#i genuinely think he would love to be apart of their lives in a larger capacity. he is so gentle and hopeful with the new trio > | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tarohonii · 7 months

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genuinely think Ian would be SUCH a better main character for eleceed than Jiwoo could ever hope to be.

Narrative and perspective wise, Jiwoo does have the upside of not being tied to an association or a specific setting, and his past breaches into a lot of unknown territory with the awakener world, but Jiwoo also propels the story of eleceed in an extremely rose-colored lens. This is because Jiwoo is, arguably, much more privileged than any of the other characters in this story. He can somehow perfectly balance a happy, idyllic life and then also be deeply involved with the hot violent mess that is the awakener world. He's met some of the most kindest, gracious people when we know the awakener world is anything but that. He leads a relatively politically unburdened life, with his own independence and freedom, which is far more than any of the other awakeners in this story could ask for. He emerges unscathed from any conflict he's in because he has two (three?) absolute fucking nuclear powerhouses who'll come to his aid at any given moment-and, might I add, practically is the reason he can have as much freedom as he does.

I guess my main takeaway is that Jiwoo does not accurately depict the struggle of the setting that he is in. He finds the awakener world as the place where he finds his own footing, where he can feel accepted and welcomed for something that would usually cast him aside as an anomaly. And, sure, that's what makes him a good main character-that's what sets him apart from anyone else in this story. But one of his only traits that made Jiwoo stand out in the awakener world environment was the fact that he found fighting fun.

It makes sense, considering Jiwoo's scenario, that he would be one of the few who would find sparring fun. it's the thing that gave him his place in the world. With his complete independence, there's no stakes or burdens on him when it comes to fighting. He's never lived a life where when the stakes are far larger than just losing the spar itself, where politics to family honor is wagered on a single battle, where he's been burdened with the knowledge since childhood that his power is what will keep them at the top and can never afford mistakes. And that's my main issue. One of the only things that sets him apart is something that's derived solely because of his privilege he has in eleceed.

This is where Ian comes in. He is one of the few-if not only-other character in eleceed besides Jiwoo who finds fighting fun. And this-this is what makes him far more interesting than Jiwoo. Ian comes from a situation similar-if not likely more intense-than the other WAA students. He and his family are one of the most highest ranked people in the political world in eleceed. From what we've seen, every character in a similar position to him are, for a very good reason, bitter, snarky, prideful, and chronically overburdened with the weight of the awakened world. The awakener world breeds generation after generation of awakeners obsessed and fixated on power and becoming stronger than anyone else.

But Ian goes against that grain. Instead of simply smirking snidely at Jiwoo when he found how strong he was, he got genuinely excited over it, enthusing that it'd been awhile since he had fought someone on his level. No masked words, no pretenses, just pure enthusiasm and love for what he does. He got irritated in his stagnancy not because he was fueled by the all consuming thought to 'get stronger so I can become the strongest awakener' but because he wanted to hone his craft.

Additionally, Ian grew up in an enviroment that exposes him to every nook and cranny of the ugliness of the awakener world. He's probably seen some shit-people dying because of spars, associations crumbling, wars being waged. He knows the weight and responsibility that his title and power holds. He'd give the audience a much more clearer, raw view of what the awakener world is actually like and intricacies of it.

In terms of character itself, Ian would be such a joy to read about. His personality is in accordance to his environment and how he was raised. He's snarky, bratty, rude-basically every average WAA personality box ticked off-but despite that, he's also much more candid and has a rebellious flair. He doesn't beat around the bush or lie-he says things how he sees it and doesn't spout any flowery bullshit.

Additionally, though he's confident and sure of himself and his character, knows how to manipulate and work the system, he's also brash and volatile, which would open up opportunities for the audience to be able to really see his youth and immaturity because he really is just a kid at the end of the day.

Jiwoo, as far as we can tell, wants to bring about change in the awakener world through his kindness. But that completely juxtaposes the fact that he's...brutally fighting in order to do that. But Ian would bring hell on earth if he was the MC. he'd bring change with his unapologetic attitude and unwavering confidence, fighting against the grain in a way that makes sense but still highlights his rebellion. He'd know how to tear down the system from the inside out, or maybe he'd unintentionally just be a trailblazer along the story. Either way, 100000 times more interesting than Jiwoo

#eleceed #ian patrick #soemone stop me im going crazy over a fictional man..again

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whispering-woodlands · 6 months

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What are your Tron/Yori/Able head-canons? So nice seeing other people pairing them!

Anon I don’t know who you are but I love you, I’m spinning you around happily. Thank you for giving me an excuse to ramble about them!

(For context I hc Tron Yori and Able as bi and poly ((and Tron being on the ace spectrum)))

I think it took awhile for Yori to be transferred over to the Grid, so Tron was without his primary/first counterpart for awhile. Being on the Grid was lonely at first, Flynn made it well known about Tron’s past achievements on the Encom system and about being the Grid’s primary protector. So most programs saw Tron as a figurehead or tool rather than an individual program.

This left Tron with really only having a few close genuine relationships. One with Flynn, his third counterpart who was a User that was away for several cycles at a time. And with Clu, which was a complicated relationship at the very least. Tron cared for Clu as a friend (Clu wanted more but Tron was firm in seeing Clu as only a friend), but also had to balance supporting Clu’s continued building of the Grid and being the only one who could stand up to the Admin.

Tron did care deeply about his security team but it took awhile for him to get used to working in one as he mostly worked by himself in the Encom system. Team bonding was also cut short at first because in the beginning it was only Shaddox and Oracle, but Oracle was derezzed after a particularly large nest of Gridbugs got into the main city. Tron blamed himself for Oracle’s passing, seeing it as a failure in his leadership.

It was later when Tron had been sent to a less well known bar on a low priority alert for noise disturbances that he met Able. Clu and his team had recommended that he go on leave for awhile but Tron refused to stop working, so they compromised with having Tron do less dangerous civilian work. After sitting there for at least a milli with no excessive noise at all Tron was grateful for the suprisingly candid and enjoyable conversation Able had with him.

Then, Able excused himself, went up on the bar’s stage, and played the loudest music Tron had ever heard in his entire runtime. All the while Able had the most satisfied and smug look on his face, like he was daring Tron to shut down the show that had now attracted a large amount of programs for such a small bar.

Tron didn’t. Instead he found himself going to each of Able’s shows. Trying to convince the program to find a better place that could fit a larger audience and not produce so many angry neighbors. Able seemed to only take that as a challenge, his shows grew more and more more popular until people sat on the sidewalks outside the bars just to hear his music. And Tron continued going to each show, even as Able teased him relentlessly. They began to spend time together afterwards and Tron learned Able was a mechanic. As time passed they began to meet with each other completely seperate from the shows.

One day construction began on a stadium, one that once completed had Clu personally invite Able to play at as the first ever show. Tron said nothing, but Able knew he had something to do with it. After the show Tron asked Able if he would be his counterpart. Able happily agreed. (Musician Able inspired by Wynandcore!! Look at his art!!!)

When Yori was finally transferred to the Grid, Tron introduced her to Able. Tron had spoken of Yori to Able before, the two were surprisingly alike and they established a relationship as well. It wasn’t long before all three were living together.

They had many cycles of being happy together. All of them working to help make the Grid a safe and prosperous place.

Unfortunately all three started drifting apart a bit when the riots between Basics and ISOs reached their peak. Able abandoned being a musician and became a mechanic full time. Moving to Argon to make a garage there that would be a safe working place for betas and other programs seeking a place away from Clu’s primary place of power, in hopes that it would help prevent some of the innocent bloodshed. Yori focused on helping make hidden sanctuaries for ISOs and leading as many as would follow to them. Tron continued to try and make peace between the two groups while struggling to find common ground between Flynn and Clu so the two could work to fix the situation and the instability of the Grid’s system.

After the coup both Able and Yori thought that Tron was dead. Able buried himself deeper in his work and became even more protective of the family he had built at the garage. Yori basically dropped off the map entirely, continuing to help the remaining ISOs move from sanctuary to sanctuary as the Admin’s forces scoured the system.

Able was the first Tron reconnected with after he was back to as best health as he could with just Cyrus’ help. In turn Able was able to contact Yori through an old meeting place that they were to only ever use in case of emergency. Together Yori and Able built the healing tank Tron had in the Spire.

The three of them along with Cyrus began to establish a network of anti Occupation programs. Unfortunately it didn’t last long. Cyrus began to change, and the entire network collapsed. Trust was shattered, lives were lost and Able left the network as well as his counterparts. Yori invited Tron to leave with her to try and start again, form a new rebel network. But with Tron’s scars steadily worsening and his own trust in himself shattered after his failure with Cyrus he elected to stay on his own so he wouldn’t be a liability to anyone else.

The second time Tron was captured, due to the circumstances Yori (and if we are going with a canon divergence where Uprising ep didn’t end like that) and Able both assumed that Tron was dead. That time they were mostly correct, Tron was gone. But Yori would connect with Rinzler a few times pre Legacy and Yori and Able both would establish a relationship with Rinzler post Legacy.

Okay anyways uh… the hcs yeah. The thing the whole ask was about. These Hcs are all pre-coup.

-Able was very adventurous and a trouble maker when he was younger. He didn’t have the hero worship most programs had for Tron, which Tron both loathed and appreciated. Appreciated because Able saw him as an individual and loathed because Able would not hesitate to call Tron out on self destructive or stupid behavior. When Able first met Tron he would enjoy teasing/messing around with him especially when Tron was on duty or around with his team (both of which reminded him a LOT of Yori before she was transferred onto the Grid as well.)

-Tron likes dropping off energy and treats for Able and Yori at their jobs whenever he knows they have long shifts or if they’ve been stressed lately. If he isn’t able to drop it off personally one of the members of his team will, and Tron will always make sure there is a loving note attached. Gifts are his most common form of showing affection.

-Able and Yori keep all the notes that Tron writes for them in a special jar.

-Yori will drive Able around town sometimes to help him sleep. The sound of the engine helps and it’s a nice silent way for them to both just relax. In turn Able will also help talk through any issues Yori is having with projects when she has trouble relaxing or sleeping. They usually get through at least two or three before falling asleep against each other on wherever they sat.

- Yori also enjoys taking Tron and Able on Solar Sailer trips and talking about how the whole transport system works. She’s very proud of it after all.

-Tron likes to show off (extra) in the Games whenever Able and Yori are watching.

-Cuddle piles!!!! After a long day they will all curl up together with at least four blankets that will likely all end up on the floor by the beginning of the next work cycle. Able and Yori are both responsible for all of Tron’s (very few) late days. How can he say no when his two wonderful counterparts look at him like that? Maybe he can stay recharge with them for just a few more nanos….

#Tronblr #Tron #Tron/Yori/Able #Tron/Yori #Tron/Able #Yori/Able #yes Tron was instantlybegrudingly in love with able that he went to Clu to have a stadium built specifically for musicians #this turned into more of a explaining a large chunk of their history instead of just hcs I’m srry abt that rip #this is all just in my silly little (fill in the missing pieces) universe for them so forgive me if anything is OOC or something lol #random ramblings

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magicaldragons · 10 months

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the clusterfuck that was episode 14: an analysis

disclaimer: this does not condone any of ryu si-o's actions, were they to happen in real life. this is purely an objective examination of si-oh's psychology.

so, episode 14. that happened.

to start with, we've been getting insight into ryu si-o ever since he's started having more screen time (around episode 3), and since then we've been either seeing his backstory, or hearing his thoughts.

all of this abruptly cut off in episode 14.

obviously this is because he could could no longer remain as a character to be sympathized with, & the writers/directors needed to cut us off from his thought process to facilitate that. – for as long as we see the complexity within his motives, he will be a character we emotionally connect with.

if you want to see me vent about the potential his character had for positive growth leading up to this, here you go

but this will be an objective analysis on his motives and a likely explanation for his behavior, since we didn't receive that.

now, we have to acknowledge that up until this point, ryu si-o has had two main motives for anything he's done:

gaining strength [both himself and through tsetseg] & creating a trump card [the antidote] so that he can separate from pavel

finding binbin

and we've also seen, that all of a sudden, the cards are suddenly against him:

he's angered the mafia by directly going against them, regarding the antidote and his ownership of it

his leverage against geum ju's assistant didn't work out, and he's trying to disprove the drug accusations

the leverage he held against the police hasn't worked out either and there's now an arrest warrant out on him and no way for him to escape the country

his wild card, tstetseg, turned out to be just that, infact, and now the one person he thought he could depend on in case of a fallout with the mafia/any unfavorable situation is now gone

and from his perspective, it's infinitely worse because, putting aside that she is gang nam soon, tsetseg is no longer the person he thought she was:

he fell in love with tsetseg in the first place because she was honest – she spoke without a filter and lived without constraints. she talked informally, yet did so innocently. to him, she didn't hide her emotions, or mask her thoughts.

but now he realizes that she has been lying to him the whole time, has pretended not to recognize her own mother, and has listened to him talk about his past and seen him at his most vulnerable, while working against him all throughout.

throughout the whole episode, we are seeing ryu si-o at his rock bottom.

from all of his previous patterns, he only commits violence when absolutely necessary, or under the influence of the drug, when he is at his most aggressive, but this episode was an exception to that.

and it makes the most sense when you consider it this way:

right now his condition/mindset is akin to that of a desperate animal, backed into a corner, he will claw at anything to survive right now.

and as we discussed here, pain/fear is not a very useful emotion, especially with how badly it must threaten to shake him right now, so obviously he'd react to something like heartbreak the only way he knows how, or the only way that will help him get past it: anger.

he's doing what would be a regular stage of heartbreak after a breakup – blame. [albeit in a very terrible, violent way, because of the way he was raised]

he's trying to find where to place the blame for what happened with tsetseg: who can he blame except himself for getting so close to the one person who was meant to ruin his plans?

so he goes after hwaja, (and interestingly has someone else stab her) for lying to him, and does (what I think is a larger-than-usual) dose of the drug because he is genuinely trying to escape the pain, while simultaneously doing damage control as everything he's been working on, falls apart.

his approach is completely wrong, and cannot be justified, but the place it's coming from is understandable and so is the rage.

if we continue to see him act in line with the way he is characterized he will definitely hesitate when it comes down to directly hurting namsoon, should she be in front of him, because the emotion we're seeing clearly isn't "how dare she betray me?" — it's "how could I have let her hurt me like this?"

the writers may choose to ditch the character patterns and motives they've been giving him, in order to villainize him and lead up to their intended ending, but i do believe reckless violence (not just against namsoon), would be completely out of character.

#mini-analysis #based on his characterization + byeon woo seok's portreyal #strong girl nam soon #ryu si o #byeon woo seok

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juulz · 1 year

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I'm stoked that you both enjoyed and answered my question!

Yeah, usually when I end up thinking about them meeting I have to pull them out of context, then place them in that infinite white space Squidward got eebie deebied to.

There is one more thing I think the Silvers can agree upon and it's, "Fuck Giovanni and everyone who associates with him." I already figured they'd hate each other for abiding by what each other hates. What's sadder is that even if they got past their shoddy first impressions of each other (self-indulgent riffraff / pathetic warhound), the animosity would grow tenfold because they are equal, if not larger, foils to each other than their respective Golds are. I wouldn't be surprised if the Silvers' mutually saw their otherworld selves as the worst versions of their self.

Misfit Silver would absolutely drag AWSB for any level of compliance, geniune or decietful, he had in Team Rocket's plans. Even more so for trying to beat Giovanni at his own game and pretending that the end will ever justify the means, all while letting an innocent boy follow him into a place so dark, you never get to walk away from it. AWSB Gold would have lived a normal life without AWSB Silver, but he let him stay, and now he's ruined. He's killed for you. He's almost died for you multiple times. He'll never be the same and what for? A guy who was too weak to do it alone. A guy who caved as soon as someone said they loved him and didn't think he was a monster. Misfit Silver would grill his counterpart for not taking accountability in Gold staying. Not that Misfit Silver cares about either Golds or anyone else (denial), it just seems particularly low, like something dear old dad would do.

Where as AWSB Silver would probably take all that on the nose because lord knows he's torn himself apart thinking about all that himself and he has his doubts about everything he's done. Especially when it comes to his own Gold's involvment in the situation. But Misfit Silver had better circumstances, still not normal mind you, but better. And yet he refuses to love or be loved. Misfit actively fights and deeply resents any warmth his Gold brings out in him, rejects Gold's love as he judges it as superficial, desperate and/or false. Misfit Silver thinks it'd be better if he and Gold weren't together, so he tells Gold that he's nothing special and rejects him constantly? Tell me about how the ends won't justify the means. Especially when Misfit Gold is already suicidal. At least when AWSB Silver pushed his Gold away it wasn't because he didn't want to love his Gold or because he was too scared of pain to let anyone in. Clearly, Misfit Silver just doesn't want to lose anyone else, so he blocks everyone out, and yet he hasn't cut his Gold off either and won't take accountability for it.

I wonder if it'd get physical. I could see Misfit Silver trying to start a fight, it's just would AWSB Silver even entertain it? He'd be angry about how Misfit Gold is being treated, so maybe? Would he just dodge every attack and walk away? Or would he catch Misfit's fists and incapcitate him?

It'd be bad. Triggering as fuck because it raises the question of what makes someone who they are? Circumstances or choices? How could someone who has the same essecence as you end up so different?

Either Gold would be like, "Wow you're so amazing!" and the other would be like,"What? No, you're the amazing one! I'm just some lame guy who gets in Silver's way, I'm not sure why he lets me stick around." And it just keeps going.

As far as my hot take on Misfit Silver and AWSB Gold meeting goes, I think if there's anyone who could convince, or at least sway Misfit Silver into believing his Gold's feeling are genuine, it'd be AWSB Gold. Likewise, I think AWSB Gold would have more patience with Misfit Gold than AWSB Silver does, because he understands that 1) Silver is hurt and scared of being hurt again, 2) that Misfit Silver does love his Gold deep down. He knows because his own Silver shows his love through actions, and Misfit Silver's actions say he does care, it's just difficult. That said, if AWSB Gold opened up about his fears and doubts about his place in AWSB Silver's life, Misfit Silver would probably capitalize on it and say something hurtful. Which would cause AWSB Gold to spiral. 4.5/10.

When it comes to Misfit Gold and AWSB Silver, I think Silver would immediately recognize that Misfit Gold is an abuse survivor, drug user and suicidal, all of which would make him immediately protective. Ultimately, it's another thing that would worsen his relationship with his otherworld self. I think AWSB Silver would do his best to comfort and reassure Misfit Silver, telling him it's admirable that even when Gold hates himself so much, hurts so much, he's kept the light inside of him alive. You'd think AWSB Silver was the older one. Then if Misfit Gold found out about AWSB Silver's past, it'd be how AWSB Gold felt all over again. Misfit Gold would be utterly heartbroken, horrified, angry and awed by what AWSB Silver endured and how he manages to get by. How he openned his heart up to love despite it all and is still trying to make a difference, remains mindful of any collateral damage he may cause and how he tries to minimize it. 10/10.

Just thoughts.

Before I start I just wanted to take a moment and say HOLY SMOKES THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS, it was an absolute treat to read! And also OH BOI you’ve thought way deeper about this than I ever did.

Fuck Giovanni and everyone who associates with him.

Facts. Be it for deep-rooted personal revenge or rejection of that part of society as a whole, imo in no universe can these two have a functional father-son relationship.

…worst versions of their self.

In short. Yes.

…it just seems particularly low, like something dear old dad would do.

Oof, how this is phrased. This entire paragraph, hitting all the right buttons.

A guy who caved as soon as someone said they loved him and didn't think he was a monster.

This reminded me of a scene that never made it into AWSB. Went somewhere along the lines:

Silver with a resigned smile, reflecting on their relationship.

-I’m easy, aren’t I? Falling for the second person that chose to be kind to me.

Gold, in turn reflecting on the rollercoaster that was their existence the past few weeks, voice cracking, choking in disbelief.

-R-right. Easy.

Would he just dodge every attack and walk away? Or would he catch Misfit's fists and incapacitate him?

Probably a then b, since the guy would be quite persistent. AWSB!Silver has dealt with enough people that can’t/aren’t worth being reasoned with, so force is ever the option. One, to avenge Gold, two, to knock Misfits down a notch, three… well, wouldn’t beating someone with the face he so detests be oh so satisfying?

Misfit Silver would probably capitalize on it and say something hurtful.

Not out of malice, but as a knee jerk reaction.

Which would cause AWSB Gold to spiral.

This Silver is kind of a dick, huh? (He definitely is). Hang in there, Gold!

…still trying to make a difference, remains mindful of any collateral damage he may cause and how he tries to minimize it.

100/10 the difference between one that fought for and been through the stages to acceptance and the one who hasn’t.

I cannot stress just how genuinely amazed and impressed I am at the depth of your analysis and at how frighteningly well you’ve captured the characters. If left up to me, it'd be a comic featuring crudely drawn chibis and 99.9% a dick joke, but I absolutely adore reading your serious, grounded takes on the matter. So yeah, if such a crossover were to exist, that’d be exactly how the boys’ encounters would transpire.

One thing to note - AWSB core story is complete and Misfits AU isn't, so it’d be interesting to revisit this when that happens.

To me either universe is there to explore topics the other one doesn’t. AWSB - ultraviolence and, in place of a redemption arc, that one of a downfall (peppered with world-ending scenarios cus what pkmn universe would it be without that). Misfits AU - sex, drugs and punkrock'n' roll (some anarchy in the UK and all the life’s joys that come with the package).

#again #thank you #i love this #it's just so flattering and encouraging to learn that stories one draws/writes are compelling and can have impact #awsb #misfits au #preciousmetalshipping #ask #misfits au ask

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tentative-wanderer · 1 year

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Reviews: Homophobic Cop Marries Gay Ghost, President’s Son Gets Together with Prince

Recently watched 2 movies with gay main characters in different genres. One was Red, White & Royal Blue (available on Amazon), one was 🌟 Marry My Dead Body 关于我和鬼变成家人的那件事 (available on Netflix). Spoiler-free thoughts below 😊:

❤️🤍💙 Red, White & Royal Blue is an American romcom. It has a 10/10 trailer—incredibly inviting. The movie depicts many women in power, I love that! Many witty jokes, nice! The movie might be better if it were a drama series instead; to save time, it zoomed through the falling-in-love part with the use of text messages—the production team packaged that as well as they could, but it was still too rushed. The ending left me wondering if there could’ve been a tiny bit more to make it feel more complete. Though the movie doesn’t score as highly as its trailer in my opinion, it’s still a decent movie.

(That reminds me of how That Musical Montage in episode 1 of the Heaven Official’s Blessing donghua made me super keen to watch the rest of the series, but it turns out that that was the best part. Quality-wise, Red, White & Royal Blue is overall better than the TGCF donghua though.)

👻👮‍♂️💓 Marry My Dead Body is a Taiwanese mystery + comedy + supernatural movie. Let me copy the blurb from Google: “Wu Ming-Han, a straight policeman who is homophobic and ghost-phobic, accidentally picks up a red wedding envelope while collecting evidence. He finds himself betrothed to the envelope's owner Mao Pang-Yu, a gay man who died under mysterious circumstances. The duo must work through their differences and join forces to solve the case, seeking justice for Mao.” (Real-life context: marriages between dead people and live ones are/were an actual thing in Chinese culture.)

I’ve just finished watching this movie, love it! Let me get the “con” out of the way first: I wish the movie ended differently! The ending was not unsatisfying, it’s just that I personally could have been more satisfied.

Okay, now I am free to gush.

This movie is HILARIOUS. Won’t describe the humour here, you can see it in the trailers on YouTube.

I love the unravelling of the mysteries (police cases). The feelings would not have hit half as hard without them and the exploration of Maomao’s non-romantic relationships (formed during his life) after his death. Even though I highly value a good plot apart from the romance when I read/watch something, I like talking about feelings more, so that’s what I’ll do.

I have Intense Feelings about these guys. They went from being Not Keen about getting stuck with each other to being really cute together—I notice that the movie managed to do this EVEN WITHOUT having them hold hands or do anything physical beyond that. That is crazy. Romantic physical contact is great, but if you can show chemistry without it, and with minimal flirting—that is exceptional.

(Side note: I think it would be harder to convincingly depict a heterosexual pair arriving at romantic feelings the way Wu Ming-Han and Maomao did: (partly) through constant banter and trading barbs. A man looking down on a woman would have come across as a lot meaner because the threat that poses is larger in the patriarchal society we live in.)

Wu Minghan went from casually homophobic to being on track for bisexuality for a ghost, such character development. The scene where Wu Minghan genuinely calls Maomao “my husband” for the first time is AMAZING, unexpected. At that moment I was like, oh my god, he loves him. Or at the very least, he has good potential. It had taken a series of hilarious strong-arming, including a close call with the loss of Wu Minghan’s family jewels, to make this dude marry Maomao, but now he’s calling Maomao husband—in that particular state, at that timing. I cried. I was smiling at many points throughout the movie, I also cried at some points. I said something similar when I wrote my review for Merman’s Fall: a book/movie that makes me laugh and cry will go at the top of my favourites list. Unlike my danmei list, my favourite movies list is too short for me to put Marry My Dead Body at the top or bottom, but it’s definitely in there.

#red white and royal blue #red white & royal blue #rwrb #marry my dead body #关于我和鬼变成家人的那件事 #關於我和鬼變成家人的那件事 #rwarb #I have no clue whether it is more helpful for readers if I write spoilery or spoiler-free thoughts when I write about books and movies #99.99999999% of people who see these posts probably don’t care anyway #if that is so #I might do as I please #I write to relive joy #my stuff

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missingn000 · 2 years

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PLEASE TALK ABOUT GOJO AND KASHIMO BEING CHARACTER FOILS

GLADLY.

surprising no one, this got extremely long. analysis below cut!

okay. as we know, gojo's true desire is for people to see him as a person beyond his strength. that he's more than just the six-eyes, limitless, The Strongest. he wants others to treat him like a normal person despite his power. in forming a connection with someone, strength truly does not matter to him.

conversely, as it stands in 32, kashimo doesn't care about anything except strength. their sense of worth towards others is entirely correlated with how powerful they are; nothing else matters beyond that. they traveled through centuries solely for the purpose of fighting the strongest person they'd heard of. it goes beyond just "the thrill of the fight" -- it's taking on larger-than-life challenges, pushing past their limits, and validating their existence through victory. becoming The Strongest is their end goal, and they believe that is the only thing that could ever be fulfilling to them.

gojo is far, far past that point. he finds fulfillment in forming bonds with others and protecting his loved ones, while kashimo currently believes that caring about people or living for someone other than themself is a complete waste of time. they don't believe they could find joy through anything other than violence, which is arguably not a real place in which to find joy to begin with. they're not open to the possibility that they could be wrong, that there could be more to life than fighting. while gojo is a very emotional person, even if he sometimes tries to hide it, kashimo locks away any and all genuine emotions before they have a chance to grow. 'emotionally unavailable' doesn't even begin to cover it.

as for their similarities: both of them are a fish out of water. gojo from how he was isolated most of his life because of his strength, while kashimo is new to this millenium. as kjk so rudely stated:

"Do not forget what you are: an outdated sorcerer with no one and nothing in a time they don’t belong."

there was a reason i used that word in kjk's sentence. belong. one of kashimo's major narrative themes is about belonging. and what have we stressed throughout this story? is belonging really about a time or a place, or is it about--

--a person?

the biggest similarity between gojo and kashimo is the fact that they're partnered with people who are quite literally the worst possible people they could care about. gojo erased toji's memories then stole his kids and now has to construct a lie in order to keep his life from falling apart, while mahito is literally a curse. at the time they were paired with their respective partners, gojo had resigned himself to the notion of being alone, while kashimo's first life was entirely alone, never having anyone they considered precious to them.

gojo knew he was in trouble the moment he started feeling attached to toji, but he proceeded anyway because he was so desperate for someone to see him for who he is and care about him as a person. as for kashimo, how is someone who has never cared about anyone going to react to the notion that maybe, just maybe, they care about an actual monster in a way that could severely impact their life and perhaps get in the way of them achieving their goals? gojo has a tendency to go into deflection and denial when faced with unwanted emotions. perhaps our electric friend may feel the same.

but while gojo's defense mechanism was to pull toji closer, kashimo may instinctively try to push mahito away. after all, why bother trying to form a connection with someone you think could never reciprocate those sentiments? whose very existence you reject? it's beyond an uphill battle, and it's not even one they want to fight. they currently believe they exist for the singular goal of fighting sukuna. they don't want to waste their time thinking about a different curse when they think they know how that would turn out.

as with all character foils in this story, their actions and outlooks will profoundly influence each other throughout their encounters. i'm really, REALLY excited to write more kashimo, and their future interactions with gojo are a huge part of that. look forward to it!

#having to protect the person you won't admit you care about from your own character foil #is one of the worst things that can happen to a girl #patchface & pikachu #tpg

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skrunksthatwunk · 1 year

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if you could pick one non-kazumaji ship to make canon, what would it be?

ok, this answer is actually pretty easy for me despite literally never posting about them. it's saemaji for sure

they're wonderful. they're everything. they're the ideal for folks who wanna throw their partners around/be flung around by their partners (me). their story is insanely gorgeous and has so much potential. the longing for decades apart, the uncertainty of betrayal, the reuniting after 25 years only to be torn apart again, the trust, the familiarity, and yet the pain over never being quite what they used to be, of missing so much. "we used to burn so damn bright" like. AUGH. im a real sucker for relationships with Context (i.e. they knew each other when they were younger and/or there's a long gap of separation in the relationship) and boy do they have it. and there's before the ueno seiwa hit, there's after when they're living in separate hells, theres post prison break where majima prepares to have his kyodai rip his head off, has been waiting for 25 years, and he doesn't, etc. like they have phases that are all just. mwah. if they were canon in a way that negated kazumaji somehow (i.e. "majima can't be with kiryu bc he's waiting for saejima 🥺🥺🥺") even if the logic wasn't that sound (polycule! polycule! polycule!) i would accept it completely and say thank you. they're incredible. i love kazumaji but saemaji is similarly powerful in ways not reflected in fan approach and content and that genuinely surprises me.

i also think they would be the most insane and potentially positive in terms of queer rep (the only het ship I really considered was akihana). putting the minedai fans (me) to rest by confirming it completely is also tempting, but like. they're close enough to me. i don't want to waste my wish on a relationship that's getting gay buried anyway. i like ichi's relationships but none enough to rival saemaji. i like saebaba but baba hasn't been brought back yet and i don't think he will in any major way. meanwhile saejima and majima keep coming back stronger and stronger and gayer every game and they're practically inseparable at this point they're married. they're larger than life and impossible to ignore and have so much to dig into and i think it would be good for them for me and for all of us thank you

#rgg #phenomenal question mwah thank you #im worried im gonna remember one way later and regret this somehow but tbh im ready. i believe in them

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fangirlandtheories · 2 years

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Hi summer, hi sad steve anon, love yall, this is for you :3

I just saw this most about steve harrington possibly dying and i thought “huh, hasn’t he had enough?” usually death is a release especially in the eyes of people, especially religious people, but something about him or any other character thats been there since day one dying to what has truly traumatized them to their core is heartbreaking. Steve’s death would be tragic, as he left such a mark on people like Robin and Dustin. They admire him even if they act like they don’t. It’s certainly not a relieving end of Steve’s painful life for them, its the pain finally getting its way.

If we look at headcanons and (kinda) fanon Steve, he’s got issues since childhood. All i can think about with him dying is how his parents would react. of course they would be upset, but would they be normal? How could they be as upset as a parent losing a child when their kid is practically a stranger to them. They didn’t raise him or took the time to actually learn about him. They don’t know the sweet, sassy Steve everyone else knows. They don’t know the work he’s done to himself to make him better and to fix the permanent damage they did to him. They don’t know the horrors he’s seen or the fact that he’s even been through them. This kid isn’t theirs anymore. I can imagine his friends, if they know how his parents are, would feel that the harringtons deserve the attention after his death or to be thay upset.

Thats why his death would be so tragic. It’s painful for him and the people who truly knew him.

Hey @caelestbliss, this hurt. I think that his parents are already emotionally distant enough to put on the 'stony emotionless grieving parent' faces but I genuinely think it would tear the group apart. He's such a beacon of growth and kindness that to kill him is killing something much larger.

Here's some secret knowledge about me: After watching the season 4 finale, I was very upset about Eddie, obviously, but equally so from a writer's standpoint because it felt very lazy. I had heard a lot about how it should've been someone from the main group because it's unrealistic that they'd all survive, so ready for what I would've done?

Kill. Dustin. Henderson.

He's the brain powerhouse of the group, without him they'd be in an actual bind, raising the stakes much higher. Imagine the tragedy of it as well because he was the only child of a single mother, you'd have Steve and Eddie mourning, the rest of the kids would be in a bad place because beyond being in a position of knowledge, he's very much the comedic relief, but also because it's one of their closest friends, Suzy who lives so far away without any chance of saying goodbye, etc. etc. Killing Dustin would be the thing that broke the group and as a writer, breaking the group is how you build the group. I don't want Dustin to die, that's important to mention, I would mourn him greatly but I would have a lot of respect for the Suffer Bros.

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child-of-the-cataclysm · 1 year

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Chapter Two: The Night

To this day I don’t know how he knew. The Sentricas were thought dead, and while my mother yet lived, her continued existence was hardly common knowledge. Perhaps the Crown agent the Silver Hand took me from had found out our heritage somehow, and in some desperate plea for his life given Nileas the information, bartered with me not only as a Child of the Cataclysm, but as the theoretical heir to the throne of the greatest of the Shattered Kingdoms. But I do not know.

Of course, the Sentrica name technically meant very little now, with the kingdoms shattered, the family dead, and all power scattered to the four winds. It hardly mattered, though. Any who could remember the time before the Cataclysm would remember the name, and the power it once held, and many who couldn’t would still know the stories.

My mother told me, as many parents did their children, of the Sentrica family’s rise to power in the days before. She told me of conquests and consolidation, great armies raised and great treaties forged. She did not tell me these things so that I would become over-proud, but because she wanted me to know where I came from, and that if needed, my name could serve to give me a legitimacy which might - just might - overshadow my nature as one of the Children.

Of course, Nileas could remember the days before. He didn’t need stories and teachers to tell him what the Sentrica were or how I could be valuable. But he also didn’t need stories and teachers to tell him the risk that I might want his throne for myself. In all the history my mother told me, the one constant was that a Sentrica always seeks the throne, eventually.

Nileas wished the other members of the Silver Hand a fond good night. He was prone to isolating himself from the band for periods, especially when some large plan or major machination had been proposed to them. I used to think that he was holding himself apart from us. In that moment, I understood it differently; I looked at the Silver Hand and knew they would want to talk about his newly revealed ambitions without him listening over their shoulders, and that Nileas, who I truly believe loved us all like family, did so to give them the room to do so.

I followed him away from the fire shortly after his departure. He was waiting outside his tent, sitting on a small wooden stool we had swiped from some odd cart a few weeks back. I never understood how he did that. I was the superior strategist by far, but Nileas’ ability to predict the actions and reactions of individuals was well beyond my ken.

Even sitting, and even with the height I had gained in my time with the Hand, Nileas seemed imposing. He wasn’t large, really, but his presence alone was grand enough to give the impression.

I sat on the ground in front of him, legs folded beneath me, and automatically picked up a twig, beginning to peel the bark off absent-mindedly with one hand. “I’ll support you, you know.” I said, half-terrified of the idea of Nileas thinking of me as an enemy. “Even with…” I fixed my eyes more firmly on the twig, furrowing my brow. “Well, you know. I’m with you.”

A small, sad smile appeared on his lips, then vanished, so quickly I wasn’t sure it actually happened. With a larger smile, less sad and close enough to genuine that Nileas’ charm could make me believe it replaced the first, he ruffled my hair with one hand. I grumbled a bit, but it wouldn’t have fooled Gerevor, much less Nileas, and so the grumbling did little but provoke a chuckle from him. “I know you’re with me, Khem. You’re one of us.” He pushed himself to his feet and reached down to me with one hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet and into a bear hug, warm and soft. “And I’ll be glad for your support.”

The days following Nileas’ reveal of his ambition to us were soaked in a gentle rain. It was odd - in the stories, the drizzle which we found ourselves in would always be an indication of sadness. We were, if anything, wolfishly delighted now that we had come to terms with Nileas’ reveal. We cackled to ourselves in rotating groups around the rained-out campfire about how Nileas and the rest of us would destroy the Crown and seize a place at the head of a new kingdom.

Riota spoke with a particularly vicious relish of ripping the nobility from their homes and parading them through the streets. Gerevor imagined a new city, with statues of each of us on each city corner, and laughed about how my statue would be so much shorter than everyone else’s. Lek and Metka were quieter. Metka did join in the fun, but with her past she did so understandably less boisterously, speaking only of how she would love to be a blademaster again. Lek, meanwhile, was at the fire more than anyone, but spoke little. I occasionally thought I saw a small smile cross his face, but I never got a solid look at it, and so discarded it as a figment of my imagination. I spoke of becoming Nileas’ warmaster, Gerevor joked that my eyes seemed to glimmer - less like silver and more like moonlight, reflecting the light of Nileas onto the Hand.

Nileas did not isolate himself again during these days, except to sleep. The Hand had had its time to talk about it without him there, and they had decided to support him, as ever they would. When he spoke of what he imagined, it sounded less like a fantasy and more like a certainty, and we began to believe it a little more every time he talked.

On the fourth day after he shared this with us, Nileas told us our first step. The driver of the cart he had taken his odd little stool from had told him of a caravan which was to be travelling from the capital, bearing directives and reinforcements for one of the border outposts. The reinforcements were a worrisome idea. The caravan was a juicy target, providing a great opportunity, but if it brought reinforcements, they would likely defend the caravan in addition to any dedicated guards.

I brought my problem to Nileas. He seemed unsurprised, and proposed that he might be able to put together a spell which could keep the reinforcements out of the fight, at least for a while. I thought about it for longer than I’d like to admit, weighing the difficulty of a spell like that as I understood it against the difficulty of the task at hand. Eventually, I nodded, absent-mindedly scratching down the early stages of a plan in a small journal Nileas had given me months earlier for just such musings.

The drizzle which had been constant in the last four days began to fade come nightfall. My musings had deepened into a semblance of a functional plan, complete with some small idea of what we might do if Nileas’ spell failed - or worse, came out wrong. It wasn’t perfect, and I knew I would need to continue puzzling it out for nearly the entirety of the scant days between now and the caravan’s departure.

A caravan was always a risky target, even when it was one of the smaller merchant caravans. They nearly always had enough present to be worth the attack, if you could pull it off, but essentially every caravan was at least decently defended. Of course, a Crown military caravan transporting orders would be even better defended under normal circumstances. The presence of reinforcements in the caravan, while worrisome, led me to speculate that the actual defenders of the caravan would be reduced, considering the reinforcements to serve that purpose effectively enough.

I couldn’t be certain, not until we actually observed the caravan, but I began to operate under the assumption that would be correct. If the reinforcements could be removed from the equation of the attack itself, even if we had to deal with them separately, the defenders signed onto the caravan itself shouldn’t be anything near to impossible for the Hand to deal with.

Taking stock of our options for approach, I gathered several of the maps the Hand had managed to pull together over their years of operation, and began to push through them, looking for ones which depicted the route between the capital and the outpost the caravan was travelling to. It was a frustrating thing to attempt - many of our maps were made outdated by the events of the Cataclysm, and an inordinate number of post-Cataclysm mapmakers were irritatingly inept. The first map I discovered which was up to date and depicting the requisite area seemed to show the distance as less than a kilometre, which I knew to be patently untrue. Furthermore, it depicted the road twisting around a mountain which, if it had existed, I would have been able to see from where our camp sat at the moment.

The process was long, but eventually I managed to find a map which showed the route I needed and wasn’t horrifically misaligned with reality. Spreading it out over the table, I clipped its corners onto the small metal clasps at the table’s corner, finding myself grateful that the Hand had managed to find a map table somewhere over the years.

Cracking my neck with one hand, I pulled my journal out from my inner pocket with the other. Opening the journal up to where my musings on strategy were placed, I set it atop the map table, placing a silver coin on the page so that the faint breeze wouldn’t flip it over. Looking over the map, I found that the route the caravan might take would necessarily split roughly midway through, moving through either a river crossing or a longer route which would avoid traversing the river.

My brow furrowed as I stared at the map. Most caravans would rather take the longer route. If there were a bridge, it would be perfectly reasonable, but fording a river was risky individually, much less with a full caravan. The chances of something going wrong were so much higher that it would seem improbable that any serious caravan would actually attempt it.

On the other hand, it was a military caravan. My lips curved into a faint smile, and I added to that that it was Crown military. They were likely to be more willing to accept a bit of risk, on the whole, even if it wasn’t smart. I stood straight, letting my head drop backwards to stare up at the heavy cloth above me.

Clasping my arms behind my back, I began to pace back and forth, considering the question. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that it was more likely that the caravan would attempt to ford the river - and we were on the other side of that river.

I came to a stop, scratched down a reckoning of the relevant portion of the map into my journal, and cleaned it all up, making sure each map was slotted into one of the chests at the edge of the tent. With more than a little spite, I sorted the maps into “useful” and “useless” as I did, and resolved to ask Nileas if we could get rid of the bad ones later. Clapping my journal shut definitively, I slipped it back to my inside pocket, and went to tell the Hand of what I had come to.

Upon hearing my strategy, Riota volunteered to go ahead and watch the caravan. It was an important role, and one which she was well-suited to. We needed to know if the caravan ever moved off the path - both the literal path of the road and the path which I had determined to be its most likely route. I probably would have chosen Lek for the role, given that his crossbow would make for a more effective flanking weapon in the case of the caravan going off-route and needing to be driven into our ambush, but it didn’t matter enough for me to speak up on the matter.

Nileas told Riota to go ahead. Riota had fiery red hair and impossibly pale skin, which made her stick out in a fashion the rest of us tended not to; although Nileas’ stunning looks made him stick out like a sore thumb no matter what he did, Riota stood out very differently. Some believed her hair was an omen of true-fire. Others believed her skin displayed some sorcery which kept the sunlight from seeping into her in the fashion that it did most. Of course, neither were true. Riota was no sorcerer, and while I couldn’t prove that no omens bore truth, she had been with the Hand long enough without any fires for me to know that one wasn’t.

Nevertheless, Riota’s appearance regularly required her to either don disguises or simply go unseen, even among people. It was hardly fair to her, but it had become such a useful skill among the Hand that I suspect it had become more of a point of pride. That skillset would naturally lend itself to her ability to observe the caravan unseen.

The Hand began to pack up the camp shortly after our strategy meeting. We were a mobile group from the inception, and while Gerevor grumbled about how we had to carry our tents on packs back in the day, the handcart which Metka brought with her when she joined the group can hardly be argued to be a negative inclusion. Without it, after all, the map table wouldn’t be a plausible fixture of our camp.

Our gear was packed into the handcart tightly enough that it would likely have been better suited to a mule or pack horse, but Metka never complained, even when I would hop up onto the cart for a ride. I had grown out of that habit by this point, and thought myself very mature for it.

Riota set out nearly a full day before the rest of us, with only her armour (black piecemeal leather which she claims she stole from an assassin and which Gerevor says she commissioned from a tanner), axe, and a small pack with food. She had smeared something black and foul-smelling into her hair, and a thin layer of the stuff over her hands and face made her look almost normal.

We set out come nightfall. It was our habit to travel in the dark. It was less safe, of course. Gerevor complained constantly about how he might twist an ankle. He never did, of course, but he complained all the same. Despite the increased danger, we were bandits. The benefits outweighed the risks, as we saw it.

Metka was always more wary than the rest of us about it. To me, it was essentially all I knew. While I could remember, in the faintest sense, how my mother and I would travel in the daytime, it felt… Distant. As if the memories belonged to someone else, or were being recounted to me by someone who had heard about it from someone else. The Hand and our habits were what I knew, now.

Our resident blademaster, on the other hand, was willing to travel at night, and would never complain about it, but reminded us each time that we risked far more than we might think doing so. I always thought she was overstating her case. After all, what horrors could possibly lurk in the night which weren’t around in the day?

We came across Riota on our second night. It was a horrific sight, and it would be burned into my young mind for years to come. I would avoid recounting the grisly details to you, lest the same become true… But I fear it is an important recollection to make.

Riota’s armour, so cherished no matter its origin, was crumpled around her, looking as if she had torn it off. She sat against the trunk of a tree, much of the black washed out of her hair, and the fire-red seeming limp and dead, with blood seeping into it making it seem less and less alive by the minute. The worst was her eyes - the shocking green of her irises and the deep black of her pupils seemed to simply be missing, her eyes a stark white which reflected each of us back.

She was still alive, though only barely. Her breath rattled in her lungs weakly, but it did come. I couldn’t see the source of the blood seeping into her hair, and while she had some scratches on her arms and stomach, they were light, about what one might expect from moving too quickly through strong branches. Her face and body both appeared sunken, as if the skin had been stretched tighter and tighter until everything between it and the bone had been destroyed.

I attempted to steel myself up after the initial shock of seeing her like this, but for all the violence I had participated in with the Hand, this was still something well beyond what I could take, and I found myself retching behind the cart.

Nileas’ sorrow was physically painful to behold as he knelt beside our companion, sister, and friend. No creature that beautiful should ever be witnessed in such a state. Gerevor sobbed quietly, leaning against the cart in shock. Lek’s eyes shimmered in a fashion that let me know he, too, felt the sorrow, even if he wouldn’t show it like us.

Metka stood stock-still, her hand tight around the hilt of her sword. Her knuckles, bone-white with the force of her clenching, stood out so far I thought they might burst from the skin. After all her warnings, it had to be Riota who suffered. I turned away from her, my stomach churning again. Metka’s wrathful expression was nearly as painful to think of as Nileas’ sorrow or Riota’s condition itself.

The two had been lovers, I know now. I didn’t, then.

Metal slithering across metal startled me. Metka’s sword was long, silvery and fine. The base of the blade had once borne the mark of the Crown, and while it had been buffed out and engraved with the image of a hand, it still looked the part of a Crown blademaster’s blade. None of us were truly surprised or threatened. Metka wasn’t planning to hurt any of us. This was her instinct - if something had harmed one of us, then she would interpose herself between it and the rest of us without thought, blade in hand.

The sound of a low, keening wail echoed through the trees. Its source was unseen, but the blood in each of our veins was chilled at the sound of it. By Riota’s appearance and the sound of that wail, it could only be one thing.

Nileas stood in a single, abrupt motion, Riota suddenly in his arms, her armour draped over her. He laid her out overtop our cart, gently placing her across the rolled-up canvas of our tents. His voice was cold and dangerous as he spoke, and we all stood straight at the sound of it. “We kill it. Tonight.”

Each of us gathered ourselves, knowing that doing so would hardly be as easy as saying it, but that with his tone like that we could not hope to stand against Nileas’ will. Nileas’ own sword, shorter, thin and fine, slid from its place at his side with barely a whisper. The four gems in its hilt sparkled with magical light.

A ‘thunk’ sounded from behind our leader, and he fell. Lek, crossbow in hand and evidently having just hit Nileas in the neck with its butt, looked at each of us in turn. His voice was soft, almost sweet, but twisted in the vowels in that wylding fashion that makes it sound just a bit wrong. “We must cover. Hide. Nileas will understand. The caravan is bigger.”

Gerevor relaxed, and I did as well, for a moment, before seeing Metka. The hand which did not hold her sword was opening and closing rapidly, grasping endlessly at nothing. Finally, with a frustrated noise, she slammed her sword into her sheath and climbed atop the cart, fumbling within our storage for medical supplies.

Lek hefted Nileas onto the cart as well, then put his crossbow on his back, hanging it from a bandolier he wore for just such a purpose, and grabbed the cart, beginning to pull it along the road into the trees. Gerevor and I followed behind, each of us with hands on our weapons and looking out on one side of the cart.

Our tiny procession came to a halt at the mouth of a cave. It was just barely off the road, and the road was still visible from its entrance, but the trees did well enough to keep it out of sight of casual passers-by. More importantly, its ceiling would cover us. We settled into the cave as best we could for the night. Gerevor, Lek and I took turns on watch. Metka refused to leave Riota’s side, whether tending to her or drifting off.

Halfway to morning, Nileas awoke. He was momentarily furious, and only when seeing our surroundings did he calm himself, realising what had come to pass. A curt conversation between him and Lek let me know even without looking that Nileas would be upset with Lek for some time, but the right choice had been made - or at least something close to it.

Lek knew better than any of us. The wyldlings lived beyond the Shattered Kingdoms, and terrors of the night the rest of us couldn’t dream of were daily risks, in their lands. Nileas’ intention was noble, in some fashion. While we were willing to follow him into it, Lek knew better than to fight a shrieker, if it could be avoided. And, I might add with the benefit of hindsight, revenge is quite near to pointless when the offender lacks the intelligence to appreciate your spite.

The night passed uneasily, but with the sun’s rise came safety, for now. Nileas told us to sleep, and took the watch until we would awake. Even with Riota in this state, the caravan would still be coming, and we could not afford to delay too long. As I drifted off to sleep, it occurred to me that the rain had been early.

#CotC

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childofthecataclysm · 2 years

Text

Chapter Two: The Night

Even sitting, and even with the height I had gained in my time with the Hand, Nileas seemed imposing. He wasn’t large, really, but his presence alone was grand enough to give the impression.

The two had been lovers, I know now. I didn’t, then.

#CotC #Child of the Cataclysm

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j-diamond · 3 years

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Score (Flynn x Reader)

“Flynn, we’ve been rowing for,” you pause looking around, "for nearly forever!” You sigh, “Flynn, where are we going?” “Somewhere.” He pauses looking at what you assumed was a compass, “anywhere.” He meets your inquisitive eyes and slumps, “Nowhere.” You pause, irritation beginning to settle in. “Flynn Ryder!” You throw the oars into the bottom of the boat, “I freaking knew it!” You groan, letting your frustration publicly be known. After a long pause you sigh, “Flynn.” He looks at you, puppy dog eyes at the ready. You chuckle softly at him, “I can’t lie, this is gonna severely impact your heisting score.” His face falls, “You can’t be serious!!” He asks, searching your face for an ounce of insincerity. You raise an eyebrow at his antics and he slumps again, “But I got the goods.” He grabs his satchel, revealing the stolen goods as if it would illustrate his point. :this is 24 karat gold!” You shrug, “What good is all that if we’re stranded? Definitely deducting major points.” Your face softens and you smile, “Listen I know you’re trying.” You caress his face, “But I won’t always be here and-” “What’s that supposed to mean?” He interrupts, his eyes catching your own. You raise your eyebrow, “What do you mean?” You look at him, genuine confusion on his face, “The bounty on my head is significantly larger than yours. At a certain amount, it’ll become way too dangerous for me to be around you. At that point I’d have to leave you on your own.” Your face falls when you see his, “Why would you have to leave me?” He asks, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through his eyes, the main one you’re able to read as concern.

“I’m sorry?” Your brows forough, “You’re my best friend Eugene.” Your pause trying to collect your thoughts, “And I care for you deeply. We’ve been through thick and thin for almost three years now. Basically since the orphanage.” Both of your breaths hitch at the shared memory, “If at any point my existence threatens your wellbeing, I’ll cease association.” You sneak a look at him, only to see his eyes nearly glazed over. You immediately look away, “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me, I couldn’t live with myself should that happen.” He grabs your hands, commanding your attention, “But I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt, and I wasn’t there to stop it.” His grip tightens, “And you may be more experienced, and older- only by a few weeks,” you chuckle at that, “But I think-” he pauses, “No, I know.” You watch his eyes looking at your hands in his, “I love you.” He lessens his grip, “and anything I do, I want to do with you.” He smirks, placing a kiss on your hands. “If you’re up for it, that is.” It’s your turn to stare at your hands, as a smile graces your face. You try to sneak a glance, only to make direct eye-contact. Your thoughts are calmed by the feeling of one of his hands glossing your cheek. You must’ve been crying. “So, with that being said, Y/n Stabbington, will you be willing to give yourself the honor of me being your boyfriend?” You chuckle, the mood shifting from his smug sense of wording. “Woah, The Flynn Rider, begging to be my boyfriend? If we weren’t in the middle of nowhere, you’d be drawing a crowd.” You put your finger to your chin, feigning being in deep thought, “Seeing as I have nothing better to do. Sure, why not? You can be honored by being my boyfriend.” “Well aren’t you kind?” He quips, rolling his eyes, “May I, your lowly, but handsome, newfound boyfriend receive a kiss from thy royal highness?” You roll your eyes, nevertheless you meet him halfway. Your lips collide, and a feeling of completion washes over you. Everything just seemed to fit into the right place. You pull apart, “see that wasn’t so bad” “Not so bad, but pretty bad.” You smirk, “But I’m willing to help you practice.”

“Eighty-four.” You whisper begrudgingly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that? Could you say that a bit louder?” He says, flaunting that same smirk, the one you find yourself mirroring, “Fourty-eight.” You say confidently, watching his face fall momentarily, “Which, in case you hadn’t known, is not a passing score.” You pretend to look bummed. “Wait. NO! My score was eighty-four. I distinctly remember you saying that earlier.” He argues, and you raise an eyebrow, “So why did you ask again?” “I just wanted to confirm that I passed.” “Mhm. Suure.” You roll your eyes at his behavior. “Not that it matters much though.” He looks at you, waiting for you to elaborate. “That score just means I trust you enough to be in charge of our heists. Doesn’t mean you’re actually good at heisting.” You smirk at him, and he mimics your face in a playful manner, “Ha, ha, ha.” He says dryly, “just admit you love me and you think I’m a good thief now.” “Well, I can say that I do love you…” you start, as you approach your hideout, “Not sure about that second part.” He rolls his eyes at you as you two, sneak to the basement where you hid all your treasure. “And I love you too.” He smiles, as he pulls you in for a quick kiss. “That’s all that really matters isn’t it?” A light blush settles on your cheeks, as you find yourself at a loss for words. “Cute.” Your eyes widen as you playfully hit him. “Anyways, I think we’re nearly there.” You survey your different piles of goods, “Pretty soon I think we’ll have enough to finally have a nice quiet place on a private island or something.” He nods, “A private island, all to ourselves.” He reminisces, “and by ourselves I do mean us, not your brothers.” You pull a fake shocked expression, “What? I can’t take Sideburns or Patchy with us?” You ask, pretending to feel sad at the news, “You don’t trust my older brothers?” He roll his eyes at your behavior, “I trust them as far as I can throw them.” He goes to sit at his desk, as he begins looking at floor plans. “Anyways, if we can manage to steal this crown, we’ll finally be set.” You nod, “Or we can just leave it alone. That’s the only thing they have to remember their lost daughter.” You suggest as you removed your blue vest, placing it on your chair. You didn’t really like the idea of traveling to Corona. He turns around to look at you, an eyebrow raised, “Sentimental are we?” He teases, “No, it’s just Corona is the place where my bounty originated, I’m pretty sure they have my face planted everywhere.” You walk over to a pile and pull out a larger bejeweled necklace, “This was their queens. I’d rather not return there. Plus they behead their prisoners…” His hands go his neck and he gulps, “You know, I don’t even think that crown is worth much anyway.” He says as he pushes the plans aside. The sound of knocking startles you and you look at Flynn. “I’ll get the door. It’s probably my brothers.” You say and he grunts. You roll your eyes at him as you finally approach the door, “Hello?” You open the door to find a piece of paper. You sigh, as you hear Flynn approaching. “What is it?” He asks and you show him the paper, “you can’t be serious?” Anger laces his tone, and you nod, “They’re my brothers.” You say through gritted teeth, “and as much as both of us dislike them, I have to rescue them.” He sighs as he grabs his satchel, “We have to rescue them.” He gives you a quick peck as you head out, “though they’re gonna owe us big, forcing us to travel to Corona.” You nod in agreement.

“I don’t care. We’re taking that crown.” Flynn states angrily as he paces the room, “They took the only person who I cared about from me, and so I will take that crown. Then they’ll have nothing to remember their precious princess by.” The brothers share a look, “Only because Y/n trusted you.” Sideburns says, and Patchy nods in agreement, “It’s going to take at least two years, to have solid plans.” Flynn gives them a desperate look, “I don’t care how long it takes. I am getting that crown.” He looks at your now empty chair. The only thing sitting there now was your blue vest. He places his hand on it, tears slowly rolling down his face. If this was the only way to honor your memory, then he swore he’d never take it off.

#flynn rider #flynn x reader #rider x reader #flynn rider x reader #eugene fitzherbert #eugene fitzherbert x reader #eugene x reader

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

Text

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

#gen.fics #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #userjennmish #userdorksinlove #userstarry #tuserari #plantdadcas #offbeattraxx #slipper007 #thisisapaige #lyntracks #deancas #destiel #college au #fic #spn #gen creates

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hrokkall · 2 years

Text

Okay I got several people egging me on so here we go.

Scrybe Classpecting below the cut (both for length and to prevent psychic damage):

Leshy: Maid of Blood

Class isn’t set in stone here, but... hey. It’s nearly two in the morning and we’re just going for it. Active class; maids create/create through their aspect and start the session with a surplus of it. Though perhaps unintentionally on his part (as he’s zeroed-in on the story rather than wasting time picking apart bonds with a microscope), he does manage to temporarily mend the rift between the other scrybes by positioning himself as the antagonist (and, in a literal sense, “creates” more blood by turning them into beasts as opposed to the menagerie of parts they were before).

Aspect wasn’t intended to be a reference to his game mechanics, but… hell, if it works out that way it works out that way. I was going to make him a heart player, but… heart tends to be a focus on the self/sense of self rather than the “heart of the story” as he would be. Blood is unity, in a sense, and... is that not exactly what he tried to do? A single unifying thread for the storyline, bending the rules only for the sake of flavor as opposed to what makes sense (and getting upset when his bent rules/general unbalancing were overridden by Kaycee).

Blood players also tend to be pretty good leaders (whether intentionally or not) which… is definitely shown in canon. In Act 3, though admittedly out of necessity, he’s pretty damn easily able to band together with the other two Scrybes that hate his guts (albeit with a common goal of destroying the fourth to reset, but... technicalities.)

Also blood players’ interpersonal relationships tend to be a disaster which. Do I need to elaborate on this. Even if you ignore the semi-canonical divorce he literally turns the only other beings on the planet that sort of understand his plight into wild animals.

As a final note, he’s really the only Scrybe in canon to have formed an actual relationship with a Challenger. P03 sees Luke more as a tool, the others confiding in him only as dying company. But based on the logs in Kaycee’s mod, the two were genuinely friends, and he expresses remorse when pulling her deathcard in game. Hell, they were close enough that he prevented the premature death of their world via Kaycee being unable to destroy the disk because he was on it. Wild. Anyway, moving on because this is getting lengthy.

Grimora: Witch of Doom

Witch... I feel like this is a given one. Active class, death motif, association with secrets and even-tempered personalities that give way to extremely powerful abilities. Plus, the class name also fits with her whole necromancy motif: while not being a formal spellcaster like Magnificus is, she still does have magical associations in the realm of the undead. Plus, witches tend to break the rules of their aspects a little bit. Doom is, fundamentally, an ending. Yet, despite being worn to bone and rotting flesh, Grimora and the denizens of her crypt are all very much alive even if she’s not a healer in of herself.

Doom is... similarly cut and dry. Not only does she (literally) bring about the end of the world, but she also seems to be the only one truly aware of what the OLD_DATA is (whether it be via Bone Lord proximity or just a general awareness that it is something that is so much larger than themselves and using it for their own gain is selfish at best and actively malevolent at worst). Fate’s chosen sufferers, but bringing with it a surprising amount of empathy (misery loves company, after all), albeit in a fatalistic fashion. Doom is sacrifice and... she (tries to, anyway) sacrifices the lives of everyone on the disk to prevent the “greater evil” from spreading.

I... don’t think there’s much to elaborate on this one, really. Little shorter in comparison to Leshy’s class analysis but this one I’m more confident in.

Magnificus: Mage of Light

I wanted to make this guy a seer. Legally I should make this guy a seer. But seeing as fucking no one knows what Mages’ deals are that seemed… pretty fitting. Also having an entire session full of active classes is… really fitting of the Scrybes. Not to mention the fact that each mage is (at least implied to, if memory serves) have given up one of their five senses. Magnificus loses an eye, which has to count for something. Still, a mage seems to have total control over their aspect in exchange for their plight, which I’ll touch upon later.

The aspect was a lot trickier for this guy, but I ended up settling on light. Fundamentally, Light is the aspect of knowledge. Seeking and seeking and digging deeper no matter the consequences just for answers’ sake: a very “ends-justify-the-means” sort of aspect. Even though Magnificus tries to obscure his intentions, a rapid pursuit of what will ultimately only hurt himself and those around him for sake of power is exactly what he’s doing. Light also has associations with seeing the future and luck: while the latter is absent, the former is a pretty damn big aspect of his character as a whole.

The only non-light trait he shares is his fundamental unwillingness to share this information with others (though it might not be unwillingness so much as “physical inability”. He does, after all, try to tell the player a bit about what’s going on... only to disappear from the game entirely unless he’s challenged at the end). Even his students are purposefully kept in the dark, ironically enough, but I’d be willing to argue that this ties into the mage class. Total control over an aspect means both giving and taking away. Deliberate obfuscation is just as much a “light” trait as it is a “void” trait, especially in the case of the Scrybes which... fundamentally are examples of these classpects at their very worst. In Magnificus’s case, an example that because he was willing to make vast sacrifices for knowledge that others must be willing to do the same for their own abilties (which obviously Isn’t The Case and wouldn’t be a one-size-fits-all solution regardless, but Magnificus chooses to deliberately ignore that because he can see the outcome).

P03: Knight of Breath

The Knight. Puts up a façade. Knows more than they let on. Ultimately uses that knowledge to protect either their aspect or themselves. Now who does that sound like. (Plus, two knights in canon are shown to have problems with alternate versions of themselves which… fits P03’s relationship with G0lly to a T.) (He could be a Prince too though tbh but this analysis is going to interpret him as a knight because. I’m not re-doing it. This shitpost has gone on long enough already).

Opposite aspect of Leshy because they’re foils. I was going to make him a mind player (which also fits pretty well) but as knights tend to ghost their aspect with their façade… I cannot in Any stretch of the imagination see P03 acting like a heart player. He does, however, put up the façade of a blood player—Leshy in particular. Hell, it literally builds bastardized caricatures of the other Scrybes and itself to seize a sense of complete leadership (as opposed to making its worker bots into bosses, which just presents too many damn variables. It wants to lead, sure, but having to forge bonds in order to get others to trust it and therefore follow its commands? Yuck. It’ll settle for making OCs instead, thank you.)

But mostly, breath is the aspect of someone untethered. Someone who sees themself as completely “distant”. They’re all code, yes—P03 is most familiar with this concept, arguably—but he is still different by design. Ironically enough, the others all need to breathe. He can hear it in the wheezing of Magnificus’s lungs, in the rise and fall of Leshy’s chest rustling the foliage racing down his back. Grimora doesn’t need to breathe anymore, but that doesn’t stop the rise and fall of her chest in sighs of relief. ...Quickly realizing this is veering into Prince territory again with the whole “lack thereof” an aspect. Lack of a freedom they all so desperately want to attain, but with P03 being the only one willing to ignore the repercussions to do so.

They have an invalid session obviously (because of lack of Space/Time players; not that they’d know that) and profusely blame each other for that fact. But even if they did have the required time/space player it wouldn’t work out anyway because they’re the scrybes from Inscryption. Doubtlessly remaking the world in their collective image wouldn’t appeal to them, and it would end up in an artificial stalemate over whose concept is objectively “the best”. They’d work together to defeat the Dersian royalty and that’s about it.

Bonus points: Kaycee and Luke would be space and time players respectively. I mean. Come on. Kaycee quite literally had a hand in creating their world, and with Time’s association with death... yeah. Luke would be a page though because he’s a fucking idiot. I say this affectionately but also because he’d never really reach a full realization of his abilities (which is almost certainly for the best). Kaycee... no idea. Maybe an heir? I like the concept of them being passive classes in contrast to the scrybes’ Four Active Class Shitshow.

#Stoat Speak #OKAY got that out of my system #Classpecting is not something I ever thought I'd do here but. Here we are.#I'll write an alt version with Prince of Breath 03 if anyone wants it but for now I'm calling this done #I'll just put an asterisk and say it could be a knight or a prince #I'm staying firm in his aspect though. Weird choice maybe but I think it fits #Disclaimer that I'm going off of memory here so if something's iffy that's on me #I have more ideas in this vein of thought but this post is already long enough #But feel free to ask for clarification I guess #Scrybebound

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strangerquinns · 3 years

Note

Okay okay okay so that Bucky fic you just wrote was avsksvamsha SO GOOD!!! Oh my god, seriously so good😍😍 would you consider writing a part 2 for it at all? If not though, totally understand, and I hope you have a great rest of your day!!

warning: language | part one

It took a while for you to heal, you stayed in the hospital for a few weeks before going back home with Bucky. You told him multiple times that you didn't need to stay in Brooklyn.

“I’m fully capable of taking care of myself, Buck” You sighed as finished signing off the papers for the hospital. Bucky crossed his arms over his broad chest before crossing his arms at his chest and rolling his eyes at you.

“And you’re crazy thinking that I am going to allow you to take care of yourself when you have three broken ribs, concussion, and other various injuries. You forget that you fell onto a moving car from a semi?”

“Calm down, your 106 years are showing, old man,” you teased before he looked towards you and rolled his eyes again.

But, secretly, you were more than happy to be with him. It took you only a couple of days to realize how bad your injuries were. Bucky made sure you had everything you needed. When he opened the door to his apartment and you hobbled in on your crutch, tears came to your eyes when you saw the furniture. Before there was only a small couch with a weathered table and a lamp. But now everything was fully furnished. There was a larger couch with a coffee table, a small dining set, a tv on a small console table. When you walked into the bathroom you could see that there were fresh towel sets. Your heart stopped when you saw the bedroom wasn’t empty anymore. Instead was a Queen sized bed perfectly made in dark blue sheets.

“D-Did you get all of this cause of me?” You asked turning around in the doorway to face him. He looked shyly down at his feet before blushing.

“Can’t have you sleeping on the hard floor,” Bucky spoke with a sparkle in his blue eyes that made them seem brighter and bluer. It was then that you fell harder for James Barnes. The genuine, flirty smile on his lips enough to make your heart stop.

You moved to balance yourself so you weren’t putting pressure on your sprained ankle before you wrapped your arms around him. Bucky froze for a moment before wrapping his arms around you tightly. You nuzzled into him and stayed there, enjoying the comfort of being in his arms. Bucky kissed the top of your head before helping you settle in.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to get into a routine. Bucky woke up every morning and made breakfast for you. You struggled only for a short while going through your morning routine before he came to help you into the living room. You loved how gentle he was, always making sure that you had everything you needed. There were times when things weren’t easy and you felt worthless, and like you were taking advantage of him. But Bucky always made sure to reassure you.

“If I didn’t want to do this, Y/N, I wouldn’t have offered,” He spoke from the chair off to the side of you, you sitting on the couch with a sorrowful look on your face, picking at the blanket laid across your lap. You didn’t respond, your lower lip only sticking out more as you sat there. Bucky sighed heavily before moving from his seat to sit beside you, his metal arm placed across the back of the couch, his warm body leaning into you. "Doll, it's not too much. I promise." His other hand moved to clasp yours, his touching breaking your resolve before you nodded your head and lean into him more. Closing your eyes as you rested against him.

Anytime Bucky left to help Sam with the Flag Smashers you always stayed behind and did the research for them. It had been over two months and you were becoming stir crazy. From doctor's appointments, you knew you were healed and you felt your strength coming back to you. Much to Bucky's disagreement, you were back out in the field. You trained with Sam and Joaquin. With the increased thefts and death surrounding the Flag Smashers, you knew it was only a matter of time before you'd have to get back out there.

You groaned slightly as you moved off the floor, feeling your ribs stretch awkwardly. Though they were healed there were moments that they felt tight and a little painful at times. Bucky stood watching from the doorway of the room, his face set in a deep frown as walked towards him.

"I know what you're gonna say...and I don't wanna hear it," You spoke walking past him and down the hall towards the locker room for a shower.

"You don't wanna hear it cause secretly you agree with me," Bucky spoke, keeping in step with you. "I know you wanna help, Y/N, but it's too early."

"My doctor says otherwise,"

"I don't care," He grabbed your bicep and turned you around to face him, his face bent down to be more level with yours. His eyes held so much concern that you could feel it. His hand stayed on your bicep as he spoke. "I don't know if you remember clearly, but you nearly died six weeks ago cause of these fuckers."

"I'm aware,"

"Are you!" Bucky yelled, feeling his temper get the best of him for a moment. He let go of you and took a step back as your eyes widened in surprise. He'd never raised his voice at you like that before. You were stunned and left speechless, but after a moment, Bucky continued. "I had to stand there and beg to god that he wouldn't take you from me because we were in the middle of nowhere and it took forever for the ambulance to get to you. And if you get hurt again, how are we to know it's not gonna be deadly this time?! You got fucking lucky last time, doll."

"I know what I am doing."

He chuckled with false humor and shook his head, "I don't doubt that. But I lose you....if you get hurt and that's it...I-I..."

His mouth opened a few times, his hands beginning to shake, ducking his head down to hide his tears. You frowned as you stood there for a moment before stepping forward and grasping his hands. Bucky lifted his head to look towards you again, before closing his eyes to hide the tears

"I will be ok, Buck. I'll have beside me this time."

Bucky's eyes snapped open and held slight darkness to them, "I was there, and all I could do is watch."

You tightened your hold on his hands, "This is gonna be different. I know you're saying all this cause you care and worry..."

He chuckled and moved out of your hold again, running his hand through his hair and tugging on his hair slightly. "It's more than caring."

"What?" You became confused "Like what?"

Bucky stood there for a moment, his back to you before he spoke softly. So softly you were almost unsure you heard him.

"It's because I love you,"

"I love you too, Buck."

"No, you don't understand." Bucky turned towards and you could see the turmoil he was going through, struggling slightly with himself to find the right words. "I'm in love with you, Y/N, and if lost you, it would be the end of me. I don't know if I can come back from that after everything else."

You felt your eyes water as you watched and listened to him. Your heart beating against your chest as slowly the words sunk in. He loved me, Bucky loved me, you thought.

"Bucky...s-say it again." You whispered as you spoke.

"What? T-That I'm in love with you? Or that I can't lose you?"

A small smile graced your lips, stepping closer to him as he looked down towards you. "Hmmm, the first part."

Bucky paused before speaking, "I'm in love with you, Y/N."

"Good," You reached a hand up and grabbed the back of his neck to pull him down to you more, "Because I'm in love with you too, James."

You didn't give him time to respond before kissing him deeply and pressing your body tightly against him. Bucky froze for a moment before wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss more. His tongue danced in sync with yours, soft moans coming from you as you finally knew what it was like to kiss him. Bucky was the one to pull away, pressing his forehead against yours as the two of you stood there at a loss for breath.

"Doll," Bucky panted, his blue eyes connected with yours and making you more breathless than you already were. He opened his mouth to continue, but he too seemed speechless.

"Bucky...don't tell me that was your first kiss since the 40s..."

A blush came over his cheeks, "I've wanted you for a long time, the only one on my mind since Steve brought you in, in Germany. Swear you left me speechless when you came to the airport with Clint and Wanda,"

Your eyes widened "Really? That long? And you never thought to make a move?"

Bucky tightened his hold on you and pulled you tighter to him, slowly shaking his head "But now that I have you, I'm never letting go. You come on missions with us, you do like Sam and I say. No going off on your own or taking risks."

"I can agree to that," You smiled before leaning up to kiss him again, already missing the feel of him against your mouth.

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