with our situation Ben?” Her eyes shut in frustration. If this was another attempt to pull her into Darkness… She just couldn’t right now. It was too much.

“Hear me out,” he sighed. Her frustration with him was entirely earned. “What we have is rare, almost undocumented.” 

“Did you find something?” She hated to admit it, but her curiosity was a little piqued. The response warmed him internally.

“We are a dyad, a thing of prophecy but never seen. Two who are one in the Force. ” Ben paused, trying to find the right words. It was not exactly his strong suit. The fingers of his left hand brushed slowly over her clothing, and his brown eyes followed the path they traced. Noting that she was still in the same shirt and vest and pants from yesterday, with boots and damp socks from sleeping outside. Finally lifting his gaze to her own. “We are meant to be together. That I will be with you, always.”

Rey’s features tilted down to watch his hand, gently caressing her stomach while she pondered his information. Did she trust him regarding this, should she scrutinize his source? A connection of prophecy? It seemed too easy an answer, but a much more comforting one than thinking these connections were engineered by some unknown entity. At the end of it all, there was only one question that she really craved an answer for.

“Always, Ben?” Rey’s features turned up to meet his brown eyes. 

“Always, Rey.” He smiled with pleasure that shone in his eyes, fingers lacing with hers over their growing child. Ben leaned in slightly and Rey lifted her head to meet his, sharing a long kiss. Lips locked, and his frame leaning over her own. When one kiss ended, he gave another. Giving her sweetness till he could feel her body fully relaxed beside him. Only then drawing back enough to look at their joined hands.

“Now… Tell me everything the droid said.” Ben squeezed her hand gently, then let go. Reaching down to grasp the blanket that was tangled around his knees. They lay on the ground of her world and he pulled up the bed clothes of his, keeping her warm. Rey laughed a little, for the first time able to feel some of the enjoyment of impending parenthood.

“I’m five weeks in. We’re having twins! They’ll be here in a little under eight months… Can you believe it?” Under her tear stained cheeks, her smile was growing. She could feel his own fear, beneath the exterior he presented for her. It was comforting all the way around. She was not the only one frightened and she was not alone.

“Twins?” He laughed incredulously and his heart pounded against his chest. Picturing her, with an infant in each arm. “Mother will be pleased. Have you thought of names yet?”

“No… have you?” Snuggling close to him under the blankets. Did that mean he would want to tell Leia? They’d have to tell her something sooner or later. Rey would start to show eventually.

“Not especially. My thoughts are on your welfare - there is a history of complicated births in my line that I would not like you to repeat.” Slowly, Ben settled onto his back. Drawing her close against him and making sure that the blanket was wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “Why are we outside? Do not say you slept out here.”

He sighed in exasperation when her head lifted enough to shoot him a look. Ask a stupid question.

“I needed to be alone.”

“No more of that. At least not without proper supplies. You are carrying our children, I get a say.” Dismissing the objections he knew that she would make before she even said them. His lover rolled her eyes but withheld further protests.

“Ben, I’m going to have to tell the others I’m pregnant sooner or later. They will want to know who the father is.”

“Mm.” He murmured in agreement. Both of their minds had been mulling over that one. His more cynically. They would eventually know the children were his, if only because his pride in his offspring would demand it. For now, however, discretion was the better part of valor. “Tell them now, if you wish. Or tell them you don’t know who the father is.”

“You don’t mean that!” She protested, lifting her head slightly. The idea of not knowing was abhorrent on a variety of levels. So many that Rey barely knew where to begin.

“It is the easiest solution I can see - if you give any hint that you know who the sire is, they are going to press you for details.”

“And if I tell them it was a one night stand on some planet, they are going to do the math and realize I haven’t had a chance for that. Not to mention, I don’t want to say that!” Rey grumbled darkly. Ben sighed, letting his forehead touch hers. He thought it was the best option but he had to concede that she did have a point. 

“Then tell them that you are embarrassed to talk about the father but that it does not matter. There is no undoing the past.” She likely was embarrassed to be carrying his progeny anyway  - indulging in his self hatred, fingers sliding over her stomach. What would they think of him?

“That isn’t better Ben!” Her hands cupped his face. “You are not the monster you think you are.”

“Perhaps not… but let them believe whatever they want to believe. My interest is your safety.” His hand ran slowly through her brown hair, smiling slowly as the rosy rays of light began to shine. “I would rather the entire galaxy think the worst of me than let you or our children come to harm.”

“I’ll consider it.” It was the best he would get from her. For now, she would keep their news a secret until she could frame a better way to tell their truth or make peace with one of the disagreeable lies. Firmly changing the subject. “Ben, I can not do this without you.”

“You can.” His voice was confident but lacking malice. Instead, tenderness in his eyes as their gazes met. “But you won’t. We will find a way to each other before you give birth. I promise.”

Perhaps it was the fresh sunshine that fell on his face, rising with a new day. Or the warmth that flowed through their connection. Perhaps it was simply that she had begun to trust him. But Rey believed him, her arms wrapping around his and a bright smile lighting her face. There was hope for their future. Full Chapter and Story on Ao3 with detailed tags

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Not This Time

(follow-up to “This Time”, but can be read as a stand-alone)

Whether God worked a miracle or Hell spit him back out remains up for debate, in Athos’ opinion.

In any case, as it turned out, his friends hadn’t been too late after all. Having prevented the last two Spaniards from taking Athos’ head off, Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan had somehow managed to keep Athos’ guts from spilling out onto the cobblestones, had bandaged him up, and Athos, unconsciously, had contributed to the rescue effort by keeping enough blood inside him until they’d transported him to Lemay’s surgery.

The docteur had cleaned and sewn up the wound and declared that it was all he could do for the wounded Musketeer. Athos’ fate was in God’s hands now (or, the Devil’s, as Athos keeps insisting). Lemay hadn’t been sure if the blade had nicked Athos’ bowels. If it had, Athos was sure to die a slow and agonizing death. If not - well, they would have to wait and pray and hope.

Blood loss had been an additional worry. Athos himself doesn’t remember how pale he’d looked in those first few days after the fight, but his friends - Porthos in particular - aren’t getting tired of telling him that he’d looked so white, “I could see right through yer skin an’ see death grinning underneath”.

And Athos, now propped up in bed, less ghostly in appearance, but still physically incapable of escaping his brothers’ care, rolls his eyes at Porthos’ exaggerations while, secretly, acknowledging them for what they are: an expression of relief.

And it’s easy for him to dismiss the drama of the last ten days. After all, he’d been unconscious for most of it.

He vaguely remembers the night it happened and Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan saving him from those Spaniards at the last second. He remembers Aramis’ hands pressing something against the wound in his belly, remembers the sudden, infernal pain and being too weak to scream. He remembers slivers of sky above him and being jostled about, a big hand - Porthos’, this time - holding his. He remembers d’Artagnan too, holding him down with his strong, young hands, as Lemay worked on him and Athos was thrashing in agony.

Mercy had him pass out then, for the rest of the gruesome procedure, and he has no clear memories after that. Blood loss, a fever and a raging infection had made him drift through a whole week of darkness that little could penetrate - the occasional word of prayer whispered by his ear in Aramis’ supple tenor: d’Artagnan’s pleas to drink; Porthos’ booming baritone fading in and out of his fever dreams.

But although he’d missed most of it, Athos is aware of how close a call it’s been this time. He can see it in his brothers: they look thinner, haunted, and although he’s improving steadily now, sitting up, eating and talking, they don’t seem to want to leave his side.

“How are you, Aramis?” Athos asks his brother who’s just tied a fresh bandage around his arm - that particular wound almost an afterthought compared to the hole in his stomach, but pesky nonetheless.

“Me?” Aramis looks at him in surprise, brows lifted in wonder. “I’m not the one who almost died.”

“No, but you look like you did.”

It is true: Dark circles ring his brother’s eyes and his skin seems to have lost its natural tan. While he’s tied his hair back in a haphazard ponytail today, he otherwise still looks less groomed than his vanity commonly allows.

Aramis sits back and heaves a heavy sigh.

“We almost lost you, you know?” Something burns in the darkness of his eyes.

Feeling guilty, Athos closes his hand around Aramis’ wrist and squeezes.

“But you didn’t.”

“No, but…” Aramis shakes his shaggy head. “We never got this close.”

He shifts his hand to hold Athos’ fingers. There’s an unusual gravitas about him now, all levity cast aside, his eyes darker than Athos has ever seen them.

“You may not remember this, but… you stopped breathing.”

“I did?” Athos is surprised more than shocked. “Then how…?”

He lets the question hang in the air, the ramifications of what his brother said still sinking in.

“D’Artagnan hit you.”

Pulling his hand away, Aramis shakes his head, the impossibility of what he’s describing written in his face. He gets up to start pacing.

“After you’d stopped breathing. He slapped you in the face. Screamed at you. He just didn’t want to let you go. He didn’t want to accept it. Porthos tried to stop him, but it was impossible! And then he started pounding you in the chest.”

The horror of that night is audible in Aramis’ voice. He sounds hoarse, hollow, and Athos is a bit shocked.

“That’s when Porthos got him off of you,” Aramis continues. “And that’s when you started to breathe again.”

Athos doesn’t know what to say. All his jesting that Hell spit him back out - it looks like it was true after all.

“Aramis…”

Athos wants to reach for him, but the Spanish Musketeer keeps pacing.

“I don’t know if that was what brought you back”, he says, dismayed. “Him hitting you. Or his screams. Or my prayers. Or Porthos’ tears.”

He cannot stand still, cannot look Athos in the eyes.

“Whatever it was - don’t ever do this to us again.”

Athos remains silent for a moment. They both know it’s an impossible demand. They’re Musketeers. Soldiers. Death walks with them every day, with each of them, not just Athos. But he also knows that Aramis needs this now, this bit of denial, of reassurance, the belief that he won’t have to bury Athos alongside the dozen brothers he lost in Savoy. D’Artagnan may have lost it for a moment back there, when he pounded the life back into Athos; Porthos may be the easiest to break into tears; but it’s Aramis who cannot take another blow.

Athos knows this.

“I won’t,” he therefore says, and even if he still cannot reach his restless brother with his hands, he at least manages to catch his dark gaze and hold it.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Aramis stands still now. He looks for the truth in Athos’ eyes, finds the good intention in his lie and takes it. It’s got to be enough, for now.

“Good.” Aramis nods, weary and worn. “Good.” He picks up a wad of discarded bandages from Athos’ bedside table and a half-eaten plate of stew. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And then they both go back to healing.

Also on AO3, if you prefer:

[hellguarded-moved]

≥ INCOMING TRANSMISSION FROM: @hellhunted_

He wasn't great at cooking- he'd never pretended to be, and had never boasted about any skill towards it. That said, it was husband's birthday (and by proxy his own) and he wanted to try and make the day more memorable. While Ignis was out, and working, he'd made it a point to tend the house; doing the dishes and putting them away, tidying up, and even starting the laundry. Then of course, he'd set to work on the dinner he'd intended to prepare. iPad was pulled out and propped up on the countertop so he could read the instructions rather carefully and prepare them to the letter- browning beef, getting the vegetables prepared, and then deglazing the pan. Beef bourguignon was on the menu this evening- a wine stewed beef and vegetable dish that he hoped the other would enjoy. He'd even gone to the trouble to prepare homemade garlic bread to sop of wine infused juices from it all such that by the time lover was getting home, the smell should have been permeating the entire house. ' Hey! I...I made...dinner...and cleaned the house. Happy Birthday? ' he smiled brightly, though nervously, offering the other a chair so he could serve him the dish properly.

it was fortunate, perhaps for naoto most out of all people, that the canine hadn't exactly lost his spark in the kitchen even after coming home from his shift. spoke of his passion, truly, one might think. maybe it was a good life choice after all, such change of profession? —he often needed that reminder, often finding himself feeling insecure and... useless. like he wasn't really contributing much to society.

seeing his mate all but scarf up anything and everything he made though, had certainly made up for it plenty.

already on his way home, he was thinking what to prepare for his husband. he knew what day it was, but it was never about himself. even if naoto might have insisted, the hound's own person was always an afterthought to him. maybe that was what made the surprises all that more genuine?

sensitive nose could already pick up the smell of... beef? and mushrooms. out in the driveway already. " oh... " he hadn't recalled leaving any slow roast for the avian in the oven this time— he specially wanted him to be a little extra hungry for when he prepared dinner this time. for that reason, he already expected something to be burning but— there was no charred smell to go with the otherwise pleasant aroma?

nevertheless he hurried home, worried just what parts of their home he might find aflame. " nao! " a quick exclamation of name as he ran into the kitchen, only to find something... strangely romantic? " did... did you make that? " this was just takeout. right? ordered and delivered in a timely matter. surely. not even the quick glance around the kitchen gave him away— nice and spotless. did he make this?

slowly, with certain hesitance, he came over to the table, decorated and prepared for dinner. he supposed he... didn't need to cook tonight? " what sort of damage did... you inflict upon our household cooking this? " dazed like so, it would take him a good while to actually accept this as a fact. sitting down was almost thoughtless, and he so nearly completely missed the well-wishes initially.

" you did. you made dinner...? " his voice was still questioning, but he was slowly coming to terms with it. he was grinning, albeit faintly, venting forth a small chuckle as he watched the dish be served to him. the presentation was awful, and finally the thing that had convinced him that naoto had, in fact, made some magic in the kitchen and actually succeeded. for the most part. he hoped it was edible.

" happy birthday, geráki, " he hummed out eventually, lifting arms to curl around the other's neck and brought him close for a brief hug, a handful of kisses pressed to his temple and cheek. " this is very thoughtful of you, thank you. " he waited for the falcon to join him for dinner— surely he wasn't afraid of eating his own cooking right? —to share the first bite with him. and much to the demon's shock, it tasted great!

" so... i can expect this from you more often now? " he was teasing. probably.

[aquillis-main]

Imagine my surprise when I boot up Frontiers expecting some super fleshed out mystery about the starfall islands Sonic is gonna uncover with the help of his friends. And then I get to the third island and realize the story is just an excuse to have the characters talk about their feelings. Frontiers might legit be one of the most wasted setups for a Sonic story I've ever seen lol. Why did they hype up the mystery so much? It was such a disappointment.

Persona 5, despite it telling people throughout development that it was an action-adventure RPG, actually did actually manage to add in the 'Action-adventure' part, while also still harking onto the traditional Persona stuff throughout. The Social Links are still prevalent, the Battles themselves are still turn-based, but the fluidity of the character models, as well as the extra aspects - I.E. the 'hiding spots', being able to jump from one hiding spot to another easily, and being able to sneak attack by simply attacking from behind without ever being seen - makes the game actually live up to the hype.

Contrast this with Frontiers, and how they made the mystery aspect the entire point of the story, then releasing the game with the mystery as an afterthought, while we focus on the characters being badly written, badly insistant, and Sonic being propped up as this 'good guy', when he dawdles and fails to find a way to get his friends out, and instead rigs on Titans that are obviously being controlled by SAGE... whom he doesn't get a 'bad feeling' about? Even though SAGE has made it clear way too many times that she will kill Sonic to stop him. What's stopping SAGE from doing that? Oh yeah... Sonic's 'goodness', even though SAGE hasn't really seen it at the beginning.

It makes the game feel unfocused. It makes Frontiers feel like it's a jumbled mess. When Persona 5 managed to get all of the aspects that wouldn't have worked to work, What's Sonic Team's/SEGA's excuse to shunt the mystery aspect aside, then throwing it into our face at Plot Dump -erm, Rhea - Island?

[edactually]

Ed POV - 7.6

This was the first time Stede had given him advance warning that he’d be using facetime, and Ed was nervous.

Once again, there had been multiple annoying circumstances that had kept them apart and Ed was terrified that Stede was losing interest and pulling away from him. This was why Ed never dated, people couldn’t handle how busy his schedule was and in the past he’d never been interested in moving things around to suit a date.

He would move heaven and earth for Stede though. There had been times where he’d wanted to cancel the whole tour and hop on a plane home just to see him. Would have done it as well, if he didn’t think Stede would be annoyed about it.

He’d had to survive on texts alone for three weeks now. It was barely enough to sustain him and he always feared that he was missing something that could be read between the lines of Stede’s messages. He’d missed it last time, after all. More than that, he just wanted to hear Stede’s voice. See his face.

He’d dressed up for the occasion as best he could without wanting to seem too eager. He spent more time getting ready for this call with Stede than he did for one of his shows, and had spent the better part of the afternoon washing, drying and styling his hair as best he could. He even used the lavender products Stede had gifted him, as though the man would be able to smell him through the phone. He wasn’t much good at styling his hair, so he just pinned half of it back and let the rest hang in loose waves around his shoulders. 

As an afterthought, he tucked a chamomile flower behind his ear. It was from the loose leaf tea set Stede had sent him, and he just thought it would be fun. He hadn’t brought the edelweiss hair pins on tour because he knew he’d never be able to style his hair as well with them as Stede had, but he regretted it now.

He wore a proper button-down shirt for once instead of a tee. He’d spotted it when he’d been out to lunch with Anne the day before. It was a dark emerald colour, and the shop assistant had confirmed it was pure silk as Ed had stroked the satiny fabric. Stede said he was made for jewel tones and he hadn’t seen him in emerald yet.

Ed set up for the call in advance this time, making sure everything that would be in Stede’s sightline was neat and tidy, just how he liked it. He’d opted for propping his phone up on a pile of books that he was sure the hotel only provided as decoration and no one had ever read. He’d opened the camera to check what Stede’s view would be several times and now he was just waiting.

Stede called at eight pm on the dot, just like he’d said he would.

Ed couldn’t answer straight away, he was just so relieved that Stede was actually calling him. 

He hadn’t seen him since the morning he’d left on tour, and the sight that flashed up now took his breath away. True, Stede didn’t really look any different to how he’d looked then, but just the sight of him at all was enough.

And Ed knew he’d gotten his outfit choice right because he witnessed Stede’s double take and then watched him lean in closer. “Is that a new shirt?”

“This old thing?” Ed lied. “Had it ages.”

“I said you were made for jewel tones.” Stede’s smile looked dreamy and it made Ed feel like the most beautiful man in the world. “And you’re wearing the cravat as well!”

Ed toyed with the black silk around his throat, knotted casually as if Ed hadn’t spent hours looking at online tutorials of how to tie a cravat properly. “It goes with everything. I love it.”

Stede sighed happily and rested his chin on his hand. He didn’t say anything, he just stared at Ed through the screen and Ed had to check his appearance to make sure there was nothing unusual going on, but still Stede hadn’t moved. “Stede? I think your phone is frozen.”

Stede shifted and laughed sheepishly. “It hasn’t. Sorry, I just needed a moment to drink you in. You’re so handsome that it melts my brain a bit.”

“I know the feeling.” Ed was still admiring Stede in his crisp white shirt and sky-blue tie. He must not have had time to change since getting home from work, but Ed didn’t mind. “I’ve really missed looking at you.”

Come on, this was not how friends spoke to one another. This wasn’t even how friends with benefits spoke to one another. There had to be something more between them.

Fuck’s sake, Teach, you can play concerts to thousands and risk your entire career on the turn of a dime, but you don’t have the guts to ask Stede to define your relationship?

Because he wanted to know. Ed was desperate to know if Stede wanted the same as he did.

He took a deep breath. “Stede…”

“Hey fuckhead.”

Ed flinched and turned towards the sound of the voice. He recognised it immediately as being the hoarse rasp of QAR’s lead guitarist, who had decided to take advantage of the fact that the band all had keys to one another’s rooms. It was something that Izzy insisted upon as a security measure so there was always another person with access to a band member’s room who wasn’t a member of hotel staff. It had been born from too many unfortunate incidents in the past where Ed had been blacked out in a drink and drug-fuelled stupor and they preferred it if a member of the band sobered him up rather than leaving a maid to discover him. He hadn’t done that in years, but the habit stuck.

Izzy was looking at his phone, typing away with one hand as he lifted up a familiar object with the other. “You left your wallet downstairs.”

Izzy only looked up when Ed didn’t respond, seething with rage as he was about the interruption. And when Izzy did pay attention to him, his mouth twisted into a scowl. “The fuck are you wearing?”

“I happen to think he looks very dashing, Iggy.”

Izzy wandered over to inspect the source of Ed’s defence, which was of course, the tiny version of Stede Bonnet housed in his phone, who was looking none too pleased himself. Izzy clearly recognised him, since the scowl deepened and his voice was a venomous hiss. “It’s Izzy.”

“Whatever, I don’t care.”

Most people wouldn’t dream of talking to Izzy like that. He was famous, if nothing else, and the cult of celebrity did a lot for keeping people afraid of being so disrespectful. That, and it was a shock to see the normally polite Stede Bonnet be so quickly dismissive of Ed’s bandmate. 

“You’re actually interrupting a private conversation, so if you wouldn’t mind?” Even the small version of Stede on the screen had an impressive icy stare directed at Izzy.

Izzy’s jaw clenched and he dropped the wallet onto the table. “I would mind, because Blackbeard has a band meeting he needs to get to.”

“Dickfuck, today is a day off.” Ed snarled. “It’s on the schedule that you drew up.”

“There are no real days off on tour.” Izzy still wasn’t looking at Ed, his gaze was firmly locked with Stede’s. “There’s an issue with an upcoming venue that needs sorting.”

“Fucking take care of it yourself, Iz. I’m busy.”

“Oh, is your little friend more important than the band?” Once again, Izzy took care to verbalise disdainful air quotes around the word ‘friend.’ “Because I was under the impression that you were going to focus more on QAR, and focusing on QAR means actually being involved in decisions and not leaving them all to me.”

Ed had waited weeks for a chance to see Stede. He wasn’t missing that for anything. “We can have a meeting about it tomorrow.”

“We won’t have time tomorrow and this needs taking care of now.”

“I promised Stede we would have this call, I’m not hanging up barely five minutes into it!”

Ed and Izzy were both squaring up to each other, both sides getting ready to launch into one of their screaming matches when a quiet voice caught their attention.

“It’s fine.”

They both looked at Stede, and Ed knew that face. That was the poised, professional expression that Stede used when he was trying to remain polite and not let his emotions show. “Izzy is right.”

“It’s Iz– oh.” Izzy had interrupted only to stop when he realised Stede had got his name right. 

But Ed knew that wasn’t a good thing. Stede always referred to him as Iggy and Ed got a kick out of it. The fact that he’d switched to using his bandmate’s real name meant that Stede had made up his mind and was dropping the animosity in favour of forced politeness. “The band should be your priority right now. We can talk another time.”

“Stede…” Ed pushed Izzy out of the way with a firm shove and leaned into the camera so the short man was out of the frame. “I promised I’d make time for this.”

“I’m not important.” Stede gave him that small, self-deprecating smile and Ed wanted to reach through his phone and shake some sense into him. “We can reschedule. Go and take care of what matters.”

“No, Stede, please–”

But Stede just shook his head. “Another time. Goodnight.”

And the call disconnected.

Ed stared at the screen. He’d waited weeks. He’d waited fucking weeks just for a chance to talk to Stede and Izzy had ruined it in five minutes.

And now Izzy had the fucking nerve to put his hand on Ed’s shoulder.

Ed shoved the hand away and spun round. “You fucking rat bastard!” Ed spat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“I had to, Ed!” Izzy yelled. “Fucking hell, look what he’s done to you!”

“There’s no fucking venue emergency, you made it up just to get me off the phone!” And Stede had fallen for it. Stede had thought it was true, and it should be Ed’s priority, and now Stede was at home alone thinking that Ed didn’t have time for him.

“So what if I did?” Izzy snarled. “I told you that git was going to drown you. I told you to cut him loose, Edward! Yet here you are, dressing up in silk shirts to impress Stede Bonnet like what that twat thinks of you fucking matters–”

Izzy found his sentence choked off as Ed grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the nearest wall. “Do not,” Ed growled. “Talk about him like that.”

Despite the crushing of his windpipe, Izzy still managed to choke out “Is this what you are now, Ed? Stede Bonnet’s fucking doll to dress up? You look ridiculous.”

Izzy wasn’t worth the rage. Ed was a better man than this. Izzy loved to rile him up, to make him angry. Frankly, he could tell Izzy had been looking for a reason to pick a fight ever since Ed had sworn to be better even though he’d said that was what he wanted. It was like he got off on it. Ed could do whatever Izzy asked of him and Izzy would still find a way to turn it into a snarled fight of venom that came close to physical blows. 

It didn’t matter what Ed did, it wasn’t enough to make Izzy happy. Maybe it was some kind of sick joy in knowing that he could push all of Ed’s buttons and Ed wouldn’t leave. That he could do the same to Izzy and he would stay as well. The two of them, locked in this torturous dance, pushing and pulling in equal measure with neither side willing to let go.

Ed released his hold on Izzy’s neck. “Get out.”

Izzy was red in the face and his voice hoarser than usual as he looked up at Ed with dazed eyes. “What?”

“You heard me. It’s over. I’m tired.”

“Edward–”

“Get out, Israel.”

And that was what finally did it. Izzy made no more attempts to pick at the wound he’d opened up. Ed hadn’t called him Israel since the first time they had ever met where he had dubbed him Izzy and the nickname had stuck. The fact that he returned to it now was enough of a sign for the shorter man to leave the hotel room as quickly and as quietly as possible.

Ed didn’t want to dwell on it, instead he picked up his phone as soon as the door clicked shut and called Stede.

No answer.

He tried again.

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[coll2mitts]

#31 On the Town (1949)

It took me until The Year of our Lord 2022 to realize that Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra filmed SEVERAL movies together.  There's Anchors Aweigh, On the Town AND Take Me Out to the Ball Game.  How?  HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS?!  While I was booting up On The Town and casually wondering who would pull my attention more, I discovered ANN FUCKING MILLER and VERA ELLEN were also in this film and I about died.  Just a bunch of super hot and super talented people all in one movie, like, sure, I'll be fine.  EVERYTHING IS FINE.

On the Town, or as I like to call it Anchors Aweigh: NYC, is Gene Kelly and Stanley Donan's directorial debut.  Gene claims it is one of his favorite pictures, and it hits a lot of the same beats as An American in Paris, which I think says more about Gene's directing style than it does Stanley's.  But the reason films from this dynamic duo succeed is because they are both choreographers and know how to frame dance numbers in order to showcase the talent of the performers.  Dancing is a priority and not an afterthought like in SOME MUSICALS.  This film is also regarded as the first musical to ever be shot on location, which Gene Kelly insisted upon to correctly get the look and feel of New York City.  You wouldn't entirely realize this because of the awkward utilization of green screens in the majority of it, and also because it's not true.

Gabey (Gene Kelly), Chip (Frank Sinatra), and Ozzie (Jules Munshin) are three sailors on 24-hour shore leave in New York City.  While Chip is interested in seeing the sights, Gabey and Ozzie have other things on their mind... mainly women and sleeping with one or seven or eight of them.

While on the subway to their next destination, Gabey falls in love with a picture of Miss Turnstiles, Ivy Smith (Vera Ellen), and makes a bunch of assumptions about her character based on only a photo which proves Gene Kelly has learned nothing about how accurate Henri's description of Lise was in An American in Paris.

Gabey steals the poster for his collection, and then immediately runs into Ivy during an impromptu photo opportunity in which he reveals he's pocketed her photo for alone-time festivities.  She responds appropriately with a trepidatious, "I'm terribly flattered you liked it well enough to take it with you," before scurrying away from him as quickly as possible into the nearest subway car.

As the train pulls away, Gabey decides he must hunt Ivy down, and the only way to do that is to hail a cab to head her off at the next station.  They run into Brunhilde Esterhazy (Betty Garrett), a female cab driver, who instantly swoons the second she hears Frankie's voice.  When Chip asks her why she's driving a cab after all the men returned from war, she responds, "I never give up anything I like", with obvious heart eyes and so much syrup in her voice that I think I fell in love with her at that moment.  She agrees to help them on their quest to find Miss Turnstyles only if Chip keeps close to her, and immediately propositions him for sex, which like, yep, I like a girl who knows what she wants.

After missing Ivy at the next station, the boys decide to follow the clues on the Miss Turnstyle’s poster that lists Ivy’s interests and schedule, I guess?  Their first stop is The Museum of Anthropological History, where anthropology student Claire Huddesen (Ann Miller) happens to run into Ozzie, who resembles a textbook caveman so closely she immediately decides to jump his bones.

If I were Jules Munshin, and the props department told me I wasn't allowed to take this statue home with me, I would riot.

What follows is an interesting musical number that features thirsty AF Ann Miller and all kinds of problematic choreography and costume choices.  I'm not going to defend this, but if you can overlook how fucking cringe it is, it features a tap solo that only proves how fucking dynamic Ann Miller is with, as she says, the world's most expensive chorus behind her.  The group gets so frothy by her exhibition of sexual prowess that Ozzie knocks over a dinosaur and they’re all forced to flee the building to avoid being arrested.

With the addition of Claire to their party, Hilde pulls a Fred Jones and suggests everyone split up, against the advice of every D&D DM.  She rationalizes this will increase the odds of finding Ivy because they will be searching more places at the same time.  Claire and Ozzie agree because they want to go back to her place to "check the social register", and Gabey reluctantly accepts that he may be on his own in his quest to get his dick wet.

Immediately, once the two of them are alone, Hilde attempts to put the moves on Chip, and he rebuffs her advances until they're up in her apartment, cock blocked by her sick roommate Lucy Shmeeler.  When Hilde makes a thinly veiled threat on Lucy's life, Lucy bolts and Chip ultimately succumbs to Hilde's charms.

Meanwhile, Gabey miraculously discovers Ivy at her dance school, which is a weird thing to list on a public poster in the off chance that some sex-starved sailor wants to stalk you.  She lies and confirms his assumptions she's a famous, native New Yorker, which only sets him soaring when she agrees to meet him for a date later that evening.

When the gang reunites on the top of an Empire State Building so unencumbered it allows people to throw guide books and bodies off the side of it, they realize the cops are still trailing them because of their bone-related vandalism and theft of a taxi cab Hilde never returned to the garage.  After tricking the oblivious officers, the pairs are overcome with the endless possibilities the night holds for them.

Frank Sinatra could murder me and I'd thank him.  His voice remains to be one of the best things I've ever heard, and no amount of Bubles or Uries will ever compare to it.  I will concede, however, that he does not dance as well as he sings.  This is, of course, in contrast to Ann Miller, Gene Kelly and Vera Ellen, and it's completely unfair to put anybody on the same stage as these giants and assume they'd stand out.  Frank can hold his own (he did, after all, have Gene Kelly as his teacher), but he never looks comfortable with it.

Sidenote: I find it fairly hilarious that in On the Town and Anchors Aweigh they cast Francis Sinatra as a woman-oblivious cinnamon roll.  This dude fucked more broads than prolly the entire cast and crew combined, god bless him.

ANYWAY, the gang goes bar hopping, and Hilde and Claire decide to bribe the waiters in each club to treat Ivy as a celebrity in order to keep up the charade for Gabey (which is pretty sweet, honestly).  Come 11:30pm, however, Ivy bolts like Cinderella to her night gig as a cabaret dancer, lest her dance instructor write her parents in Bumfuck, Indiana and inform them she's been slumming.  Gabey takes it as well as expected for a sailor who has only known a girl for a handful of hours and throws himself a pity party to end all pity parties.  Hilde feels so bad she offers up her eccentric roommate Lucy, which everyone seems to hate for some reason?  When he ditches her to drink his woes away at the bar, everyone attempts to cheer him up, including Lucy, because she's an angel who is a streetcar named impulsive.

Gabey, after realizing how bad of a sport he's been, walks Lucy home and apologizes for being a judgmental dick.  He then hallucinates an entire ballet that sums up the entire movie so far, as Gene Kelly is wont to do.  

When Gabey’s friends finally find him blissed out, they return him to the bar to truly drown him.  BUT WAIT, Ivy's dance teacher is randomly there and reveals Ivy's less-than-socialite status.  Mme points Gabey in the direction of Ivy’s peep show and a car chase between Hilde and the cops ensues as they rush to Ivy's place of employment.  Although the group evades the police temporarily, everyone is eventually arrested for being a general nuisance and the boys are shipped back to the boat.

Claire and Hilde save the moment with a Droz-style monologue, and the cops are so moved by the girls’ display of emotion that they decide not to pursue charges against our group of delinquents.  Additionally, they transport the girls up to the ship in order to say goodbye to their men before they leave.  As Gabey, Chip and Ozzie return to serving their country, the next group of horny soldiers depart to cause havoc on the city that never sleeps.  The end.

And if you're curious out of Frankie and Gene who ultimately pulled my attention, it was the inventor of pantyhose herself, Ann Miller, who I couldn’t take my eyes off of.  NOBODY can compete with her.

Thanks for reading!  If you’ve enjoyed this post, please consider helping me fund this project by donating to my ko-fi :)

[barry-j-blupjeans]

15 Taakitz!

Image ID: Two more asks requesting Taakitz and prompt 15. One is from @boatwizard2 and the other is from a different anon. End ID

15. nothing against your choices at all, honestly kind of enthralled, but the fishnets and thigh-high boots and pirate blouse seems like a lot for this 8am class

((30 incredibly specific AU prompts here - send some in!))

--

Taako was starting to regret telling Lup that he'd go to her classes while she wooed Barry. Knowing her, Barry would not only not be wooed, but they'd somehow be even further away from confessing their feelings than they already were. Also, Lup had classes in the morning, because she was a morning person. At least Taako had the sense to have most of his classes in the afternoon instead.

But if Lup could get up a the asscrack of dawn to go learn about music theory, Taako sure as hell was going to do that too.

That doesn't mean he'd pay attention, though.

"Nice of you to join us, Morior," the professor said, barely looking away from the whiteboard as someone came in late. Taako looked up from his game of snake and met eyes with possibly the most absurdly hot man he had ever met. He had on gold eyeliner, and thigh-high boots, with a blouse Taako could only describe as something a pirate might wear. He was wearing fishnets at eight in the goddamn morning. Even Taako hadn't put that much thought into his outfit.

And, to his absolute luck, he sat two seats away from Taako, pulling out his laptop to take notes. Taako was now acutely aware that he had no idea how Lup interacted with her classmates. He shut down the snake game and opened up his texts, shooting Lup a very quick,

"What's your relationship with the fishnets guy?"

And he waited. Fishnets was now opening up a new word document to write in. He squinted down towards the board and started to type. Taako's phone buzzed as Lup responded with,

????? Please don't talk to anyone, I just need notes.

I'm gonna talk to him, Taako shot back, he's rr hot. And then, as an afterthought, he added, was I supposed to be taking notes???

There was another buzz but Taako had already shut down his phone. He scooted towards Fishnets, so there was only one seat in between them now, and started with a very simple, "hey." Fishnets looked up at him, somewhat quizzically.

"Hi?" he said.

"Nothing against your choices and all, honestly kind enthralled, T-B-H, but fishnets and thigh-high boots and a pirate blouse seem like a lot for an eight AM class."

Fishnets mouthed the words "pirate blouse" to himself. Taako's phone buzzed three times in quick succession. He stuffed it in his pocket.

"I have a lot of time to kill," Fishnets said, smiling slightly at him. "You're not the one who usually sits here, are you?"

"No," Taako said, propping his elbows upon the armrest and putting his face in his hands. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Fishnets said smoothly. "It's very nice to meet you...?"

"Taako," Taako filled in. "And you're?"

"Kravitz," he said. "I'd love to talk more, but I do have to take notes. I'll speak to you after?"

"Oh yeah, deffo," Taako said, still very much enthralled. His phone buzzed again and Taako tore himself away from the moment to answer it. Kravitz grinned at him. At the very least, Taako had a good amount of eye candy for the rest of the class.

[cpacs-blog]

“Her favorite color was yellow.”

When Levi sat down next to her at the campfire, her entire body stiffened in fear. She was a girl made of twitchy nerve endings around him. His hands could snap her neck like a twig… and he’d tried.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do.”

They were the first words he had spoken to her when they were of a comparable size; it scared the shit out of her. The entire trip Levi was propped up in a corner like an awful, butchered, wordless ghost. He slept fitfully. She caught him staring all the time, but he never spoke until now.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he promised. “I could, though.”

“You couldn’t. Not even then and especially not now.”

He laughed, hollow, but ignored this. “Eld’s favorite color was blue,” was his non sequitur. “He was a such a basic bitch. We teased him all the time for it. Auruo liked green, I think. Gunther’s favorite was purple. He was the most sensitive of us, actually. People think it would’ve been Petra, but no… Gunther never killed a spider. He was always the type to get a jar.”

Levi closed his one remaining eye and rested his head against the tree; the corner of his lip pulled up imperceptibly. “Eld’s fiancée cut his hair; she was the only one allowed to touch it. He hated, *hated* long hair, but only got it cut when he went home to her. It was their thing. Auruo and Gelgar… different guy, you didn’t kill him… dyed Eld’s hair plum purple one night as a joke. We tried to wash it out, but it was lilac for a season before he got leave.

“And Auruo… jeez, that stupid kid! He pretended to be miserable all the time, but we knew better. I caught him whistling up the trees to the sparrows once, when he thought nobody could hear. Just this totally grouchy, guarded kid singing with the wildlife. He only let himself be a good person when he thought nobody was watching. That means something, right?”

She didn’t know; she was unqualified to identify the good in people because she’d never seen it before. In her years trapped as a frozen afterthought, the only news that reached her crystal was violence as everyone she knew became a mass murder. Maybe these four were the noble exception… they must be if they cracked Levi’s iron casing. Well, good riddance then. She did them a favor. This world is not meant for good people. It belongs to the ugly.

“She burned water,” Levi continued, and there was no context needed here: the girl with the copper hair, falling with grace. “She cooked breakfasts full of eggshells. She made flatbread while burning through half of our yeast rations. We only let her in the kitchen on her birthday… she always wanted to prove us wrong. Petra. You didn’t even know their names, did you?”

It didn’t seem like an opportune time to say that she *did* know their names, but only because the others called them out in fear before they died. “We were at war.”

“No. *You* were… you tried to genocide your own community. They just wanted their families to see an actual sunrise.” This was the only time Levi’s voice raised, but it was still a tame thing.

“Why are you telling me this? It’s not going to bring them back.”

“It won’t. I just think about it all the time. Not even the big things (though there’s plenty of that too), but mostly details. Who they were. What they were like. I’ve thought more about how Gunther liked his sandwiches now than I ever did when they were alive.”

Levi struggled to stand and she didn’t offer to help. And of course Levi Ackerman didn’t tower over her… he was short and hunched over from being blown up and losing everyone he loved. Yet there was a dignity that made her, once tall as the forest, feel like a kid at the heel of the Walls again. “They died because I commanded it,” he said flatly. “I killed them just as much as you did. But you did. I did. We share their murders. And so now we both share their lives.”

“What the hell?!” She wished he’d fucking get it over with and throw the first punch. “Stop whining and get to the fucking point! You going to avenge them? Stop fucking around and get to it, then! Get mad! Get angry! Punish me already!”

Levi smiled; nothing lit in his eyes anymore. “I just did.”

For a while, Annie didn’t understand. Levi went to his corner of the camp and collapsed in an exhausted, broken heap by Hanji. If it was an attempt to indimidate her, she thought it was a piss-poor job. The rantings of a soldier pushed past his edge… someone who’d finally seen enough. Pathetic, but inconsequential.

She didn’t think much about it at all until a week later when she saw a patch of yellow dandelions at the foot of a tall tree. Fine, it was dandelions, it was whatever. But starting then and for the rest of her life, she’d see dandelions and hear birdsongs everywhere. She was acutely aware of them, could never ignore them, could not stop her compulsions, could not hide. Even when the spores flew away on the breeze and the birds slept, they echoed. And it was so cruel that their ghosts were so beautiful, so that even music and golden wildflowers haunted her with them… then… her… now.