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l-in-the-light · 12 hours

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Hi, hope you have been having a great day! Your posts have always been my favorite, and they never fail to brighten my morning. I'd say it's the perfect way to start the day for me ^^

Today I have a question! Penny for your thoughts on Law and the Revolutionary Army? What might his stance and opinions about them be, and if he wasn't a pirate, would he consider being in the RA? (since there's little to no chance he would want to become a Marine)

Oh, hi! Now I do have a great day, because I read your ask ❤ Sorry that lately I don't post every day. Sometimes something else steals my attention, like sudden inspiration for a fanfic or some of my friends in need of quality time together :D yesterday it was an impromptu pokemon battle on discord with self-invented pokemons lol. I will take this opportunity to (again <3) thank you so much for enjoying my posts, I'm always so excited to see your reblog tags each time! :D

Law and Revolutionary Army, okay, let's go! *rolls up sleeves* I actually watched some analysis and theory vids about RA before, and I had a lot of my own reflection on them lately, so I already have an opinion about it. At times this might go slightly political, so a fair warning!

First of all, let's start with Dragon and his Revolutionary Army. Thanks to Robin, we know their goal is most likely the World Nobles (Celestial Dragons) and we know they have some longterm goals planned. They're basically gathering supplies, allies, weapons and information, and waiting for a good moment to strike. I don't think their attack on Marie Geoise was one of their ultimate goals in itself, because we learned they did it just to get Kuma back (their valuable ally and friend). Everything else was an extra, but they made sure it counts: destroying the symbol of Celestial Dragons (to declare war), cutting them off the food supplies and getting rid of their stock, freeing as many slaves as they could.

They're apparently still making sure the food supplies can't reach Marie Geoise, which we learned from chapter 1126. Interesting thing to note here is that they actually have an agenda behind "riling up rebellion in nations": it's to limit nations that will pay celestial tribute and hand them resources, in other words: to weaken their enemy.

Dragon declares he literally wants to collect his own army to fight for the better world, whatever that might mean to him. He was part of the marines once, but "found no justice there", so he left and created his own army instead. We can't really talk about Revolutionary Army without taking into account his stance on justice.

Seeing from his reaction to Luffy becoming a pirate ("Not bad!") and him and Akainu disliking each other, we can take some guesses here. Dragon's goals are probably: freedom for people, not allowing innocent people to suffer, making sure people in power do not abuse it (an army for hire sure sounds like a good method to at least make them think twice before overusing their power).

And what's their modus operandi when trying to reach these goals? Many people in fandom are frustrated with Dragon and Revolutionaries, because it feels like they're "just there", waiting all the time and doing nothing. They don't go around the world freeing kingdoms and fighting oppressive reigns, after all. What they do instead, is reach out to normal citizens and "ignite the flame of rebellion" in their hearts.

That's because Revolutionary Army doesn't want to be the ones who will win the war, they want the citizens to be the ones who will win their own country and freedom back, and RA will simply help them achieve that, remaining as support.

They're so interesting exactly because they try to empower those that are on the lowest steps of the hierarchy's ladder, they want to give power back into their hands, but for this to work those citizens have to wish for that themselves, try to fight back, and it needs to be their own decision to do that. The power they give them is the power to fight back, defend themselves and demand their own rights and independence. Revolutionaries show to people that common folk are also part of the system and so they have the right to decide how they want the world to look like, even if it's only in their small kingdom. And those of them that want to join the cause and change the whole world to become a better place, are invited to join the Revolutionary Army. That's how Dragon operates. He even makes it clear that it's his rule not to assassinate kings or overthrow them himself, because that's not his job to do; it's up to the people of the nation.

We can deduce that Dragon would rather avoid direct conflicts, bloodshed and anarchy (after all regular kings are not his aim!). What he offers people in need instead is that: an army for hire, and for free! But only to those powerless people who are oppressed. Now we should ask this question: as much as this all sounds very good and noble, is it really a good thing to do? Let's look at the consequences of the attack on Marie Geoise. It was aimed at Celestial Dragons, but who suffers hunger as the result? The nobles?

No, their slaves and servants instead. They would have to go around hungry because there's no way CD would go around hungry instead (and they make a huge deal that they miss ONE meal a day and snacks). And they're still as spoiled as ever! If anything, this only angered them and nothing more. For now, Revolutionary Army achieved only this: to make the life of slaves in Marie Geoise even worse.

Now let's look at Lulusia. Sabo getting involved with them caused the whole kingdom to vanish from the map (yeah, it wasn't his fault, but the fact this kingdom was before freed by Revolutionaries had influence on Imu's/Gorosei's decision). And then let's look at what they did to help Dressrosa: oh wait, actually, they didn't help much. Yes, they supported ciitizens, helping the injured ones and gathering them in safe places (not that there were any real safe places in Dressrosa's disaster).

They also did research and gather evidence from the underground port Mingo was running, which is interesting. Does it mean RA is gonna present evidence in a court against World Government? Or do they just want to trace back their sources so they can steal it for themselves? Anyway, RA did not fight Donquixotes though and did not fight the Marines, with exception of Sabo (and he got heavily scolded for involving himself in the conflict). Was that really the correct course of action? Is that what heroes should be doing? What would happen to Dressrosa if Luffy lost? Would Revolutionaries just allow everyone to die, despite being right there?

Which points me to my own conclusion: Revolutionary Army has lofty, noble goals, they want to help people who are oppressed, but they're not heroes. And they can't be ones. If you have an army, you're automatically disqualified as a hero, because you fight violence with violence, power with power, no matter how you try to sidestep that fact. I'm not saying Dragon is in the wrong, but... what he kinda yearns for is a form of utopia. People should be encouraged to step up and fight for their own good, they should have the means to do that, but what if what they fight for is a mistaken cause? What if years of resentment will lead the people to just keep on oppressing others as the result? It's a logical conclusion to that: you don't want to be oppressed, be sure to raise to the top so everyone is below you (and now you can opress them back). What if those previously powerless people will start to get back on the class that used to oppress them, like what the common folks did to Homing?

Giving power to common people is great, but it will not erase their hatred they collected for centuries, their rage for all the pain they and their close ones had to experience. If you want the world to be truly a better place, then it needs also education, damn, a collective therapy, besides just manpower in an army. But, you know, it's at least *something*, that's why I'm personally not judging RA. They do what they believe is the best thing to do, a first step in the right direction and they mean well, but I think it will backfire, because it's definitely not enough to overturn the world. And power has a tendency to corrupt.

And then we also have Sabo, who kinda went against Dragon's principles when he accepted to be called a Flame Emperor and used the fake news of King Cobra's assassination to encourage people for rebellion.

This might seem insignificant, but it's anything but: Sabo is part of Revolutionary Army, his actions affect RA's public image. If he didn't deny that he killed King Cobra, then it means killing King Cobra was RA's aim.

We will see how it goes in the future, but the recent "fractions" double spread Oda did (above) foreshadows that Dragon and Sabo will kinda go their seperate ways. Sabo took his stance, he wants to fight, not only watch citizens fight. Even if he did that mostly for Luffy, the consequences of that will be longterm.

Now finally I can switch to the actual question you asked: what would be Law's opinion on Revolutionaries. Remember my analysis on how Law taught Luffy what's "the right thing to do"? It was a lesson to always think of the consequences of your actions, to see the big picture. If you want to liberate a whole nation, you need to choose your battles, to strategize the damage, recognize the oppressor's structure of power and strike down the fillars of it so it collapses on itself. Law is a fighter, a commander, a leader. He will not avoid a fight or a war if that's what needs to be done, he won't leave those people to their own fate and will fight with them for the cause (not just offer support!), and he will do what he can to lead them to victory. And he will never accept credit for it. Officially, it's like he was never there, or just part of a nameless "pirate" crowd, no one important.

But if he can, he will avoid conflict and arrange things in such ways it's not even needed. That's how he wanted to get rid of Doflamingo, simply forcing him to give up his warlord status which meant he would have to leave Dressrosa. Just like that, without any blood spilled. But for achieving that, he doesn't shy from doing things that RA would never approve of: kidnapping people, making ransom demands, forcing people to give up their titles by his own actions. Also Law doesn't rile up any citizens, he leaves that up to others. Dragon would not approve of Law's methods, we can be sure of that. And I think Law wouldn't approve of Dragon's actions over Marie Geoise either (starving off slaves), because Law's MO is to always care about the consequences of the actions. In other words, I think Law would think there are better ways to achieve greater results, without hurting oppressed people even more in the process.

Wait a second, you might ask now, but what about Dressrosa? We get the Wano, but in Dressrosa Law didn't care even for a second about the citizens! Well, actually, I think he did initially, his actions and plan were meant to avoid any harm to them, let's never forget that. Later on he did throw it all out of the window for Luffy's sake, I won't deny that. Law might be hero coded but he's not a hero, at the end of the day, and he knows that, he's not a naive idealist like Dragon is.

Dragon voices no regret about starving the slaves for his cause (at least for now), Law on the other hand seemed to make a guilty face expression at the end of Dressrosa, seeing the injured people and ruins everywhere. And that's actually a good thing, that "reality check" is what keeps Law aware that everything he does and every decision he makes will have consequences, and sometimes you need to choose between lesser evil, because world isn't a pretty place, especially the world in One Piece. And idealism often isn't afraid to kill people for it's cause and not only doesn't call it a wrong thing, but calls it A Right Thing To Do. Remember Death Note? That's your unrestricted idealism 101.

Law might tell the Strawhats to just ignore the assault on one of the Flower Capital's districts, but he will never call it A Right Thing To Do. In fact, when Sanji says he can make it work, Law instead trusts him to do his thing. He's flexible in his ways, he always questions, but when it's needed he's firm in his decisions. He just knows sometimes he isn't doing the right thing, but he never loses the direction he aims towards, because if he always questions and seeks and rethinks it from multiple angles it's always for that purpose: to make sure he isn't on the wrong path and if he is: to change it or do better in the future. And seeing the consequences of Dressrosa and how the waves from that spread over the New World, it actually caused a lot of good changes: wars stopped, underground black market took a huge blow, and in longterm: warlord status got erased. And all of that? Is actually thanks to Law and his plan, that was literally the catalyst here. That's why it's 1:0 for Law when compared to Revolutionaries.

Now we enter speculation territory. I do think Law actually might be supporting what RA is doing. Let's think about it: how did RA know that Dressrosa has an underground port?

We learn they sent agents to Dressrosa before, but "they were all turned into toys" (that's revisioning what actually happened - they wouldn't know anything about the toys, because the existance of their agents would be erased from their memories). And they never answer the question: why Dressrosa? And my answer here is: someone had to give them that intel (anonymous intel, most likely) in the first place. Coincidentally they arrive in Dressrosa exactly when Law's plan is taking the stage. I don't think it points towards Law being a Revolutionary, because Sabo has no reaction towards Law, and Revolutionary army has no reason to hide their identities from each other, that's not how they operate at all. And I don't think Law actually cooperated with them either, because the conclusion after Dressrosa clearly took RA by surprise. They got weapons, they gathered important information, it's like this all was gifted to them by someone. And I think it's likely Law was the one who send them the intel, anonymously, or through someone else. Maybe he does support their goal of declaring a war on World Nobles (even if I think he would be kinda disappointed at some of the results of their actions). We saw at Sabaody already that Law isn't really fond of Celestial Dragons, human auctions and slavery; he was pleased with what Luffy did and he also took a stance by freeing Jean Bart.

Would Law join them in the future? I think he doesn't like to work under anyone. Luffy might be also the only person Law ever worked on equal level with. He acts and behaves like a lone wolf, especially when he says things like this:

That doesn't sound like a person who's on a leash, be it Revolutionary Army's, Navy's or Government's. Being a pirate gives Law freedom. If he's somehow with any of those fractions regardless of my analysis, it's just to use them to reach his own goals, just like he took and discarded his warlord status.

And like I said, I doubt Dragon would like Law's methods so Law would have to change them to be part of the RA (and I doubt the main problem here is that he's a pirate, if he wanted to he could have joined them anyway, they did accept former slaves that were pirates before). Also Dragon is playing the long game, and it feels like Law doesn't have that much time to play along with it, because his plans are always moving fast and cause really big ripples. It's not that he's impatient, but it seems like he can't really afford the slow game here.

As for the question you didn't ask: I actually think Law might be part of the Marines, in some way or form. Let's consider this: if he is aiming to overthrow such a big organization, what's the best way to do that? From the inside. Assuming his hate towards government and marines would stop him is not taking his resolve seriously enough, imo. If he is out for revenge, he will stop at nothing, because he is the last person to carry the memory of what truly happened to Flevance. His own resentments would not stop him, he would do that even if he would end up hating himself as the result. "Everything was for that moment", he could declare at the end of it (just like he does in Dressrosa), when he pushes the final blow from the place the Marines expect it the least: their own most trusted people.

Thankfully though he still didn't lose his heart, that's why he does have at least some brakes intact. That's why he cares for people. That's why he cares for consequences of his own actions. That's why he would throw his own plans away or tuck people dear to him to safety over reaching his goals. But he can never forget those goals or throw them away for good. We will see where his storyline will take him in the end.

Of course that's only considering the somewhat popular theories that Law is a member of Sword. I do think those have some really good observations, but the interpretation part falls flat. They got the dynamics completely backwards imo, because Law would not be an underdog to Drake. There, I said it!

#one piece #trafalgar law #revolutionary army #monkey d dragon #sabo #actually the idea of Revolutionary Army reminds me of the Resistance movement in Akira #especially when they called RA per radicals #I bet this is the inspiration Oda took it from #but imo he made it so much better #I don't even like Akira but I appreciate it's impact and some themes really hit hard #and Oda is a declared Akira fan

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chloelucia13 · 3 years

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Chapter 18: E Pluribus Unum

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x female!Henderson!reader

Prompt: You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: The horrid night at the hospital brought up many worries about you, especially for Jonathan. With the party’s advice, Nancy and Jonathan devise a plan to hopefully get you back to normal.

Word Count: 3720

Warnings: pretty angsty, a little fluff, language, violence, gore, discussions of possession and lack of autonomy, mentions of death, different perspective in italics

A/N: We’re getting close to the end of season 3! I’m thinking I’m gonna space these episode rewrites between some extra scenes I couldn’t fit into the story and some individual one shots, but let me know what you think! As always, my in box and tag lists and requests are all open! Love you!

Tags: @just-my-fandom @nightbu-g @neemonroe

As Nancy and Jonathan watched the creature shift form and trickle through the vents in the door, panic flooded through their veins.

Jonathan contemplated running back to you and waking you up, to beg for you to take control of that thing and save Nancy. But as he thought about it, the image of your panicked face flashed in front of his eyes. He saw how fearful you were that you were losing control, that you might put everyone at risk.

Ultimately, he decided that you being asleep was for the better, but that didn’t make this situation any easier.

He heard a thud from inside the room as he gripped onto an oxygen tank and began to ram it into the door handle to try and break it off. After that proved fruitless, he shifted his efforts to the glass window in the door, watching the webbing cracks grow longer and longer but the glass still didn’t cave.

The creature let out a blood-curdling roar as a herd of footsteps approached Jonathan. Defeatedly, he stumbled back and tried to heave in a few breaths as Eleven stepped up to the door and tore it from its hinges. As the door crashed to the ground, the creature turned to screech at the group that was herded in the doorway.

“Jesus,” Mike gasped as Max hissed out a hushed “what the fuck” under her breath.

The creature rushed towards El, who was now a few steps inside the room, and she quickly swung her hand to the side, effortlessly tossing the creature against the wall. Then another wall. And then the ceiling.

Screams fell from El’s lips and the monster’s pincer-like jaws as it collided with the floor, though it quickly gained its composure and scrambled to its legs. It began to crawl forward with a vengeance, but Eleven threw her hands forward and sent the creature flying out the window.

As soon as they heard the splat of the creature hitting the pavement, Jonathan rushed into the room to check on Nancy while the party rushed down the stairs. Once she gave Jonathan a reassuring nod that she was, in fact, okay, they followed the party down the stairs and out to the parking lot where the creature laid.

The creature dissolved into that strange coagulation of guts and gore once more before inching over to a storm drain and dripping down into the tunnels.

Once there was to remnants of the creature lingering on the asphalt, Jonathan’s worry shifted to you, who was still on the abandoned floor of the hospital.

“Y/N,” he spoke, quickly turning on his heel and heading back inside.

“She’s in there?” Max asked incredulously, her eyes tracking Jonathan as he nodded quickly before disappearing behind the hospital doors.

His footsteps echoed throughout the stairwell as he rushed up the stairs two at a time, pushing through the door to the third floor. Panic was clouding his brain, hoping that you were still there and you hadn’t slipped away before he could try and help you. God, he just wanted to make you okay again. Make you you again.

As he rounded the corner to the room where you laid, he could barely even feel his feet from how overused they were. Nevertheless, he pushed forward, calling your name as he entered the room.

Luckily, you were still on the floor, and the inky veins seemed to have faded from your skin. You were so still, so motionless, though, as you laid on the cold linoleum that it worried Jonathan.

He gently knelt beside you and rolled you onto your back, one hand cupping your cheek while the other felt for a pulse on your neck. Once he felt the stead thrumming under his fingertips, he let out a sigh of relief. His hand left your cheek to brush a few strands of hair away from your face, letting his eyes soak in your relaxed features for only a moment before pulling you into his arms and lifting you off of the floor.

***

Your eyes began to flutter open from the movement, a small sigh falling from your parted lips. “Jonathan?” you whispered, panic beginning to seep into your veins.

He glanced down at you as he walked, each limping step making your head loll slightly. “Hey, it’s okay,” he hummed, clearly sensing the anxiety that had took hold.

Your gaze flickered over every bruise that marred his face. “I’m so sorry, Jonathan. I couldn’t take control. I couldn’t stop it.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. We’re gonna get this thing out of you.”

You shook your head fervently, gripping onto his shirt. “Jonathan, you can’t. I’m gonna hurt you. I don’t have enough energy to keep the flayer at bay.” To say that you didn’t have enough energy was a sever understatement, though. You felt as though you’d been awake for days and had just run a marathon. Your body was screaming for sleep, your eyelids already beginning to droop.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Jonathan, I don’t want to hurt you. Please.”

As he stepped out of the stairwell and through the exit of the hospital, he softly shushed you. Your mouth opened to argue, to beg for him to leave you and protect himself, but it fell shut along with your eyelids as the gentle rocking of his steps and his voice lulled you to sleep.

***

The drive to Hopper’s cabin was tense and silent, everyone in shock of what had just occurred. That, and the fact that they were harboring the leader of the flayer, the creature that was on a mission to kill.

Jonathan had volunteered to sit in the back of Nancy’s car with you on the ride there so that he could keep an eye on you, and though Nancy gave him a look of worry, he proceeded with his plan.

He sat with your limp body leaning against him, your head resting against his shoulder and your open mouth fanning your warm breath on his neck. With his girlfriend in the driver’s seat, his mind wandered back to the night before when your lips were pressed against his. He thought about the many times he had woken up with you in his bed, when both of you had fallen asleep to a mixtape that was still in the tape deck by morning. When the sunshine fell perfectly on your face that had a ghost of a smile lingering on it. When your legs were tangled with his and your head was resting on his chest, warm huffs of air falling from your lips and mingling with his breath due to the close proximity.

He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt at ridding himself of the thoughts, though all he could see was that rare glimpse of peace that he’d witness when you slept.

With a huff, he looked down at your sleeping form and watched your shoulders rise and fall with steady breaths.

He wished he could see the flutter of your eyelids as you dreamt, but they were hidden behind a scrap of fabric as a precaution in case you had awoken.

Once Nancy parked in front of the cabin, Mike assisted Jonathan in carrying you out of the car and into the house. Gently, the two boys laid you on the bed of the spare bedroom that was tucked away in the very back corner of the cabin.

As Jonathan slowly closed the door behind him and locked it, Mike gave him a look. “What?” Jonathan whispered, tucking the key into his back pocket.

“You should probably tone down the heart eyes a little bit,” Mike advised, arching a brow at Jonathan.

Jonathan’s brows furrowed in bewilderment, glancing around quickly before stepping close to Mike and lowering his voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Dude, are you that oblivious?” Jonathan shrugged, and Mike let out a sigh. “It’s super obvious that you’re in love with Y/N-”

“I am not!”

Mike stared at him silently with a look of extreme doubt, and Jonathan’s shoulders slumped. “Just try to tone it down a bit, dude. For Nancy.”

Guilt washed over Jonathan’s features at the mention of Nancy. “I just... I don’t know what to do.”

Mike gave him a look of sympathy. “Whatever you do, just don’t hurt either of them.”

Jonathan nodded silently and the two boys parted ways.

***

You woke with a start, searching around the room with wide eyes and a racing heart. You shoved the heavy comforter off of your body and scrambled to the carpeted floor. “Hello?” you called out as you balled your fingers into fists.

The floor creaked with each step, but everything else was silent. “Hello? Where the fuck am I?” you called out once more, stepping up to the door and trying the doorknob. The door didn’t budge, and your breath new fell from your lips in short bursts as panic took over your body.

Your fists collided with the door a few times, letting out a scream of frustration when the wood didn’t give. “Goddammit, let me out!” You threw your body against the door, but the door still held strong. “What the fuck are you going to do with me! Let me out, you son of a bitch!”

***

On the other side of the door, everyone who had fell asleep in the living room woke up from the pounding and the screams. Each person glanced to someone else in the room, silently communicating their panic from the adverse reaction you were displaying to being confined into an unfamiliar room.

Jonathan and Nancy quickly rose from their spot on the couch, Jonathan signaling at everyone to stay quiet while Nancy grabbed onto the rope that they had found the night before. Silently, both teens approached the door with caution and light footsteps.

*** Your outburst easily tired you, and you stumbled back onto the bed with a huff, your gaze fixed in a glare on the door.

It seemed to be only moments later that the door creaked shut, two figures slipping through the opening before slamming it shut once more. The two people slipped into the crack of sunlight that shone through the blinds, revealing themselves to be Nancy and Jonathan.

“Get away from me,” you hissed, shuffling back into the furthest corner of the bed. The two exchanged a look before Jonathan turned his back and headed over to the desk in the room that was accompanied by a wooden chair.

Nancy gripped onto your ankles and pulled you out of the corner, dragging you against the sheets and causing them to bunch up underneath you. You let out a growl and kicked with all your might, but she had already tied a quick knot around your legs. With another harsh tug, she yanked you off of the bed and onto the floor. You let out a gasp of pain, feeling all of the air escape your lungs and leave you winded.

Jonathan pulled the chair away from the desk and set it behind you and Nancy before rushing over to Nancy and assisting her in lugging you onto the chair. With your free hands, you gripped onto Jonathan’s shirt and tugged with all your might in an attempt to pull him to the ground, but to no avail.

The two sat you in the chair, and Nancy quickly freed Jonathan’s shirt from your grip. A huff left your lips as Nancy yanked your arms behind your back, tying them together before knotting it to the chair. “Let me go,” you said simply, showing no emotion whatsoever. Jonathan clenched his jaw, handing Nancy the other set of ropes for your legs. “Oh, I’m getting the silent treatment now?” You shook your head, leaning forward as much as your binds allowed you. “I said. Let. Me. Go.”

“Just ignore her, Jonathan. It isn’t her,” Nancy said, finishing up the binds on your legs before pushing herself to her feet. “I’m gonna get the heaters.” With that, she left.

“Isn’t her? Hell, I’m just voicing her concerns, her needs. And what she needs is for you to let her go. You don’t wanna break her heart, do you, Johnny? Not like all the other times you had?”

“Shut up,” he hissed through his teeth, eyes trained on the blank wall behind you.

“Oh, he speaks!” You flashed him a sinister smirk. “And why exactly should I shut up? I’m just speaking the truth-”

“You don’t know the truth-”

“Oh, but I do. I have access to her thoughts, her memories, everything. Like I said, I am her. And god, did you hurt her. When you saved Nancy from the Upsidedown but not her. When you ditched her for Nancy all those times, so you could ‘help Nancy,’ when little miss Y/N was the one needing help all along.”

He gulped, clenching his fists.

“All the times she let you run off to do god-knows-what with Nancy while she watched the kids. Watched your own brother.”

“I said, shut up-”

“You know she wished she died that night, in the tunnels. She didn’t want to be the sad damsel in distress anymore, didn’t want to be saved.”

Tears began to cloud his vision, and he turned on his heel to face the opposite wall.

“She wished she was with you. Wished she was in Nancy’s spot, helping you and your brother. But no, she had to go with the kids and Steve, had to be on the brink of death. She had to wait for you to help her, the thing she dreaded the most. You seeing her weak.”

“You’re lying. S-She doesn’t feel that way-”

“Then why do you feel so guilty? It’s tangible, I can almost taste it.” You leaned back, eyes trained on the back of his head. “And then you got a job at the Post with little Miss Nancy, leaving Y/N to work at the public pool with Billy. Leaving her to get possessed by the flayer. By me. Can’t you see, Johnny boy? This is all because of you. All her pain, her aching, because of you.” You chuckled softly, a sinister sound that reverberated in your chest. “Because of you, she was left vulnerable, open to being taken by me. I could tell, no matter how many times she cried for you, for anyone to help her, she needed this. She needed this little… Boost of confidence, let’s say. A lack of a filter.”

He sniffled, shaking his head softly. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“You don’t have to, but I know you do. Because you know it’s all true.” You wiggled your fingers and toes, trying to get some circulation back into them. “You know that saying, sober thoughts are drunk actions? Think of me as the alcohol. I take her over, get rid of her filter, and let the truth run wild.”

He spun back around and stepped towards you, crouching down so he was eye-level with your face.

“That’s it. Look at what you did to her. Look at the scars.” You pursed your lips, smirking slightly. “She scares people. She doesn’t want to go outside, doesn’t want to be a spectacle, a walking freak show.”

“She’s not-”

“Did she ever tell you that she has to wear glasses because of her eye?” He shook his head. “She’s too scared to wear them around you. Doesn’t want to seem weird. She has constant headaches because of it, because she can barely see out of her one eye without them.”

His lower lip quivered slightly, his hand inching up to cup your face.

“She can hear you, Johnny. She can see you.” Another bone-chilling laugh. “She’s begging me to stop, but what’s the fun in that?”

“Screw you.”

The door squeaked open and shut, Nancy stepping in with a couple more heaters. “Sorry it took so long, I had to dig them out,” she explained, stopping when she took notice of the odd scene in front of her.

“Good. Let’s get this out of her,” He sighed, standing up straight and helping Nancy plug everything in.

You sat silently, a near-pout on your face as the pair worked on plugging in the multitude of heaters that Nancy had found. “I didn’t know you wanted me gone so badly,” you sighed, giving Jonathan a puppy-dog-eye look as he risked a glance at you.

The room already began to feel at least ten degrees warmer as all of the heaters got to work, and you glanced down in disdain at the sweater and jeans you wore. Nancy and Jonathan took a seat on the bed, their eyes trained on you as if you were a caged animal.

“So what did you guys do the last time you watched someone get exorcised?” you hummed, that fake smile settling on your lips once more. “Did you makeout, maybe sneak off to do god-knows-what together? It seems that that’s what you both are best at when people need your help.”

Nancy’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” she whispered, clearly bewildered by your bold statement.

You cocked your head to the side, feigning innocence. “Don’t you remember? Last year, you and Jonathan had gone off and disappeared while little Will was basically on his deathbed. All he needed was an older sibling, someone to comfort him, and Y/N, had to take up that role because you two were too busy.”

“We were trying to get justice for Barb-”

“And as a result you almost got everyone killed.”

“Shut up!” she screamed as she shot up from her seat and leaned close to you, close enough for you to see the sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. “If you say another word, I’m duct taping your mouth shut.”

You clenched your jaw and stared her in the eye, your chest heaving with heavy breaths. Jonathan reached forward and gripped onto Nancy’s forearm, prompting her to look back at him. They exchanged a glance and she contemplated their silent conversation for a moment before settling back down onto the bed.

The room grew warmer and warmer and the tension grew thicker and thicker. Everyone had stayed silent during that time, but that didn’t mean that you were shooting glares at the pair the whole time.

But that heat definitely began to worm its way between you and the flayer, acting like a knife between flesh and meat as it slowly cut away the flayer’s vicelike grip on you. However, as the flayer’s hold on you began to slip away, the days of sleep you’ve missed started to catch up with you.

Your eyelids drooped as sweat trickled down your face, your breaths ragged and hitched from the dry heat and lack of water. “Jonathan, Nancy, please just let me go,” you cried, weakly wiggling your hands and feet in their restraints.

“Y/N, you know we can’t,” Nancy answered, looking away from you so she wouldn’t feel guilt from the state you were in.

Nancy and Jonathan were suffering too, sweat making their clothes cling to them like a second skin. But they knew that if you were stuck in this miserable heat, they had to be too. They had to save you, no matter what it took.

Tears welled in your eyes and you let out a tired cry of frustration. “Please! I-I can take control of the mind flayer again and I can keep it from you guys! I can kill it! Please, just let me go!”

Nancy could tell that Jonathan was weighing the outcomes of each option, clearly caving in from the guilt and the heat. “Y/N, we need to get this thing out of you,” Nancy spoke up. “You only have so much control. We can help you.”

“You can’t help me!” you screamed, startling the pair and making them recoil slightly. “Just let me go! Let me go, you sons of bitches!” You began to violently thrash in the chair, prompting the two to get up and try to hold you down. Your screams grew louder when the attempted to restrain you, and they shared a horrified look when those familiar inky veins began to snake up into your skin.

Your strength grew as the flayer slowly slipped into power as a last ditch effort to continue inhabiting its host, and with one quick yank of your arm, the binds snapped from your wrist. Nancy scrambled to pin your wrist down, but once your other hand freed itself from its confines, both Nancy and Jonathan knew that their efforts were fruitless.

Jonathan rushed to help Nancy, both of them wrestling to keep you restrained while you fought against them with all your might. Your sweat-slicked skin seemed to prove advantageous as you quickly slipped from their grip, yanking the binds around your ankles and breaking them free.

The pair shared a panicked glance as you rose from the chair and shoved them both off of you. “Leave me alone,” you growled, your voice uncharacteristically deep as those black veins protruded from your skin. “Or there will be consequences.”

Jonathan hurried over to you and gripped onto your wrist, giving one last effort to try and help. That clearly was a mistake, though, as you snatched your arm back and landed a quick right jab to his jaw. He stumbled back and clutched his jaw, but as he looked up at you, a flash of guilt and fear could be seen in your eyes. It left as soon as it came, and he hopelessly watched as you slammed your fist into the window and escaped through the newly made exit.

***

Your eyes drooped with exhaustion as you sat on the landing of the stairs, head leaning against the railing as you stared out at the crowd of the flayed that were neatly lined up in single file rows.

“That-that girl,” he spat, pacing back and forth behind you. “She caused all of this.”

You nodded slowly, your face blank and emotionless.

“But we’ll win. Soon, we’ll talk control. We’ll end her, them, everyone. Everything will be ours.”

“When?” you hummed, slowly lifting your head from the railing to look up at him.

“Soon.”

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

Text

Major Buir (Plo Koon x reader)

{masterlist}

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Unedited, Plo Koon trying to flirt but not quite understanding how to make the swoon, Wolffe being the embarrassed son, potential second hand embarrassment for the reader because I think that Plo is very sweet but is not well versed in the art of flirting. Clones being dumb and cute. Angry Wolffe, potential fluff overload-I got a little carried away.

Notes: Yeeee it’s my first time writing for Plo-would it be wrong to tag?...I’m gonna do it. @a-dorin , I would like to thank you for inspiring me to write this. I find myself steadily becoming a Plo simp and your fics have only accelerated my downward spiral.

Also, this was only supposed to be about 1.5k words...woops

……………………………………

“From this, we can conclude that the remnants of the Ehterium cluster supernova would provide a suitable route around this Separatist controlled rat’s nest.” You sniffed carefully and lowered the pointer to tap against the ground but it landed on your foot. Swiftly, you moved it again so it actually tapped against the durasteel floor of the briefing room. A few chuckles slipped from the gathered cloned men and Jedi generals currently scanning over your notes on the holomap that had witnessed the little slip-up. “Though I can understand the hesitance-which is why I have also taken the liberty of charting a different course around the cluster entirely. It would take much longer though and would put you in more danger in the long run as you’d be exposed and out of range for too...long.” You trailed off, suddenly self-conscious of the overuse of the word ‘long’. Even though you’d worked for the GAR since the start of the clone wars (and technically before that if you counted all the academy training) you’d never gotten the hang of the ‘intimidating analytics and tactician officer’ schtick despite trying. You were often compared to a little mouse in the academy-even when you were wielding a blaster. But that hardly mattered when you were one of the top tacticians in the army and the Jedi were very kind to you. Especially General Plo Koon. He was incredibly patient with you as you adjusted to life with the 104th after being transferred from the 205th and he gave off this very warm and loving vibe.

And thankfully your new general was among the Jedi present-calmly looking at you with hands clasped behind his back, respectfully silent as the other masters muttered over the maps you’d provided. You met his eyes uncertainly. While it wasn’t like this was your first time pitching a new tactic to a general it was the first time you’d ever pitched an idea to so many people (eight, to be exact) that were so high ranking. The room was currently occupied by yourself, Depa Billaba, Obi Wan Kenobi, Cody, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, Commander Wolffe, and Plo Koon and while none of them were ever rude to you it was hard to not be intimidated. You weren’t the one that had to go through with this plan-they did. They were the ones in danger. Sure, you could lose your job but they could lose their lives. So, you looked to Plo Koon as he would be sure to tell you what he thought.

Perhaps he was so open with you because he could read you better than anyone else? He always knew what you were thinking and knew exactly what to say to help you. If you were honest, it was no wonder why you two were fast friends. And it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that certain feelings had crept up on you. Although you had resigned yourself to never act on them for both of your sakes there was no helping the admiration that prompted you to value the Kel Dor’s opinion over anyone else’s. And just like so many times before, it seemed like Plo knew this for he offered a single nod to you when your eyes met. The tension fled from your shoulders instantly as a silent sigh of relief slipped from you. Plo Koon approved. You had done good. He knew how hard you had worked on the new plans and could cite several instances where he had stumbled upon you slumped over your desk as the testimony to your dedication. Each time the Kel Dor quietly lifted you to your feet and encouraged you to leave the work for the next day as he escorted you back to your quarters. Once the two of you got there, he’d always, always place a secure hand on your shoulder with a squeeze that just barely made his talons dig into your greys as he bid you goodnight before sweeping away with one last order to get some sleep tossed over his shoulder. It was similar small gestures like those that gave you hope that were your situations different-he being a normal citizen like you and not a Jedi with no trace of war-that maybe something could happen. But alas…

“I must say, Major, I do believe you’ve outdone yourself.” Kenobi was the first among the Jedi to speak with one hand clasping his chin and the other clasping his elbow in typical Obi Wan fashion as he scanned over the details once more.

You dipped your head with a carefully practiced, “thank you, General” as your immediate reply though deep inside, your pride swelled. This was possibly your most ambitious plan yet and one that had presented significant challenges. While you were a good tactician, your strong suits lie in terrestrial combat and not space. It felt great to be validated.

“Yes but…” Depa Billaba began with her arms dutifully crossed over her chest as she scrutinized further, “what are we to do about this asteroid field that cuts through our path?” The Jedi asked calmly and you brightened at the mention of it because you had banged your head against it every which way. The asteroid field was the one thing you couldn’t accurately account for as the data you had received on it initially had been outdated. And you explained as much to her.

“However, I am happy to tell you that I may have found a way to...acount for this hazard.” You cleared your throat and leaned over the console to zoom in on the area in question. “This asteroid field is large, messy, and problematic, and had you asked me how to avoid it earlier I wouldn’t have had an answer. But, I think that the best course of action is to separate-to make it look as though the three of you-” you pointed to the generals you were specifying, “are escorting Depa Billaba till she comes in range with the nearby medical station. That way if any Separatists follow you, you can still maintain the element of surprise because I know that if we can make General Billaba’s starship appear vulnerable that they will go for it. Worst case scenario, you dust off the guns a little preemptively. Best case-” again, you clicked another button that revealed a dotted red path through the holo projection, “you can use the asteroids as extra cover while you navigate through this path.” You paused a moment, eyes shifting to gauge the reactions of everyone. From across the table, your eyes met with Commander Wolffe’s who raised an eyebrow at you. “Clone intelligence has informed me that this path might be outdated as well but we will be active on the comms to offer guidance through the field as you go.” Commander Wolffe gave a firm nod and, again, the Jedi and clones retreated inwards to try and think of any situations that they would need to be prepared for. In the weighted silence that followed, you were keenly aware of Plo Koon drawing closer to you as he methodically circled the console before you. His hands remained clasped behind his back the entire time and you couldn’t help but watch him as he approached.

He came to a stop right next to you-close enough for your arms to brush and for his warmth to seep through the fabric of your greys. Plo Koon remained quiet for a little longer, leaving you more time to fight the instinct that told you to lean closer to him before he moved his arms. His taloned hand brushed the back of your own and his vambrace bumped your forearm as he brought his arms up to cross over his torso. You couldn’t help but dwell on the feeling of even that minuscule contact which almost caused you to miss the compliment he paid your way.

“Uh...th-thank you, General.” You coughed into your fist in a not so subtle way to correct your stutter. “But really, my plan is only good because my data was good. You should really thank your men that got me the information.”

The Kel Dor made a huffing sound that would have sounded like a laugh if not for the heavy overlay from his mask. “Believe me, Major, I will but you do deserve some of the credit.” He stressed, even going so far as to grasp your shoulder very briefly. You could still feel the imprint of his touch when he moved his hand away.

“Anakin, you’re being unusually quiet.” Obi Wan saved you from further implosion as he addressed his former padawan. You and Plo Koon both turned your attention back to the other occupants in the room and you were unsettled to find General Skywalker’s eyebrows furrowed in scrutiny as he glanced between you and the Jedi Master. Perhaps more alarming though was Wolffe’s face. He was staring at Plo Koon with what you could only describe as a bug-eyed look.

“Just thinking, master.” Skywalker eventually answered. Your jaw tensed in uncertainty though the younger man said nothing more regarding the visual dissection of your interaction.

The meeting continued for a few more minutes with you working to finalize the more minute details and to take measures to establish backup plans that would most likely be abandoned by the Jedi at the first sign of conflict and the Jedi began to disperse with their own CO’s. Eventually, that left just you, Wolffe, and Plo Koon. At the first sign that the meeting was adjourned, you began to pack your things up and to log off the computers but instead of leaving you to your own devices like you thought he would, Plo Koon remained with you. He casually waited at the console you had left him at with his hands clasped before his diaphragm, a common gesture for him you’d noticed, while Wolffe awkwardly hovered near the door.

“Was there anything else you needed, General?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder at the Kel Dor. He stood up straight and approached with light footsteps.

“Not particularly, Major, but I would like to congratulate you once again on another excellently thought out plan.” Plo Koon’s voice was as calm as it ever was but there was something there-a slight lilt you weren’t familiar with or maybe it was better described as a squeak? Slowly spinning on your heel, you turned to face him.

“Well,...thank you, General. It...It’s my job.” A part of you swore at your inability to take a compliment properly while the other parts were all focused on Plo Koon. Sure, he’d complimented you on your plans before (he did during the meeting) but he had always reserved the more serious praise for after the missions and the debriefings. He’d never stayed after the preliminary meetings.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you called me Plo Koon-it feels far too impersonal to be addressed as ‘general’ outside of meetings.” The Kel Dor explained with a raised hand to stop you from saying anything else till he had said his piece.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Before eventually sliding your gaze over to Wolffe who had a hand clasped over his eyes. That gesture only added kindling to the confused fire as you returned to the man in front of you. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss-his mask looked in place and to your knowledge, he hadn’t been in the medbay recently. “As...whatever you wish...Plo.” You swallowed, his name-something you’d said in your head thousands of times before-felt foreign on your tongue. “You can of course call me ‘Y/n’...then.” You offered uncertainly.

“Of course,” he echoed with a nod. “I’ve always thought your name fitting.”

“Thank you…?” You asked uncertainly.

“I just mean that it is a strong name and you bear it well.”

“...” Again, you couldn’t help but look over at Wolffe who had taken his face in his hands in what could only be described as a picture of absolute mortification. His helmet was awkwardly squished into his chest as he shook his head from side to side, lips moving as he formed words you couldn’t hear from where you stood. “I...uh...I like your name too, Plo. It’s gentle…?” You tried as you returned your attention to the Kel Dor and raised one shoulder in a half-shrug.

He brightened, back straightening up as he continued to regard you. “Thank you, I’m rather fond of it myself.” A silence fell over the two of you-horribly tense and laced with an awkward air you had no way of dissipating anytime soon. Averting your eyes from the Jedi, you rolled your lips in and bit them as you fished for something else to say.

“Is...are you sure there wasn’t anything you needed, General?” You finally asked after shifting on your feet for the third time.

Plo Koon shook his head, less in a form of denial and more like he was trying to shake himself out of a stupor before answering. “I’m positive but while we’re on the subject of names I feel it is important for me to inform you of the new one circulating amongst my men.”

You raised your eyebrow at the Jedi, not missing the way Wolffe froze entirely. “A new name for me or…?”

“For you.” Plo nodded. “It seems as though they’ve taken a liking to calling you ‘Major Buir’.” There was something in his voice that told you he was smiling (or the Kel Dor equivalent of smiling) beneath his anti-ox mask.

“Buir?” You questioned as your mind raced to dig up a definition for the Mando’a word you’d heard assigned to the Jedi on multiple occasions. “As in what the Wolfpack calls you?”

“Indeed. Are you familiar with Mando’a?”

“After fighting alongside the clones?-of course, but I’m afraid most of the terms I know relate to fighting, tactics, or swearing.” You explained promptly with a glance to Wolffe at the mention of his language-the clone in question looked frozen in his spot and it seemed like he was no longer alone as you could swear you saw the familiar red hair of Boost and the silver of Sinker ducking behind the doorway.

Plo Koon suddenly leaned forward, getting closer to your height as his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Buir is Mando’a for ‘parent’, Y/n.” Immediately, it felt as though someone had locked you in carbonite-your heart was still warm as it surged with affection for the men of the 104th yet at the same time your body felt the familiar frozen tingle that so often accompanied the sensation of treading through uncharted territory. You were keenly aware of Plo Koon’s proximity and the way your heart sped as a result. In an attempt to combat this you took a deep breath to steady yourself and regain control over your vocal chords. But that was a mistake as Plo’s natural scent infiltrated your senses. He smelled of leather and fresh air, of tea tree and some other piquant scent you couldn’t name that you knew was the remnant of one of the contraband candles he had hidden aboard the ship. It was so him-something the standard issue GAR soap couldn’t hide-that it overwhelmed you in an instant and you found yourself leaning closer. He, a flame, and you, a moth.

Your lips parted slightly as your face relaxed and you swore that you’d never felt calmer. It felt like someone was wrapping you in a hug; you felt safe, wanted, and adored. “But...if they call you that and are now calling me that…” you began through the sudden dwam your mind floated in. The pieces were starting to fall into place. “Then...General Plo Koon,” your voice suddenly became firm as you forced yourself to step back, “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

Plo Koon straightened up, his hands finding their usual resting place crossed in front of his stomach. “I am. Was it not obvious?” He asked, his held tilting to the left just slightly.

You briefly thought back to the somewhat strange string of compliments he’d paid you that lead up to this. “Uh...no, not really.” You explained quickly, eyes now flickering around the room in an attempt to come up with a reply to this revelation.

“Hmm.” Plo Koon hummed. “My apologies then. Boost encouraged me to be forward-perhaps it was not enough?” You blinked up at him, gaping like a fish-if that was Plo being forward then you wouldn’t have stood a chance if he had taken a subtle route.

Before you could say anything though, Wolffe’s explosive voice cut through the briefing room as he rounded on Boost. “You told him to do what?!” The commander barked at his red-headed brother who had long since abandoned hiding behind the doorway and was now standing tall with his chest slightly puffed.

“Oh come on, Vod, we both know the General likes ‘em! And Major Buir wasn’t going to pick up on it anytime soon. I was just trying to help!” He huffed back, practically getting in Wolffe’s face.

“Meddling isn’t helping, Boost!”

“I dunno-seemed pretty effective, Commander.” Sinker chimed in.

Wolffe wheeled on him next. “Don’t tell me you were in on this too!” The one-eyed clone seethed. “If you weren’t my brother I’d-”

“Boys!” You snapped, having heard enough. The three brothers stopped immediately and turned to you; each one bore a similarly sheepish grin. With a shake of your head, you turned back to Plo who had watched on in amusement. “Plo, I’m flattered but...what about your code? I know attachments are dangerous and I wouldn’t want to be the reason you-”

The Jedi master raised a hand. “My dear, attachments aren’t dangerous. It is how they can be used against a Jedi that is.”

“I don’t follow.” You tried only for Plo to shake his head.

“Yes, you do.” The Kel Dor dropped to your height again. “Y/n, if attachments themselves were dangerous Jedi would also be forbidden from being compassionate.” You were stricken silent, painfully aware of the three pairs of eyes currently fixated on the two of you. “But even if they were, I’d still find you worth the risk.” Your heart melted, a soft ‘Plo’ slipping past your lips that made the Kel Dor incline his head. “I know you care for me too, Y/n, so...are you willing to be with me?”

You bit your lip in thought, a smile creeping across your face as you looked up at the Jedi. “I’m guessing there’s no talking you out of this?”

“You may try but my feelings will persist.” Plo countered immediately-a lightness to his voice you hadn’t heard before.

You chuckled briefly and let your gaze slide over to the three clones now curiously peering at the two of you. You took in their identical faces and the imploring looks each one was giving you. When had the Wolfpack wormed their way into your heart? Probably around the same time their general did. You turned back to Plo Koon. “I say...of course,” You smiled and slipped onto your toes to wrap your arms around the Kel Dor’s neck. He returned the embrace with a low hum, his arms slipping around your waist, “ner Jetti.” You could hear whooping and hollering from the entrance to the briefing room.

……………………………………………………..

The barracks were dark and crowded later that night-many of the men from the 104th had all crammed into one room to watch the holofilm you’d smuggled onto the starship. It had been about three weeks since the fateful meeting that led to the union of you and General Plo Koon and each day had brought a new development in your aliit as word of your relationship spread. For the most part, none of the men were surprised-some even commenting on how Plo Koon was apparently unable to tear his eyes off of you during meetings, holocalls, or your brief but frequent trips to the base on Coruscant. But there were a few who weren’t expecting it at all.

But everyone you’d told had been supportive. And now as you sat curled into Plo Koon’s side with clones draped all around you as most dozed off in the peaceful barracks you could safely say that you’d found where you belong.

A tug on your arm pulled you away from the nearly impossible to hear holofilm (the few soldiers that were still awake had turned the volume down so they could let their brothers sleep) and to the clone currently barely awake with his head on your lap. “What is it, Boost?” You asked in a whisper, keenly aware of the sleeping Sinker and Wolffe on Plo’s other side. Still, your voice managed to catch the Jedi’s attention as he turned his head towards the two you.

The red head stared up at you blearily, a yawn interrupting him before he began speaking. “I just wanted to say that I’m happy you and general buir are together now. And that I’m glad I could help.”

A breathy laugh escaped you that Plo helped quiet with a hand over your mouth. He dipped his head to gesture at Wolffe who grumbled and curled closer to Sinker in his sleep. In retaliation, you batted his hand away and rolled your eyes at the Kel Dor before looking back at the sleepy man. “I am too, Boost. Thank you.” You answered fondly, letting your head fall against Plo’s shoulder.

“Like I said-” he cut off to yawn, “happy to help...major...buir.” Boost trailed off as his eyes closed and he wormed his way closer to you.

You smiled. “Thank you, ner ad’ika.” As Boost officially fell victim to dream land you turned towards Plo who had watched the exchange carefully. The same feeling of being hugged, of being safe, wanted, and loved infiltrated your senses but you now recognized it as Plo’s signature. Still bearing that soft painted smile, you pressed your forehead to his. A final whisper of thank you slipped from you as you resigned yourself to stay in that moment forever.

#plo koon x reader #plo koon #star wars #clone wars #star wars: clone wars #tcw #wolfpack

271 notes · View notes

cinnonym · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Review

Thank you @swanqueensalad for the tag!!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

24 (that’s so much more than I expected lol)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

264236... ah yes, one-shots my beloved :D

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

on ao3? 2 (Once Upon A Time and Supergirl). Elsewhere? uhhhh we don’t talk about elsewhere hskjd

4. Top five fics by kudos?

Y’all, I don’t have the ao3 skills for that kinda analysis, oof, the amount of time it took me to figure out the statistics button thingie... but here ya go:

1) i know you flirted with me before (but i didn’t get it right, can i try again) - yes and I know I still owe you a part two, it’s in the works, I promise!

2) the file drawer effect - I’m still quite proud of this one, but honestly, this statistics just shows that the SuperCorp fandom is currently more active, I think

3) Curses, like chickens, come home to roost - it better be on this list, I worked so long and so hard on this one. My first novel-length anything ever!

4) Thin Ice - uhm. I’d almost forgotten about that one tbh. It’s.. been a while?

5) it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas (ev’rywhere you go) - though I feel like this one has to be divided by 12 since it’s a short story collection, which would make my actual rank 5: A New Beginning!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/Why not?

yes, absolutely!! because I love comments and they always make me so happy, and I feel like people deserve to know how happy they’ve made me? But also cause I just like connecting to fellow fans, yay!

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I’d say Till Death Do Us Part cause it doesn’t really end happily? But then, canon fixes that one, actually. Apart from that probably the greatest loves of all time were never made cause that’s just canonical angst in extra heartbreaking words..

7. Do you write crossovers?

not yet? But I don’t see it happening tbh..

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

Oof, once I had an issue where I tagged Regina&Robin but some OutlawQueen shippers took offence that it wasn’t their endgame, even though I’d put multiple warnings everywhere that it would be SwanQueen... But I myself barely received hate, it was just a heated discussion / minor shipping war in the comment section. Still made me sad :(

9. Do you write smut?

not yet. I’m keeping my fics T-rated at the highest, although I gotta say, I’ve gotten a lot spicier lately. But honestly, I prefer building build-up to writing actual explicit smut, so that’s probably all you’re ever getting from me, sorry lol

10. Ever had a fic stolen?

not that I know of..

11. Ever had a fic translated?

nope

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

yes!! back in the day @godandmonsters1996 and I sometimes collabed on tumblr. Here’s an example of one of our very angsty pieces!

13. All time favourite ship?

SwanQueen probably. I see myself returning to it for all eternity. Though I also have to say that SuperCorp makes a compelling point!

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

too many, loves, too many

15. Writing strengths?

dialogue, probably. Flirty banter, to be precise. I’m a Gemini, so this is all I do all day irl anyway, lol

16. Writing weaknesses?

Transitions! From one scene to another, ugh ugh ugh, I just overuse horizontal lines a lot hsdjkl but oof, I wish I was better at that. Also, long piece in general? I love it, but I also always run out of motivation at some point? It’s complicated okay??

17. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language?

English isn’t my first language, and I do speak several other languages, but nope nuh-uh nah, I just feel uncomfortable writing in any language but English. Only exception can be pet names I suppose..

18. First fandom you ever wrote for?

... okay listen... 15yo me was very into ABBA okay (I still am btw, which is why I’m freaking out rn), and uh. I wrote straight ABBA rpf on wattpad back in the day (*hides in a corner*)

19. What is your favourite fic you’ve written so far?

I always like my latest fic most, I think, so A New Beginning? I’m really proud of it in any case! Though my favourite story-wise might actually be love bites, love bleeds (it’s what i need)

I’m tagging @waknatious if you wanna? Also, anyone else who wants to join in!

#this is me #tag game #this was fun thanks again salad!!

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tchallasbabymama · 4 years

Text

M’Baku’s Love- Chapter 3

Let me know if you want to be tagged, and make sure you check out my masterlist HERE for chapters 1& 2 and my other stories.

Also, just so y’all know, the last scene has paraphrased lines from the movie (which you should definitely go watch if you haven’t yet.)

Enjoy!

Word count: 2392

___________________________________________________

The day of the open house was upon them and M’Baku was more than excited to get to work with Monae some more. The workday crept by and as soon as the clock struck 5 he hurried out of his office and down the two flights of stairs to the arts wing. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, but he followed the sound of drums coming from one of the rooms. He walked up to the door and peeked in, seeing Monae teaching a class full of children West African dance. He leaned up against the doorframe and took in her graceful form and mesmerizing hips. He could have stood there and watched her move forever until one of the kids turned and saw him off to the side.

“Hi Mr. M’Baku!”

Monae and the kids turned towards him and greeted him. Monae’s smile was the brightest in the room.

“Hello children, Miss Monae.”

She sent him a small wave as the children surrounded him, all talking at once and all wanting to show him their moves.

“Alright, kiddos, lets all show M’Baku what you’ve been working on before you get out of here, Ok?”

“Ok!”

The drummers started back up and the kids started to dance, the looks on their little brown faces making Monae smile at their joy. She watched her students with pride as they finished the number and took their bows. She and M’Baku both erupted in applause.

“Very good, class! Ok y’all can go on home now. If you come to the open house make sure you stop by and say hi, Mr. M’Baku here is going to be my assistant for the evening.”

The kids grabbed their bags to head home, some of them stopping to hug Monae and M’Baku on the way out to their guardians. M’Baku was taken aback since he had not had enough experience around young children to know they have no concept of personal space. Monae laughed at the confused look on his face, a near permanent fixture he was becoming used to by being in this new land. He was just happy he could make her smile.

After the last child ran out, almost tripping over her shoelaces, Monae introduced M’Baku to her drummers Kehinde and Rodney. They bonded for a bit before Rodney slid out of the way to let M’Baku play his drum.

Monae couldn’t help but move with the way he struck the beautifully made instrument.. Her feet and hips took on a life of their own and she let the beat carry her however it saw fit. M’Baku already thought her choreographed dances were beautiful, but this? Her natural movement called to him as he moved her body with each stroke of his hands. Neither one of them were sure how long they were going for, but Rodney had to clear his throat to break the trance.

“Hey so I uh, I gotta head out. Sorry to interrupt whatever that was.” He pointed between the two, obviously picking up on the chemistry.

“Yeah, no, y’all get outta here. It’s late anyway. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“See ya Monae, byyyeeee M’Baku.” Rodney and Kehinde snickered as they left the room.

“So, what first?” M’Baku asked, still coming down from the high he just experienced with her.

“Woo, sorry, let me uh catch my breath real quick...you’re good.” She gestured towards the drum.

“So are you,” he gestured towards her body and she cracked a smile.

“I’m aware.” She walked around him to the other side of the room to start straightening up the space. He joined in and the room was spotless in minutes.

“So,” she clapped. “I figured since the kids love you so much you’d be great at keeping them busy while the adults talk to me. Nakia brought us a bunch of Wakandan children’s books, so how about you read to the kids? You have to do voices though, if you don’t do voices I’m putting you somewhere else.” She was dead serious.

“What kind of monster does not change their voice to read to children?” M’Baku asked incredulously.

Monae’s mind flashed to two years ago when she asked Derrick to do something similar at the after school program where she volunteered. He just read it straight like it was a speech, and the kids were restless. It was a nightmare.

“You would be surprised. Ok so take a look through these and see if any jump out at you,” she handed him the crate full of books and he thumbed through them.

“I do not see any Jabari books,” he pulled out a small notepad and began scribbling his thoughts down.

“You don’t use the beads like the others?”

“I could, but it is unnecessary technology for the most part.”

Monae nodded, remembering that the Jabari preferred to live analog.

“Let me run this by you real quick, and you tell me what you think,” Monae started as he turned to give her his full attention. “I have sooooo many Wakandan beads I need to get rid of, so how about I set up a jewelry station across the hall? Just some beads and string, nothing too fancy. Then over in the paint lab I was thinking of using these extra textile scraps and old magazines to make mixed media collages. For the last station I have like a million gourds for the kids to paint, and I figured they could do that next door. I have three volunteers set up at each station, so don’t worry, you’ll have help with the kids. I wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves like that.” She winked at him as M’Baku nodded along, processing everything she said.

“This is not my specialty, but that sounds like a good plan to me.”

“What is your specialty?”

“I am a man of many talents, as you can see, but I am a warrior above all else.”

Her cheeks felt hot as she tried to quiet the damsel in distress inside her brain. She cleared her throat and changed the subject.

“You mentioned that there aren’t any Jabari stories in here. You don’t have to use the books if you’d rather go off the cuff with it.”

M’Baku’s gap toothed smile shone through as his theatrical side woke up from its slumber.

“You might regret that later.”

______

The children loved M’Baku so much they barely touched the crafts Monae had set up for them. He regaled the kids, and the adults, with Jabari folktales about snowmen and giant gorillas and how the Jabari came to be.

“And then the Jabari left for the mountains. For centuries, the Jabari and the rest of Wakanda were angry at each other until-“

“Why?” interrupted a kid with his front two teeth missing.

“Well because the Jabari cared more for tradition and old ways, but the Wakandans wanted everything shiny and new. They argued so much they had to move away to keep the peace, and that is when Hanuman guided the Jabari to the mountains.”

“Who’s Hanuman?” asked a little girl with beaded cornrows.

“The god who guides and protects us.”

“My mama says theres only one god and his name ain’t Hanuman,” she responded with an attitude. Some of the parents and kids nodded along in agreement.

“Well, you see, your mother is simply wrong-”

“Ok, that's enough for now. Let's give Mr. M’Baku a round of applause for storytime, huh?” Monae interrupted before things got too heated, and the crowd clapped for their griot.

People wandered in and out of the room for the next couple hours, enjoying the crafts and M’Baku’s storytime. Monae kept everything running smoothly, including refilling M’Baku’s water bottle multiple times to keep his voice strong. Shortly before closing time T’Challa wandered into the room and sat with the children listening to the same stories M’Baku had told so many times that night Monae could recite them herself. When it was over and the last guest had left the center all the staff and volunteers breathed a sigh of relief.

“I think that went well!” M’Baku said, his voice hitching from overuse.

“Drink some more. Oh yeah, they absolutely loved you. You know T’Challa recorded your dramatics while he was here? You could win a Tony with that performance.” Monae gushed, proud of her, uh, friend.

“Who?”

“It's an award for stage actors. I’ll make you a list like the one Captain America had.”

“What sort of list?”

“Of pop culture and historical things you should know. He spoke about it in an interview a few years ago and I thought ‘that’s brilliant, I’d do that too’ but I never had the chance...until now.”, her excitement was palpable.

“That is a good idea, I will have to commend him on that the next time I see him.”

Monae froze.

“I’m sorry, you know Captain America?”

“Well yes, he and some other Avengers have been to Wakanda a couple times.”

Monae was speechless. She’d had a huge crush on Steve Rogers ever since he defrosted.

“I- what’s he like?” she asked, barely forming words.

M’Baku found her obvious fawning amusing and wondered if this is how she would look if she spoke about him to others.

“He is nice,” M’Baku said before leaning in a little closer. “Especially for a colonizer.”

Monae cackled and they continued to straighten up the room. Once the area was sufficiently cleaned for the night, the two headed out to their cars. Monae yawned as they packed her little electric car full of art supplies.

“It seems it is past your bedti-” he was cut off by the sound of his stomach trying to climb out his body. “Well, then.”

They broke out into laughter, only subsiding when her stomach answered the mating call.

“Would you like to accompany me to dinner? It will be my treat. I was planning on going to The V Spot for some more jackfruit tacos.”

“Mmm, they have these vegan nachos that I would sell my arm for, but I’m so tired I’ll probably fall asleep on you. Next time?” she sent him an apologetic grin.

“Next time it is, then.”

Monae turned to get into her car before stopping and turning back around to face him.

“You know what? I think I have one good hour left in me. Let’s meet there.”

_____

Both of them were too tired to speak, especially since M’Baku had done enough talking that night to warrant a week of silence. M’Baku paid for their food and they left, still in comfortable silence until reaching the sidewalk.

“Let me walk you home, you should not be out here by yourself.”

“M’Baku I can literally see my building from here.”

“And? Anything could happen between here and there. I would never forgive myself!”

The butterflies in her stomach were in full flight mode, and her face grew hot. She playfully rolled her eyes at him and turned away to mask her blushing face.

“Ok fine.” She said with faux reluctance. She wanted nothing more than to spend every moment she could with this man, but the ring weighing down her finger made it challenging. She knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but Derrick is always out of town on business and she can feel the relationship slipping away. Even before M’Baku swooped in, her feelings for her fiance had started to dwindle. However, she did enjoy spending time with M’Baku and she figured there’d be no harm in taking the short stroll between The V Spot and her place.

“So, which direction?” M’Baku asked and Monae pointed to the right before they slowly took off down the street, arm in arm, in silence once again before Monae spoke up two minutes later.

“Well, this is me.”

They both just stood there, not knowing how to end the night.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?”

“Of course...I will say though, where I am from when you walk someone home from a date there is usually a goodnight kiss involved.”

She was stunned at his forwardness, and she could feel her pulse all over her body.

“But I guess this was not really a date, huh?”

“Um, n-no. M’Baku you know I’m engaged.” She said, looking down.

“Yes, but do you?” his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head as stepped closer to her. She didn’t move away, so he took another step forward so that their bodies were almost pressed together.

“It was date-like.” she conceded.

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her in tight, closing the tiny gap of space left between the two of them. Her hands found their way to his chest and his other hand came up to tilt her chin upwards before he placed a light kiss on her lips and let her go. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked over his face. She took in his prominent brow and his strong jaw, his pillowy lips and his soft eyes. He was a giant wall of a man and she couldn’t get enough of how he felt up against her,

“That’s it?” she teased before pulling him back and making him lean down into a deeper kiss. His hands rested respectfully at the small of her back despite his desire to explore her body more, and hers rested around his neck for the same reason. They broke away quickly when the door of the apartment building opened and an older man walked out with his dog, undoubtedly to go on a nighttime walk around the neighborhood before retiring for the night. He looked at them and shook his head before mumbling something under his breath about heathens.

They looked back at each other and broke out laughing.

“You should go,” Monae said softly while fiddling with his collar.

“I do not want to,” he whispered.

“I know, but-”

“You are engaged. I know,” he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Goodnight Monae.”

“Goodnight M’Baku, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waited for her to get inside before turning around and heading back the way they came to make the short journey to his temporary home. The entire walk back, he hummed along to an unwritten love song in his head with a goofy smile on his face. He could still taste her and, by Hanuman, he wanted more.

Next Chapter

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #m'baku x oc #black!oc #m'baku #m'baku's love #fluff

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weeb-stomper · 4 years

Text

Motels

Mirio Togata x F!SexWorker Reader

Prompt: “I’m tired of being your secret.”

Word Count: 1,404

A/N: I thought, the prompt usually makes people think that there’s a half in the relationship begging for love and so I did a little subverting of that. Sorry, it’s pretty angsty. Also, I felt like this piece was a lot more about reader than it was about Mirio, so he’s not actually really in it outside of reader’s thoughts.

@reinawritesbnha Haha, I feel like this is maybe not your normal type of fic but I’m really kinda proud of how this turned out and wanted to share with you.

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You’ve always hated motels. The horrendous patterns of the carpets that never seem to change no matter where you go, the stale air that never freshens despite the open windows, the dirty sheets that smell like the hundreds of people who have abused them no matter how many times they’ve been washed. You hate the artificial swirls and patterns that cover the ceiling in every room and the judgemental eyes of the desk workers who have come to be familiar with your presence. You share a moment of awkward eye contact with the woman behind the counter tonight as you collect the small room key, not missing the pitying look in her eyes and the sad smile that takes her lips. Your finger traces the large number eighteen emblazoned on the plastic tag, and you huff out a mirthless laugh.

“Key to misery…” you mumble to her, turning on your heel to head towards your prison cell for the evening.

Your fingers trace along the sparsely decorated walls, occasionally catching against a raised edge of the peeling paint. The smell of the dingy hall was gag-inducing, memories of your history in any given one of these disgusting rooms flooding your mind despite your efforts to knock them back, and your forward progress halts. You can see it up ahead. The dirty white door set into the wall accompanied by the dimly shining bronze eighteen drilled to the wall beside it. Breathing isn’t so easy at the moment, knowing that as soon as you step into that room the waiting game begins. Your now-long hair tickles the small of your back, kickstarting your nerves once more, and your heart hurts.

Taking a shuddering breath, you teeter forward, falling into an uneven gait. The soreness in the soles of your feet radiates up your calves, the strappy black heels having long since blistered your feet through the thin black nylon tights that clung to your skin. Slipping the key into the lock, you take one last look at the nightmarish halls that surround you before slipping through the door and locking yourself into your nightly cage.

You forgo the lights, opting instead for one moment longer of semi-peace. One extra minute of not being able to see your reality, and you could indulge in the fantasy of being literally anywhere else. Crossing the small room to the far left corner, you drop your bag into the padded chair that resided there. It was a terrible muddy yellow color, musty from overuse and under-cleaning, and (for tonight) home to a large bag of gifts from your client. A grimace mars your face as you pull out an intricate black-lace teddy, laying it out on the bed before slipping off your thick black coat. The cool air of the room stings against your previously shielded skin as you continue undressing, removing your shirt and folding it carefully before placing it, along with your skirt and jacket, inside the cheap particle board dresser drilled into the wall below the cheap and old tv. There’s something calming about separating your personal belongings from the job you do. Like locking your personality inside an industrial safe and exchanging it for the illustrious mask you don for the sake of the people who seek you out in the darkest hours of the night,

You cast a side-long glance at the old digital alarm clock sat on the simple bedside table. 8:52 flashes back at you in angry red lettering. Eight minutes to prepare before the ever-so punctual hero arrives to inadvertently destroy what little sense of ease you’ve managed to scrape together in the days since your last meeting. You’ve seen others since you last met him, but he was always the worst. Maybe because he’s a hero. Maybe because you know how truly sadistic he is behind that golden smile. But most likely because he demanded things be so extraordinarily personal. He treated every meeting with you like a beautiful secret meeting between a count and his mistress, cloaked in darkness and complete with loving embraces and chaste kisses before a teary departure. Forcibly disconnecting from your internal monologue, you turn back to the lacy article resting gingerly on the bed below you.

The scratchy material of the lingerie gouges canyons in your skin as it slides up your legs to settle across your torso, and a chill of a different kind tears through your muscles. Wearing the gifts was never pleasant, the sheer material writhing you in a permanent sense of discomfort, but there was something especially terrifying about tonight. You knew him well enough now to know that he’d been gearing up to something bigger than normal, and your instincts were screaming that tonight was the night it would culminate into whatever he’d been planning. Those thoughts, however, were for later. Now is the time for preparation, for rebuilding the mental barriers that he insists on tearing down every. Single. Time. Time to guard the parts of you that you’d rather not share and the words that you’d rather keep to yourself.

The smell of oranges turns your stomach. He loves the smell of oranges and had bought you his favorite version of the scent to coat the room before he appears for his evening visits. A generous spray for each pillow and blanket, pull back the sheets to spray the mattress, mist the doorway as per request. You can hardly control the rising bile in your throat, but you manage to choke it down. In a way it makes sense for him to seek the scent of oranges. It’s like a child reaching for a security blanket, a man seeking solace in the scent of summer. Fitting for the someone who “shines like the sun”, as his friends tell the news reporters in interview after interview. Lazily strolling to the large bag, you almost laugh. Your hand snakes inside, gripping the leather bound handle of your least favorite gift. A long, eight tailed braided flogger. Your fingers trail along the name etched into the handle, the weight of it amplified by the memory of the heavy strikes it’s performed on your skin time and time again.

Laying the weighty toy across the foot of the bed you take one last look at yourself in the cloudy mirror on the wall. Hair frames your face in a way that you’ve come to hate, in a hairstyle that he’s picked out for you. A long braid down your back that swings just so when you walk. You don’t understand why he always insists on it, he’s only going to rip it to shreds 20 minutes from his arrival. Sitting gently on the bed, your shoulders slump forward, and you remember better times. Being small, running through parks and playgrounds with friends and family, your feeling the wind rush through your short hair. The feeling of that smile stretching and splitting the chapped skin of your lips. You’d grown out your hair when he’d asked you to. The pay was too good to refuse. You miss your short hair.

A hollow feeling slams against your weary bones as a knock sounds at the door. Your eyes shoot to the clock. 9 o’clock on the dot it screams at you, dread settling deeply in your bones. You rise from your spot on the bed and walk languidly to the door. You can almost watch the mask fall over your face as a sensual smile slides onto your lips, a foreign and bizarre sensation. The door clicks open and there he stands. Looming impossibly tall above you, golden blond hair swept back and away from his face. The piercing blue of his eyes rakes up and down your body in an appraising gaze, a certain softness to his face that you knew better than anyone to be as false as the love he claims for you. He offers you a hushed greeting as he steps inside the room, pressing a small bouquet into your hands that is identical to every other he’d ever brought, right down to the bright yellow ribbon tied around the stems. You watch him as he approaches the bed, pulling his shirt off before lifting the play thing from amongst the bunched sheets. You can already feel the merciless strikes against your skin as the door closes to seal you in for the evening.

You’ve always hated motels.

#mirio togata #my hero academia mirio #myheroacademia #my hero academia #mha #boco no hero academia #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mirio togata x reader #Self Insert #angst #tw sex work #female reader #fem reader

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panharmonium · 4 years

Note

Hey, do you ship merthur? I have conflicted feelings about it because Merlin does love Arthur but also their relationship is kinda shitty.

short answer: i do not

longer answer: i might not be the right person to ask about this, because i don’t really “ship” anything? it’s not how i engage with fandom. (disclaimer: this is not a value judgment of folks who do engage with fandom that way. just an explanation of how my own brain works.)

extra long answer: under the cut, because i suppose it was only a matter of time before someone asked me about merlin/arthur, and i might as well put my entire response in one place so that next time, i can just link to it.

questions like this are a little tough for me to answer, because i am completely uninterested in romance as a premise. if it’s not there, i don’t care. if it is there, i often wish it weren’t, because it’s almost never developed in a way that lives up to my standards. i don’t always mind if something contains romantic relationships (provided they’re written well), but i don’t want them to be the point of a story. i honestly cannot think of anything less interesting to me than a story that has as its main plotline “x character falls in love with y character.” for me, in my brain, it’s like, “okay...that’s it? do you have anything else to say?” there is literally nothing about that that i care about.

this can be a little difficult to navigate in fandom, because one of the oft-heard commendations of “fandom” is ‘gosh, fandom is so wonderful, we can watch the same two characters fall in love again and again and again in a million different scenarios!’ which is true, for the people who care about that sort of thing, but that’s not actually ‘fandom.’ that’s shipping. and there’s nothing wrong with shipping, but shipping and fandom are not the same thing, and they’ve become so conflated that it can be very difficult to engage in the latter without being absolutely swamped by the former.

many times, for me, fandom can feel synonymous with shipping. there was a post i reblogged recently whose tags described shipping as often feeling like a prerequisite to engaging with fandom, and that is often what it feels like to me, particularly in fandoms where one ship is so ubiquitous that any and all other material is utterly dwarfed by it in scale. (for me, my last two major fandoms have been merlin and teen wolf, so - i’m sure you see my dilemma, heh.)

all of that said, in terms of arthur and merlin specifically...

disclaimer: everything i say here is relevant to me only. these are my own feelings. i am making this post on my own blog, in my own space, in response to a question about my own thoughts. i do not want, expect, or need anyone else to share these thoughts. any commentary i make about fandom trends is not equivalent to condemnations of individual people’s opinions or shipping habits. i do not mind or take issue with folks who ship these two characters. i am glad you are having fun. please do not @ me about something you disagree with. i promise you it is not necessary.

okay. with that out of the way.

part of me is reluctant to expound further on this question, because my personal philosophy is that merlin and arthur as a ship have had more than enough time and space devoted to them in this fandom (way more than their share, frankly) and i generally prefer to focus on merlin and the other people in his life, as a deliberate counter to that. but, since you asked, and because i have been experiencing the “i’m tired of romance” bug more strongly lately, here is the long-form version.

the number one reason why i don’t ship arthur and merlin is what i already outlined above: i don’t really “ship” anything. i have never looked at two characters who were not already together/on an obvious potential path to being together and said “i want them to fall in love.” that has just never happened to me. (again - it’s not a BAD thing to have this happen, it’s just not something that’s ever happened to me. i can’t relate to the experience.)

therefore, when i do appreciate a romantic relationship, it’s pretty much always because canon has shown me something romantic (or clearly pre-romantic) that i find to be well-written and compelling. (it’s rare - as i outlined before, i would usually rather not deal with romance at all - but it happens.)

arthur and merlin, then, never had that effect on me, because arthur and merlin, as depicted in the canon, are not in love.

[to anybody reading this who just snatched up their keyboard and started furiously typing, i beg you - please go back and re-read my disclaimer.]

they’re not in love. the truth about these two is that if i had watched this show without having grown up in fandom as a culture (and without knowing exactly what kind of ships fandom immediately sees EVERYWHERE) the idea of anybody shipping these two together would never have even entered my mind.

(and like. because i DID grow up in fandom, and i DO know exactly what kind of ships fandom sees everywhere, i knew before i even started this show that arthur/merlin was going to be an inescapable thing. but that would not have been the case, if i had watched the series in a world where i didn’t know what fandom was.)

arthur and merlin, in canon, are not in love. the show never does anything to give me an inkling that either of them are harboring romantic feelings for each other. that is never what is happening onscreen. literally the last thing on merlin’s agenda is romantic attachment, ever, and arthur is never, ever shown to be in love with anyone who isn’t gwen. the show, onscreen, never tricks me, teases me, or leads me on. i was never under the impression that merlin and arthur were in love with each other, because they weren’t.

but that DOES NOT MEAN their relationship matters less. just because they aren’t IN love with each other doesn’t mean they don’t love each other, and one of those things is not bigger or better or more powerful than the other.

i struggle a lot in fandom (all fandom, not just merlin) with the persistent idea that romantic attachment is the peak, the natural endpoint on a scale of “how deep is your love?” i am constantly running up against posts where the commonly accepted structure is to cite a moment of devotion or caring or some instance of basic connection between two characters, and then add a caption or tag saying ‘because they are JUST FRIENDS, right?’ or ‘^^totally platonic interaction between characters who are not at all in love, sure jan.’

and honestly? i hate that. that is one of my least favorite things about fandom. it makes me so tired.

i am completely disconnected from this idea that there are like...things you can do that are too caring to count as friendship. like - that there is too much devotion you can show, and if you go over the limit, then it’s laughable that you would do those things for “just” a friend. that’s so unpleasant to me.

(and i do think [when it comes to non-canon queer ships, anyway - straight ships unfortunately have no excuse, sorry y’all] that part of this probably has its roots in pushback at the tendency of people who try to “gal pal” actual queer ships (or literal real life relationships), so this, at least, is something i can understand. i’m queer myself; i get that. and that is why i will never like - attach myself to someone’s post and start complaining. people can vent however they want.)

it doesn’t change my own feelings, though. i hate seeing every meaningful friendship i’ve ever been invested in talked about like it’s just a romance in disguise.

other things: i am uninterested in romance as a motivator.

truly, from the bottom of my heart, i don’t care.

we are, at least in my corner of the world, oversaturated with romance, to the point where any piece of media that doesn’t include it in some fashion is shockingly bizarre. it is EVERYWHERE. it is in EVERYTHING. i cannot pick up a book without running into a romantic plotline. i cannot watch a movie or a tv show without being forced into multiple romances that i don’t care about. (rare exceptions apply, as always, but i’m speaking generally.)

this oversaturation, for me, means that romance as a storyline no longer holds any meaning for me. i see it EVERYWHERE. it is in literally EVERYTHING. making merlin into a “love story,” for me, makes the show so much less interesting, because there are billions of love stories out there. love stories are practically the only kind of story our media remembers how to tell! why would i take a story that is so unique in its exploration of deep friendship (that isn’t even quite friendship, because it’s not real, but merlin wants it to be real, but making it real would also destroy it) and loyalty (that isn’t necessarily deserved, but is still offered, but is damaging to the person offering it) and love (that exists in spite of arthur’s position as the oppressor, but still cannot erase merlin’s oppression, and is patently not a magical fix for the very real problems merlin is facing), and then want to water it down to “and then they fell in love”???

merlin bbc has so much to say about the transformative, redemptive power of love (not just romance), and the bonds we form with each other despite the fact that we don’t always deserve each other, and what we can do to make ourselves better, and how do we make amends for the ways in which we hurt the people we care about, and it is so complicated and there is so much beauty there and i adore it specifically because it is one of the rare pieces of media out there that doesn’t prop up romantic love as the most important and powerful force in the universe. romantic love is not what moves the story. merlin’s love for the people around him is based on compassion. it’s bigger than the familiar and overused ‘i am desperately in love with this one individual person and that’s what drives my actions,” which is a premise all of us know has been done to death. merlin’s love is not about romantic attachment. it’s a deep, abiding love for humanity. it’s based on hope, and faith, and the inherent belief that everybody matters, even in their worst moments.

condensing that kind of story into “and then they fell in love” erases its meaning for me. it makes it trite. uninteresting. i have seen “and then they fell in love” fully sixty thousand times. “and then they fell in love” has been done so often that it is utterly devoid of power for me. boring. i literally do not care.

other people might feel differently, and find a romantic love story compelling. i don’t.

i’m guessing the message that prompted this essay is asking me to evaluate how i feel about the “goodness” of the merlin/arthur ship, aka whether it’s worthwhile to ship it or not based on how healthy/unhealthy it is, which i definitely can’t answer, because i don’t think whether it’s “good” or not really matters. i am definitely too old to be riding the newer wave of, uh...idk, purity culture type stuff that is so oft-debated on here, lately.

but you’re absolutely right, anon - merlin and arthur’s relationship IS kinda shitty! it 100% is. it doesn’t mean you can’t ship them, though, if you want; otherwise i wouldn’t be invested in any aspect of their friendship, either.

the fact that merlin and arthur’s relationship is kinda shitty is an essential element of the show; it’s the microcosmic representation of the macrocosmic problem merlin is trying to solve, and even with that being the case, we can see clearly that this also doesn’t preclude them from having real moments of connection and care and love. this is the contradiction i have to keep in mind whenever i engage with them in the friendship sense - merlin has been wronged by arthur in so many ways, and yet he still loves him and believes arthur can do better, and yet his dedication to arthur really does destroy his life piece by piece, and you really have to walk a line between those extremes and be thinking: in what ways was this a noble, honorable path for merlin to take and in what ways was this damaging, and was it all worth it in the end?

we probably wouldn’t still be watching this show if we didn’t ultimately think the answer to that last question was yes. but there are also equally valid ways in which the answer is, truthfully, no, and i think really the only important thing when dealing with merlin and arthur’s relationship (in whatever capacity you prefer) is to keep that dissonance in mind.

so, to more directly address your question, when it comes to my interaction with the source material, i don’t ship merlin and arthur romantically because i don’t see romance when they interact in canon, and i don’t think their relationship could be improved or made more interesting/more meaningful by adding extra-canonical romance into the mix. that’s really it.

but the other side of things is this: even if i were granted someone else’s ship-goggles to somehow see romance between these two (eg, once, in the distant past i read a harry potter fic that was so well-constructed it sold me on a relationship i didn’t [and still don’t] actually see in canon), i still wouldn’t choose to ship merlin and arthur, and it’s not because they’re a “bad” ship (no such thing, folks - tag your stuff and let people live their lives, thank you), it’s because this fandom has already been swallowed by them and i cannot bring myself to make that imbalance worse.

trying to be in the merlin fandom without shipping merlin and arthur is just...a little bit difficult sometimes. i think probably even people who do ship merlin/arthur are aware of that. sometimes it can feel like merlin/arthur is a given in this fandom, not one of many options - as if you’re not in the merlin fandom, but rather the merthur fandom, and you know you really, really do not belong there.

and it’s not even a canonical ship! it’s not even real. and yet if you like this show, and you want to engage in the fandom, your experience is, without exception, going to be chock full of merlin/arthur content by default.

essentially, my struggle with the merlin/arthur dynamic in fandom is two-fold:

1) the strikingly imbalanced content distribution

the merlin fandom, in terms of content distribution, is a pretty accurate mirror of merlin’s own existence, to be honest, in that pretty much every aspect of it is eventually taken over by arthur pendragon, and in that there’s a reasonable debate to be had about whether or not that’s a good thing.

(spoiler alert: it’s not.)

even so, it is what it is, and as i said before, me commenting on fandom trends is not meant as a condemnation of individual preferences. people like what they like! that’s just how things are. shipping arthur and merlin isn’t a Bad thing to do, by any means, and the fact that so many people do is just, you know, bad luck for me, lol. but at the same time, the wildly unbalanced distribution of content does make it more difficult for folks who don’t ship merlin/arthur to engage in fandom with quite the same level of ease, and even though it’s nobody’s fault, it is still perfectly reasonable for people who don’t ship merlin/arthur to be frustrated about that.

fanfic is a pretty good case study for how this plays out. i saw a post a while back that was titled something like ‘merlin bbc gothic,’ and the first bullet point was “canon ships are rarepairs,” and HOO BOY, that is true. stats-wise, merlin/arthur makes up ⅔ of the merlin fic on AO3. ~25,000 fics. the next most popular tag after merlin/arthur is arthur/gwen, but arthur/gwen have ~2,900 fics in their tag. and when you remember to exclude any instance of merlin/arthur from the arthur/gwen tag, that number drops by another thousand, to ~1,940.

that’s buckwild. come on. merlin/arthur has twenty-three THOUSAND more fics than the next most popular (and CANONICAL, i might add) ship? and every other ship’s numbers are even lower than that?*

and if you don’t want to read shippy stuff in the first place, like me - the merlin “gen” tag has less than 8000 fics in it, by comparison, and then you STILL have to filter merlin/arthur out of the gen fics, leaving you with about 6300 - which number has to be filtered down further to remove OTHER ships that still make it past the gen filter.

in comparison to 25,000.

like. i’ve been in fandom long enough that i’m not surprised - mean, i came into merlin directly off a teen wolf phase, and boy, that’s a whole other bowl of noodles right there, with added squick factors that are irrelevant here - but i’m still just...man.

it still makes my head spin. and it is still frustrating, every time.

*(there is a lot more to be said about how gwen fits into all of this, and i know it has been discussed more thoroughly in other places, but yes, another reason i am leery of arthur/merlin as a thing is that i’m just...not super comfortable with what that implies for gwen and her position in the story. even if i personally am slightly more compelled by gwen/lancelot, technically - i still don’t quite feel comfortable taking gwen out of her canonical place. she belongs at the top. she deserves to be the love interest and she deserves to be the queen. and like - people can say that her relationship with arthur isn’t “developed” or “convincing” enough to warrant retaining in fic, and i get it, the show really did fail gwen in S5 - but i still don’t buy that argument. people literally INVENTED a romantic relationship for themselves and put 25,000 fics worth of effort into building it up; there is no reason why an “underdeveloped” canon romance couldn’t have gotten the same treatment. except, of course, for the fact that one [Black, female] character was being shoved aside to make way for yet another two white dudes.)

(and i’m not saying that everyone is doing this deliberately or maliciously. but we all know this is a cross-fandom trend. there is literally no reason for the gap in content to be THAT wide. a canon relationship with twenty-three thousand fewer fics than an invented ship? just...that is a stat that bears thinking about. it doesn’t mean that merlin/arthur is a “bad” ship, or that you can’t prefer lancelot/gwen, but it IS still important to recognize these patterns where they occur, across fandoms, and to really think about what they mean.)

2) the arthur-goggles

my second struggle with merlin/arthur in fandom is the ubiquitousness of the arthur-goggles, aka: the tendency in fandom, as in canon, to make everything in merlin’s life about arthur, and everything in the show about merthur.

this one specifically really gets to me. i am very committed to the idea that merlin is a complete individual, whether arthur is there or not. i write a LOT of meta about merlin being a whole person, specifically pushing back on the idea that merlin was “born” for arthur’s benefit - my motto is basically that “merlin’s life does not revolve around arthur pendragon,” and the way his life begins to revolve around arthur pendragon in later seasons is not in fact touching or romantic or beautiful; it’s a tragedy. merlin does not exist only in the context of his relationship with arthur; he possesses worth outside of his mission to save the prince of camelot, and he was already a complete person before he ever met the prince of camelot, and one of the many issues we have to think about when dealing with arthur and merlin in any capacity is how merlin is told from the get-go that he is supposed to devote his whole life to arthur, but arthur is never given any such reciprocal responsibility.

merlin and arthur’s relationship, just like the distribution of content in this fandom, is wildly imbalanced. merlin spends all of his spare time thinking about arthur’s life; he ties himself in knots trying to help arthur develop as a person. he is constantly working to keep arthur safe and happy. but arthur, at the end of a long day, doesn’t spend his nights agonizing over how he can improve merlin’s life. he just goes home and goes to bed. he never once thinks, ‘my purpose on this earth is to serve and support my friend merlin.’ he is never told his life isn’t his own, that he is supposed to be one half of some two-sided coin. only merlin is told that his entire existence is earmarked for someone else, that his life’s purpose is to be someone else’s better half. only merlin is expected to devote his entire being to someone else’s betterment. only merlin is expected to say demeaning, self-abnegating things like “i was born to serve you.”

arthur, by contrast, is allowed to have a life of his own. he is allowed to exist on his own terms. he is never told that his worth is dependent on how well he can prop someone else up. and while fic might like to imagine merlin being the most important thing in arthur’s life, in canon that is just not the case.

merlin exists on his own merits, and the idea that he does everything he does just because “he’s in love with arthur” will never sit right with me, because it’s simply not true. merlin and arthur’s relationship is important to both of them, yes, and of course it is undergirded by deep love and care, but it is also way more complicated than that. merlin’s investment in arthur’s life - and his grief at arthur’s death - are NOT solely driven by his love for arthur as an individual; they are inextricably bound up with a sense of obligation and duty and self-worth and, eventually, failure, because he’s been told that protecting arthur is a) the only thing that matters about his own life and b) the only way to free his people and save an entire kingdom. and i think ignoring this very real complexity in favor of “merlin does what he does and feels what he feels because he’s in love with arthur” cheapens the depth of the story and flattens merlin’s character.

arthur-goggles automatically make everything about merlin/arthur, though. so the difficulty, for me, with merlin/arthur as a ship, is that it can be hard to make/find things about merlin that people don’t instantly, always try to link back to arthur in some way. merlin is not allowed to have things that are just his, and he can’t exist in a state where arthur doesn’t somehow factor in - no matter how unrelated to arthur something is, or how non-shippy it’s meant to be - there’s someone out there who’s going to loop it back to merthur in some way.

just like - scattered examples of things I’ve encountered:

all of merlin’s non-arthur love interests on AO3 having massive chunks of their ship tags actually being merthur fics, with the non-arthur ship serving solely as a stepping stone on the way to getting merlin and arthur together

readers, on fics that are specifically designated as focusing on merlin+someone else and in which arthur does not appear, leaving comments asking “so how long until arthur shows up,” “can’t wait to see arthur,” etc

meta about how ‘merlin’s time in camelot was actually really bad for him as a person’ being reblogged and modified by someone else with an addition like “but merlin doesn’t regret a second of it because he wouldn’t have known arthur if he were anywhere else,” and the OP having to reblog their own post and explain that this is literally the exact problem they were trying to critique

in fic, merlin’s friends being utilized only as vessels with whom he can have discussions about his developing relationship with arthur

etc etc

it’s not always huge egregious things, but wearing arthur-goggles means EVERYTHING comes back to merthur in some way, which for me is just...really insulting to other characters, and really limiting in terms of story analysis.

so, for example - this is a VERY specific example that few will relate to, because i am probably the only person on here who has ever tried to search the tag for merlin’s friend will from ealdor (a niche fave of mine) - but with him, especially, it is very hard to avoid bumping into a lot of people wearing arthur-goggles, because everybody seems to imagine him as merlin’s ex, who is only upset about what’s going on in 1.10 because he’s jealous about arthur appearing alongside merlin, never mind that will and merlin have known each other since birth and have a relationship that LITERALLY predates arthur by two decades.

so with him, as an example - the other day, i saw some post in the tag that was like “will gets teary when arthur makes his inspirational speech in ealdor because he finally understands what merlin sees in arthur and he can’t be mad anymore”

and that is just patently untrue. it is not even remotely close to a legitimate interpretation of what is happening in that scene. will hasn’t come around to arthur’s way of thinking yet; he literally still packs his things and leaves after this happens, and he is - i mean, first of all, he’s not crying, lol, and he stalks out of that scene weary, angry, and fed up, because he thinks the village is delusional and all of his neighbors are going to get killed in the morning. his arc - his dissatisfaction with what is going on, his anger at the ignorance arthur wields as a nobleman with all of that wealth and privilege, his resistance to the big “let’s fight kanen’s men with sticks” plan - that is about him and his history and who he is. it is not about an (imaginary) merlin/arthur love story.

but when the arthur-goggles are on, all roads lead to merthur. even when the other characters in question (*coughWILLIAMcough*) would be beyond mortified to have merthur, of all things, assigned as their motivation.

SO. now that i’ve gone over both the canon and fandom aspects of my reasoning, the succinct summary in response to your question is just that no, i don’t personally ship merlin/arthur. because:

a) i don’t see it b) the fandom is already trying to drown me with it and i choose to center other characters out of spite c) i just think merlin deserves better lol

however, as i said in my disclaimer - that doesn’t mean other people shouldn’t ship and enjoy it! merlin/arthur is very much not my cup of tea, but that’s no reason why other folks can’t have fun with it. i think the best portrayals of it, probably, will be those that keep in mind exactly what you said - that merlin and arthur’s relationship is “kinda shitty” - but this is fandom, so if what folks really want to write is just lots of happy AU’s with no issues, then they should go for it! the point of fandom is to have fun connecting with people over a shared love of something, so i am happy to let others have fun doing their thing, and i will just be over here doing mine. 🙂

#thanks for the question!#hope this is helpful #fyi to everyone else; this is the most space i will EVER devote to this subject so #wave goodbye as it flies past!#XD #the once and future slowburn #meta #(sort of? fandom analysis? idk)

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crowleyellestair · 4 years

Text

Spice- Regis Blurb

AN// just a situation I thought of. I might add more to this but who knows

Regis was buzzing as he strolled down the path. A smaller building, down past the duchies garden, was apparently a bakery. Geralt was a close friend of the Higher Vampire, and was highly aware of his food problem. Regis hadn’t partaken in blood since he was a younger, and most human dishes were too bland. Blood has a concoction- a way about it, that makes it different. There is a certain taste, a strength to it, and people don’t like the kick it gives or makes them feel. And that is with any dish it seems. Regis is hungry, and if he is going to be partaking in only human delights, he’s going to make it enjoyable. Sadly, he hasn’t found that joy yet. However, his witcher friend had mentioned the small bakery, thinking it might be the key to his dilemma.

Dettlaff wasn’t one to eat, but maybe he could bring something back for him once he gets around to checking in again. Of course, that is only if things go smoother than they have in his quest for suitable food.

It was a quant little place, but it seemed like there was a constant flow of people. Luckily, he entered the shop later in the evening, and the last person to exit was the last of the usual customers. The inside was spotless to dirt and every loaf and pastry were nicely organized. It seemed like most items were gone, only a few lingering deserts on display. Reading the tags, it seemed like there are a handful of exotic pastries that were surprisingly to the man. He hadn’t seen some of those titles in years, let alone in the south. There was a sharp smell of heavy vanilla bean, almond and orange wafting from the back that caught his attention. A moment later, lime practically punched the air from him, filling him as well as exciting him. Overused spices in the air is a good sign. He started to even peruse the small jarred spice section when he heard a loud gasp and the tang of blood hit the air.

“Is everything alright?” His voice was stable but the amount of copper on the breeze alerted him to a deeper cut. A younger woman’s head popped out from around the wall, brows furrowed in confusion. When her eyes fell on him, they shot up in shock.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.” She had a sharp intake of breath as her hand was brought out past the wall. “Um, yeah, I somewhat…nicked myself.” The cut went from the base of her thumb to the heel of her hand and was bleeding profusely.

“Do you need assistance? I’m a doctor.” He swung his satchel towards his front, and started to pull out the sterile swabs he always keeps on hand. She heaves out a small ‘sure’, and nods him towards the back. He makes his way to find four large batches of frosting, each holding a different frosting. There was fudge on an ice sheet shoved in a cooler box, and it seemed like she was pulling honey before the cut.

Her hand was callused and red in his own. They both sat on stools in the back of the kitchen, his grip gentle as he cleared most of the liquid pooling there. He looked to her to check her expression to find that she was staring at him.

“Sorry.” A small smile graced her as she shook her head. “I’m lucky a doctor was here. I would have wrapped it and continued to pull.” A small smile was returned as his hand went scrounging in his bag.

“Sadly, I doubt you will get back to your pulling tonight.” The confusion on her features truly made him feel for her. “You will need a few stitches.”

“What!?” Her hand pulled in his grip, making his thumb press into the cut. Another gasp left her, but they both said sorry. She smiled again, but this one was shaky, likely due to the pain. “I can’t do that. I have to finish the honey pops.” Regis gave her an apologetic look, but she still seemed deflated. After a moment, she sat up straighter. “I’m Y/n, by the way. What can I call you?”

“Regis.” He focused as he started to stich when surprise flooded him.

“Oh, I was waiting for you.” He didn’t look from his work, but his brow raised. “Geralt is a friend. He mentioned you were looking for something strong in flavor.”

“I am, but didn’t expect to be expected.” The index finger of the hand that stabilized hers started to gently brush her knuckles as a certain pull seemed jarring for her.

“He gets me ingredients that I can’t get to. Well, don’t know how to get safely. There’s a Blue Mountain legend that uses Dragon Root. While it’s not great work for a witcher, it’s perfect for a retired one. He’s awfully stubborn though. He doesn’t let me pay much, so I make sure to sneak extra spices and pastries into his goody bag as a thanks.” Regis smiles at her tale.

“Yes, he is a noble one. One of his many fantastic qualities.” He wiped down her hand once more with the small vial of alcohol he has, and she pulls her hand to inspect it. Her eyes widened, and met his darker ones with a sparkle to hers.

“Speaking of fantastic! This is better stitching than my everyday attire.” An amused huff passed through his nose, and a smile graced him. She stood, walking to the cooler box, puling out a bag with his name of it. “I actually already made a small sampler for you.” A dusting of pink spread over her cheeks as she handed it over.

He gladly accepted it, already smelling a profusion of spice. Opening the bag, he noticed a few honey bars, a fudge square and five different vials of frosting. Under that seemed to be the same amount of cake bites.

“Honey with ginger and cinnamon. If you don’t like the combination of both, I can easily make a batch with only one spice. I’ve also tried it with chili flakes or paprika, and it’s delightful. The fudge has chili flakes, but is on the darker side of chocolate, so there’s a punch to the rich, thick body of the chocolate. There’s spiced cakes, extra vanilla and a coffee bean kind. The frostings are almond, almond and vanilla, orange tang, lemon meringue, and lime. I can add or reduce anything you’d like.” The combinations sounded wonderful, and Regis couldn’t wait to try some.

“Well, you have my thanks. I will get to you right away on my thoughts. What do I owe you?” He gently tucked the bag into his own, but looked up when he heard her blow a raspberry.

“For my savior? Nothing. But, if you truly insist, you can stop by tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“Business is slow on Saturdays, and I’d love to have company.” Regis let his smile spread, even showing a bit of teeth, but her smile only grew at the sight.

“I shall certainly stop by, Y/n.”

#emiel regis x reader #emiel regis imagine #regis imagine #regis x reader #witcher imagine #witcher x reader

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abyssmail · 4 years

Text

Caerul Design Notes,

because I’ve actually put a lot of thought into creating Caerul’s aesthetic and I’m lowkey really proud of it. I won’t get into her actual character concept/personality/backstory/etc. since this got super long, but this is how/why I made the choices I did with regards to her name and visual design!

▶ Caerul’s color scheme started off way bluer (hence the name “Caerul,” from caeruleus/a/um - “blue”/“cerulean”/“azure”/“of the sky/sea” in Latin) and less saturated, but when I gave her a (dead) twin with a red theme, I wanted them to look more alike and made both of their hair purple (although I haven’t actually done more than sketch Roseus before... he’s got purple hair and red eyes). Purple’s my favorite color, and unnatural hair colors don’t seem to be uncommon in Orth, so why not, right? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ The red elements in Caerul’s design are meant to represent her honoring Roseus!

All of the base colors I use when drawing Caerul! They all end up looking a bit darker once they’re shaded though.

▶ As well as shamelessly using one of my favorite Latin words (I’m a Classics major, okay ;;>~>), I also tried to pick a name that sounded similar to the ones that already exist in-universe. This was actually fairly tricky, since as far as I can tell the names in Made in Abyss have a WIDE variety of influences. Some of them seem passably Japanese-sounding (Riko, Jiruo, Kiyui, Nanachi) disclaimer I bring dishonor to my ancestors and know 0 Japanese so this is just about vibez, others seem Western-ish (Reg, Nat, Lyza, Prushka). Some are fairly whimsical (Shiggy, Maruruk, Mitty) while others are more mysterious and fantastic (Any of the White Whistles besides maybe Lyza). The only common thread I could really settle on was a general fantasy feeling to all of the names. I tried to capture that nebulous vibe with Caerul’s name, although with something so vague and subjective it’s pretty much impossible to say if I was entirely successful. I named her siblings afterward with other Latin color words and ended up with a RGB theme lol.

▸ By the way, “Caerul” is pronounced “KAI-rool.” It rhymes with “Hyrule.” The ae diphthong makes an “eye” sound in Latin #TheMoreYouKnow

▸ “Caducalae” is a portmanteau of “caducae alae,” literally “falling/doomed/futile wings” in Latin (again), playing off how pointless it is to be able to fly when the Curse of the Abyss is a thing. Originally, they weren’t supposed to work at all outside of the Abyss, but I decided that was boring for crossovers/other verses so I scrapped it. I’m not too happy with the name since it doesn’t fit the naming scheme of the canon relics (there is no precedent at all for gratuitous Latin in Made in Abyss, which is a good thing because it’s overused in fantasy, but Latin was the only thing I was good at in high school sooooo... ^^;), but I didn’t like any of my other ideas that much, either. “Wings of Futility” feels more canon, but it’s also kinda depressing :/

▶ I’ve mentioned before that Caerul’s build is based off of mine for art reference purposes (it’s convenient to just look in the mirror while making the pose I want =w=)b), but another reason she’s so short is that I didn’t have to make the caducalae quite as big since she’s smaller, so she can actually go indoors if she’s careful.

▶ Long hair isn’t super practical with mechanical wings with lots of bits for it to get caught in, but Caerul idolizes Lyza, so I left her hair as long as I could reasonably get away with.

▶ I heavily referenced the canon Made in Abyss character designs for Caerul’s clothing so she would fit into the world, but made some alterations to make everything more personal to her and accommodate for her wings. In general, I lightened everything up, since she takes a bunch of short, quick trips rather than lengthy expeditions. Her gloves, for instance, are loosely inspired by the ones we see many delvers wearing in the manga/anime, but are less heavy-duty and are convertible mittens/fingerless gloves for better dexterity with handling letters and such.

The best close up of the gloves I could find was actually a screenshot of the aftermath Reg & Riko’s orb piercer encounter, but I didn’t want to have to tag this for gore, so you get Lyza ^^; There’s a filter over Caerul here so you can see the glove better which is why she looks kinda washed out :/

▶ Her coat is heavily influenced by Jiruo’s, since he’s the only Moon Whistle we’ve seen in canon.

yeah, uhhhh, sorry to yoink your style my dude ^^;

▸ Caerul’s has a different color palette, a simpler lapel border, an extra set of outer pockets, and three separate panels in the back that button around her wings so she can put it on! I haven’t drawn it, but her shirt works similarly.

This is my favorite detail about her design tbh... it’s just really satisfying what a logical solution it is for some reason??? the original doodle is off rotting somewhere in my Modern European History notes, but I tried to recreate it just as sloppily here =w=)b

▶ Caerul’s corset isn’t just a painful fashion choice - it’s actually meant to be a(n admittedly heavily stylized) brace for her back against the weight of her wings.

▶ Since Caerul can’t wear a backpack with the wings, I had to get creative with storage options for her. In addition to an undetermined number of pockets on the inside of her coat, I gave her these two pouches on her thighs to carry more stuff.

I wonder how buff your quads could get carrying a significant amount of weight there...

▸ Messenger bags don’t seem super practical for delving, so I didn’t design a specific one for her to carry all the time, but Caerul does use them on occasion. Even with that, though, she still has far less carrying capacity than the average delver, which is a problem she has to deal with when carrying out her duties!

▶ The wings/caducalae were by far the most difficult part of designing Caerul, and it took several redesigns over 2+ years before I was finally happy with them. Their first design was deliberately far simpler in the interest of having to draw them a zillion times, but they ended up clunky and unwieldy looking:

chonky o~O

▸ The final design is MUCH more of a pain to draw (in fact, a lot of the time I cheat and just copy and paste them from drawings I’ve already done), but I think it looks much sleeker and more “functional”.

I also got better at making my diagrams look slightly more authentic ;0

▸ I knew I wanted jetpack-style thrusters to be a component of the wings to somewhat justify the shit I wanted Caerul to be able to pull with them (especially to eliminate the need for accounting for the damage landing suddenly could do to her ankles), but incorporating them proved to be one of the biggest problems of the design. At one point, they were going to have a whole separate attachment point on her back, but I finally just made them an offshoot of the first “joint,” as you can see in the final design.

A really messy intermediate caducalae sketch. The weird double pentagon shape was meant to be the part of the relic actually fused to Caerul’s back, but I scrapped that too when I scrapped the separate limbs for the thrusters.

▸ Speaking of the joints, they’re all balls so they can rotate all over and I don’t have to fuss too much about how they move. Likewise, the frame is metal, but I treat it like it’s kind of flexible, so Caerul can “flex” the wings open and closed. These wings are hard enough to draw period okay I’m giving myself every excuse to be inconsistent af on purpose.

▸ The caducalae have some “bonus” features that I’ve sketched out, but that Caerul hasn’t unlocked yet, and won’t for a while.

owo what’s this?

▸ For the wings, I think my biggest inspirations were some of the mechier Cardfight!! Vanguard dragon units (although I don’t remember which cards specifically) and the energy wings on the ninth-generation knightmares in Code Geass R2.

I’ve made a lot of OCs, and since I don’t like to use faceclaims, I’ve done a fair amount of character designing. I don’t think I’ve ever spent as much time or had as much fun with any of them as I have with Caerul, though! OCs aren’t always super well accepted in fandom roleplay, but the Made in Abyss community has been super welcoming and I’ve had a blast. Thanks for listening to me gush about Caerul if you got this far, and thank you to everyone who’s interacted with her!

The original sketch of Caerul from back in 2017. How far we’ve come :’D

#miscellaneous info #mun art #appearance #ooc #((no one cares lol))#((but I had fun putting all my thoughts down in writing ^^;))#((also! the full version of the new caerul art from the promo!))

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 5 years

Text

Kiss It

Title: Kiss It

Pairing: erasermic

WC:3k+

Rating: Teen

Notes: I was tagged in the “Favorite fic” game where everyone gets to vote on which of my fics I should write a continuation of and Ice It was the winner! If you haven’t already read that fic, you’re going to need to in order to get the full story. Please go check it out here. This was a lot of fun. Thank you for choosing Ice It!

Read it on ao3 here

Kiss It

The doctor's visit goes about as well as Shouta expected it to, getting Hizashi there, on the other hand, went much differently than he ever thought it would.

Every other time Hizashi had turned up hurt after patrol, he'd given the other man his bed and slept on the couch, needing to put forth no more effort than dodging some half-hearted teasing from the voice hero. After their shared confession in the bathroom that evening, though, Shouta hadn't thought twice about offering to share his bed. If anything, it had made him wonder just how sincere all those other mumbled, exhausted requests from the blond had been.

Could he have had this sooner? Months ago? Years ago?

Sleeping together was nice, comfortable and warm in ways his bed had never felt before. He'd drifted off thinking he could get used to this, that he never wanted to go back to anything before this. He’d felt satisfied with each breath he took, laced with the light scent of his green tea shampoo mixed with the lingering lavender and vanilla that always seemed to envelope Hizashi’s body. He’d even enjoyed the little creaks his bed frame made when the other man moved, a reminder that he wasn’t alone, that impossibly, that night had really happened.

Waking up had been a different story. The bags of ice he’d placed on Hizashi’s bruised leg had melted, leaving a cold, damp spot on the sheets. The heating pad beneath the voice hero’s aching back had turned off automatically, thankfully, but the cord was twined around Shouta’s hand and wrist. To top it off, somehow, the injured man had wrapped himself around Shouta in his sleep, and by Shouta's own arms and legs tangled in among the blond’s in return, he wasn't the only guilty party.

This had led to a rather painful extraction for both of them, Shouta's ears ringing for a good half hour afterward and Hizashi rubbing tenderly at his chest the entire ride to the hospital.

After a lengthy series of x-rays, and a bashful grin from Hizashi that almost looked like he was proud of the 4 broken ribs the doctor pointed to on the light up screen, they'd been sent back with some painkillers, bandages, a cast and crutches, and a rather forceful recommendation for bed rest. The doctor had said Hizashi was lucky, that the modifications to his body’s internal structure, namely, the extra cartilage that allowed his chest to expand beyond normal when he pulled in air for those powerful shouts, had likely saved him from organ damage.

Shouta had been concerned, making a note to drag Hizashi to a doctor immediately next time this happened, no more playing nurse with an overused and under stocked first aid kit in each other’s bathrooms.

Hizashi had scratched at the baby blue cat Band-Aid over his nose and asked about replacing it for stitches, hardly even paying the idea of a punctured lung any mind, despite it being a rather vital part of his job.

They thanked the doctor and headed out. They'd make a trip to Recovery Girl on Monday to see about setting up a healing schedule to shorten Hizashi’s forced bed rest by a few weeks, but for now, Hizashi seemed happy to spend a few days doing nothing, a nice change of pace for the overwhelmingly busy hero. Shouta had to admit he was a little happy himself. He might have put up a stink about playing Hizashi’s caretaker in the past, but he’d never truly minded it. It usually meant taking some time off himself, and being able to be close to the other man in ways he couldn’t when they were still keeping up their facade of just friends.

After last night, they hadn’t even discussed if Hizashi would be crashing at Shouta’s place until he healed. There was a silent understanding when Shouta helped the other man into the car and opened up a water bottle from the case he kept in his trunk, handing over one of what would probably be many painkillers over the next few days. Hizashi thanked him and leant his head against the window, watching without question as Shouta turned right, rather than left, out of the parking lot.

The blond had yammered on about plans to decorate his crutches and pointed to where he wanted Shouta to sign his cast while it was still being plastered onto his leg. It seemed a bit pointless to Shouta, knowing full well that the cast wasn’t going to be on for the full month the doctor had recommended, but if doodling on the plaster made Hizashi happy, well, then who could blame Shouta for running into a store on the drive home to buy some markers?

When they pull into the parking lot of his apartment complex, he helps Hizashi stand up and makes sure he has a firm grasp on the crutches before shutting the door and trying not to hover too much as he slows his gate to match Hizashi’s speed. They make it to the front door without incident, though Hizashi’s playful smile he’d been wearing all day at the hospital has dropped off completely by the time they’re indoors. A few drops of sweat are gathering along his hairline and Shouta is glad he offered this morning to pull the long strands into a ponytail for the other man.

Hizashi leans heavily against the entranceway wall while Shouta helps slip off his one shoe. When he straightens up, Hizashi’s eyes are closed and he looks exhausted, eyebrows pulled together, breathing through his mouth in short little gasps, probably trying not to aggravate his ribs too much.

“It’ll take a little bit for the pills to kick in,” Shouta says, pulling his sleeve over his hand and using it to dab at Hizashi’s temple. The blond opens one eye and nods slightly.

They’d both been heroes long enough to know plenty well that painkillers never worked as fast as you wanted them to.

“Come on, let’s get you on the couch,” he says, taking the crutches from Hizashi and propping them on the wall, pulling the other man into his side like he’d done the night before, and half-carrying him over to the living room. This seemed to be a bit easier on Hizashi’s chest.

Shouta lays Hizashi down across the cushions and wishes suddenly that he’d listened all those times the self-proclaimed “design expert” had said he needed some throw pillows.

“I’m going to grab some pillows from the bedroom, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay…”

Shouta gives him a small smile and Hizashi’s eyes are barely open at this point, but they curve up into little crescents to match the tired stretch of his lips anyway. Hizashi’s hand moves into a thumbs up before his fingers flatten out across his stomach like the movement had taken the last bit of energy he’d had to spare.

Apparently that high he’d been riding from last night had run out.

That’s fine, Shouta thinks. He would be perfectly happy just letting Hizashi rest.

By the time he comes back out in the living room with his arms stuffed full of pillows, the heating pad, and the fluffy blanket Hizashi had bought him for Christmas last year, the other man is already passed out. His jaw is slack, a small damp spot forming on his shirt where his chin is tucked awkwardly against his shoulder. Shouta snorts and sets everything down on the floor as quietly as possible, and then channels all those years of stealth training to carefully slip a pillow beneath Hizashi’s head without disturbing him. The sleepy man lets out a little hum as he settles into the plush material and Shouta smiles, brushing some of his long hair away from his face.

He’s not really willing to risk sliding the heating pad under Hizashi’s back, knowing that’s bound to rouse him, so he flips the switch on the cord and lays it over his upper chest instead, along where he remembers the click of the doctor’s pen as it tapped against the x-ray display. He pulls the blanket overtop and stands back up, happy with his work.

Shouta eyes the space by Hizashi’s feet. He really wanted to try and squish in next to him, snuggling into all that warmth, far better than his sleeping bag, but this would have to do. If the way neither of them had said anything about Hizashi going back to his place was any indication, he’d have plenty of time to get close to the other man later tonight.

For now, well…

For now, placing Hizashi’s legs overtop his own, and leaning his head along the back of the couch was suitable.

It doesn’t take long for Shouta to drift off too.

---

“Shouta...Shouta...Shhhouuuutaaaa…”

He blinks awake to the sound of someone calling his name, the dim overhead lights in his popcorn ceiling slowly coming into focus as the words get clearer.

“Mmm?” Shouta grumbles.

He feels a light tapping against his lower stomach and looks down to see Hizashi’s good leg poking at him where they’re both still settled on his lap. He turns to see the blond pouting, hair mussed from sleep, with strands of it pulled out of his ponytail, and eyes a little squinty, as if he too just woke up, despite his pleading tone that says he’d been waiting for quite some time.

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” Hizashi whines. “And my everything hurts.”

Shouta looks at the small digital clock on his bookshelf. They’d napped for a number of hours, and he’d passed out before he’d had the chance to set a reminder to give the injured man his next dose of the painkillers the doctor prescribed.

“Sorry,” Shouta says, running a hand through his hair as guilt seeps in. “I should have woken you up to give you more meds.”

“What happened to ‘sleep is the perfect medicine’?”

Shouta quirks his eyebrow, says, “Does it feel perfect right now?”

“No, it feels like I need to brush my teeth and I’m starving, Shouta.”

“Doubtful,” he retorts, but leans over Hizashi’s legs, careful of the cast, to grab his cell phone from where he’d left it on the coffee table. “Takeout?”

“Delivery.”

Shouta snorts, saying, “Are you paying that fee?”

“I can’t be left alone, Sho, I’m injured. What if I had to go to the bathroom and fell on the way and you were out getting food while I was suffocating on the carpet, unable to push myself up?”

“You could turn your head.”

“I broke my neck on the way down.”

“I’m not sure you deserve to live if that’s how you die.”

“Shouta!”

They both burst into a fit of laughter, Hizashi holding his sides and groaning as he tries to stop his giggles from affecting his broken ribs. Shouta wants to stop laughing, stop egging him on, but trying to stifle himself just makes tears gather in the corners of his eyes. He tries to turn his face away and cover his mouth as Hizashi yells, “stop! S-stop! Shouta! Pfff Sh-Shouta” through his laughter.

By the time they’ve both calmed down, their faces are flushed pink and Shouta’s smile is nearly as big as Hizashi’s.

“Okay, delivery.”

They make it about halfway through dinner before Hizashi’s painkillers kick in and he quietly tilts over from where Shouta had positioned him to sit up to eat, and rests his head on Shouta’s shoulder. Hizashi looks up at him, big green eyes still shining under droopy lids, and blinks slowly, each one seeming to take just a little more energy than the last.

“Ready for bed?” Shouta asks.

“I could stay up longer…”

“I’ll lay down with you,” Shouta says, and he’s surprised how easy this all is, how seamlessly their friendship is transitioning into something more, as if this was the way it was always supposed to be. As he slips his arm around Hizashi to rub soothing at his lower back, further lulling the other man into slumber, he still can’t believe it.

“I’ll read or something...or knowing me...I’ll probably just fall asleep too,” he admits, shrugging.

Hizashi smiles against his shirt and nods. His hand moves up off the couch to fall onto Shouta’s thigh. Two little pats, and then, Hizashi says, “Sounds perfect to me.”

---

Hizashi does a remarkable job keeping his exuberant voice hero personality dialed up to 10 while also sporting a full cast, crutches, and several bandages on his face. He shoots every single staring student a staggering smile, and impressively manages to keep his pain to nothing more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth and a little extra grip around his crutches. Shouta stays beside him, giving each kid a glare after Hizashi’s grin to encourage them to move along faster.

He didn’t like the way Hizashi’s right shoulder was starting to shake beneath all that leather.

They finish off a conversation with a 3rd year boy who somehow doesn’t get the hint even with Shouta’s harsh stare, just a few feet away from Recovery Girl’s office, and Shouta has never been so relieved to slide open those doors and get that instant waft of sterile cleaning chemicals.

Hizashi limps in behind him and he closes the door, the blond letting out a heavy sigh as he makes his way to the closest bed and gingerly lowers himself down.

“I was expecting you’d be here a little earlier than this,” Recovery Girl says, twisting around in her chair before hopping down and grabbing her cane. She makes her way slowly over to them, giving Shouta a sweeping full body glance he doesn’t deserve on her way by. He hadn’t done anything reckless lately, but he can’t blame her, he was by often enough that it was likely a habbit at this point.

She stops in front of Hizashi and clicks her tongue, lightly tapping his cast with her cane.

“So what’s first, then, hmm?” she asks. “I looked at the x-rays your doctor sent over. I think we should start with the ribs, but if the leg is giving you more discom-”

“My face, please,” Hizashi interrupts.

Shouta has to do a double take.

He and Recovery Girl say, “What?” simultaneously.

“I want you to heal my face first, if that’s alright with you?” he asks again, taking off his glasses.

Recovery Girl raises an eyebrow and Shouta frowns.

“Hizashi, a few stitches aren’t a big deal. You should have her heal your ribs, you can’t make it down the hall without breaking into a sweat,” Shouta says.

Hizashi just smiles at him, soft and tired. His eyes are half-lidded in a way that makes Shouta’s chest tighten.

This was dangerous.

They’d only been romantically involved for maybe 72 hours and he was willing to give Hizashi whatever he wanted.

Shit, gotta remember not to spoil him.

Recovery Girl sighs and reaches out for Hizashi’s collar, tugging him down a little rougher than necessary, probably just to get the wince she knew would be there from his jostled chest to prove her point. He leans down and she pushes up on her tippy-toes, kissing his forehead, and Shouta watches the purple bruises around Hizashi’s lip and nose and eye all start to fade away.

It was a stupid request, but she’d done it anyway, snipping off his stitches and wiping away the adhesive from the bandage on his nose. When Hizashi swayed a little too much in response to the quirk-enhanced healing, she told him to come back in two days to start chipping away at the rest of his injuries.

“No more vanity-healing, you hear?” she’d said, giving his cheek a pat with her hand.

They’d thanked her, Shouta promising to drag Hizashi back, and headed back down the long hall. Hizashi was almost entirely silent, his movements a bit slower, but a little smile stayed fastened to his lips the whole walk through U.A, and into the parking lot.

It’s not until Hizashi is situated in his seat and Shouta shuts the car door that the voice hero comes to life, immediately turning toward him, cheeks dimpled by his large grin, smile lines forming around the corner of his eyes. Shouta narrows his own eyes, looking at him suspiciously, and reaches out with the intention of gently pushing the other man back against his seat, concerned that the way Hizashi is turned toward him would be uncomfortable for an uninjured person, let alone someone still nursing broken ribs. He doesn’t make it that far, though, as Hizashi’s hand wraps around his wrist to stop him, guiding Shouta’s arm down to the middle console between them. He maneuvers their hands and Shouta is a little surprise how easy it is for his fingers to find the gaps between Hizashi’s. It’s been maybe 5 seconds since they’d entered the car and now they’re holding hands.

It’s hard to believe it has only been a few days since Hizashi came stumbling into his apartment and knocked over every expectation, and every semblance of reality Shouta had built up in his life.

Wasn’t it that same morning that he’d stared a little too long at Hizashi’s lips when the other man said his daily “see you later, Eraser” as they waved goodbye after classes had ended for the day? Wasn’t it that same drive home, in this same car, when he’d paused at a stop sign for a bit too long, thinking about calling Hizashi and seeing if he wanted to hang out that weekend, wanted to sit on his couch with a good foot of buffer space between them that Hizashi would inevitably invade, just to drive Shouta and his crush a little bit more insane?

Hadn’t he written this off the same day that Hizashi made it all happen?

Now he’s holding hands with his best friend and somehow feeling like he’s the breathless one.

“Hiz-”

“Kiss me.”

Shouta’s eyes widen, his mouth still open, and Hizashi’s name fallen off his lips and somewhere into the space between them.

“W-what?”

“You promised,” Hizashi says, and his fingers press into the back of Shouta’s hand as his grip tightens. “You said when my lip was healed, you’d kiss me.”

Hizashi’s other hand moves up to his mouth, where he peels off the butterfly bandages that had been holding his split lip together, the ones they’d traded the cartoon cat one for when they’d gone to the doctor. Shouta watches as his skin is revealed again, a light pink hue of a freshly healed wound, but no more blood, no scratches, no scabs.

Hizashi makes a kissy face, his mustache twitching above his upper lip.

Shouta laughs.

Hizashi’s perfect, freshly healed lips start forming a pout, but Shouta’s not about to have that, not now, not when everything is new and warm and his heart feels full in a way it never has before. So he let’s go of Hizashi’s hand and he moves it to the blond’s face instead, cupping his cheek, letting his thumb run over that soft, smooth skin, and watching Hizashi’s green eyes glisten in the sunlight streaming in over Shouta’s shoulder through the car’s window. He leans in and his lips find Hizashi’s, fitting together so seamlessly, like this was where they were always meant to be. He closes his eyes and moves his hand around to the back of Hizashi’s head, pulling him in closer, tilting him back a bit as he deepens the kiss.

Hizashi lets out a happy hum and Shouta feels one of the other man’s hands grip the hem of his shirt, as the other lands on his thigh.

It must only be a few seconds, but Shouta swears the whole day passes in that moment.

When they pull back, Hizashi’s grin has returned in full force, and if Shouta was a man of more words he might tell him that he looks perfect, stunning even, because both of those things are true.

Instead, he smiles back at Hizashi, stroking his thumb along the blond’s cheek one more time, and says, “Promise kept.”

#erasermic #erasermic fanfiction #maizawa #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #bnha #mha

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secretblog1212 · 5 years

Text

Phantom Tickles

Klaus and Ben are pranksters and poor Five is their victim. He will never catch a break with all his siblings around. Tickles ensue.

Ben was bored, he had told his all seeing brother this at least five times in the past half hour. Klaus, however, was interested in his newest hobby, coloring. The two brothers had been filling page after page in the childish coloring books Diego and Vanya had picked out at the store earlier that week, and being honest, the ghosts hand was painfully cramping up. How Klaus remained unaffected was a mystery to him.

“Can’t we switch to something else for a little bit?” Ben all but begged. His counterpart shrugged his shoulders and gave a heavy sigh.

“You got any better ideas Benny Boy? No? Then shut your trap and grab some colors, I want to try to finish this Adventure Time book before dinner.”

Ben did not grab any of the many crayons that were spilt across the floor. Instead he thought in silence for a few minutes while Klaus continued his activities and grew to have a devious smile across his face.

“I know something we could do… At least, if you’re up to cause some havoc?”

“Havoc?” Klaus repeated. His full attention suddenly torn away from Princess Bubblegum.

“I do believe that was my word of choice. A disturbance or inconvenience to our dear siblings.”

Klaus was caught, hook line and sinker. “And what per say would cause such an unfortunate situation?”

Thus the two brothers devised their master plan for destruction to be enacted after dinner, during family bonding time, a recommendation of Vanya and Allison.

Which leads us into the situation currently at hand, baffling five of the seven Hargreeves children.

After a lovely dinner of chicken, peas, and potatoes the seven adults, one of who was a teenager still much to his displeasure, sat around the television with some random horror movie playing. The first hour was peaceful. All the siblings were squeezed onto two separate couches, Vanya, who was covering her eyes, Allison who held the former whenever she got scared and Luther, who watched them both at ever flinch, on one.

Five, Diego and Klaus stretched across the other. Diego was watching intently, fully entranced by the overused plot. Five on the other hand seemed the opposite and drifted in and out of a nap, completely oblivious to the ‘devilish nonsense’ about to take place in their own living room. Klaus, while would normally of at least attempted to stay still, was buzzing with anticipation.

The seventh sibling paced behind each sibling, carefully choosing his target. His decision finalized when Five was startled awake as poor little Katie found a knife plunging into her abdomen. He rubbed at his eyes before stretching as far as his little legs could.

Number six walked behind his newly returned brother, excitement flashing between his and Klaus eyes.

And the mischief began.

First it was just soft blowing on the teens neck and ears, this sadly only received a shuffle, not the reaction either brother was looking for.

Next Ben moved in front of Fives view of the TV, not that anyone could tell of course.

The first sign Five noticed that something might be happening were the small, quick pokes on his left side. He lasted a few minutes with minimal shifting but jumped closer to Klaus after an extra tingly jab in his left side. Ben was ecstatic, their plan was working.

After a few more well placed pokes Five stiffened and bit his lip, whispering softly to an innocent Diego. “Knock it off. I don’t know why you’re doing that, but I don’t want to be part of whatever game you’re playing.”

Diego severed eye contact with the screen in favor of raising an eyebrow to his smallest sibling. “I have no idea what you mean by that but be quiet, it’s just getting to the good bit.”

Five huffed and pulled his legs against his chest in protest, moving slightly closer to Klaus.

At this point Ben was collapsed on the floor laughing and Klaus was barely containing himself. Once Ben regained control he decided he couldn’t wait any longer, without warning he used both of his hands to dig into to poor little Fives sides.

Said Five jumped to the side, propelling himself into Klaus with some repressed noise between a squeal and a cackle before curling into a ball of giggles.This gained all eyes focusing in on the boy.

There was nothing he could push away, no physical hands he could see or touch, Ben had him fully at his mercy.

Ben switched places, a hand moving up to flutter on the side of his neck. The new spot must've knocked something loose in Fives mind because he all but doubled in laughter and finally found his words, or at least what could be an attempt at communication.

“Whahahahat is thihihis? Stohop, sTAhhahap ihit!”

This must of prompted the siblings into action, although not productive to helping him. Vanya was the first to come to her senses. “Umm.” She stumbled, “What’s going on Five? I don’t really understand.”Five only continued to laugh hysterically, oblivious to the words being fired at him.

Klaus was not so lucky.

“Awe, I forgot he was this cute Klaus. “ Ben cooed “His face is so red, and look! His nose is all scrunched up like a bunny. Lil bunny Five.”

Klaus felt his own face begin to heat up knowing he was the only one who could hear their dead brothers taunts.

Between Ben and Diego, Klaus didn’t know how Five hadn’t exploded, he was just about ready to and they weren’t even talking to him!

“Oh Five, I didn’t know you were still ticklish. I am so using this against you.”

“Lil baby bunny. Jeez, you’re just as ticklish as when we were kids Five.”

“Did you hear that? What even was that! A scream or squeal?”

“Oh my god, that voice crack was beautiful, can you do that again?”

“You’re so red!”

Even though the boy in question could only hear half of these taunts it was enough to get him flustered past his limits.

“ShuhuhHUT UHu-uhuhp! Mahahke it stohop!” He practically begged.

Luther still seemed to be confused, looking around for the cause, while the others had just accepted the situation as non dangerous for now. Diego even found himself pulling one of Fives legs from his chest and placing deadly, rapid fire squeezes all the way from his ankle up to the conjunction of his hip and leg.

Five nearly fell off the couch at that, screaming even more threats than before. It was truly a beautiful scene.

“Ihihi wihihill kill yohuhu! Diehegoho, nahahah!”

The girls chuckled at the playful brotherly display, it was rare to see such a wholesome scene within their family. No one really wanted it to end but as Fives giggles and pleas turned silent the tag team brothers slowed their fingers and hands to a stop.

The movie watching resumed without a second thought and Five slumped on his side, still giggling when the credits finished rolling. Before anyone could leave he stopped them all, “Who did it? I don’t understand. No one was touching me in the beginning till Diego decided to join in, which watch your back because revenge is a bitch, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

Klaus smirked at his newly younger sibling, “Guess it is a mystery. What do you think we should headline it?” It only took him a second to start throwing ideas out in the open. “Tickle Monster Loose in the Umbrella Academy? Time Traveler Left Giggling From Terrifying Tickle Attack?”

Five remained unamused and in a flash was gone, hiding in his room to get rid of the pink blush that had taken residency over his face.

Ben smirked from his spot beside Diego, “Don’t think I didn't see how you were blushing Klaus, maybe you need a taste of the tickle monster too.”

Klaus felt himself go stiff.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I am beat Nighty night my dearest siblings!” He yelled while bolting up the stairs, the only one able to see the ghost of little Number Six hot on his heels.

#ler ben/6 #tickles #tua #ticklish five #ghost ben #ben being a prankster #ler diego #only a little bit tho #family bonding #klaus is gonna get it soon #oof #tickle fic #fic

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vateacancameos · 5 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Words: 2263 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Autumn, Post-Canon, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, So much fluff your teeth will ache, Gen or Pre-Slash, we'll be getting into slash territory in the rest of this series, adorable Aziraphale, cranky crowley, but not really, he's too busy having heart eyes to put in the effort, Footnotes, gross overuse of footnotes, my footnotes have footnotes, buckle in people Series: Part 1 of Ineffable Seasons

Summary: Aziraphale coos all over autumn and Crowley tries to pretend he doesn't find it adorable.

Story:

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, a smile on his face, his whole being practically glowing. It’s disgusting. Crowley glances away so he can’t be pulled further into the entrancing vision in front of him. But he looks back as soon as his best friend begins speaking.

“Oh, isn’t it glorious? The crisp temperatures, the smell of falling leaves. Jumpers and cider. And pumpkins.” At this final word, Aziraphale breaks his beatific pose—hands clasped in front of his chest, the sun hitting behind him at just the right angle to give him a halo—Hela,[1] did this angel have no shame—to crouch down and pick up a pumpkin in front of him. He holds it under his arm and throws another smile at Crowley, which has Crowley sighing and rolling his eyes to once again protest this whole silly endeavor. How he’d let himself get roped into this inane activity, he’ll never know.[2]

[1] Crowley, tired of trying to figure out which entity to use when he experiences feelings, has recently started using made-up gods instead, starting with the gods of the underworlds. He hasn’t found one that works yet, but he’s willing to try them all if necessary.

[2] It certainly has nothing to do with the strategically sweet and pleading face that had greeted him when he’d entered the bookshop to pick up his favorite angel[3] for lunch.

[3] The only angel he even deigns to like, in point of fact.

“Seriously, angel?” Crowley asks, sliding his sunglasses down just far enough to allow Aziraphale to see the disbelief in his eyes. “Autumn is terrible. Now winter, that’s the best season. Everyone harried and worried about money. Slushy rain and wet socks. Furnaces that stall or overheat. People stuck in their houses wearing terrible jumpers, forced to interact with family members they hate. Shoveling snow, if you live in a place that has that. Yeah, winter is a good one …” He lets himself grow nostalgic, remembering his favorite winters past.

“Oh pish. I’ve seen you light up like a child when seeing Christmas light displays. The closest you get to Scrooge is as him on Christmas morning, buying up roasted meat for the poor children of this world,” Aziraphale argues with a fond eye roll.[4]

[4] Let the reader note that, in fact, the closest Crowley gets to Scrooge is when David Tennant voices Scrooge McDuck on the DuckTales revival, including a great Christmas episode that employs meta jokes that reference Doctor Who, another popular show David Tennant played a part in. This author suggests you check out both shows if you have not yet done so. She’ll wait for you to get back. Okay, back now? Good. That was fun, wasn’t it?

“That’s not– Ngh– I do n–. Stop it right now, or I’ll shove you into the back of the Bentley and take you right back to your bookshop, no cider and certainly no pumpkins.”

Aziraphale’s mouth drops open, and Hades help him, Crowley can’t tell how real or manufactured the look is. The angel often does an amazing impression of being completely innocent, but there are times that his naivety is real.

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too–”

“Bless it,[5] angel, if you say nice–”

[5] Sometimes Crowley forgets and falls back on old curses and blesses. He’s been using them for millennia, after all.

[read the rest under the cut or over at ao3.]

Aziraphale shoots him an exasperated look. “Of course not. I was going to say you’re too invested in teasing me for my every autumnal exclamation today to back out now.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Dear Persephone, he’s right. From the moment Aziraphale had asked for a ride to the autumn festival/pumpkin patch monstrosity,[6] Crowley had been coming up with ways to tease him for his love of the season and all its trappings.[8]

[6] Complete with corn maze, cider, too many games involving gourds, and a—he can’t believe he’s even thinking of it—a hayride. Really, humans are far better than he is at inventing pure misery.[7]

[7] Let the author again note how amazing she thinks autumn is. That being said, hayrides are itchy, dusty, and bumpy, and you’re stuck sitting far too close to excitedly screeching children. She doesn’t blame Crowley for hating them.

[8] Just wait until Aziraphale turns the tables at Christmas.

Crowley acquiesces with a flop of his hand that he knows Aziraphale will read as both “Fine, fine, you caught me, I want to tease you,” and “Fine, let’s go look at these gourds you’re so interested in. Did you by any chance spend too much time in the New World back when it was still new?”[9]

[9] It was only new to the dumb, egotistical Europeans, though. It was plenty old to the native peoples of that continent by the time the Europeans showed up.

Aziraphale beams, gently placing the pumpkin back on the ground and dusting off his hands and jumper.

“Did you buy that jumper just for today?” Crowley asks as they begin strolling through the pumpkin patch/festival/field of torture. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in one before.”

Aziraphale somehow smiles even more brightly. Crowley is glad he’s wearing his sunglasses.[10] The angel pats the fuzzy, cabled, oatmeal affair covering his upper body. “Do you like it? I saw it in a window display and it just called to me. And it was right after the weather began to turn, and I just had to try it on. And then it was so soft and warm, I couldn’t not buy it. It’s like being wrapped in a hug.[11] I thought today would be the perfect time to debut it. It might get regular rotation with my jacket this autumn and winter.”

[10] To shade his eyes from the terrible angelic brilliance, of course. It has nothing to do with hiding his reaction to said smile.

[11] Crowley would love to be wrapped in a– nope. Nope. That thought will not see the light of day.

“Mm hm,” Crowley responds, quite brilliantly. “Oh look, the cider booth.”

“Oh! Cider? That sounds lov–”

“I’ll just get one for you, shall I?”

He hopes Aziraphale will find another squash to coo over, but he feels his presence next to him as soon as he’s queued up, but he’s cheerfully quiet. They wait in comfortable silence for the people in front of them to get their ciders, Aziraphale’s wide eyes taking in every aspect of the event, and Crowley softens. He enjoys teasing his best friend—doesn’t think their friendship would have survived without it, and truthfully Aziraphale can give as good as he gets, so he doesn’t feel guilty for it[12]—but he also does genuinely enjoy seeing Aziraphale enjoying himself. That smile can have Crowley walking on air for days, even when it isn’t directed at him. It’s the reason he asks the angel out to lunch so often, despite himself being the type to drink his meal rather than eat it. There’s nothing better than watching Aziraphale eat. Or find a new book to fall in love with. Or … yes, even enjoy this absolutely awful season they currently find themselves living in.

[12] Not that demons ever feel guilty. Crowley makes a single exception for back in the beginning and the thing with the humans and the apple. But they don’t talk about that.

They finally make it to the front of the queue, where Crowley asks for one cider, extra cinnamon, for Aziraphale, and one mulled wine[13] for himself.

[13] Which the vendor is surprised to find she has, despite winter still being a good few months away.

They start strolling again, and Crowley lets the angel choose the direction, following along, like he always does, as he always will do.

“I don’t understand it.”

“No surprise there, angel. You may be smart, but sometimes daily life confuses you.”

“Oh hush, you,” Aziraphale admonishes with no heat, patting Crowley’s arm, which has unknowingly been tucked into by Aziraphale’s non-cider-holding hand. That’s been happening a lot lately, but Crowley’s not about to call attention to it, lest it stop. “What I meant was, you said mere months ago that—and I quote—‘I like spooky.’ At the old satanic hospital in Tadfield, if you remember.”

“If I remember? As if I could forget any part of that God-forsaken[14] week.”

[14] Yeah, he means that appellation there. Do you hear that, God?[15]

[15] Yes, She hears that. The author (and Crowley) would do well to remember that the game She plays is complicated and ineffable, thank you very much.

“Well, anyway. That’s beside the point. The point is, you like spooky.” Here, Aziraphale punctuates his words with more arm pats. “And autumn is when Samhain[16] occurs. You can’t have spooky without autumn.

[16] Pronounced saah-wn. Not Sam-hain, like they said on Supernatural that one time, which shows how little research TV writers sometimes do. This author is not stupidly obsessed with this fact. At. All.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Most spooky these days is over-manufactured swill sold to the masses for profit. It’s torture porn or silly ghosts. None of it frightens me.”[17]

[17] Except the current U.S. president. Now that shit’s scary.[18]

[18] Head office tried to give him a commendation for that whole debacle, but he noped right out of that one.

“Torture porn?” Aziraphale asks, a disgusted and confused wrinkle in his brow.

“Yeah, porn is a term current humans use to mean anything over-indulged in, but it has nothing to do with sexual acts. Well, most of it. Like, torture porn, food porn, space porn.” Aziraphale looks more disturbed the longer Crowley speaks, so he waves it away. “Never mind. I’m just saying, none of that manufactured spooky does anything for me.”

They come to a booth with caramel popcorn, and without even looking at his angel, Crowley signals for a bag, handing it over to Aziraphale as he counts out the correct number of coins. Aziraphale sighs happily and begins munching on it immediately.

“You’re just a stick-in-the-mud,” he says, going back to their conversation.

“Excuse me? I’m the stick-in-the-mud, Mr. I’ve-worn-the-same-jacket-for-one-hundred-and-eighty-years?”

“You’d do well to remember your car is ninety years old.”

“Practically new compared to your old smelly coat.”

Aziraphale’s jaw-drop this time is definitely not feigned. “You take that back. You said it looked good on me.”

“Yeah, in 1840.”

Aziraphale looks truly hurt. “It’s my favorite,” he says quietly, and Crowley relents. He can’t not, when he’s up against that face.

“It’s a nice coat, angel. But it’s good seeing you in something else for once.”

“Thank you, my dear. But the point is, you have no room to call me a stick-in-the-mud. Autumn is wonderful, and you can’t take that away from me.”

Crowley tries and fails to hide his smile. “How’s the popcorn?”

“Perfect!” Aziraphale says, the glow coming back to him. “This is all perfect. The weather could not be more beautiful or autumnal. I can smell spices and caramel and corn husks. The pumpkins look a particularly brilliant shade of orange this year. There are happy people all around. It’s lovely.”

Crowley looks around, seeing a particularly fiendish child twirling his unaware sister’s hair around a candied apple—who he silently cheers on—a small toddler screaming their head off when their parental figure offers them a pumpkin, a couple fighting near the corn maze. The stench of city and human beings is far too strong to be drowned by the sweets and spices, though it does fight for dominance with the moldering leaves blanketing the ground. And though the weather is nice now, he can see a storm building in the distance. They’d do well to hurry through the rest of the festival before they get caught in a chilly downpour.

But He won’t suggest this. He’ll follow his angel as he coos at the children posing for pictures with goofy scarecrows, as he bounces over to the candied apple vendor for a (non-twisted-in-hair) treat, as he begs with his soulful eyes for a hayride. He’ll follow his angel to the end of the world. He’s already done so, and he’d do it all over again if he had to. He’ll let them get caught in the freezing, miserable rain because Aziraphale is too taken with the pumpkin carving contest to notice the darkening clouds, though he will miracle them dry as soon as he’s able. He’ll follow his angel back into his shop, lugging the bag of things Aziraphale didn’t have enough arms to carry himself, and too big of eyes and stomach to not buy.

Aziraphale will light a fire, make two cups of whiskey-spiked chai, and wiggle his way into his favorite chair in the back room. Crowley will follow, landing on the sofa that has molded to his angles and long legs. They’ll talk about Poe and Mary Shelley. Crowley will talk Aziraphale into watching Young Frankenstein. Then Aziraphale will beg to be allowed to read aloud “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar,”[19] and Crowley will concede it’s just a little spooky. Though only just a little.

And though he won’t say it out loud, Crowley will think that maybe, just maybe, autumn isn’t so bad, when you’ve got your favorite person by your side.

[19] Read it here.

#good omens #fanfic #autumn #autumn mood #ao3 #meagan writes

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zimboxl · 6 years

Text

Jargon Tourettes

Top 10 Overused Jargon 2018*

Overused Jargon (OJ) tells us what the media savvy think is relevant, useful, and popular. In some ways jargon is a gatekeeper, a cliquish code to separate those who get it from those who don’t. My selection is indicative of general trends with a bias towards the African arts and development worlds. These words are not sacred, and they need to be satirized and tested so that they don't become enshrined, unconsidered, shallow symbols of in-group identification. Perhaps this can help to prevent the alienating and misleading effects jargon can have. Consider this a satirical vaccination against sophistry and let’s hope for a better tomorrow where cryptic condescension gives way to shared comprehension.

Innovation

The elder states-person, the OG of OJ. 'Innovation' has somehow managed to remain atop the charts in spite of becoming a caricature of itself over the years. It also feels like we've been innovating for decades now, we might be due for some consolidation and refinement. Innovation's longevity is a product of its flexibility (it can mean many things), its vapidity (it can mean nothing), and the novelty-chasing tech-centric culture du jour.

Eg. “The Innovation Initiative was initially based on the premise that all change is good. It later became The Department of Unexpected Consequences.”

Engagement

Whether it's measured in links clicked, or viewing time, engagement is usually a euphemism for 'keeping an audience's attention more deeply for longer periods of time'. There's nothing necessarily wrong with this in itself, any creator wants their work to be engaging. Unfortunately, truly valuable engagement is about quality of experience, not just stats. It also turns out that trolling, click-bait, bot-baes, and other tricks work just as well, if not better than creating compelling, meaningful content - assuming that pure statistical engagement is the goal here. Even eliciting hate and outrage in the audience is preferred to eliciting the dreaded indifference.

Eg. “Once middle-aged super-users started gouging their own eyes out the e-ghetto slum lords sought to maintain high levels of user engagement by injecting digital crack directly into user’s blood streams via a fleet of nano-drones.”

Unpack

It's not mansplaining if you preface your long-winded speech with, “let me just unpack that before we move on...” Poetic allusions to heavy baggage give this bit of OJ an ironic edge. Have you ever felt burdened by verbose unpacking? I have.

Eg. “As the morning's first speaker, I unpacked the topic of discussion at such length the moderator had to stop me so we could break for lunch.”

Girl Child

A steady climber over the years. Indicative of gendered global SJW trends, the Girl Child™ is now the holy grail of target demographics and beneficiaries. The term is particularly popular in development circles where its feminist paternalistic slant strangely fits the industry-wide vestigial-colonial vibe. Besides, 'Starving African' just feels so 1900s.

Eg. “Emergency! The ship is sinking! All women, girl children, and gender-non-binary-human-meat-sacks may board the life rafts first! The rest of you can fuck off.”

Decolonization

An up and coming term with the potential to rise even further in the charts. Its ceiling depends mostly on whether or not it remains a trophy word spoken in seminars and galleries. If it matures into active programs that directly enact de-colonial agendas the word may have to share the stage with other relevant but unsexy terms like 'supply chains', 'resource redistribution', 'local staff', etc. It also has immense potential as a linguistic camouflage for bad art. Those who criticize 'de-colonial art' may easily be shamed and dismissed as colonists, apologists, or sympathizers. The thoughtful critical landscape is pretty thin so similar strategies may be applied with other identity-centric words to shield questionable work from honest criticism.

Eg. “The former farm invader liberator had diversified his portfolio to include decolonizing luxury resorts, one free vacation at a time.”

Afro-Futurism

This once exciting term is at risk of becoming nostalgic dross due to how much it's been bandied about in African arts circles. It's a victim of its own success. A tell-tale marker of when a term becomes OJ is that it inspires satire of a higher quality and awareness than sincere works.

Eg. “Afro-futurism enables us to imagine a future where our collective conscious, aka Wakanda, has morphed into a touch screen cell phone that purifies drinking water, and cures HIV.”

Beneficiary

If a heroine feeds a starving village and no one sees it, did they all just starve instead? There can be no benefactors without beneficiaries and they must be documented, preferably smiling in situ despite the squalor that surrounds them. As a citizen of a country where most adults are unemployed I'd argue that employed development professionals should also be counted among the so-called beneficiaries. There's no shame in getting paid if you do a good job.

Eg. “As I saw the tears of unrestrained joy flow from the beneficiaries' eyes I knew my genocidal ancestors' crimes had been forgiven in full. If anything, I'd earned some extra credit for future generations.”

Toxic Masculinity

The shortest way to describe a Tarantino movie. Some people seem to believe that all masculinity is toxic, but we unfortunately don't have a popular catch phrase for them yet. Many men try to camouflage themselves by borrowing the props, costumes, and behaviors of their perceived superiors, essentially flaunting their overseer's whip. You know it when you see it.

Eg. “The game show host gave Chloe a choice between experiencing an unspecified act of toxic masculinity and ingesting mercury; Chloe chose mercury.”

Curate

Curating used to happen in museums and galleries, ideal environments for showing others you have better taste and ideas than the unwashed masses. Now it's everywhere. Seemingly overnight the jargoneers stopped simply 'choosing things to sell in their shops' and started 'curating bespoke collections for their boutiques'. It’s the same thing, but with bougie overtones.

Eg. “The fuel station manager curated a collection of limited edition off-white sequined jerrycans for his most discerning customers.”

Interactive

I know what this word means to me, but after being assaulted by many misuses, and making many concessions for the sake of conversation and civility, I no longer have a clue what it means to the general public. I do know that in digital art circles it signifies 'cool', 'cutting edge', and 'dynamic'. At worst I've seen it used to describe a fixed work that people looked at without influencing in any way.

Eg. “The curator of 'The Bricks are Present' was puzzled when the audience didn't transform into pro-bono builders despite the presence of the interactive bricks in the space.”

Conversation

Habitually misused by talking heads who would have you believe their one-sided monologues somehow constitute a conversation.

Eg. “Popular Instagrammer @Philosothot69 had an ongoing conversation with her thirsty horde of male fans wherein she mused about being more than just her looks while they sent her flaming eggplant emojis and tagged their friends.”

Problematic

Increasingly just a trendy way to add an air of faux-academic objectivity to ones' personal opinions and preferences. A newb might say, 'I didn't like District 9', but a true OJ guzzler will declare that it was problematic. Like many such words its rise began sincerely within relevant contexts, but it has since been taken up cynically in other contexts. In a few years it may just be something glib people say about petty things in the ceaseless quest to sound woke.

Eg. “When eventually Phil voiced his critical opinions about the concept sketches for the mural, Kuda quickly shushed him, reminding him that, generous funding aside, his uppity whiteness was problematic. Thus Kuda attained her black belt in the dark arts of juggling feminism and racial politics.”

Triggered

Triggered once referred to panic attacks that traumatized war veterans suffered after hearing loud noises or other shocking stimuli. Originally rooted in early studies of Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), or shell-shock as it was known then, triggered can now be trotted out to describe how you feel when someone is wearing the same outfit as you at the grocery shop.

Eg. Overzealous auto-correct and my aversion for proof-reading ruined my broadcasted Annual Christmas Party invitation message. I got so triggered I like literally died.

* by 10 I meant 13.

#jargon #writing #africa #arts #satire #development

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